For whatever reason, the city coroner's staff had refused to answer Caesar's questions about the scene. His query concerning the actual site of the crime was met with vapid stares at best, though mostly he was ignored. This was despite Cecily's insistence that they had full access. Looking at the sea of apathy washing around him, the older man held his arms outstretched as a man might when expressing sincere disbelief. Caesar himself merely added a sigh of disgust to the situation and called to his associate, still with the young Coroner.
"Oye!"
Keystone turned around to see his boss pull security credentials from his wallet and clip them to the front of his jacket. He motioned for the big man to do the same. Anyone looking closely would see that they were private security, but having some form of external ID gave their presence a sort of legitimacy. The rest (as with many things) was attitude. As Keystone clipped his own MSS identification to his shirt front, Caesar took it upon himself to follow the stream of civil service worker bees from the lot out front into the building. He loosened his gun in its holster, likewise one of his handful of sharp implements. If no one was going to give him direct answers, then damnit, he was going to find out himself. Before he set foot inside the building proper, Caesar punched a quick message into his secure satellite phone to Keystone.
"Phones on silent. Keep me informed."
He gave it a few seconds to get through, looking back at the Cockney monolith. Keystone gave him a quick thumbs-up, and returned to his duties.
So far as his duties were concerned, this was the bread-and-butter of his average workday. Stay near the client, keep observant, assist as necessary, and be intimidating when need called for it. He was the 600 lb. gorilla that followed orders until the proverbial excrement traded solid, kinetic energy the the blades of an analog air-moving device. Then it was his turn to issue commands. That hour, Keystone existed as the crushing, physical arm that flexed and retracted with a massive, ham-sized fist, directed by and for the best interests (or merely convenience) of young Cecily Ashworth, unless directed otherwise by the one person on scene capable of doing so. Luckily for him, that person was leaving the immediate area.
Keystone's demeanor changed into something somewhat more professional, as opposed to the restaurant or in his car. His posture straightened and eyes narrowed, chin lowering just a bit in response to his new set of responsibilities. He maintained his proximity to Cecily, though not so close as to get in her way in the instance of a sudden direction change throughout the course of her job, staying mostly to her back right flank. "Ma'am?" he rumbled to Cecily. Somehow, his voice got even deeper. "You let me know if'n you need me on somethin'. Anything at all. I'm y'Brute Squad tonight." He then set to keeping his eyes and ears on the scene.
James wasn't exactly sure what was going on with him. His pulse was rapid and his hands were shaking. There was a sense of a lack of control, somehow. Anxiety, like a ton of worry just dropped onto him. James was lucky that his outward appearance didn't show the extent of his sudden burst of emotion. If it had, likely more than one person would have taken notice. His face showed something, though. That much was apparent when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Sally's cultured, British accent.
It was funny. Not "ha ha" funny, but "strange" funny. The feeling dissipated the second that Sally lay a hand on him, as if she was warding away some unknown evil. Or his own subconscious swallowed just enough of his stress to effectively fake it, seeing as he didn't want to embarrass himself or cause a scene at the reception. "Naw... naw, Miss Sally. I'm good. Really." He was a bad liar. Something was up, obviously, but his usual outgoing smile had returned, along with a more relaxed demeanor. "Just havin' me a moment, is all. Brotha can't live through a 'pocalypse without pickin' up some issues every now an' again."
Topping off the rest of his shot, James motioned to the barkeep for a bottle of something a little less potent to sip on. As it turned out, there was a glass bottle that was just right for him, repurposed to hold some decently drinkable corn and/or sweet potato fermentation. James didn't care too much, Ash and his boys working the Distillery were good at their jobs. Now, as this made his third beverage, the girthy blackneck wasn't sure if this marked the end of his alcohol ration. Naturally, he intended to take it nice and slow. "But hey there mama, don't you worry none. I'll start talkin' with Tati when she's all settled after the honeymoon. Cool?"
