Sigil

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

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William Harper

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Location: Captain's Office

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Harper's intense scrutiny of the picture to the exclusion of all else bore no immediate fruit, with the exception of drawing his attention away from his terminal, which was giving a notification. Setting the picture down in front of him, the enigmatic pilot shifted a portion of his thoughts away from the image and toward the systems to his immediate fore. The reformatting had paused momentarily, due to the appearance of protected files. Harper established a temporary archive and inspected the more troublesome files there, insulated away from the rest of his system.

Sadly, it was no juicy tidbit of sellable information, nor was it something instrumental in the operation of the Alliance Industrial War Machine Complex. No, merely the coded identification of Alliance crew members already attached to the ship. Nothing that he hadn't already run across and gotten rid of, the remaining lines of code served as an otherwise inaccessible piece of ghost data that needed to be burned out before the full reformatting could take place.

A few keystrokes later, it and the temporary archive it contained were just a memory, and the process continued unabated. With this problem resolved, Harper turned his attention back to the picture he had discovered earlier, attempting valiantly to ponder the existential mysteries therein.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Cargo -> Docks

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The most dapper of gentlemen (with painfully few exceptions in this the entirety of this 'Verse) gave a smile and a nod to Dorothy and set another large case of his belongings onto the dolly. "Positively, madame. You have but to lead the way."

Foy turned his dolly with industrious, almost chipper demeanor, and made his way out into the air of the Newhope docks. He breathed deeply of the air, more naturally occurring than the recycled atmosphere of the Retribution, and let out a huge, satisfied sigh. "Ah, the mingling of the moneyed and the squalorous; clean woody cologne and the grime of labors coming together with the scents of growing vegetation and hydrogen exhaust. Opportunity! This is truly the smell of opportunity..." he wrinkled his nose suddenly, "And apparently fish. I say, I believe someone's frying haddock nearby. Why on earth would - "

His poignant monologue on the proper consumption of haddock in the open air was halted very abruptly by a shot ringing out very nearby, this from Dorothy. While his speech stopped, a smile grew on his face. The ever-ready Foy Coiffeur noted the lady's target and drew his own weapons, a matched set of contemporary Colt six-guns. Using his cases as partial cover, Foy cheerfully congratulated the crew's new Second, "Well done, Doctor! Wearing those ovaries on the outside, are we? Bravo." He tipped up his bowler with the barrel of his sidearm, and from cover, risked a little sardonic communication across the lines.

"Madame?" he called out, "Madame... You have the appearance of a woman suffering from a severe lack of options. I should say an explanation is in order." He cocked the hammers on his revolvers, the tiniest surge of adrenaline hit his bloodstream, hinting at the possibility of real excitement to come. "Or not! Makes little difference personally; it has been a slow day otherwise."

🦄 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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Still somehow maintaining the very image of direct professionalism, Keystone listened to what the group had to say on the matter. This was obviously the work of a Necromancer, possibly a very powerful one. He had experience with spellcasters like this, at least enough to nail down some general facts to work with. "Right. Looks as the better number of us're votin' Tower. It's still early yet, so if we're doin' this, lets start making prep'rations, yeah?"

Keystone raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, then clasped his hands in front of him. His posture, his mannerisms; they could easily attest to his prior occupations of Tavern Bouncer and Bodyguard. His no-nonsense appearance was reflected in his speech, which like him was blunt and to the point. "Them Necromancers're scary types, no doubt, but if'n they're still alive an' not some Magic Walkin' Corpse, then they'll be needin' some of the basics of civilization. That is to say, access to food, water, shelter. Blighters ain't known for being very tough or outdoorsy, on average. That tower's as likely a place as any to find the wankstain what's responsible." An odd thought crossed his mind; it was just as likely as any other outcome that the tower and the caves were linked underground. It might account for some things, but really only served as a distraction from what they knew for certain at the moment. A good maybe to have tucked away in case they saw further evidence for it. Right now, concentrate on preparing for a tower run. They could come back ready for an underground jaunt later if his suspicions were correct.

