Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Outer Wall, Main Gate

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Ashton looked at the people assembled below him, in front of Newnan's Main Gate. They seemed to be exactly what their leader claimed, but... he was hesitant to take unnecessary chances. All the same, if this was an attempt at mischief, he'd rather they be unarmed, surrounded by people friendly to himself.

"Beni. Pleasure, of course. My name is Ashton Holloway; Ash works fine. I speak for the people of Newnan." The urge to respond with title and full authority was strong. If these were decent folk who honestly wanted trade, Ash didn't want to radiate icy law from above. His tone was definitely no-nonsense, despite the relatively casual nature of his actual words. Of course, part of his waiting and speaking was due to the expected arrival of a security detail. He glanced back to confirm a handful of Newnanites with rifles approaching the Gate.

"Trade outside of the walls goes a lot better if we have a prearranged site. Besides, I cannot list out the contents of our Pharmacy from memory. You'd have to speak with our Medical Officer about that. Stand informed - if you do decide to enter, it will be completely unarmed, and under escort. We've had difficulties with other people before. You may claim your weapons as you leave; you may leave at any time. Is this acceptable?"

The thought occurred to Ash that, were these people potentially hostile, they could very well be using the opportunity to scout out their inner workings. Then again, they had already been breached before, by an enemy that already seemed to know where to go and what to do.

"So, where are you coming from, anyway?"

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)

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It was a grand open space, the Rec Center. Not quite the more natural flooring to which he was accustomed, nor even the softer flexibility of wood. Were he to engage in acts of tumbling on this surface, he would have to remain very careful at all times. He could think to whatever impromptu act he had to cobble together in a moment; for right now, he wanted to get a feel for the venue and the people with whom he would be working.

"Tatiana! Is good to see you again. Is good to meet another master of Performing Arts, of course. And, is very good to meet pretty girl of Mother Russia. So! Ve talk. You have just arrived in Newnan, da?"

The Great Bazhooli's social skills were just a touch rusty, but he was friendly enough. Even before the Outbreak, he was best when addressing a crowd, playing his character into the ground with its showy, circusy feel. Even now, he was more of a muted version of his circus persona. If you wear a mask long enough, it becomes part of you, and Bazhooli had been in front of crowds since a very young age.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Outer Wall, damaged section on the Eastern Side

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"Wait. Stop that train in its tracks, mister. Did you just mothershitting Titanic me?" She brought Cadence to a dead stop, and turned in her saddle to face Jack. There was a strange look of random intent in her eyes, a not-so-quiet wildness that likely served her well in her bouncing days. "World full of dead people trying to gnaw on my tits, food shortages, water you have to lower a goddamned bucket for, 120% Georgia fucking humidity, and you've got the scrote to throw some DiCrappio at me? You..."

Bridgette nudged her horse onward, one hand behind her waving a single finger in the classic "No-No" motion. "Your bouncy hair and classic looks won't save you from a monkey-stomping, Jack. Just sayin'."

As if the preceding exchange never took place, the tall woman looked back to her assistant with a chilling smile. "My Cadence does go fast. Used to be a jousting horse. Hey! We're here! Alright... You got a gun? Take mine if you don't. Yeah, yeah, you ain't the "killing me" type. You keep real fucking observant, hand me stuff when I ask. Okay! Let's get to work."

Oddly, she seemed very optimistic.

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Black James!

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Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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James insisted on rolling the cart back to the Mess Hall for Sally. She was a busy enough lady, the least he could do for her was ensure she had a relatively unencumbered walk back. Even if it was a block or less. "Aight, so Kitty-Cat is a friend of a friend, then? I can deal with that, long as I meet that first "friend", I be solid."

He began unloading the meat into the more appropriate holding areas of the Mess, minding where covered dishes were kept. Zoie could totally use a plate of smoked, South Georgia heaven. He was a talented Man of Redneck Charcuterie, even if it meant tipping his cap to himself, and was sure that Zoie would love it.

"Been keepin' up on Miss Zoie, over the radio. I about got stupid-happy, I hear the all clear on old girl. Imma see how she's doin', soon as we get this all put up. Bring her that plate while I'm at it, too."

