Sigil

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

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Updates

Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: AAAAAAAHHH!!!
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

The clouds had long parted, allowing the cool, comforting light of a large, gibbous moon to dimly illuminate the patch of ground nearest the cave entrance. The stars added their own comforting twinkle to their piece of earth around them, mingling with the warmer orange glow of campfire embers. While not the proper lighting to pen one's memoirs, there is barely enough for a reasonably sighted Human to be aware of their surroundings, if not amazingly happy about it. The luckier races, gifted with the ability to see with less restriction in the dim light, have a more favorable vantage in the still night.

The serenity of the late evening was pierced by the sound of a familiar female voice, speaking the Common tongue of the continent. Correction, screaming the Common tongue of the continent. The specifics of what she is saying are lost at first, such was her alarm, but the last sentence comes through loud, clear, and without room for interpretation.

"WAKE UP!!! THE UNDEAD ARE HERE!”

And indeed they were. The second that Satilla reached the group's campsite and began her attempt to rouse her companions, the first of them could be seen emerging from the thicker treeline, advancing upon the encampment. At first, all one could detect was a hollow, slithering sound, as if bundles of sticks were being drug through thick leaves, clacking against the ground and each other. As the illumination from the various light sources struck the source of these noises, now in the sparser flora around the cave, the cause was obvious.

Meatless frames and hollow eyesockets of grey-white bone, assembled and fully articulated, advanced upon the group's position. A great many skeletons, thirty at least (likely more), rattled and stomped forward. Each bore a weapon of some kind, in various states of neglect or disrepair, although a few of them sported something shiny and newer. Those that were humanoid, anyway. Some five of the skeletons were quadrupedal; cattle maybe, judging by the horns. They stay toward the back of the press of bones and steel, but still march forward. The astute observer would note that the bipedal, weapon wielding skeletons do not appear to be of the same race. Some of them appear to be standard Human, while others are broader, with wide set jaws and prominent lower tusks common to the group's present hosts. Though they advance more or less evenly, ten of them seem to take decided interest in the group’s campsite. One of the undead bulls is among their number.

From the thicker trees, only two things could be readily observed: An odd, reddish mist hovered, glowing slightly in the night, and devious, sourceless laughter sounded from the darkness deeper in. The disconcerting echo aside, it sounded quite human.

The skeletons are all armed for close combat, and advancing at a march, not a run. They will be within melee range by the beginning of the next round. It can be easily guessed that while they represent the immediate threat, they are not the only threat. Satilla is the only one in the party awake and active, and as such takes initiative.

🦄 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 made liberal use of a paper napkin and rose from his chair. The old man, the grieving father, was gone - replaced by a stoic, potentially violent man restrained by the thin veil of decency that separated him from the monsters he was accustomed to hunting down. There was, suddenly, an active role he could play in figuring out who was responsible for his daughters' deaths. This was what he did. The Professional emerged. The stresses of decades upon decades of life fell away, and though he was still obviously an aged man, the creases upon his face told the story of a jagged, dangerous man with bright, alert eyes and a sense of directed purpose. He wordlessly accepted the itinerary and ave it a once-over.

Generally, if the money was right, he would be given a target and pointed at it. The whys and wherefores didn't particularly matter to the client, be said client independent, government, or other. This time around, he had to exercise his skills as an investigator, not merely a person who killed things in manners most colorful. Being frank about it, if he was given a contract of that nature, the more wanton destruction and severed limbs flying about, the better. But things had been a little quieter, less gore-spattered in recent years.

"There must be other airports. Queensguard is as good a place as any to start. I don't have any equipment to collect samples, but I'm pretty sure I can get us in undetected. Get what you need, Cecily, meet me by my bike out front when you're ready."

Caesar left the pizza and six pack on the desk, donned his coat, and quietly exited the room. Prior to leaving the building, a mighty flush could be heard from a tiled room just off of the lobby, followed by a sustained, mechanical whoosh of air. THEN the dark man made his way to his Harley, which he mounted readily. As it turned out, Caesar had still not returned the spare helmet that Cecily used last time. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should just keep a "guest helmet" with his machine.

