[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=sienna]Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://st2.depositphotos.com/5326338/8137/i/450/depositphotos_81379998-stock-photo-actor-jason-momoa.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=sienna]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (The Mill) 
[b][color=sienna]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	When you walk the same path over and over again, the distance you actually travel seemed different based upon your mood going into the walk. Gilbert was concerned. It seemed to make the trip longer. One foot in front of the other in a steady rhythm, tapping upon the walkway and then the grass, and lastly the shuffle of leaves around his workshop, partially obscured by trees. The Mill. The last time it was used to actually mill something was long, long ago by the standards of the common man. Gilbert had been using it to make and store all of the wonderful things that he contributed to their cause. It was less of an Emendator power as it was the benefit of literally [i]millennia[/i] of craftsman's experience. 

	By the time Andromeda had arrived, Gilbert's choice of clothing had changed somewhat. Lots of black, jeans and vest both, in fitting denim and broken-in leather, respectively. His shirt was unapologetically kept untucked, and looked just as slept-in as every other shirt he owned. A formidable chain was bolted to a broad leather wallet in his back pocket, secured along the front of his stout belt by the other end. A black-on-black tartan lay draped across his shoulders, and his arms were otherwise bare. His fingers sported numerous rings, many of which bore the slightly tarnished glint of silver. Probably the most notable difference in the man's attire was a change in headwear - his lightly distressed fedora was set upon a small table in his work area, his head adorned with an open style, domed leather item, reminiscent of a homburg or flat-brimmed derby. It too looked a bit distressed, but also with places repaired with fine yet noticeable stitching. 

	[color=sienna]"I do appreciate the 1980s. There is a distinct lack of fashion sense in major urban areas that allow one to wear whatever they want, in whatever combination that desire, and few would bat an eyelash or consider it more than a triviality. That kind of randomness allowed for certain... well, certain [i]types[/i] of people to live more publicly."[/color] Gilbert looked to Andromeda, then over to the area where he kept his arsenal. He considered arming up for this jaunt, seeing as it was not the usual sort of training session. Or at all, really. Many factors were out of his control, and unlike most of his off-site learning experiences, they were not observing. Nor were they placed in a situation where their actions didn't matter. The two of them would be directly participating in the events unfolding upon a timeline. 

	[color=sienna]"New York, 80s. Most weapons are illegal. Where we are going, the police don't enter unless they have to. All the same, we want to give our hosts a favorable impression. Good advice would be to tell you to act confidently, but respectfully. But after we arrive, I will be happy if you just don't stare for too long."[/color] He shook his head, realizing that he was explaining a course of action for a situation in which Andromeda had no reference. [color=sienna]"I am sure you will do just fine. Unless there was something you wanted to pick up before we leave, please join me through the portal."[/color] With a tip of his hat, Gilbert made his way to the back of the Mill and opened the door, briefly admiring the telltale shimmering of Gio's handiwork.  


[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 (Alicia's Room -> Study)
[b][color=indianred]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	James barely had time to stare in awe at the picture he was given. Not family in the traditional sense, as much as his timeline housed a word full of orphans and sole survivors anyway, but he was immensely glad to see that the baby of Tatiana and Jack was born healthy and happy. And further, the little guy was named after him. [i]That[/i] was amazing. He had just begun to feel a mixed emotion, pride and sorrow intertwining in a bittersweet mobius strip, when something that Alicia said caught his attention. 

	[color=indianred]"Wait, Schrody?"[/color] This was the second or third time that James had heard that name mentioned among the Emendators and Paradoxes. It was what the people of his timeline called a fuzzy orange tomcat that came in with a Russian circus performer and stuck around after an accident claimed his life. It couldn't be the same thing. Mostly as a cat wasn't overly inclined toward speech, nor the possession of photographs. But he wasn't sure who else would be named Schrödinger, that would have access to a picture of Tati's kid. It made no sense. James was just about to ask who, and/or what Alicia meant by that, when something highly unexpected occurred. 

        James sat for a second or two, wide eyed and feigning patience. Maybe this was a new Paradox ability manifesting. Or something else, equally as logical an explanation for suddenly disappearing, leaving a death pendant and baby's rattle in your place. The jewelry he got; Alicia wore it all the time. The rattle was something new though. It was beyond his reckoning, like so many other things here. After thise short, expectant seconds, James's fake patience broke and he tore out of the room, hoping to find the nearest person who might know more than himself. His frantic movement brought him more or less back to the Study, though his voice carried much farther than that. 

        [color=indianred]"Holy shit, I needs me an adult! Alicia done [i]DAVID LO PAN'ED[/i] an now she [i]gone[/i]! Somethin' 'bout muerte an' dentists and the [i]bitch ain't here no more![/i]"[/color]