Sigil

🦄 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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Caesar's uneasy feeling didn't go away with the limited conversation he had been in with Agent Tinder and the SWAT guys. Tinder seemed annoyed (or impatient) and though the fine men of the Justice Special Weapons & Tactics appeared to be curious as to the nature of their late orders, Caesar didn't seem to be fully buying it. Maybe these people were pawns in the game of life-and-death chess, but he believed that, under solid instruction from a higher-up, they would very likely turn their guns upon the three of them; Keystone, Cecily, and himself. This was a well lit hallway of death. Nah. Not today. Something about the suddenly cautious mannerisms of his employer made Keystone switch to the hyperaware. Cecily was doing her thing, and as long as she was okay, so was the big lug. Of course, the massive amount of potentially unfriendly guns bothered him as well. It's not like yo could punch sharpshooters to death at this range. In a calm voice, he asked his charge a quick, "Ready to get a move on then, Miss?"

It was difficult for the two Security professionals not to notice that Agent Tinder had mentioned something about coordinates being sent to his phone. He seemed adamantly set on finding out what was at said location, screaming about a hostage situation that one could only assume was a continuation of the incident. For this reason, it didn't seem strange at all that he was breaking their appointment on an official capacity. "Yeah, Tinder. Sounds like you have a busy night, too." He looked the man over for a second, unsure as to the guy's motives in this situation. Something seemed off, like a chunk of his puzzle that was missing or obscured. Well, first meetings and all. "I'm not sure how this works in Justice, but Miss Ashworth is needed back at the original crime scene. If you need anything, we will be making an appearance back there." Naturally, if they were leaving then Cecily had to turn over the reins. Or not, as the case may be. He never did mention how long that appearance would last, and who knows? The night might decide to get interesting when they got back that way. Caesar began continued back to Keystone and the Lady Coroner, ready to leave the scene.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Bridge

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But of course, his Cortex Terminal was back in Cargo. Harper was hoping for a quick info download, followed by a serious default restoration to core systems, but no... Of course, it wouldn't take very long as soon as he could access the Captain's personals. Ordinarily, it would be near impossible to have an uninterrupted period in the Captain's Office, Alliance protocols and the fact that they were in what was supposed to be a tightly controlled Patrol Vessel. But Harper had been afforded an opportunity.

He stood from the station terminal on the Bridge and turned around on his heel, showing the utmost of professional, military discipline. He strode to the door leading to the ship's main corridor, listening to the quiet mechanical hiss of its opening, and then again as he stepped through and it shut behind him. Then he took off at a run. There was a buyer coming, and at some point he'd want to take a tour of the ship before purchase. The concept of cleaning out the system was valid, even with a legitimate sale, but doing so with a black box personal terminal was a little shadier, if said buyer was able to recognize the device as such. It stood to reason that he return to his belongings in the Cargo Bay and retrieve his tech as expediently as possible.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Cargo

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A tip of the cap was provided to Atticus. "I should wish to express particular appreciation for your assistance thusfar in matters mundane and laborious, Deuteronomy." The bout with unnecessary impoliteness aside, the Preacher did make good on his word to aid him in tucking away the smaller elements of his parlor. Moving the tiny oasis of culture and gentlemanly relaxation that was the Foy-er would be a simple matter of closing up a couple of custom cases and a mirrored wardrobe; rolling it down to Cargo stood as a standard affair. Thus was the niftiness of the Professional Barber On The Go and his capacity to provide services, provided he could locate a more or less decently sized walk-in closet within which to set up shop.

"If you would be as kind as to excuse me, sir? I sense that my presence is more compassionately invested with a word to by fellow Farradayan." He moved to tip his fancy bowler hat again to Atticus, but instead spun it from his perfectly scaped head of hair with a dramatic flourish, effecting a bow and turning his attention over to Jahosafat. He walked over to the debonair gentleman, and in a quietsh (for him) voice started, "My dear illustrious sir, scheduling and situation have not given us proper opportunity to engage in the conversational arts during these last few days. I cannot fully grasp the depth and breadth of emotion that you are engulfed within, but suffice it to say, I shall do my best to provide noteworthy discussion or distraction, at your specification, as time presents it."

