Sigil

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

@POOHEAD189

Couldn't help notice that you've been on a few times since Lady A posted the order of initiative. If you're holding action, tag me here in the OOC as I'm the next guy up. If you're posting a reaction, you've got two days from when the initiative list was posted, otherwise your action this round is forfeit.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Lounge (Sealed Off)

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The dapper mercenary raised his hands in mock surrender, casting a faux innocent look to the commanding officer of the ship within which he temporarily dwelt. His voice seemed genuine enough, if tinged with the trademark arrogance ubiquitous with the presence of Foy. "Why, good heavens, sir. I mean no direct offense, kindly accept a brimming amphora of my sincerest apologies."

Foy lowered his head somewhat, not quite a nod but not quite a bow, either, and continued, "Why, were I the type to wear a hat indoors, I would certainly doff it to your fine presence at this moment, my good sir. You see - " And this is where his tome changed from Apologetic to Business, " - we are mere inches from a venture of riveting scandal. Seeing as we are engaged in practices most surreptitious, with consequences of an unpredictable nature were word of this to leak (at least for you gentlemen of rank and file), I had misinterpreted our nature as being a little friendlier. Or a touch less formal. The secrets we carry, my good Captain Quinn, are damaging if they do not produce excellent results."

His eyes narrowed, a slim smile curling up one side of his mouth. Foy stood back up to his full height and adjusted the cuff of one sleeve. "It should be noted: We are all in this together, bound and solid. Each one of us bringing something useful to the table. Do not mistake me, sir. I hold you in the highest respect. Simply understand that, for me, addressing one in the more casual serves as an indicator that I elevate you in my own estimation. Especially now that Providence has us working together on this unusual clandestine project.

"If it gives you greater comfort, Captain Quinn, I shall refer to you in complete honorific while we commit to our acts of professional foolishness. However, be it a pleasing scenario for yourself and Dr. Moreau, when our business concludes or pauses, I should dearly wish to show you the extent of Farraday hospitality, perhaps with a rugged snort and an assortment of jam lozenges, before a lovely meal of butter poached monkfish and asparagus gelee. I've a feeling you're a man who can come to appreciate the finer of vices, given opportnity. Then we may engage in more slummish but admittedly more bracing pursuits, if the evening should call for it. Ah, the halcyon days..."

"What say you, Josie old boy?"

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William Harper

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Location: Upper Engineering

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Nerves a touch calmer, Harper took a deep breath and allowed the reality of his present existence to continue settling in. It was a funny psychological trick he picked up during a lower part of his life; if he pushed through struggling and denial, focusing purely on what is, no matter how horrifying, a certain detached calm could penetrate into his decision-making process. Today was no different. He was in a better position than he was a week ago, no doubt about it. Time to make the most of his circumstances.

It was a very short walk, just a couple of doors down to the stern of the ship. The seconds just preceding opening the doors to Engineering's upper level, Harper noticed a spike of nervousness within himself; a scant note of anxious behavior. This was the Engine Room of a well maintained vessel, and he could hardly wait to lay eyes upon it.

The doors quietly hissed open, admitting the shallowly smiling man. He stepped inside with sold confidence, allowing his brain to take in all of the sights and sounds of the Retribution's tandem engines. His vantage point allowed for an excellent overhead view. There was a dedicated Mechanic working quietly below, one of the few personnel that survived the Retribution scaling back to a skeleton crew. Harper stayed above, content for the present to view the working metal, ceramic, silicon, and composites, fashioned into the individual components that alone lay inert but assembled allowed for energy and thrust enough to travel the cold, vast emptiness of the Black, and maintain the lives of the souls making the journey.

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

@Pundii

"...two bit gangster with a government pension."

Bravo, Pundii. Love it. But come on, Foy is a four bit gangster at the very least, owing to his superior grooming habits. All the same, gave me a good chuckle.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Caits

It probably isn't clear in the Newnan supply lists, but the settlement has distilled water. Ash's distillery produces more than just drinkable booze.

To date, the 'stills produce Sippin' Liquor, utility alcohol (for sanitizing, fuel, and weapons), vinegar, and yes, storable distilled water.

Point of fact, he probably makes more distilled water than anything else. Though the topic reminds me, he has a barrel of spoiling peaches to work with. Probably only has time now to set up a mash, but... Post-Apocalyptic fruit hooch waits for no man.

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

@Lady Amalthea

If you would be as kind, please roll for initiative.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security employee lounge

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Absently, Caesar opened the door to the microwave, and inspected the business card. He was still on the phone, but it looked very much like he was on hold. Whereas he was not the type who enjoyed listening to crappy elevator-style music, at the moment he was not about to scream about it. Bigger battles to fight, more important emotions clawing their way to the top of his psyche. He slipped the card into a pocket, just in time to continue speaking to whomever was on the other end of the conversation.

