Sigil

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

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Keystone

Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Cave

Interacting With: Orc Chief

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They seemed agitated. Upset, even. Not that Keystone didn't have an inkling of understanding as to why they were upset; there was a war on, and Cremwise's hirelings or not, they represented an enemy that was supposedly throwing animated dead people at them. Keystone would be a little miffed, himself. Hell, from his point of view, this is exactly what was happening to him. Allegedly, anyway. He hadn't actually seen any skeletons or zombies or Wights (oh, my!), nary a single Revenant on a mission, no, nor had he heard the barest rumor of a Lich wandering down from the mountains after decades of purposeful study. If indeed there were undead on the prowl, they were either very adept at hiding their numbers, or this situation was just beginning.

Perhaps this was the opportune moment to flex his nonexistent social skills. Or at least talk straight with the guy that command an army of Orcs surrounding them all.

"Oy, Guv'nor, if I may? Name of Keystone. Throw m'two coppers in the pot then? Look, Cremmy's a lying wanksplat, no two ways on it. Lied to you, lied to us. I ain't particular loyal to the man; we had us a contract an' the terms've been sodding well met. But that utter cobyankery 'bout undead roamin' the streets o' Salarn? Nah. Didn't see a one. Now, if someone in Salarn's doing you lot dirty, find out who an' do what y've gotta. Only folk I'm givin' a rat's hindparts about're m'self, the two women around me, and that gaggle o' tosspots outside tryin' like hell to keep pushin' air past their pearlies. Y'understand? Promised them a good, hot meal when we're done 'ere, too, whenever we're done jawin' on 'bout it.

Not that I'm thinkin' you green folk're tellin' tales, neither. Had me a long and nasty 'istory tearin' down Undead, cross more than one realm, too. Powerful distaste for 'em, y'see. If'n this turns into an opportunity what I can re-dead some nasties, well, that's just gravy on the tubers, Guv. You'll be lettin' ol' Keystone know how we can slap a steak over this bruised-up eye, yeah?"

"An' if you don't mind the mention, this's a right lovely stone enclosure you lot've got for yourself. 'Preciate the 'ospitality of y'clan, we does. If'n you're feelin' a bit 'venturous, mayhap you'd be one for joining us at suppertime, and a bit of black tea afters? You and your man Brezcar're both welcome 'round my fire."

When Keystone was finally finished with his waxing monologue, he gave an odd look for just a second, and nodded lightly. He had no idea if the Elder Orc could understand Word One through his urban underclass accent, or even his translators, for that matter. It was hoped that, if profound confusion took hold of the hour, Cyneburg would be able to translate Keystone to Common to Orcish, at least smoothly enough to let on the gist of his speech.

All that aside, he felt he did pretty well, considering he wasn't a man of classically acceptable eloquence. Might even run for public office if he ever got back home. Risking a look over to Kyra, he tried to gauge by her expression whether or not he had just done something truly awful. Fingers crossed!

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks --> Egyptian Museum

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The dreams had become more troubling in the last week. The past three days or so in particular - every time he closed his eyes, that shining, golden image appeared in his mind, resting upon his finger as if it belonged there, the forefront to beige sand and cloudless, blue sky. Without reason, it simply vanished, and the entire unconscious replay faded away, like a curtain dropping on an interpretive theatrical production. Not that the content of the dream had become more troubling, persay, but that the intensity of it grew immensely as of late, a feeling of urgency that was not initially present. The realness of it all took on a sharper clarity over the past few days, incorporating more than mere visual imagery. Burning heat, as if the ring were a tiny piece of the sun itself, washed over his hand from where the ring touched, flowing and pulsing. Troubling, indeed.

The imagery of Egypt had a number of repetitive motifs, as it came to the Ancient World. Symbolism and religious icons of beliefs no longer widely practiced, but given a new breath of life and interest by the discoveries from two scant years ago. It was no wonder that he began to dream of one symbol in particular. Perhaps it appealed on an instinctive level. Of course, it begged to question the timeline in which he had these dreams; if the Lord Major was correct, he first began to have them just prior to his assignment in Egypt, from the European Front. Logically, that made no sense.

But that wasn't foremost on his mind. No, two things dominated his overt thought at that moment were as follows:

1) The pain of his dream, the ring searing his flesh, burned in his waking world now. The separation of Dream and Real was blurred, at least in this one aspect.

