[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 (Gate) 
[b][color=sienna]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	This was definitely not what Gilbert expected. This was a [i]loop[/i] in [i]time[/i], and all things being equal, everything that happened outside of these grounds repeated, just as they would otherwise, again and again. Unexpected visitors just didn't happen, not unless someone left the grounds and did something to cause it. No one had left. [i]Except for Evelina[/i]. Might she have taken into consideration that they would need help with the Halloween festivities and sent for some kind of assistance, though that didn't take into consideration the oddly familiar pull coming from somewhere in their vicinity. 

	When the small-statured man began speaking to him in what was an ever so slightly self deprecating manner, obviously designed to socially disarm. Still quite suspicious, Gilbert allowed himself to appear disarmed. A broad smile played across his features and he tucked the lever action rifle behind his back with a flourish. His other hand removed the tall, black hat from upon his head, and he bowed to the man. Theatrically, even. When Gil straightened back up, he replaced his hat and responded to the man who introduced himself as Samson. [color=sienna]"I must apologize, Mr. Samson."[/color] he spoke, smiling with his whole face. [color=sienna]"I did not mean to be this tall, sir."[/color] He lowered the rifle from behind his back, pointing it toward the ground in an act of calculated nonaggression. [color=sienna]"My name is Gilbert, sir. Gilbert Summers. And with me is my protege, Andromeda. It is a genuine surprise to see new faces out in these parts. I would also like to apologize for not being Miss Lucas. I'll try harder to be her next time. But on the subject of the lady, when did you speak with her last?"[/color] 

	There was method to his line of questioning. There was usually method to the things that he did, even if it didn't look like it to others. Unless he was making a meal, which was self evident. The last time he prepared food for himself the objective was plain: He intended to gorge himself. But this was slightly more subtle. Even if he could use a sandwich right then.  




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=indianred]James Grady[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://home.bt.com/images/hap-leonard-james-purefoy-136416888779002601[/img][hr][b][color=indianred]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (In Front of Main House -> The Mill)
[b][color=indianred]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Standing upon the grass in front of the main house, James was not privy to the sounds of the trucks pulling up, nor was he able to feel the pull that the Emendators could. He had really nowhere to go. The Dice Lady was gone, apparently so was The Cards. The Watch was... ok, he didn't know where the guy was, but he was probably having someone write a dissertation on Atlantic Triangle Trade for the purpose of bettering themselves and he surely didn't want to interrupt that. But maybe The Hat had something he could do. Okay, The Hat. Find the guy. If he wasn't in the Main House, perhaps he could be found in his workshop. When the possibility hit him, James straightened up, held his index finger to the sky, and yelled to whomever might be listening at the moment, [color=indianred]"To The Hatcave!"[/color] The next second found James hauling ass in the direction of the Mill. 

	The training over the past year and change had done wonders for his physique. He had always been strong, but likewise had always had a singular distaste for running. He still did, but now it wasn't nearly as taxing as it once was. The thought passed through his brain for a second or two as he continued laying one foot in front of the other as rapidly as he could until he found himself at the slightly ajar doors to The Mill. [color=indianred]"Mr. Hat, sir? Mr. Hat! Some shit done gone down at the house, Mr. Hat! You even in there?"[/color] Cautiously, James opened the door and stepped inside. There were general guidelines about poking around in Gilbert's workshop, but this, he hoped, could be forgiven with circumstances in consideration. 

	Weapons. Lots of those. Armor, tools, chests of clothing. Leather goods, too. All of the tools that various metalsmiths and tanners would require. Though an impossibility, the place looked like it was bigger inside than outside. It was an amazing use of space, really. James had been here before, but it seemed like he had never really gotten a good look at the location. Though his brain burned with the desire to look around and inspect some of Gilbert's handiwork, more important matters dashed away the idea. [color=indianred]"Mr. Hat, sir? If'n you're about, I got me a big problem. Mr. Hat?"[/color]