Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Hi!

One man's observations here, please bear with. I've been looking over the clothing that everyone's choosing for the big event and I have two fairly sarcastic points to bring up.

One: You guys know it's winter, right? I'm seeing a LOT of skin exposed from the womenfolk. While the weather is getting (ok, I can't say warmer so I'm going with) LESS COLD, there's still drifts of three feet of snow on the ground.

Two: @Nallore, you're stepping on the bride, here. Ray's wearing the same color as Tatiana. Very bad juju, she's going to put a Siberian Curse on Ray, and he can't run away from her very fast anymore. I'm sensing a "Furious Little Cinnamon Bun" moment coming on.

Ok, stepping off of my soapbox. Mazel Tov.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"Therefore you will joyously draw water from the springs of salvation."}

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Location: Chapel Undercroft

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Luck was with Sister Mary as she traversed the stairs into the Chapel proper and into the nearest side room. It was a study, one of a set behind the pulpit that functioned as an office for parish priest or Church official. Said official would be short a sturdy metal pitcher of cool water and a stout ceramic mug, at least for a little while. Lay workers or cloistered Sisters would provide such creature comforts to the Priests, Dignitaries, and of course the Bishop. Such items were replaced regularly enough. Fresh fruit lay nearby as well, but that was not specifically what Mary was after. Removing some without permission would be a little too close to "coveting thy neighbor's ass" for her liking. Besides, there would likely be some waiting at her rooms later, anyway.

Quickly as she dared (considering she was carrying a pitcher of water) Mary returned to the Undercroft. Her polearm was still leaning where she left it, as was Elizaveta. The young Apostolic hurried to her, extending the mug first and filling it as soon as she was satisfied the young noblewoman had a firm grip upon it. The sound of water rising inside of the container reminded Mary that it had been a while since she had taken a drink, or a meal for that matter. It was expected that she might have found some accommodation at Almack's later on. As a backup plan, she did take some provisioning from the kitchens in preparation for the evening. Then the drama unfolded, postponing those plans.

If the evening continued to go in the direction it was veering towards, she was fairly certain that the pie, water, and wine that she set aside would still be wholesome and fresh come morning. Waste not, want not. And if by some miracle she could make the gathering elsewhere in town to provide her services, having that might prove extremely useful.

But to the present, she turned to the man who had brought the Cargast candidate, effected a terse curtsy, and thanked him genuinely. "Sir, please pardon my earlier impatience and curt speech. It is within my nature to become direct and taciturn when dealing with the Soulless." Mary effected a smile. It was neutral but warm, one birthed of presentable behavior if not quite finishing school etiquette. She offered her hand to the man, the one that wasn't laden with a water pitcher. "I am Sister Mary Ignatia Hale, Dame of the Holy Order of St. Sylvester and resident Knight Venator here at St. Etheldreda's. It was a act of bravery, carrying that woman all the way here. Most men would have been too afraid to touch her. I am at your service, sir."

Mary refilled Elizaveta's mug. "Do you need anything more, Lady Romanova? A place to rest, perhaps?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Main Gate -> Building A (Ash's House)

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Ash nodded when Thana picked up her bag, and followed her out of his house. He gave a good, long pause while she had her conversation with Miss Sally. Even when Sally addressed Ash about sending Thana over to her after they were through, it was apparent that input on the situation was not necessary. That conversation was between those two women; Ash just happened to be standing there. Afterwards, Ash played the dutiful escort and led his new guest down to the main gate. Curiously, the place where the day's drama began.

He gave the order to remove guard from the redneck snowmobile, and in an unusual turn of event, ordered the return of her blade and sidearm. Such a thing was virtually unheard of for new people, but rest assured Ash had his own reasons. Nonetheless, he remained calm and resolute while receiving odd looks from Jim and the security detail.

What did give him a second's pause was the mammoth brick of Uncle Sam's finest Papa Plastique. He has passing familiarity in the use of explosives; Army training had glossed over it only so far as it was needed to fulfill his duties as an Engineer. He was not an Explosive Ordinance man, but he had worked with several such personnel. This brick was enough to destroy any three dwellings in Newnan with a single button press. He stared at it, hefting it in his hand. As it was, he could hit it with a hammer, even set it on fire if he wanted to. Safe and stable. But put a detonator on it or pass a threshold electrical current through this in the right place - kaboom. The raw, awesome possibilities of this Brick of Boom were not lost on him.

It even got Ash thinking about their old friends in Peachtree City. One day soon, they would have to clear out Eden. They had people now. Ammunition was low, though. Stealth and knives, Captain. Why do you think you've been training like you have? Cardio, sneaking, bow, blade? You're preparing. We're preparing. Don't wait too long and miss your window. Try to protect this one. They would have to locate munitions soon, else get a lot of people a lot better with bows and arrows. Still, not a total substitute for a good rifle, and more cumbersome than a pistol.