2) There was a camel spider, approximately the size of a dinner plate, staring at him from the wall above.

The pain of the searing ring faded into something tolerable, seconds after his eyes fluttered open. The sight of his unexpected visitor rooted the Lord Major to his bed. Their eyes seemed to lock, both laying motionless; one horizontal and the other impossibly vertical. He was unsure as to why the horrifying-looking creature was there. His doors were closed, as were his shutters. A trickle of light illuminated his room well enough in the early evening hours, well enough to notice the huge honking monster sizing him up, though he doubted that there was enough room for that massive solpugid to have wriggled into his quarters. How long had it been squatting in his room? Chilling, really.

He had intended the past hour to be an invigorating nap, following afternoon Tea. The plan to rise refreshed, relaxed, and ready to greet the evening with vigor and gusto got waylaid somewhat. At least the "relaxed" part. He was most assuredly raptly alert at the moment. But now there was the delicate problem of removing himself from his predicament without getting facehugged by an eight (ten?) legged monstrosity with corrosive spittle. He allowed a furtive glance to the side, locating his uniform coat and, more importantly, his Officer's sword. It was bright, and well cared for, with almost a full meter of slender, double-edged steel, and it represented the best chance he had to avoid solpugid facehuggery.

Ever so carefully, he took hold of the hilt of his fine weapon and gingerly shook the blade free of its scabbard. He winced a bit as the solid blade-cover slapped to the ground, inciting a twitch of movement from the grotesque camel spider. The Lord Major briefly considered having to explain to the boy who did his sheets precisely why he had shat the bed, and so in a textbook example of military discipline, clenched himself appropriately and soldiered on. The blade of his immaculate sabre rose with the practiced, liquid-lightning form of confident experience, coming parallel with his centerline and thrusting upward (sideways, from anyone else's point of view) and into the squiggling, spasming creature on the wall above him. The blade pinned its still-twitching corpse to its resting spot, sinking into the wall plaster.

"Good show, old boy..." he congratulated himself, mostly glad he wasn't taken out by some verminous arthropod in his slumber. Dressing quickly, he remembered the burning on his hand, and decided to make an "on the route" stop before getting to his evening's endeavors (which mostly involved consuming brown liquor and catching a dancing exhibition involving a comely local he had come to know). The Lord Major had put off discussing this long enough, especially considering the fact that he was very close with an expert on the subject who worked just next to the barracks.

With sudden but stodgy grace, the portly man threw on the remainder of his uniform, buckled on his sword and pistol, and moved from his quarters to greet the early evening. He descended the stairs, catching sight of one of the local boys that the Royal Air Force employed for menial tasks, houseboys and the like, and slipped him a farthing. "You there, ah, sabi! Sabi, please if you would, the corpse of a most frightening Nile spider is stuck above my bunk. Take care of that for me... Oh, and do find someone to bug-proof my dwelling. Netting maybe, I don't know. Just be quick about it! One never knows when one may have company." The old man lay a finger beside his nose and gave the boy a knowing wink, before bounding off to the barracks exterior.

From behind him, the dutiful houseboy called out a quick, "'Aywa, Major Keystone!" before running up the stairs and eventually shrieking.

The Lord Major heard not the startled expression of the young RAF charge, instead happily along his way across the yard and into the building just to the north, the Egyptian Museum. He walked straight inside, giving polite nods to any caretakers nearby and looking around in search of someone. He mumbled aloud to himself, audibly but low, "Now, wherever is Lady Munn... ?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Cool deal. And done. @Morose, you're clear to post. Huzzah.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Derby!

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This was supposed to be a break from the chaos of the past two days. Quality family time, courtesy of his little Alicia. Some parents, especially of minor children, took great joy in watching their kids perform or participate in sports; high school has traditionally always been speckled with parents coming out for "The Big Game" or "Opening Night". In Caesar's estimation, this was very nearly the equivalent. He did like to see Alicia enjoy herself. Getting to join his practically adopted daughter, Lorna, was just gravy atop the whole experience. The fact that she was with Smoker Boy notwithstanding.

