Stark Industries, Sunday

[carsexual]

Sam spent most of his day gazing out over the workshop, wondering if he was allowed to mess with the robots and, if so, if he could teach Dummy to play Go Fish. His was a fascinating existence. Really.

Stark Industries is open.

Fight Club, Atlas Gym, Sunday Evening

[atreideslioness]

The gym was set up as usual, with the addition of a playpen stuck off to the side of the beginner area. "Welcome back," Ghanima stated clearly. "Either you've rattled something loose, or you're starting to learn."

"Or you're incorrigible," Tyler suggested, through a stuffy nose. His eyes were red and he leaned against a wall; he wouldn't be sparring today. "In any case, hello and we won't waste your time talking today. Go fight. You and you, you and - you, I think, and ... Ghanima, choose our last two lucky pairs."

"Those two." She hadn't actually looked, just pointed. "Go. We'll both be around keeping an eye on things, and I'll be helping at the beginner mats."


[OCD up!]

Things Reborn, Sunday

[iguessiamaclone.livejournal.com]

Ben stared at the box that had been delivered this morning. "This is more Hawaiian shirts than I've ever seen in my life. Then again, I've never been to Hawaii." He started pulling the shirts out and quickly noticed that every single shirt had a monkey theme. Sometimes it was bananas, granted, but everything related to monkeys somehow.

He ended up putting all of them on a table with a sign that read "MONKEY SHIRTS! 2 FOR THE PRICE OF 1!" Because who could resist that?

[OOC: I'll be disappearing for a few hours this afternoon. Oh, errands. Why can't you run yourself?]

Freelance Police HQ, Sunday

[raspberryturk]

It was a rather accomplished Reno who sauntered into the Freelance Police HQ today, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows after a Saturday of hard work, his baton resting against his hip, and his pockets filled with Gil that he was going to have to exchange into American coin soon.

It was entirely possible that he was humming that sort of tune that sticks in your head when you feel properly accomplished as he fed Spatula and Leonard their stale fish flakes.

Leonard would have gotten a donut instead of the fish flakes, but Reno could have sworn that he saw the guy rolling his eyes at him when he hummed that victory theme for the umpteenth time.

The Freelance Police HQ is open, and our rates are still better!

Cafe Fina, Sunday

[peace_n_war]

It wasn't that Warren was in a bad mood today, really. He wasn't. He was just still stuck in that same weird thoughtful funk that he'd had since Tuesday. It didn't involve stomping, or yelling, or being particularly threatening to the dishes, however, and so they were all quite uncertain as to whether they were going to be worried over Warren, or over their own safety.

Today's Specials:
Comfort food!
Macaroni and Cheese
Fried Chicken
Applesauce
Ice Cream
.... Possibly all En Flambe

They decided that worry for their own well-being was going to win out today after a particularly sympathetic placemat attempted to give Warren a feel-better hug... Only to end up putting its 'stop, drop and roll' technique to use for the fire on the seat of its pants.

The Gig, Sunday

[kestrelswolf.livejournal.com]

With the usual chores done, Firekeeper brought all four of the horses out into the paddock. She suspected, although they were all far too dignified to even bring the subject up, that they kind of missed being ridden regularly.

[ooc: open!]

Imperial Junke Yard, Sunday afternoon

[sarcasm-guy.livejournal.com]

So, training in sword work with Deadpool was all well and good -- and Sokka felt like he was really starting to progress with that -- but it wouldn't mean JACK once he got home if he didn't have, you know, a sword.

And because his mun feels like paralleling canon for some perverse reason, Sokka decided the sword would mean more if he made it himself. And for that, he'd decided to use the hardest, strongest, best metal he could think of -- the hull of an old, broken spaceship.

And because melting something like that would take enormous amounts of heat, he'd need to build a forge out of the most heat-resistant material he could think of -- also the hull of a spaceship. He'd make it work somehow.

He knew some people kept their spaceships in the junkyard, though, so he made sure to stay away from any that weren't broken. Today, he collected bits of twisted metal from around the yard and dragged them over into a pile. Later, he'd try to figure out what to do with them to make this all work.

Caritas - Sunday evening [Open]

[all4thewookiees.livejournal.com]

The zombie drummer was sitting at the bar tonight. He had nailed seven of the teams in the Elite Eight, but with four minutes left in the UNC-Oklahoma game, it looked like he was going to lose every single pick for the Final Four. "Braaaaaiiiiiiiiins," he whined.

"There there," Jolee said. "Tell you what, you go back to the stage and Tino will bring you a smoothie shortly."

The drummer seemed to accept this and moved slowly back towards the stage. His decreased speed was due entirely to muscle decay and atrophy and not emo, though.

Tino glared at Jolee. "Do you want him stinking up the bar? There's a reason the stage is all the way over there. Now get started on his smoothie."

The York Gallery; Sunday [ 03/29 ].

[perfectmissyork.livejournal.com]

Charlotte was glad for a nice quiet Sunday, with the usual tea service ready and prepared for any visitors to the gallery and that Fruitcake (which abridged itself nicely) exhibit on display. She may have continually entertained herself with thoughts on exactly where in the apartment the one with the shoes, which was sporting a tentative pre-emptive red dot on its plaque, would look nice.

[[ no OCD, as it's going up late, but definitely open! Please remember to follow the site to the Fruitcake exhibit, instead of the photography one it'll immediately send you to! ]]