"If you lot'll excuse me, I'm goin' to get my belongings square and prep for a fight. You ladies what ain't et breakfast yet - got some eggy bowls downstairs what might still be nice n' warm. Today's gonna sod it, may as well start out with a full belly. If we're scoutin' that Tower, we need handle it bloody soon and as strong as we're able." Keystone started for the door, but paused about halfway. "Yeah, and make it back here, soon as possible. Together."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Request a collab between myself and @Morose, getting Keystone and Cecily through their End Of Day.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Gavin & James

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Location: Agriculture

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Gavin gave James a broad grin. It seemed James was about to shoot him down before he ever got a chance to speak but then things changed and James looked to be interested in at least hearing what Gavin had to say. Sighing Gavin glanced over and spotted some woman starting to head their way. Buttoning his lip he motioned to her and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Nunya," he said before glancing back over to James. He stepped over to James, leaning in and whispering against his ear one or two words, making sure this eavesdropper couldn't hear shit. He gave the man a wink and then continued, "Talks to ya once we can talks without ears." Turning he tipped his hat to her, "Ma'am," he added before strolling off with his escort towards the gate. He wasn't about to say anything in front of her. He had wanted to speak with James, not a woman who decided to walk right on up and stick her nose into business that was none of her concern. Had he wanted to speak to her, he would have walked up to her. It was a simple as that.

"Gavin, you just hold on a sec..." called James, responding to Kristina's hug with a big squeeze of his own. "C'mon now, girl. Bossman done said that if'n you wanna talk with me, we gotta meet up at the Gate in about, oh, twenty minutes, alright? I ain't gettin' anyone else in trouble today, little lady. You go on now. I'll be along after."

James waved Gavin to him, walking back into the Agriculture storage building. It could afford them the privacy necessary to speak about the single phrase the tall Texan whispered into his ear; words that most definitely captured his attention. Gavin's head cocked around and nodded towards James before brushing passed Kristina and stepping into the building after James; swinging the door shut behind him. The escorts looked at each other and then shrugged, there wasn't a backdoor out of the building and it was sealed up tight due to it being winter so seemed they figured it was okay.

Well, not one to pass up on the opportunity Gavin set it out quickly and quietly; keeping his voice down. "Wells, you see. I done had a run in with a rights ornery bunch of folks and well I gonna be settin' out to rids the worlds of their asses right quick likes. Seeing as I done seen what you done and hearing the whys I be thinking you my kind of man and coulds helps a lot with this bunch. Plus, I be needing directions. So, tell ya what. You hitch me a ride and if you feelin' frisky you can haves in on the fun. That is, if ya be knowing where this place called Peachtree City be's at," Gavin said as he stood there and gave the brim of his cowboy hat a run over with his finger.

Caution was the first emotion, if it could be called such, that showed on James's features. The mention of Peachtree City was enough to do that, this day and age. He looked the man over, trying to figure out his motivation for wanting to take on the entire settlement by himself (and if he were even being honest about it in the first place). The part about this that irked him, however, was the fact that Gavin started this conversation with a smile. "You talkin' 'bout Eden." he said gravely. "Yeah, I know where Peachtree's at. I don't know 'xactly where Eden's at inside of there, though. Got a good idea." Two men taking on a group like that seemed suicidal. They were equipped, organized, and ruthless. "That there's a hornet's nest, Texas. Hittin' it with a stick might be bad for these folks. We do this, I gotta know it's gonna be full done 'fore I even start. You got a plan?"

Gavin was glad James knew of Peachtree City and the people but the fact he knew about them and they were still alive made him question just what the hell people in this town were thinking knowing people like that were out there. The expression on Gavin's face darkened as he nodded. "Yeah, trust me I knows they ain't playin' no games other than the sick and twisted ones. I really thinks Satan himself woulds be placing their asses next to Hitlers once I'm done with them," he said as he rubbed his chin. He remembered what the girl had been through and his brow furrowed, his eyes growing darker. "And now I knows that Strawberry be kickin', I be damned letting fuckers like them live any longer than they needs to be for me to gets to them. I ain't leavin' any of them still kickin, they ain't evers gonna hurt no ones again. Enough already been killed cause of them. Some problems gots to be dealt withs, no matters the cost, b'for anyone else gets hurts."