Caesar first leaned his head to the side to catch eyes with Lorna, giving her a quick, "Hola, niña. Good to see you out." Of course, with all the murders lately, it really wasn't good to see her out. It was slightly unnerving. Giving daughters to a man like Caesar was a curse from God, punishment for his transgressions earlier in life. Now he had, lodged in his soul, the worry and concern of two women for whom he would gladly kill or grudgingly die. This was his kismet; the strength and weakness of family.

He turned his attention back to the man in front of him, Larson, appearing to contemplate his offer to join them. "Hi." he almost growled. "We'll join you. One thing: Had a misunderstanding earlier. I feel obligated to tell you two that the extremely young lady and I are here together for the sake of business and safety." He turned to glance at Cecily, "We are definitely not dating. Or tener relaciones bouncy-bouncy.

With that issue out in the open, Caesar entered the Derby with a clear conscience. It was an excellent evening to watch M'hija brutalize other professionals with wheels on their feet, all for the sake of a concept as abstract as "Points". Outstanding. But again, he did like to see Alicia enjoy herself. As the Roller Derby was a borderline bloodsport, well, it was also fairly entertaining. At least it would have been.

Stephanie Gretchin was on M'hija's team. The lady he greatly suspected of being part of all this (very not) random death was on her team. So was the Secretary of Defense. That was odd. A media mogul, the DJ from the Block Party... and another one that, from the look on Cecily's face, she was familiar. Caesar snapped some pictures, took some video, like many others. Good to keep records, and besides, his daughter was playing. Can't fault a man for recording memories of his hija. There would be questions later. Many questions, for many people. Especially for Alicia. Oh yes, his little girl would have some serious explaining to do. Was she part of this, too? Did she just not fucking know the people with whom she was associating? Was she running an Op, and just decide out of the clear blue NOT TO TELL HIM? Oh, this was a conversation.

Unfortunately, this conversation would have to wait. Darkness overtook the Derby, with the accompanying randomness of human fear. This was multiplied significantly by the sound of gunshots ringing out. He'd done this before. Usually he'd be the one shooting. If this blackout was done for the purpose of assassination, then the targets were down and there wasn't much of a threat left from gunfire. The problem now was the press of bodies. Confusion was an effective cloak against discovery, providing a proven means of escape. Not a damn thing he could do about it now.

There was considerable worry for Alicia, at least at first. Then he remembered that she was especially good at this game; hiding and surviving throughout gunfire and darkness. Mortal combat and blindfighting - give the girl something sharp and shove her into a proving ground of chaos and blood, she had better odds than most at crawling back out with the ears of her victims as trophies. It was just like her Quinceañera, all over again! Caesar snickered, despite his situation. If only these poor fucks knew what the kiddies had to endure with the Piñata... they might laugh, too. But for those in the audience, the biggest danger then was the press of scared flesh and trampling bodies, instinctively concerned with only their self-preservation.

Caesar also knew that Lorna could take care of herself. Military lady, that one, hard as nails. But just the same, the older man shouted to the people in his little group, even as he threw a protective arm around Cecily, "Join hands! Find a wall! Cross your arms in front of you, stay put!"

When the lights finally returned, his phone vibrated silently in his pocket. Message from Alicia, one that gave him a dose of relief. Kind of. She was alive. He returned the message,

Glad to hear. Will get home tomorrow, too. Talk then.

The mercenary Mexican took a brief look around, taking more pictures, more video. More things to tuck away and comb through at another time. Even took a sweep of the walls and roof, just in case. He looked to make sure that Lorna was okay, and yes, even Lawson, before looking to Cecily, saying, "Give me three minutes to look around before the cops show up. Then I'll get you somewhere safe. That cop friend of yours?"

Then tomorrow, a long Q&A with M'hija. And a new arrival to the party. And his investigation continues in earnest.

"Hey, who was that lady, anyway?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Morose

Working a post now. How far into the series of events detailed in the WN do you need me to go?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: LaGrange Street, Inner Gate --> LaGrange Street, headed North to Building 6 (Armory)

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Hell yes, he meant to do something about it. This had to be Eden's doing; a salvo fired to let Newnan know that they were still around. Apparently, the gift of a couple thousand dead people didn't give them the message the first time around. Ash had no idea why this other settlement intended them harm, none whatsoever. They hadn't done anything to them, directly or otherwise, that could be considered hostile. Not at least until they attacked under cover of that storm a month back.

