The Black Pot

"I'm pretty sure my stress habit and bad habit go hand in hand. At least that's what I've been told."

He shrugs.

"Best stress relief I know of is a good drink. Nothin' helps relieve the stress of travelin' around the galaxy like a good mint julep or Saurian brandy. It's probably not a good habit to get into, but there aren't a whole lot of other options on a starship." Dr. McCoy smirks. "That's not to say we're a bunch of drunks cartin' around space. But havin' a drink or two as a means to unwind once in a while isn't unreasonable."

"I've tried other kinds of stress relief. Some people exercise, some meditate, but that just doesn't work for me. I don't have the stamina for exercisin' every time I get stressed out, and I don't have the patience for meditatin'. So alcohol's my vice. I know it's not the best habit to have, but it's better than a sharp stick in the eye."

"I've even heard rumors of some kind of drink bein' invented that simulates the effects of alcohol, but if needed, the effects wear off instantly. But I'm an old fashioned kind of guy. If I want alcohol, I'll drink the real stuff."

OOC: Sorry I've been out of touch lately. Real life has consumed all of my time lately.

"Oh, I don't know about bad habits... you pick up a habit because it does something for you, ne? Something useful, that you need at that time. Maybe it becomes 'bad' if the reasons to stop outweigh those to keep on, but you keep it up anyway.

"I suppose, if I had to point to one, it would be being too open when there's an answer I don't intend to give... and there are so many." A sweet smile. "But is it a bad habit, ne? Surely it must be a better one than lying, as so many do when faced with difficult questions. An amateur trick, I must feel, that, and so exhausting to keep up with the results. And it's been a good habit so often. It's how I was taught, that the mysteries of my Order should stay that way--and why not, when we worked hard to discover them, and some of them could disarrange the minds of the unprepared?"

He laughs. "Well, perhaps some will say I clearly wasn't sufficiently prepared. Saa, who knows, I came to it young, ne." Hands going up in a shrug, "Maa, I don't know about others... I probably keep too busy for most of them these days. That's the best way, I find."

( And if not.... it's a secret! )

I get to catch up with folks... Monday. And this evening. @.@ (zombie walk of end-of-finals)

Ianto sits quietly for a long time after hearing the topic. He doesn't really know if he's going to say anything. He doesn't have many bad habits, at least not the kind that most people would think of: he's neat, quiet, polite, hard-working. When he does stand, he takes a deep breath and just tells himself to start talking, although it feels more like a confession than a simple discussion among friends. A confession, and an apology. But still, it needs to be said.

"I tend to get too caught up in the moment, just see what's right in front of me, instead of what's before, or after. And sometimes that's a good thing. At work, in an emergency, I can react well, get done what needs to be done, immediately." He stops, takes a deep breath. "But other times, it's not a good way handle things. It means I don't think about the consequences of my actions. It means I end up hurting people. And I never want to do that."

He takes his seat quickly, eyes darting around the cafe, looking to see if Jack and Alex are there.

Regulus stands up and puts on his very best angelic smile, the one he likes to think would melt the most frostily Arctic of hearts and excuse him from such inexplicable things like the (very) occasional urge to make breakfast in bed, or the habit of bringing home absurd garden gnomes and trying to animate them well enough to serve tea in his stead.

"Bad habits? I've no doubt those who know me could keep you occupied for some time on the subject of my supposed foibles. But I'll have a guess at the number one, if one has to admit to having any at all."

He pauses. Whether it's purely for dramatic effect or he's honestly thinking it over is anyone's guess.

"I'm going to go with the blank refusal to give a straight answer to any remotely important question..."

He can't quite help looking just a little sheepish, although the well-practiced smile is back in a flash.

"Unless you're asking for mushy peas, in which case the answer is, and always will be, a resounding no."

( He must have been hungry, because he's practically inhaled the food he's smuggled in. )

Isabel doesn't even half listen to the conversations around her. They are as interesting as the conversations about 'stress relief' had been. She has no desire to hear the mortals admit to nose picking, nail biting, cleaning their ears in public, speaking with a mouthful of food, etc., which are less bad habits and more a lack of social graces.