"Point of fact, my good man, there bears one such opportunity after this fine vessel has been claimed by the merchantfolk, to participate in some localization. Slumming, if you will; the taking in of the surroundings of this new port of call. Perhaps we might get in a bit of shopping, purchase the company of the "local fauna", and later find a watering hole or supper club from where we may speak of less formal, more personal matters. What say you, Josie? You friend was a soldier, of sorts? Allow me to assist you in giving her a private, soldier's sendoff."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Hypothetically, would one have to wait for a result check to quickdraw a howdah pistol? Unrelated, of course.

#nunwithagun

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Black James(!)

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Location: Northern Parking Lot of Building 4 (Repair Shop) -> Headed North on LaGrange Street

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James trudged in the forming slush of the morning back to the road, taking it as an easier path northward to get to his former residence. He wasn't sure what they would use it for now, but it was even money they would just clear out his nick-knacks and assign someone else to it. Probably whoever they get to replace him as a Lead, unless Ash deemed it group housing and tossed a few people in. Then again, he knew that Ash had his eye on the place a while back before James had moved in proper, citing that he had too much room in his venue house for just one person. Leann forbade it, as was her privilege. James moved in, and that was that. Well, the grim bastich went and took his revenge, making Leann's old place "Reject Housing", though he never called it that himself (James might have a time or two, being honest).

It was an odd sort of memory lane, now that James was leaving Newnan. He only had an hour though, it wouldn't do very well to get caught up in memories for too long. Not a lot of time when you had to say goodbye to a town and pack up enough gear to move on with a life. "Say, umm..." he started, speaking to one of his armed escorts, "I gots an hour, man. Hour. Could you hit that Armory fo' me? Grab my Vera and that box o' goodies that's got my name on it, please sir? You ain't gotta give it, jus' make sho I got mine on the way out."

They were told to help him get his stuff together. There was some hesitation at first, which was understandable. I mean, he was James. That would be James Mandingo Grady. But he crossed one hell of a line. "Yo man, I still got a guy with a gun that can shoot my dark ass if'n I get outta line. Plus you gonna have one hell of a bang-bang when you get back, case I do. You ever shoot that cannon? She's somethin' else."

The guard looked skeptical. Keying up a walkie, he addressed Ash, "Captain, James is requesting I leave and see to his munitions. Orders?"

There had been a few concessions so far. This one seemed a little much.

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Ash Holloway

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

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Or at least a little more than Ash was willing to allow right then. "Negative on that. But he does have stuff spread across the town. One minute." He did, too. Weapons in the Armory, probably a little something hidden in his house, too. Speaking of which, that house was centrally located with a couple of stories. James was not known for being an extremely organized man, outside of work. Also, as the Agricultural Lead, he had dealings with crops and livestock, at different ends of the grounds.

Ash spoke into his walkie, hoping to fix the difficulty. "Jim? Jim, I need someone from Security to get James's truck. Make sure it's gassed up and ready to go. Get it to the Armory and put his personal weapons in the back, then park it just inside of the Gate. Let James's detail know it'll be waiting on him."

He replaced his radio on his belt and looked down at his hand. He still had his friend's personal sidearm held awkwardly. James would need this, maybe even before the day was out. Ash made sure the safety was set and tucked the familiar Glock into the back of his belt. He then turned his attention to the bloody woodaxe on the ground next to where Richard's body used to lay. Carefully, Ash picked it up, regarding it for a moment. It was used to take a life recently. It was used in an act of mercy recently, also. The whole situation sucked, through and through. But staring at that tool of murder, Ash had to wonder if he didn't just save lives in the long run. It was a long stare, and though little showed, the Captain felt like he had just lost something important.

🦄 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

"Yes, yes." he responded to the messenger from the prison. "Help yourself, of cour..."

The Lady Munn hit the floor. It was preceded by her very ladylike utterance of "Oh bollocks", which very definitely caught the attention of the Lord Major. In his experience, Vera was not prone to the more womanly fits of lapsing into unconscious at the drop of a hat, at the very least, significantly less than she used the word "Bollocks". On the other hand, they all had been under unusual stresses recently, not to mention the dreams, the branding, and that frightful business with the escaped convict making their lives interesting. More interesting for some than others, or at least it would be here before long. But all that aside, if she had indeed fainted, the more aggressive of the group that morning were doing their damnedest to make the situation more difficult.

