Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Northern Parking Lot of Building 4 (Repair Shop)

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Ash looked at Gavin's outstretched hand for a second before eyeing the tall Texan. He had to be the most oblivious man on the face of the planet, out of what few living people remained upon it. Gunshot, man kneeling in the snow, emotion playing on people's faces. The town was slowly creeping out to see what was going on. This was a big deal, and this guy was treating it as a meet & greet. Ash kept his look as stoic and professional as possible, that being his way. But there was an element of strain to him. This was a lot to deal with at one time. But he was the man in charge, and no one else was going to do it for him. There was only one way he knew of to handle issues like this coming at him all at once. Divide them up and handle them a piece at a time.

There was a difficulty with one of those issues. Ash hadn't actually felt jealousy in quite some time. It was not in his nature, at least not generally. All he could do was let that play out for the meantime. To forsake Newnan for his own personal insecurities, founded or unfounded (though this looked pretty goddamned founded), would be an utterly selfish thing to do. But the way Thana stressed the word "need" the split second before Gavin introduced himself. Did that mean something? It must have, but he wasn't 100% on what, exactly. So, with Gavin just for now, keep it short. Ash took the Texan's hand, gripping him with a fast but firm handshake. "Captain Ashton Holloway, Combat Engineer, Commanding Officer of the Newnan Safe Zone." His voice was stone. "At the risk of being rude, sir, Commander Martin is correct. Matters require our attention." He didn't know, thankfully. And he wasn't being The Bad Guy here, it just looked like unfortunate timing. So before Ash's personal feelings got involved, "Honky Tonk" needed to take a step back. "We will talk later. Grab some breakfast if you haven't already."

One thing at a time. "Thana, I need you to stick close. Brief me in a few minutes when we're clear." If someone in town thought that Thana was at fault for what happened, even indirectly, he wanted her nearby. Also, he could not deny a sense of rearing territoriality. A lot of emotional things were pulling at him, and he did not need the distraction of not knowing just then. It was petty, but it was indeed what he needed.

A crackle sounded over Ash's radio. It was Jim, taking over for Jack while he was on his honeymoon. "Team of four, plus myself en route, Captain." he said with just a hint of tiredness in his voice. "One minute." Ash responded with a monotone, "Understood, one minute." Something suddenly popped into his head, "Jack and Tatiana, stay on your honeymoon. We have this handled." Someone in this town is going to have something resembling peace and happiness, damnit. It might as well be the newlyweds.

Something seemed off, though. Or more accurate, something seemed missing. He had asked for a Security and a Domestic team to meet him on site. Security was coming. Where the hell was Domestic? Ash scanned the gathering group of Newnanites, looking for people who worked primarily Domestic to press into service when he spotted Meghna Kumar, on site, observing what was going on. A spark of genuine anger unrelated to the issues at hand flared in Ash. "Miss Kumar!" he shouted, barely turning his head in her direction, "You are the Domestic Lead, right? Where is my Domestic Team? Why are you not reporting for orders?"

The fact that a couple of people were asking for an explanation was not lost on him. He was hoping to address everyone at the same time, but something had to be said now, if just to keep people from worrying about what might happen next. Plus, some people might want to tell James goodbye. Ash sighed. This would have to be done in full eventually, anyway. He keyed on his radio, and addressed everyone within earshot of one around Newnan.

"This is Ash speaking. A tragedy has hit us in the night. Now, I cannot provide details right now, but be assured that no one is in any additional danger. It has been resolved. I repeat, no one else is in any more danger." He wasn't exactly sure what to say, but he pushed forward anyway. "Our friend and Agriculture Lead, James Grady, has taken a life. The deceased was Richard Johnson. James had his reasons. Earlier in the night, Sana Rouen took her own life, citing Richard as the cause. Her corpse rose and killed Bryn Johannsson. James was acting with the intent of protecting the people of Newnan, but he took matters into his own hands and committed an act of murder inside of our walls." Damn, but this was a news bomb to drop on Newnan first thing in the morning.