At this point in time, his thoughts drifted toward gathering every man and woman old enough to hold a rifle together and marching on that pissant settlement, killing anything that moved and burning the place to the ground. Briefly, thoughts of taking up sniping positions outside of their perimeter flashed to mind, with the intent of picking off any survivors limping away from the ruins. Let the Dead have their corpses.

But that would cause an amazing loss of life, to Newnan and Eden both. His violent wants shouldn't lead to unnecessary death. Unnecessary, mind you. But some people had to die. Just not his people, if he could help it.

Upon seeing the approach of the Captain and party, Jim opened the Inner Gate just enough to admit the group. They filed in, again with Ash waiting until last with his gun at the ready, covering their back until everyone was safely inside. Once beyond the portal, he gave a direct command to the two Security personnel on escort detail, "Plan hasn't changed, gentlemen. New arrival to the Mess Hall, bring the other two with you. Keep them safe, maintain order. I'm headed to the Armory to equip and organize."

Ash took off at a jog to meet up with the people migrating to the Armory. His Detonix .45 stayed at the ready in one hand while his radio found its way into its other. It was the latter which he used at the moment, addressing Newnan at large. "This is Ash. Security stations, report."

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: LaGrange Street, Inner Gate --> LaGrange Street, headed North to Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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The smallish girl suddenly decided to wear her ovaries on the outside. Good on her. Admittedly, she was correct in her assessment that knives would be of no use in their present situation. "Da, malyshka. Yesli oni ne vidyat menya."₁ He was actually giving thought to his rifle, still tucked away in his great bearskin coat. Of course, a rifle is likewise useless if you can't get a line of sight on something that needs a bullet inserted therein. There was logic in the lady's statement.

The Great Bazhooli nodded grimly, taking Sophia's wheelchair handles. "Da. I vill help." he acquiesced. The colorful man was just about to ask where he needed to go, when Sophia and Ash both mentioned The Mess Hall, right on top of each other. It sounded good enough. Point of fact, it sounded like exactly the same spot that he mentioned they were going in the first place. With no weapons, no lay of the land, and no idea where the shots came from, it was probably best to just find that cover and get low. Besides, being in a Mess Hall gave the possibility of grabbing a bite to eat while they waited for the emergency to pass. If he didn't get himself shot in the meantime, that is.

"Ok, vhere is... follow man with gun. Okay."

The Great Bazhooli pushed the wheelchair along at a jog, careful not to spill his human cargo but simultaneously eager to get out of the open. The last kind of impression he wanted to leave on his hosts was one that involved death, including his own.

Translations

₁ = Yes, little one. Unless they also do not see me.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Jefferson Street, headed North --> Building 6 (Armory)

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At least the kids were listening to Bridgette as she spewed her various obscenities and commanded them to move indoors. She guessed that sometimes all one needed to snap out of a fear-induced muscular shutdown was a caustic, screaming voice scaring one in a different direction. Not surprisingly, that pretty much summed her up. Considering the fact that she was still very new in this town (and wasn't exactly known as "kid friendly"), Bridgette was honestly amazed that these children were complying with her siren-like bellow to move for cover, and immediately at that.

It wasn't just for their protection, either. She had a job that needed to be done, a gruesome one that shouldn't be done in front of them. They could get education enough in the realities of this world later. Right now, they had to run. And she had to do the little girl one last favor.

She traded our her big seax for a smaller knife; still considered large to most people, though Bridgette herself had a different standard as it came to blade size. Still, for this work, smaller is preferable. No sense mangling a corpse. She brought the point of her substitute knife up and into the little girl's cranial cavity, bypassing hard bone with a single upward thrust. Luck was with her in that moment: There was no sudden spasm, no twitch to indicate that she was cutting into anything other than lifeless flesh. She breathed a silent prayer to whoever was listening, and left the body on the ground.

Tears welled up, finally, as she realized that this was the first time she had to put down a child. Not a teenager, not some random Biter with already decomposing flesh and yellowed eyes, no monster. She just had to put a knife through the brain of an otherwise intact, still warm child that, beforehand, she could not have been one hundred percent sure that the girl had actually died. A shudder ran through her body. An odd feeling for her, revulsion. Revulsion in her own action, nevermind that it was the right and merciful thing to do. She tried to swallow the feeling down, but the tears remained. Blinking them away, Bridgette mounted her horse and nudged him into a full gallop.

