[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=sienna]Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://data.whicdn.com/images/11230301/original.png[/img][hr][b][color=sienna]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Road Heading Towards Servants Quarters) 
[b][color=sienna]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	For whatever reason, Gilbert was especially aware of the smaller details of his surroundings. Every exasperated look, every out of place hair on the Paradoxes and Emendators present, even the odd frequency of the unnaturally summoned wind whipping about him. The whole ordeal seemed to have brought out the majority of the household, who showed the appropriate emotions of the hour; shock, confusion, grief, concern. Thankfully, having to haul back the mutilated body of a friend was not a commonplace occurrence at sunny Ville au Camp. It wasn't the first time though, he noted dully. 

	Gilbert's steps slowed as he neared the knot of people around the fallen Peter. For a second, he wondered why he was even running in the first place. It wasn't like he could do anything about the unhappy inevitabilities of death. He could not knit wounds nor bring the enigmatic spark of life back to the lifeless. In this way he was helpless. A soldier, not a worker of miracles. The most he could do now was just as Evelina requested of him, and bring his mundane abilities to bear. [color=sienna]"Yeah, Evie."[/color] he said in a quiet voice, unbuttoning his shirt. He quickly stripped himself down to the waist and tucked his clothing into the back of his belt. With the shake of his head, Gilbert hoisted up Peter's body and began to carry him back up the way he had come. His gait was slower, head bowed underneath his lightly distressed fedora. Gilbert turned his head back to address Evelina as he walked, [color=sienna]"Where shall I place him, when we get there?"[/color]    



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=indianred]James Grady[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://image.ibb.co/i56LZR/Blackjames.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=indianred]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp - Kitchen House
[b][color=indianred]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	It was an odd thing, watching someone he knew in a previous life jam cotton balls into various places about her face and head. [color=indianred]"Yeah. You welcome, girl."[/color] He tried hard not to let the situation color his voice, but it was another weird thing in a day that was easily the weirdest frigging day of his life. Or non-life, afterlife, near death, whatever. And that said something, coming from a timeline with an undead uprising. At least there, you knew where you stood in the grand scheme of things. This? Sophia just got smacked with something that required her to fill her head holes with absorbent plant fibers to function normally. James was just waiting for the hand of God to smack him with gills or something. Maybe he'd gain the ability to fart rainbows or line dance like a real country music star. That'd be something. 

	So far, the whole life after death thing was confusing and irritating at the same time. James shook his head, still partly expecting to wake up any second now. But until he did, he might as well run with it. [color=indianred]"Yeah girl, what them two was sayin' 'bout the roll slowin'. Just you set y'self down. Maybe I'll get you a water? Sound good?"[/color] Yup, that was the answer to everything. Sit down, have a glass of water. Or tea, this being the south and all. Wait, that probably wasn't a bad idea, actually. [color=indianred]"How 'bout tea? Tea work? Imma put a pot on. They gotta have teabags in here someplace..."[/color] 

	It took James a few seconds before he realized a question was asked of him, this by the Russian girl who had also just come back from the dead. He looked at her as if the object of his search should have been obvious. [color=indianred]"Cotton balls, o'course Miss."[/color] He probably didn't realize that the sundry, quite household in his own lifetime, was not as ubiquitous elsewhere and in different eras.