His mind snapped back to the less unhinged present. "Yes ma'am. We have an armory. I do have some concerns with riding bitch back into my own compound, though." Ash cracked the barest of smiles on one side of his face, and climbed in anyway. "You can park that in front of my house for now, until we get you settled in. If, of course. We'll find a tarp to cover it up with later. Oh yeah, remember that Miss Sally wanted to see you, after."

It was probably a jovial sight, Ash on the backseat of a makeshift snowmobile. One he would have to hear about later, he would have put money on.

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Black James(!)

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Location: Parking Lot between 10 and Gilbert Street (present location of his smoker)

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The grin that spread across Newnan's resident blackneck was genuine. It was infectious. It was pure, unadulterated bliss. Such a look could only come from one thing, and that thing was known by most all of the community's inhabitants, newer and older alike:

"MEAT'S READY!!!"

Granted, it would need a little rest time, but that would just give James enough time to get the grits rolling and his other, assorted culinary sundries. There would be many a preserved food that got the Grady treatment in about an hour, making them more palatable, and of course, there were drop biscuits to be dropped. And biscuited. Eventually, he was going to have to clean up a bit; wash the cooking smoke from his skin and hair, change into something slightly more formal and prepare to join the rest of the party. With the single exception of doling out the first few cuts of meat, of course.

He spoke into his walkie for the first time in a while. "Hey hey, y'all. Gots the good news. Meat is smoky, sweet, and ready to eat. Leastaways it will be by time it rests, so I'm needin' some folks move it to hot holdin' over at the Mess, y'dig? Thank ya!" James had a few more things to pull off, but the lion's share of labor was over and done with.

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Schrödinger

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Location: Building A (Ash's House)

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Yes. His little gambit had paid off. If they noticed his presence before, they said nothing. And if they didn't... Well, mission accomplished anyway. Like most things, there were positives and negatives associated with it. On the positive side, the two of them had left the house all to Schrodinger, all by his lonesome. The run of alpha's house was his. On the negative side, the hearth had been allowed to burn low.

No matter. The tile in front of the fireplace was still reasonably warm. Warmer than anywhere else he felt like moving to at that moment, anyway. He could have curled up in one of the chairs the Humans were sitting in earlier, take advantage of their remaining body heat, but this seemed to make more sense. He had eaten recently, avoided near-certain injury from a flying piece of electronics, and kitty ninja'ed his way into a generally restricted place. Yup, life was good. If only Schrodinger could find a female with which to examine more of life's possibilities, he could finally give that abandoned stuffed bunnyrabbit a break. At least for a while.

But for now, he found a smooth, warm spot. He had it all to himself, for however long that would be. And that wasn't bad at all. "Meow."₁

Translations

1 = "This will suffice for the meantime."

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

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Keystone

Location: Yellow Rose Temple

Interacting With: Satilla, Cyneburg, Guards, Yomdi

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Keystone bowed his head to the guards in front of the Temple. There were only two last time; the addition of another set of guards seemed to make sense with the general feeling of malaise that spread across the entirety of Salarn. Something happened here. His expression was grim but open as he entered the Yellow Rose Temple.

Solid marble flooring and high ceilings supported by masterfully constructed columns greeted the group. Keystone had been in here before, about a week ago. He remembered the soft sound of his boots connecting with the stone surface beneath them, amplified by the size of the room and material of its construction. Whispers could be heard readily in here, which was usually enough to keep visitors quiet, Keystone imagined. The last time he burped in here, the echo would have left a normal man embarrassed beyond measure. Keystone considered it something of a curiosity. The man there were here to meet, Yomdi, didn't seem to care. He remembered something, and turned to his companions to share. "I ought mention, the guy what's in charge 'ere, Master Yomdi? He eh... He walks his own path, y'understand? Grain of salt. Pinch, maybe."

This time visiting, it seemed even quieter. For a few moments, Keystone couldn't quite figure out why. It came to him when he stopped checking rooms and began looking for someone to ask where he might find the Master of the Temple. More specifically, the fact that he couldn't find anyone who wasn't already occupied, if he saw people in the rooms at all. There were far fewer people inside the Yellow Rose Temple than there were a week ago and those that remained looked as haggard as the patrons of the Crossed Swords.

It took a little time, but finally Keystone was able to locate Yomdi. He was in his training room, downstairs. It was a room of black marble; walls, floors, and ceiling. Several candles lined the room, giving off serene, lightly flickering illumination. Toward the center sat the mostly decrepit looking (except for a wonderfully folded yellow turban that resembled the Temple's namesake) Master of the Yellow Rose, Yomdi.

