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

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William Harper

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Location: En route to -> Bridge

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"Yes, Ma'am." responded Harper in a more relaxed voice. It was not the more strained affirmation of his Military Officer persona, more than it was a simple response of a man beginning to breathe more relaxed oxygen at not being in immediate fear of discovery or capture. The fact that he wasn't decked out in his press and polish Alliance uniform didn't hurt matters, either. Ubiquitous coveralls could mean any number of things for the person wearing them, from a utility worker to private security, even pilot for one of the smaller, less ostentatious vessels docked nearby. He was always most comfortable in something like this, or Core World semi-formal. While not screaming dapper flamboyance, like some people aboard the ship, Harper did enjoy the feel of a good suit. Off the rack, fitting garments sufficed nicely for him, though he had the occasion (once upon a time) to wear tailored clothing for the purposes of some social gathering or another. What few non Alliance items of this regard he owned were picked up from Persephone, assembled with some haste. They were fine, if basic, but he was very much looking forward to making some purchases in town, if at all possible. He even had a little money in his pocket, thanks to Anisa and his Alliance Officer's payroll. That last bit would be unaccessible after this go around, it made sense to get rid of it soon or convert it to something more fluid. But that was a concern for a later time.

Those thoughts and more went with him as he took a purposeful stroll up the main corridor of the ship, striding onto the bridge like he owned the place. He gave a quick, impolite gesture to the Captain's chair before settling down in front of a tactical station and accessing the system. As the second highest rank listed on board the ship, he had no difficulty legitimately getting into the vast majority of the files, but some tried to elude him. Harper sighed. He might have to go back to Cargo and get his Black Box to sort this out. Or try his luck from the terminal on the Captain's console.

Well, first things first. Harper picked up a workstation tablet and isolated what decent information he could in the ship's main data storage, copying and then removing from the system what items he had clear access to. Crew files, bits of juicy info, inventories, previous ships' orders, even Officer's Logs. But the Captain's stuff... Yeah. Harper might have to hack this from the dead guy's office. Better vantage point, strategically speaking, anyway. And there were a few things that even the Lieutenant couldn't easily get to. Short of launching an attack against the mainframe's intrusion countermeasures, anyway. A ship like this might not have the most up to date stuff, but it would be decent. And Harper needed to brush up on his aspect of his technical expertise, though he had often believed that it was like riding a bike.

Nah, not attack. Find a way around. He would want his black box.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Foy-er -> Cargo

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"Indubitably." remarked Foy simply, then listened to the words of the soon departing Dorothy. "Oh, never you worry, Madame. A Gentleman of Standing does not waste his time with Alliance issue textiles and sundries, not when there is depth of pocket and irreproachable taste at the vanguard! Ho ho!" He was accurate, if overly verbose. Foy carried and kept nothing either issued to, nor maintained by Alliance personnel. Guns, ammo, clothing, provisions, supplies, all was provided by either himself through channels or The Family Fixer. Every wealthy family needed a person who could get them things of the sort, the Coiffeurs were no exception.

Foy was finally able to get the chair properly out of the door with the grav dolly, and used the opportunity to wheel the item smartly down the hallway. The use of the gurney lift seemed appropriate, and so with some gusto Foy finagled the chair into Cargo without incident. He unbuckled the dolly and hastily posted a sign on it, stating its status as "non perishable" goods. There was much to do before they disembarked, and he was eager to make sure that his personal and business effects were among the items traveling with them. Were he to join up with this crew permanently, he would need the trade skill to allow himself walking around money, provided he was on a backwater. Of course, it did all seem a bit like Pearls before Swine, his skill set plied on a settlement just starting out. But who he was and what he did was often used to get himself into and out of places he otherwise would not have been able to access. Social fluidity despite personal misgivings was one of his strong points.

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

@Lady Amalthea

Sorry about that, edit made.

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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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Before attending to the obvious business at hand, Ashton looked to Thana and nodded once. She had instinctively pulled her weapon to cover him without prompting in any way, and showed restraint as the situation unfolded. The situation with Gavin... he would inquire into later. Right now, she gave every appearance of continuing to back him up despite the drama clearly crashing down around them. He mouthed the words Thank you to her and returned to his duty. Whatever happened later, she was there now.