Then there is the consideration that things that modern people might consider bad habits... duelling, swearing, poisoning a rival, adultery, excessive pride, amongst others... were perfectly acceptable parts of the human condition when she was born. In truth, such things were generally encouraged and condoned by her family.

Infernalism, now there is a bad habit, she thinks. She will not say it aloud, as an admitted demon frequents the cafe from time to time. Why upset one of the infernal host? That's another bad, and possibly fatal, habit that she gladly lacks.

Finally she shrugs and looks around the room. "I've been told that I am arrogant."

Once there's an opening for another speaker, he stands up and smooths out his clothes— RAF greatcoat with group captain's bars on the shoulders, worn over a royal blue shirt with a dark waistcoat and trousers. When he speaks, though, his accent is distinctly American.

"Hello, Margate!" He cheerfully waves to the room. "Well, this subsection of it, at least. Captain Jack Harkness. That's who I am, I mean, not pointing out the real one who you've probably met already, but I picked up his name and he's kindly letting me keep using it. I'll leave it up to you to figure out how to distinguish us. You can't call one of us the handsome one since we're both handsome, or one of us the American since, again... Not much height difference, either. I'm definitely the older one, though. Anyway. I've been living and working in Cardiff for awhile now, with some time in London, and if you've heard about Ianto's job back home, I'm his boss. At work, that is." He winks over at Ianto. "I can't give you too many details of the job, but trust me, I look good doing it." For emphasis, he pushes his coat back a bit as he rests his hands on his hips.

( ''I'm thinking I'm here because [continued...] )

Navarre paced back and forth in front of the stage, his excitement growing with every passing moment. L had worked all weekend putting together the special equipment, part of which was now sitting in the middle of the stage: a computer, his word-mat, and a microphone. The full-size word-mat had been left behind at the house.

It had taken him several hours to write down his thoughts, but with L's assistance it was at last done. It was more difficult to use the smaller word-mat, but at least here at the cafe he would at last be able to communicate with those who could not read his mind.

With a swish of his tail, Navarre jumps onto the stage and settles next to the computer, facing the cafe's patrons. With one paw he delicately touches a key on the word-pad to begin the reading of his words. Though nothing like his own, Kenneth Branagh's voice pleases Navarre as his words fill the room...

I am Navarre, which most of you know. There is much I wish to say, much I wish to ask, but this form of communication does take time for me to produce so I will commence with my speech.

I come from a simpler time, where clear rules of behavior exist. To take that further, I am a Guardian who has risen in the ranks to hold my current position as Captain. I was able to achieve this ranking by tailoring my behavior toward my goal. Any habits I had, whether good or bad, were by necessity examined and either improved upon if they fit with the Guardian ideal, or were dispensed with. A man who has chosen to be a Guardian cannot afford to let his own attitudes and beliefs much less his habits interfere with the formation of the Unit--for that would serve to weaken and perhaps endanger himself and his fellow soldiers. A Guardian must be of a singular mind with his Unit, and as a leader of men, it is up to me to ensure that anything which might destroy is in itself destroyed.

This is not an easy task. One man's habit may be seen by himself as good, or perhaps harmless, but when there are others to consider may not be. For instance, I have had new recruits come in who had habits of belching in pleasure after a good meal. What harm can this habit be, one asks? It can be the end of a Unit, and has more than once. Behind enemy lines, a sated soldier's contented burp can alert a savvy enemy. The soldier must be taught to set that habit aside for the good of his fellow men. Habits are by their nature acts done without thinking--a soldier must be taught to always think about what his actions might unleash.

My own training-- *sighs* I forgot much when I first came here. I once had to work hard on keeping my temper, but when I discovered myself to be a wolf once more, my habit of lashing out in anger and fear got the better of me. *nods toward Susan, and the sorceress-witch, Anotsu, Cesare...so many he feels a pang of guilt* I apologize to those whom I may have hurt whilst in the throes of my confusion and despair. Just as he who belched cost his men's lives, I could've cost mine own, and others perhaps, upon losing sight of the man who still exists inside of me. I will do my best to not let that happen again. *glances at Xel then at the patrons once again*

The voice ends, and Navarre touches his paw to the off switch, well pleased with how L's invention has worked.

