Sigil

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

Keystone will be holding action until the end of round, to accommodate his blood loss and the fact that he's on his ass right now.

@Dragoknighte, Cyneburg is up.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1, Infirmary

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Apparently Ash's words of cautious encouragement for Niesha were met with some element of indignation, and in front of company. Any other time, this would be considered a breach of etiquette. "A mistake," she had asked, "that you wish could just be forgotten."

"That remains to be seen, Niesha." he replied with narrowed eyes. He recalled the first day that her and her group stood at the gates, petitioning for entry. He didn't particularly like the look of the group, though he had to admit that they were the most interesting group of survivors that he'd encountered thus far. In the end, urgency bought their way inside, that and the pressing fact that one of their number required medical attention.

Not too unlike the situation building at the moment - a small group of unknown people were traveling to Newnan, led by two of their own, specifically for the purpose of receiving medical care. Hell, they might as well paint a huge red cross across the walls and open a dispensary. The stress alone on their supplies were they to continually take in nonproductive personnel would become highly problematic, and soon. And the stress upon their doctor would likewise become highly problematic, for the same reason.

This seemed to be Ash's main concern, as of late. More people to go on runs. More people to produce food. More people to walk the walls. More people to secure their holdings. And of course, now they needed more people to see to the medical needs of the community. It would likely never end. And Ash couldn't just tell people to go away, not that genuinely needed their help. But he'd be damned if his people would suffer for the wants of the rest of the world. There had to be a line somewhere.

Ash had little time to ponder this as the guard he assigned to keep an eye on Ryan apparently just left his post, and prisoner unattended. "This is why you were left a radio." the Captain said flatly. Then an odd sort of realization flashed across his face. He drew his ever-present .45 and began toward the Cells, urging the armed guard back to his assigned post in front of him. If this was what he thought it was, Ash was going to have to seriously retrain his people. And Ryan would have to learn to play hopscotch with one leg. If he was lucky.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: (outside of) Heard County High School, Franklin

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Ok, that guy Marx had a mouth on him, too. Not a very original one, but some zingers are classics, if they're set up right. "You know, Fuckstump - That was a reasonable goddamn question, making sure a lady equal access to a robotic wank-machine. And that was a reasonable goddamn observation before it, too. Put some pneumatics on that baby and you're blasting into "paint shaker" territory. Really step up your masturbation tech game, huh?"

Oh, but then he had to get personal. Bridgette responded by raising her shield into the air slightly. "You can't tell from here, Marxy, but I'm totally giving you the finger." She nodded, confirming for herself the only piece of sign language she reliably used. "No problems finding a horizontal workout partner. No complaints after, either. A girl needs some alone time. You know, collect her shit." Her tone hardly changed, switching over to speaking with Tryke in a fluid conversational segue, "and YOU, little lady... Beater? Like egg beater? I might can help out with that - I work metal. Or we could just get the right people drunk. Either/or, fine by me. Got the hookup on some decent stuff back home."

Finally, it looked like Astrid had bundled up their package, nice and neat for delivery, and they were all set to ...fuck. Three of them. Plus an entourage. Plus Marx. On Astrid's horse. Oh, this was going to be an interesting evening indeed. Her Battle Sister's final words on the subject of personal equine care, terminating in a promise of spearpoint demise and a motion in Bridgette's direction. The tall woman smiled at Marx, a warm, cheery, full-faced grin. Bridgette lay her spear across her saddle and have the man a vigorous wave, as if greeting a childhood friend.

Though the way back was direct and recently traveled, Bridgette kept on the alert. It was times like this, not too long ago when it was just she and Astrid, that things could go wrong quickly in the changing light. At least they would have the setting sun at their backs; little advantages added up when situations turned. The smartass was put aside for the time being; the Warrior emerging. She was of little help with medical emergencies or patent care, but Bridgette had sharp eyes and good instincts, and she intended to use both to act as a lookout and bodyguard (if needed).

"Contingency Plan."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Permission to link a picture into the equipment section of Sister Mary's CS?

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

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William Harper

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Location: Retribution, Bridge

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The Lieutenant's eyes never left his instrumentation as he spoke, doing so with calm but solid syllables. "Sergeant, the Captain gave simple orders, simply put. Have a team ready to move on his command. If the tactic needs to be second guessed, I will do so quietly." Harper saw the looming form of the ridge disappear, replaced by differing landscape and their intended target.