The dialogue was spoken completely in Spanish. The tone of his voice changed several times, from flat and impersonal to remorseful, even a tiny chuckle once or twice. One observing the conversation could surmise that he was speaking with multiple people. One who spoke the language would have that confirmed. Not only that, but people with whom he was very familiar. After a while, he bid a melancholy "Adios" and ended the call.

"Alright, Keystone. Mi Familia is set up to receive company back home. It'll be a stupid motherfucker that tries anything there. More guns than Texas, and my people are many. Pissed off, too. Alicia was loved. Before that, I have a stop in redneck country. I leave as soon as the bodies are released. Speaking of..."

The grieving El Jefe punched up a fresh text message, again to Cecily.

Break in case? Maybe me too. Let's talk. Be there in 20 mins.

He looked to the massive Londoner. "Going to the morgue. Hold this place down. Interview people, sit in on a training session for the new guys. Be noticed. I'll be in touch later."

Without so much as waiting for a return to his statement, Caesar turned and walked out of the lounge. The next few minutes found him on his Harley trike, roaring out of the R&D complex.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security employee lounge

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Keystone had finished his own calls long before Caesar did, and felt just a bit awkward standing there while he engaged in serious conversation, using a language with which he was very largely unfamiliar. It's not like it was standard learning back in grade school. At least not for him. His linguistical capabilities went significantly more east than Spanish, though in contemplating this fact, it might not be a bad idea to pick up a little of the language. He was in California, after all. It was a widely practiced secondary tongue here.

He did take Caesar's advice to heart, though. Get around the Complex more. Be seen. Sit in on a training session. Yes, that. Paperwork was taken care of, the place was under wraps for now. Good time to let his presence be more than that of a figurehead. A short bit of time after the venerable Mexican left for Cecily's place of business, Keystone trudged out, crossing MMS's section of the Complex and quickly locating the company gym. Class was in session, as it turned out.

This was not the martial training he had personally thrown himself into. It looked more like an intellectual discussion about theoretically punching and throwing people, led by a guy who obviously just got the position by default after Lorna's unfortunate demise. Sure, this one trainer looked like he could handle himself, and true to form, the trainees needed to get the background and basics down first. But it just didn't look remotely as fun as the torturous crap inflicted upon him, designed to break down and rebuild his body in ways that most of humanity would never have to endure. The experiences gave some trauma, yes, but made him a particularly dangerous man, even among dangerous men. It was time to pass the love on to others.

He burst through the door, almost screaming the phrase most loved by the Bobbies that had occasion to chase him down in his youth. "What's all this, then?"

Their reaction was priceless. This was going to be fun.

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

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Egyptian Museum

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Stepping away from the scene of the unfortunate tumble, the Lord Major followed Vera back to her desk, careful to keep his hands low in case of the likely event of sudden book droppage or his semiadoptive niece accidentally tripping over a low, invisible obstacle. He knew what to expect from the irreplaceable Vera Munn, and especially after that kind of a spill, he was on his guard. Incidents like this, it is said, come in threes.

"Well I do say, Lady Munn, it sounds like this Bastet totty throws quite the event! I daresay the lads and myself (decades hence, mind you) would have behaved most ungentlemanly at one of those galas. Rather a fitting thing now that I am almost to venerable to properly partake of said festivities. Befuddles one's sense of resolve, you know."

Reginald spoke in a boisterous manner, as he always did. The part of a doddering old man had two interesting effects on people: They tended to underestimate the old guy, and it afforded him opportunities to observe. This occasion had him observing the faintest rose color creeping onto Vera's face as she discussed the goings on of these Bastet parties, but only when her eyes met Mr. Drake's, across the room. Curious, that.

In an effort to avoid embarrassment on her part, he continued his (almost) monologue, answering her question about his udjat dreams. "That part is really hard to say, my Lady. It had been..." he paused for a second, looking slightly embarrassed himself, "...years, that I can remember. Ever since I came to Cairo. Mayhap even a little more, that I know not why I should think that. Quite the mystery, really."

Reginald shook his head, slowly and gravely. "Was but until recently my stories from Nod turned painful. Even after my waking; it was why I finally resolved to learn more."

