Sigil

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"Blessed is one who takes refuge in the Lord."}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's/Ely House

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"Heathens! Hiding among heathens and their... their strawberries, like some Roman... heathen!"

Obviously, the good Reverend was less than thrilled at his accommodations. She could hear him continuing to mutter that which was obviously his favorite word, the one which snuck into almost every conversation that she had with the man. They had many such conversations in the recent past; like it or not they were colleagues, after a fashion. Both trained in places of spiritual authority. Both living symbols of their faith. Further, both with differing but complementary skill sets. She didn't like the man very much, any more than he liked Mary. It did give her some concern that he habitually misused his favorite slander, though. They were both monotheists and followers of the One True God. "Heathen" just wasn't appropriate.

From Mary's perspective, Clerc's people turned their backs on Vatican authority. His loyalty was to the Crown as much as the Lord. This distinction meant that they would never really be anything more than allies, and allies in hard times only. An angry mob of average citizens of the realm (that they couldn't actually engage physically without massive repercussion) might count. For the meantime, it served well enough for the pair to take refuge at St. Etheldreda's.

The visiting Presbyter was offered the culinary hospitality of the Church; light stew and brown bread, if the smells from the kitchens earlier were any indication. Also, the opportunity to clean up the mess that had formed all over him, thanks to the efforts of the mob. Mary declined. She had already changed and had no thoughts of food at the moment. Instead, she decided to do as the Bishop suggested and spend some time in contemplation in the courtyard. For Mary, contemplation involved controlled breathing in a low stance, moving her halberd around her in slow, practiced drills designed to reinforce her training with the Swiss Guard.

She had practiced this routine many, many times before. Her footwork was flawless, her attacks flowing and powerful. It gave her an opportunity to listen to the relative quiet of the Church. Or at least, what should have been relative quiet. Instead, the people of St. Etheldreda's were milling about, whispers spreading about the "mob" outside and the boy Mary had brought in. Eyes were on her, she could tell. But she kept on working her routine. Curiously, walking along the archways were a trio of more venerable Nuns speaking about something other than the fiasco with Mary and their temporary ward. Mary tuned her senses upon them, trying to catch the moving conversation.

Was eavesdropping something to confess and atone for later on? Or was this an act of vigilance on the part of the young Venator? She preferred vigilance. But she'd likely confess to the Bishop later on, anyway.

As best she could tell (taken from what snatches of conversation she heard clearly), a woman with blonde hair had arrived unannounced, prior to the church going on lockdown. After having a word with the Bishop, he had cleared the chapel and allowed this mystery woman private access for prayer in solitude. Needless to say, this was highly irregular. Mary continued her practice until the Nuns were out of sight, then wrapped things up in lieu of a quick walk.

The entrance to chapel was just around the corner from the Quadrangle, just out of Mary's sight by mere steps. It would be nothing to give a quick check to see what the fuss was about. Surely the cloistered women of St. Etheldreda's knew, with this being one of two Catholic churches anywhere nearby, any fellow Papist traveling through London might likely visit. So what made this woman special enough to warrant gossip?

Mary took a second to compose herself, allowing a visage of serenity to blanket her features. She smoothed her black, gilt cassock and used her Swiss halberd as a walking staff, striding up to the chapel entrance nearest the Quadrangle. To Mary's surprise, it was guarded by two men in the green and red double breasted uniforms of Imperial Russia. Now this was irregular. Granted, she had been gone for a bit, but Bishop Mansfield should have informed her of a military presence inside of her assigned Church immediately. She was the one who pledged a Knightly Order of the Papacy, and given assignment to this location. Even if the cloistered Sisters paid her no mind, the Bishop should have.

Mary decided to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, for now. Perhaps His Excellency had forgotten in the hustle of the moment. Or perhaps suggesting that she contemplate quietly in a place where the information would make itself available to her was his way of letting her know. Or it could just be a coincidence and Mary should seriously reconsider the nature of her assignment here. Between Nuns ignoring their oath of Obedience and the Bishop's memory lapse... well, benefit of the doubt. Mary had her own Oath to keep.

