Sigil

🦄 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 quietly took the pen and paper from Dr. Brinne, writing down the appropriates for the body to be shipped in from Seattle. He attached the postit note that he had just finished writing upon to the doctor's notepad; the smaller slip of sticky-sided paper containing contact information for Lorna's next of kin. There was little to write about his Seattle associate, aside from a name and a few details to confirm that the body was, in fact, the one in question. He passed it back to her and pulled out his phone.

Ducking off to the side, the elder man tapped through various menus on his phone, before finding a specific contact. The device rung three times before Caesar began to speak. "Kelley Breeden. Put the remains on the next transport, standard release papers. Yeah. Justice, California Coroner's Office, care of Cecily Ashworth and Dr. Natasha Brinne. Only. As soon as possible."

Caesar found an empty chair and shuffled out a single slice of pizza, unceremoniously shoving it into his mouth. With an air of quiet ceremony, he poured a small amount of his frosted barley pop into a wastebasket (etiquette usually dictated that the liquid hit the ground, but in an office setting such precaution might be forgiven), before taking a sip for himself. A bite or two down, and his curiosity got the better of him. "Which airfield? Maybe I can help."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Aintitfun1997 - Lady A has asked me to review a few items for inconsistencies. It's one of maybe three actual contributions I make as CoGM here, and I tend to be blunt. That being said...

Okay, let's break down the changes that you have made, and how it affects the rest of your CS.

Point the first: Your character now has zero skill with guns, yet owns and carries a .50 hand cannon. This may become problematic.

Point the second: In Delilah's first encounter with a Walker, she already knows what they are, that they are dead, and what happens if one is bitten. Knows how to kill them. How did she come by this information, if it was her first encounter and she had been out in the woods hunting when the outbreak occurred?

Point the third: Upon more closely reviewing her history since the outbreak, she has already set up shop near Newnan. Characters start in or near a number of locations, determined by the GM randomly. Who knows? She might end up near Newnan. But for now it needs to be removed from her history.

Point the Fourth: The post-outbreak skill you have selected, "no longer fears walkers" - if she has survived for just over three years in the zombie apocalypse, this skill is unnecessary.

Point the fifth: The skill, Fighting - Please clarify.

Point the sixth: The skill, setting traps - Ditto above.

Point the seventh: One of her fears is listed as simply "being". I am often struck with my own fear of existence in general, but I'm assuming that you had an idea, got distracted by another idea, and forgot to go back and finish. Need one more fear.

That's what I've got a present. Stuff needs to be addressed before it's approved for the CS tab.

🦄 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: Thomas

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The perplexing young spellcaster was initiating conversation. Keystone was just settling in, readying himself for the last bits of planning and discussion before inevitable rest and nighttime diligence. He'd just as soon not have heard from the boy at all; the topic was quite souring his elevated mood, courtesy of his gastrointestinal victory over the forces of Orckind minutes earlier. Objectively speaking, Keystone recognized that it (or at least the perception of it) was a good thing, maybe smoothing over a rough spot or two within the party.

"Never you mind 'bout my bloody tea, right? But I 'preciate the sorrys and whatnot. P'raps I overreacted a piece, m'self. Tell you what..." the broad man looked into his recently packed belongings, and produced a small wad of cloth. "I'd be delighted if'n you'd accept this, Tommy old boy. Means a bit to me." He unrolled the smallish bundle with a gesture, and held it aloft in the dim light of the low fire. Keystone kept his face stoically neutral.

It was a sock.

The sock had seen better days. It was hard to tell what color it may have been, once upon a time. Even if it were full daylight, it might remain a mystery. The inner footwear was stretched out to a point that most men would find it unusable except in some utilitarian fashion, such as a dishrag or polishing cloth. The heel was nonexistent; a ragged hole that took up space where a heel once resided, not to mention the gaping apertures, possibly rent by crusty, uncut toenails and widened over time and disrepair. To even call it a sock anymore was generous. It was an almost tubular length of stained, damaged cloth (possibly wool), of indistinct purpose and basest of worth.

