[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] History, Soft Martial Arts [hr][/center]

	Gilbert motioned with his spoon toward Giosue, signifying agreement with the man's statement even as he swallowed a chunk of something in his soup. The hiccup he surpressed mid-swallow might be considered comical were he to allow more than mild discomfort to show on his features, but he didn't want to take the attention away from his fellow Emendator's point. That, and being as the Heimlich Maneuver wouldn't be invented for some thirty or so years from their current temporal coordinates, and thanks to the wonder of Paradoxical rebirth, if any of these new guys ever had medical training, they didn't now. Yet might be inclined to make things worse by trying. The Hat wasn't completely sure if he could actually [i]die[/i] from accidentally choking on a random bit of soup ingredient, but it was fairly uncomfortable. Not so much as an axe to the groin (damned Dark Ages and their extreme wake-up calls), but not the most fun to take part in, given his preferences. 

	His face was beginning to torn slightly red. The Hat tried to smile for a moment, as a method of putting others at ease lest they attempt to assist, politely waving anyone away that might potentially try. He carefully set his spoon down upon the side of his bowl, blinking away moisture from his eyes, and balled up a mighty fist. His smile turned into a determined look despite the lack of oxygen, followed by the sharp descent of his fist toward his abdomen. It connected with a tough smacking sound, as a hammer colliding with a thick slab of nickel steak, prompting the immediate expulsion of [i]something[/i] from his esophagus; a vaguely spherical grey-brown mass that hurtled over the table. 

	With the speed and surety of a striking snake, Gilbert's other hand snapped forward, plucking the offending food nugget from the air before it got much farther than his own place setting. His breathing started to regulate itself one huff at a time, during which he brought the thing which almost laid him low close for inspection. It was a small but whole mushroom. He nodded to Evelina, asking a quick, [color=sienna]"Is this from the grounds?"[/color] before thinking better about initiating the conversation, waving her off from answering (unless she insisted of course, it's not like he could stop her). He popped it back into his mouth, took two or three solid chews on the near-fatal fungus, and jumped back to the conversation at hand. [color=sienna]"Yes! Yes, Gio is correct. Perhaps more important than firing a gun or swinging a sword. Those details will mean the difference between success or failure, when failure has devastating consequences."[/color] 

	He glanced around the table to see if his impromptu game of catch with his supper was foremost on anyone's mind, continuing with, [color=sienna]"I recall one such incident that involved putting a coin in a parking meter at a specific place and time meant the difference between life and death for a great many people. It's usually something small like that, if out of place, that pulls the linchpin out of an otherwise stable timeline. But the tricky part was staying among the locals, undetected, until it could be located."[/color] 

	Gilbert gave a quick, nonchalant nod and returned to his soup. 



[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]

	Not for the first time, James found himself wondering if he was better off in a hole somewhere in central Georgia, dead from extreme cranial trauma, than with this gaggle of misfits and assholes. He definitely counted himself among the number of assholes, this was for sure, but the effect was brought again to light by the display of martial prowess executed against his most recent enemy: A cooked mushroom in heavy broth. He continued to look at Gilbert as if he had just seen a spider crawl out of his nose, fart "God Save The King", and return to its nasal sanctuary. It wasn't until The Hat returned to his soup that he allowed himself to begin his meal. 

	He had to remind himself that this was his life now, such as it was. The concept of Life was turned a little on its head, granted, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. He existed, when he had no reason to exist. Despite being a decent guy, he had done very bad things and was exiled for it. His death occurred shortly thereafter, and though it was [i]random as hell[/i], he felt that he deserved it. If dealing with these strange people in their strange place while transforming into a pig was his Purgatory, then he was willing to go along with it. At least he got his Troublemaker back. Changed somewhat, but it wasn't like he was exactly the same person anymore, either. No no, Mr. James Mandingo Grady, Sir, was just going to hang back, enjoy his meal and in fact every moment that came to him as best he was able, and wait to see if he can be of any assistance to the Dice lady, who he assumed was in charge of these eclectic immortals, as he had mentioned before Gio offered his advice and Gil spat up a mushroom. 

	With one exception. [color=indianred]"Hey dawg, real talk - Did that just come out yo'nose? You can tell me."[/color]