[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=a0522d]Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://occ-0-1722-92.1.nflxso.net/art/80bc8/4fa55a1a549c6e720b7eac87dd14dfd3b6d80bc8.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=sienna]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Main House, His Quarters: Room 203) 
[b][color=a0522d]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Gilbert sat on his bed, head in his hands. This must be what normal people referred to as a "Migraine Headache", though he had to assume that it was more than just that. His cranium felt like it might push apart from the inside. While he might actually live through something like that, even if it happened to him in a literal sense, it was not a thing which he was in a hurry to experience. Instead, he positioned himself over Giosue's note and committed himself to read it several times over, almost as a mantra against the OUCH which threatened to consume him. 

	The note itself lay upon the floor between his boots. His head was suspended by his large, powerful hands on either side, elbows resting upon his knees. He remained as still as possible, hunched over while sitting on the side of his bed, mentally repeating the words upon the paper over and over. Through the haze of his condition, Gil was yet able to realize the implications of the decision that his fellow Emendator had made. What he couldn't quite wrap his brain around was his motivation for doing so. 

	It was supposed to be [i]his[/i] mission, heading to New York a few decades from their time loop to speak with Golgotha and his clique of fellow immortals (Or near enough anyway, they had been around longer than some of the Emendators had been aware of themselves). He was to take a promising young Paradox with him to both assist and learn from the experience. Gio had [i]opened the portal to their intended location[/i], and they would have immediately stepped through were it not for the arrival of the carnival. Maybe he knew something that Gil didn't. Or maybe he surmised that Ville Au Camp had a better chance, in case something went wrong, that a warrior as seasoned as [b]Gilgamesh of Uruk[/b] at the helm. 

	Yet here he was, away from the Paradoxes while unknown parties set up a ramshackle "county fair" style attraction on the other side of a clearing from where he generally took his breakfast. He was indisposed during a crucial moment, and this was because he became impatiant and tried to push his abilities beyond their metaphysical intent. He could only hope that the debilitating discomfort would relent enough to allow him to lead his Paradoxes. There literally wasn't anyone left. 

	No, to hell with it. He had to get up. He had to move. He needed to be there for his Paradoxes. Slowly, Gilbert stood and staggered to his door. He leaned against the frame for a good few seconds, berating himself for showing such weakness in the face of possible trouble. A growl built up within him that turned into a roar, flaring pain within his skull to capacity. He didn't pass out. This was a good sign. Now, to put one foot in front of the other. Just move a boot, then another. Repeat. He was supposed to be better than this. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=cd5c5c]James Grady[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/11325d90-1162-4f69-a2f3-7ece57b6cc3c.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=indianred]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
[b][color=cd5c5c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Andromeda's comeback of comical sarcasm was not immediately expected, but it did further broaden the smile on James's face. He poured a cup of the strong, black stuff into a ceramic cup even as it was still brewing. A little stronger than the cups that would follow, but the rest would be just fine. Still, sauteed dead people? He'd seen cannibals in his living years. Generally, they didn't saute. Perhaps that clear distinction was why he was still able to draw humor from it. [color=cd5c5c]"Damn, girl."[/color] he started, plunking the full mug of coffee on the counter in front of Andromeda. [color=cd5c5c]"Yahtzee!"[/color] 

	Strangely, James's brain took him back to his childhood years, watching the Swedish Chef on TV [i]yorp[/i] and [i]smorgen[/i] his way through meal preparation, somehow this time with a cleaver and a corpulent human leg. Completely unbidden. He allowed himself a dismissive grin as he filled his own cup, then turned his back to the counter and leaned against it. One sip, two sips down, and he listened to the ideas and input of his fellow Paradoxes, people with whom he had trained for well over a year now. They had to learn to trust and rely upon one another. Now was as good as any time for that. [color=cd5c5c]"A'ight..."[/color] he said, pausing just long enough to to take another sip from his cup. [color=cd5c5c]"Here's what I think: I'm thinkin' we need to play this straight an' honest. Miss Sophia here's our best source of info on these folks, and we [i]all[/i] (them an' us) got some kinda power or another, right? How do we know they ain't listenin' in too? On invisible an' in this room right now? Or lookin' in some goddamn crystal ball, takin' down notes? I'm sayin' we keep honest, even if that means we tell them we don't wanna talk about most stuff."[/color] He nodded, [color=cd5c5c]"In case they know anyways."[/color] James's eye caught something left out on the counter near him, causing him to immediately perk up his spirits with an exclamation of, [color=cd5c5c]"Ooh, Raisin bread! Hot damn!"[/color] 

	Through a hastily acquired mouthful of the former-grape enhanced baked good and a wag of his thumb back to Andromeda, he continued, [color=cd5c5c]"Andy's right, right? Gil gotta approve what we doin', 'fore we do it. Least he gotta know. But we need to know more 'bout these people first, like them muthafuckas,"[/color] he pointed toward the window in the general direction of the carnival, [color=cd5c5c]"...know 'bout us somehow."[/color] He had a thought, [color=cd5c5c]"It's like, umm... We all the Avengers an' the X-Men, okay? (Dibs on Wolverine, just sayin'.) [i]We[/i] can do stuff, [i]they[/i] can do stuff, but it ain't always gonna be right. Or nice. Maybe they even gotta do somethin' that don't make sense to us. Difference is, we don't know if'n they're the good guys, and they sure as hell ain't talkin'. But they guests here. They need to [i]start[/i] talkin'. Fore I go all Piggy Badass upside they asses. With me?"[/color] 

	[color=cd5c5c]"An' the [i]first damn thang[/i] needs to be a point blank question why they interested in Peter's grave. I didn't know the man, not a stitch, but he was one of what we are, right? That's the kinda question needs askin', 'cause it sounds like it might could be damn disrespectful."[/color] His mind experiencing the occasional sporadic moment, James spotted the toaster, and the fresh butter next to it. Putting two an two together with the raisin bread, he hastily added to his extended commentary, [color=cd5c5c]"In like, five minutes. Seven tops."[/color]