"No!" screamed Mary's mind. Her face did not accurately reflect the sudden surge of confusion and denial that blasted into her conscious thought. Her body still functioned with observance and grace, but it was a horrifyingly detached autopilot. "No, no, no, NO!" It was not merely for the loss of life, though that was part of it. The Arch Graveolase had been killed, seemingly singled out from among the masses in attendance at this grand soiree. The Council that oversaw the Trained was without leader, having been snuffed from the world of the living by a Cargast while fleeing for his life, his last act upon the God's earth a supplication for protection.
But it wasn't. No, the last act of the once proud man was to announce Mary as... No, her mind couldn't quite process this fully. This was unheard of. Mary was a single Venator, a Knight in the service of the Church. She was no politician, she was no leader. She was not even a Knight Commander yet. Mary was a twenty-two year old woman without secular title or noble House, now entrusted with the care and defense of every man, woman, and child that breathed the life of the Soulled. It strangely fit very snugly to her Oath as a Dame of St. Sylvester, but on a massive scale. She would have to work this out later. Right now, she had a job to do, Arch Graveolase or merely Dame. If it be God's Will that she fall that evening, she would not do so as her predecessor did, right in front of her. Time to go to work.
Mary nodded her head gravely in response to Elizaveta's pledge to protect her. It seemed that their roles had changed, at least at face value. Mary still had the Grand Duchess's interests and safety at heart, but her responsibilities just got bigger. She had to change her tactic.
Perhaps it was the sudden rush of emotion that she tried to batter back down, but her Trained sense of Tanter picked up nothing useful whatsoever. There was evidence that Buckingham had been taken by a Cargast right in front of them, but she could not pick out the Soulless from the Soulled in that moment. Hefting her halberd in front of her, the young Apostolic intoned to Elizaveta, "We need to get to the Lady Crypt. She has talents which might help us." In truth, Mary wanted to gather a knot of Trained around them. Enough of different backgrounds would give them a fighting chance to repel what remained of this assault.
Elizaveta stood there, her eyes moved around slowly as she held her position. She stood at the entrance to the Octagon Anti-Chamber. To get back to Mosi and Virginia, or to at least where they saw them last they would have to go back through the Musicians Galley. Which at that time had a mound of bodies trying to get over each other and at least one dead one. Was there another route? She didn't know, this was her first time at Almack's. They needed to move, they needed protection. Elizaveta was still drained from her Ostanavlivat'sya earlier but from the looks of it she would need to perform it once more this evening. Yet there was still more to be done and Elizaveta could only think of one thing. The Vyzov. It was an old skill, a lesson taught in the woods of Russia to protect oneself from not only Soulless but from wolves, bears, and anything else that came your way.
"Ve need help," she said as her eyes locked with Mary. "I provide cover, you find a vay." A soft coo like a dove emanated from her vocal chords, barely over a whisper and hard to hear. Her lips pulsing as the bird like call exited her vocals. It seemed an odd time to practice bird calls. That was until sparrow swooped in through the front door and perched along the crown molding. Then another, and another. Soon they were coming in from the ballroom through the balcony, through the open windows, they seemed to come in from everywhere. Veta held up two fingers pressed against each other as she sped up the call, swirling it in the air. "Shov them the vay. They vill cover you."
Mary marveled at the massive flock of sparrows spiraling and tumbling in their aerial maneuvers above her. This was nothing short of amazing. Her own Training was almost purely, brutally martial; beautifully inspiring in its own right, pragmatic, and pure. But she had command of nothing as wondrous as this host of sparrows, making the air perilous for their enemies. The sight of it almost alleviated the weight set upon her heart just moments earlier. Though she did not smile, Mary's look of positive serenity returned.
With a flourish, the Papal Dame threw off her knightly cloak, letting it settle upon the fallen form of the Arch Graveolase. She could not give him proper protection in life; she could at least give it in a symbolic way now in his passing. She reached into the depths of her Tanter again, probing the rooms and grounds around her for any evidence of hidden Soulless. The infestation of the Inanimati was apparent; obvious even. Tanter would not reveal that which was not in hiding.