The young Apostolic walked confidently up to the soldiery at the interior doors, stopping outside of striking range. In a polite voice, she greeted the Church's visitors. "Good afternoon, sirs. I am Sister Mary Hale, Venator of the Order of St. Sylvester and resident Dame here at Ely." She paused briefly, just to see if they were going to willing to respond in any way. "The doors behind you are the only unblocked path to the chapel undercroft at this time. Are you here to prevent my entry?" She expected a possible linguistic barrier. While she didn't speak Russian, Mary was fluent in other languages and was ready to repeat herself, if needed.

It was likely paranoia, but Mary felt compelled to examine these men through the intuitive training of Tanter, extending her senses to ascertain their status among the Souled.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: "Tunnels" -> Morgue

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"If you trust him, good. Otherwise, I can always buy another trike." Caesar had lived an existence without financial means for most of his life. When he turned mercenary, his paycheck greatly improved, but he still didn't have the kind of monetary wherewithal that he had since incorporating. Yes, he could buy a new one. Several new ones, if it came down to it. Somewhere in his mind he knew that the trike would always have significance for him. Caesar didn't even want to buy that kind of conveyance at first; his daughter convinced him that it was a more appropriate choice than his standard Harley when zipping around the oft wet streets of Seattle. It seemed to him now that he would always try to keep one. Be that as it may, if it came down to his life, or Cecily's, or anyone else caught up in this drama, he would abandon the machine and pick up another later on.

Of course, it wasn't like they parked particularly nearby. For all the airstrip security personnel knew, they arrived by cab. "Small chance they'd know to look for it. Just don't want to be seen in the neighborhood so soon."

Caesar was reassured somewhat at the idea of company on his trip. He hoped that their absence from Justice would put them outside of the line of fire. Hell, he hoped that Cecily's proximity to him also wouldn't get her killed. He had a nasty history of that. But then she said something intriguing. Forensics...

"My company had always been about securing people and locations. Forensics means investigation. We don't do that, so much. Wetwork sometimes, but no serious investigation." Of course, he could fund a central lab back at the Home Office. Not a lot happened in Chattanooga. It was relatively quiet, lot of outdoorsy places; yet the city itself was a focal shipping point to Atlanta Metro and Florida State, to and from the rest of the country. Plus, no action/horror movies were ever set in Chattanooga, TN. She might be safe there. Maybe this girl could play a role in expanding the company at the same time. But first, this case had to get wrapped up, and fast. As soon as the girls' bodies were released, they needed to leave town.

"Maybe it's time we started investigating. When you need, I can put you on payroll - as something else, at first. Talk later. Right now, you need to let me get that manhole cover."

It must have been startling to Dr. Brinne to see a grizzled Mexican emerge from the floor carrying a .45 hand cannon. It was a little startling for Caesar, too, emerging in the autopsy room of the Morgue. The very idea had him questioning exactly what the liquid was, draining through the holes of the big, steel circle he had just moved away. "EW" didn't really describe the first few possibilities that came to mind. He opened his mouth to address the Doctor, but Cecily best him to it with a surprising amount of pluck for a lady in her condition.

"Sorry, Doc. But can you help her? Quietly?"

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

@Lucius Cypher

We are keeping actions simple, as if we are working within a round. There is a reason for this that I cannot openly discuss at this time. The fuller explanation is with the last initiative lineup, here.

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

@POOHEAD189

And I believe the turn goes to you, sir.

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

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Keystone

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

Interacting With: IC Post # 666

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A look of triumphant glee flashed across the rough and scarred face of the group's resident Pugilist as his iron grip fell upon nothing, hand collapsing into a fist with the destruction of the malevolent blood-fog. His massive fist raised in victory, teeth bared in a sneer of superiority, emphasized by a great, growling, monosyllabic shout: "HAAA!!!"

...which was immediately cut off by the splatting, messy expiration of the thing proper. Cold, thick blood exploded onto him, impacting upon his face and torso with crimson rivulets and icy clots, as if someone had passed a cow through a sieve and smacked him with it. Judging from the amount of gooey fluid, it was a safe estimation that it was not all his. Keystone froze, unsure as to what exactly happened, unsure what he should do now, and trying to maintain his composure.

His fist was still in the air. His face was still twisted into an expression of triumph. The wind buffeted the hem of his reinforced hide coat, seemingly the only movement about him whatsoever. However, were one to look very closely, one might have noticed that a single eye opened amid the runny red mask that was his face, where reflexively they had shut against the unnatural surprise that assailed him. The one eye darted about, this way and that, taking in what it could before refusing to deal with what had just happened.