But first - airport.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

No problem, Morose. I was up, there's no reason to wait too long when a bounty of potential storyline awaits.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 2, Mess Hall

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Ash eyed the man for a moment, considering his words about what he considered fair. Yes, it was hardly fair for his people to be waiting out in the heat and humidity while Beni fed his belly and enjoyed the cooler air. All the same, the stalwart Captain had been taught that it was very rude to decline the offer of food or drink, hospitality of any kind, really, when a guest in someone else's home. This would definitely apply to these circumstances. All the same, he declined in a manner that was respectful. Had to count for something. The man seemed to be genuinely concerned with the welfare of his own group of survivors, and if he was to be believed, the lives of others he had taken in.

If he could be believed, mind you, IF. Three dozen or so people living on their own, someplace not too far away. To hear Beni talk, it wasn't the first place they settled, either, and if he was impressed with the setup here at Newnan, that likely meant that they didn't have quite the same level of infrastructure built up. If everything came together, they actually had a lot more to bargin with than whatever was in that bag. All the same, formalities must be observed and the relationship between the two settlements must be allowed to take its course. This was a beginning.

Ash responded to Beni's observations about Newnan first. "I appreciate, Beni. It wasn't just me who set this place up, though. There were survivors already present, long before my group got here. Hell even "my group" was a combination of folk from Virginia, mostly distillery workers with families and Army personnel that followed me from Dobbins. In east Tennessee we met up with Lt. Colonel Leann McCormick, had a group of her own." Ash's face darkened when he spoke of Leann. He had great respect for the lady, bordering on actual fondness. She died for nothing, simply shot at a distance because she was standing in a doorway. The desire to set Eden on fire and piss on the ashes grew within the man in that moment, a feeling he pushed back, in only for the time being.

Emotion holding onto his speech, if only slightly, caused his native Virginian accent to "She told me her idea about Newnan; prime location and good growing season, high water table, preexisting infrastructure that could be readily adapted to function on a smaller scale... I'm getting off topic. We started out as a lot of different groups and became a family. Leann and I were both military engineers, in our own ways, before all this happened. She had big ideas, I had smaller ones. We both implemented them, and we had a lot of good men and women carrying it out. Leann made most of this happen. I'm just the jackass that inherited her title after she took a bullet, courtesy of some very unfriendly people east of here."

Ash sighed. He had spoken more than he had intended, and now he was holding up trade negotiations. It looked to be the time for light introductions. "My apologies. This is Astrid. Among other things, she's a Medic. Our Doctor is less available at the moment, but she is fully capable of speaking with you about what we can spare. I'd also like you to speak with..." he motioned for Sally to join them, "...Miss Sally. She is unofficially in charge of almost everything else. If you would though, give our Medic a few minutes before we get to business. I believe this is the first time she's eaten in a while."

Ash himself had already had a late afternoon/early evening meal earlier, but the smell of smoked venison did call to him. Maybe a little, if any were left, after negotiations had concluded.

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)

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Florida? How in the hell had Meghna guess that he was from Florida? Maybe it was the manner in which he described his family wintering out near the groves, which admittedly would have keyed off any American with rudimentary knowledge of Florida geography. St. Petersburg. Of course. It was a fact that he had hoped to keep quiet for a while yet. Strangely enough, no one had even bothered to ask what his real name was. Let's face it, The Great Bazhooli wasn't really something that parents sit down and think about with any seriousness when discussing baby names. Well, unless you lived in Hollywood. Those people had a screw loose, even moreso than Bazhooli's circus folk. And his people could be wonderfully colorfully eclectic, like a kaleidoscope of cultural oddities. Take Bazhooli, for example.

The moniker that he used was really more of a title, anyway. One that he most assuredly earned over time. Sadly, it would very likely die with him. Even if he found someone with which he could bear a child, he would have to raise and train said child in the manner that he was raised and trained. It was a matter of many long years. He would most likely die by gunfire or ripped to pieces by snarling dead people long before he ever got the chance to have a family, let alone pass down the name. But it was his, as surely as his birth name.

