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1 yr ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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3 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Vladimir Alexandrov



Location: Gretna Green, Church
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English



When the Grand Duchess speaks, it is he obligation of those in the service to her family to listen, and if appropriate, to fulfill the desires thereof. And so, with a sly smile and the bow of his head, Vladimir sheathed his knives and stepped over to the fallen form of Ludwig, now laying across a wooden pew. "As you are commanding, Grand Duchess," he said with a flourish. Indeed, looking upon the scene it was obvious, especially to an experienced performer. This would not do. Even if he was in an adequate place for the purification of spirit, the scene was set all wrong. There was no presentation value, no panache here. Elizaveta was correct, naturally. So Vlad hauled the the former Ludwig over his shoulder and placed it with as much respect as he could give to a wrapped and bound cadaver onto the altar. Vladimir had seen this before, many times. This was going to be quite the show for those present who had not yet borne witness.

As soon as the body was deposited upon the altar, something clicked in Vlad's brain. Though it was a little out of the prearranged order, he had a gift to give and now seemed like the time for it, as those in the know or just those with a healthy dose of life-sustaining paranoia already felt, there were otherworldly shenanigans afoot. They would all need to be at their best, and best equipped. "For please excusing me, Your Grace. The Arming, you see."

He looked back to the rear of the church, or nearabouts, where he left his great, black Brivaldi horse, Tolstoy(!). There was still something that technically did not belong to him upon the tack, nestled among the lighter travel gear of a hasty departure. It was a large black shawl, covered in bright floral patterns. It was beautiful and glided in the wind just so. But the large, pretty shawl was not the most immediate concern, it was what lay within. Vlad retrieved the package and placed it at the feet of Millicent. "Vas for 'vedding present'. Am thinking you need now, eh?" He rose and began checking his own armament, walking back over to Elizaveta should he be needed. "Vill need scarf back!"
Dr. Swamp
β‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Ž
Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
β‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Ž


"You are quite the devious one, aren't you?" both questioned and observed Dr. Swamp. A slow smile spread across his face as he began to regard the Chanteuse in a new light. Metaphorically speaking of course, as the existing light sources were barely adequate for his work in the first place. The dim light, then. And as they both stood in that dimmer illumination of the Laboratory, Swamp raised his hands and began to softly clap in the air in front of him softly, as one might when entertaining polite behavior in an opera. "Bravo, Amaranthine. Bravo," he said earnestly.

The Doctor did not know if poking around the place would be conducive to building or maintaining a strong working relationship with the masters of the House, a thing which seemed to be in a state of flux at the moment but nonetheless a desired status for Swamp. There were certain facts that made staying put potentially undesirable, however. Certain lines of thought that, when carried to their logical conclusion, made staying put a liability. If the mystery of their presence was to be solved by people who actually wished to puzzle it out, keeping vertical became the priority. It was going to be a long winter, and that was only the most favorable of outcomes in this quagmire of a situation. At the very least, knowing other ways to move throughout the building would be of immense service in case maneuvering in the relative darkness became necessary.

Swamp toweled his gloved hands and took up his cane. He regarded the satchel of tools on the worktable for a moment, considering the appropriateness of them, but instead picked up a lamp. It was more practical, things considered. "Very well. I recommend we start here," he looked toward the nearest door, "and work in a clockwise fashion, if that suits you, Chanteuse." He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his coat and folded out the lapels; a practice almost as old as the style of coat itself, signifying that the labor necessary for its use has been suspended for the time being. A quaint custom in his field. He then hoisted the lamp and motioned toward the door. "If it pleases, of course."


Gilbert Summers

Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924
Skills: N/A


"Thank you for joining me; Andromeda, Bartholomew." said The Hat, walking in a determined manner. It had been a long while (even in the life of an Emendator) since he had been to this place, but the memories were coming back into crystalline focus. He passed from one section to another, curious to note what the ravages of time had done to the place yet impressed that it still stood as remarkably as it did. He passed by a mural, glancing at what was left of the faded and cracked image. He sighed audibly. "I liked this picture. It was so vibrant. Hmm." He shrugged, continuing onward.