With her cloak shed, Mary looked quite the Hunter. Black, high collared cassock, rosaries about her wrist and neck, and armed to the teeth with howdah pistol, brace of short blades, and her more nigh trademarked halberd. She took a single step away from the Arch Graveolase, mentally plotting her movement for the push to come. She was getting to her friend, even if Hell barred the path before her. The fury of the righteous flashed in her eyes, contrasting the quiet grace of her youthful features.
Harper gave Anisa's words some consideration. Especially the part where she not-so-subtly threatened his freedom with information he had just divulged to her, ironically for the purpose of displaying openness and the beginnings of trust. The rest of her words had some merit to them, granted, but in the three "conversations" he'd had with the woman, he had been threatened by her three or four times. Looking into his own recent history, one did not survive for three years in the frigid hell that was a penal mining colony floating in the middle of the Halo belt by cowing to the threats of a single tyrannical authority figure.
Were he still imprisoned, this would have set off a chain of events that would have ended very badly. Probably for both of them. Seeing as he no longer had the need to club people out with a big tΔ mΔ de wrench over protein nibs and non-irradiated water, he probably didn't need to enact dire plans of revenge to save face. Saving face for the sake of survival was one of many things he found himself doing that he never would have dreamed about in his earlier life. But to remind him of his status as an undiscovered fugitive because he complained about the removal of his personal belongings? Hell no. There was no way he was going back there alive, if he could at all help it. This was a line cross. At the very least, this was a reason for aggressive negotiation.
Naturally, his surly disposition followed up the stairs and down the corridor to his room. Along the way, he passed a person he would consider a highly unlikely ally. He was accompanied by one of those people in Browncoat employ. Yes, it looked like Foy and Atticus were cruising the hallway. Of course, it meant he couldn't speak plainly right then. "Mr. Coiffeur?" he started.
"Hmmmmmm?" acknowledged Foy with a tight-lipped smile.
Harper's voice was level and even, but his eyes still held a sliver of intensity from earlier. "I'd appreciate it if you would key me in for a shave tomorrow morning, before first shift begins. You know how the little ritual clears my head."
Foy's polite smile turned into a wry look. "Indubitably, my good man. I've no appointments on the morrow, merely present yourself and we'll get started, yes?" He didn't wait for him to respond, "Excellent! Tomorrow morning then, sir. Brave my chair and join me for a cup of caffeinated delight."
Harper returned to his room and kept the lights dim. He indeed ensured that his service pistol was in easy yet concealed reach, then engaged the electrical and manual lock on his door, both. Stripping off his Alliance uniform, Harper grabbed the blanket from his bed and spread it out on the floor nearby. Carefully, he lay down upon it an stared up at the ceiling, trying to process this day. Yeah. Maybe he'd even get a little sleep. Maybe.
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Corridor -> Quarters
"Now, considering as we have all made the logical leap from acquaintanceship to drinking associates..." It was a polite nothing extended to Atticus. Any fool could see that there was tension among the ranks, though admittedly it was less between the Shepherd and the Barber. "And you are joining us for a drink, yes? Well, perhaps we can put all this ugliness concerning multiple shootings and the like behind us, yes? I would find that a rather satisfactory outcome of our time well spent."
He continued down the corridor, meeting the most oddly expressed Lieutenant William Harper coming back in the opposite direction, mumbling something unintelligible about a shave? It took him a few seconds to realize that he was asking for an appointment, of all things; not that he'd expect the man to request his services. He seemed the type to stare into a mirror and scrape his face passably clean with a mass-produced, disposable device. Nasty things, those. So maybe he had an ulterior purpose. Yet, he still needed to respond. "Indubitably, my good man..." he began.
That awkward little conversation out of the way, Foy resumed his brisk walk down to his quarters. He kept his space immaculate, as if one merely stored bedding and a rollaway wardrobe chest inside, minor personal effects placed with deliberate action; staged almost. The kind of setting that belonged in an issue of "Better Bunks & Gardens". The level of organization present made finding his stash of Londinium Brandy very short work, followed by a moment to observe the liquid with its proper reverence.