But maybe it held some manner of sentiment to the large brawler. Keystone held his expression blankly, continuing to present the item with quietish dignity. "Sooner we put this behind, sooner we get to things what matter in the 'ere and now."

🦄 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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The thought that some power was granting these people a form of protection or immunity (as suggested by William Drake), paid for with pain, had not occurred to Reginald. Were this true, he would be more vulnerable to whatever lay in the path before them. It was oddly comforting, when he gave it consideration. Of course, the Lord Major imagined that the marks would indeed point them out as a target for those who were watching, if of course some nameless entity or organization were watching.

The moment it took to ponder the implications of this possibility, William had already gotten particularly close to Vera Munn, inspecting her new, mystical acquisition, despite his request to give her air and space. "Quite the hypothesis, Mister Drake." He stressed the man's name in a manner none too subtle, hoping that he would take the hint. The protective uncle was truly hoping this was a case of innocent interest, and not an attempt at something more untoward. He continued in a quieter voice, "Let us not allow our impatient curiosities to gain the better of our manners, sir." He drummed his thumb upon his pant leg in a manner that showed reserved annoyance.

Vera was the foremost authority on matters such as these, and the Lord Major knew well enough that she would let it be known if the symbols had bearing upon their situation. Even so, something did give him concern, which he addressed to his adoptive niece as respectfully as his concern allowed. "If I might be permitted a query, Lady Munn: I do not know where this Temple dedicated to Bastet resides, aside from the city name; whether it becomes an issue of motorcar or aeroplane I stand at the ready, without question. I must confess, my Lady, a touch of befuddlement. You see, the voice in the dream very clearly requests "Seek me in Cairo", and if I may risk embarrassment, this Bubastis is quite the distance away. We travel a winding path, it seems."

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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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Ash was mildly irritated at the man's refusal to reveal the location of his settlement, yet still show up unannounced, desiring trade. It left him at a bit of a disadvantage. Still, if the man really meant simple, peaceful barter, he couldn't blame him. This was a vastly different world than it was short years ago. This man, Beni, agreed to all of his stipulations and acted in a respectful manner. He had given no cause for concern.

Plus, if this was a legitimate meeting, they would need to cultivate friends and allies. Preferably, bring others into their walls and make their corner of Hell flourish. Hands to grow crops, hands to raise livestock. Hands to fight for their patch of dirt and the people residing upon it.

And, if this guy was intent upon starting trouble, he would serve as an example to the rest of his people.

"Fair enough. I'll introduce you to my Medical team. We have other resources, if anything catches your attention. I would also suggest that you bring samples inside with you."

The appointed Master of the Walls, Jim, looked to Ashton. "Um, Captain?" he inquired, nodding to the gates.

"Yes. Just a crack." he thumbed on his radio, general address. "Please be advised, we have guests outside of the Main Gate. They appear non-hostile, one is entering under escort, requesting Trade. Astrid, unless there is an emergency, please meet us in Mess."

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)

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The question. Ah, yes, it always came back to that, at least from his people native to the Motherland. If there was any one thing that made him vulnerable, it was the same weakness that plagued every conman and charlatan out there: The Genuine Article. As it turned out, the man was indeed an ethnic Cossack, mostly, at any rate. His forebearers were absolutely native to Russia, otherwise from nearby in the former Soviet Union. It was a big place, granted, but the accents were similar in nature, compared to the other countries of Eastern Europe and Asia.

But little Tatiana had a point. The Great Bazhooli had an unusual accent. Flawless Russian language, but an accent that deserved to be on the stage, not in the streets of Moscow. An older, cultured way of speaking, common to entertainers going for a classic, vintage feel. Not unlike a muted version of American actors of the silver screen, thusly were the vocal mannerisms of The Great Bazhooli, but effecting a Russian analog. Even so, it was still barely mixed. All the same, he did not want to lie.