James was still in shock, at least little. The events of the previous evening were still kicking up a considerable amount of emotion in the man, and likely would for quite some time. There was a heavy amount of guilt and grief, slathered over a sense of aching calm. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but it was definitely the kind of reaction to something utterly wrong that he had both witnessed and committed that brought about change in a man. Whether that change was temporary or for keeps was still anybody's guess, but James wasn't fully himself in that moment. The one underlying factor that burned within him was a desire to keep the people of Newnan safe. Even if he wasn't part of Newnan anymore. "You damn skippy, Tex. I'm with ya, but you tellin' me you ain't got a plan. No intel, neither. We ain't gonna just walk up there and start us a'shootin', hope for the best. That's how we die, an' get folks here killed, too. No, sir. I started this mornin' expectin' to die, honest and straight. Damn near hoped Ash'd put a bullet in my brainpan. This... this here's purpose, Mr. Gavin, sir. I ain't gonna waste it, neither should you." James was nodding to himself, ideas forming in his curiously creative, redneck thought processes. A sort of determination seized him, energizing his movements and brightening his eyes. "We doin' this right, Tex. Yessir, we doin' this right. Form a fallback. Get a plan. Maybe talk to that Ryan fella, 'fore we're gone. He escaped from there, might know somethin' we can use."

Gavin nodded a bit and flicked the brim of his hat with his finger, sending it tilting back slightly on his head. "Ain't sayin' I ain't gots a plan but don't want to be talkin abouts a plan in fronts..." he said before trailing off and the door for a minute before looking back at the backwoods hogger. "Don'ts wants peoples follow us and tryin' to help. I ain't gots no problems dyin' and after what I done seen and heard, figured yous on the same path as me," he said rather matter of factly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Less peoples knows the betters. Thana catch winds of any of this, her hot tail be runnin' afters as back up fasters than yous can says Bobs yer uncle. You thinks this Ryan character can keeps his trap shut, fine. Buts mights nots be ables to b'fore yous gotta leave if people's keeps walking right on ups like that girl did. Likes to know the inside of the place but no matters what plans we make, plans fall aparts. I'm goin's in, killin's tills I be dead. Aint' standing here waiting fer an attack, lettin' them plans shit. Don'ts even wants to know how many have died and been hurt because peoples just standing around talking, planning, or letting the fuckers lay in wait."

That last part struck home with James. He knew about Eden, weathered their harassment via ammunition. They had lost people to those savage bastards, but no matter how hard they tried, Eden never could take Newnan nor break the spirit of its people. Curiously, they had never been attacked by these people while out on a run. Maybe there was a reason for that, but then again, very few things in this world made sense anymore. They were the reason Zoie was dead, as well as a handful of others. Provided this new acquaintance really did have a prepared course of action, even conceptually, James was in. It would have to be altered to account for his presence anyway. "Aight then, we talk after. I done told you I'm in, Texas. Meant it. I'm all about some crazy today."

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building A (Ash's House)

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The precision change from personal to Military gave Ash some pause. It was actually rather endearing, in its own way; a feeling of something comfortably familiar, structured even. Her more formal attitude was contagious - Ash felt himself slowly taking on a more military posture as she spoke. "I agree to your terms so far. I do not micromanage my team, Thana. If a department under my command gets results and doesn't lead to mutiny, then most of the time I just wait for the weekly report. You think you can do better, great. I look forward to a more prosperous growing season. You may absolutely start tomorrow, and you may absolutely make it your job. I will announce it formally with the evening meal."

Ash's mind drifted to the first part of Thana's terms, referring to their professional demeanor outside of the house and while at work. He agreed silently, nodding quietly to himself. But in all fairness, the part he probably liked best was the "all bets are off" portion of the talk. He smiled just a little, remembering the previous evening in the woman's company.

Thana's motion toward the door snapped him back into the present. It was getting nearer to James's deadline. He was the man who passed sentence, so he should be there to see it carried out. Plus, he was genuinely going to miss the man. He didn't wish James any harm, and in fact quite the opposite. He just didn't know any other way to help him without it screaming any more favoritism than his actions already did. Just about anyone else and Ash would have put that bullet squarely into their skull. Exiled persons might have a way of turning back up with more people, more guns, and a ton of inside intel. But James... He did what he did to protect his people, misguided and emotional as it was.

Gathering up the axe and pistol he confiscated from his friend earlier, Ash strode to and opened his front door. He sighed heavily, knowing what came next. "Ma'am? Let's get down to that Gate."