🦄 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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"Yes, there you are." comforted the Lord Major, retrieving his flask from Vera, "You'll be rosy and vigorous in no time at all, you see." He turned his attention to the other others in the room, continuing with an authoritative but polite voice, "Well, come along then! Let us give Lady Munn some air and space, wot wot?"

The mentioned concepts of Seeing the Goddess Bastet and the Pharaoh's Curse that supposedly struck Lord Carnarvon got Reginald's blood moving in a somewhat more vigored direction. Something about the prospect of shaking hands with his own mortality made him positively giddy, and in a moment of bravado, he had made the decision to seize upon the opportunity. "Ah, how positively maddening, yet intriguing this all has become, yes? I for one am with our new Scandinavian friend from the Fourth Estate; how does one see a Goddess, this year and day? I shall be happy to accompany and assist with any influence I have at my disposal."

It looked to be a fine, adventurous evening indeed. And here, the biggest plan he had for the next few days was to go and watch his favorite dancer, drink heavily, and run a few inspections of his barracks and airfield. Possibility of horrifying demise, secrets from thousands of years ago, strange dreams, and new companions thrown together from many differing backgrounds. It reminded him greatly of the off-the-books missions he and his fellows from decades past used to perform, back in what he considered a simpler time. Well, until he intentionally made it more complicated with his presence. Just a bit of the old Reggie twinkled in his tired eyes, imbuing the old man with a sense of life and purpose he clearly needed.

"But don't you let my preference for a warm bed and classy liquors dissuade you. While I have not had very many dealings with dusty tombs, you see, I have lifetimes crawling under battlefields, strafing upon them, and so much more propelling myself above. I shan't slow you down much. And being me comes with a selection of benefits, understand."

"So! Where to from here? I can have a car waiting in five minutes."

🦄 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: Orcs, vigorously.

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A sound finally did issue across the moonlit forest. It was hazy and uncertain, observable for a half second before being drowned out by exclamations of approval in the guttural tongue of their hosts, uncertainty striking anyone not in the immediate vicinity of the event unfolding as to its true nature. The quiet returned, though not as absolute as before. There was an underlying shuffling of leaves over rainpacked soil, the quieter sounds of feet jostling for position. The apprehensive, total quiet returned.

A dot of campfire at the other end of the wide cave opening, low and embery in the evening hour, was obviously the central point of this strange happening. It was confirmed very quickly as a murderous noise tore from that very fire, the sound of a great avalanche rolling into a lake of jam; a bubbly, tearing sound that struck deep into the very psyche of many around as unnatural, possibly in conjunction with forces most sinister. It lasted far longer than the lung capacity of a mortal man could scream without faltering, with an emotion of raw, abyssal hopelessness radiating outward therefrom.

But that wasn't the entirety of the scene unfolding. The dim, low fire suddenly exploded into a diagonally upwardly reaching, fiery conical conflagration, two feet higher than the bonfire and four feet beyond. The terminal end of the hellish illumination revealed the faces of many Orcs nearby, shocked and stumbling back from the conflagration that threatened to scar them. The point of origin... No, couldn't be. The idea was patently absurd.

The nearly-singed Orcs changed their notes of revelry and surprise to that of looming violence. For a second or two, the far campfire took on the makings of a fistfight in its embryo stages. It was not until a single command from a dominant Orc voice issued that the quiet returned, if only briefly.

This patch of stillness lasted only as long as it took for another sound, massive and guttural, blarbled across the campsite. But lo! In the dim illumination of the evening, this noise faltered; beginning as a ripping trumpet blare, but fading into syrupy staccato, bereft of the raw force of character present in the first wordless, earthy exclamation of the evening. The low fire caught again, but instead of a lance of flame reaching out and heavenward, it instead followed a horrifying trail back to the point of origin. The dim light gave way to a more eye-friendly illumination, as a rather massive Orc's rough pantaloons caught ablaze, prompting a member of a race not generally inclined to the proclivities of dance to engage in an entertaining one nonetheless. The Ritual of Pant Extinguishing ended with said Orc dragging his bottom across the ground in a manner most undignified.

The unbridled laughter of Orcs can be terrifying. Unless they're laughing at one of their own.

