Groovy Tunes, Saturday

[girlzippo.livejournal.com]

Charlie opened Groovy Tunes a little late, and had her notebook open with U2 blasting away.

The kittens were hiding under the counter, hunting dust bunnies.

[back around 4:30PMEST]

The Beach, Saturday Afternoon

[missed-the-gate.livejournal.com]

The sand was warm between John's toes.  He figured the water shouldn't be too cold for the regular swim trunks he'd worn.  He'd brought a small bag with water and snacks and his book.  Swimming and sunbathing was a great way to celebrate not having detention.

[ooc: Open like a beach.]

The Perk, Saturday Afternoon

[absolutesnark]

"This is where I get all my caffeinated goodness," Summer explained to Pancakes as they walked into the Perk.

Pancakes grinned. "What should I get?"

"Whatever you want," Summer replied. She had her dad's credit card after all. "I'm gonna get a caramel macchiato."

"I'll have one of those, too," Pancakes decided. Summer nodded, ordered their drinks, and wandered back over with two caffeinated beverages.

"It's good," Pancakes said after taking a sip. "When do I get to talk to Shawn?"

"He'll be here soon, I think. I left him a message to meet us," Summer said, taking a sip.

Pancakes smiled brightly. "I want to thank him for purchasing me for you."

Summer nearly choked on her macchiato. Pancakes certainly didn't mean to make it sound like Shawn purchased a hooker. Really.

"Are you all right, Summer?" Pancakes asked, her voice full of concern.

"Yep, fine. All good," she said quickly. "Enjoy your caffeine."


[ooc: Summer and Pancakes are here for Shawn, but anyone else is welcome to chat with them. Or use this for your own Perk needs. :)]

Book Haven; Saturday [ 10-2 ]

[kitty--fetish.livejournal.com]

Waking up today had been... interesting.

Normally, Alphonse would wake up and find a cat curled up somewhere on his bed, either napping or staring off into space (whatever a cat's thought process was, he had no idea). This morning proved itself to be very different from a normal one, because usually there wasn't a kid in place of a cat bouncing around excitedly.

Finding out his pet became human was reeeeeally strange. ... On the other hand, it was kind of neat. Alphonse just felt bad that this had to happen on the day he worked, but Cuddles seemed to be okay with the fact of going out-- he didn't want to leave him by himself in this state.

So in the bookstore today there was Alphonse tending to things around the store, and Cuddles, who was usually not there nor human-shaped.

[ ooc: yay pet plot. cuddles will say hi to anyone who drops by \o\ ... that is an awfully strange name for a person. ]

Luke's Diner, Saturday

[dude-its-jude.livejournal.com]

"She said see you later, boy . . ."

The specials board today was smudged and unreadable. Sorry. Jude was busy Creating.

"Now he's a superstar, slammin' on his guitar . . ."

Oh yeah, and singing to himself.

The Devil's Nest; Saturday Night. [ 06/09 ]

[bound2blade.livejournal.com]

Setsuna had slipped into an experimenting mode again, trying out various different new concoctions. And someone had to try them, right? Right. Well, after a few attempts, Setsuna was starting to feel...pretty good. Little she realize one experiment here, one experiment there, and she'll probably be regretting it in the morning.

The Devil's Nest is open!

[[ a million and one apologies for forgetting last night's post, but it slipped by mind and, by the time I remembered, I didn't have computer access. I probably won't have computer access again tonight, either, so tonight is a good night to be modding service.... ]]

Café Fina, Saturday

[sexycandlepants.livejournal.com]

Apparently, Lumiere had to pay better attention to what his kitchen staff was doing. Today, when he asked them what the special of the day should be, they smiled and sheepishly replied, "Sauerkraut."
Why Sauerkraut?
It was all that they had ingredients for. That's it. That's all.

Today's Specials Board reads:
Come in today for a big bowl of sauerkraut!

Later in the day, one of the plates would look at a flailing Lumiere, tilt her head to the side, and comment idly;

"You got weasels on your face."

The batcave weasels apparently didn't care much for sauerkraut.


(Fina is open, at long last!)

Caritas, Saturday Evening

[roadhousequeen.livejournal.com]

Ellen wasn't feeling well, but she made sure the zombies had most of their limbs and taped back on the ones they needed to play instruments. Before she left the stage, the female zombie pushed something into her hand and patted her on the shoulder.

Behind the bar, Ellen finally looked at what she'd been given. "...Lipgloss?"

As gross as zombie lipgloss was, it made her feel a little better, somehow.

[OOC: Due to waking up all of 90 minutes ago, I have to go do things that should've been done during normal daytime hours. Mod Tino, plz.]

Our Lady of Fandom, Saturday all day

[no-archangel.livejournal.com]

Gabriel had just returned with a box of donuts and sat down on one of the pews to eat them when one of the vases on the altar fell over and crashed on the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces. Luckily there had been no water in it, and the flowers were long since dead, but there was still a lot of broken glass on the floor. Gabriel muttered something under his breath about squirrels and how they should be made to tidy up after themselves.

[The church is open]

Fandom Post Office: Saturday [9.06]

[norglomofnit.livejournal.com]

Moist was actually looking forward to another boring Saturday at the Post Office.

So, of course, when he opened the doors he was greeted with the sound of the Sorting Engine. And not just once. It blooped repeatedly, spitting out boxes.

Many boxes. Many, Moist discovered when he attempted to lift one, heavy boxes. Gladys was methodically moving them away as they came through the Engine, piling them into neat stacks.

"Sheriff Roy Mustang, MCA 4th Floor, Apt#7," he read off a label. "Interesting. Gladys, I think we'll deliver these together." It never hurt to get in good with local law enforcement.

The Post Office is open.