Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Nallore

Just a quick edit, Nal - the message concerning the biker gang at the main gate came through on the frequency that folks use if they want to speak with Ash privately. If Meg's radio was also scanning that one, they have something to discuss. Otherwise, she wouldn't have gotten the news yet.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Okay, post is up. Not my best, if you find that I missed something I'll edit in. More than a bit under the weather lately.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Ash Holloway

---

Location: Building 1 (Cells)

---

---

"You're missing my... Nevermind." Ash's hesitance to speak about Zoie dealt mostly with the inhumanities she had to endure, rather than things she had done to others. It was of little importance now, anyway, so long as the topic shifted to something other than his new Second. At least directly. Zoie wasn't exactly Ash's initial choice for a Second. He just didn't know her at all, and her arrival shortly following Eden's first attack/Zombnado. But, seeing as his other choices were shot or eaten (or both), and of course the highly unexpected approval of Ceasar, Ash offered her a leadership position.

It seemed to make sense; there was a massive influx of new people at that time, choosing some from among their ranks bolstered solidarity. The last thing he wanted was to worry about was the sudden factioning of what remained of the Newnan survivors. Something similar happened to the first group he was with, just following the Outbreak. It was a collection of military personnel, mostly Army and Air Force. Disciplined men and women, adherents to a strict chain of command, and they broke apart like shredded wheat in a paint shaker.

Ash had almost finished his meal, indeed was somewhere in the vicinity of scraping together tatters of cabbage into a bite suitable to being scooped up with his fork, when he spoke again. "Don't care about breaking Adamm. I'm not partial to manipulation nor mind games. If it's all the same, I'd rather put a bullet in his skull and burn his body in homebrew. But I'm not picky."

Thinking briefly on what the prisoner had just mentioned, concerning pulling people back to the Inner Wall and getting more spotters together, Ash sighed just a little. Yeah, they needed a lot more people to hold their community effectively. On the other hand, they kept their growing crops and livestock out there. Some people had homes just outside the Inner Wall, too. They had structures, work structures, out there as well. From a standpoint of Civil Engineering, they had made the right decision setting it up this way. Even from a military standpoint, they had made the logical decision. But there was always that scenario that screwed up the plan. Always. And it wasn't like he could radio for reinforcements.

Ash was eager to discuss this conversation with the other Leads. "Thank you for your time, Mr. O'Reily. Good talk. Let me know if I can get you anything, within reason."

---

---

The Great Bazhooli

---

Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall) -> Building E (Apartments)

---

---

The Great Bazhooli knew that Meghna, and through her the higher-ups, were just being careful. The goofy Cossack could be some manner of eyeball chewing maniac, bent on doing things to all of them unmentionable in polite society. So yeah, he got it. "Da, da... Rec Center. Let us see vhat we have to vork vith, yes?"

He began to follow Meg back out of the apartment. Her question as to his abilities caught him slightly off guard - Bazhooli had discovered a couple of interesting and useful talents since all hell broke loose worldwide, but in the strictest sense nothing that should be performed on stage. "Great Bazhooli vas trained since child as Impalement Artist. Also I juggle, also am acrobat. There are other things I do, for certain. But they are not for entertaining." He let that last sentence sink in for a moment before continuing, "Not for worrying! And do not bother metal worker. Dull knife still sharp enough to sink into vood. Will make nervous. I do not vant to go vithout my knives too long, someone finds this Ashton soon, da?"

---

---

Black James!

---

Location: Parking Lot between 10 (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of his Smoker

---

---

"Well then, lawdy lawd..." mused James, intentionally voicing a bit of a stereotype, "I do believe that our Jane Doe is ready. Now, if you went and sprained that ankle, maybe you ought not be out and about messing with the likes of this bigass pile of meat. How's about you fetch us a cart from Mess while I stare down this feline, makin' eyes at our deer, huh?"

He knew why the cat was there. Same reason anyone else would be gathering around his smoker - the small creature could smell the savory, smoky goodness and wanted some for himself. Couldn't say as he blamed the little guy, his work with wood and meat was famous (around Newnan, if that counted now), and James was tempted several times to grab a huge chunk for himself. "...definitely shoulda grabbed breakfast..." he thought to himself, closing off the smoke chamber on his massive apparatus. This action marked the end of his workday, everything else was a simple scrapedown and delivery of succulent, smoke-preserved venison. In all likelihood, they would grab a little now, and save the rest for supper tomorrow. On the other hand, he wouldn't hold it against anyone to jump on the entire beast immediately. It had been a very trying day.

James sure as hell knew he was having a chunk of Bambi's Mom in a few minutes. Euphemism not intended.