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Location: North Of Newnan (Veterans Memorial Park - Corner of Temple Ave. & Jackson St.)

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Thalia wasn't certain why she agreed to team up with the woman that she did, but she was grateful for her company. Well, most of the time. And the TANK certainly didn't hurt matters any. It was a highly unexpected piece of security, being able to travel inside of rolling armor, and while a little cramped in there for her liking she could not deny the benefit of sleeping in or on top of the machine. As long as they could find flammable liquid, they had a motorized fortress.

Of course, this meant that the concept of stealth waved bye-bye a long time ago, and that wasn't really the tank's fault, at least not completely. The woman driving the gigantic hunk of steel had a lot to do with it, as made evident with her A.M. concert. Sometimes, Thalia could swear that Lola made more noise than the tank. For her faults though, Lola was a loyal friend, and generous with her hospitality. Thalia only hoped that her skills with electronics and as a survivor were of equal value for trade.

As the call for breakfast cut over the inexpertly sung notes of Cole Porter, Thalia rose from her position off to the side of the tank. She had been hunkered down near a small clump of once-manicured trees in a smallish, neighborhood park, gathering pine needles still insulated from the snow into a tinder nest. She had already taken advantage of the snowfall, locating clean, untouched drifts to harvest, filling every container capable of holding water. It was a precious commodity again, clean water. She was done enough, anyway. Something to eat sounded divine right then. She raised her head and responded, "Togethah, huh?" in a mild Boston accent. "Sold. Gimmie a sec..."

Thalia bent down to retrieve a long shaft of fire-polished hardwood terminating in a foot-long, ebon spike. It was a crude spear, but finely crafted and somewhat more intimidating than a common stick had the right to be. She unzipped her leather jacket and started for Lola's position when she witnessed the woman ignite a match and light the grill atop her tank with it. She was partly mesmerized and partly irritated; Thalia had really wanted to do that. Okay, next time. "And what's with this "Jet" bullshit again? Thalia or Angel. Frigging pick one. I even like Angel, okay?" Her irritation did not slow her down, though. Mac & Cheese plus Chili? Together? Totally worth it.

Her mood shifted to survival when Lola gave her advance warning of an approach (while calling her Jet again, she noted). Thalia grasped her spear low on the haft and spun around to take cover behind the tread of the tank, pulling her Glock 9mm in the process. She gave a quick glance around to survey the surroundings, making sure it was just the one target. "Zed, or is this one breathing?" she asked plainly, knowing that her friend had the superior vantage.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"Now the earth was corrupt in the sight of God, and the earth was filled with violence."}

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Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms

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The man with the damaged eye that Mary had been introduced to earlier in the evening certainly seemed interested in the fate of the lady that she and Virginia carried. But there was really no time for further discussion. The clock was counting down on the possible time for further tragedy to ensue, and she would not be a party to it because of idleness, regardless of the emotions at play. Her more businesslike mindset had returned, and just in time. Elizaveta had given her a task to perform. Interim Arch Graveolase or no, Mary was the entourage of the Grand Duchess of the Russian Empire, a lady who was set on a task that Mary herself would gladly be performing if she had the ability to do so.

"Captain Kildragon?" she began, her voice steady and professional, "I will give you what detail I can at a later time. You may inquire for me at St. Etheldreda's, of the Ely Palace on the morrow. For now, would you please help set a positive example by gathering your lovely family and exiting the Assembly Rooms? We have urgent matters that require our immediate attention, Sir. Attempts to assist would merely be a hindrance, you understand."

The young Apostolic carefully lay her side of the fallen Mosi upon the center of the floor as respectfully as she was able, then immediately went to retrieve her halberd. She bowed her head before taking up the blessed weapon, somehow appearing as more the paladin because of it. Maybe it was a psychological effect or confidence booster, but the air of the woman seemed more aloof yet approachable, proper and militant all at the same time. She was a Lady Knight of the Papacy, clad in a laurel-gilt black cassock and carrying the signature weapon of the world famous Swiss Guard. Her eyes were fierce and righteous, and she was given her orders by the highly important woman to whom she had attached herself for the evening. With discipline and seraphic grace, she began to carry out those very orders.