"The penalty for this is execution." Everyone in town knew this, though there was never the need to do so before. "Because of his tireless service to the community and the circumstances around the offense, I have opted instead for exile. Anyone wishing to say goodbye may do so in one hour, at the Main Gate to the south. Anyone interfering with this will be subject to disciplinary action."

Jim and his team arrived, giving Ashton a quick salute. He returned it, and issued orders. "Ok, two of you will guard James. Keep him safe, but keep him on task. He has one hour to be outside the Wall. The other two... help him out. He's still one of ours for that hour." He then looked directly at James, "Come on, man. Get up. You've given us so much. Take what you need, start over. Don't give us trouble now."

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Black James(!)

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Location: Northern Parking Lot of Building 4 (Repair Shop)

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"Naw, Bossman. Ain't gonna be no trouble from me." His voice was low and sad. James had walked up to Ash, fully expecting to die. He wasn't sure if this was a gift or curse, but under no circumstances was he going to make this difficult on anyone else in Newnan. Even if it wasn't his home anymore, these were his people. The girthy man set his stetson back on his head, and slowly rose from the coldness in which he knelt. He looked to the Security detail assigned to him with a mixture of several emotions. "C'mon y'all. Let's just do this, get it done, aight?" Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe he just made a mistake and was paying for it. A lot of maybes went through his head. Too many. Ash's mercy may have prevented him from catching a bullet right at that moment, but he was on his own. That could change in a hurry out there. All the same, he still wanted to take care of these people and this place. It would be awfully hard to do that if he couldn't set foot inside of the Wall.

Ok, first order of business, he needed to get his working gear. Most all of that was back at his place. Plan for a very, very extended run. And his truck. He liked that truck. He would have to visit the Armory, too, but that would have to be last. The Security guys could probably take care of that for him, come to think about it. But he also needed to hit Agriculture. He left some things there he would need, plus there was a little gift for Ash, and by extension, Newnan. Time to get to it. Mustering as much dignity as he could, James began a steady walk back to the street, in the direction of his house.

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

@Dragoknighte

Femnal's retching notwithstanding, the chamberpot wouldn't have made that much noise. It didn't fall from the balcony, it just tipped over (Thank you, Kyra...). Now, the CONTENTS of said chamberpot, that definitely went over the balcony.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Outside the Retribution/Newhope Docks -> Cargo Hold

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Harper spoke a quick "Yes ma'am." to Anisa. He rolled his personals back inside of the Cargo Bay and secured it off to the side, putting digital label of "PERSONAL GEAR - DO NOT SELL" upon it. He then searched for and located a standard Alliance crate among the recently stashed cargo, the very one containing the personal effects of the lady named Camilla, sadly someone who did not make it on board back in Whitefall.

Harper had to give it to this woman, she came prepared. And outfitted logistically with firearms that took the same type of ammunition. Come to mention, the same type as his Alliance service pistol. Harper found one weapon that suited his needs particularly; a 9mm Parabellum round utilizing Jericho 941. It was remarkably similar to his Glock variant, and had never been used by the Alliance as an issued weapon, ever. He took it and the accompanying holster, equipping them on site. Curious now, he continued looking through the deceased lady's belongings.

He found some interesting things in there. An old Alliance uniform, for example. Apparently, these Browncoats did draw from former Central military quite a bit. Would this be his fate as well? No matter. That was tomorrow. Today, he was raiding a dead lady's stuff to replace his Alliance issued belongings. Grenades, explosives, LOTS of ammunition. A couple of submachine guns that held little interest for him. Personal effects (that he had no business looking into, he was here for weapons). A good field knife. Yes, that was a keeper. He tucked it, and its sheath away on his person, replacing his military one. And then something caught his eye toward the side of the crate. It was beautiful. Harper wasn't a huge assault rifle fan, but this piece was lovely. Partially disassembled, there lay a Modernized AK Variant, complete with banana clips, wooden stocks and blackened steel. He swiftly reassembled the weapon and tested the action. This woman, whomever she was, had excellent taste in firearms. He was honored to carry them.