"Da, da. Accent muddled. Peoples from Russia alvays say this. I have traveled many places, all of life. Family of Circus Folk, generations and generations. But, if I must pick one place, it vould be the great city of St. Petersburg. Vas born there, and family, clan - used to winter there in off season. Ve had a lovely home, out near the groves."

Bazhooli looked around for a moment, trying to find whatever small, oddly shaped objects he could; the goal being to locate things he could use to juggle. Seeing as his abilities as an Impaler (easily his best attribute) would have to be put on hold, he could demonstrate his skill as a juggler and acrobat. Lesser, but still quite formidable in his proficiency. It would have to do.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Outer Wall, damaged section on the Eastern Side

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"Yeah. He was a pretty-boy, but his shit got better after his "big boy hair" grew in. Hand me those metal snips?" Bridgette manually bent out the metal, just enough to get at the rusty parts on the edge. For some reason, she was sure it was a simple damaged seam - technically it was a damaged seam, but it wasn't so simple. There was more to do than torching up a strip of metal and getting back to her own workshop. She was glad to have company, even if it was this guy.

"Hey! Hey, I wonder if old Leo survived? I mean, wouldn't it be fucking hilarious? Biggest dramatic role EVAH!" she mused, trying like hell to cut away the corroding metal as fast as possible. For her sense of urgency, it really wasn't taking all that long. But a mind that is hurried imagines that time escapes, far faster than it should. Her face betrayed the random, twisted thought that sprang unbidden. "HA! He's probably so many piles of Biter shit as we speak. But at least we know what's eating Gilbert Grape, huh? Huh? Alright, hand me those pliers and my hammer. Back on the clock."

A thought hit her, and she voiced it in lowered tones, "Let's keep this "gun thing" our little secret. Just watch my back."

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Black James!

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Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall)

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"Aw hells yeah, Miss Astrid. Jane Doe here is ready, willin', and definitely able. You grab a chunk and hang out. Soon as I get some of this goodness over to Miss Zoie and Dick, I'll be right back to do the same. Then you tell Black James all about your day."

He was ready to consume the entire beast right there, forks be damned. He had missed his meals today, at first because he wanted to look over his duties before breakfast, and then because of the attack. He had certain responsibilities to the community that took priority. The irony of that situation, considering his desire to stay far away from what humanity had become since the Outbreak, was not lost on him. James was always kind of a loner. He was very sociable, liked people, etc., but felt so much safer on the move, hunting hogs and living off, away from where groups would congregate. It was how he survived the first couple of years. Now, he had people who depended upon him.

Things do change. James was no leader, but he could pick a good one from a bad one any day.

"Ok, soon as Miss Sally gets back with the plates, I'll be just five minutes."

Being a lead, James had a walkie on his belt at most times. When it sparked alive, it didn't surprise him in the least. What did surprise, though, was Ash informing everyone that they had company. And specifically called out Astrid. Maybe he thought that she'd have a radio, maybe he figured that she was in the Infirmary, where one usually rests. Whatever the reason, it came through loud and clear on James's, and he was standing right next to the woman.

"Oh goodie. More drama." he said with obvious sarcasm. "Look girl, I'll be back soon as I can. Might even run." He smiled a little. While a man of laborious stamina, it was well known that he despised running. Unless it was toward food or away from Walkers, Black James Mandingo Grady didn't run, period.

🦄 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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"Sodding well right I'm taking all shifts." intoned Keystone evenly, in response to Cyneburg. "Though slapping some thought to it, some of you lot what can see in the nighttime ought work out a schedule. I'll be alert, no matter."