Mary swiftly glided from group of people to group of people, individual to individual, giving word to each person and/or group depending upon what tone and phrasing was most appropriate. It ranged from simple, "I'm sorry, we need you to exit the building. It's not safe yet." to "The Graveolase has it from here. Please leave it to us." to "I cannot guarantee your safety, nor will we take the risk. It is time to leave." Not just mere words, but there was the gentle press of her presence, ushering people toward the doors. Her idea of crowd control was not finesse work, but generally it was effective.

"Please be at peace. Their earthly remains will be returned to you, but for now we must ensure that the taint of the Soulless cannot take them." This to a grieving family member who was hesitant to move at first. It was amazing, the power of mentioning continued threat just after an overt attack. Makes people cautious. This one Lady of the Ton she had to personally escort from to the doors, such was her reluctance to leave the corpse of a dead relative. Mary understood the situation, and knew that the woman could not personally understand Mary's situation. Still, there was kindness in her voice. Coming back from her escort, she noticed a slender man mumbling in Russian. That had to be Constantin.

She called his name tentatively, "Constantin? Constantin, greetings." Indeed, this was the man that she had met very briefly, just earlier. "If I may impose upon you, sir? The Grand Duchess requests that you locate her bag from the carriage, and return to her with it. Specifically, she requires her "Relic" I believe. Thank you. If you will excuse me?" It was a little terse, but time was a factor. Perhaps she would extend a courtesy later as a means of mild apology. Mary returned to her task, entering the Octagon and searching for anyone else lingering in the area.

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Passive Skills:

• Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
• Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.

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Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms

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With luck, Elizaveta could finish her work and they could rejoin their brothers and sisters back at the Tent City constructed just outside of London proper, the present home to the gypsies, vagabonds, sinners and saints, common and royal persons of the Sem'ya and Circus; Russia's ambassadors to the United Kingdom and the Graveolase. It was a curious assignment for the Circus, to be certain. But a great concentration of Rusyn Trained people could be found among their number, hiding in plain sight, using their talents to impress and entertain.

Naturally, they were also called upon to handle the problems of Russian Soulless, openly or discreetly. It simply made sense. They were not the only ones to do so, but their fame/infamy in this regard among people in the know made them the logical choice. Also, it seemed, the logical choice to represent the Empire here in London, aside from the obvious reason of Elizaveta's presence.

It did not seem that luck was with them, however. Delay after delay, people staying around and not contributing to the task at hand. His little Veta was getting more and more annoyed at the situation, and so was Vladimir. Not exactly for the same reasons; the reigning Great Bazhooli had hoped that this would be one of those fancy aristocratic parties with stuffed quail and curious finger foods from exotic and local sources, possibly dancing and the general carousing that one assumes the upper crust does when they don't think the lower classes are watching. He could have done with a quick, hot meal and several invitations to meet with moderately ranked noblewomen in potentially compromising positions, paid for with his singular wit and passionate intensity. As it turned out, all he got was drama - and not the good kind.

When Virginia and Mary entered the room, carrying a third, quite dead person, Vladimir heard Veta's voice immediately call those loyal to her into action. The scary Catholic lady was enlisted into service as something of an aristocratic pub bouncer, clearing the room of everyone not of the Circus. Or herself, apparently. Then the most curious thing happened. The Grand Duchess actually gave The Great Bazhooli an order. An Order. While not usual, it was something that he was honorbound to follow to the best of his ability, but the nature of his instructions...

Vladimir recovered four knives from about his person. Holding three in one hand, he began twirling the fourth between his fingers in his other hand, back and forth, up and down. It demonstrated a masterful proficiency and knack for manual dexterity. He paused briefly to adjust the tall top hat perched upon his very dignified head, twirl the oiled corner of his moustache, and sigh. Then the little dance that sharp things do when in his possession continued as if it had never ceased.

Mary seemed to be doing an adequate job clearing out the stragglers, but a surprise hit him in the form of the twins, Thalken and Thalcona, depositing a headless corpse with matching neck accessory onto the floor nearby. Mary hadn't quite noted their entrance yet, and they were most definitely not Circus, just as much neither of them were Sister Mary. Vladimir decided to handle this diplomatically. "Dа! Dа, Lady. This must be brother, верный? Very please to meet, and thank you so much for getting dead person. Her Grace vould thank too, but is busy, very busy. Must ask you go, da? Place must be cleansed, and very, very soon. Cannot be done vhile you are here."