Addressing the question posed to him by Andromeda, Gilbert said simply, "I do not know that the haze is following The Cards. I know only as much about this as you do, Andromeda." He grinned a little, taking in the fact that there were yet things he had not experienced. "Is that not extraordinary? I do so love the world sometimes. Such a brilliant place." He looked almost giddy, leading the two of them around to an adjacent room. "I wanted you to see this. How it is opened. In case something happens to me, or we are separated." He slid a panel on the wall to one side with a grinding sound, then rested his hand upon an oval cartouche underneath. The wall parted to reveal a simple stone staircase leading downward into a passage. "This is one of a number of tunnels that runs underneath Cairo now. It used to be part of a reaching network, but time... Time changes all things."

Faintly, he could hear the sounds of Cairo turning to the scary and almost riotous. "I can only assume that is not good news." Simultaneously, he could feel another Emendator-ish pull elsewhere, something not originating from Nancy. One thing at a time, though. See to the safety of his charges first. He closed the passage and reset the switch, advising, "Perhaps we should get back to the group."





James Grady

Location: Bazaar, Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924
Skills: Observation


James continued with his role of brain-addled manservant to the far paler and much more Caucasoid of feature Peter Keystone. In a heavily insulting way, it was appropriate for the time period; James a rural born and raised man of rich, mocha-mahogany complexion, his ancestors considered underclass by the ruling body of the era, whereas Peter Keystone was of alabaster tone, descended of persons with interesting surnames that came with title, handed to them by the ruling body of his era. Or more specifically, the exact era they were in right at that moment. But strangely, James was having a bit of fun with it. Even started to hum a little tune that turned into snatches of a song.

"Oooooohoho, day's never finished...
Master's got me working...
Someday master set me free... da-dum-dum dum-dum.


Him having a little fun at the growing discomfort of the elder Paradox notwithstanding, James was still staying to his actual role, that of acting as Peter's escort through the hustle and bustle of Cairo. Maybe even partly take his mind off of issues that had to be working his psyche. He couldn't even comprehend coming back to the site of his second traumatic death and not being rattled a little.

The fact that the haze followed them was admittedly disconcerting. Just because he had seen it before did not mean that he was used to it, nor that he wanted it around. The people of Cairo might have agreed with him at that point and this was all new to them. A little freak-out was natural. Even expected. And it even came with the extra added benefit of vastly reducing the cost of local wares with the applied Rioters' Discount. Still, he had to mess with Peter about it. "You kiddin' me, man? What, 'cause I'm a black man, I'm supposed to start lootin' the place just on account of a little apocalypse? C'mon, man! What, we all carry knives, too? Huh?"

James plastered on a faux offended expression and put his hand on his hips, intentionally brushing the handle of his one visible knife. Then he slapped a sizeable tool pocket along his leg where his other one was kept. "...shit." A big smile parted his face and he finally relented, "Gotcha! Aight, I'll hold the bag. You start shovin' shit in. We ain't got much time."



Reginald Keystone



Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A




Seeing yet another American emerge from the darkness reminded Reginald of some dreadful written work he had read years ago and mostly forgotten the details therein; yet the general plot consisted of some manner of loathsome replicating creature inhabiting the unrighteous or ribald members of the London underclass. In the story, they would slink around in dark places and prey upon the more genteel, educated persons of higher society. It was all a huge work of classist propaganda designed to make the middle and upper classes feel better about themselves and commit to virtuous lives, rather than take to slumming among their lessers. Nonetheless, the scene unfolding here was beginning to seriously tweak the Lord Major's sensibilities.

"St. Swithin's balding armhair! We haven't the time and I haven't the patience for this harlequinade and tomfoolery as we all bandy about pointlessly! All those who prefer lambasting one another with no clear end in sight may stand thusly whilst the remainder of us follow the educated lead of Miss Kingston." This was a time that he really wished their expedition leader, Vera, was present. This was technically a situation within which he had no previously agreed upon right to give orders.