---

---

Bridgette Vinters

---

Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall) -> Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1

---

---

The quiet throughout the Mess Hall when Bridgette politely (for her) requested the assistance of anyone in the building was not taken well. Point of fact, her temples began to throb ever so slightly and she began tapping her knuckles on the table in front of her. She could feel a subcranial welling of many, varied applications of the word "fuck" bubbling ever closer to the surface, threatening to spill out of her mouth and into the Mess Hall, splattering vile, profane sarcasm on any and everyone within verbal splattering distance.

And then it happened. Someone volunteered.

It was a new guy, someone she didn't think she had met just yet. There were rumors that new people were settling in, but obviously she hadn't come up close and personal with this one just yet. Well, time for introductions. Kinda. The first thing she noticed was his accent. She'd spent a little time in New England, following the Reenactment and RenFaire circuits, and knew enough to recognize his Massachusetts accent. "Well hello there, Marky Mark!" she began, anger fading quickly. "Aren't you the tall, handsome one, eh? Look, don't worry. Patch job, stressed seam. All I need you to do is hand me what I need when I ask for it, and put shit back when I don't, mmkay?"

Quickly, Bridgette gathered her weapons and slung her shield across her back. She took Jack's hand and began to lead him to the door. "Oh, one thing sweetie," said the blonde Valkyrie in a singsong voice. The more musical note took a harsh downturn as she continued in a venomous whisper, "Fuck with my horse and I'm keeping your fingers. Got it?"

Her voice returned singsong as she continued to the door. "C'mon! Shouldn't take more than an hour!" She began walking happily, almost dancing, across the way to Cadence, as if her sudden Smeagol moment had never happened.

---

---

Schrödinger

---

Location: Parking Lot between 10 (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of the Smoker

---

---

The fuzzy orange bastard known to parts of humanity as "Schrodinger" sat patiently, waiting for more bits of smoked venison and/or fat to drop groundward. Yes, the cat knew patience. Patience and hunger. While he had gotten a little something earlier, the aroma of cooked meat was too much for him to simply stay away from. These people weren't so bad, really. Not as a whole, from what Schrodinger could sense, though he hadn't met this particular Human before this moment. So yes, settle back and play the role of a good, cute, sweet little furball. Let the younger two-leg pet him. It always seemed to give them as much gratification than it did him. Even purr a little. Yes, be cute and wait for the food to come to him. Purrrrrfect.

Schrodinger even gave a couple of tentative steps forward, toward the dark-skinned food guard. He sat back down on his haunches, pawed the side of his face for a moment, and issued a quiet, trilling "...meow₁..?"

Translations

1 = "I am extending requisite cuteness, Human, and demand that you pay attention to me. You currently have in your possession something which interests me a great deal, and I am trying to barter for it with my adorableness. Do you not understand how this works?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Yes. A couple of years. Best of luck with the GM.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Oliver

It's called a "Replace All" command in most document programs. But that's not the underlying issue. I might suggest that you spend some time in the Free Roleplay section to cut your teeth for a couple of years before attempting anything with depth, let alone one of Lady A's RPs. Also understand that, when applying for entry into someone else's RP, general etiquette and respecting the rules provided isn't "kissing anyone's ass", it's simple courtesy.

When you can understand the difference, I'm sure we'd love to have you. In the meantime, have fun elsewhere.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Lady Amalthea My CS is done. Please note that I did in fact change the color scheme. Yours was 6ecff6, mine is 6ecff8. It just looks the same because it's like a sixth of a shade darker or lighter. I thought your rule was stupid so I'm spiting you, but technically I did follow it. Whether or not that makes you mad enough to deny me on those grounds is up to your discretion. (You'll quickly learn about me that I kiss no one's ass. That's just how I roll, so deal with it or find someone else to play with)

@Oliver

The color choice displays an unwillingness to follow simple rules, simply put. Without a drastic change of attitude, I'd actually rather not deal with it, and insist you pick up your toys and find another sandbox. Granted I am not the final authority on this, and will respect the wishes of said final authority if she disagrees with my opinion.

I don't care if you find a rule stupid. You will follow it, letter and spirit both, or you won't be a part of this. That level of obvious disrespect will not be tolerated, period.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Oliver

Referring to the original post, specifically the rules for CS submission, Works In Progress are directly mentioned as a no-no. Please complete your CS before posting.

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

---

---

Keystone

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

Interacting With: The Group

---

---

Following up on Sana's words to the tactlessly indirect (but entirely true) accusation of inciting violence, Keystone responded with a voice filled with sarcastic faux realization: "I bloody well think she is talking 'bout us, oi! Imagine that. ...more neeps?" The broad man shoveled more rabbit and rice into his face, enjoying an opportunity uncommon for him while traveling - eating his absolute fill. It was uncommon not only because rationing was paramount while on the road, but because Keystone was a man of large appetites - gifted with a big mouth and a hollow leg.