Master Alexandrov leaned his head to one side, causing the vertebrae of his neck to pop audibly. He finished his request of the pair with an informal invitation, of sorts. "My Lady?" he intoned, his bright eyes focused on Thalcona, "Iv please you, come to see show. Maybe share drink from Bazhooli homeland, ve talk more. But for now! Good evenings, the both ov you." Knives still spinning, the talented Russian bowed to the siblings and motioned to the front exit.

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

The Corporal has a face now. God help us all.

🦄 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's cheery disposition faltered once more. He sighed, and looked from Josephine to Haakon, and back again. "That is quite the level of presumption, Mr. Elvsgaard." he said quietly, and element of genuine sadness to his voice. "I had hoped to handle this matter quietly, but as we are apparently not against publicly airing the minors of what we are willing to confess, perhaps it is the better course of action to end this tension quickly, as if removing an adhesive bandage, you see..."

Reginald cleared his throat, reclaiming the assertive, authoritative lilt associated with his usual demeanor of business and professional candor. "We have long past the typewriter, sir. That is, as they say, "yesterday's news". Let us not speak of it further at this time. Nor shall we speak at length of your notebook, Mr. Elvsgaard, which our counterparts at the Norwegian Embassy were kind enough to translate, starting at the back and moving up. I shall not go into detail, but suffice it to say, you may consider your materials confiscated. Though we shall discuss it later, just you and I, if the circumstances allow for our continued association."

He gave the implication of his speech time to sink in. The Lord Major's face became grave again. "Madame, Sir, the indigenous gentleman who joined us for breakfast earlier is a representative of the Cairo Prison. In this country, the Prison is a direct extension of the local constabulary, an organization which the Crown took great pains to train and establish positive discourse, of which I have personally been a great part. As the two of you are under my protection for the meantime, the Prison has extended the courtesy of allowing my people to escort you to the prison for questioning concerning a murder that occurred last night. One for which the two of you have been implicated. It should be a very simple affair, in and out." He continued darkly, "...one hopes."

"Furthermore, as guests of the Crown, I shall see to it that you have (in addition to escort), a representative of His Majesty who will be with you at all times to act as counsel, and to ensure that there is no chicanery afoot." Reginald rose to his full height and called a single, clear word across the Barracks: "Corporal!" A tense pause filled the room. One might hear the sound of boots hitting ground from a great distance away, or was that mere imagination? The door burst open, admitting a man in the rugged uniform of a non-commissioned man, catching his breath in big gulps.

"Yes, Lord MAJOR!"

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

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William Harper

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Location: Captain's Office

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"Hmm..."

It was the sound of a somewhat puzzled man. His diagnostic aside, there appeared to be absolutely nothing unusual about the Captain's personal terminal. No hidden files, no points of blackmail material, nothing on the keyword search or coded message detection, no ciphers or the like. It looked very much like the man was pursuing a straight and narrow path of Alliance service, period, end story. At least, that's what his terminal's files had to say on the matter. To make matters worse, the office itself looked to have been given a once-over already.

Harper couldn't learn anything more than what he got from the Bridge. This was a waste of time. At least he was able to get a little more time in with a Cortex Terminal, re-honing his skills against modern software. Not a lot had changed since his last wrestling match against a system, though there were some improvements in the details, from what he could see. Maybe he would get some practice in with the next ship they acquired.

Well, plans for the near future. The diagnostic was finished, giving the appearance of a standard system. He had access to the Captain's private terminal, which pretty much meant a firm grasp on the short and curlies on the ship's operating systems, routines, archives, protocols, whole nine. And what he wanted to do? Reset back to factory standard. No history, no personnel, no records, nothing. An empty slate, waiting for a new buyer to take over and do with what they needed, customizing the programming to suit their needs. Of course, if the Alliance happened to locate their former Black Ship, he wanted to make damn sure that the asshats in possession of it at the time took the heat for its capture, and everyone attached to the vessel (himself especially) was pleasantly forgotten about. "Okay, Retribution... prepare to be reincarnated. You've served your Alliance well, but now it's time to shuffle along to more clandestine service under the employ of some possibly less ethical entity." He giggled a little, thought occurring to him, "Heh, just like me..."