His denial was short lived.

"Ah bloodyfonging'ell my mouth was open!" he half yelled, half spat. A series of interesting retching sounds escaped the broad man and he made a dash over to his nearby provisions. Unstopping a the bottle of spirits he had out before turning in for his unsuccessful meditations, he raised it high and let a fair amount of the contents fall onto his face and into his mouth, whereupon Keystone did his best impression of a whale spouting old blood and decent liquor. He shook like a wet dog and began unbuckling his coat.

That's when he noticed the spellcaster giving the unconscious Sana his attentions. "Oi! What're you on about? Eh?" Keystone strode over to the fallen Bard and took a knee, curiosity and worry prompting the big man to find out what was going on. He was not a medical man. Quite the opposite, Keystone generally put people in the need for a healer's craft. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to see to this person, directly or indirectly. It was maddening, really.

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

NOPE.

NOPE.

NOPE.

and... NOPE.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Crash Site

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Someone else very near to Ash had fallen. This time, not so much of an emotional connection as it was a proximal one - the odd Cossack died directly in front of him as he was climbing across the downed tree, slipping in someone else's blood and getting a brainfull of freshly splintered tree branch. It should have been shocking to Ash. He should have been taken aback, repulsed, something. Instead, the initial reaction was to snap his head up, as someone might if they heard a nearby, unidentified sound. When he saw that the newcomer was completely limp, not even so much as a leg spasm to indicate firing nerves or biological protest, the weary Captain just sighed.

This death was fast and merciful. Pointless, but significantly less tragic than many ways he could have gone. It did seem a shame; the man had traveled for a long while, suffering much in his time since the Outbreak. All he wanted was a home, family, friends. The day that he found it just happened to be the day that he put his foot in the wrong spot and died, purely by misadventure.

"I am goddamned sick of death." growled Ash, taking one more hack at the branch upon which he was working. It fell from the trunk, providing him unrestricted access to the still-warm body of The Great Bazhooli. He got a firm hold on the broad-shouldered man and heaved him from his arboreal impaler, laying him upon the ground nearby. "We have more dead than wounded. Great. Alright, we get the living first. There are two couches in the dump body of the 'Buster. Let's move them there. Plenty more room than the back of that truck. Our fallen next. I have a big, blue tarp we can use for cover."

His tone was methodical, even cold. It wasn't heartlessness that inspired it, more than a sort of emotional anesthetic common to men of his former occupation. There was a job to do. If it didn't get done, even more people would die. It wasn't the healthiest habit to have, but it did help in the meantime. Of course, in the recesses of his brain, a part of him impotently slammed his fists against a stone wall, hitting until knuckles split and blood ran, raging tempests against the hell of their circumstance. It wasn't fair. Just wasn't.

It wasn't fair that Alicia died. Nor Leann, nor Caesar, nor Lorna. Nor anyone else under his watch, and many followed. Names and faced swirled, threatening to overwhelm his capacity to hold back emotion in the face of duty. Not yet, Captain. Cry on your own time. We aren't done yet.

The instant of emotion on Ash's face fell away, replaced by stone. "Got a job to do. Let's move." As if to get the ball rolling, the grim man maneuvered Bazhooli's corpse into a fireman's carry, and rolled him to the other side of the tree. "Clear path, time to do this."

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Black James(!)

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Location: North Gate

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"How y'all doing, Miss Lady?" began James, just slightly out of breath from his unwanted jog to the Northern Gate. He had his 9mm out but pointed to the ground, and kept his voice friendlyish. When he saw one of the guys on Security recover her pistol and the gate shut, he holstered his own weapon. "Aight, if'n you be as kind, hold open that jacket an' give us a spin, k?"

James was kind of new at this. Mostly, he made sure that things were growing and meat was good and smoky. "Look, I ain't the usual guy at this. Here's what happens most the time: We keep a guard on you 'till the Head Guy can ask you some questions. We got one building with the air conditioning, we bring folks first. Ask some questions, like why you here n'such. So, 'less you wanna stand right there for a long time or walk back out, you need come with us."

"Name of James. Most folks call me Black James, sure you can guess why. Hey! You hungry?" He began to walk back to the inner gate, conscious of the fact that a stranger was in their midst. The casual manner in which he acted was in no small part due to the fact that there were people he trusted with firearms at the ready, very nearby. "Don't worry there, Miss. Whenever you wanna go, you can go. Hey, what's that name again?"