"Miss Ridgeway, thank you for volunteering your service. It would be much appreciated. Do be careful." It was a piece of wisdom to have a representative back at the boat to protect their interests and keep their group traveling in the same direction at the same time, overall. "And as for you lot," he mentioned to the very recently arrived newcomers, "come along then. I shouldn't want you slinking about in the darkness to our rear. It should only serve to get yourselves trampled when we all begin running for our lives later on. Now, if there are any more of you, do have them show themselves. Mr. Zalil, thank you so much for your considered opinion and I am sure it was a misunderstanding. Miss Benaszewski, please continue protecting us as only you can." Reginald cleared his throat, and continued in a more personable tone, "Now... I shall follow the lead of Miss Kingston. Miss Kingston? Please, at your leisure. Let us continue away from this depressing location."



Haring Reddish



Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: N/A




A bit of color made Reddish's face ...reddish, after Josephine made the grateful but otherwise generally commonplace gesture of giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. You'd have thought he was a bashful schoolboy by his reaction, which bordered upon the positively shy. The otherwise brash yet stalwart Corporal stuttered through a reaction statement, "I, ah, that is to say I um... Think nothing of it, ah, Miss Clar..." A goofy, satisfied smile was plastered across his face as he stepped backward, his legs apparently having trouble keeping his body upright. Reddish's head swam back and forth ever so slightly and his eyes began to flutter. For all intents and purposes, it looked like that kiss, possibly coupled with his earlier head trauma, was putting his lights right back out.

Reddish slumped back onto the wall behind him, his smile never leaving his face. He began to slowly slide down, content in the entirety with his life in that second, until the sudden cry of Vera seemingly roused him like a spike of adrenaline. The Corporal immediately gumby'ed his body back to a ready, fully standing position, the blush and smile transforming into a steely, clear-eyed vision of aggressive duty. It might not be his task in any official capacity, but Reddish had some Corporaling to do.

"Right-o! Mission continues, then. We've the name of the person occupying this stateroom and the recovery of the watch and book, to things which had to have been taken separately and thusly points to either a conspiracy or a person targeting our group, unless I've missed an option. Lady Munn, if you would please share, what does the missing bit contain? P'raps it may provide a clue as to the intentions of our assailants." The Corporal had a way of altering his observable personality depending upon the situation. It was either a talent or a mental illness, one could hardly tell sometimes.



Ash Holloway

Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A




"Deal with it", huh? Oh yes, Ash could very much deal with it. There was a nigh epic amount of dealing that he was doing with the situation, starting with wrapping his arms around Thana as she climbed into his lap and settled in. It was a highly satisfying feeling, just holding her after so long a time without her, and more recently being absolutely certain that she was dead. Yeah, this was as good as a miracle, so far as he was concerned. Tiny moments of bliss were few and far between.

Their miracle even lasted for a painfully short time before they were interrupted by the imposing presence of Mizrahi and his insistence that Thana eat something. Curiously though, he spoke to Ash, telling him that it had been days since her last meal. This made him quirk a brow. Was Mizrahi letting him know this to be helpful, perhaps to get someone on his side to also suggest that Thana eat? Was it an attempt to keep them from being so close together? He did seem a little jealous to Ash, or maybe possessive. At the very least, he seemed not to trust Ash. All of that would have to be a later conversation. He could see this becoming a man to man talk sometime down the road. Or possibly a fistfight. He didn't know the guy, and the guy obviously did not know him.

The fact remained that, pushy though he was, Mizrahi made a point. Hopefully, whatever Thana said to him in Arabic was also a point, though he wouldn't have known it. His knowledge of Arabic was limited to his time in the Middle East with the Army, and all he picked up there was how to recognize that it was being spoken, and there was just about where it ended. Ash did know that Thana was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions about how to take care of herself, and if she wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and spend a quiet moment with him instead of eating, that was her call.

