[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]

	Gil couldn't help but smirk, if just a little bit at the disappearance of Alexandra. He did a quick mental check on the location, establishing a timeline of recent events. When everything congealed in his mind, his smirk turned into a calm smile. [color=sienna]"The first piece of time for new Paradoxes are so full of interesting things, don't you think?"[/color] The words were directed to the Emendators in the room, but he quickly grew quiet. Saying that out loud in the presence of, as he had just mentioned, new Paradoxes. It might appear insulting or, at the least, condescending. He had been called far worse in his life, definitely done far worse, but to be overtly insulting? It just wasn't his style. 

	[color=sienna]"Please accept my apologies. My interesting bump in events just happens to be a very shocking part of your recent existence. Point of view can lead to little acts of insensitivity. Alexandra is fine, by the way. She just joined the club of Paradoxes who expressed a little early. Honestly, I am astounded at your progress. You must be accepting your new lives rather fluidly."[/color] 

	The last of his soup lay before him, not quite enough to get into a spoon with ease and yet too much to simply [i]leave there[/i]. He resisted the urge to slurp directly from the bowl, instead tipping it forward slightly to gather the last bit in his concave utensil, just for a second glancing about to see if anyone actually noticed him using what was considered the proper table manners of the time. Ok, so acting all Emily Post wasn't quite the magic trick he had intended. It was a start. For him. 

	He rolled his eyes a little at Nancy's philosophy on rules. A good part of him agreed, just not in the delivery. [color=sienna]"True, one cannot be bound completely by the rules. But remember, The Rules save lives. There are very rare times when you have to roll with the unexpected, though, and when to bend the rules. Don't make a habit out of it. Again, The Rules save lives. Being able to improvise (and knowing when to) doesn't hurt either. Just... we will cover all of this in training. Don't worry about it now."[/color] 

	Now, when Gio began to speak, Gilbert's face lit up. [color=sienna]"Yes! It's a little strange at first, but viewing sections of timelines can be absurdly entertaining. Even a little addictive. One of my favorite "shows" involves the continuing adventures of this fuzzy orange cat named..."[/color] he let his words die off, and immediately took a sip of clear, white wine. His train of thought was coming dangerously close to talking about something from a timeline, and location, of one of their new Paradoxes. And one of their existing ones, for that matter. Time to be quiet for a bit. [color=sienna]"Well, it's really something, once you get used to it."[/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]

	James had intended his offer of help to be for the meal, or cleanup, or something of that nature, completely not realizing that he was volunteering to assist with locals in a close and personal manner. Ok, no big deal. He was just thinking that he had to adapt to his new life, and this might be a damn fine way to start. He used to be a people person, once upon a time. Considering what The Hat had said earlier, James was curious as to whether his social skills slipped away in his death, or if that was so rooted in himself that it could not be separated from his soul. He hoped it was the latter. Being a black man in the rural South in the 1940s was going to [u]suck out loud[/u] if he was one inappropriate guffaw away from being lynched. 

	But he did still have his memories, be they like peering through frosted glass sometimes. And his memory was packed full of tales of woe. The public liked those? Well, he had just come from a place that was one part Purgatory and one part Hell, mixed in with tiny spots of something worth fighting for. [color=indianred]"Hells yeah, I gots me some stories. Most'em true, too. Ain't a soul gonna believe it here, I ain't thinkin'. But they some good ones, livin' where I was. I'll be happy to be of service, Ma'am."[/color] 

	He looked around the table, just for a second pretty sure that he had just missed something important, or of association to him. He did see an empty seat that had once been occupied by a Russian lady, which he shrugged off. Maybe she needed to use the [i]one bathroom[/i] on the whole estate, and would be back soon. [color=indianred]"Hey, one o' you say somethin' 'bout a cat? We used to have this cat, hang around us in Newnan... Little [i]asshole[/i], too. Kinda miss him. Came in with a big Russian, name o' Bazhooli. Hmm..."[/color] He paused a moment, lost in thought. [color=indianred]"Oh hey, someone pass that bread."[/color] he abruptly requested, holding a hand out in the general direction of the yeasty rolls.