Keystone began putting away his cooking utensils, some with more care than others. He listened to Kyra and Sana speak, quietly at first, hoping there would be a point of insight made about their present situation. As it turned out, the suggestion of getting the mounted companions to push hard and leave the rest of them there wasn't a bad one, at face value. But the big man had his concerns. "How long you figure on that taking, by the by? Sound plan and whatnot, but we've been leanin' heavy on my supplies. Rate we've been carrying on, I'll need to hit a proper marketplace to restock in oh... Three days, give or take. After that, it's all black tea and best intentions, y'see."

He had almost finished putting away supper, minus the spitted foxes of course, and had settled down to spending extra care on a large, covered, cast iron pan. This item he treated with something akin to reverence; each stroke of polish methodical and loving, until he carefully nestled it away in his pack. Keystone then placed his pack solidly behind himself, leaned back against it, and blew out a big, contented sigh. There were worse ways to end a day than with a fire and a full belly.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Upper Engineering -> Med Bay

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The intercom. Was that his name being called? "...gāisǐ de..."₁ he breathed, interrupted from his engineering meditations by mundane, tedious work. At least, he hoped. Harper's more conspiratorial thoughts noted that he was being summoned to Medical, along with the lady with the blue gloves, whom he had blown off earlier. Maybe they knew something? This could be a problem.

The generally confident pilot pushed himself up from the railing upon which he had been leaning and straightened his coat. If he was walking into trouble, he was at least going to be straight and pressed. He smoothed his hair back as best he could with his hands, and took a deep breath. This was nothing. His coding was accurate; double and triple checked. He had personally slammed his files with inquiries, both cursory and invasive. Third party stuff, even. He was solid. Harper had become quite the talented non-person as of late; he would be better off settling into the skin of First Lieutenant William Harper, Flight Officer. And just now, the good Lieutenant was needed in Med Bay, probably for some routine testing and cataloguing, considering that he was very new on the ship. Their findings would match his records, and all would be right in the 'Verse so far as anyone knew.

The doors to upper engineering quietly hissed open, allowing the silhouette of the pilot to be viewed by anyone in the upper corridor. His crisp features were next, the second he stepped into the clearer light of the ship. He walked with a direct, cool stride, aiming for the first ladder down, and by means of said ladder, the destination of Medical.

As it turned out, he did come across one person in the upper level. Not too far from Engineering, either; a man impeccably dressed in expensive civilian attire, sporting one of the dandiest moustaches that Harper had ever seen. Of course, it was one of the two gentlemen from earlier, on the bridge, who seemed to speak English in a manner that insisted upon itself. Strange choice for a skeleton crew. As he approached, the dandy squared up with him, at least temporarily denying passage. Harper looked at him, he looked at Harper, until finally the Lieutenant broke the silence.

"If you will excuse me, I have business on the other side of where you're standing." His Core upbringing was evident in his diction and accent. It seemed to brighten the man up, and he extended his hand in greeting.

"Why, unless my ears deceive, you good sir are an errant boy of the White Sun, else have taken your formatives there. Come along, how close am I?"

Harper narrowed his eyes at the man, who he noticed still hadn't taken a step out of his way. He turned his head slightly, the physical manifestation of wondering exactly what kind of game this guy was playing. "Osiris. Excuse me?" The last bit, though phrased in the form of a question, was stated in such a way as to leave no mistake - he was being told to move.

"Oh absolutely, positively, dear sir. My sincerest if I am presenting my demeanor in a manner untoward, of course. I merely desired to get you attention; point of fact to inquire as to your status regarding a little physical assistance. Ah, but wherever did my manners go? You may call me Foy. Foy Coiffeur, if it comes up in polite talk. And you are William Harper. Excellent. Now, I do require an assist moving some special cargo from the hold up to the Med Bay. What say you, old boy?"

Harper gathered himself, attempting valiantly to keep this conversation as short as possible. The man, Foy, was still holding out his hand, which was grasped by the pilot in return. "Very well. I'm due in Medical right now, but I will meet you in Cargo afterwards. Now, I need you to move."