Seconds later the generally unpleasant Viking lady was leading Cadence into the double doors of Tom's miniature castle inside of Newnan Proper, The Tomory. It was very likely the first time that a horse had ever been given admittance into this particular branch of the Bank of America Financial Center, but Bridgette would be damned if she was going to just leave him out there for target practice by an unknown enemy.

She hastily scrubbed the tears from her face and addressed the building's proprietor, "Sorry about that, Tom. I'll ask him not to shit on the floor, but no promises, huh? Now, where the fuck's my box? I need to slip into something more comfortable."

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Black James!

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Location: Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1 (Courthouse) --> Headed North on LaGrange Street to Building 6 (Armory)

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James sighed. If the kid wasn't dead before, he certainly was now. Shaking his head, the veteran Blackneck let the boy's body drop to the blacktop below. Honor could be paid to the dead when he was certain of Newnan's safety. Well, relative safety, anyway. Let's face it, if this town were completely secure, those fuckers wouldn't have been able to rain lead down on a group of hungry kids.

He didn't consider himself a soldier. Not by a long stretch. While he was no coward, as had been proven several times in is life, James Grady was simply not trained as a warrior. The distinction in his mind was pretty distinct. He could fight, certainly. For a man in his early forties, he was broad and strong. But the raw talent for martial tactic was not his forte. These days, it could be argued that everyone had to be a soldier. Maybe they were even right. Leann, Ash, Alicia, CAESAR, from what he heard Lorna, now those were soldiers. All but one were dead, and he was starting to worry about that guy. Even Zoie might be grouped in with these people. While she was not a soldier, she was a talented fighter and natural leader. All James knew is that something had to be done about this, and he wasn't the man to ask about what plan they should use. But he knew the man who did.

It occurred to him that Niesha was speaking to him. Her words were muted somewhat, drowned out by the adrenaline rushing in his blood and his diverted attention, scanning the rooftops and beyond for the telltale glint or movement that would announce the presence of whoever was shooting at them. Giving conscious effort to remember what she had just said, he nodded and began running to the Armory. Just before he rounded the corner, he could be clearly heard yelling back to the younger folk assembled on Gilbert Street,

"Y'all do what I say - Get yo asses inside the Courthouse! I'ms gettin' Vera."

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

@solidsneek

Hi! few things I'd like to discuss, concerning your CS.

Let's "last in, first out" the beginning of this. The picture - it's always been the hardest part for me to come up with, aside from character name. But maybe I misinterpreted your last post. Did you have one chosen that you weren't overly happy with, or were you asking to completely avoid choosing one?

Now, as for your CS: It is incomplete. Rules in the OOC clearly state that no partial CSs it to be put into the OOC. It gets confusing. Likewise, CSs should be tucked away in a hider. If you're unfamiliar with the coding, we can help. A good start would be to familiarize yourself with the Cheatsheet at the bottom of the page. (hit the Toggle button, it will explain much).

Personal difficulties I have with your character sheet:

Your skills do not seem to reflect the entirety of what you want your character to do. I would take the time to really look at your character's role in a group, or tactics while alone when addressing his skills. Further, you cannot use any other part of the CS to sneak in additional skills (i.e. the "Strengths" section toward the top of the CS lists him with nonspecific Survival, something that does not also show up in his "Skills" section.)

You are switching between the first and third person, a lot. Stick to the third person, and past tense, when dealing with your character. Mixed perspective and tense really throws things off.

Color Coding - It is required that you pick a text color, personalized to your character. This color cannot be the same as (or too similar to) anyone else's character. It is used in your headers in the IC, and is the color of his dialogue.

You also have not made the changes that Lady A requested, including filling out the entirety of the CS. You've got a few sections that are sparse, notably History, and a couple that are completely blank, like Psychological Traits.

Another note - You have him listed as a Fighter, but the abilities you have listed put him more in the area of Ranger or Rogue.

Again, if you're unsure where to start with this, drop me a PM. I can more effectively communicate with you, without cluttering up the OOC. In any case, please throw your CS in a hider. If you are unaware as to how to do that, click the Toggle button at the bottom right of the page, and scroll down to where it says "Hiders".

Best of luck here in roleplayerguild.com; it gets easier with practice.

