ways_back_room | And with a Crash-

And with a Crash-

Fading out is an echo of two voices...

"He's an angsty, emo, heartless sorcerer swordsman."

"He totally needs to get laid, then."

There's never a good closet around when you need one- at least, ever since someone came up with Rule #3. So what if Laini and Zelgadiss missed the stairs and whatever else door they were aiming for- They're at least out of the bar right now, and Laini is doing her best to get him out of his clothes.

(As for hers- Shapeshifter. That will only take a moment, unless he wants to help as well!)

They crash the door into the back room and onto a convenient couch. Zel winces a bit as the back of his head hits the armrest (because Laini is totally doing the pouncing) and, noticing their surroundings, says eloquently, "Um. Where are we?"

Laini blinks, maybe finally distracted. Somewhat. "Good question- though someone did leave a drink here."

Zelgadiss eyes said drink. It's blue. Very blue. "Yeah, but what sort is it?"

BACKROOM INVASION! Tag freely! Threadhop! Make crack! It's not canon and it doesn't really happen! Allons-y!

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Slinkity-slinkity-slink.

"Mm. This is a very, very, very bad idea, mon ami. Especially when my most esteemed Mun has a headache and needs to get up far too early for work tomorrow and has about a dozen unfinished slowtimes."

There's a 30-something man dressed likea 15-yearold setting up spy and recording equipment.

He wants blackmail material.

Hearing the commotion, a dark-haired young woman looks up from her laptop and peers over a stack of textbooks. (A mug of tea is somewhat precariously balanced on top of the books.)

"Just when I thought it was safe to look away--"

"Now where the devil--"

Jack breaks off and looks up from his compass, then stares around with delighted surprise.

"Haven't been here in quite a while, so I haven't."

A beat.

"Where's the rum?"

A hunchbacked Edwardian gentleman is sitting by the fire, trying to read his book. Alas, he keeps getting distracted by the hubbub of the bar.

There is a sleepy graduate student in an armchair at the other side of the hearth.

rymenhild is trying very hard not to look at Archibald Craven.

Blonde female twentysomething: check.

Laptop: check.

Tea: check.

The teapot is rather small, however, which has her eying it and the room at large with some concern.

"...We're gonna need a lot more tea."

Somewhere, from beneath a blanket and season three of Doctor Who, emerges a blonde.

"Oh, suffering hell, and I have reading to finish...

Reading that can totally be done later."

Armed with a bottle of sangria and a pint of chocolate ice cream, Kat prepares to repel boarders.

(Boarders of her blanket fort, not boarders of her...well, her.

Filthy minds, the lot of you.)

Brown haired twenty something with tea, watching the insane Pirate King, at least he's been carried off by Shulkie and all should be safe.

"Hey, I remember this place..."

Mary Anne peers around the door frame.

And has a terrifying thought.

"I wonder if this is where that cookie dough ran off to."

She returns five minutes later, armed with a spatula.

A tattooed woman with bright red and orange hair, wearing giant stompy black boots and a limited edition Silver Surfer t-shirt (plus Wonder Woman belt buckle) stands holding a stack of Green Lantern back issues (bagged and boarded, natch).

"If I'm in continuity now, GODdammit, I want FABIAN NICIEZA TO WRITE ME!"

So.

Yeah.

That's a very, very confused-looking Slayer/Mom/Queen, isn't it?

".....oh good god how the hell did -this- happen?"

....

Yeah.

Get her while you can, folks.

"........hi, guys."

That would be the sheepishface.

Hey, the call of the Millicrack, she is STRONG.

A bespectacled 20-something comes in, brushing popcorn detritus off the front of her blouse. Looking up, she blinks for a moment before scowling.

"Goddammit, why does this always happen on a night where I'm out until late and miss most of the party?"

Grumbling, she flops into a chair, whips off her ~~Jacksack~~ messenger bag, and pulls out a sock she's knitting.

Huh.

Timezones.

Wes doesn't care about timezones, of course. Wes just cares about exploring this place again. Maybe finding some cookies. Possibly flirting with some of the girls.

But the priority is cookies.

He looks around and then checks the calendar. "OK, who had January 21 in the pool?"

He then gets a drink - just s Diet Soder, since he can't get those at home - and watches.

Music.

Everyone wants some music.

Oz doesn't sing (...you don't want him to sing), but you can probably recognise the chords and his soft humming.

(hey jude don't be afraid)

There's a panicked squeak, and then the short girl with faded blue hair starts packing up her laptop and grabs her bag.

"I'm gonna be late, oh crap--"

She'll be back. She'll definitely be back, and you can probably catch her wandering back in a few hours later, laptop and dry Coco Pops in hand. But for now, she's late. Very late. For a very important date?

Brunette, towel on head, expression like this: 8O!

Amy snuggles defensively into her dressing gown and peeers around carefully.

"...It's too early for a drink, isn't it?" she asks nothing in particular, glumly.

Shalla grins when she sees where she is, moving to go curl up on a couch. The girl on the other end of that couch glares at her.

"You're supposed to be locked out."

"This doesn't count. 'm allowed here."

Jacee crosses her arms and continues to glare. "Well you shouldn't be. I need to take notes. Go away."

"... y'wouldn't take notes if your life depended on it. Stop complaining or I'll ground you."

"... that's not legal."

"I don't care."

"I hate you."

Add to mix: One late mun and a rather singular pup.

The pup in question?

Gordon.

Is there a slapfight going on?

Possibly.

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