Any time that business started to mix with personal, Ash didn't like it. This most certainly was an example of that very thing, and in one of the worst ways. If he had stuck to what was considered The Law in Newnan, James would have a bullet in his head right now and they would have a mandatory discussion about community and the importance of keeping the peace. There may be some variation of the Omelet and Egg speech involved, perhaps something detailing the origins of the present community and describing some of the horrors that took place outside of the Walls. Newnan was special. Hell, maybe even unique. When the rest of the world had gone to crap and ruin, they had a decent slice of Civilization That Was, even down to luxuries few of them would have considered possible otherwise.

Perhaps this is why they were growing complacent. Ash had seen traces of it before, a general atmosphere of some individuals taking what they had for granted. Getting lax with duties. Forgetting the importance of their responsibilities. Ash silently wondered if these people would be able to survive outside of these walls anymore. They were there for a reason, the walls; it was to make life possible past mere existence and provide protection from those that would do them harm, both the living and the dead. And now, because of his slowly failing sense of mercy, he was about to put his best friend left in this world to exactly that test.

It was like shards of ice pierced his chest when he saw Tatiana with James, giving her goodbyes. That feeling turned to confusion when she suggested an "Exit Interview". It wasn't like James was putting in his Two Weeks' Notice on a salaried position, here. He was being exiled for murder. All the same, the quirky Russian lady had a point, even if he didn't fully agree. The fact that Jack backed her up notwithstanding - she was his wife, and newly made so, at that. Of course he was going to back her up. As petty as it might have seemed, though, he couldn't have his orders questioned in front of a group unchallenged. This was a pivotal moment, and he had to maintain order. A clear chain of command had to be maintained, or his little act of compassion may be seen as weakness by some members of the community. That would make things significantly more difficult all around. "Tatiana, I've said my piece on the matter. He's got one hour to be out of these walls. If you can arrange it in this time, you are free to do so."

Ash sighed. Tati did mean well, and maybe this was her way of getting a little closure in addition to the reasons mentioned. In a much quieter voice, he intoned to the deceptively tough ballerina, "James is going to be in a vehicle when he's escorted out of the Gate. You be in that vehicle. Park just outside of the gate, and take as much time as you need. But first, get our foot patched up. That work?"

Their conversation was punctuated with Meghna's follow-up to Ash's chewing out session, asking for orders. A look of annoyance crossed his features momentarily, but he quickly stuffed it back down and addressed her flatly. "My order was to get a Domestic Team and meet me here for instruction. But let's not waste any more time. Yourself and your domestic team have two jobs right now. First: make sure that everyone in town knows what happened. Run the buildings and residences, full nine. Make sure anyone who wants to say goodbye to James or give him parting gifts or even join him is able." Why not? He had friends here, though Ash wasn't sure that James would be open to subjecting people to the everyday dangers of the Outside. No, but the mere offer of companionship might do well to ensure that James knew he was loved. "And Second: Sana and Bryn's remains need to be policed, and that house given a thorough cleaning. It needs to be spotless. You are to assist in this Domestic endeavor personally. Remains immediately, cleaning and restocking may take place after James leaves. But make it happen before noon today."

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Black James(!)

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

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James looked somber as he trudged in the general direction of his house. Technically, it wasn't really his house anymore; it was just a building where he temporarily kept his stuff. Soon, most of it wouldn't even be his stuff anymore. Ash had told him to get what he needed from Newnan before he left, but there was no way in Hell he was going to abuse this. No, the resourceful Blackneck would leave this oasis called Newnan with ...basically... what he came in here carrying. He wasn't certain what he was going to do when he left, though. Might pick back up the trails of roving bands of hogs, take up his lifestyle prior to being a pillar of the community. But he had been alone for so long. Could he even do that anymore?