"I'm glad you had someone watching your back out there," said Ash softly. It was a true statement, even though the tall man seemed determined to dislike Ash. He continued in a low, gentle voice, "I'm not going anywhere if you feel like eating. Even grab it for you if you don't want to move. I'll hold you like this all day if you let me, Thana." The information dump would have been fresh on his mind, as well as the pictures and reports he saw in Briefing, but her presence allowed him to put it, and potentially the weight of responsibility, in the back of his mind for a little while. But more than that, taking everything else away, Ash just wanted her close.



Thalia Carmichael

Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A



This workout just got a little more interesting. Thalia stopped at the apex of her pushup and slowly gathered a foot underneath her, rising with muscles tensed and predatory gaze as if contemplating lunging at Beatrice immediately. Thalia had a sheen of perspiration on her skin, though her breathing was still even. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth that began to show teeth. She looked positively devious.

Thalia didn't say anything for a while, contemplating the offer. She took in a deep breath and blew it out, reviewing her situation. She was getting stronger. Not exactly her old self as recovery could take a while and, among other traumas, she had lost her dominant hand and almost half her arm. But the looked to Thana as a beacon of inspiration in that regard. The woman had gone through intense trauma, died even, and was back up and kicking in record time. One could aspire. One had to. Hence, the extensive, hard-hitting training she had been subjecting herself to since arrival.

She began to nod, popping the fingers on her left hand individually with her thumb before wrapping her hand around and returning her thumb the favor. It was a tiny concession made for losing a limb. Thalia then held her prosthetic hand in front of her, manually extending each of the digits and then closing them back with soft, metallic clacking sounds. Like the arm itself it was artificial, but an eerily fitting representation of cracking her knuckles. It brought a single chuckle to the already present grin, which soon faded. Okay. Get serious.

Tactically speaking, she was at a disadvantage in the regard that she had always been a manual dexterity monster, and being deprived of one of her "manuals" made that harder. However, she had a spanking new arm to compensate, at least for balance. Any dexterity had to be planned out days in advance. On the other hand, the arm couldn't feel and was essentially a painful blunt weapon mounted on the end of her stump. Also, recent years had given her more options than agile hands. Thalia had always been an improvisational fighter, and the Valkyries taught her combat options that relied more on her physicality. If there was any real problem, it was that if she sparred with Beatrice, she'd be swinging a steel club at her face. Thalia liked Bea's face. It would be a shame to damage it. Okay, choice made.

"Alright, Killah Bea. You're on." She eyed the can of yummy pasta, but shook her head to the negative. "But it's naht gonna be for that. Let's bring the stakes up some." She had intended to decline respectfully. Opening her mouth, the words came out with a lot more spontaneous honesty than she had intended. Thalia loved to spar. She was a fighter, if she was going to learn how to fight with her new, amended body, she needed to start here. Beatrice knew the risks. Holding back with her would just be insulting. They might not be the best of ...whatever they were to each other, but there was always respect there.

"If I win, you have to give me a hug. A good one. In front of people." She had plans for those Os that didn't involve mere acquisition. That would deprive her of her fun. "If you win... hmm. Open to suggestions." Thalia slipped out of her shirt and began wrapping it around her metal hand. It was something, at least. Thalia stood there in jeans and a sports bra, her skin glowing from her warm-up and a determined look in her eyes. "Yah know, I really don't care about stakes. I just want to mix it up." It had been a while. And it would do her good to see Beatrice sweat.



Hank Wright

Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A



Did he miss him? What an odd question. Hank copped a half surprised, half revolted face, as if Nigel had asked him out to the prom. It looked a little like he might be exaggerating it for effect, or just faking it altogether, but that didn't stop the stiff lean away from the man. "Just grab you a seat there, Sportacus, and we will never speak of this again." Hank nodded somberly, "Oooookay?" Quarantine was almost over, and even though he had been antisocial to the extreme for the vast majority of their time in there, he didn't really have any hard feelings for the people in that room. Maybe watching this movie, a crowd favorite if ever he saw one, would be the one thing that he could look back on as something they all did together. Even if it mostly involved sitting and looking in he same direction, commentary optional.