A laugh under his breath and a shrug. Should be made for him, shouldn't it- that kind of topic- fucking irony that is. His numbers look bad so he leaves them be and goes back to doodling as people talk. The movie comes to mind, cardinal sins - not his ballgame but funny how things seem to apply.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, then he rolls up the paper into a tight wad and throws it in the bin on his way out. He doesn't really have anything to say on this. Nothing, at least, that isn't known to everyone anyway: an awkward kind of fame.

( Read more... )

The fumble for a lighter, the first inhale of smoke and rain outside, clears his lungs and his mind. His whole life was- is now, isn't it- one big bad habit. Fucking irony, indeed.

Under his usual affability, Iago’s tone is just a little bitter. “Habits? Aye. Those I have, and well was I punished for them. Whether it schooled me against them has yet to be seen.

"Until it ruined me, I would have claimed the trait as a virtue. Any habit can be a bad one should circumstance meet it poorly, no? Should we then dispense with our habits altogether, and leave the comforting groove we wear in the track of life to wander like a drunkard in lines less predictable and less comfortable? The things to which we are dispositioned may always be a threat when they become known to our enemies, and still more may the people to whom we are dispositioned become a threat when they fall short of our image of them.

“My unfortunate habits were these: speaking my mind when perhaps some man preferring ignorance would have me silent, and believing too much virtue and stability lay in the men I called my friends. Should I desert these, because the world has made them my assassin?”

He takes a drink, and flicks a hand as though to shoo the melancholy away. “I remind myself that though they brought me pain, these things also, in ways too mysterious for mortal mind to foresee, brought me here. And that is good.” His glance as he says this goes to Xellos and Dora, and his eyes are warm.

Crowley saunters into the cafe, hands in his pockets and sunglasses sitting perilously low on the tip of his nose. He's disheveled, the top few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned and he's not wearing his customary jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He's singing under his breath, not paying attention to the people around him, and getting into it about the chorus.

He took the days for pageant, became as mad as rabbits with bushels of bad habits. Who could ask for anymore? Ooowoah. Yeah who could have more.

He drops to a hum and sits down at one of the tables before looking around and realizing that he seems to have pulled the attention away from whatever had really been happening. The faces look back at him, some of them annoyed, some of them blank. There's a girl in the crowd with purple hair who doesn't even bother to hide her grin. He gives her a quick wink.

Sorry. He doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. I do that sometimes.

Q gets to his feet, staring at the ceiling and scratching his chin. “Let’s see…bad habits. Well, I don’t bite my nails, I don’t crack my knuckles, I don’t smoke, and I don’t drink to excess…” he pauses. “I don’t steal, and I don’t torture rats with a hack-saw or pull the wings off of flies,” he grins around the room. “On the other hand, I tend to recite movies as I watch them, which some people find extremely annoying, especially if they haven't seen the movie, and I sing whenever the mood strikes me. Some people think those are bad habits. He shrugs, flushing. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m perfect or anything. I probably do others things that bother people even more. I just think that bad habits are in the eye of the beholder most of the time.” He sits down hurriedly.

Elric is sitting at his table, wearing one of Holmes’ suits and sipping his fifth cup of tea (with incredible amounts of cream and sugar). He appears quite relaxed, legs outstretched under the table, when the new topic is announced. At first, this one feels even more puzzling than the last one.

Bad habits? He is Melnibonéan after all. The concept of bad habits therefore is quite alien to him. After all, a proper Melnibonéan was supposed to indulge in whatever pleasure he fancied. Occassionally not doing so because of his ‘conscience’ had made him an outcast among his own people, but he still is Melnibonéan, and the concept of viewing individual traits or desires as a bad habit seems unreasonable to him. Although, coming to think of it, most of his people would have called his inclination to conscience a bad habit – those that hadn’t considered it outright madness.

But as he listens to the others talking about what they consider their bad habits, his mood grows bleaker and bleaker. How many in here, who, like him, have the bad habit of killing the wrong people? He orders wine - even though what they serve at the café can hardly be called wine - but that doesn’t do him any good either. In the end he leans forward, eyes blazing, and growls softly:

“Bad habits? Like habitually killing those you love? Or those who trusted you? If things like that count as ‘bad habits’ I have quite a few.”