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The broad Pugilist known as Keystone returned to his own camp in notably better spirits, a sense of prideful accomplishment smiling across his scarred face. He rummaged out a ceramic bottle, the very one that he picked up back in Salarn some three days prior, and walked back over to the other side of the cave entrance. In the distance, a person leaning in ear in his direction could hear a sympathetic underclass tone roll out, "...ey there. Sorry 'bout y'nethers, yeah?"

Keystone returned, poured a hearty cup of black tea, and took a small, breathy sip to best gauge temperature before committing to a full savoring of the rich, tanniny fluid. He dropped in a small handful of a something-or-another, gave it a stir, and settled back onto his oversized pack. "Ah yeah, that's the good stuff."

Keystone drank once deeply, and began cleaning up after supper. "Right then, what'd I miss?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1 (Cells) -> Outer Wall, Main Gate

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The second that Ash received notice through his walkie about a biker gang(?) at the front gate, another man entered the room. It was the same fellow from back at the Mess Hall he instructed to relieve the sentry at the Cells, when he was done eating. The guy had excellent timing, had to hand it to him. As much as Ash would have loved to give a long list of Dos and Don'ts, he was really needed elsewhere. Instead, he kept his instructions brief, and out of Ryan's line of sight: "This man talks an amazing quality of bullshit. Do not engage, verbal or otherwise, and to not go near the cell for any reason. He's had food and water recently and he's in good health. If he tries to escape, shoot him. Someone will relieve you in about two hours, if not sooner."

The good Captain responded to the radio with a simple "Understood. En route." He exited the Courthouse about a minute later, just in time to see a heavily armed Bridgette with the new guy, headed east. His own duties took him south, so he didn't bother with pleasantries. Instead, he took off at a jog. Once clear of the Inner Wall, Ash drew his .45 pistol, and resumed his jog. With enemy combatants penetrating the Outer Wall, seemingly at will, he wanted to take as few chances as possible.

Upon reaching the Main Gate, he motioned to the sentry on duty, and took two or three deep breaths to regulate his visible air intake. Satisfied that he was putting the most assertive version of himself out there for the benefit of new (and potentially hostile) people, Ash ascended the station. He allowed for a handful of seconds to scan the group below him, take in numbers, notice what he could notice about them. He thumbed on his Walkie, intoning with a quiet, even voice, "Security team, get in place at the Main Gate, prepare to receive guests, status unknown."

And then to the people assembled below, "Whomever speaks for your group, now is a good time."

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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

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Black James smiled a broad "Thank You" at Ms. Sally and Kris, then began loading the cart down with yummy, smoky meat. The animal itself was mostly disarticulated, resulting in two major facts for the endeavor: 1) The venison was very well penetrated with aromatics, and 2) It took considerably more than one pass to transfer it off of the smoker.

Years past, he would have never dreamed of grilling freshly car-harvested deer while equipped for a sustained battle. Just never occurred to him. Now, it seemed like the logical thing to do. Commonplace, even. Woodaxe, 9mm, Barret, large knife, and sweet, smoky venison. Hell of a day. While moving meat to cart, James suddenly remembered the animal's hide, which he had field dressed quite effectively. The AHA moment hit his face quite visibly, resulting in the immediate retrieval of the fur bearing skin and its deposit on the lower tier of the cart. He quickly finished loading the meat.

The last piece, a fatty section of belly meat, rose from the grilltop with a little more difficulty than the rest of it. Maybe that section of the smoker wasn't oiled quite as well as it should have been. Reason notwithstanding, part of it stuck. James carefully prodded it with a nearby spatula to loosen the hold of steel to meat, with some success. A second set of tongs joined the efforts, and the hunk of doey goodness found itself transported toward the cart once again. Halfway there, a slice - generous amount for a taste, small for a portion, detached itself and struck the blacktop with a squishy plop. The Smokemaster Blackneck completed the meat's journey nonetheless, then returned to see the fate of the fallen portion.

Both it and Schrodinger were missing, naught but a moist spot on the ground to prove that either of them had been there in the first place.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Building 2 Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1 -> Eastern Outer Wall

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"Well, aren't you a sweetie?" Bridgette responded. There was no trace of flirtation in her voice, no hint that she was actually trying to get anywhere with the man. Nor was it sarcasm; it had more of a ring of disinterested conversational filler. She had a job to do, and now that she had an extra set of hands on it, she wanted it over and done with quickly. Much more to do, even after it got dark. This task, however, couldn't wait that long.