After the Roman fellow took is seat on the floor, Hank gave a quick verbal nudge to get his attention, "Psst... Hey, you're alright, alright? Alright. Movie now." That was about as warm and fuzzy as he really felt like being. Nigel and Erica were their companions on the last leg of their journey down to this place, and while they could have gotten there okay as a duo, it wasn't all bad having extra bodies around. Especially when they made themselves useful.

Touching moment (or reasonable facsimile thereof) aside, Hank caught a snatch of conversation from somewhere off to the side. He turned his head slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself as he, well, tried to eavesdrop. It was the young slip of a woman who put soldierboy on his ass and the one-armed girl with the pixie cut who had been pushing herself like racehorse all week. "Oh thank you, sweet mother of God..." he said at a whisper. "Hey Maldonado? Chick Fight." Hank really wished he had a bag of popcorn right then.



Caesar & Keystone


Location: Grimm Indiana (El Asilo/The Nuthouse!)
Skills: General Observation
Skills: General Observation, Security Procedures



Caesar was very "on the warpath" as he made his way down the discolored and neglected stairwell. The illumination from his flashlight was steady enough, allowing for enough of a forward visual to navigate the twisty path downward without mishap. The light clipped to his associate's coat was also helpful, though he really wished that they had a viable power source running into the building. Naturally, wishing doesn't equal doing, so flashlights and firearms it was. The concept of stealth was understandably abandoned; if the attempt of force on the door wasn't enough to alert anyone and everyone who was in the building, friend or foe, then the heavy caliber firearm discharge in the hallway sure as hell was.

Let it never be said that the day wasn't full of surprises. Not just the mists, or the sudden bent of insanity that had him screaming off into an abandoned Asylum in search of his dead daughter, nor even the sudden appearance of people he hadn't seen in a while magically and very coincidentally appearing right in front of him so very far away from home. Now, the next piece of random oddness came from below - as he yelled PAPI'S HERE (a sure sign that was in fact present), he got a response he really wasn't expecting, someone essentially warning him to watch his step. Caesar wasn't sure if he recognized the voice or not, but one thing was for sure: This place had some kind of a drawing factor, maybe even supernatural in nature.

The two of them were actually a little surprised when Cecily rightly pointed out the name to go with the voice. Riley. It meant little to Keystone, but for Ceasar, it pointed out yet another Justice, CA resident was here.

Meanwhile, Keystone had switched fully into "work mode", keeping his eyes on sweeping lines of sight, checking any points of access to the stairwell as they came to and as they moved away from them. He made constant head counts as they moved along and took to note the small details. Further, he kept his steps light and flowing, one foot over the other and his back to the walls as he took the outside track, keeping his pistol at a lowered ready. He was not overly enthused at now keeping tabs on two more people in addition to his possibly unstable boss. Lucky for him, one was a cop and he had history with the other one, so one could handle himself and the other he didn't mind watching over so much. All the same, it altered the his priorities in regards to securing the area while they moved. It was a far cry from the life he used to lead, that was for sure.

Any misgivings or doubts Keystone had about the foolish quest to entertain whatever spot of crazy had ahold of El Jefe got dashed to the rocks the moment that he turned that last corner and saw the mother of his son dangling from stair railings over a place where rusted out metal stairs used to be. Agreeing with Cecily's comment about living in a comic book, Keystone mumbled in awe, "Beginnin'ta think you're right, I am." While he wasn't frozen on the spot, he was taking a second to process the fact that a dead woman he knew very, very well was hanging from the railing in serious trouble.

