There is a young boy sitting at one of the tables. Normally, his face would hold a bright smile and perhaps a curl of mischief at the corner of his lips, but at the moment those lips are pressed together into a tight line with only the occasional hiss shifting them at all. In his hand is a small bit of cloth and beside him is a glass of whiskey ( Read more... )

There's a man at a table by the bar. Suit and overcoat, with collar turned up - no shades tonight, and blue eyes are languidly scanning the room. There's a bottle of the good Irish stuff at his elbow and the cigarette in the ashtray is burning, but not getting any shorter.

He wouldn't be here if he didn't want conversation.

Dream is in the bar, in a less metaphorical than usual state. He is considering the current issues surrounding one of his Dreamers, and possibilities.

Which, honestly, don't look terribly good for him, or the Dreamer, right now. There are, after all, Rules which he can't break.

((ETA: Slowtimes will be in effect starting at 9PST.))

No one has died today ( Read more... )

He looks a bit rough and tumble, of course, as he's been outside of late, but Tom has returned to the bar itself for a time to check the door, or rather the wall. It seems to like remaining a wall as opposed to a door, which while somewhat inconvenient, could not be helped. It wasn't as if you could plead to a wall, after all, and ask it to be ( Read more... )

It takes a few moments for the boy to realize that he isn't where he was supposed to be. He's glaring at the ground as he stalks in, muttering under his breath in a constant stream of what is likely curses. Then he has to veer around a table to keep from running into it. In what is supposed to be a hallway ( Read more... )

[ Pre-Milliways]

The door opens and a thin young woman - on the short side, dressed head to toe in black, with long black hair - enters, her nose buried in a bookAs such, it takes Wednesday a few moments to realize she might not be where she was heading. The book is slowly lowered to reveal a deathly white face and black eyes. A measured look ( Read more... )

There were not supposed to be walls in the middle of a field. Tom was not the finest of scholars, no, not even one of the finest. Not even one of the finest in Somersetshire ( Read more... )