The smell of James's meatsmithery definitely caught her attention. Oh yeah, she would have to get some of that later on. Bridgette bet that it would go awesomely with one or more of those fresh peaches back on her kitchen table. Her gaze lingered for more than a couple seconds; urgency of the moment snapped her back out if it. She shook her head and readied to mount Cadence.

"My name is Bridgette. I work metal here, among other things. Hey, grab that stepladder there? And keep up. We're on the fucking clock, here."

The impatient lady rested her spear in Cadence's tack, with others, placed her sawed-off into a saddlebag with the handle readily available, and practically leapt atop the saddle. "Time to cruise, Jack. Don't worry, he won't go faster than a brisk walk."

True to word, the horse kept slow. She led him just outside the eastern part of the Inner Wall before initiating, "Yeah... Over there is where Ash makes most of his homebrew, and some really good shit, too. But we're going south till we hit Salbide, and East till we hit the Wall. Shouldn't be but a little while. Something happens, you take that path back. Buildings out here can corner you right the fuck in, if you don't know your way around. Alright, let's go."

Bridgette began leading Jack down the beaten path, hopefully to very quickly locate and weld shut the offending piece of steel keeping them safe from the Dead.

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

@Sigil @Dragoknighte @rivaan @POOHEAD189 @Lucius Cypher @IcePezz @The Grey Dust

Okay guys, I seem to have taken some liberties with my last post that should have required rolls. To that end, I have cut off the "Effect" portion of the post, and now have to wait for Lady A to make the appropriate checks. In the meantime, it is important that your characters do not react to the situation unfolding until a WN about it has been posted.

My apologies for the inconvenience.

🦄 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: Orcs, vigorously.

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Keystone trudged from their little campsite, intent on taking care of urgent, personal business. He could have sworn he spotted a couple of passable copses of trees nearby, and was confident that he could find them again in the dying light. Of course, if he found them passable, it was quite possible that they were already under strenuous use of the local fauna, i.e. the Warband of Orcs. Keystone's sight in the dark was generally superior for a human, but he did not have the true nighttime sight that their hosts possessed. The possibility of splatting heavily into multiple days' worth of Orcshit after a botched footfall was a concern. Perhaps instead, he reasoned, he should just walk a straight line for a minute or two and quite literally "let the chips fall where they may".

He clearly heard the advice offered by Kyra to stay downwind of the group, and responded with an annoyed, "Yeah, yeah..." and dismissive hand wave. To his credit, he did stop, turn his head about to feel the wind's direction on his face, and shift his angle of departure.

Silence. Dead silence after the tromping of his thick, steel-toed boots faded into the young evening. Not even the war party around them seemed to make much of a sound, curious as to the intentions of the large Human. The quiet deepened, even as the nocturnal insects ceased their chirping, allowing the moment to hang there with glaring, pregnant pause.

A sound finally did issue across the moonlit forest. It was hazy and uncertain, observable for a half second before being drowned out by exclamations of approval in the guttural tongue of their hosts, uncertainty striking anyone not in the immediate vicinity of the event unfolding as to its true nature. The quiet returned, though not as absolute as before. There was an underlying shuffling of leaves over rainpacked soil, the quieter sounds of feet jostling for position. The apprehensive, total quiet returned.

A dot of campfire, low and embery in the evening hour, was the best guess of the central point of this strange happening. It was confirmed very quickly as a murderous noise tore from that very fire, the sound of a great avalanche rolling into a lake of jam; a bubbly, tearing sound that struck deep into the very psyche of many around as unnatural, possibly in conjunction with forces most sinister. It lasted far longer than the lung capacity of a mortal man could scream without faltering, with an emotion of raw, abyssal hopelessness radiating outward therefrom.

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

Just to remind everyone, I have been granted Bunnying rights by our benevolent GM over the character Friedrich Knochengeiger. This will continue until his unfortunate, hopefully messy expiration.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Med Bay -> Upper Corridor

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"That is a prodigious amount of blood, Josie." remarked Foy as the vials were filled, labelled, and set aside. "I do hope the intent is not to grow another me, good sir. I daresay the 'Verse just isn't capable of handling that much raw, genteel refinement." He chuckled a self-assured "Ho Hooooo... Perhaps one day."

