[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3239da2d-aeb9-49eb-abf8-d7d6b44a7527.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=darkgoldenrod][b]Location:[/b][/color] Athribis (Underground)
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Observation [/center][hr][hr]

	Senility is a horrible thing, especially in one who had lived a life as momentous as the Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone. Indeed, the wondrous and varied things that the man had experienced in both his long career as a frontline officer, and later a Knight of the Skies in the service of King and Country; not to mention the wealth of education stored underneath his cap and the nobility bred into him as a member of the Aristocracy. Throughout his time serving in the African Campaigns of the last century and start of this one, he was exposed to the wisdoms of the native peoples there. One such pearl he'd heard oft quoted but never fully appreciated the meaning thereof until this very second was [i]"When an old man dies, a library burns to the ground."[/i] It seemed to Reginald that, instead of his library burning down, the books might have been checked out in huge stacks and simply never returned, leaving him with an embittered old soul inside who kept constantly telling visitors to [i]"shush!"[/i], despite their best efforts to help. 

	To wit, after a brief exchange with their more increasingly combative Gene resulting in a bit of a saliva-based faux pas, Reginald reached for his pocket handkerchief. He was a gentleman after all, more important a concept in the face of adversity than in times of ease. Before his hand fully clasped the item in question within his pocket, Reginald started to hear voices. He'd heard of people with this difficulty. I was more common in the Service than many were led to believe, some instances horrifyingly bad and others completely benign. Even helpful. But the good Lord Major was pretty sure that any voice featuring his late nephew, now apparently dead twice (and burnt to a crisp to boot), was not a symptom of decent mental stability. 

	Reginald forced his mind to make recollections of things from the past, long ago and much more recently, to ensure that his brain was still functioning as it should. He even ran a couple of mathematical equations common to engineering with random numbers that popped into his head. Memory was fine, reasoning was fine, he seemed to have a grasp on reality. The problem was, reality didn't quite have the same firm hold upon him. The Lord Major perked an eyebrow up, twitching his vision toward the ceiling. [color=b8860b]"I say,"[/color] he said in quiet voice, regarding the gradual fading away of the stone and earth above them, [color=b8860b]"...it might be coming time for me to retire..."[/color] Such a thing was a anathema to the Lord Major. Retirement was for those who had give up the possibility of dying in glorious service. Or those who had become more a danger to his troop than he had a right to be.

	The attempt at gathering the kerchief was halted, instead his hand found the flask in his pocket. With practiced motions, he one-handed the cap from it and took a pull, then put it deftly away. In a voice that was far more calm that it had a right to be, Reginald inquired of the group, [color=b8860b]"Quaint curiosity, mind you; but does anyone else detect the ceiling evaporating away before their very eyes?"[/color] He gave a determined nod, [color=b8860b]"I believe that time may be a factor."[/color] 


[center][hr][hr][h1][i][b][color=bdb76b]Haring Reddish[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0601b69e-741d-4a58-84ce-2a2d876a43a3.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=darkkhaki][b]Location:[/b][/color] Benha (Sun Deck) 
[color=bdb76b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Corporal Reddish's face began to contort with something that resembled exaggerated confusion as Mosi spoke. It was the oddest sort of conversation from her end, both argumentative and agreeing with him in the same span of breath. But not just a "Yay" or "Nay" to one side, the other, then both; but actual reasoning behind either possible side of the equation with no small amount of supposition added in for good measure, while out there in the distance, whatever it was was [i]still moving[/i]. Reddish began to wonder about the implications of continuing the conversation with her. Not to get him wrong, he was ever the fan of lively debate on a subject, if he felt passionate enough to study into it but detached enough not to take the challenge personally, but he'd seen more than plenty so far that reminded him of the uncertainties of war. Chief among this was that, if one wishes to continue breathing and does not have safe spot to jump into, [i]one keeps moving[/i]. 

	Then came the voices. Of course they did. First the Lord Captain, then Mr. Benaszewski. Having processed a lot of this paperwork himself, Reddish was fairly certain that at least one of them was dead. It was also possible that one might see a tiny twitching of his eyelid as his brain struggled to process things. 

	Briefly, ever so briefly, Reddish's memory flashed back to a time long in his history. He had blackened his face with burnt cork and had just crept into an earthwork defense set up by the Teutonic peoples of Europe, with whom he shared a bloodline. It had been four days since he had eaten anything, and things were looking pretty desperate. There was this fuzzy orange tomcat that helped keep the rats at bay in his trench that they had set up as a sort of mascot. The hour he had considered roasting and eating the little bastich to relieve the pain in his stomach, it was time. That time happened to coincide with a smell of searing meat wafting in from across the battlefield. Later that night, he returned to his trench with a ham under his arm and covered in the blood of seventeen different men, none of whom he bore any personal animosity. You did what you had to do to survive. Period. 

	Reddish blinked it away just in time to hear Mosi's assessment of Vera fraying at the edges. He didn't see a bit of it, though he felt a bit frayed around the edges himself. Even if something [i]was[/i] happening, there wasn't thing he could do about it. Reddish took a cursory step toward the stairs, saying, [color=bdb76b]"One bullet might not. Twenty might, I'd bloody wager. I'm after supplies, who's with me?"[/color] Truth being that he would be an unprincipled cad to leave these women without defense, sans Josephine's pistol. Either way, he would be guilty of breaking some form of code of gentlemanly behavior, so he did rather wish they joined him. Sadly, he was still blissfully unaware of Vera's status at the moment, though gave her some regard for the moment's hesitation to check for himself again.