[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 To Servants Quarters -> Nearing Main House) 
[b][color=sienna]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Shirtless and painfully morose, the Emendator known in this era as Gilbert Summers carried the mangled remains of Peter Keystone in his arms, ever striding toward the Main House. He gave it a good amount of time before speaking, spending most of his time staring down at the former Paradox. He supposed that even dead, he was still a Paradox in the strictest of terms; given the fact that he should have been permanently shuffled off to the hereafter during World War I in Germany, his corpse shouldn't be in Louisiana in the 1940s. It might have been easier if, upon second death, the body reverted back to its rightful place in time. But that was all science fiction - an interesting genre in literature and the silver screen, but life was just a little messier than the works of Hollywood's fine performers and directors. 

	Gilbert didn't bother looking up too often. He knew the grounds of Ville au Camp like the back of his hand, every rock, tree, and divot in the earth. Sight was a formality. He did maintain his contemplative silence as Evelina moved to join him, simply looking over in her direction and giving a tiny, sad smile. He did appreciate that she had decided to join him for his walk back to the house, eve if it was just a moment of sharing the same general space and putting one foot in front of the other. If anyone knew how he felt at that moment, it was another Emendator. Who else in the whole of existence could? But perhaps he would never fully understand [i]her[/i] feelings. He didn't feel Peter's oncoming death. He didn't roll the dice. And he didn't bring Peter back as a Paradox. He was just there to sense his second death, though. Maybe it counted for something. 

	The moment saw Gilbert's thoughts drifting into the present, specifically the present group of Paradoxes that were harvested across the timelines and eras. His initial feelings about them were varied, of course. Some of them seemed to settle in way too easily. Two were showing actual signs of clinical depression. And one... ...well, maybe Gil should make sure to wear shirts more often. At least for a while. His impressions of the new Paradoxes as well as recent events prompted two questions, which he expressed to Evelina in smooth, even tones. First, [color=sienna]"Πιστεύεις ότι μπορούν να χειριστούν ό, τι τους χρειαζόμαστε, Εύη?"[/color][sub]1[/sub] Followed by a comment to the more immediate surroundings, [color=sienna]"Μπορείτε να το ακούσετε? Ακούγεται σαν να υπάρχει ένα άγριο χοίρο εκεί..."[/color][sub]2[/sub]


[hider=Translations]
1	=	Do you think they can handle what we need of them, Evie? 
2	=	Can you hear that? It sounds like there's a wild pig over there...
[/hider]


[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 (Yard just outside of the Kitchen House)
[b][color=indianred]Skills:[/color][/b] Peccary Form (involuntary) [hr][/center]

	If nothing else, James realized over the sound of panicked grunting and squealing (that he painfully accepted as coming from himself) that he could [i]run[/i]. He hated to run. Never got a handle for it, except for when it was to save his own skin or someone else's. Living in the wasteland of an Undead Apocalypse could make someone a runner who wasn't, but it didn't mean that he liked it so much. Not only running, but he was making a lot of noise in the process of hauling ass across the yard to the Kitchen House, having himself a good, well deserved freakout session. But he wasn't winded. This form was fast and constitute. 

	Throughout the course of losing his shit almost entirely, James managed to dip one of his grand ivory tusks into the ground around him. Still propelling himself forward as fast as his cloven hooves could propel him, the massive, pointy mass of solid bone began ripping the topsoil up and away like a plow through loose earth. He used the drag to whip himself around, facing back toward the Kitchen House. Uncertain of what the hall was going on right now but very certain that he wouldn't get any answers by running away or destroying nearby property, his adrenaline-surging, fear-shivering porcine form plopped its piggy ass upon the ground and let out a deep, near bass toned, bellowing squeal. It was a monstrous, nightmarish sound, one that could easily find its way into a horror movie were someone present to record it. Though as horrifying as the sound was, the look on James's features (though masked behind that of a wild boar) was nigh to pitiful. Sadness, despair, horror... but the potential to inflict serious terror upon others was apparent behind his milky eyes and coarse bristles. James felt alone, just wanting some help and needing some answers.