Pistol and knife aside, Harper shifted the remainder of the items he claimed for himself (rifle and ammo types) over to his own personal belongings, then immediately reported back outside. "I'm good to leave on order, ma'am. With your permission, I'd like to spend my time before you sell the vessel scrubbing her logs and personnel files; format the rest of the system back to factory standard afterward."

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Foy-er

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As much as Foy appreciated the assistance of the Shepherd, he was beginning to find his continued explanation of the psychological nature of the lady in charge irksome. Between that and his display of... well, he wasn't sure what to call it, it held elements of what he perceived as sarcasm and sycophantic behavior. If he were back in the Georgia system, it seemed like a more long-winded version of "Well bless your heart!", with all of the negative connotations that came with it. All the same, if he still decided to stick around with these people, they would have to coexist with something that resembled civility. He adopted a voice slightly more cheerful than he actually felt, addressing Atticus. "Why Leviticus, I haven't the depth of philosophy nor breadth of intellect required to even begin to sort out the nature of whatever semi-transient deity finds humorous. Being as you are, ah... One Of The Boys, as it were? I find myself with particular luck this day that you are present to provide explanation about my similarity in this regard."

He began wheeling the barber's chair toward the door of his Foy-er. After moving it but a foot or two, he was greeted by a knock. Foy was curious as to who would actually knock, out of this crew. It seemed a social nicety that had been quite forgotten. He imagined that he would have to stick with the crew for a bit, if for no other reason than to give them an example of gentility and manners. But even so, his tiny parlor in the ship was the sort of place where folks rather popped their heads in to see if there was an opening available. Curious, Foy set down the dolly and the chair strapped down to it, and stepped forward to open the door.

"Why, Miss Pender! We have not gotten adequate time to acquaint ourselves with one another, I am afraid. Perhaps we should rectify this obvious social faux pas. Might I interest you in a cut and style, before we pack everything away? We might engage in light conversation during. Or are you here for matters with more official intent?"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

The Lord Major was settling into his substantial breakfast, utilizing the proper application of gentlemanly etiquette in the presence of mixed company. That is to say, not only mixed in the usual meaning of gender, but military and non-military people as well. He politely answered the various morning salutations from Harry, Lauren, and Aziza before pouring fitfully engaging himself with his tea. He was a man who did enjoy a good cup of Builder's in the morning. "Yes, quite. And a pleasant morning to you all. Do help yourselves to our standard English, and without reservation, if you would. Today promises to start a grand adventure, of at least the preparations for one. Good start for a good day, and whatnot."

Not that he was ignoring the Starlet nor the Reporter, though he did make it a point to address them separately. Still of bubbly, optimistic demeanor, he picked up conversation with them. "Welcome, quite. It is my hope that our difficulties over the previous eve were the result of a series of profound misunderstandings. It is my further hope that we can lay some of these to rest," he looked directly to Haakon, "...hopefully before this morning has concluded, in a very final manner."

It did not escape his attention that most of the people around the breakfast table had made passing talk of a restless night or odd dreams. He had his own fill of nocturnal oddities recently, and he was not alone in this, a similar phenomenon discussed just yesterday. The lack of open discussion about it vexed him. "Well then, let's be open about it, shall we? Come now, show of hands, who else witnessed a great skirmish between inhuman blackguards overseen by a jackal-headed chap before having their hearts fitfully removed and levitated before them, hmmm? There's detail I've not shared, but let's call it a preliminary, shall we?" He paused, popping a forkful of quiche and sausages into his mouth.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Northern Parking Lot of Building 4 (Repair Shop)

