[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 (Main Building, Dining Room) 
[b][color=sienna]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	The Hat wasn't particularly known for having an overabundance of manners. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was literally from a culture that, while considered the beginning of civilization from an anthropological standpoint, was considered barbaric by today's standards. He was a barbarian. These people were lucky that Gilbert didn't fling off his cotton and silk clothing with wild abandon and beat them all to death with a table leg. [i]Nevertheless[/i], he was most certainly sitting down to a wonderful repast, calmly holding a spoon over a shallow bowl of warm and nourishing soup. He was even fully clothed, attired in basically the same clothing as earlier in the day, but of finer quality and with no distressing evident. They were to receive guests, as per usual, and he wanted to look his best even if he didn't feel it. 

	Though to pay homage to his more barbaric history, Gilbert declined the point of etiquette demanding he extend his pinky. 

	The news that the Paradoxes would begin their training tomorrow prompted Gilbert to speak. Before he could utter a word, Evelina's roll of the dice drew his attention. Even as she gave a look of relief, Gil breathed a quiet sigh, content in his assumption that no other massive event of death and dismemberment would be taking place somewhere in the multitude of realities this hour. He hoped. He picked up where he had intended to start speaking, [color=sienna]"The sooner the better, too. Many of you may have tendencies toward a more combative approach to Paradox-ing."[/color] Yes, he used it as a verb. [color=sienna]"My role in your training usually involves this, and a practical approach to history to avoid potential anachronisms. Leaving those behind can have massive effects on reality as we know it."[/color] 

	He took a spoonful of soup, careful to only slurp it [i]a little[/i], before finishing with, [color=sienna]"Just remember, you aren't really going to know where your tendencies take you. You might find yourself very surprised at what you pick up easily, and what now comes with extreme difficulty."[/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 (Main Building, Dining Room)
[b][color=indianred]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	[color=indianred][i]"...so, this place a tourist stop?"[/i][/color] thought James to himself. He had decided to take supper with the Emendators, leaving Alicia to do what she did by herself. She always did seem to like her privacy when it was requested, or merely taken. At least the incarnation of her that he knew in undead-infested Georgia. But he supposed that the details of a person might be different from timeline to timeline; alternate experiences affecting outcomes and choices made, etc. As if he had seriously considered this line of though EVER. His situation made him think of a great many things that he had not previously delved into. Perhaps he should have joined her, who knows? She had given him a lot to think about, and he was busy with those thoughts all day. 

	So, James sat at the magnificent table in the main house, eating his meal and wondering exactly how one "trains" at being a wild boar. One way or another, he was going to figure it out in the morning, that was for damned sure. What was also for damned sure was the fact that he was vastly out of his depth right then. The same creeping sadness that took him that morning threatened to do so again. It helped no one. He would have to take his own time to grieve, to come to grips with the hard logistics of what it meant to be pulled back from the brink of death and squeezed into a different timeline on a single day set to repeat ad infinitum. 

	Well, to hell with it. Immerse himself, adapt or die. He'd read Darwin. Well, he read stuff from people who had read Darwin. Ok, no, he'd scrolled through The Darwin Awards online a long time ago. Same thing, right? He needed to get involved. [color=indianred]"Aight, Miss Dice. Thank ya much for the meal, I'll try not to put m'elbows on the table or nuthin', and uh... What can I do to help out tonight?"[/color]