"Splendid! Yes, yes of course sir. I should be deliriously satisfied with that result, and shall be waiting patiently for you. By your leave, sir." The gentleman snapped his heels together and stepped to one side, finally allowing Harper access to the rest of the hallway. The Lieutenant nodded silently, and continued down the way. He paused just log enough to get a grip on either side of a access ladder, sliding down the point of descent as if it were a fireman's pole. Obviously, this was a man who was comfortable on ships.

Within less than a minute, Harper found himself standing inside of the Med Bay, speaking to the room more than any specific person, "Lieutenant William Harper, reporting as ordered."

Translations

1 = Damnit

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Upper Corridor

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What a very interesting conversation he just had, and with the new man, as well. It was apparent that he was a man of breeding and education, with a good, solid background. Maybe even one of his kind of people, but that remained to be seen. Of course, more of these conversations were begging to be had. And though he seemed a potentially impressive fellow, Foy couldn't quite shake that the man, William, seemed to be a touch secretive. Well, it was a big universe full of impressive happenings, not all of them grand and fuzzy. He had to have done something horrible to get stuck with this assignment. So long as Harper's past doesn't collide with Foy's own present, he can continue to be as closed off as he wanted.

"But that leads to such boring coversation." he mused aloud.

Well, a moment or so to spare before getting things ready below. Maybe he'd see how Dr. Knochengeiger was doing, holed up in the Out-Of-Service restroom. Foy trotted up to the door, still bedecked in the diagonal red banner proclaiming the lack of confidence engineering had in the small room, and rapped his knuckles three times.

"Oh, I say... Doctor? Um, Doctor, is everything evacuating satisfactorily for you?"

Silence.

Perhaps I could interest Sir in some reading material, or something in the arena of a stewed prune? Really gets your innards moving, those."

Still silence. Maybe he was being ignored. Then Foy realized that he really didn't care about the intestinal workings of the disagreeable man, and was doing this really more in an exercise of irritating the bastard. The fun quickly faded, and the always Dapper gentleman found himself back on his way to the Cargo Hold. Things to do, you see.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: The Morgue

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A highly intuitive fly upon the wall might look upon the scene with a mix of horror and utter confusion. If Caesar were being completely honest with himself, his presence in the room wasn't exactly psychologically healthy. In his own strange way, though, it was like he was charging some manner of internal battery, powered by rage and sorrow. The old man had accomplished much, tapping into the primal power of his own masculine badassery. He had lost loved ones, several in fact. But this was different. It was a deeper and more profound sorrow, fueled by (amongst other things) honest and pure love. This was a fount from which he would draw the colors necessary to paint a masterpiece of fire and blood.

Caesar stood in the Morgue, feeling quite insulated from humanity with his six pack and pizza. There were two younger woman there with him, women with which he had been conversing. Mostly business, granted. But he still felt alone. It took him a moment to realize that the new Doctor was speaking to him, asking questions pertinent to the case.

"Lo siento... Umm, I have already informed the father of Miss Lorna Dunn. If you need to speak with him about the details, I can give you his contact information right now." The venerable man strolled to the nearest desk, grabbing a postit note and a writing utensil. He wrote a name and number down, in plain, legible script, referencing his sat phone to make sure he didn't make a mistake along the way. "Careful with this guy. I don't know if he's taking it worse than I am, but he sounds more like it."

Caesar shifted his conversational tone to something more businesslike as he continued, "As for getting the body transferred from Seattle - It is in the custody of MSS right now. It's ready to ship, all I need from you is a confirmation and it's on the next transport down here. Just to warn you: It's been badly burned. I don't know what you'll get from this, but you're the doc, Doc."

He looked longingly across the room, at the figures draped in white cloth. Yeah, someone was going to answer for this. Answer hard.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

All good. Please continue. Go Cubs.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

MY BAD!!!

Sorry, dealing with the post, very, very slowly, and the goings on of the World Series. Wires got crossed. In process of a remarkably slow edit right now. Please ignore the post in the meantime.