Foy wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, genuinely impressed with his own joke. When the request to deliver the other two crates was put to him, the stately gentleman leapt at the task. "Absolutely, Dr. Moreau. We shall set upon it straightaway. Right, Miss Lo..." Foy stopped, noting that Carla was already leaving the room. He had assumed that his childhood friend was speaking to himself and the other private contractor in the vicinity. The only other person nearby at the time was the Retribution's dedicated Medical Officer, Dr. Friedrich Knochengeiger.

Okay, perhaps Jahosafat meant him. Foy rolled his head back to face the slender physician. "Well then, Freddy... Oh, may I call you Freddy? Informality lightens heavy labors, I find. At any rate, we appear to find ourselves in the interesting position of being each others' dance partners for the interim. So, shall one of us follow the other, or would it be more sporting to stride abreast and speak of gentlemanly things along the way? I have acquired the most interesting reproduction of the personal writings of the legen(wait for it)dary pugilist John L. Sullivan, if that fits your interest, sir."

The Ship's Doctor stared at Foy with wordless distaste for a few scant seconds, really letting tension build in the room before issuing a coldly venomous hiss in the form of mostly articulated words, "Nein. You hired hands are here for lifting and following orders. Now if you will excuse me, I have something Medical that needs my attention." The gaunt Doctor clicked his heels together, adjusted an imaginary monocle, and walked briskly from the Med Bay.

Foy was slightly taken aback. That was callously unnecessary, even for a man as generally disagreeable as Dr. Knochengeiger. Especially considering Foy's own status on the social hierarchy. It invoked immediate irritation that he kept very well hidden. Curiosity did find him, though. The dapper gentleman found himself peeking around the door and into the main corridor, watching where his "new best friend" might have been going with such importance. The Doctor ascended a ladder nearby, taking him away from both Cargo and most anything medical. "How very interesting, Freddy." remarked Foy to himself, "Let us see what you are really doing..." Obviously, Foy followed the man. Up stairs and trailing back a ways, just to see what room he would enter.

When he saw the man stop at a restroom closet door, he stopped short. Even let loose a chuckle, despite himself. The door swung open just enough to allow the physician entry, but it also allowed Foy to see a single red banner across the door. From this distance it could not be clearly read, but the meaning of it was known: Out of Service. Foy giggled again, raising his hand and calling out for the man. "Um, Doctor, that's... before he thought better of it. "Eh, he's a smart man. Doctor, even. He'll figure it out."

Foy took to whistling a cheerful tune as he turned and began walking aft. He still had to find an otherwise unoccupied body to give him an assist, hauling those crates up to the Med Bay. The whistling paused for just a moment, as Foy mused aloud, "Unpleasant fellow, but my does he have a classy monocle."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: The Morgue

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Caesar's eyes narrowed at Dr. Brinne, giving her a once-over with a suspicious glare. Things were cautious enough, so it took him a second or two to fully understand that he was the interloper here, coming into their workplace with beer and pizza in a manner that could be construed as unprofessional. He frowned a little, then nodded and accepted her greeting. "Gracias, doctor. I am also interested in making sure Miss Ashworth is standing when this is done, too." Thinking about it, of the group that went to the Derby with Caesar, everyone except for the two of them was either dead or missing.

Despite accepting her greeting and condolences, Caesar remained wary. Just because she was being open and sympathetic, he did not feel the need to share too much in the way of non-case personal information. It was enough that she knew of his intent to keep Cecily breathing, the "whys" of the situation shouldn't concern her. If Cecily wanted to share, that was her business.

"That other woman there, Lorna..." started Caesar, looking over at the exam tables, "She isn't blood, but she is familia. Also my employee. I can get you the information on her next of kin, if you need it. We are obviously investigating her death, too."

Then to Cecily, "Another of my employees has been murdered. I don't know if it's related, and I don't know the coroner up that way. Timing is coincidental. I would like your permission to have the body brought here for autopsy."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security employee lounge -> Gymnasium, with entourage

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Oh, the less active of the MSS grunt personnel had no idea who their Acting Director was, no idea at all. For many of them, it was a first meeting. A very loud, potentially productive first meeting. The Cockney giant caused all manner of uproar, spewing profanities likely never heard previously in the city of Justice, possibly even the state of California.