"First, I require gunnery control transferred to the Helm."

The I.A.V. Retribution slowed to an idle hover, just inside of weapons range. A few locked commands on the console and a light angle to the stick set the roll of the vessel on a strafing pattern of various heights, holding the same distance around the Firefly class vessel below. Most parts of Lieutenant William Harper, such as he was, screamed inside of his braincase to find a way out of this situation. The more logical portion of the man, the part that was in control of his actions, reminded him that this was his life, for a least for a while longer. Harper's exterior remained as granite, his hands dancing along the controls like he was born to it. Do your job, keep your head down, and just survive.

Maybe these people deserved it, maybe they did not. At that moment, he couldn't help them any more than they could help him. Their fate was tied to authority greater than his own, and though he felt for these people, Harper simply didn't see an opening that did not also result in his own detriment. He was an Alliance Officer again, and he was going to act like it.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Main Corridor -> Bridge

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The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur, quite the dashing looking gentleman in his charcoal waistcoated suit and cream cravat, strode with light and positive footfalls down the main corridor. His black duster concealed his personal sidearms quite effectively, but was decidedly ineffective at doing the same for the rebuilt Callahan slung across his back.

Some number of steps in front of him, Foy noticed the nigh prancing form of his former "running partner" moving steadily toward the Bridge. Apparently she had also gotten the news that the game was afoot, and moved with a giddy sense of anticipation that rivaled his own. For brief seconds, he pondered why it was that certain people ran toward conflict even as most everyone else would prefer to run away. Either people like himself and Carla were cut of different, better tailored cloth; else something was a tad off about the likes of them. The Gentleman smiled. Perhaps it was both. Yes, such an answer sounded reasonable in his shrewd, businesslike mind. Part self aggrandizement, part philosophical notation.

Upon setting foot on the Bridge, Foy twirled his very fine bowler hat in his hands. He noticed the budding drama coming from multiple sources, but seemed particularly interested in how each member of the crew dealt with that stress. Much like a card player sizing up the other gamblers at a table, Foy wanted to see the mettle of the men and women about his contracted vessel. It was quite enjoyable. An honorable man of business stayed to the terms of his contract. A wise man knew to observe the men that may make those terms difficult to meet.

As the Bridge seemed to be the buzzing hotbed of human activity, some of which promised the possibility of violence, the Gentleman Barber saw fit to insinuate himself into the situation. Very quietly, Foy motioned to Carla, querying, "Have I missed anything noteworthy, Miss Lobo? It would be ever so disappointing."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{Multi-Classed Paladin/Ninja}

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Location: Outside of the Marketplace near St. Paul's Cathedral

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The young Apostolic stopped her horse, Cassius, in the middle of the road. A realization had dawned upon her; a sudden movement of mental pins and tumblers unlocking what should have been made immediately obvious when she received the notice from Almack's. Mary simply hadn't the time to travel to the West End Market, not if she intended to fulfill her obligations to her Order. The sudden and obvious illumination caused the young lady mild disappointment. She had looked forward to perusing the wares and fresh produce, maybe stopping in on a merchant contact of hers and getting an earful of the word on the streets these days. But that would have to wait.

Mary had also planned on picking up some niceties for Teatime. She was expecting to have a pleasant hour or so with a friend in London for the Season. That would have to wait, too. It was a pity; making friends in this part of the world was difficult for her, in no small part because of her affiliation with the Catholic Church. Anywhere else in Europe and this would not have been in issue in the slightest, but here in England... A couple hundred years of slanderous propaganda (brought on by a monarch denied divorce by the Pontiff) eventually turned into a national identity. That "identity" made life difficult for people like young Sister Mary to socialize. Of course, another contributing factor was her Scottish and Vatican upbringing, which in all fairness was not precisely Finishing School.

She proficiently turned her horse around and began trotting toward a much closer marketplace, one just nearby St. Paul's. It was an Anglican holding, as was to be expected here in London. Mary generally preferred to take the longer shopping route, as there were mixed reactions coming from the nearby residents at her presence so close to the central seat of the Church of England. The lady herself didn't have it quite so bad as many other Catholics; she was known around London as one of a Hunter, trained by Rome for the purpose of eliminating the threat of the Soulless and attached to the Papal arm of the Knights of St. Sylvester. It came with a measure of respect for her abilities, just not open-armed friendship.

