[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=a0522d]Gilbert Summers[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/2d5702c8-fbbe-4a46-a9f6-87334c420d5b.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=sienna]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 -> Backyard Area) 
[b][color=a0522d]Skills:[/color][/b] Emendator Knowledge/Perception [hr][/center]

	Dipping back into the mostly reliable pool of knowledge of human history and events as the should have been throughout the various timelines gave Gilbert only a sense of unsatisfying blankness. Yes, the Great Goose Egg of usable, relatable knowledge on the topic at hand had reared its ugly head, giving Gilbert just as any answers about the utter, blatant uncertainty falling around his ears as he had naught but an hour before. Whether the others in the room were aware of it or not, Gil was absolutely filled with the same level of frustration about their situation as the other were, including the Paradoxes. He sat with a lack of presentable options to a problem that seemed to grow worse by the second, and moreover without the wherewithal to begin solving them. Giving this ample consideration, Gil lifted his eyes and looked about the room, curious as to [i]WHY THE FUCK EVERYONE WAS GOING TO BED[/i].

	He stood, glancing about to see who exactly was still left and giving marginal thought to planting those who weren't into the ground with only their heads above the soil like so many human cabbages, when a ripple of concussive energy shook them all. His mouth stood agape, as he was about to yell something Gilbertish and without discernible use of contractions at its onset. With the look of a marathon boxer about to enter a late, punishing round of fisticuffs, Gilbert strode toward the door leading to the hallway, around the back of the Main House, and toward the direction of where he the ripple seemed to originate: The Swamp. Whatever fresh hell awaited them all was going to get a more than fair amount of attention from him. 

	
[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=cd5c5c]James Grady[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/110f59a7-f09e-40d4-b96a-9754fb285add.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=indianred]Location:[/color][/b] Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 209 -> Backyard Area)
[b][color=cd5c5c]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Well, far be it for James to take a single moment for himself in the proper memorial of a good friend, a lady who he had known for two lives now, a prolific drinker of tequila and lover of hot sauce. Yes, it was a little stereotypical of her, considering her culture of birth, but to hell with the naysayers! Tequila kicked ass. So did hot sauce. But that wasn't really the main topic swirling about in his head at that point in time. No, this was the finite nature of life, even one with the potential that this Paradoxical one had. It could end. It [i]did[/i] end for Alicia, and also Alexandra, apparently. But the odd Russian lady just wasn't as close to him as Taco Belle was. 

	Oh yes, that one, single moment for him to pay respects. James had just slipped the Santa Muerte cameo back around his neck and was taking another hard pull from the bottle of tequila when the world around him seemed to give an extended hiccup. James fell to a sitting position on Alicia's bed, simultaneously spit-taking half of the dram that was mid-swallow. Coughing, he looked down at the bottle, hacking out, [color=cd5c5c]"Hot [i]dayum[/i] that packa punch!"[/color] 

	His free hand rose to his face, wiping the droplets of burning booze that trickled from his nose. [color=cd5c5c]"That... that you, girl?"[/color] he inquired to the air around him. He looked over at the statue of Santa Muerte in the room. A quiet whisper addressed the image of Sainted Death Herself, [color=cd5c5c]"I'm sorry... was, um... was this f'you?"[/color] He then felt immensely stupid. This was something that happened inside of the Destrehan Plantation grounds, outside of this room. Like a plane crashed or something. It seemed to come from behind the house. Without bothering to set anything down or wipe his face further, James exited the room, made his way downstairs, and poked around outside. 

	[color=cd5c5c]"Um, that you, Mr. Hat?"[/color] he said, finding Gilbert just coming outside as well. 

		[color=sienna]"Yes, Mr. Grady. [i]Thank you for joining us.[/i]"[/color] 

	[color=cd5c5c]"Hey, slow y'roll, Boss! I said I was coming back. For real!"[/color]

		[color=sienna]"Is that Alicia's tequila?"[/color] 

	[color=cd5c5c]"Umm... yeah,"[/color] he admitted sheepishly. James walked fully into the backyard area, joining the Emedator. 

		[color=sienna]"Excellent. I could use a drink."[/color] He held his hand out and accepted the bottle, took a respectable pull, and handed it back. [color=sienna]"Thank you. It came from [i]that way[/i],"[/color] he informed, pointing toward the Swamp. Gilbert continued forward. James followed close behind.