For starters, there was an amazing amount of attention being paid to her, crowded around like a cricket squad arguing over tactics of a losing game in the last innings. Reginald stood from the table to get a slightly better vantage on the situation without contributing to the clusterboink unfolding in front of him, and was not an amazingly huge fan of what he saw. He drew himself up to his full height and quickly stepped to around the side of the table, so as to be within full view of the people around Vera and the soldiers on duty in the room. He held up two fingers, getting the attention of said soldiers before speaking in a clear, commanding voice.

"Take your hands from my niece immediately!" he admonished, "Anyone who is not a staff medical professional will remove themselves from Lady Munn, else I shall have you flogged! Is that clear? Back up, the lot of you!"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Submitted for approval:

Thalia Angelica Carmichael

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_{Thalia Angelica Carmichael, Security Specialist, MSS}

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Character Summary

Name: Thalia Angelica Carmichael
Aliases: Angel, Thalia Gonzalez
Age: 27
Birthday: March 21 (Aries)
Ethnicity: Caucasian and Hispanic
Birth Place: San Francisco, CA
Location: Boston, MA
Gender: Female
Major/Minor: Electronics Engineering/Criminal Justice at Suffolk University (Go Rams!)
Occupation: Security Specialist and Trainer, MSS Boston Office
Languages: English (slight Boston accent), Spanish (Fluent)

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Appearance

Height: 5’9”
Weight: 145
Build: Athletic
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Black, short
Skin Tone: Pale Tan
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Ears pierced (regularly wears studs), slash marks on her lower back and side, bullet scar below left collarbone.

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Psychology

Guarded * Independent * Loyal * Direct

Sexuality: Hetero (sporadic fluidity)
Relationship Status: Single, not looking
Personality:

Experience has taught Angel to stay cautious and feel out people before letting her guard down, especially in recent years. There is an independent streak in her that used to be much more pronounced; the Apocalypse has taught her the wisdom of community, even if she stays near the fringe. Once she relaxes and begins to trust, she reveals a young lady who is dedicated and fiercely loyal. Angel is generally respectful to people, if not always 100% compliant.

The rogue Gonzalez dislikes authority for its own sake. She will follow orders, but from people that she genuinely respects. Even then it is taken as something of a guideline, changeable as the situation changes. The same applies to the reciprocal of this: Angel is not always comfortable taking on positions of final authority. Specific circumstances would have to be present for her to volunteer for leadership roles. Angel has no desire for power over others, preferring to contribute to a group as an individual pulling her weight, working within her skill set.

Angel is a decent person, if very rough around the edges. She has strong protective instincts for those she considers friends, and like many in her family has a profound sense of family honor and its darker aspects. Despite this, she does not fully possess the brash, in-your-face manner of her Prima, nor the quiet, raw intimidation of her Tío. She is not a stereotype of her lineage, though the influence is remarkable. Angel remains her own person, a little more pragmatic and cautious than some of her bloodline, yet unmistakably part of the Familia.

She also loves to eat, and has a lack of formal manners in that regard. Oddly enough, she is one of those blessed types with a freaky ideal metabolism. She can keep shoveling it in, the calories only serving to maintain her form without causing noticeable gain. The Apocalypse has made this less of an issue as of late. Another interesting thing of note - since the Outbreak, Angel has shown signs of budding pyromania. It remains to be seen whether it is an interest or an obsession, but so far she has not been foolish about it. The girl just likes fire.

Habits: Thinking out loud, absently playing with sharp things
Hobbies: Training, building fires
Fears:

• Stagnation
• Trusting the wrong people
• Failing her duties

Likes:

• Fire
• Alone time
• Food
• Sharp Things
• Sparring
• Tinkering

Dislikes:

• Condescension
• Unnecessary Cruelty
• Loud Noises
• Boredom
• Lazy Folk
• Large Crowds

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Cards On The Table

Pre Outbreak Skills:

• Security Procedures
• Electronics
• Familia Gonzalez Presión Boxeo (Switch-Hitter Mexican Pressure Boxing, Incapacitating Style - Experienced, Improvisational)
• Sharp Weapons
• Pistol