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There was a narrowing of vision from Ash as he looked down at James, still kneeling in the accumulating slush. He was aware of Thana's hand on his shoulder, barely hearing her advising him to lower his weapon. What he could hear was the steady thumping of his pulse in his ears. Even after he took the shot, he was still looking down at him, his face mixing emotions, different ones as each second passed. Even though some time had passed, that gunshot seemed to echo in his ears. It was stupid, firing his gun when he didn't intend to kill with it. It was a stupid, emotional decision. He couldn't even afford to waste the bullet, if it came down to it. He didn't give consideration to the people still asleep, or the sentries who just heard a gun report inside the Inner Wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. At least it would serve to get Security out this way, so that he could get the messy business of James's banishment over and done with, maybe have himself a nice emotional breakdown later at having to kick the best friend he'd known since the Outbreak out of civilization, into what amounted to something near a death sentence anyway.

He really didn't want to. Really didn't. Hell, he might have agreed with his actions, under different circumstances. Check that; Ash knew full well about despair and the darkness of one's inner mind. Despite this, his friend was still acting in (what he thought was) the best interests of Newnan. But James crossed a line. He flat-out murdered somebody. That stops the train in its tracks.

Snapping him into greater awareness of his surroundings, Ash's and James's radios went off. At first, the speaker used a more native sounding French, but it soon switched to the more locally familiar English. Ash sighed, lowering his gun to his side, and thumbed on his own walkie on general signal to answer. "Everyone stand down. That was me. Froggy, I want a security and a domestic detail assembled, have them meet us in front of the Repair Shop." His voice had grown stoic. It was his go-to standard when he had to attend to official business or when something compromising occurred. This counted as both.

His professional stoicism was tested sorely when a stranger walked right up to them. Tell fellow with a Texan accent that seemed to really know Thana well. Too well. Too well in an "I thought you were dead and still love you" kind of way. Thana's reaction appeared stunned, more than anything else. It didn't show on his face except in the most minute of detail, but after last night and this morning, it was a solid punch to his nethers. But at the moment, all he could do was deal with the emergency at present, and address this new development as he was able. The stranger brought with him a single member of the Security team, leading Ash to believe that this was one of the new people from last night that he delegated to Froggy. He wasn't given an entrance interview, and so he required a security presence. One thing at a time.

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Black James(!)

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Location: Northern Parking Lot of Building 4 (Repair Shop)

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James considered getting back up from his knees a few times, seeing as Ash had already passed sentence on him and it didn't include his brains decorating the landscape. It wasn't until he fully lowered his weapon that the sorrowful James actually risked a motion. Very carefully, he removed his own pistol, a serviceable 9mm Glock, and slowly passed it over to the Captain. "Just until I'm out the walls, ok? This needs to go smooth, Bossman. For everybody." Ash took the weapon and tucked it into his belt, nodding slightly. His gaze drifted back to the new guy and Thana, as did James's.

He had figured out that something was going on with Ash and Thana, or at least he had suspicions. It wasn't until he saw the microexpression on Ash's face - he was probably the only person in the world that could read something so subtle on the man - that it confirmed those suspicions. And then, Gavin happened. James looked to Ash, and his heart broke a little for the man. Even though he was exiling James from Newnan, he was still his friend. A friend he probably wouldn't ever see again in about an hour. "I'm real sorry, man. That's gotta be a sackslap." he said quietly.

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

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Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern, 2F Private Room

Interacting With: Sana, Group, and a precisely fired end of stale bread

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The broad man could appreciate Sana's tactless but wholly accurate deduction of what occurred all that time before. And here he had thought he covered his tracks so well, relieving himself from the vantage point of the shuttered window of the upper floor of that strange, little Inn. There were all manner of strange and flesh melting events going on out there that day and evening, so the next morning was taken with the utmost of caution. Propelling a powerful volley of liquid (that to olfactory detection, resembled cooked steak and Dire Bear musk) from the shuttered window of the uppermost floor of the curious, extra-planar building seemed preferable to venturing out-of-doors.