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

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Keystone

Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Cave

Interacting With: Sana (kind of), His Thoughts

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Sana stopped the large man as he strode after Brezcar, to request that he keep an eye on her friend Kyra. Apparently, she was being "too calm", whatever the arse that was supposed to mean. Keystone gave her a questioning look, unsure as to what she meant by that. All the same, he had no desire to stay and talk about it. He nodded to the oft pushy Archer and continued toward the cave. The sooner their meeting with the War Chief (or whatever this leader styled himself), the sooner he could get back to the group, hopefully to make a hot meal like he promised just a moment ago.

Before the Woodland Domestics could commence, he had to take part in the lovely displays of Orcish dominance that he assumed would be the opening act of the discussion to come. Again, this was an estimation based upon his experience with Human gangs and the local banditry; he had less experience with Orcs than many of the standard adventuring folk wandering about the continent. It was a hindrance that he did not speak the language, which is why we suggested that one of the Half-Bloods join them. Having one of the woodland folk, at least one they ordinarily wouldn't try to eviscerate immediately, with them might allow for a more favorable outcome. The again, the most favorable outcome that Keystone realistically expected was a session of posturing, followed by an exchange of information, followed by more posturing and an invitation to act as fodder for the troops outside if an attack occurred. If they walked out of that cave just a notch wiser about their current predicament, he would consider it a victory.

The remainder of the way to the cave and inside of it, he remained quiet. The lack of illumination put him at a disadvantage at first, entering the darkness from the light outside. He had keen eyes and could adjust to the darkness well enough, for a Human, but he had no special abilities to see in total darkness. Even after his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he knew that the Orcs would keep the upper hand. It was best to concentrate on what he could discern from his surroundings, rather than worry over things he couldn't change about it.

Keystone kept to his martially businesslike method of carrying himself, standing tall and broad, allowing heavy footfalls to sound upon the ground outside and cave floor within. He neither spoke to, nor acknowledged anyone around him as he continued to follow their guide deeper into the earthen fortress that housed the Orc Leader. If he had a goal in this, aside from a desire to be acknowledged by these people as a fellow warrior, it would be for four or five of these Orcs to look upon them, exclaiming, "That's the biggest Gruumshdamned Human I've ever seen!"

Strangely, Keystone felt a little comfortable in this setting. He could not put his finger on precisely why, though. Something about the cave... It was a matter that could be explored later, if indeed he had a "later". For the meantime, he had woefully inadequate social skills to demonstrate to a person that could casually order their deaths.

This was bound to be an interesting discussion.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Personal Quarters --> En Route to Lounge

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Harper had to assume that this unexpected visit wasn't for the purpose of inquiring into his dinner plans. Not that such an event was unheard of; he was a conventionally handsome man raised with good instincts for grooming and hygiene who, a lifetime ago, was financially stable and had excellent career prospects. Well, misplaced naivety certainly brought all of that to an abrupt, screaming halt. The last part, anyway; Liam was still an okay looking guy who kept up his appearance as the occasion called for it. Holdover from a Core World upbringing, most likely. Every second past that halcyon existence taught him the value of well placed cynicism and the benefits of the proper application of a blunt object.

All the same, it was highly unlikely that the presence of the Lady Bluegloves, or indeed the status of the entire ship suddenly going Black, had anything to do with him. Logically, it made zero sense. The authorities would rather just shoot someone than stage something this elaborate. It was incidental. A fluke. Considering that his freedom was due to an amazing set of circumstances that lined up at the proper time, and he personally took considerable risk to hop onto the opportunity provided, this whole scenario could even be listed (by the more spiritual types) as Destiny unfolding.

So why not? Maybe there was a thing which the Agent required the assistance of a skilled Pilot, Alliance Officer, or merely the fresh perspective of a new face on board. While trust (by no means) had been accomplished, Liam could benefit from some conversation and a tour of part of the ship.

"Miss, umm... Miss Lobo?" he began with a hint of uncertainty. To his experience, it was an unusual surname. He wrapped his speech around it deliberately, almost to the point of overpronunciation. "Yes, Ma'am. I'd be happy to be of help. Just a moment."

Harper left the door partially open and took a step backwards. Turning to one side, he recovered the jar of preserved fruit he had opened earlier. He plucked out a couple of peaches and put away the remainder before turning his attention back to the lady in the hall. Exiting the room, he politely offered her a peach, nonchalantly confiding in her, "Could go for a coffee. You?" and motioning in the direction of the Lounge. Coffee, yeah. Liam could go for a blast of grain alcohol with what he just found out, and he wasn't exactly a heavy drinker.