Post Outbreak Skills:

• Survival
• Equestrian
• Stealth
• Spear
• Shield
• Firebuilding
• Scavenging/Foraging

Current Supplies:

• Current Clothing - Fitting jeans, grey sleeveless hoodie shirt, black leather medium length coat, grey & black striped rugby scarf (Gru), hiking boots, tactical utility belt. Wears simple ear studs, occasionally black sunglasses.
• Framed Hiking Pack (contains blankets, random cans of food & ramen, tarp, cordage, canteen of water, kindling, cook kit)
• Glock 17s Pistol
• Extra Clip 9mm NATO
• Machete (KA-BAR, cutlass style, modular cordura sheath, keeps on her back)
• Tactical Automatic Knife (Benchmade)
• Satellite Phone
• Electronics B/R Kit
• Leatherman Multitool
• Firestarter
• Military Entrenching Tool (folding, sharp and serrated edges, occasionally uses it as a buckler)
• Crude Spear (carbon/fire hardened, sharpened, shaded growth sapling - about seven feet with foot long, polished black, flat tapered point, approximately two and a half inches thick, several feet of paracord wrapped around haft)

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History

Your First Walker Encounter:

A late evening at work turned into an early morning. Angel remembered waking up on a couch in her office just before the sun illuminated the Boston skyline. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and decided that then was as good as time as any for breakfast.

There was a bakery she liked a handful of blocks away from the office, so she took a quick jog up the mostly deserted street, the smell of fresh bread and pastry calling her onward. Before she made it to her breakfast spot, Angel noticed a trio of people stumbling up an intersecting avenue, strangely wearing stained hospital gowns and seemingly unaware of their surroundings, very likely coming from the nearby Medical Center.

She saw them try to attack a stray dog, and when a morning shift garbage collector stopped to see if they needed help, they clawed and bit him savagely. The man escaped the attack and got back on his vehicle. The last she saw of them, the Sanitation workers were driving in the direction of the hospital, and the three attackers were shambling after the garbage truck.

In hindsight, that was her first Walker encounter. The experience wasn't a total loss, though: Angel was able to pick up a box of creme doughnuts and a loaf of cranberry almond bread.

History Before Outbreak:

Born in San Francisco to a single mother, Thalia Carmichael had no knowledge of her biological father until the age of ten. Her mother, a Miss Angelica Carmichael (maternal family name), left the father the day she discovered that she was pregnant. The history of the Gonzalez family was soaked in blood, and she had been planning to make a discreet exit from them anyway. Angelica wanted a safe, normal life for her daughter. As soon as little Thalia was old enough to travel, they moved to the elder Miss Carmichael’s home city of Boston, MA.

Unbeknownst to all, Benicio Gonzalez (biological father, independent contractor, and firearms enthusiast) had taken a semi-retired lifestyle and joined the Priesthood. In his younger years, Benicio entered and graduated from a prominent Seminary school; circumstances led to his more combative lifestyle before taking his Vows. Addressed as Father Benicio Gonzalez, he still performed the occasional service related to his former life.

A car accident in Boston deprived Thalia of her mother. In her will, she revealed the identity of her biological father, Benicio Gonzalez, briefly explained their history and why she was kept from them. When he was notified of this, there was an understandable element of surprise involved. DNA tests confirmed their relation, and Thalia was released into his care. It was a little unusual, a priest with a daughter, but they got the permission of the Church and the State found no legal reason to keep them separated. Benicio took to calling her Angel, a pet name he used for her mother.

From the age of ten, Thalia (Angel) was raised as a Gonzalez, with all of the good and bad that came with the privilege. She idolized her older Prima, Alicia, wanting to be like her in many ways. This is probably why she took to the family business and college with as much gusto as she did. Her area of expertise differed, but there was a significant amount of overlap in their skill sets. College and the beginning of a legitimate career working for her Tío & Prima as a Security Specialist (with opportunities for trouble every now and again) was her life plan, and it wasn’t bad. Over years of training with her family, she was even able to distill and quantify the unarmed fighting technique utilized by the elder Gonzalez brothers and their predecessors, breaking it down into a teachable discipline. Angel entered several local and regional boxing matches of questionable legality as they came up, honing her techniques until the competitors refused to step into a ring with her anymore unless the “Marquess of Queensberry Rules” were applied.