At that moment of contemplation, he had two thoughts:

First, what if he had a daughter? It would be the first female Great Bazhooli. Not that women were forbidden, mind you. Just that no woman so far in the line had put forth the interest nor effort. A Lady Bazhooli would be an interesting thing indeed. Especially in this day and age, the same skills that he learned to entertain would be tasked from birth to survive and commit acts of general badassery. The Great Bazhooli, Hero of the Apocalypse. Yes, if he lived long enough, his successor would be a force to be reckoned with.

Second, where the hell was his cat?

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Gilbert Street near Building 5, Fabrication

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Bridgette led Jack back to the Inner Wall, and inside without incident. She wasn't quite as talkative coming back as she was going out; a sense of cautious awareness kept her alert. That stretch of land within the Outer Wall was sparsely inhabited at best, with a few places where it was easy to get boxed in. The superior speed of Cadence would give her a advantage in case of a Walker attack under those circumstances, but she was traveling with a guest on foot. So she had to keep it nice and slow, follow the main road back. The instant the gate closed behind them, the felt better.

It was at that time that she responded to her helper's observations. "Fucking A right there, Marky. People suck. I mean, people have always sucked, but now there's a lot less to scare them into not being utter douchenozzles. I swear, some people need to be fitted for a twelve foot ass-stake and posted up in public."

She rode slowly for a few seconds longer before she realized that she hadn't actually answered Jack's question about the ladder. It seemed a trifle impolite to just have him follow blindly without knowing where he was going. And if nothing else, Bridgette did strive to be polite. It's what she was best known for. Or not. "Yeah, ladder. Just a little farther. We've got a building we use for fabrication. Like most of the crap around here, there's a whole lot of space inside we don't use. I think they're hoping for expansion. Eh... store a lot of our tools there. Dropping off my shit too."

In less than a minute, the pair arrived at Building 5. Bridgette unslung her saddlebags and walked up to the front doors, where she handed off the contents to a man just inside. Even less effort than she had anticipated. She returned and did the same with the ladder. "Thanks for the assist." she said with honest gratitude. "Hey look, I've got shit to do, but..."

It was at this time that she was interrupted by one of Newnan's agricultural staff, coming up in a huff. He was saying something about spooked or nervous horses, and how he needed her help. It made sense; Bridgette had good experience with horses. Mostly her own, but she had cared for others, with supervision, in the past. If the few others with livestock experience couldn't figure it out, talk to an equestrian. All the same, she had other things she needed to be doing at the moment. The additional duty irked her. Necessary, but she was looking forward to working in her forge, maybe cracking open a mason jar of Ash's sippin' whisky later. And so, she spoke with the twin attributes of diplomacy and restraint.

"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE! You don't think I've got shit to do right now?" The look of incredulous irritation across her features was obvious, even caricature-esque in nature. Let it never be said that Bridgette was not expressive, particularly in the area of rage. "Jesus McFucking Christ, can't you see I'm trying to wrangle me a fucking three-way with the new guy and my sister? Fuck am I supposed to do about it now?"

The modern day Valkyrie let out a loud, lingering growl. "FINE. Lead the way, I'll look at your horsey problem." She looked over to her recent assistant, and addressed him in more dulcet tones, "Hey there, Jack. Mind helping me a little more tonight?"

Without waiting for a proper answer, Bridgette reigned Cadence around and started following the man down to the main gate and toward the stables.

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Black James!

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Location: Building B (Zoie's House)

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"Hells yeah, Miss Zoie!" started James, before he remembered that his old friend was supposed to be taking it easy. It's not everyday that you get a major artery clipped by a bullet and live to tell about it. While it was a torso shot, it wasn't going to change her dietary plan. Especially not when The Esteemed Mr. Grady comes calling with smoked meats and assorted post-apocalyptic epicurean sundries. But mostly the meat.

"Y'know, little lady, there's worse things out there than pillows. You an' me both know that. But hey, we got other things to deal with just now; that's right." James lifted the cover from one of the plates, handing it to Zoie. "That there's a piece of slow smoked goodness with a light spice rub and just a little bit of Ash's better hooch. It ain't my State Fair material, but it's worth chippin' a tooth over, I tell you what." He smiled broadly, glad to see some element of excitement in Zoie's face. "Just as long as that tooth you're chippin' ain't mine, we'll be ok."