"Ah, flawless... Now, to locate my equally well-attired associate and a set of neutral drinking vessels that shan't bruise the flavor of this most excellent distillate. Galley, I suspect." Well, either the Galley, Jahosafat's quarters, or some other locale. Foy had two such glasses, but not three. At least, not three that matched. Anything else would be slightly uncivilized.
With some small portion of orderly satisfaction, Reginald bore witness to the metric fashion in which the guests of the Empire were led away and returned to the courtyard. Their expressions so far seemed to be muted shades of annoyance and nostalgia, though it was really more of assumption on his part, as he hadn't known most of these people for very long. He did know Aziza Tarek, though. Well enough that she was a good part of the reason why he went through all of this. Her life before Cairo was known to him, by way of private conversations throughout the last few years. He doubt he knew everything, however. Woman's prerogative, of course. A gentleman knew when to listen and not ask questions to a lady, especially as it concerned personal matters. Just so long as she knew that he would be available with whatever she required of him, in a close yet avuncular capacity. Such as now, as it turned out.
"Miss Tarek, I trust the Corporal behaved satisfactorily? Don't tell him I said this, but given a direct order, he is a crackerjack soldier. His manner, though..." the Lord Major shook his head, "It surprises me that I've not put him down like a rabid corgi, to be blessedly honest." He sighed. The Promotions Board was assembling in a couple of weeks, and guess who was bucking for Sergeant? Well, the Corporal was an annoyance. His present difficulty was a matter of life, death, and the ancient penchants of the Egyptian Pantheon. "But that shouldn't be a matter for you to fuss over, Madame." he continued, speaking to Aziza. "Would you prefer to see where you'll be staying this evening? You must be positively weary."
"Point of fact, does anyone have any questions before we proceed farther?"
Deep down, Keystone figured that Kyra was a talented and inspiring woman who rose to her position of authority within the Elven kingdom due to merit and ability. He held onto this belief despite her continued explosions of temper. The big man was once a slave to his tides of indomitable rage. Moreso, anyway. It was a process. Maybe it would do no small amount of good for the woman to walk the path of the Monk for a year. Keystone could even help in this endeavor. Of course, not everyone was suited to setting foot after foot in front of one another down that particular path.
But for right then, Keystone sighed heavily and shook his head. Yeah, maybe she was right. But all this drama really wasn't helping matters. Part of him was just a little jealous, too; if anyone was the type to make a scene and storm off angrily, it really ought to have been him. There was a subtle art to it, if one wanted to use it for intimidation factor later on. It was a perfectly reasonable tactic to make people pliant. But he suspected that Kyra's explosion and exit were less purposed than that. Sana made a good point as well, as Keystone agreed to openly after Kyra's exit. "Bloody well right. Girl'd do good havin' a meal an' rest. Mayhap some personal attentions, if y'take my meaning, but I ain't sayin' that faceward at 'er." He shook his head as if to illustrate his point.
Keystone gestured to the food again, silently suggesting that everybody eat up. Anyone who spent more than a day in town, or who had spoken to "Look, I says we dummy up like Miss Kyra's screamin' on about. Damage done is done, addin' any more's just foolish. Let's talk on this in more private environs after a while, yeah? What d'you lot reckon on it?" He thought to his room, already purchased and available for use. It might suffice, unless there was another more fitting one already reserved for someone in their group, such as they were.
Then he noticed the pressure on his shoulder provided by the scarred Gypsy. Sana had decided to take her leave of the table, moving unsteadily to the stairs. Etiquette and propriety weren't exactly his stronger points. Perhaps this is why it took him until she was already climbing the stairs to offer his assistance. He rose from the table and took a couple of steps toward her. Pausing in the common area, he spoke plainly, "You ain't lookin' quite tops yet, Miss Sana. Lemme give you a arm to lean on till you're settled in, alright?"
Thanks, edit made. Sorry about the whole "let's pretend it's a real car anyway" option.
This is a much better fit for his personality, anyway. Plus, the car is a total classic badass; one I think might even be at home with Alicia's picks for the security motorpool.
