Morose

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Nora Kingston

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Location: Egyptian Museum

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Nora looked up in surprise, seeing the Lady Munn stumble her way over towards her. She fancied that the woman might have gotten her shoes caught on the edge of her trousers, though to be truthful, she hadn't the faintest notion why Vera had the brief lapse in grace. Her sister, Esther, was remarkably clumsy herself, and Nora found no shame to be had in it. It was simply natural for some individuals.

The sincerity of Vera's statement startled Nora slightly, though she didn't allow it to show across her features. Her father tended to admonish her for the suggestions of her theories, since he proscribed to the theory that women, if they spent too much of their energy thinking and learning, would lose reproductive capacity. He only begrudgingly allowed Nora to study and learn as she had lost any reproductive ability long ago, before she was even old enough to understand its societal and cultural ramifications.

"I must apologize in advance, Lady Munn, this is not at all my area of expertise," Nora began, bowing her head slightly. "I am most familiar with advanced mathematics if I am to be quite honest, but it strikes me as rather strange that we might venture to Bubastis. If these apparitions are the work of a goddess....why, I see no reason her cult would ever expire? It seems logical and fitting to me that some chapter may still exist, perhaps at our present location of Cairo, and that the change of location was a necessity due to some factor beyond me that I am quite certain experts such as yourself are well versed in, such as geological conditions or warfare."

Stopping in her explanation, Nora realized--quite consciously--that it was the most she had spoken in front of this group of people. Certainly, the social climate was quite odd and irregular, but she had retained her decorum to the best of her ability. Rather than blurting her ideas or engaging in provocative activities, she had kept her British sensibility about her. Smiling delicately at the Lady Munn, Nora fully expected to hear that her ideas and notions were wrong.

"But, if I may beg your pardon, are we operating under the assumption that there may be some clue as to the relocation of the goddess' cult at the ruins?"

She did suppose that such a scenario could prove to be fruitful. While not well versed in archaeology, it made sense to Nora that actions and movement might be found preserved in some shape or fashion. However, she did wish that instead of being asked complex questions about the movement of societies, she was instead asked to evaluate an improper integral, a rather simple and soothing task that calmed Nora down as much as a cup of tea.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

And up!

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

Imma draft a post now to not focus on the election, will post once done

🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed)

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Dorothy Pender

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Location: Crash Site

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Dorothy kept her face guarded as Genevieve claimed to be lethal up close. She liked the girl, she really did, but she was awfully childlike. Eventually, the day would come where they would have to fight for their lives--and Dorothy had little faith that Genevieve would be able to accomplish too much. There was a difference between knowing the techniques of fighting and being able to actually fight. Theory didn't match up with application as much as it may seem to. Dorothy knew countless recruits who were textbook perfect, and they were killed all the same.

She didn't want that to happen to Genevieve--or to Daphne, for that matter, but she knew her sister was already battle tested. Their upbringing had seen to that. Once Genevieve and Daphne left, Dorothy contented herself with handing the occasional tool to Gideon, taking off her coat and enjoying the slight coolness that came with that. She knew that she was hard on her sister--but she was hard on everyone.

Handing tools to Gideon as he asked for them, Dorothy kept her mind focused on the task, though she was slightly worried about the Captain still. Poisoning wasn't something that everyone could shake off, and with their luck today, there would be more danger shortly to follow.

Children of Arkham Asylum

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Folly Quinzel

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Location: Arkham Asylum (Isolation Ward)
Day of the Week: Wednesday

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Do you know the way blood pours out of an open wound? It isn't the way you see in the movies, the high pressure spray of a faucet, and the subsequent screams. No, blood doesn't pour as much as it pushes. The strokes of the blade drag the blood like water, flinging it in various directions--but the blood itself is passive, merely brought along for the ride. When the Joker slit Folly's throat, his arm guided the blood as it flew and hit the ground, with a thud too quiet for anyone but insects to register.

Trapped in the room with the Joker, Folly saw her blood on the floor, and she screamed, her hands reaching up to her neck to frantically put pressure on a psychosomatic wound. As Folly pulled away her spotless hands, she saw the blood, and she screamed again, convinced she was near death. The fact that she would hardly be able to scream if blood was flowing deeply from her neck escaped the girl. The room seemed to be spinning, with enemies and dangers no matter where she looked. Her hands shaking and clammy, Folly held her head, rocking back and forth as she attempted to come to turns with any reality.

"He's in my head!" Folly cried. "Get him out, out, out!"

But the phantom of the Clown Prince of Crime continued to spin circles around her, and while it was all inside her mind, it didn't make it any the less real. As the windows of the asylum were shattered, Folly was pulling her own hair out, scratching and clawing in a desperate attempt to make the voice leave her alone. It told her to do terrible things--to kill, to torture, to destroy...

By the time Folly ceased screaming, she found herself alone, in a part of Arkham that she didn't recognize. Having no notion of how she got there, Folly tentatively tried to door, only to find herself locked inside. No matter how much she threw her weight against it, it refused to budge. Gulping, Folly looked at the dried blood on her hands, a result of her frantic and paranoid movements that brought her there. Marygold and the others were nowhere to be found.

Glancing around the room with slow, jittery, and cautious movements, Folly spied a glowing redness in the recesses of the cell. Reaching into her pocket, she realized that her phone had been abandoned in the chaos, and with the sound of the siren in the distance, she knew that Arkham would be surrounded by the police before long. It was high alert.

"You're a crazy ass bitch, aren't you?" a voice in the darkness asked. "Get that from your mama."