His smile turned into a full laugh. When it subsided, he looked down at the remaining covered plate. Realizing that Dick probably wouldn't be back for a while, at least for as long as James decided to stick around. It was kind of funny, the ebon skinned man was beginning to believe that on some level, that guy Dick just didn't like him. Very sad. And here he had brought this heaping plate of goodies just for him, too.

Far be it for James to chalk this up as a loss, however. It had been a long while since he got any quiet time with his long-standing friend, and he had neglected to take a meal that day. Dick knew where the Mess Hall was. Instead, James popped the cover off of the second plate, grabbed up a fork, and dug in. If Ash needed him, both he and Zoie had an active walkie. He was heavily armed and a half block away, if that. He was going to have a really nice meal with his oldest living friend.

"So hey girl, how you been? Anything you need know 'bout what's goin' on out there? But mostly, how you been?"

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

We have a hole in the lineup for watch. If need be, Keystone can pull a double. It's right after his, anyway.

🦄 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 conversation in Vera's office, at first a jumble of individual ideas given an appearance of overlapping monologues with the occasional dip into brief dialogue. Reginald himself was guilty of this; he had questions for his adoptive niece the same as everyone else present. If he were truly honest with himself, he would have realized that he was there for the same reason everyone else was: He wanted something, and Vera was best suited to the task. The fact that he had genuine concern for the woman notwithstanding, he interrupted what was going to be a night of drinking and diversion to get some kind of explanation, finally, for his recurring dreams.

The Lord Major hoped to get some manner of order to the conversation. "Come along then! Ladies, Gentlemen, Miss Clark... This office looks like a split between the Mayfair and dollymop's sitting parlour. If I may risk a suggestion: Let us quickly learn what we can here, and abscond to more casual locales to plot our next move. I can assure you, my own interest in this unusual turn of events is quite piqued. If any of you feel the same, I might be able to suggest a place or two that offers both privacy and visibility. And one or two spots with nothing but privacy. A good stiff drink wouldn't be out of the question either, I daresay."

Reginald was about to speak again, likely some manner or rallying speech or stodgy admonishment of the way he perceived people were treating Vera, when a familiar voice was heard from the doorway. He knew instantly who this person was, without need to turn his head in the least. The accent, in this area, was somewhat rare. "By Jove, what brings you to this place, Miss Tarek? It is excellent to see you, of course, and quite unexpected. You have indeed located the Lady Mu..."

He stopped, finally noticing the injury on the familiar woman's forehead. Today looked to be an eventful day for more than the handful of strangers with which he had just been acquainted. In a less authoritative, more concerned voice, the Lord Major continued, "I say, Aziza, whatever has happened? Do you need assistance?"

🦄 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, His Own Thoughts

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The expectant neutrality remained on the scarred face of the broad pugilist as the younger man accepted his peace offering. A second of two after he and his sock parted ways and Thomas turned to pack it away, Keystone's eyes widened and his face took on the appearance of a man trying hard to keep something trapped deep, deep inside of himself. His trademark stoicism was under assault from within; it held on by a thread - but by the gods, it held.

"Welcome, quite." stated Keystone in even tones, demonstrating his underclass accent remarkably in two simple words.

Hopefully, that issue could be put to bed. If this was a just and loving world, hopefully the group could be put to bed, too. If not bed, persay, at least a bit of rest. After a large meal, it was probably for he best. The group began discussing taking watch, turns, and so forth. It made the large man realize that he hadn't actually had sleep in three days; not since that night in Salarn when he got turned down for first meeting coitus by the lady that drew his bath and brought up his liquor. Well, before something horrible and life altering was released. He felt tired. Tired, on top of a full stomach.

One of the few non-martial techniques he picked up in his travels was a Shou method of meditation that was, in many ways, superior to natural sleep. His own mastery of the technique was not absolute, at least not yet, a thing which ordinarily was of little importance. Sometimes though, if enough erratic or conflicting thoughts rattled around in his braincase, it was enough to prevent him from getting into the proper mindset to enter a meditative trance. Today very possibly qualified.

The recent (almost) scuffle with the spellcaster, a contest of roaring hamflappery with the Orcs, the recent, possible threat of the Undead, and the massively unexpected event of making out with Sana, in clear view of everyone, including a warband of Orcs - these were but a few of the criss-crossing thoughts preventing Keystone from fully finding his center. He was always a rather chaotic type, more prone to the physical aspects of combat to the contemplative. But he was getting better.