In hindsight, the ability of a cat, even one as nifty as Shrodinger, to understand and ponder over new, specific words in English kind of goes against the whole Slice O' Life thing we're going for here. Plus it's a crappy, slightly unrealistic line to use given the situation. Permission to edit out? (the Naval permission line in the last full paragraph)
Sally's words put the start of a big smile on James's face. He shook his head a couple of times and responded, "Aight, aight. Y'all got a good argument. Only one bed in Cap'n Ash's place. Plenty couches, though. He's the kinda man that'd take one for a guest, too."
In truth, it was a very good argument. With repeated insistence to the contrary of his stated suggestion from multiple sources over the past few minutes, one of them being the elder and wiser of the town, James began to see possibilities of an Ash/Thana coupling. He still didn't fully believe, it just didn't seem like it was in Ash's nature to be a fast operator or a One Night kind of guy. Then the thought hit him: How did he know that? It was true, his social life had been next to nothing for the past year, but was that guilt? No... Responsibility, maybe, but guilt? And why did that come up in his mind? Ash was no where in sight when Alicia died.
James shook the idea away from his brain. Or at least tried to. The subject was starting to move on, and to a more event appropriate topic anyway. "Hells yes, Jack! Just flat amazin' lady. The both of you. Newnan just wouldn't be right without the botha y'all." It was funny that way. Life moved on. It changed, it altered, sometimes it got better, sometimes it got worse. But as long as you were alive to see it, it just kept chugging along. He voiced part of that observation out loud, as it struck him. "Like that Little Engine that Could, ya know? No matter what Charlie keep throwin' at y'all, you two just keep on a'chuggin', what with y'all findin' each other, this marriage, and now they's gonna be a Little Newnan runnin' around? Hot damn, y'all. This excitin' stuff, right here."
He stood up and extended his hands to the couple in a very informal sort of handshake, "And I just gotta toss a bigass CONGRATULATIONS at ya. I don't think folks can say it enough. This wedding, party, baby, whole nine? You need it. We all need it. Gettin' some good experiences in, doin' the Human Thang 'stead of just scrapin' by. Hell y'all, that's what it's all about. Mmm hmm." James looked around the room from his now standing position before announcing, "Hey, I'm low of fluids... I'll be right back." James began the short walk to the bar.
His pace was slow, and colored by a troubled look on his face. James's head hurt, and he kept remembering bits and pieces of the day that Alicia died. Unbidden, they kept coming up. Ash was devastated. James was devastated. They talked about her several times in the back of Ash's truck, at length, while self-medicating on homebrew. But this was old news.
By the time he made it up to the bar, it hit him - If Ash was in flagrante delicto with Miss Thana Martin, it meant that he was getting over it, moving on. And the only reason it would have bothered James so much was that he just hadn't dealt with it, himself. I mean, why would he need to? He was there to help out Ash, a man who was hopelessly in lo... No. Not hopelessly. They were in a relationship. Alicia had described their relationship to James in the past, saying that it was definitely more than lust, but they weren't sure if it was love. Not the kind that Jack and Tati had, anyway.
He leaned against the bar table. His head was pounding. He could feel his heart racing. No. James was talking to Ash so that he could have someone to talk to, whether Ash knew it or not. The Captain mourned, though. Mourned hard. Went through a rough period. Faced it, dealt with his demons. But for the past year, James had been hiding from his, be it behind smiles, with hard work, or chumming it up with Ash. He felt like such a hypocrite.
James ordered two neat drinks of whatever was clear and flammable. He killed one on the spot, and began to nurse the other. He barely realized that his hand was shaking, if just a little bit.
Ash & Thana
Location: Building A (Ash's House)
"I'll meet you up there, one minute." His voice gave a solid promise that there wasn't a radio call, summons, or incident short of all out war that would prevent him from being with Thana in that one flat minute.
Thana's head snapped back slightly, wondering just what they needed to wait on this time. Cocking a brow her lips pursed to one side. "Better hurry," she said as she looked at him. "60, 59, 58, 57," she said as a smirk came to her lips. Letting the seconds tick over her tongue.