Then came the emotional near-attack from Tatiana that dropped the first of a few tears from James. The pretty little girl that refused to let go of his arm. She insisted that things might change, that she would see him again. It was bittersweet, seemingly naive coming from her. But it was a beautiful sentiment. "I wanna see my baby ballerina dance again. Really do. This the way it gotta be, though. I'm deservin' this, Tati. Hell, I'm deservin' a lot more. Long as my family's safe, I can bear it."

🦄 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

Reginald accepted the note from his subordinate, giving it a once-over before folding it in half and slipping it into a shirt pocket. He looked down at his glorious repast and sighed. This was a breakfast that he had been looking forward to sitting down and enjoying, and indeed it was one worthy of a man of his social stature and noble bearing. He was a Keystone, after all. Back in Sussex, that meant grand, sweeping homes and estates within Brighton and in the country surrounding; balls held in his honor (or the honor of whomever he chose that hour), and, if he so desired, a life of quiet study and reflection, dotted by hunts and parties and forays into the upper crust of Great Britain's social scene. Even with the tarnish upon his reputation, which was quite arbitrary, as everyone knew.

But here, in this place, he had respect; a thing that was earned through a lifetime of service and combat. Such a thing could not be given to him by the aristocracy, it had to be earned. He had respect, and a crapton of ordinance, plus the manpower at his disposal to make damned good use of said ordinance. Most of all, this earned him a decent, uninterrupted breakfast when he called for it, except for today, apparently. When military business came into the equation, it took all of the joy out of the experience.

But no! Reginald was bound and determined to have his relaxing bit of morning indulgence, despite the presence of the messenger from the prison and his less-than-cheerful note. "Yes, quite." he stated flatly, then looked to said messenger with a touch of cheer on is face that he most assuredly did not feel, and spoke to him in near flawless Egyptian Arabic. "Nem bialtabe ya saydi. wa'awad 'an 'akun saeidaan lilghayat lilaimtithal. Wayurjaa 'iikhbar siidikum bi'ana alshakhsayn almaeniiyn qayd alaihtijaz ladaa aljaysh almalakii litakid amr la silat lah bialmawdue." He took a fitful sip of his tea, and continued glibly, "Sayatimu altaeamul mae hadhih almas'alat bidhaka' baed saeat al'iiftari, wa'ana 'atawaqae alsalim aldiyafat 'azharat 'athna' wujudahum fi hadanat alkhasi bika. La tazal ladayna qadaya lm tuhal mae hadhin... I trust this is adequate for your Master, sir?"

Reginald gave a nod to William, standing just nearby. "Ah, Mr. Drake! I was hoping you might find your way to us this morning. Do join us for a spot of morning repast, if you would."

It was at this moment that the Lord Major noticed the entrance of Peter and Vera. His dear nephew looked joyed, but Vera... An odd feeling crept over him, as if something was off, somehow. Like there was a signal he missed or overlooked in the shuffle of the past day or so, but couldn't quite place. It was vexing. Instead of addressing it, he waved the two of them over. His bubbly joy was, to all, still present, though it was curtailed slightly. "Well then, the Fellowship is nearly all here! How capital. Now then, let get a bit of shop talk in, now that we have the honor of Lady Munn's presence." He wasn't sure what was bothering her, but figured that an intellectual project to focus on would get her mind off of whatever was making her feel amiss. Then a discreet question later. It was frightfully British of him.

But Reginald did suddenly feel an unintended touch of compassion. But just a touch. "Miss Clark, Mr. Elvsgaard? I insist that the two of take your absolute fill this morning. The day promises to be long, and possibly quite arduous. You may feel thankful for a full belly later." There was a genuine look of concern, or at least something resembling it. The look was fleeting however, dashed away by a tiny pleasure as he procured the most lovely brace of scones and a dish of blackberry jam.

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

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Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: Sana, Femnal, & The Group

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"Bloody shame 'bout that." said Keystone in response to Sana's missing appetite. "Promised you decent breakfast, I did (oh, watch that step there, Miss), and I was thinkin' on makin' us a bit of Scramby Eggs and Shire Pudding. Maybe some - " Keystone stopped abruptly, calling to the proprietor, who was apparently still pursuing a previous engagement involving dry and/or wet heaving just out front. "Oi, Femnal! Usin' your kitchens. You gots any autumn cabbages back there? Like, big'uns? Eh..." and then immediately back to Sana, "Yeah, maybe some seared cabbage, what d'ya say?"