"Master Yomdi, sir?" said Keystone. There was no response.

"Ah, Master Yomdi, it's Keystone. Xiang Disciple from north of 'ere, yeah?" Nothing.

"Sodding bloody 'ell, old man! C'mon then! Bronzecockery's afoot an' we're needin' some a-fonging-ssistance, y'old cocker!"

Slowly, very slowly, Yomdi opened his eyes. Silently, he pressed a finger to his lips, signalling quiet. Then a broad grin took over his weary face, and a somewhat unhinged aspect twinkled in his otherwise tired eyes. He looked to each of the people in turn who had graced his training room uninvited, including the unconscious form of Sana, upon which his gaze lingers for a comparatively longer time.

"Yes, yes... Yomdi knows you. The Monk-Who-Is-Not-A-Monk, yes, hmmmmmmmm? You have other friends that have not introduced themselves. Bad manners, very very bad. Especially the pretty young one with the burn scars you carry there. She does not breathe a word at all! How very impolite."

"Master Yomdi, she's a bit indisposed just at the now, which is why..."

Yomdi cut him off. "We can't have that! Unconsciousness is no excuse for being rude. Must fix, obviously. Tell me! Tell me how it happened. Tell me what you did to help. All of it."

Keystone spared no detail.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Morgue

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There was some genuine surprise that took hold of Caesar, not that he'd let it show. The entire room of people decided to up and volunteer to join him in Mexico. It made him wonder a few things. While he was wondering, he hopped onto his secure satellite phone and started taking care of some necessary arrangements.

Cecily joining him was easily explained. He had suggested that she come along, get out of town for a couple of days. It couldn't hurt matters any - might even let some things cool down. It was amazing what a little time could accomplish, even if it was spent doing nothing related to the problem at hand. The Doctor, Natasha? That was surprising. Caesar knew nothing about this woman directly, and she insisted upon being there to assist with a wound that had already been treated. Mexico was a contemporary country. They had capable physicians. Her presence was not strictly required... but she claimed to speak fluent Spanish and was a medical professional. That couldn't be overlooked. Still, Caesar was suspicious. But Roy... Detective Gregory was an admitted part of whatever was going on. The possibility of him feeding everyone bullshit information and tagging along as an inside informant or definitely occurred to him. Caesar wasn't sure what to think about him.

If everything came together well, sometime tomorrow they would be in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, Mexico. If anyone had anything sinister planned, they would have to execute it on unfamiliar ground surrounded by people who knew exactly who Caesar was, dozens of whom would share blood or marriage relations to him. Dozens more would support or give aid to he and his. And you'd better believe he had a branch office of MSS in his original home city. All he needed to do was get there, and he would have a ton of the one thing he was lacking here in Justice: Community Support.

He finished punching a few commands into his device, and looked up. "You need your passports. If you don't have one, we cross illegally or you stay here. We leave in the morning. Early."

He thought for a second. The culture and its laws were a little different there than here. Legalities were not based on English Common Law, rather an odd blend of Roman Civil Law and French code. As such, the rules were very different. "Detective. That 'second gun' thing isn't going to fly there. Not unless you get special permission from the Federales. I can transport them, but once we're there it's a whole different world."

"One more thing." Caesar's voice broadened, so that everyone could clearly hear him, "I'm going back home to bury my daughter. Period. Then this city gets a wake up call. Anyone who rides with me after this needs to understand that truth. Cecily, you have a way out if you want it. Maybe when you're done here you should join me. Anyone who isn't at the airport or with me come tomorrow, I'll understand."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Grand Continental Hotel, Exterior

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The actions of Sergeant Walsh (Retired) most definitely did not go unnoticed by the Lord Major. Though the man showed some nervousness around the sound of discharging firearms, he seemed to have no qualms holding one. For that matter, he seemed to have no problem manhandling some squealing ruffian out into the street, either. Reginald was beginning to like this guy.

When Peter mentioned something about Reginald using his "Status", the older man shot him a questioning look. He wasn't absolutely certain what his nephew meant by that, but if it meant walking up in a huff and acing in a manner that was haughty and important, then he could do just that.

Reginald stepped from the Rolls Royce and bid the driver wait there. Casually, he affixed his sabre to his belt and rested a hand upon it; the other hand withdrew his Webley revolver and marched up to within speaking distance of the Sergeant (Retired) and his reluctant companion. He noted also with minor disdain the reporter from earlier. Hopefully, the man had learned a little about discretion in the time between their last meeting and the present; but he was a member of their fledgling Fellowship, regardless. He would just endeavor to be less talkative around the maddeningly inquisitive person.