Caesar, on the other hand, was a lot more sure about the situation. He shrugged off the cordura security pack he set aside for Alicia, grabbed the railing, and said in a clear, commanding voice, "M'hija, papi esta aqui. Te estamos sacando de este lugar.1 Okay?"







Vladimir Alexandrov



Location: Gretna Green
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English



Conversations kept swirling around Vladimir of which he was sadly not a part. Ordinarily very happy to be involved in the vocal comings and goings of persons both friend and stranger, today seemed to be an odd sort of day. Even for someone such as himself, today was unique. It wasn't every day that you had to drag a corpse to holy ground for a cleansing while a swirly haze of unknown origin made an entire town a little crazy. But then again, his entire adventure in England started with an evening of oddities. Vlad knew about oddities. They had several such attractions at the Circus.

On the same note, whomever was tending the church in this quaint Scottish town probably had never seen a gathering of foreigners (and a horse) quite this eclectic gather within their walls. So this was a horizon-expanding event all around. Vlad was happy to be a part of an edifying experience. He had other priorities at the moment, but it was nice anyway. Some of those priorities were headed to and/or entering the church at that point in time, prompting Vlad to nudge his Tolstoy(!) a bit further out of the way to safely admit the others. After he maneuvered the noble beast back, Vlad took a sharp look out of the church doors. это ΠΎΡ‚Π»ΠΈΡ‡Π½ΠΎ! Da, is excellent. However threads are coming together, are coming together! Ve make readying, da? Vhen Grand Duchess is here, she is making soul of fallen friend Ludvig purified. Ve..." he smiled a dangerous but gleeful smile, sliding two of his larger showpiece knives from his belt in an underhanded grip. He twirled them up between his fingers and then back down, both hands simultaneously, until they returned to their original position with the clear sound of steel slapping against calloused flesh. Vladimir then rolled his shoulders back, and craned his neck from side to side, eliciting a series of impressive join pops in the process. The smile still present, he continued, "Ve vill make sure she remains vithout interruption."
Dr. Swamp
β‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Ž
Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
β‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Žβ‰Ž


In that moment, several things happened in the room without the input or influence of the good Doctor. He regarded it objectively, with crossed arms and with an inquisitive look about his face. The again, he always did seem to have an inquisitive look in one form of another. It could be nothing. His big surprise of the evening (aside from getting shot) was seeing Amaranthine with her head in a bucket making the most interesting visceral noises. Really, it was magnificent the way her internals worked in full concert with one another, only to have the example of gastrointestinal gear-shifting waylaid by retching. But even in doing so, she demonstrated a superior mastery of her vocals. Some people couldn't pull it off quite as well as others. Swawmp carefully thanked the man for carrying his offer to the Lady of the Manor, and looked back to his impromptu lab assistant.

As help was sent for by the houseman, Quinton, Swamp found himself alone with the Chanteuse. It would not do for her to be in poor condition, not one bit. Perhaps, in his bag of tricks and esoteric ramblings, Swamp might have something more immediate to help out the young songbird in her hour of need. Naturally he would have to find out specifics of her ailment beforehand. Limping over to the woman, Swamp leaned over just a tad and spoke in the softer tone, "Ah, Amaranthine? If you would, perhaps I might be able to do something for you?" He leaned heavily upon his cane. The options at his disposal in the lab might not be the best ever, but the Doctor still might be able to find something to help out until Quinton returned.


Gilbert Summers

Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924
Skills: History, Military Tactics, Observation


An odd, somewhat amused look came over Gilbert as the others talked amongst themselves and made their plans. He quirked an eyebrow at Bartholomew's idea of possessing someone. It wasn't bad, really. If his ability to do that functioned in the same manner as others' he had seen, it would give him an immense advantage in whatever time or place he found himself. The moral implications were considerable though. As well as what might happen if it failed. Diplomatically, he offered, "As a last resort, Bartholomew. Though it is good to count that among our assets. Let us wait and see what the Paradoxes may find for us through more mundane methods first." Otherwise, Gil would have readily turned himself into a nondescript local and disappeared into the crowds of Cairo. Setting an example, and so forth.