The broad man righted the overturned chamberpot with the toe of his boot, lest further movement cause what little remained to desecrate the balcony floor. "You go on ahead. It's be frightful impolite to get started half barearsed." he offered, referring to the fact that he was still shirtless. The time honored morning ritual of getting dressed was interrupted by events unfolding, and he meant to at least throw on a shirt before he advanced his morning. Ducking back into his room, Keystone located fresh clothing, not the least of which being a dark grey, woolen shirt that with three buttons fastening vertically near the collar, allowing for ease of slipping over one's head without the bother of laces. He also grabbed his masterfully constructed hide-and-leather coat. It was a respectable piece of personal protection, but needed a little repair after their tussle out in the woods. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows, practical if we were indeed about to do a little kitchen work, but it also showed off his set of ornately etched bracers of masterful Dwarven craftsmanship.

Carrying his coat with him, Keystone carefully made his way downstairs and tossed his coat over the back of a chair at the group's table. Trying to ignore the sounds from outside and the various facial expressions of those gathered, he asked, "Right then, ah, who hasn't had breakfast yet?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Edits done, thanx.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Yeah, and for continuity, another series of edits. I was operating under the assumption that the Fed had his credentials out in a crime scene. Must scrub any reference Caesar has to him being with law enforcement.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Edit request: First paragraph, last sentence. Needs an extra word and punctuation. Oops.

🦄 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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"Me cago en todo lo que se menea!"₁ growled Caesar, trying like hell to get a license plate number. Even that was a long shot, obviously. From the looks of things on the ground, this woman hadn't put a whole lot of planning into the mission, which if applied in to professional target would have been called Personnel Extraction. But she didn't need planning, did she? No, she had support. Apparently, lots of it. Adding insult to injury, his little bluff didn't even faze her. Most folks, there would have been a blink, a second of indecision, something.

Police backup should have been there already. Mental Health facilities had these people on speed dial, plus a boatload of contingencies on standby. The whole building should have gone on lockdown. Proserpine would have known this, which meant that either she didn't care, or it was being handled. Hell, it was being handled while the cops were downstairs. "Bitch used the cops as cover. The girl was the target. God damnit."

"We givin' chase, Boss?" piped up Keystone, giving a quick glance back to make sure that Cecily was still with them and intact. He holstered his personal hand cannon and looked at the two men before him, gaze switching, as if waiting for something to happen. Caesar responded heavily. "No. I didn't think we'd even see her here - but we learned things." The grizzled Mexican gave the other man in scene a long glare. On the chance that he was law enforcement, Caesar covered his bases with standard buzz talk. "It's outside our jurisdiction now, anyway. We're only here to look after our client." The words came out in a manner that seemed sardonic and rehearsed.

What he saw gave him some pause, though. That woman pulled off the kind of maneuver that mimicked one of his own from years ago. And she didn't even bother to look in Cecily's direction. Either she was remarkably well disciplined mentally, or the present Coroner was not officially on the menu. Caesar turned his attention back to the unidentified and otherwise unmarked man slinging a pistol in a crime scene, "Maybe it's time you told us who the hell you are, and who you work for." It wasn't like he could hide his own identity, Proserpine broadcast his basic information to whomever was listening just then. A little reciprocity seemed in order. But any man who pulled a gun on that bitch might just be a friend to him. Or at least his cause. Add that he had an interest in protecting the girl above anything else, he might even be a decent person. Caesar might have use for decent people.