As they began their short trek to the ship's Lounge one deck below, he opened conversation with, "Situation being what it is, maybe you can help me figure something out, too. First, what did you want to speak about?"

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Lounge

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The request by his oldest friend to ready sidearms did more than simply pique Foy's interest. The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur was generally always ready to throw himself into an event featuring violence; his training saw to it admirably. Even when his more genteel mannerisms were at the forefront (especially, sometimes), he was a breath away from either Thrilling Heroics or Aiming to Misbehave, depending upon his contract. What's more, Jahosafat knew this. If the good Doctor felt the need to remind him to ready himself, this must surely be a noteworthy event unfolding before him.

The unfailing Gentleman, upon hearing his friend's words, stared at him piercingly - trying to catch any hint or glimmer of the man's feelings and motivation. During his lengthy gaze, he retrieved his large bore Derringers in quick release holsters and slapped them onto his forearms, then lowered his sleeves before extensive wrinkling set into the fabric. Not his primarily preferred method of throwing lead at those designated to receive it, but more than adequate to put down a threat in close quarters. To hear Jahosafat talk, he didn't want this particular close quarter target killed if they could help it. Still, there are very few places in a human body that you could put a .50 slug where it didn't cause catastrophic injury.

As the various safeties were removed from the case, Foy dramatically flexed his arms, prompting his two-shot sidearms to spring into his hands. Something akin to a smile crossed his face as he raised his diminutive but powerful weapons to either side of his head, then down toward the opening crate. Foy took up a sideways facing stance, waiting for the mist and cold to dissipate.

When it finally did, the Dapper Gentleman cleared his throat softly, and spoke in polite tones to Dr. Moreau, "Apologies, old friend. I would be obliged were you to repeat your last intonation; I could not hear you over the sound of me forcibly soiling my undergarments. Come again?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: LaGrange Street, nearing the Inner Gate

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This was bound to happen, Ash. You did nothing to prevent it.

Ashton heard the shots plainly, just like everyone else. Somehow, he knew exactly who was responsible. That didn’t stop his suspicions from flaring at the new arrivals, at least for the first half second of his decision-making process. Then Dick drawled out the news about Zoie, or “Daisy” as he pet named her.

They’re sending a message. It’s to her, but you heard it too, didn’t you?

Captain Holloway gave Dick a one word response, ”Understood.” but continued speaking to everyone with a radio, ”Sound the General Alarm, we’re under attack. Active security, hold our lines and report, engage if you can. Anyone who’s cleared and able, report to the Armory and prepare to defend your home. You know the drill.”

The security detail directly around the group on LaGrange looked to Ash, as if he was going to give some order or speech that may magically fix things. Didn’t really work that way. Never did. Still, they needed to hear something from him. Ash set a determined look to his eye and pulled his .45, chambering a round in a fluid motion. The two on escort (one carrying the bear fur bundle, the other slinging a carbine) looked slightly indecisive, so he gave them something to do. ”Follow after Tatiana and take Zoolie with you. Get them indoors and safe. Go!”

Ash jogged after the now speedier procession, determined to ensure that his people (even the very new ones) got to relative safety before himself. And if he saw anyone who even hinted at Eden… Ashton Holloway was in a killing mood.

Going to do something about it now, Captain?

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: LaGrange Street, nearing the Inner Gate

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All he wanted was a snack. Ok, ok… maybe not all he wanted, I mean, he had high hopes for this place when he stepped inside about two minutes ago. Now, well, they also had problems. Build a place with people, with crops, with animals and children and hope, there was always going to be someone that wanted to control it or destroy it. From the looks of these people, they knew it, too. It wasn’t just sunshine and good intentions here. They were armed. More, they’ve been practicing.

Now all The Great Bazhooli wished was that he was armed, too.