But that was secondary to his thought process at the moment. The amused look came from a memory, its origin rooted long ago. He placed a hand on a nearby segment of wall and spoke aloud, "It has been a long time, and you were in much better condition. It is good to be back." He then turned and addressed the Paradoxes. "In no particular order," he began with a casual smile, "As soon as we stepped into this timeline we contacted Nancy. She can feel a pull to our presence just as we can feel a pull to hers. She is in country albeit possibly a long way off, and she knows that we are here. As for next course of action, I could not say. We must take what we learn and try to apply it, of course. Granted, we are in uncharted territory, so far as the Destruere are concerned. Unless we learn something game changing, I would prefer to take the fight to them." He shrugged. It was within his nature to try for a military solution, but recent centuries had found a slightly more mellowed Gilbert who was highly open to processing information before applying a hammer to a problem. "Certainly, I believe that we should return to the site of the last loop. The supplies there will be invaluable, whatever our next move may be.

His grin intensified, "But to the present. While Peter and James are finding us clothing and supplies, I will be re-familiarizing myself with this fortress. The original owner invited me here, once upon a time." He gave a short laugh and continued, shaking his head, "She thought I was a demon, at first. A demon. I found that hilarious, but many others were already calling he that, I suppose she just wanted to make sure. My name is even mentioned in some religious texts to that effect. But that is a story for another time. The engineers of the time were the best in the world. This place is highly defensible if intact and has a network of tunnels and corridors that modern scholars have not found yet. Who knows what else might lay undiscovered here? I am going to uncover entrances to these tunnels, and whatever else I can find along the way. If they have not collapsed, our options will have increased." He turned and began to walk, speaking aloud, "Who is coming?"





James Grady

Location: Following Peter to Bazaar
Skills: Observation


It was an interesting thing that James was doing, essentially acting as an incognito bodyguard for a more senior Paradox as they strolled through a city he'd never been to several decades before he was actually born. The thought occurred to him that he knew where almost all of his family was (that being the American Southeast) in this era, so if he happened to have some sort of illicit rendezvous in the meantime, no one could point at him and start singing the "I Am My Own Grandpa" song. So that was a stretch of a hypothetical comfort. Then he remembered that part of the tradeoff of being dead, or a Paradox anyway, was that he couldn't have kids. So no matter where he was, it was all good. Of course, not wanting to have a bonafide Joe Dirt moment, it was probably best to either tuck things away and think of baseball, or remain willfully ignorant of the situation as a whole.

It was about this time that James stopped and considered slapping himself. What the hell kind of a train of horrifying logic was this, that was leaping unbidden into his mind? Seriously, where was it coming from? He sighed. It had been a rough transition, especially when he shifted into a boar the first time. Not his definition of fun. Being exposed to many different facets of human life was a mind-opening experience, but just sometimes he had to sit back and take stock of just how much of a mind fuck dying, coming back with powers, and then being exposed to time travel with all of its implications was. Not to mention that his concepts of history, mythology, and religion took a serious beating because of the whole experience. He needed a vacation. This didn't count. No, he needed a vacation or a girlfriend. No! He needed to take a girlfriend on a vacation.

And no even still. He needed to keep his eyes peeled for trouble, for Peter's sake and for his own. His eyes were sharp, his senses keen, and he'd still seen nothing troublesome in the area. He kept up his vigil, occasionally leaning forward to Peter to ask a stupid question, such as, "Hey now, hey now... when we get them clothes, can I get me one o'them Arabian Nights getups, huh? Imma look all kickass in Egyptian cotton, yessir! Ain't a one of my ancestors picked that shit, no sirrie!" All the same, James continued to keep a watch on the surroundings. One couldn't be too careful where a Destruere had been sighted.