The neutral voice of Cyneburg cut the sudden conversational lull, saying something about objections and settling, before the more important intonation concerning food. Perhaps it wasn't, in actually, the most important part of her phrasing. But it was something reactive, the results of Keystone's culinary endeavors being a source of minor pride. At the time, his mouth was stuffed with small, alabaster grains and savory, neepy-green flavored bunny. Perhaps the squishy sound of his own, frenzied chewing was why he took so much time to respond to Cyneburg's request for food and a hand extended in his direction, that the other resident Half-Orc stepped in on his behalf to deliver a plate of food to her. Thinking about it logically, that must have been the only reasonable explanation. At least the big guy enjoyed his food, even giving some to his badger. Keystone did like it when people dug into his food, especially with a very recent meal in the both of them. It showed a genuine appreciation for his handiwork, manners be damned.

Swallowing hard, Keystone responded to Cyneburg. His words were punctuated by the baton-like motioning of a pheasant bone, giving him an oddly comical appearance. "Sorry 'bout. I'll be quicker on the draw next, yeah?" He continued in a more businesslike voice, "Right then, nobody's settled nothin' till tomorrow morning, before we leave. Can't say as you ain't making some points, why you should stay. On the personal though, I'd rather have a more trust-inspiring sod watchin' my back. Let someone else muck about with the Orcs. Things to do, y'understand. That bear trick is bloody rollicking, too. But all that's just one frig's opinion."

The sound of the fire crackling in the deepening evening was interrupted by a soft tinkling of metal cookware. Keystone had taken it upon himself to put a pot on for tea. The water hadn't begun to steam yet when Keystone announced unabashed, "Alright, you lot. I'm going to find a quiet spot to bark out a arse biscuit. If'n that water starts making noise, someone drop in a packet of black tea, yeah? It's next to the pot."

"Ey, any o' you got a sock you don't mind parting with? ..eh... n'mind."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Ash Holloway

---

Location: Building 1 (Cells)

---

---

"Let's be clear, before we continue." said Ash in a serious tone, motioning again with his fork, "I understand that Zoie has gone through a lot. If she wants to share details, that's her decision, period." Ash didn't need to know. The horrible things people will do to survive aren't limited to committing distasteful acts; it included the physical and mental fortitude to endure the trespasses of others. The nature and extent of these trespasses were hers, and hers alone, unless she felt comfortable enough to tell someone. Maybe it was needed to fully recover, but (in Ash's estimation) it should never be forced out into the open, nor whispered about in the shadows.

"Zoie aside, drugs... have their place. The kind I'm looking for are pain suppressants, antibiotics, and the like. Some of the less charming street pharmaceuticals even have their place, these days. We have a lady in town, pharmacist. Rubbed people the wrong way on her first day, hard. If we can ever get some of that "trust" going, you two might could talk."

The weary Captain shoveled another couple of bites into his mouth. He leaned back and stretched a bit, as if trying to relieve a sore back. "Busy day. Day isn't over yet, either. Lots to do, so I'll be direct: I want to know what you think is the best course of action to keep these people safe. I'd also like to know the best route to take to make that bastard's world come crashing down on top of him - but we can get to that later."

---

---

The Great Bazhooli

---

Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall) -> Building E (Apartments)

---

---

"No no, Meg. Is fine. Is better than I have in long time." This was an understatement. The odd man had been roaming the railways for more days than he bothered to count. Clean, running water and an actual bed, in an area that he didn't have to personally clear of snarling corpses. He would have been willing to fight tooth and nail for just one of them. It was quite possible that his more familial instincts were reacting to these people that he had just met, psychologically drawing them in as surrogates. The Great Bazhooli had always been part of a fringe, close-knit group. Since the day of his birth, even. Logically, he knew that he might be putting his stock into this group way too soon. Emotionally, he didn't care.

Besides, he was an excellent judge of character. It was not something he really developed until after the Outbreak. Everyone who was Circus Folk had a little glimmer about noticing how people react. It allowed them to better work a performance or fleece a mark. The bare ability was there. He took special attention to develop it into a reliable ability, seeing as the remaining Human population would just as soon shoot you for a tin of beans as look at you, half of the time. He didn't see any of the warning signs associated with his "run like hell" instinct. Although, he did wonder how a couple of the people he had met were still alive. Must be the walls, and these people.

"Good place to put things for now. Except, quiet man vith gun following us, he has all my things."