"...better hurry..." mused Ash quietly, smiling down at Thana. But then she kept counting.
"56, 55, 54, 53, 52, 51, 50," she continued as she started to step back away from him. Her hands trailing down his chest until they left his body and she took slow deliberate steps away from him. He slowly cocked his head to the side like a curious but confused mastiff. Her smirk turning into a coy smile as she let out a light giggle, yet she didn't halt her count.
"49, 48, 47." Turning on her heels as she sauntered out of the room and towards the stairs. The monosyllabic thought of "Crap." lanced across his mind. She was counting down his minute, and he was thirteen seconds down.
Thana couldn't help but continue to smile as her feet padded over the floor, she knew she was making the situation too literal but she found it fun. "46, 45, 44, 43, 42," she counted down, letting her voice raise slightly in volume to make sure he could still hear her. Every second she spoke aloud hammered an ongoing sense of fueled purpose. He would not be made a liar of that evening. Oh yes, Ash was making that minute.
"41, 40, 39, 38, 37," she called out in a sultry tone as she stepped up the stairs, her hand resting on the banister. She wondered what Ash was up to, what he needed a minute for. It wasn't like he needed to slip into something more comfortable.
Comfort was on his mind, however. Thana's, mostly. Without much time to dally, Ash tossed another two logs on the fire and slid the fireplace screen closed. The last thing he wanted to do was set his home ablaze with the two of them inside of it, but he did want to ensure that his bedroom has some access to heat. That meant opening the flue. It was a real shame that the flue lever was stuck.
Stopping at the mid landing of the stairs she turned around and glanced down the hallway. "36, 35, 34, 33, 32, 31, 30, 29, 28, 27." Ash leaned against the lever. Shook it. Grunted and strained against it, digging his heels in and easing his weight against it. The flue would open, as God was his witness that fucking flue would open and he would make his minute.
The numbers clicking off her tongue as she leaned back against the wall, ticking each one off on her finger tips as they drummed against the wall. "26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20." Momentary panic hit Ash. "...damnitdamnitdamnit..." he mumbled, fully aware that he had lost precious seconds in this endeavor. There must be something wedged in there.
"19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14," she said as she bit on her bottom lip. She really didn't have a plan if he was late but she was sure she could think of something.
Meanwhile, Ash had damned well had enough of that lever. He swiftly drew his big combat knife and deftly inserted it into the mechanism alongside the offending device, wiggling it about until he felt the telltale giving of carbon buildup breaking away. The lever slid into place, finally. Now his bedroom had access to the warmer air of the fire, though it would take about a half hour before a really noticeable change took place. They would have to find some way to stay warm until then. Ash had ideas.
Turning she continued up the stairs, each step slower than the one before it. Time moving with each second she called out to Ash. "13, 12, 11, 10." But he still wasn't quite ready. With speed of limb he did not commonly demonstrate, he slipped the bottle of peach liquor into a cargo pocket and grabbed both of their plates. At a dash, he crossed the hallway. He spied Thana from the corner of his eye as he passed by, but refused to waste any precious time acknowledging anything except for his one-minute mission.
Stopping at the top of the stairs her eyes darted around. "9, 8, 7, 6," she hummed out as she leaned against the railing at the top of the stairs. There was movement from the dining area below as Ash tucked their food into his personal fridge (benefit of being in charge) and grabbed two bottles of cold water. He had a feeling that they would be upstairs for a while, and would require precious hydration in the meantime. That was if he made it in time.
Watching for him the last seconds rolled off her tongue. "5." Ash sprinted like a madman over those last few seconds, hitting the stairs with zeal. "4." His speed almost cost him about halfway up as his balance shifted forward, prompting the man to run/crawl the last few steps. "3." Still practically on the floor, he looked up at Thana. It was an excellent view. "2." He shifted both water bottles to his left hand and steadily regained his feet, throwing her a perfect military salute at the end. "1."