Reginald Keystone



Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A




Truth being what it was, Reginald was an authority. Granted, not the authority in charge of anything here, but the face value of his statement was accurate. Much had changed in Egypt, politically speaking, and while the Empire still held influence here they could not enforce laws except as it came to military affairs directly involving the Crown, or contractual investments by British citizens. Still, the Lord Major had bearing from a lifetime of military service and trotting about with the nobility. And being the seniormost officer in charge of his assigned garrison, his Fellowship's endeavor did proceed with military oversight, by his authority. So all in all, as the Lord Major wrapped his brain around the assertion had just made, he did not lie. Not an ounce. But if the local constabulary were brought into it, he might very well be detained and questioned by someone he knew. That didn't count for nothing.

What did, in his estimation, count for nothing was the colossal amount of stasis everyone seemed to be held under, within that moment. The ordinary passage of time, perhaps slowed down or halted altogether due to factors totally outside of his control, keeping them in the same spot regardless of desired course of action. "Well come long then, we mustn't dally," he said, turning back in the intended direction of the Fellowship's movement. "Fortune favors the bold, and so forth, you see," he added, partly as filler and partly because he wished to change the overall topic back to the matter at hand. This latest series of distractions was proving to annoy. Quieter, and in confidence of the group, he advised, "At least one person knows we are down here. I recommend we establish a rear guard, in the event of more guests. Volunteers?"



Haring Reddish



Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: N/A




Meanwhile, the Corporal was off on a grand adventure of his own, festooned in frilly attire 'round a grand table set for a ladies' afternoon tea. The frolicking gaiety of it all was something not horribly out of place in a Gilbert and Sullivan production, as he began prancing about with the others in a grand musical number:

Three little maids from school are we
Pert as a school-girl well can be
Filled to the brim with girlish glee
Three little maids from school!


La, la la la la, la-la;
La, la la la la-la...


Naturally, he couldn't sing along with the solos. Such a thing would be horribly gauche, not at all like the duty-inspired responsibility of Corporal Haring Demetrius Reddish, no sir. To compensate, he did ramp it up with the series of LAs, so much so, that in fact that the first glimmers of potential consciousness from the man were peppered by him unsteadily murmuring them to the waking world. La, la la la la-laaaaaaa!

Three little maids who, all unwary
Come from a ladies' seminary
Freed from its genius tutelary β€”

Three little maids from school!

Three little maaaaaids from scho--!


The sudden awareness of reality jolted him to rapt alertness. Defying the generally accepted laws of physics, the Corporal snapped himself from the floor in the lavatory to a full and upright position, one hand holding his service revolver at the ready. Before his eyes were even completely open, the he had cocked the hammer back, ready to defend himself or those around him in the event that this was an intentional attack upon his person and not unintentionally self-inflicted. When his eyes did focus on his surroundings a quarter second later and he instinctively realized neither he nor the women in the stateroom were in immediate danger, his reflexive response as a member of the soldiery kicked in, despite himself.

"Reporting for duty, Lord MAJ ...wait. Some things were becoming clearer now. Not everything, as his instincts still had him set to repel a charge upon his trench from a dead sleep, something he probably wouldn't be able to shake without years of therapy. Nevertheless, he had the forethought to safely decock and holster his sidearm before continuing. Looking down at the hand that just formerly held Josephine's watch, Reddish got a mildly alarmed look on his face and exclaimed, "My word, Miss Clarke! I found it, but someone's off and copped your watch again! Damn the luck, if you'll forgive my language, Miss! ...and Lady!" He looked a touch embarrassed for a moment, assuring Vera, "Apologies m'Lady, for forgetting my propers in your presence. I shall find a way to appropriately discipline myself later, in the absence of the Lord Major's wisdom on such matters. But to the immediate; the watch is missing again!" He nodded vigorously, then immediately wished he hadn't. The screaming pain from him knocking himself silly reasserted itself, prompting him to clasp a hand to the back of his head.

He must not have fully recovered, as he took a steadying step to the side and mentioned aloud, "...and I've ruined the bloody finale, I did! We've got to move."
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