History Since Outbreak:

Miss Carmichael was assigned to her old stomping grounds in Boston as the site’s Electronics Engineer and Close Combat Trainer when the Outbreak began. As the situation became royally screwed with zero clear endgame in sight, Angel decided to book it back for the central office in Chattanooga, TN, hopefully to meet up with her family and figure out what to do from there. The problem then became sneaking out of a major metropolitan area that the military could not hold onto with full resources and manpower. In the beginning, it took much longer than expected. Building by building, block by block, ever southward until she escaped the city proper.

When she finally reached Chattanooga, there was evidence of continued Post-Outbreak survival of some of her uncle’s people at the Home Office, though she could not tell how long before they had vacated. She did note that some of their signature working gear (personal machetes, leather vest, knives, motorcycles, etc.) were missing, but the place was not ransacked. Her satellite phone had died some time before, or she would have tried one of he few communication systems left to the world. Keeping hope alive, Thalia re-equipped with what she could find, and set out for Metro Atlanta. For various reasons, it seemed the most logical place they might try next, if they chose to brave the hordes diffusing from the higher population area. They might make a push to Texas or Mexico from there, meeting back up with whatever family might survive. It was worth a shot.

Some hard times later, a starving and desperate young lady was picked up by a group of medieval and Viking reenactors on horseback, wearing old-world armor. It was a little freaky at first for the urban and pragmatic Angel, but she stayed with them for some time in their little Castle Town in Fairburn, recovering and growing stronger. She learned many useful survival skills from the Northumbrian community, teaching some of her own in trade and helping them out with runs and defense. It was really a fine time for Angel; she dedicated herself to learning as much as she could as completely as possible, training almost constantly. It was like a bad Kung-Fu movie from the 1970's, where the protagonist walls up in a Shaolin Monastery for great lengths of time and emerges a better, stronger, and wiser person. But with Vikings. And Jousters. And grizzled, medieval(ish) survivalists. She made an interesting Half-Latina Shieldmaiden.

Then disease hit Fairburn hard. Angel made the decision to leave when it got really bad, as many did. She spent some time traveling by herself, mostly just surviving on her own and plotting her next move. The Gonzalez clan was large and reaching, but the center of their existence was in Monterrey, Mexico. She would try there next. It would be a hell of a journey.

More recently, the errant Miss Carmichael stumbled across the mother lode: an mostly intact electronics supply store. Inside, she found the tools and parts necessary to repair her satellite phone. Soon after, she was able get a solid charge into a couple of compatible batteries by rigging a charger and hotwiring a car as a power source. It was unsuitable for transportation, but it made a passable makeshift generator. With food starting to run low (but a full battery charge), Thalia is attempting to reach out to anyone in her contacts list that might still have a working company phone. It is a long shot, to be certain. But worth it, and a more productive use of battery power than rocking a few levels of Tetris 2006.

Angel had been holing up in a tank for the last part of the winter. Yes, a TANK. When you see a massive piece of custom motorized armor coming up the road at you in the middle of a coverless clearing on level ground, you can either give the gunner a moving target or you can hold fast and find out what the hell is going on. As it was alone and headed in her direction, she took a risk and stuck out her thumb.

Now that the weather was beginning to break, the time had come to set back out into the world. She has braced herself for the extremely high probability that her immediate family is dead, but feels obligated to find out.

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Extras

Character Quote:

“Yeah. It’s going to be real hard to do that without teeth.”

"We've all lost stuff. All you can do is keep moving forward."

Theme Song:

Good Girls - Elle King

How Many Walkers Have You Killed:

Really? That's a question? Ok, I mostly ran from them. Running's not always an option, so I have put down plenty. Never stopped to count.

How Many People Have You Killed:

I don't like this question. People stop being people when they think raping and eating folks is a good idea. The ones that just want to kill you or rob you aren't much better. You're just as dead.

I'm really not sure. Twelve, maybe? Hard to say. Baker's dozen? It's not something I like dwelling on.

Why:

Because I'm not willing to go gentle. How about that?

Anything Else:

roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659

Faceclaim: Jacqueline Toboni

Knew Astrid Hansen and Bridgette Vinters due to previous involvement with the Fairburn group. Might know others wandering in the region because of this.