It was for that reason Mary gave a quizzical look to the local Presbyter as he approached her with traditional French greeting. "Bonum mane, Reverend Clerc." she replied with formal, ecclesiastical Latin. Referring to her as Sister gave her a touch of rankle; Mary was not a member of this man's church, as possibly implied. Further, it seemed that everyone in London refused to acknowledge her status as a Papal Dame. Internally, she conceded that it was likely just habit on his part rather than an attempt to be condescending. They were colleagues, after a fashion. Professional courtesy was called for.

Her response drifted back to modern English as she continued, colored with a muddled, Scottish accent. "I do well this morning, Reverend Clerc, with the exception of a sudden change in plans. And persons associated with Almack's are concerned with my sense of propriety for an event later today. I find it offputting when people clamour for my help yet question the manner in which it it provided."

Mary exhaled sharply and shifted her Swiss halberd from one shoulder to the other, placing the endcap back into her stirrup fitting. "Though for Propriety's sake, it is quite unseemly for a helpless young woman to wander without escort. Perhaps you should accompany me through the market? I shall not be long, I expect that fewer people will spit upon my purchases with their Presbyter nearby. But wherever are my manners? How are you doing this fine morning?"

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

@RokkuHoshi

Good. You have a character in mind. Step two is filling out the CS template in full and submitting it here in the OOC for approval. You can find the CS template in the original post of this OOC. If you have any questions in the meantime about the process, please direct them here to either myself or the GM.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Unlikely.

While Bridgette is free with her affections (if anything she does can be referred to as "affectionate") and her preferences therein are very inclusive in regard to XX and XY partners, she maintains such encounters primarily with her own gender for practical reasons.

That being said, there are instances where she would choose otherwise. But those instances haven't come up yet in IC. Almost did once, though.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building 1, Infirmary

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Ash drew himself up straight at Niesha's entrance. True, she was summoned by the Doctor, but that didn't erase the drama that occurred the last time those two shared the room in which they all now stood. Obviously, this fit the bill perfectly for extenuating circumstances. Now, they had company. And were about to receive medical emergencies in the next half hour to hour. But to begin, introductions were called for.

"Beni, this is Niesha. She handles quite a bit of our pharma fabrication. Niesha, this is Beni. He's the frontman for another group nearby. We will be taking in some people in need of medical attention, one with an unresolved amputation. Our medic is on scene presently, but Froggy needs someone assisting here, setting up for their arrival. That's assisting, ma'am." Ash gave her a knowing look, turning to ensure that Beni couldn't see the nonverbal exchange. He wasn't present for the noise that followed her arrival; his priorities that day took him elsewhere in Newnan. But he got reports later. Staff meetings with the Doc that showed bias, but brought up issues.

He continued quietly, "This is an opportunity, Niesha. You know the meds here and where they're stored. I know you'll do a good job. Make things easier for the Doc." Ash took a step back, nodding to Beni and Froggy. "We're good to get started. Prepare to receive casualties."

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The Great Bazhooli

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Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)

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"Da, stars, Mr. Jack. No one is star by self. Takes people, yes?" Bazhooli was half talking, half shouting as he continued juggling three bowling pins in rapid rotation. "Little Tatiana is right - you have happy aura vith you. And funny accent. I do not judge; makes you memorable. Memorable is good. Just make with the right talk, you vill be perfect."

The Great Bazhooli gave two quick whistles to gain Tatiana's attention, and bobbed his head backward twice to indicate that he was ready for another pin. He then continued to address Jack. "Vork vith vhat you know, nice and loud. Here, now. Simple stuff, da? Ladies, Gentlemen, presenting blah blah blah and Direct from Mother Russia/St. Petersburg, performing Apocalypse Vorld Tour, blah. More corn & cheese, better - not take for serious. Make laugh with vords. Charm audience. Try it here, loud. Put us in better showman moods. Handle details later."

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: (outside of) Heard County High School, Franklin

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Bridgette was aware, if only in her periphery, that her use of the girl's proper name gave her some measure of discomfort. Granted, the attention of the tall, moderately vulgar woman was trained mainly on the happenings farther down, involving the truck and (hopefully soon) the injured guy being moved into it. Nevertheless, her less sophisticated, brasher leanings seemed to have hit a nerve with the low-hanging fruit she acquired just earlier. Ordinarily not the type to overly give a rat's hindquarters about hurting people's feelings, she reserved the brunt of her rough, sandpapery dialogue for those more familiar with her. People who knew she was a hardass. People like Astrid, Ash, Bryn, Zoie; half the people back in Newnan.