A touch of shock crossed the face of the Lord Major. Just in that moment, he realized that he didn't actually share the source of his insight into the symbol. It was William Drake who offered up that he had dreamt of the thing, yet Reginald just tipped his hand that he had, as well. The good news: He might not be crazy. The bad news: He might wish that it were that simple.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1 (Cells) -> Building 1 (Infirmary)

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Ryan's laughter irritated Ash, and was quite successful in postponing anything along the lines of trust on his part. Much as he would like to wash his hands of the man, the Edenite may prove useful. But there was no way in hell he would be allowed out until he could be counted as an ally, and not just an asset. Newnan was not the kind of society that functioned purely on a basis cold exchange of service. They lived together, fought together, shared each others' tragedies and triumphs. Newnan was a community. Admittedly, a fairly strict community held together under the rule of military law, but it damned near a family, of sorts. This man wasn't part of that, and was pushing himself farther away.

Zoie's voice over the walkie was a blessed event. As he walked out of the Cells area and into the Lobby, he responded curtly, "Understood. Excellent news. Take as long as you need. Our new guest has requested your presence; he can wait."

As he had just left Bridgette back there with Ryan, and as she was still packing a radio, Ash felt confident that Ryan had just heard the news that Zoie was alive, ad that Ash had related his status. Maybe that particular bone toss would get him to shut up. Admittedly, he really doubted it. But if anyone was going to out-talk the jabbery bastard with the constant threat of disembowelment, it was Bridgette. He was glad to give them some alone time, brief though it was.

Making his way into the Infirmary, he looked around for Astrid. Quiet lady, in direct contrast to her fellow Valkyrie. In a somewhat quieter voice, he opened conversation with her at a query: "How are our patients really doing?"

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Black James!

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

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The familiar frame of Newnan's default sniper, Guy, appeared in the tower. The last month saw the marked absence of the lanky Virginian rifleman following his monumentally poor decision to abandon post on the suggestion of a young girl he had just met. The time he had spent performing non-combative, manual labor alongside the very girl whose suggestion got him in trouble in the first place; a act that gave him a touch of perspective. His transgression didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, really, and he was certain that Ash was an overreacting jackass for threatening him with a gunshot lobotomy, but the reality of their situation occurred to him over time. A month mucking out livestock pens didn't seem so bad in hindsight.

In any rate, James was happy to see him. "Guy! My man... Lookin' good. Glad to be back?" he opened, handing the man the rifle standard to the post. There was no way he was giving up Vera, nor his fallen fellow troublemaker's sniper system. The weapon was serviceable enough; certainly good enough for the United States military for many years. It just wasn't a massive, tank-destroying Barret.

"Yessir, glad to be back." He took the rifle, inspecting it and ensuring a round was chambered. He continued, effecting an accent that was very much like Captain Ash's when he became irritated, hinting at a common ground prior to the world ending. "I'll tell you, James... Working Agriculture, when the shit goes down? Made he feel a little helpless. Hell, got me damn worried. No weapon, middle of open ground? Dunno man. Happy to be back. Tell Ash thanks."

"Tell him yo'self. You know he ain't the type to punish after you done paid for your mistake. Anyways, you keep an eye out, I gotta tend my meats."

James exited the tower, jogging down the steps and outside the Courthouse. His beloved smoker was still puffing away. It hadn't been so long that he needed to replace wood nor water, but some minor maintenance to the level of heat was required. Maybe a little cleanup. Nothing major. It seemed a strange contrast, the manner in which his concern for the lives of Newnan was replaced by the simple joy of smoking meat. Maye not replaced, but temporarily supplanted in level of emotional priority. If there was anything he learned about life Post-Outbreak, it was that you take moments of levity when you could.

"Few more hours, few more hours..."

James's attention drifted to the skin he had removed earlier. Provided he left the fur on, there was relatively little to do before he turned it over to a tanner for proper handling. If memory served, he heard a rumor that one such person might be in town. Producing a blade, James laid out the potential throw rug and started cleaning it up a bit.

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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What a day! Very exciting. It began traveling along railroad tracks with a sometimes present cat, followed by discovering a big, big wall along the tracks that didn't used to be there. He performed a little show, got held at gunpoint and disarmed, then shuffled away to meet new people, all before the whole place came under fire by an outside group of very nasty men. Yes, this was truly in the spirit of adventure!

Of course, taking away the dash and romance of the situation, this day could be described the same way one would a kettle cooked potato chip: Sweet & Salty. There was good potential here, maybe a place for him if mutual trust could be established. But like anywhere in this new world, tragedy was a heartbeat away. People were killed today. The Great Bazhooli was happy to be alive and with people now, but these men and women had just suffered a loss.

All the same, it had been a long time since he helped prepare a meal for others, let alone have a pretty girl smile at him from across a room. These were more or less decent people, from what he had seen so far.