Since Fairburn, Angel's armed combat style has changed up a bit. She now fights more defensively, often utilizing her Etool (folded position) as a small shield in conjunction with her machete against armed opppnents. Against the Dead, she is likely to utilize her spear first, keeping distance.

A popular survivalist tactic she picked up involves using her primitive spear in her off-hand defensively, keeping attacking creatures at a distance while wielding her machete in her dominant hand. The technique was invented to keep larger predators at bay, but works effectively against single to small groups of the Dead with minor modification.

Unarmed, she's all Gonzalez. No need to change anything there, and is in fact a more valid technique now than before. She used to mix it up with a certain angry viking blacksmith with a similar pugilistic background. For fun.

Refers to zombies as "Zeds". Whether this refers to a French sounding "Ze Dead", the British Isles pronounciation of the last letter of the English alphabet, or just something that they started calling them in Boston toward the beginning, it's Zed.

_{*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy.}

_{"I'm sorry, did you want some?"}

Header Images

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

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Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern

Interacting With: The Group

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It wasn't the first time people had placed bets on him. Once upon a time, it was a commonplace event. He was younger, almost as broad as he was now, and people chanted his name, exchanged money and gave each other congratulatory slaps on the back as a blood streaked Keystone roared in self-adulating, territorial victory. Yet another opponent lay broken and bloody on the ground, soon to be dragged from the scene by the same people that would have carted away his worthless ass, were he the one who took the beating. In a couple of weeks Yeah, people loved to put money down on what might or might not be able to inflict on others.

No matter what the others did with their money, he wasn't going to partake in the festivities this time. Whatever happened, happened. But if he was able to make Femnal vent his porridge across the landscape every time they spent an appreciable time with one another, it would be effort well spent in very unsubtle retaliation for helping that piss-poor, double dealing merchant Cremwise recruit him for a suicidal fool's errand.

Right at that moment, he had other plans. Those plans involved preparing a more than decent repast cobbled together out of whatever they had left in the kitchen and larders. He took a step from the table, pausing in his retreat to food production when he caught Thomas's last question to the newcomer Dwarf. "Same place the group's cook learns a small blade, I imagine." he responded, words colored by his omnipresent urban underclass accent. "Same reason, too. You'd be wise to get in some stabby-stabby practice y'self, Tommy ol' boy. Never know. And you..." he switched gears over to Nor, "Barber, yeah? Let's talk rates after, then. I've got a tiny piece o' coin and a week of face neglect needs attendin'. Wait, 'old on..." He could still hear Femnal retching, and wondered how long he was going to be out there. Opportunity!

With a grin, Keystone poked his head into the kitchen. There was that same, dumpy guy there as last night. Understaffed still. Must be. "Oi! Oi you there! Master Femnal needs you on cleanup! Some festerin' wanksplat kicked over a bloody chamberpot on the balcony. Don't you worry 'bout the kitchen, I'll cover ya."

"C'mon then! 'aven't got all mornin'!"

...breakfast time.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

Wouldn't be the first time.

🦄 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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"Prison..." growled Caesar softly. "Yeah, I know. I have a murdered associate, spent some time there." Of course, she hadn't died there, she had died very recently in Seattle. They had set up a base of operations there and moved on months ago, leaving her behind to handle her part of the business. Whoever these people were, they seemed bound and determined to murder as many people close to him or under his employ.

"You alright, Boss?" asked Keystone. Apparently, the usual scowl on Caesar's face had deepened into something hinting quietly at homicide. He needed to know where to concentrate the primary output of his rage and firepower, and he had very little in the way of finding out how. Caesar nodded. Sure, he was alright. His eyes went back up to the new guy and his credentials. "Tinder." Even as he revealed that he was indeed the Tinder that they were supposed to meet for a meal earlier today, he had figured it out. There was very little that happened anymore that wasn't a horrifying coincidence.

