[hr][hr][center][color=sienna][h1][i][b]Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"[/b][/i][/h1][/color][/center]
[center][img]https://robotmanmachine.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/jasonmshadow.jpg[/img][/center][hr][hr][center][color=sienna][b]Location:[/b][/color] Ville au Camp, Kitchen House
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	A smile and knowing nod came from the still chewing form of Gilbert. It did seem to be a curious coincidence, having three come from the same place in the same alternate timeline. Four, if you count Alicia. While not a particularly religious person, Gilbert did skim the various holy texts once upon a time. He recalled from one something about a time of trials, the dead rising from the grave, and people being tested in horrible ways. This sounded a lot like snatches of descriptions he picked up from Alicia every now and again. Even curiouser, Gilbert found that he wanted to speak with some of these people. He had survived pandemics in the past, witnessed what people could turn into when war turned their homelands into waste and ash. Those who made it out alive were a unique breed of person, and this alternate line sounded like it was the most extreme example of pandemic/war that he had personally heard about. 

	That would have to wait for a little while. Alicia's clipboard was giving its subtle warning that the High Magical Tree was about to upchuck another dead person, and with it another individual for the other Immortals to do... well, knowing some of them (ahem - Gio and Nancy) something questionable. He preferred to stay out of their shenanigans whenever possible, but maintained a sort of grudging neutrality; unless a Paradox was having a particularly bad time of it, Gilbert didn't give but the basest of warnings. At any rate, Alicia had give him the name of one of them that had just arrived, plus the bonus fact that he was a skilled hand with barbecue. Well, [i]was[/i] a skilled hand with it. It was a depressing turn of events that getting revived as a Paradox scrambled the skills picked up in their previous lifetime. He did have his memories, though. And it was precisely that which he wanted to peruse. That James fellow, Sophia, and whoever the newer one was. By the sound of it, the first two seemed to take their situation fairly well. Maybe it was time to introduce himself and have a chat. 

	But first... Gilbert had to handle some dishes that his protege left for him. Or not. He could just leave them sitting there until the next morning, when these things would reset, anyway. Yeah, that was a good idea. He did take the opportunity to run a bit of water over them, though, knocking off the more obvious bits of mealtime flotsam and jetsam, before he added his own dishes to the sink. He filled the sink with water and a bit of detergent and let them soak (you're welcome), dressed the rest of the way, and readied to leave. On the way out, he grabbed a half loaf of bread and some persimmon jam. You know, for the road. 





[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=indianred][center]James Grady[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/71765f2d-e700-4975-ad6c-7bced9ae709c.jpg[/img][/center][hr][hr][center][color=indianred][b]Location:[/b][/color] Ville au Camp - Main House, Room 107 [/center][hr]

	[color=indianred]"Yeah hey, thanks for that."[/color] James responded quickly, in reference to her willingness to keep her mouth shut about him being unattended with her in her private room. [color=indianred]"Aight, aight, so you sayin' that I can't even cool my heels here, next few years until we get to the 50's?"[/color] An odd look crossed his face for a second, [color=indianred]"O'course, they wasn't good years on my people, either... Hell woman, I got half a mind to run my ass to Alabama, see if I can't get in with the Tuskegee Airmen! Lawrence Fishburne was the [i]man[/i] in that flick, wasn't he?"[/color] 

	He sighed. [color=indianred]"But we supposed to be here for a reason, right? Just that you don't know what it is, [i]I[/i] don't know what it is, an' the folks in the know are these Enema-daters."[/color] Well, that narrowed down his options somewhat. If he wanted answers, he needed to go out and get them. So he'd been dead lately. Apparently these things happened, and sometimes death was a temporary condition that could be averted by taking a detour into the 40s and hunkering down in a godforsaken part of swampland with some particularly interesting architecture. [color=indianred]"Aight then, Miss Sophia, if'n you'd be as kind, would you please show me to the "Kitchen House", where a man such as myself can locate somethin' flammable to sip on in the early mornin'?"[/color] He was already walking toward the door, a hand on the knob, his other hand reaching out to Sophia. [color=indianred]"Maybe even some crumpets & tea?"[/color]