🦄 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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"Aye aye, Captain." monotoned Harper and he subtly maneuvered the Retribution into position. While he could not help the odd gnawing sensation of growing anxiety, viewing the Reaver vessel on his screens, he could play his role in the hastily assembled but potentially successful gambit in destroying and/or escaping them. That last bit wasn't entirely clear, but either eventuality was preferable to their current situation. Although their situation was by far not ideal, the Lieutenant could comfort himself ever so slightly in the fact that they were not in the position of the Firefly vessel nearby. They were in an obviously weakened state without tactical position. Or shipboard weaponry.

Come to think of it, why in xiǎobiàn chángzi₁ didn't they just launch a fusillade into the side of the Reavers and be done with it? Problem solved, move on to the next issue. It seemed to the internally anxious pilot that there was something more going on. Granted, he wasn't in the mood to investigate the matter at that moment. His motivations were more pure: saving his own ass. So long as he was piloting a ship with others onboard, he might as well save their collective posteriors as well.

The escape module cleft from the main craft with a sudden, mechanical exhalation. Harper made sure to maintain a mirroring vector with the tiny craft, giving their gunner a clear shot at it while keeping speed fast and constant. "Pod away, Captain." he informed in his standard, order-acknowledging monotone.

Now he set his controls to the secondary task of, as the mahogany skinned dandy put the next course of action, Gunning It.

Translations

1 = piss-gutted Hell

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

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Reginald Keystone

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

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"Yes, well... Jolly good then Miss Tarek, Sergeant Walsh. I should hope to be in your company again soon." Reginald gave a polite bow to the both of them, insisting upon polite behavior but not entirely sure as to the extent of their friendship. The Lord Major did not wish to overstep bounds of decency; were Aziza in a more modern form of courtship with the retired Sergeant, an unrelated older man giving an embrace to the young and pretty Miss Tarek might be taken as a competitive sign. Not at all that he thought himself a potential paramour for the young lady, but propriety must be observed.

Manners of a Lord or Gentleman, if used in the spirit of their development, were enacted almost solely for the purpose of making others feel as comfortable as possible with your presence. Manners were the cornerstone of civilization, as was holding others to the highest standard of them.

The younger American girl had made her decision to stay with the pair of Lordly British Military Pilots, pouring herself another drink. Reginald nodded his approval, motioning to other glasses, bottles, and foodstuffs as if to open an invitation to sample away. The evening was still toward the side of early, and despite a desire to hit the ground running tomorrow morning, he was absolutely certain that another hour or two wouldn't hurt, not a bit.

The oddly plucky Lord Major raised his glass to his nephew's toast, repeating back to him, "Fellowship of the Ring, sir!" before finishing off his flute of champagne. "Now then, the charming Miss Ridgeway has a penchant for War Stories! Ha ha, well... it is safe to assume that the Lord Captain and myself have more than our fair share. There is this one that comes to mind, Madame, thought I must confess it is a tad ribald. If the like offends your sensibilities, please ask me to desist."

"During the War, I once brought jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel..."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"Thank you, Lord, for teaching me humility.”}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's/Ely House

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Mary had almost stepped outside of her rooms when she realized something mildly unsettling. The massive bore howdah pistol that she had lent the Presbyter had been damaged. Not just damaged, but mangled in small ways as to make it unusable. The packing rod was missing, one of the strikers gone. The wood had been splintered along one side, in precisely the same place that the barrel was warped slightly inward. It looked as if it had been hooved mercilessly by a yak on one side. Mary sighed. The item was damaged in a way that simultaneously easy to miss at first glance and significantly less costly to replace as repair.

Ok, that could be rectified later. The weapon came as a pair; she usually only carried one. Now, in addition to an cutler, Mary would need to find a gunsmith. This was not ideal. Her finances were respectable for a Londoner, but finite. She switched out her gun for its twin and proceeded down to the stables to acquire her horse. Upon reaching the stables, Mary noticed that her white robe, her favorite one that got pelted with various rotten foodstuffs by the mob, was on the ground, in approximately the same place as she handed it off to the Nun. If she didn't know any better, Mary would have assumed that it was merely left there on the ground instead of accidentally dropped. She gathered the familiar cloth up, visibly confused and hurt at the strong possibility that the Sisters of St. Etheldreda's were intentionally snubbing her.