The radio looked like a central part in their lives, carrying all important communications and vastly changing the tone of the day from announcement to announcement. Things visibly relaxed when the grumpy man gave an "All Clear", for instance. The Mess Hall sprung to life with a new voice letting them know that kids would be arriving soon. And huge sighs of relief when a heavily accented voice proclaimed that she was taking the rest of the day off.

To no one in particular, The Great Bazhooli breathed out a single thought, "Hell of day, da. Hell of day."

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

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Keystone

Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three

Interacting With: The Group

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Keystone looked around the fire, noting the faces missing. A good half of the group, for one reason or another, had decided that it was a good time to leave when the food was more than halfway prepared. He growled absently. They were a team in name only. Not that Keystone was the regimented, ordered type, but he felt that a point of common sense was being ignored. All the same, no one was dead yet, so far as he was aware. That meant they still had time to come together. Or run their separate ways as hard and fast as possible, at their earliest opportunity. Could go either way with these people.

The massive pugilist had already torn halfway through his pheasant and neeps, and was beginning to relate the terms offered by the Orc Chief. The party Healer, Satilla, was the first to speak up, asking about said terms. Keystone swallowed hard, preparing to answer her, but was beaten to the task by Kyra. She summed it up nicely: They were to negotiate a treaty with Salarn, leaving one of theirs behind as insurance. Keystone could think of one or two of them he wouldn't mind skipping out on in the middle of the night trusting to be the party's Ambassador to these people.

His face now clear of savory meat & veggies, he spoke up, wagging a thumb at Kyra. "..<burp>.. Yeah, what she said." Truly a man of eloquence.

It was at this point that he really noticed that Sana had sat down next to him. Not to say that she was invisible or being stealthy earlier, just that it registered with him - the spots open, especially now that half their group was busy elsewhere, and she opted to share breathable air with him, voluntarily. She was a brave woman, obviously. Concerned that she would notice him staring, he snapped his head back around and grabbed a helping of rice.

Luckily (sort of), his ocular transgression was covered nicely by the minor argument between Sana and Kyra. Keystone wisely stayed out of it. The last thing he needed was to involve himself in the serrated caterwauling of two experienced archers in the middle of a possibly undead-infested wood, surrounded by Orcs that were unsure as to their motivation. Especially when the two knew each other very well. Oh no, Keystone was going to let this play out. Instead, he reached over and splatted a small serving of stewed rabbit onto his rice. It had been a little while since he had eaten his absolute fill. Now that there was enough food to do so without shorting anyone else in the group, that's precisely what he intended to do.

He wasn't thinking about the possible consequences of that decision.

Two of his group returned, right about then. The third Archer, and the very quest-oriented Elf. "Gretchin. Colcannon. Good of ya t'join." He waved to the food set out and returned his attention to his own, mildly annoyed. They were still down two. All the same, Keystone wanted to address a matter in front of them, one they had not gotten around to as of yet.

"Right... Look, I'd 'ave preferred all of us be about for it, but life ain't perfect. Gotta talk it over, yeah? Yeah. Thing is, I always seem to be stuck 'tween the Undead and the thing what they're wantin' t'get at, y'understand? Been fightin' them for years now. Lit'rally bloody years. If you lot haven't, we gotta talk Tactic. Now..."

Movement from their recently quiet member caught his attention, from almost the other side of the fire. It was the recently taken-in spellcaster, who had looked close to unconsciousness for the majority of his presence with them. Using what Keystone assumed was arcane means, an entire, intact root vegetable rose and hovered slowly to him. What concerned Keystone was that, he was dead certain that he had cut down all of the veggies prior to cooking. Perhaps he missed one. Maybe more. In morning light, he could assess.

Directly following the arcane relocation of the wild baigie, Thomas broke the fireside conversation, seemingly expostulating the idea of talking business in lieu of expanding his knowledge of herbalism, under Satilla's tutelage. Sure enough, it got Keystone's attention away from the ongoing discussion of their predicament and dangers to come. Yes, he was quite interested in this new exchange, just not for the reason likely preferred.

When Thomas dropped the freshly cooked foodstuff onto the ground, the itinerant pugilist wished to voice his disapproval of the younger man's behavior.

"What the 'ell arsebiscuitry is this, ya fongin' cockmerchant? Lobbin' about my bloody neeps, at her bloody cat, and now you're wantin' something from 'er? PISS OFF. We got matters, and Bacon-damned serious ones, need looking to." Keystone was rising from his seat, plate still in hand. His demeanor suggested almost parental incredulity, with restrained, pulsating annoyance that threatened to make a lateral move. "If'n you get hungry, your supper's feline adjacent at present. Help or bloody leave."

Thinking about it optimistically, Keystone might have found a frontrunner for the Ambassador position.