Translations

1 = (Literally) "I shit on everything that moves!"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms

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From boyishly charming to inflamed with controlled rage, the face of The Great Bazhooli was ever the maelstrom of intensity. Thusly was his change of demeanor as Elizaveta explained the particulars of the evening in the older language of their Training, one considered provincial and antiquated by many of Russia's noble classes despite the power the Old Words still possessed. He did not respond immediately, merely listening to the Grand Duchess until she finished her summary of horrifying events. When she was toward the end of her speech, Vladimir placed the first two fingers of each hand on his temples, making circular motions as if to ward off a coming headache. He then took his turn, speaking with a sense of restrained, concerned anger, as a parent might to an unruly but well-meaning teenager, in the same language and with the same fluency as Elizaveta. There were sweeping arm movements and expressive facial changes as he went along on his tiny tirade, basically breaking down that, her small contingent of mundane guards were unsuited to the task of holding off an attack of Soulless, and that she should have sent for people from the Sem'ya as soon as she knew of their presence in London.

"Iv anything happen to you," he finished in English, "I could not forgive myselv. Not vhen ve could have done something."

The introduction of the woman he had casually referred to as "scary Catholic girl" took him by considerable surprise. He assumed an expression and posture of humility, with lowered eyes and shoulders as he turned to address the heavily armed woman in black cassock. "I am shamed, Dame Hale, before your sight. I vish to give apology, my vords are born into situation of peril and ignorance." He placed a had over his heart and bowed in front of the young Apostolic, his eyes not moving from the ground as he continued. "Having position or not having position, a Bazhooli does not speak this vay. I bring shame to selv and to Sem'ya. I vill apologize with any method your people say is appropriate, if I am able. For now, I am very The Sorry."

The Great Bazhooli straightened to his full height and adopted a more relaxed manner, hoping that his social faux pas was smoothed over with a touch of self-imposed public humiliation. If it weren't, he was still fully willing to back up his offer. In the meantime, it looked like there was some business at hand, which he chose to address in his own histrionic fashion. "Lady Knight!" he exclaimed, "I and little Myshka vill see to keeping of Her Grace safe, da? You see to Honored Dead. Ve vill hold the rooms until your retur... "

Vladimir was cut off by a glimmer of something from the corner of his eye. Apparently, the person who had received his hat and coat upon his entrance was not overly fond of standing there holding it, and so deposited them both unceremoniously upon a chair. His fine top hat had rolled to the ground, now listlessly rolling back and forth upon the smooth floor as the gentleman in question tried to exit without notice. The Great Bazhooli held up his hand to the group with which he was just speaking, indicating that he would be right back.

Truth told, he did really like that hat.

"Privet! Vhere you go, khm?" he shouted, running over to his errant belongings. He settled his top hat upon his head and quickly threw on his fur-edged coat. The weather gave insistence that he left it flared open, but such was his nature for the dramatic. Plus, it showed off enough knives about his person to give a good impression. Returning to his earlier place in the conversation, "Da! Until your vork is done. Ve have lot to talk about, Lady Knight. I am Master Vladimir Alexandrov, and I am at your service, Arch Graveolase."

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_{"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."}

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Location: Almack's

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The new Russian certainly could talk. Not that his structure of the English language was perfect, but he did stress and utilize those words with singular flair. Be it that he did give her mild insult the moment that he met her, it was less than she was accustomed to dealing with on a daily basis anyway, and the utter absurdity of his profuse apology was beginning to make her uncomfortable. This could not be indicative of all people from his corner of the world, as observed by the demure and proper behavior of Elizaveta. In the end, Mary waved her hand and spoke with a dismissive voice, "I accept your apology, Master Alexandrov. Pray don't mention it again." The words were kind, but the delivery was a bit stony.

What she did actually appreciate was his offer. Mary was attached to Elizaveta as part of her entourage. All of her entourage, as it turned out, and as such had certain responsibilities to her. Such responsibilities could ordinarily only be passed on to another of her entourage or another Knight. This man was no Knight, neither Realm nor Papal. But it could be argued effectively that, though he was late, he was intended as part of her entourage. Besides that, no matter how colorful he was, he obviously cared about the Grand Duchess and was particularly skilled with more physical disciplines. Mary nodded her acceptance, and turned to Virginia.

"Lady Crypt, I thank you for your presence while I attended to the safety of my charge. To the best of my ability to detect, Almack's is clear. Let us see to your friend together." Mary hefted her polearm, extending a hand to Virginia.