"Who...Who are you?" Folly asked, walking backwards, only to find herself trapped. There was no way that she could see to escape the cell, and unable to glimpse the figure in the dark, Folly assumed the worst. The Joker must have orchestrated the entire scheme, an elaborate way to get revenge upon Folly--but revenge for what? Revenge for existing?

"My friends call me Floyd."

Abandoned Hope - Concluded

@Pundii On day 7

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

Yeah, I'm waiting on @Sigil and @Scallop before I can post for Cecily and Tuesday.

Abandoned Hope - Concluded

@Pundii On day 6

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Nora Kingston

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Location: Egyptian Museum

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The array of personalities in the room were so far flung from British standards of social etiquette, Nora briefly wondered for a moment if she had given up on the possibility of an exciting and thrilling life far too soon. However, her hopes were squashed when the superficiality of her companions reared its ugly head. Mr. Drake appeared to be obsessed with courting Lady Munn in a most undignified manner, as well as displaying a proclivity for earning money as quickly and efficiently as possible, regardless of the social ramifications. That in itself was enough to make Nora skeptical of the man, but she did not regret her favorable words she had uttered about him mere moments ago. That was the way it was done in England--and while you could take the uptight girl out of England, you couldn't take England out of the uptight girl.

But Lady Munn appeared to return Mr. Drake's affections! It shocked Nora to hear Lady Munn utter the suggestive phrase, and she quickly looked elsewhere, as to not show disrespect for the Egyptologist. Standards in Cairo were so greatly different from back in England, she couldn't help but be reminded each time any person uttered any speech. And with the starlet obsessed with her makeup and the journalist comparing them all to cattle, Nora began to wonder if she perhaps might have been better looking through her father's journal articles for answers as to the mysterious branding.

A gun will not stop a phantom, Nora thought, yet she did not open her mouth. The notion that a gun could prevent an invisible and violent force from further acts of branding was ludicrous. Even she, one who had avoided the idea of the mystical her entire life, had to concede to that. There were things stranger than fiction, and this, this was a matter of that sort. As the Lord Major referenced the voice from his dream, Nora jotted the phrase down quietly onto her notepad. It was the first time she had been offered a translation of the mysterious summons in her dream, as she regretted her inability to speak to local language. It had been improper enough for her to learn mathematics--her father would simply not hear of her learning Egyptian in any form.

Perhaps the site has moved, the capitals shifted and expanded, Nora pondered, attempting to mentally answer the Lord Major's question. Certainly there were multiple cult centers--perhaps there is an unknown one at our present location. However, she felt her answers lacked grace or qualifications, and simply decided to defer to the Lady Munn's judgment. After all, what other options were available to a quiet girl from England, constrained by social customs and a life she found no pleasure in?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Jack Hudson

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Location: Center West End of the Outer Wall

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Jack nodded, whistling 99 Balloons to him as they got to work. He handed the 'snips' over to Bridgette, after pausing for a brief moment to figure out which of the tools she was referring to. It had been ages since he had to even think about those sort of tools, having gotten by with mostly the necessities during the shitstorm that ended the world as he knew it. At Bridgette's exclamation, he ceased his whistling.

"I guess so," Jack agreed, not entirely convinced it was the best joke to be made. Making references to old movies was one thing--but wishing that Leo was in the same mess as the rest of them? Jack hoped that the son of a bitch was long dead, that way he wouldn't have to be in this world. The less people that had to live through the apocalypse, the better. And while it was selfish of him, he wanted Tatiana to stay alive. It may have been a hell they were in, but he couldn't go through with it alone. And the thought of being turned into one of them terrified him too much, keeping him from simply giving up ages ago. "Hammah and pliahs comin' up," Jack said, glad for the change of pace in the conversation. He handed them to Bridgette, nodding at her request.

"If you don't mind me askin', but what did this?" Jack asked, shifting his weight slightly. "A walkah couldn't have done this--and with all the secuhity...It looks like we aren't alone here, are we?" Wiping away a bit from sweat from his forehead, a blessing and a curse of the Georgia heat and humidity, Jack glanced up at the wall once more, eyeballing the fortifications of the settlement.

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Édouard Riviere

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Location: Heard County High School (Franklin)

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Just as Lyon was ready to launch into a speech, so was Édouard. With mood swings that rivaled the stereotypical pregnant woman, he was currently pumped up with indignation and rage. The cocktail served to only bring out the worst qualities in him--not that he had very many decent qualities, of course. Most who tried to think up something admirable about le chou came up with nothing, instead standing by awkwardly, and nodding as he sung his own praises.

"Ça peut-être une leçon?" Édouard scoffed, rolling his eyes. He hadn't even bothered to look up and see the child, just listening to Lyon frantically speaking in English, right after the scolding about helping other people. Glancing up, Édouard spotted the feeble body of the child, and he paused for a moment, carefully considering his course of action. The first option was the most obvious and most appealing one. While they were all distracted, he could stroll out of the settlement, and be on his merry way.

The second one, Édouard realized with a sigh, would require work. He would have to do something for the kid, like cleaning up the OR, or helping with whatever medical attention he needed. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the first decision became, until he realized he was absolutely clueless as to how to leave Franklin without Lyon noticing. And how could he exact his revenge if he just left? There were so many people that needed to learn the meaning of respect--he couldn't teach them that if they left.

His eyes fell on the mess of the OR again, and he almost pouted, thinking about all of the effort it would take. Looking behind him subconsciously for Félix, in order to tell his bodyguard to clean up the mess for him, Édouard nearly pounded his fist on the ground. It seemed there would be no way out of this. He would have to put in....effort. Wrinkling his nose, Édouard rose to his feet, grabbed the rag, and actually cleaned the OR.

It was a Christmas miracle.

Translations

Ça peut-être une leçon? = Is that supposed to be a lesson?