He keyed up a full formatting of all systems, hesitating over the command enter key for just a second before letting his finger fall. "Maybe we'll meet up in a few years, Retribution. Different name, bigger history for us both. I'd appreciate that. You might have given me my freedom, whether you know it or not. Ah, damned sentiment. Wouldn't mind being your Captain; you're a hell of a vessel. Alliance built you well." He thought for a moment, "...except for that little issue with the lavatory. Might want to get that looked at by your next Engineer..."

Sighing, Harper watched as the system sped through its files, removing or reserving as needed. It might take a little bit to really get going. If some stop or block was in play, his only alternative would be to completely remove the memory manually from the boards and replace the storage, then institute a whole new copy of the operating system. That would take some time, and the former Lieutenant doubted that he had the kind of time necessary for a full system replace. No matter. If he couldn't, after the ship exchanged hands, he'd send an anonymous, sourceless comm burst to the nearest Alliance interceptor, bounced off of so many relays and signal reinforcing points as to render it next to impossible to determine the exact system from which it was sent in the form of a coded S.O.S., informing them of the Reaver attack and subsequent hijacking of the ship by brigands from Whitefall after the crew had been picked over. Hell, he might just do that anyway (pending his new Captain's approval).

None of it should come back to him, I mean, Harper wasn't rated for things like Technological Interface Programming or Core System Alteration, let alone possess the technical wherewithal to service the physical aspects of the ship or her engines. Oh no. Harper was a Pilot and an Officer. He couldn't hack a ship. Besides, he was very likely dead, used as sport and later as food by Reavers on Whitefall, following an underestimation of enemy numbers. At least, that's what the comm burst would say, the dying message of one or another of the crew. The Doctor, perhaps, or maybe the Captain himself.

Whatever happened next, he had a few minutes in the meantime while lines of code compiled and replaced. Harper found himself staring at a little something he found, wedged in the back of a drawer in the Captain's Desk. It was a picture of a younger version of himself; a young officer at an Alliance gathering, with a woman on his arm in similar Officers' attire. If memory served, that woman was one of the members of Anisa's crew, the very lady whose sidearm he now carried.

"Hmm..."

He was still puzzled. Why would that have been stuck all the way back in his desk drawer, out of sight and out of mind? If he didn't want the damned thing, he could easily have gotten rid of it. Or kept it packed away. This guy wanted it close, yet concealed. Harper began to study the picture; its framing and size, whether it was an analog or holo printing, if it could be removed from any casing it may be in. Really in-depth viewing, as if he could find some manner of password written inside of it or a bit of emergancy scrip. It just seemed the place one would hide something.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Corridors of the I.A.V Retribution

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"Three hours, you say? How very final. I assume that negotiations went smoothly and to the positive, yes?" He didn't quite anyone an opportunity to answer, as enamored with the sound of his own voice as he was. "Brilliant! I shall collect the last of my resplendent belongings and assist..." He waved his hand in the general direction of the crew members behind him, "...those fine persons in relocating our collective gear to the locale of your illustrious choosing, madame."

Foy continued pushing the dolly up and out of the cargo bay, following behind Anisa for a while before their paths diverged. He did offer parting words of, "You may wish to speak to your Doctor friend concerning some plans for afterwards. Looks to be quite the solid social affair, indeed! And I would so relish speaking with you in less formal conditions, opportunity presenting. Finalize our business, and what have you. First round falls squarely upon Yours Truly, of course." As they began to move to different parts of the ship, Foy called out behind him, "And I do hope you are a proficient dancer, madame. I do so adore a good cotillion, or even more rustic rug cutting, and I shall save a spot on my card just for you."

His last case wasn't quite as large as one might absolutely need a grav dolly to move, but repeated trips make for longer and more encumbering ones. Foy had a respectable amount of personal gear, mainly wardrobe, but he also had a three cases' worth of professional working gear, designed to give the best damned shave, style, or cut on-the-go to prince and pauper alike. Though if Foy could help it, princes mainly. Better class of people. Good tippers, mostly. Plus, his extraordinary skill gave him the perfect cover to conceal his more clandestine activities, in addition to aiding in turning a profit when tracking and killing was slow, while opening up the family business to potential product contracts. All around, it was good business.