His face remained neutral through out the whole event of Sana exiting the room to get an eyeful of him power washing the interior of the chamberpot with his morning ritual of highly pressurized micturition. He didn't so much as attempt to cover himself out of some misguided sense of modesty, as she had to have heard what was going on as she neared the door. Instead, Keystone turned to his roommate from the previous evening, and in a fairly unconvincing voice, baritone out, "I got no idea what you're on about." Luckily, he was finishing up.

As if karma had a hand in the morning, the next instant saw a chunk of stale bread sail through very thin air, pegging Keystone in the back of his head. He moved reflexively, one hand yanking back up his trousers fully as he turned to face his attacker. Unfortunately, the toe of his still boot happened to catch the rim of his brass urine receptacle. A frozen moment of alarm lanced through the brutish man as his chamberpot rotated twice, seemingly in slow motion, before listing fully to one side, spilling the brunt of its contents away from the pair upstairs. More unfortunately still, the horrid liquid seeped and rolled its way to the edge of the balcony - and beyond. Keystone could hear the splattering white noise of last night's ale striking the wooden base flooring below, almost soliciting a chuckle from the burly, shirtless man.

Keystone glared down at Kyra. Damage had been done, not a damned thing he could do to fix it. It wasn't like he could unspill the awful mess, and to be frank, he firmly believed that this was as much her fault as his. Then he smirked, looking to Sana. "Whelp, no sense cryin' over spilt piss, as me old Mum would say." He extended a hand, offering to carry her over over the spreading puddle of pungent, waterfall-impressioning bladder fluid. Like a gentleman. "Umm... Breakfast?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar y Keystone

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Location: Justice Asylum

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Before the exploding window/masterfully staged improvised exit, the crazy lady had a lot to say about Caesar. She had omitted from her little biographical rambling, though. The lack of these major details was as telling as the fact that she knew as much as she did. While not just "public record" stuff, she definitely seemed to have gotten the redacted version of his file. This was a thought he would have in coming moments. Right then, Caesar took in a brain full of the concept that his attempt to talk the situation down using any of his negotiation or intimidation skills. No, this bitch would have to eat cold, emotionless steel.

But she did get one thing wrong with utter certainty. Caesar was not a father. He had fathered, raising a baby girl into an intelligent, powerful woman, but the moment that the light of her vitality was snuffed, so was his claim to be someone's daddy in this lifetime. With that gone, Caesar wasn't sure what he was capable of doing anymore. His wife (well, ex-wife) had often told him that having Alicia made him more human, less of this creature shrouded in blood and darkness. But the crazy, window-jumping bitch was correct, she couldn't keep up with the lifestyle. Even the watered down, abridged one he showed her; not for very long. The truth was that his role of "hero to the common people" aside, he was a borderline sociopath that clung to a few, faint glimmers of morality. Grief had made him very dark before. It would again. Just a matter of time - probably after they interred Alicia. It would make for a profoundly interesting week.

But first, Caesar could not just let the woman run away without protest. He too sprinted for the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the retreating duo. Hopefully, he could find an equally speedy route down. Possibly using her own line, though if it was reactive and she thought to bring long a catalyst stick, it would be a very bumpy landing. But before he attempted anything, he shot a look to Keystone, who was still covering Cecily. "Orders still stand. You know what to do, Stone."

Keystone looked to Cecily, then back to Caesar. This was a touch of madness, what it looked like he was about to do. Give him a good, solid opponent to beat down and he was happy, but jumping out of windows? Hell, everyone's got to have a hobby. Though somewhere in the back of his mind, he was wondering if this was a diversion for something. He was thinking like a Security Agent. Arrive on scene, secure ground, protect your charge. The brutish man had standing orders, and he was the only one around that El Jefe trusted, despite his glaring lack of administrative experience.

"Got this. Do what you gotta, Boss." he said quickly to a man taking short nanoseconds figuring the best way to give chase to a psychotic chick who jumped out of a window carrying a child. Then he remembered a minor myth attributed to the man from just a few years prior. It was a particularly gruesome Alternate Method of Descent. Let it never be said that the man was a slouch at improvisation. He just hoped that a similar situation was not shaping up here. The way Caesar was looking at that Federal Agent, it was possible that's what he had in mind for a moment.