The Great Bazhooli glanced back to the armed escort. He really looked like he didn't want to be there. The guy who was in charge? Bazhooli really hoped that he would give him that interview, for the escort's sake. But for now, he had to think up a plan for the first half of a show that likely wouldn't involve sharp things. More was the pity about that little caveat. He was quite the artist with sharp implements. "This is good, very good. Now, vhere for show, what am I allowed to work vith?"

---

---

Black James!

---

Location: Parking Lot between 10 (Medical Garden) and Gilbert Street - Present location of his Smoker

---

---

James didn't notice Kristina walk up until she began speaking, evidently, so solid was his focus on the cat. It really unnerved him, but not because of some obscure cat phobia. James had simply not seen one in a while, at least not within the walls of Newnan. It seemed like a thing which should not have been, an unexpected thing that took him by surprise. As the animal snuck up to his position, James's brain simply would not register that it could have been something as mundane as a common housecat. He felt absolutely foolish.

"Hey hey, little lady. Pussycat done gave me a startle, that's for sure. Hey, when did we get a cat in here?" The veteran hogger looked sideways at the feline as it sat there, staring at him. Or was it staring at the smoker? It was hard to say. Lord knows James would be staring at the smoker, in the cat's place. He had skipped the last couple of meals, and to be frank, his stomach was making some pretty impressive sounds now. The succulent aroma of smoke and meat effected the diametric opposite of help, in this regard. Maybe he should give it a jog over to the Mess Hall, but he was just a couple hours away from yummy, smoked meat. Then again, he didn't really need to hover over the smoker. He could take a break.

"Hey there, Kris... Them animals, they all shoveled an fed, right?"

---

---

Bridgette Vinters

---

Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)

---

---

The oft rude Valkyrie horked back the entirety of her meal with the sophistication and grace of a chainsaw. It could be argued that she didn't give herself time to taste the food, the counterpoint being that one would have to want to taste it for that to be an issue. Before the Apocalypse, she wasn't a huge fan of cabbage. Or many green vegetables, for that matter. Nowadays, there was something about the scarcity of the stuff that made her jump for it. Even raw. This was, understandably, an interesting scenario for a lady who spent the first moments of the Outbreak on an epic quest for a Snickers and Blue Raspberry Slushie.

Fruit, she had always been fine with. Loved the stuff. But anymore, fruit was even more rare a find than vegetables. At this point in her life, Bridgette would grudgingly have taken a belt sander to a puppy for that bowl of peaches back at her place. As it stood, all she had to do was what came naturally: Work metal and teach people the less refined sciences or violence. It was a shame that they didn't have their own trees. She definitely would have broken out the belt sander for that.

Her meal complete, Bridgette walked her tray over to the dish line and deposited it with a plasticy clap. She then returned to recover her arms and shield at her table. Her face betrayed a moment of hesitation, before making an unscheduled announcement to any remaining in the Mess:

"Alright guys, here's the deal! Cap'n Ash says I can grab a couple warm bodies to help wrap up this wall repair I've been trying to do, even before those fuckshits started taking shots at us. All day. No fix. Need a hand. Asking volunteers. Next I draft a tool caddy. Who's coming?"

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

---

---

Foy Coiffeur

---

Location: Lounge -> Med Bay

---

Absolutely, sir." responded Foy cheerfully. It was as if Jahosafat had just asked the man if he wanted to be treated to a haircut and a good steak. "I shall take the back end of the box this time, Doctor. On the previous, I could not see my path and very nearly lost a fingernail taking a corner."

Foy wasn't being completely honest about the situation. True, there was a close call while the large box was being transitioned out of the Cargo Bay that the Gentleman Barber found particularly distasteful, but the primary reason lay with his armament. In order to get a decent grip on the front end while carrying it last time, he had to remove the quick release holders for his holdout pistols. What with the new knowledge of Reavers in stasis aboard the Retribution, Foy was loathe to disarm, especially when four large bore rounds were a flick of the wrist away. It seemed quite a bother otherwise.

The word of the extremely well groomed man was true to his intentions. He grabbed the back end of the safeguarded, black box and heaved it from the floor with a soundless press of back and leg muscles. The wiry man was a bit stronger than he looked, it seemed. As the ominous box moved from the Lounge, Foy gave a debonair nod and smile to both the Captain (henceforth always to be Captain, and not the more common means of address) and Carla. He intoned a polite, "Ma'am." to the lady assassin while he passed by.

In short order, Foy found himself in Medical, with the company of Jahosafat and a Box of Reaver to feed his interest. Very well then, Dr. Moreau." he began, rolling up his sleeve to disengage just the one of his concealable holsters, "Let us see what dangers lurk within the confines of my scarlet humours, old boy."