Keystone was a bit more than a common bruiser; his time with the company had given him a less tangible skill set in matters of security protocol. Coupled with years of arduous training in Europe and mainland China, he was a formidable trainer, as well. And thanks to his formative years, growing up in the less savory parts of East London, he was a frightening man with a curious grip on profanity. The security personnel who seemed to know their positions and were working diligently (also one of the ones who tipped him off to the lazy inaction of many of the staffers) were largely left alone. But the others...

A short hop away, in the Complex's gymnasium, sounds of violence and disapproval could be heard. None dared actually enter the gym, but outside, a crowd gathered to peer through tiny windows and tinier cracks, eager to witness what sounded like a highly loquatious bobby/drill instructor putting a group of Americans through a meat grinder. Those who could not glimpse the horror firsthand were left to merely imagine what was transpiring inside. The yelling, clearly audible even away from the gym, left much to the imagination.

"Oi! Stop twattin' about! Get up and do it again!"

"You've only thrown up twice! Stop your bullshite milquetoastery and hammer that bag!"

"Keep pushing! Go! Go! You call those pectorals? I've seen bigger tits on a ten-year-old! GO!"

"Ey! You stop again and I'll sandpaper your arsehole with the bloody treadmill!"

"Oh, did you lot cock up, and royal ya did, thinkin' you could laze about after Miss Dunn's passing and all. Bloody disgrace you're making to 'er memory, 'ers and Miss Gonzalez both! You lot right and proper buggered the goat on this one, but it's alright. I'm gonna fix it up nice and tidy-like. We'll be the best trained, most disciplined sons and daughters of bastiches this side of the pond, I tell you what, and we're gonna make them proud, or I'm puttin' my boot up all of your arses and processing your walking papers. Get me? Do you bloody get me?"

The sounds of heavy crashing and hand to hand combat could be heard from within. Occasional slams upon the walls hinted at hurled bodies, though the vast majority of persons not in the room would never know the truth. The rare few who were able to witness the whole spectacle were the guards on duty, watching the surveillance video. It was a riotous laugh, for the less disciplined, and required viewing for the moreso. Perhaps he would use it one day as an instructional video.

To be fair, Keystone was pushing them hard, but was careful to avoid anything resembling actual injury. His goal was to inspire terror and discipline, not harm. And speaking of terror: "Oh, if you lot thought Miss Dunn was an 'ard trainer, you never met a bloke like me. AND I GUARANTEE, if I'm snuffed off anytime soon, the next bugger what gets this job is gonna be so much worse. Already made the calls, I did."

🦄 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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Reginald took immediate notice of Vera's sudden, screamless palsy, and the accompanying light show. If nothing else, the Lord Major could say of this event that it was exceedingly not normal. Quite possibly less normal than the time during the Great War that he stumbled upon a squad of French infantry playing what he assumed was a modified and lascivious version of Marco Polo, somehow involving trench helmets and greased oranges. The commanding officer's face was priceless, he recalled, a stretch of forced casual and Parisian greeting squished together in a big, toothy grin.

As unsettling as it was, viewing that many French infantryman acting in a manner most ungentlemanly, the sight of his favorite adoptive niece held under painful sway of forces unknown filled him with the same manner of confusion, but a vastly different kind of fear. He didn't breathe until the fit subsided, and Vera issued the loud exclamation of "Di mi!", an utterance clearly not meant for a lady in mixed company.

Ever the gentleman, the Lord Major rushed to her side, helping to steady her in her seat. "Ah, yes, ah ...Lady Munn... "Dear Me", indeed! I was just about say that very phrase..." Not entirely confident that his ultimately trivial ruse worked, he glanced about nervously and directed his attention in a slightly more helpful fashion. "Lady Munn, ah, Vera dear, are you alright? Here let us get you a lovely cup of tea, yes?"

Reginald glanced around the room again, this time with a more assertive search in mind. What manner of barbarian would deny a citizen of the Empire a tea set in their immediate place of business? It was shocking, unless he was overlooking something obvious in his haste. Instead, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a careworn flask. Reginald unscrewed the cap and pressed it to Vera. "There you are, my Lady. Without the charms of chamomile, but it should do a proper job straightening your befuddlement."