The Arms Hotel Lobby, Thursday [7/31]

[itsjustlanguage.livejournal.com]

Hoshi was at the hotel, but she wasn't at the front desk. Instead, she was playing fetch with Porthos in the spacious lobby, or trying to. Porthos wasn't very interested in fetching the ball until a seagull flew in and snatched the ball, declaring that it was, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" After that, Hoshi, Porthos and Gunther chased seagulls around the lobby, forcing them out the door.

Welcome to the Arms Hotel!
Today's Special
Chicken Enchiladas*


* We think it's chicken. Best not to ask.

The Boards - Thursday - 7/31

[suit-of-sables.livejournal.com]

Geoffrey was looking at his numbers and there was actually black on the page.

On top of an absolutely amazing performance from his actors and a production that, given his working capital both financially and talent-wise, was absolutely phenomenal?  Really really nice.  He knew the rest of the box office sales wouldn't be as good, but hopefully, the money would mean he could get a new suit of clothes and eat regularly for a while. 

More importantly, that he could perhaps get a stage manager and some more props.  New curtains.  A spotlight.

...he needed the stage manager first, quite frankly.

That said, he wasn't grinning today or sighing today.  He just looked content.  And, surprisingly, sane.

Atlas Gym, Thursday Morning

[on-her-korhal.livejournal.com]

She hadn't been sleeping well. She hadn't been sleeping well, and the noise wasn't letting up, and she couldn't stop thinking-- about Lee and his father, about Helen and those damn monks, about River, about Harriet and the Doctor, about all of it-- she was angry, she couldn't sleep, she had to--

Kerrigan found her way to Atlas early in the morning, picked a punching bag, and went to town. One punch for Helen out in the cold. One punch for Lee who didn't hear back. One punch for Harriet, dropped like a stone before her time. It was a noble list. Vengeance for the wrongs, the whole shebang.

But all of that faded with the steady beat of her movements, and the words lost their meaning, became anger, and the next time she struck it was Jimmy's face, and the damn thing near well went off its hinges. It wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.

With a growl, she resumed her assault, a little more muted in strength but no less pissed beyond all recognition, her wings flaring for something to rend. Not enough. It was not nearly enough.

For once, the buzzing was leaving her be. Small favor that was.

[ open gym, but be wary of picking fights with the zerg. she's not gonna be gentle. ]

WotW, Thursday

[wanna-be-lucas.livejournal.com]

Lucas arrived at work late.

And shirtless.

It wasn't his fault the seagulls attacked and took his shirt away from him. He was lucky not to have been injured in the process.

( Mini Golf Course List )

The streets of Fandom, Thursday afternoon

[woofbloodywoof.livejournal.com]

Gaspode barreled down the street, carrying a large sub with only a little bit of mold on it.

"Mine! Mine mine mine! Mine! Mine mine! MINE!!!"

A flock of seagulls followed him, swooping after him, and he ran, he ran so far away. He just ran, he ran all night and day.

"Bugger off," he wheezed, as he skidded around a corner into an alley and kept going. "I'm too old for this." The flock of seagulls streamed down the alleyway, relentlessly following him.

He couldn't get away.

[Open if you want it.]

Caritas [Thursday evening]

[canadianpopstar.livejournal.com]

Okay, so, the damn seagulls could just leave her the hell alone, thanks. Not that any had followed her into the bar, but they'd swarmed her on her way there, shrieking and squawking their "Mine?"'s at her.

However, upon arriving at the bar, Robin was kind of bored. So in celebration of the new continent, she was attempting to make the Sydney Opera House out of cocktail umbrellas.

It wasn't very realistic.

Through town to the clinic, Thursday morning

[canlendyouahand.livejournal.com]

Igor was cheerfully whistling as he walked through town. He'd had a good night last night, and was now sporting several extra fingers on one hand.

His whistle died away as he became aware of the rows upon rows of white birds watching him out of beady black eyes.

"Mine," one ventured, eyeing Igor's fingers. "Mine, mine mine," another countered and soon the air was filled with screeching - and diving - birds, all seemingly under the impression that Igor's fingers were not fingers at all, but rather some tasty new seagull breakfast.

"Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine."

Igor took to heel and fled, lurching through town with flocks of seagulls on his tail.

[ooc: open if anyone wants to see him run past, but he ain't gonna stop - this is seagull country!]