He leans back and downs another glass of the terrible wine they serve at the café.

Renji slumps in his seat and stretches his legs out under the table, ignoring his tablemate's grumbles to watch it. "Got a bit of a temper," he finally mutters, deciding to get his turn over with quickly. He shoots a glare sideways at his friend's undisguised snicker, but says nothing more.

[OOC: Most of my plots are on-hold until Ichigo returns, but I'm still trying to keep up with cafe posts. :)]

He didn't plan on coming here tonight, no. He's only been out and about to buy a few newspapers - a battered, two-day-old copy of Corriere della Sera from the one cornershop that carries it, the Times Literary Supplement and a Le Monde - when it started to pour. He could have hailed a taxi, of course, but then everybody seemed to have the same idea, and...

And so it comes to pass that he's slowly turning the pages when young Master Potter bumbles in with another kitchen mishap and a topic for discussion, and Cesare lifts the Literary Supplement as a makeshift shield. Bad habits... Positively ridiculous.

Oh, His Excellency has none, I am sure. Miquel pulls out a chair, plonks down and beams at him.

Damn right. And where do you come from now? Rain bad for your new hairdo?

Grinning, Miquel shakes out his bangs and ruffles them back into place. I'm glad you like it. So, will you contribute? These kindly people would be thrilled to know in what flawless, morally upright company they are, don't you think?

Cesare gives him a humourless, dead-eyed stare. "Thank you, Coreglia," he says quietly. "That will be all for tonight."

Bad habits? But you're asking the wrong person. *all innocent* Of course I'm going to tell you that I don't have any bad habits.

*grins*
See, this would be much more fun if you asked me to tell you about the bad habits of others. Or - fair's fair - if you asked the others to tell you about my alleged bad habits.

*shrugs elegantly*
Still. Since I am discussing my bad habits... *thinks about this, looking around the room for inspiration*

If you were to ask Professor McGonagall, she might tell you it was my tendency to fall asleep during her classes, after which I would further infuriate her by correctly answering any question she put to me after she'd jinxed me awake. *judiciously* Except, of course, when the question was "Sirius Black, what did I just say?"

If you were to ask Krycek, he'd probably tell you it's my being a wizard. If you were to ask Q, he's likely to tell you it's my careless habit of brutally murdering innocent bystanders. *notices that Dora is in the Cafe, and so doesn't mention Remus* And if you asked Regulus - Well, best not to, really. He'd probably open with my bad habit of having been born before he was, and would still be going several hours later about my bad habit of having prettier hair than he does.

*charmingly*
But enough about me. And if you want to know my views on the bad habits of others, you only need to ask.

It takes two moments until the words have penetrated. He bites off the frog's head, then dips the body in sugar and chocolate pieces. He taps out a small rhythm with it in the crystals. Tap tap-tap-tap tip-tap-tip tap-tip-tap-tip tip-tip-tip-tip tip-tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-tip-tip*



Feet drawn up to the seat of his chair, macbook in front of him, he sorts through the files that come up before the headless frog disappears in his mouth.

( Read more... )

John pulls a face at the topic when it's announced and drains his bottle of beer. He already has an assortment of empties on the table in front of him and he carefully sets this one with the others, clinking the glass quietly.

"Oh I'm sure there are plenty of people all too happy to tell you what a bastard I am. Prob'ly everyone who's ever met me's got a story about what a mean old fucker I am. They'll probably tell it better than me." He shrugs and cracks the lid off a new bottle, slouches over it. "'Course, what they probably wouldn't tell you, is that I know what I'm doin' and my way works. End of."

He grins, sharp and dark. "Nothing like being right to piss people off."

Minor catastrophe in the kitchen, nothing to worry about and certainly nothing to do with jelly. Because we don't have any here. Definitely not.

Uh, topic for discussion. Bad habits. What's your worst habit? What personality trait most often gets you into trouble? Or, if you're like me and don't really have any particularly awful quirks, what causes people to complain about you most often?

The tag is bad habits. Tell us all about them.