Nonetheless, the occidental monk listened carefully to the rest of the group as they divvied turns at watch. Unsure as to the reliability of his technique at this hour, he volunteered for a shift, and settled back on his pack. He faced out, away from the cave entrance, donning his hood against the lowering temperature of the growing evening. For good measure, he donned his half-mask. Settling in for the night, he began his breathing exercises designed to lower his respiration and heartbeat, focusing on a single point in his mind; the prescribed method for alert, restful meditation. Unfortunately, his single point of thought kept getting intruded upon by Sana.

Rather, the recent memory of her, surprising him out of a melee mid swing by locking her lips to his. He returned the gesture with vigor, even dipping her in the process. Then he recalled that twice, she insisted upon sitting next to him. It could have been their previous familiarity. But it also could have been something else. Suffice it to say, his center was most assuredly not found, and Keystone drifted into a state of light but true sleep; spotted with particularly ...interesting... dreams featuring his adventuring companion.

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

Keystone on fourth then, looks like.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Med Bay

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The second that Harper learned that he was in Medical for the purpose of a blood drawing, he was both relieved and apprehensive. To the first segment of his mixed emotion, it was a simple medical procedure, done immeasurably across the 'Verse, that had nothing specifically to do with him aside from the fact that he was part of the crew. On the other hand, rolling up his sleeve meant that he had to reveal something about himself that he would have preferred remain unshown.

Harper removed his jacket and pushed up a sleeve, revealing a shirt of closely knitted, form fitting ballistic mesh. He opened three barely perceptible buttons along his forearm, and with directed effort, pushed the sleeve over his elbow. Then the compliments began. It was a little odd, this mystery man (who spoke in a manner very similar to the guy with the moustache from earlier) speaking to him in a very familiar manner, as if they had history, or at least similar social connections.

It was true that the Lieutenant, when able to do so, kept his appearance very clean cut and professional. The most recent chapter of his life made that more difficult, but now that he was a man of more means, he had definitely gotten back into the habit of looking after himself. Obviously, not to the extent of his two new shipmates, but his sharp features, shaven face, and educated demeanor hinted at what Foy suspected earlier: A Core upbringing. Harper considered it an extreme rarity that someone would gush about it, was all. "Thank you, Doctor. I hope we find common ground, as well."

The appearance of Carla caused a barely perceptible shift in mood. He nodded at the lady upon her arrival, but continued to speak with Moreau. His voice was a slight degree chillier as he made an inquiry. "What, um... What happened to the other doctor? Not that I want him on the other end of a hypodermic aimed at me, but I would imagine a man with his desire for control would insist on being present, at least."

The moment the blood was taken, Harper was eager to leave, citing duties. He replaced his coat, pulling it tight against any wrinkles that may have formed, and addressed the doctor. "If there's nothing else, sir, I'm needed elsewhere."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Outer Wall, Main Gate -> Building 2, Mess Hall

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The moment that Beni made it inside of the gate, Ash gave the signal for it to close. In the interest of keeping the people outside from thinking that they were simply being left there while the people of Newnan performed any manner of atrocities to their group's spokesman, Jim remained at his post above, providing a line of communication.

Upon entering, Beni was greeted by two rifle carrying Newnanites. The guns remained low, but at the ready in case the new guest decided to spurn the finer points of their hospitality. They remained a few paces away. Ashton climbed down to meet the man formally, extending a hand to him. "Welcome to Newnan. I trust you will forgive the TSA treatment we tend to provide here. Brave new world, and all." His slight Virginian accent became a little more noticeable in the last verbal exchange. For those who knew him, it could mean any number of things; today it was the beginning or weariness.

"Gentlemen." he remarked to the security personnel. Ash moved his index finger in a circular motion before pointing back north, to the main gate of the Inner Wall. They all picked up on the left foot, marching in unison. Their trip back would take a little time, which Ash used to act as a sort of tour guide. If this man were one of the "bad guys", then they already had a good idea where things lay in the Outer Wall. If he was not, then the gruff man would simply be initiating coversation. "Most folk who aren't shooting at us tend to stick around. Who knows? Maybe you'll find something you like." He pointed to the right, almost directly. "We keep livestock out that way, at least this season. Hopefully, we'll be able to rotate livestock ground with our crops, grow some more robust corn and sweet potatoes."