"Present and accounted for, Ma'am." he said with the utmost of reverence. A rare boyish smile and rapidly dilating pupils betrayed him as he took the second to just look at Thana. No matter what tomorrow brought, Ash was extremely thankful for tonight. Thorough, intense debriefing. Yes, he liked this woman.
Thana had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing. He was a handsome man but right then he was just down right adorable. A light chuckle slipped out as she returned the salute. The chuckle faded but the smile it had brought remained. Reaching out she took the bottles of water from his hand as her eyes met his. "I think your hands should be dealin' with somethin' else soldier," she whispered as she stepped closer and draped her arms over his shoulders.
Ash reached an arm around Thana, leaning in to sample the sweet, sweet nectar of her lips. At the last possible second, he froze. Arching his eyebrow in the most mischievous manner he could summon, he quietly agreed. "You're absolutely right, Ma'am." Thana's eyes had begun to drift close but snapped open as her lips didn't feel his. Her brow arcing in a curious manner. She didn't have time to ponder why his expression had suddenly become like a cat toying with a mouse.
In an instant, Ash dipped her, supporting her controlled descent with a steady hand on her back. He pulled her in close, taking a moment to steal a kiss before slipping his other arm under her knees and lifting her from her feet. Glancing at the slightly ajar door to his bedroom, then back to Thana, Ash strode forward with confident, heavy footfalls.
Pulling herself closer to him, her arms tightening around his shoulders while he carried her. Leaning close, her lips brushing against the side of his neck between soft nibbles. She hadn't expected to be carried across a threshold this evening but she was beginning to learn to expect the unexpected with Captain Holloway. It seemed he was full of surprises. Ones she was quite enjoying, especially this feeling of being held in his arms against his strong frame.
A solid knock sounded as Ash kicked the door fully open and stepped inside the dimly illuminated room. The heavy wooden portal rebounded from the rubber tipped door bumper and closed behind the pair with a muted click; an otherwise undramatic sound sealing them away from the rest of the empty house, promises of intimate euphoria within.
SchrΓΆdinger
Location: Building A (Ash's House)
A door! Indeed, a door had opened somewhere in this house. Ever since the Alpha and the slimmer female that smelled of mating hormones began to rub mercilessly upon one another in the room with the fire, Schrodinger had made himself scarce. By "scarce", he tucked himself in the shadows of the side of the room, just underneath a piece of vintage furniture he was considering sharpening his claws upon sometime in the next few days. Well, if he decided to stick around. And yes, he watched as shamelessly as a Ceiling Cat.
You see, the game plan was simple: Stick around to get warm, maybe get some quality nap time in. Afterwards, locate and consume as much unattended food as possible, then leave to find a concentration of Humans to show him as much love and attention that he could cheerfully tolerate. Just then, the step was Food. He knew that good stuff was in here someplace; the Alpha usually had some comparatively decent eatables around. The problem was, even in the haste associated with the two-leggers finding someplace private for their own personal howling sessions, that dog-spawned asshat put the leftovers someplace else. Schrodinger wasn't around to see exactly where, and he couldn't immediately smell it out. So when he heard the door, he resolved that this would be a good place to continue his search.
Further, split-second examination revealed that the door was upstairs. That was all Schrodinger needed to know. He was off in a flash, digging claws into carpet for proper purchase, turning on a dime, breaking feline land speed records. Silently hauling ass up the stairs, he saw the last second of Alpha carrying the female into the dim room before the door swung back. Schrodinger poured on the speed, but it was for naught. The same nanosecond the door came to a gentle close, he plowed into it. Now, he had the forethought to slam on the breaks and catch the solid door with his side instead of his face, but damage done. The wind was knocked out of him.
Schrodinger lay next to the door for a few seconds, contemplating merely returning to the room with the lit fireplace and catching some more sleep. He stood, shook himself off, and wondered curiously into the air, "Meow?"1 During his introspective moment, he strained figure out what they were doing, locked away in an upstairs room without observable food nor fire, but to no avail. The fuzzy orange bastich didn't speak much in the way of Human, it was an odd sort of communication that was much more complicated than it needed to be.
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
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[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Zman
Shadow Dragon
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