Alternate Method of Descent

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

Umm... There seems to be some confusion as to the actions of our bumpy protagonist, Keystone. To be clear, he is standing just outside of his room, on the balcony overlooking the tavern common room (where the party's located). He's standing with his back to everybody, shirtless, and his trousers are partway down because he is presently pissing into a chamberpot next to his room's door.

Perhaps I did not adequately describe this in the IC. Either way, here it is now. And ...proceed.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"...give me understanding, that I may know thy testimonies."}

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Location: Almack's

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Mary extended her senses into the Vatican training of Tanter, probing the rooms and grounds around her to ascertain whether or not her more martial skills would have to come into play in the near future. At first, she got nothing. Pouring more focus into the skill, the dedicated Apostolic continued to feel out the setting of Almack's Assembly Rooms, searching intently for any sign of more hidden Soulless. Thankfully, she found no evidence that was detectable by her abilities. The vastly more likely explanation of those results were that, because they weren't bothering to disguise themselves as human earlier, they had left the area entirely. This left antagonists of a more common variety with which to deal.

Her thoughts briefly drifted back to the "Lord" from earlier who had tried to steal her halberd, and the row that broke out in the Musician's Gallery that resulted in at least one person's death. People were shoved, trampled in humanity's push to save their own skin. The Ton had proven that they were not the bravest and the boldest that the British Empire had to offer; merely the ones birthed to the right families and with the socially acceptable gender to control vast amounts of authority and finance that was the life's blood of the United Kingdom.

She was just about to share her findings with Elizaveta and Virginia when she noticed two things. The first was a touch toward the subtle, a young man readying a throwing knife in Veta's general direction. Despite her very recent change of status, Mary was still a Knight at heart, her charge this evening being the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. The blade lowered, but Mary's eyes remained narrowed at the man. Until the second thing happened, anyway. The appearance of a loud, highly presumptuous man in a red waistcoat, tossing his top hat and greatcoat at the nearest member of the gentry and acting as if it were a privilege to receive them. Mary shifted her polearm slightly, divided at to which was the potential threat in this situation, until he realized that the loud man was speaking in a highly inflected Russian accent. It seemed extremely likely, given that they were in London, that Veta and this strange man knew one another.

At least he knew how to make an entrance. Following his grandiose production of offering servitude to Elizaveta, Mary intoned quietly but seriously, "To business: Your Grace, Lady Crypt, it seems quiet for the time being. Perhaps we should see to our deceased, following formalities."

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Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms

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Before Elizaveta could finish verbalizing her request for assistance with standing, Vladimir had already snapped to his feet. He swiftly twirled his blades back onto his person, and assumed a low dancer's stance. The dramatic Russian lightly took hold of the Grand Duchess's hand and aided her in her vertical relocation, maintaining a slightly bowed head all the while.

His introduction to the paler noblewoman nearby was met with an interested raise of one eyebrow. Vladimir did so enjoy meeting new people. He bowed low and from the waist, offering a kiss to the back of her hand. "Ov course, this is Lady Crypt." His words seemed directed at Elizaveta, but his eyes held fast with Virginia's. "This young voman screams stoic intensity, vith exqvisitely beauteous, alabaster face and eyes like sword-iron in cloudy sky. My Lady Crypt, aristocrats ov room stare at you, and are shamed vith jealousy!" He straightened to his full height, a small card appearing in his hand with a snap of his fingers. He offered it over to his new acquaintance, verbalizing much of what was written on the piece of trimmed stock paper (in English and Russian): "Honor is mine. Privetstviye, ah... Salutation, Lady Crypt. I am Vladimir Alexandrov, heir to the Baron Alexandrov; and I have honor of introduction as "The Great Bazhooli", of Bazhooli Sem'ya - Master of Impalement Arts. Am at your service, iv need."