They approached the Inner Wall. The gate parted open, thanks to a wave on Ash's part. "That does remind me, um, Beni. We're going to one of our standard sit-down locations for newcomers. Usually it's for people that are petitioning to stick around for a while, but I figure "protocol". A sense of continuity for the others watching us in town."

They were just coming up on the former Methodist church that Newnan used to primarily prepare and distribute food. Even in these dark times, it was used to help the needy and feed the hungry, if not quite a place where God was mentioned with its former regularity. "Right here, sir. You're going to be speaking with a young lady who works under our Doctor. He is presently unavailable to receive guests at this time." Ash held open the door to admit the man, motioning with his free hand. "I don't suppose you'd care for a bit of supper while we all get acquainted? It's not much, but we might be able to get James to part with a little of his smoked deer. Either way..." he motioned to the table where Astrid was seated, "Let's all talk."

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)

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Tatiana seemed the excitable type, certainly. "Pine? No, no, is cit..." he began, before attention to the situation was diverted by Meg. "Gah..." he breathed as a quiet, wordless exclamation. "Vill explain later." and turned an inquiry elsewhere. "Meghna! Is odd question, but vould you have bowling pins? Hundred uses for them."

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Outer Wall, damaged section on the Eastern Side

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"That's a pretty astute observation there, Jack. Yeah, we're not the only assholes taking up acreage in Georgia. As I understand, there's a group that doesn't like us too much. Got no fucking clue WHY, we're not hurting anyone that doesn't deserve it pretty hard. Anyway..."

Bridgette dropped down from the stepladder, grabbing strips of metal and a torch from her bag o' fun. "Almost done there, Marky. Just stay observant." The tall woman leaned one elbow upon the ladder for balance and carefully reascended the device. She rested her equipment on the tiny, pullout shelf on the side of the ladder opposite herself (obstinately labeled "NOT A STEP"), and adjusted on a small set of goggles. "Try not to look directly at it. Like I was saying, Cap'n Ash here has a good stretch of dirt to expand into, not enough people to keep eyes on it. He's got to know this, I mean, he's a fucking combat engineer, right?"

The generally foulmouthed woman burned metal against metal, occasionally giving it a whack or two when it was being difficult. Within the next few minutes, a very warm but quite patched section of wall stood before them. "Ok, you about ready to get back? I've got shit to do. Let's go." Bridgette folded up the ladder and pointed at her sawed-off, still in the Massachusetts native's hand. "Trade ya."

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Black James!

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Location: Building 2 (Mess Hall) -> Building B (Zoie's House)

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James wasn't about to leap into the drama today. Oh, no. He'd had quite enough. The veteran Hogger procured two covered plates and began carefully maneuvering them out of the room and into the road. Maybe it was just because he hadn't quite done that whole "Eating" thing that day, or maybe the good people of Newnan were getting better at preparing Apocalypse meals, but the smell wafting from the plates was absolutely transcendent. "Mmm mmm. That is some goodness, no two ways on it..." he remarked to himself. He did that a lot.

He caught sight of Ash and their (hopefully) peaceful trading partner, coming up the street. He tried to be as polite as possible, but full hands prevented a more traditional greeting. James was a man of the South. Manners, or at least the ritual of them, were highly important. The best he could get out at the moment was a brisk nod from underneath his stetson before his present duty pulled him back into service. He wasn't even sure that Ash noticed him, so the lack for semi-formal response was somewhat forgivable. So he took off at a brisk walk, just about a block, up to the domicile of Newnan's present Second and general ovary-bearing badasss, Miss Zoie Crawford.

Hands full, the industrious blackneck chose instead to tap the kickplate on the front door with one of his large, well used boots. Then an idea struck him. He set the plates down on a nearby piece of porch furniture, and keyed his radio over to Zoie's personal frequency. "Now uh, Miss Zoie? I gots some primo eats for y'all out front of your home, what you wantin' me to do with it?"