In a clear, cultured voice, Reginald addressed Walsh. "Capital, Sergeant. I've a patrol of Royal Military Personnel that shall be present within the next minute or two. Until then, would you do me the honor of providing details, and how they relate to the present state of alarm that Cairo finds itself in? First, our people. Are they well?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

It's a LOT more difficult finding my Faceclaim in formal wear than I figured it would be. So instead, Ash will be performing the ceremony in this:

"Formal Wear"

I hope it doesn't clash with the wedding colors.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Retribution, Conference Room

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The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur took the situation with more than an ounce of concern. Not only was social order disrupted, but threats were being flung about in an attempt to establish a new chain of command (or lack thereof). This was most undignified. Not boring, which was a tad refreshing, but definitely most undignified. Add to this the extremely low morale of his childhood friend, Jahosafat. Foy was classist, not heartless. Well, not completely, anyway. This is something that would have to be discussed in the manner of gentlemen: Privately, over decent liquor and cigars, without showing much in the way of emotion unless it could be utilized for dramatic effect.

One thing which put the generally spirited gentleman's mood to the demonstrably irritated was the fact that, the moment a bullet tore through Captain Quinn's body and brought about his swift, untimely end, Foy's contract in extremely fuzzy circumstance. There was very little preventing him from exercising the skills he had honed for half of his lifetime (barbing notwithstanding) to reestablish a social order upon the vessel more to his liking. His thoughts dancing upon this concept for a moment, Foy scanned the faces of the remaining Alliance personnel within the conference room, looking for a glimmer that they might be thinking the same thing. He locked eyes with as many as he could, studying. Seeing who was waiting for a moment and who was going to fold like a pair of twos.

He kept a personable expression the entire time.

Within the confines of his own thoughts, he kept a running tally. ...Hmm... Myself (of course), Josie, our Engineer, Yeo-y #1, Yeo-y #2, our assassin Carla... His brain hovered there for a moment. He and Miss Lobo had worked well together in the "Asset Elimination" business once upon a time. With a bit of teamwork, the two of them could clear out the seven interloping crew members. ...possibly medical? Didn't we have an additional med guy? Eh. Our gunner Williams, and Harper. Yes, quite...

Tactically, they still held the advantage were they to make a move soon. Ship familiarity and the still locked away arsenal were assets in this undertaking. Provided that they were able to leave this room, one way or another. Foy gave one last smile and nod at Carla, and waited until their new "Captain" was finished speaking. Then he began to pursue an alternate possibility.

"Indubitably, madame." began Foy, speaking to Anisa. "I must concur with my cherished colleague on this caveat. This is not a Firefly vessel, quaint as the machine is. You shall require the assistance of these Alliance gentleman (though I utter the term loosely in part) to bring out her abilities. And what motivation have we to cheerfully carry out your commands? Loyalty and obedience are a sore things to wager upon when they are procured with intimidation."

It was strange to Foy that one would be so transparent, thinking to recoup losses of crew and ship from among the people who had just let one board their vessel to escape certain death and dismemberment. A little premature, at the very least. That took amazing naivety or ironclad intestinal fortitude. "As for myself, my contract with this noteworthy vessel's secondary endeavor was cut short with the sudden demise of our Captain. Now depending upon how one reads said contract, I have either become a Free Agent, or my primary obligations pass on to the next ranking Alliance Officer on board; specifically the one with claim to take over for our departed Quinn."

"In simpler words, Captain; I find threats of violence give me frightful ennui. Convince me with other methods. Ah, but wherever are my manners? You are a guest still, I suppose, whatever our Reaver situation. Would you care for a wrapped candy?"

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William Harper

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Location: Retribution, Conference Room

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The enigmatic Pilot kept quiet during the last pieces of verbal exchange. His words were for Anisa alone, unless a specific question were put to him. Even then, he planned to answer in a manner that would better secure his possibility for survival. To be quite honest, that's really all he had left.

Harper briefly wondered if he had chosen the wrong life to take over. The wrong guy, wrong job, assignment, ship, etc. About a week ago he was a prisoner, tucked far away from civilization. And now, William Harper was trapped in a term of service with the Alliance Military, caught in a Black Ship, still tucked far away from civilization. Crewmembers of a black ship didn't exist, either. Except for a select few of the higher-ups elsewhere, no one even knew they existed. Good to see that nothing's changed for him.

He noticed that their barber was valiantly trying to broker a contract of some sort, probably for his own survival or to turn a profit in their swiftly changing circumstances. That didn't take very long.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Lady Amalthea

Edits made. Yay.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@rivaan

“...but they do fine use of their bony instruments.”

Really, riv? Really?