At that time, SWAT decided to join the party. Their appearance likely might kick off a firefight, all ethnic and surly, packing firearms around an FBI Agent. Luck seemed to be with them as Marc made his wry comment about them being "a little late", as no immediate shooting started. He tucked away his small arms, urging Keystone to do the same. As soon as the giant of a man complied, Caesar followed up with his own bit of sarcasm. "Yeah. That was really bad luck. Just missed her." Naturally, those sons of bitches, or whoever gave them orders, was part of this. Suddenly, he didn't feel very safe in that hallway, surrounded by trained men with automatic weapons and highly questionable loyalty.

"Nothing more we can do here. Let's let the professionals handle it and look after our client." he began a slow walk away from the scene, but made it a point to address Agent Tinder, "If you can still make that meeting, hura, let me know, huh?"

"Oi, Boss? We done? Just like that?"

"Just like that. Appointments tomorrow. New leads. Cecily? You good, niña? Let's get work out of the way then, unless you've got something?" He sounded strangely motivated, ignoring the crushing failure of not nailing down that heartless bitch while he had the chance. Maybe she was right, and his recent loss made him more cautious about collateral damage. The time was coming soon for him to retire, really retire this time. Only a few more people had to die.

"C'mon then, Miss Cecily. He's cookin' somethin' up, I can tell. Hey, afters, let's all try and catch a bite. Y'know, again. What's your fave?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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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 situation had a way of bringing people to a pause. It was grim, the business at Almack's, but what irked Mary even more than the lack of nobility among the nobles of London was the fact that these people saw fit to leave before their names could be publicly associated with the event, and have others clean up their mess. She wondered if the living had taken more lives than the Soulless in the last hour. Whether or not it was true, the fact that the thought crossed her mind raised questions. They would have to be reevaluated later, but the method in which she carried out the letter of her vows to the Church and her Order, in her estimation, needed amending. The people of money and power, "Soulled" individuals, needed to understand the reality of their situation, in the harshest and most direct manner possible. They could not simply walk away from the damage they had done and drown it in the tragedy of a Soulless attack. Yet that is exactly what they were going to do.

Mary's newfound (if temporary) position might be able to help her with this situation. Whatever happened afterwards would simply happen, chips fall where they may.

Dropping her hand from its earlier, outstretched position, Mary turned to Elizaveta. "By your leave, Your Grace." she said, taking a knee. Carefully, she rotated her halberd horizontally and laid it at Veta's feet. It was symbolic, the surrendering of a cherished weapon, but it was also practical. It would be infinitely more difficult to haul the bodies of the fallen with it in hand. Mary raised to her feet, gave a quick glance to Vladimir and Myshka, and walked off to recover the remains of Virginia's friend, Mosi, first. Despite the absence of the weapon for which she was most noted, she was still quite formidable.

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Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms

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The appearance of Constantin raised questions about who was tending to the carriage (or where it was parked at that moment), but that would have to wait. If one of the retreating nobles or their servants got the bright idea to run off with Elizaveta's means of conveyance, it would be a massive inconvenience on everyone's part. Veta had more than one carriage to her name; the one she left the Circus in was one she used for short trips of a similar nature to errands or state functions, such as the Circus had anything akin to those. But the one that The Great Bazhooli took, and by extension that Constantin drove, was actually better described as Myshka's carriage. Much of the interior seating was removed to accommodate the huge, white tiger, allowing for only the bravest or better known by Myshka to share the cab, and then only one or two of them. "Malen'kiy brat Constantin, so very pleasing of you to join! Is virst time coming to big, London party vor noble peoples? Is for me, as too." There was the lightest air of derisive camaraderie in his words, which continued in the same tone, "Slushat'... Iv someone uses carriage to run avay? You carry Myshka on back, all vay to Circus. Da?" He smiled, "Ah, is good to have you vith us!"

The expression on his face made it unclear as to whether it was an attempt at humor or something that should concern his fellow performer. Nevertheless, he smiled a big, charismatic smile and gave the surrounding room a quick look-over. He gave a mental note to the odd fellow a ways from the rest of them, standing very still and staring in their general direction. Specifically, he appeared to be quietly but intently eye-molesting the Lady Crypt. Vladimir made a point to memorize his face for later, and return to Elizaveta's attention. "Tretiy Glaz? Vhat did you see, Little Veta?" His tone changed from the formal to the personal quickly, as these visions were unpredictable at times. Genuine concern colored by curiosity was evident in the man; he was not merely a showman nor figurehead. These people were family.