What else was there to do, but listen to the grim man with the hand cannon? He wanted to help, in theory anyway. This might be a home. His assertion of ”Give me back stuff! I can help!” was received with a glare from the Captain and a curt nod in the direction they were all moving. Worth a try. Instead of taking up arms alongside these people, Bazhooli had to settle for jogging forward with a very angry man just behind.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Near the Burial Site, just east of the Inner Wall -> Perry Street, between Building 9 (School) and F, headed toward Armory

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Bridgette didn't have the advantage of a radio at her disposal. All she knew was that shots rang out, and the few people that she could see on the Walls were engaged in a flurry of activity. Her sense of heightened awareness, being out in this part of Newnan, rolled over into a full-blown certainty of combat. Her mount, Cadence, was trained for exactly this kind of situation. Not charging down the barrel of guns, mind you, but reacting minimally to the loud noises that inevitably occur with battle. The horse tensed for a fraction of a second at the first shot, instinct fighting to override training unsuccessfully. Bridgette noted this and leaned down to pat Cadence's neck, whispering, "Good boy. Let's get back, now." Her charger lived up to the title, crossing the distance in quick strides.

The general alarm sounded right about then, just as Bridgette reached the Inner Wall's bottommost eastern gate. Slowing her horse (but not stopping), she called out to the guard stationed, "C'mon c'mon c'mon! Crack that momma open! There's people to fuck up, and I gotta arm better than this bullshit!"

A quick inspection of the area surrounding showed no hostiles within running distance, and the gate slid open just enough to admit one horse and determined rider. Surveying the situation as best she could in the seconds provided, Bridgette took off on her horse, fast and quiet (well, as quiet as one can be on a horse), hugging the buildings on her way to her intended destination: Tomory.

Her Point B was waylaid. Interrupted by a little girl laying in a pool of dark vermillion with a soccer ball moving listlessly nearby. Longish blonde hair done up in pigtails lay at unattractive angles next to her temples, one dipped in blood. She looked a little like Bridgette, even, when she was younger. It took the tall woman a moment to realize that there were other kids there that saw this happen, still present.

Bridgette revised her strategy of keeping close to building and hauling ass, struck by revulsion and sorrow. …some fucker targeting children…” she hissed, dismounting Cadence and moving to the girl. This had just happened. Just. Bridgette took a moment to see if anything could be done for the girl, aside from mercifully destroying her brain. She wanted to weep, just as much as she needed to hold it back. Brash, violent, vulgar, crass… but she wasn’t evil. She had seen and caused a fair amount of violent death, but targeting schoolkids playing soccer? It made her want to cry. That was soulless. ”Goddamnit kids, get in a building now! GET THE FUCK INSIDE! Stay there till you hear the “All Clear”, got it?!”

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Black James!

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Location: Parking Lot between 10 (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of his Smoker --> Gilbert Street headed to Building 1 (Courthouse)

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My, but he put his foot in it this time. Quiet work, standing about with a deer in his smoker. Promises of a fine gravy. But no, the esteemed Mr. James Mandingo Grady (Black James(!), tout suite.) longed to be included, or at least informed of the obvious goings on in and around sunny Newnan. A little something interesting to break up the monotony of standing alone next to his beloved smoker. In the back of his mind, he indeed made the single, unuttered wish for an event with which he could assist, a bit of company during his meaty labors, or maybe some radio chatter he could listen in on, aside from the regular “checking in” and “all’s well”.

A very unsettling turn of events transpired instead. Lily’s death. Then the knowledge that she came back as a Walker and tried to eat Zoie, his only pre-Outbreak friend left. Now, a kid gets dropped right in front of him, courtesy of very unfriendly fire. James honestly now wished that he was merely barbecuing meat.

The redhead, Niesha, made an appearance about two seconds before all Hell broke loose. She had mentioned something about his smokery, the older man about to respond with a broad smile before the subsonic flying piece of metal aerated a kid that was just starting out in life, right in front of them. His smile evaporated, and his 9mm found its way into his right hand in less than a second.

Furtive glances around told him nothing, but did remind him that there were others, kids and other not-quite-adults milling about. They were startled. They were in danger. And they were afraid. James had to do something.

He ran over to Niesha, where the kid lay with fixed eyes. If he wasn’t dead, he was well on his way. The ebon Hogger reached his free hand down to grab the downed teen’s belt, lifting him from the blacktop with a strength built from adrenaline and a lifetime of hard labor. ”Ahright, listen up! We all movin’ into the Courthouse. NOW!” James kept his eyes high and his gun ready, giving the older children present an authoritative voice to listen to and a goal to achieve.