He smiled a warm but slightly mischievous grin, and looked to the women gathered around. The Catholic, the Lady, and the Grand Duchess. Then he remembered that there was a particularly dead person on the floor with the cloak of a Papal Knight shrouding the corpse, as well as a general sense of dwindling urgency in the room. Come to think of it, he thought he noticed a few carriages and people on foot out front moving as fast as they could away from their present location. It seemed odd, but who knew what really happened at these upper-crust London gatherings? It could very well be like one of the Circus's party games, wherein a large circle is drawn upon the ground and a skilled archer fires an arrow straight up into the air. The last person to flee the circle before the arrow returned to the ground was declared the winner; also, probably required the attention of a skilled surgeon. Such were the frivolities of some of the younger performers; more nerve than style.

Party games aside, a questioning look etched itself on his face, growing to angered alarm. His hands idly moved to two particularly painful looking knives from his personal arsenal as he voiced his waxing concern. "Vait... vhat has happened in this place? And vhy is scary Catholic girl looking for dead peoples?"

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Cargo Bay -> Foy-er

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The ever dapper Foy Coiffeur raised an eyebrow at the sudden and extended outburst of mirth from the Shepherd before him. He withdrew his hand from in front of the man and put on a neutral face. When the guffaws and chortles died down, and the holy man had spoken his peace, Foy gave his moustache a twirl and returned to pushing the grav dolly. "Manners, Shepherd Pearson. Manners are what separate us from the plebeians." He stopped, looking back to Atticus, "Indeed, they are supposed to, so I must surmise the sudden change of aerospace pressure has led you to an unfortunate medical malady involving either temporary reduction of hearing or some incarnation of dementia." His voice had an edge to it that he had not previously demonstrated, even when approaching their first meeting on Whitefall, when he was ready to insert ammunition into the Browncoat crew at high velocity.

He resumed walking to the back of the Cargo Hold with the dolly, intent upon going after his Barber's Chair next. It did not stop him from continuing his thoughts on the situation, whether or not Atticus cared to continue assisting him with his belongings. "Words have meanings, sir, and though many would consider my intonation and vocabulary flowery, gilded (possibly), or something toward the more expensive of speech, I assure you that when I use phrases such as "businesslike influence" and "liberally adequate for a professional", or even the simpler to understand "ply his trade", not to mention the word "accord", that these bits of syllabic utterance are not equivalent to the more brutish concept of DEMAND."

"I was requesting your assistance and insight in the coming negotiations there, Genesis. But you are correct. I shall speak with your superior on matters of contractual professionalism from this point onward."

He continued into the gurney lift and down the corridor to his place of business, now in mid-disassembly. The most important, central piece of his parlor was the vintage-styled, adjustable Barber's Chair, a thing which he carefully loaded onto the grav dolly and strapped in lovingly. He had half a mind to set up just outside the ship while he waited on everyone else to get ready, if there were time for it. A little "strolling about cash" for the cost of disinfectant and minor styling products would be well worth it, so long as he had the time to spare.

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William Harper

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Location: Outside the Retribution/Newhope Docks

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Harper was a fairly patient man. Moreso than most, it turned out. Living in a chunk of floating rock where the bare essentials of living were rationed (and sometimes forgotten), including such concepts as breathable air and light; well, they made a man patient. What did not settle extremely well with him was the fact that that he was feeling a little exposed out there. Granted, he looked less like the man he was pretending to be as of a week ago, but here he was in front of an Alliance ship in Newhope. Harper was afraid that he would stand out.

But, he wasn't in uniform. He had a bit of facial scruff now, and he was beginning to put a little weight back on. He was more comfortable in utility garb anyway. Now if he could find some proper clothes in the city just beyond the docks, all the better. He hadn't been to a port that didn't also have a mercantile district nearby, ever. But until then, he was going to mind his station and people watch for a while.