At least her horse was seen to. The lay folk of the Ely House were duty bound to serve the needs of anyone residing on the grounds, including oddities such as female Knights drawn from the Apostolic assigned to the parish, separate from the local ecclesiastic and cloistered Sisters. Her stallion, Cassius, was well taken care of. It was something. She mounted the noble animal and readied herself to exit the Church grounds proper, until a voice called out to her; an angry one, and one known to her. It was the Bishop.

"Dame Mary, while it is still Dame Mary within these walls, dismount your horse immediately and stable it. You aren't going anywhere."

The first vow she took was Obedience. She slipped from her great grey charger and submitted her presence for the Bishop. "Yes, Your Excellency." she said, giving the barest of curtsies. "How may I be of..."

Mary was cut off immediately. "You may start being of assistance to me by keeping your lips together and listening to me. First, you presume to give the Cloistered commands? Telling them to seal the gates and prepare for an attack? Ordering them about like your personal servants? I told them to leave your robe where it lay, Dame Mary, in hopes that you would learn better self-reliance and humility!"

Excellency, I apologize, I only thought to..."

"I know what you thought to, Dame. I will now explain something. Almost every Nun present in St. Etheldreda's is from London, or at least England, and believes the concept of a Woman Knight is ludicrous. Even more so a Venator, which in their estimation is on the same social level as a mercenary or an exorcist. Some of them don't even believe that you have the ability to Heal or any other, for that matter. So far as they are concerned, you are an unjustly elevated Sister to whom they give platitudes, until you earn otherwise. Now, I have to clean up your mess."

Mary was taken aback. This was not the way the situation was supposed to occur. As the only active Knight on the grounds, it was her responsibility to take command of any defenses, were the church to find itself in peril. A riot, very likely following her on account of the child she spared from the Ryne's curse, definitely qualified. Not that it mattered now, the Bishop was here. He had the authority to overrule any of Mary's imperatives, or just take over the defense of the Church. But the child! That was different. "Bishop Mansfield! What of the boy?"

"Yes, the boy. The boy you gave over to the Nuns while you ran off to dress for the Ball."

"Excellency, that was..." She was getting very annoyed at being cut off. Even by the Bishop.

"I know what it is. You are being summoned to Almack's to assist with their security efforts against the Soulless. Or for window dressing, or to stand about as a novelty for the rich young men in their cravats to giggle at. I know, your oath to the Order demands that you assist, unless you have extremely good reason not to. Consider that your new Ward might just be an extremely good reason, unless I order the Sisters to do what you asked of them. I will talk to them. You will stay within the walls of Ely until this gets sorted. Do you understand?"

Mary sighed. Of course he was right. She was taking liberties that a more seasoned Dame might wield. She was still fairly new here. "Of course, Your Excellency. I apologize. Please do what you can, and I shall accept any judgement you give on how my time should be spent this evening." Her head low, she removed her Knightly cloak and placed it within a saddlebag. She was still quite the imposing figure in her long cassock, gilt around the cuffs and collar, heavily armed. She took up her halberd in one hand, reins in the other, and began slowly leading Cassius back into the stables.

Bishop Mansfield did give her a courtesy, however. "Mary," he began, "I did retain your order to lock the gates. And the boy is an innocent. We are not in the habit of letting the Soulled innocent get murdered. I used to be an active Venator too, remember? We took the same oath." His voice softened with some amount of empathy. "We are not in a Catholic country, Dame Mary Hale. Outside of these walls you are a Sister. Even inside of these walls, you will have a hard fight winning the respect of these people. Trust me, I know. It will be so much harder for you, because of who you are. I cannot give them any excuse to plead favoritism."

"Perhaps you should contemplate this day in the Quadrangle. The boy is safe for now, and I will let you know when something changes. Go."

"Yes, Excellency." This was highly unusual for the Bishop. Usually he was extremely laid back and permissive. Not that Mary would have taken advantage of him, but being this confrontational? Something was off. Mary wanted to know what that was, but she was not going to press her luck with an already irritated staff. It took talent to anger everyone in a church at the same time, and the Apostolic wasn't even trying that hard today. Something was off.

Mary straightened her posture and walked quietly to the courtyard, planning on simple meditations involving a slow form with her halberd.