[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]http://33.media.tumblr.com/76ca11af5771405a055ca9291e9e4b2b/tumblr_nvhilyU39J1qcxymno4_500.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=b8860b][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Museum (Archives -> Vera's Office)
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Reginald had felt this before. It was tension. Nerves. The raw, unrefined proprioception of people put into a position where something was horribly wrong. While it was possible that the ambient anxiety came from the undeniable fact that one of their number was dead by extreme misadventure. Though it did seem a bit fishy, a heavy crate falling from a sturdy shelf. Too any coincidences happening all around them, too many portents of doom, and the dreams... How could one forget? In the hustle and bustle of the occasion, he had completely forgotten that he had been tied somehow to an ancient death god, complete with heart removal, as he witnessed the rise of an inhuman army or two. Thinking about it from that perspective, a crate to the cranium seemed perfectly normal. Even preferable, for some. Not so the Lord Major, granted; he would have preferred glorious combat or horrific plane crash. Oh! Or [i]both[/i]! Glorious combat against a superior opponent, [i]resulting[/i] in a horrific plane crash! Yes, so much better. Sadly, he never did meet his equal in aerial combat. These days, people didn't even remember his callsign. 

	But that was worry about a bygone time, and/or events that had yet to happen. This was the present. And in the present, people were running about and drawing weapons. Instincts of an old soldier or not, that got his attention. The moment that Josephine found a place to sit, he passed along his flask of very fine whiskey to her and filled his filled his hands with personal weapons; one hand drew his Webley revolver, his other settled onto the hilt of his officers' saber, still sheathed at his side. [color=b8860b]"Save a bit for me, Miss Clarke. I'll be back in a moment."[/color] 

	The door to the office was ajar and Neema was the first to draw steel and prepare for the push. It would be unforgivable for her to enter first while Reginald stayed behind. Simply unforgivable. [color=b8860b]"If you would allow, madame?"[/color] he whispered to Neema, [color=b8860b]"Now is not an occasion for Ladies First. I insist."[/color] He drew his saber and stepped forward, intent upon entering Vera's office alone.