There wasn't worry of leaving a good impression, not in the least. She just didn't want the woman to break down and cry. At least not until they were better acquainted. People got odd psychological complexes because of stuff like that. For all she knew, deep down inside, this Trillium chick was just as rough and sarcastic as she was. But pushing it right at that moment wasn't the right decision. It wasn't her fault that her parents decided to make her life difficult, intentionally, from birth. Hell, that was a name that promoted violence. Ok, time to make this right.

Bridgette exhaled quickly and quietly, trying to shunt the baser aspects of her personality to the side. She put on a smile, an actually warm one, and turned around to give encouragement to her new acquaintance. The sight she turned back around to witness ended that. Quickly.

"Hey, cheer up, Tryke. It's not your fault that SWEET ODIN'S NUTSACK!" Any previous thoughts were dashed aside by the impromptu scene from Terminator II she walked into halfway through. "Holy shit, guy! You got feeling in that thing? I bet you give yourself one hell of a "Stranger", huh? Hey! Hey! Do they make those for women? You know, buzzzzzzzzzz knowwhatImean? Something with a clutch and three speeds? Slow, Medium, and Who Needs A Man?"

While certainly very interested in the goings on of the previously very uninteresting Marx, Bridgette wasn't shirking her duties elsewhere. But damn, that was something new.

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

@gohKamikaze

Ah. I see that I actually did not reply to that. You're a go on my end.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks (Courtyard)-> Qasr El Nil Barracks (Officer's Club)

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

The Officer's Club was but a short walk across the vast courtyard that too up approximately half of the space of the Barracks proper. It was attached to the larger section of the building, that is to say, the part of the massive open structure that wasn't reserved for row upon row of quartering and communal services. Tucked away in the stone building proper, behind heavy wooden doors guarded by able men with rifles and uniforms bearing the Union Jack, the centuries-old tradition of the Officer's Club upheld the grand notion that, with Rank comes Privilege. Of course, it also comes with Responsibility, but at that moment, the Lord Major was really more interested in the perks that his decades of investment into the Royal Army and Air Corps provided him, up to and including bringing guests into the facility with him.

After all, he was the ranking officer in this complex, and this was his command besides. The only person that could object, were he to go as far as institute a policy of wearing frilly dresses during rifle drills, was on another continent (so far as he was aware, anyway). This was his slice of the British Empire, what remained of it.

Reginald continued to lead his long-lost nephew over to the Club, noting the approach of the American lady. "If you wish to join for a bit of celebratory bubbly and simple supper, then by all means madame, we may head that way presently. Come along, then."

He informed the Guard present of the probable approach of Aziza and Harry, ordering their access on that night if they so wished it, and waved his present company inside. There were officers present, some very few at that hour, as well as a small number of retired Officers of the related branches of the British Military. After distinguished service to the Crown, the military continued to look after its own, even in response to their needs for decent spirits and socialization. Considering his own advancing age and rank, Reginald was a fan of this practice, insisting upon the best for such men. This was very much out of respect for service, but also the ever so slightly selfish hope that, were he to not pass away in a glorious and violent manner (God willing soon), the example would be noted and similar considerations would be applied to him and his.

The moment that the trio set foot inside of the establishment, doors in the back opened, admitting access to servants bearing the foodstuffs that Reginald had requested outside: Smoked meats, fresh local fruits, and a fragrant array of lightly steaming date bread. It was hastily set up upon a table near the bar, behind which a skinny individual wearing a fez cleaned glasses by hand.

"My good man," began Reginald, "do be a chap and fetch us out the champagne, yes? Burawt wahulwat ealaa hadd sawa', min fadalik. There's a good fellow." He helped himself to a number of champagne flutes hung upside down above the bar in polished wooden slats, lining them up in front of himself. While he worked, he spoke. "So... Miss Ridgeway, Captain, Do you prefer dry or sweet? I was just telling our barkeep to provide plenty of both, as occasion calls for either. But please permit me another question before the bubbly arrives, Peter, mayhap one of related consequence. One which, in this regard, may be spoken of freely in mixed company, as it involves everyone to which you had introduction just tonight. Quite possibly a daft-sounding query, but do humor an old man."

"How have your dreams treated you lately, Peter? Please be honest."