The last case loaded up saw him lightly sauntering back to Cargo; those inside capable of hearing the sharp tunes of Foy, whistling a song to himself. As he rounded the doorway back in, the whistling slipped to words as he finished the line he was on, before stopping and grinning at those present.

"You may not have the looks.
You may not have the dash.
But you'll win yourself a girl,
If you only got a moustache..."

Foy gestured to the personal belongings of the crew and put aside his more garrulous nature, merely asking the simple, two word inquiry of, "Shall we?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Justice Asylum

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An eyebrow was raised at Cecily's casual use of what might be considered the Mother of all Fuck words. Apparently, the lack of video was that absolutely galling to her, and in truth it bothered him, too. Not so much with the particulars of the other case, but any chunk of evidence concerning the woman who he could not make blink and apparently had planned two escapes from the same side of the building (just in case someone cut her off from the stairwell) most definitely interested him. "Had someone. Really good, too. She's in a refrigerated cabinet in your office right now." There was sadness in his voice, be it reined in by notes of anger and professionalism. Of course, he was talking about Alicia.

"Tomorrow morning early, about the time we're leaving, some of my tech people from Seattle should be arriving by plane. M'hija trained them all herself, and they're committed. Volunteered with one day's notice, when they found out what happened." Of course, he did know of another young lay who could almost fill Alicia's shoes, but there was no chance in hell that Caesar was going to ask her to come to this god-cursed city, nor his brother for permission to ask in the first place. He absently shook his head, trying to banish the thought before it took root any further than it already had. His tech people could handle this, if it was something that indeed warranted their attention.

"If you can get us access back into the crime scene later on, maybe my people can take a look. In the meantime, I feel the need to return home and see what crawls up from the tunnels." He recalled the map from before, the one of the old tunnel system that opened, among other places, underneath his apartment. He needed to find out exactly how it was accessible, and if necessary, seal it off from his side. Or use it for his own advantage. "When you two are ready to go, so am I."

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J. Keystone

_{Caricature done of Keystone in Lyon, France during a spring festival, before he initiated a riot by punching out five mimes and an organ grinder.}

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Location: Justice Asylum

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At mention of the Tech people arriving in the morning, Keystone's face took on a note of recognition. "Yeah, I gots my East Enders comin' in, 'bout around the same time. I'll be happy, give you lot a ride in bright an' early. Gotta be there in a few hours, anyhow." Indeed time had a way of flying where violence and drama was concerned, except for the lulls between when it seemed to crawl with a maddeningly slow pace.

The big guy checked his phone, noting the time. "Bloody 'ell, we ain't got much time left..." he said with some urgency. "Miss Cecily, if we can get a move on?" he began escorting his charge through the waning press of professional bodies doing what they did to make the world safe for forensic evidence collection. "Apologies for givin' you the rush, but I got precious little 'fore my window closes, an' I've a call needs making."

The push brought them into the open air, where Keystone located his Ramcharger across the street and beelined toward it. He kept his eyes alert for the various kinds of anti-personnel threats that might befall one in an urban setting; vehicles driving oddly, shifting light in higher windows, anyone making prolonged stares in their general vicinity, etc. When they finally got there, he popped open the door for the young coroner, hopped in the driver's side, and immediately jumped on his phone.

"Oi, Valentino's? Still got the ovens on? Oh, thank Bacon." He looked over to Cecily, "Kitchen's still open." he said with muted joy. "Yeah, thanks for that. Takeaway, er, "To Go", 'cuse me. So, yeah, I'll be 'avin' that Penne Bolognese an' some of that precious Ravioli you lot make. Double order on that. Ah, an order of that Sicilian Grilled Fish, an, oh God, that Three Sausage Calzone you like to fold about with the mushrooms and whatnot. Yeah, that'd be tops, thanks. And lots of that salad and garlic bread. Uh huh. Yeah, same account. Thanks." He turned the key to his vehicle, it's older model engine roaring to life with satisfying dependability. Keystone turned again to Cecily, phone still to his ear, asking, "Right then, what'll you want to eat?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Lady Amalthea

Ok, changes to the CS have been made per our discussion, Relations section is added, and I think we're a go. Please let me know if I missed anything.