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Literary Hatchetman
STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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Keystone
Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern
Interacting With: Shopkeeper
When the broad individual known by mere mortals as Keystone approaches a stranger, it usually invokes a reaction. Sometimes that reaction is negative. Depending upon his mood, sometimes grown men wet themselves and offer over monies in hopes of returning home to their families intact. Keystone rarely accepted these peace offerings, it was too much like petty theft for his liking. Rarely. It had been known to happen, especially if he was hungry. As he had to ask a couple of people directions to the nearest leather worker, he got to see the reactions of the people of Salarn.
It turns out, when there is an army of walking corpses intent on doing unspeakable things in your hometown, the approach of a huge (but living) guy doesn't have quite the same impact. While viewed with some suspicion, the usual unease from common people unfamiliar with him did not have the edge it ordinarily did, and so he was able to get directions to the nearest crafter of animal skins in short order.
A few more minutes found him indoors, staring at the Friendly Neighborhood Leather Guy. Keystone shrugged the coat off of his shoulder and onto the counter nearby. He took a quick look around, then cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Allo then." he began, stepping back a bit as to not seem threatening. "Gonna be straight wit ya. Me an' some friends've taken a hit on account of the troubles about. Coat's got some sword damage. Plus a bit of... ah, shrapnel, too. Can you fix it in an 'alf hour? We're anxious to get back at it, on the quick." Keystone reached into the coat's pockets, hidden behind solid leather segments like the ones from which he produced his brass knuckles earlier that morning. He removed from them, and quickly slipped into his pants pockets, another set of knuckle dusters, these a smooth but lusterless ebon-black.
"I've got good silver on me, if'n you need it up front."
J. Keystone
Location: Justice Airport
His was the face of duty wrapped in abject boredom. It didn't take long to get there, either; boredom comes fast when you're waiting someplace you don't want to be, waiting on people you've never met, on behalf of an employer that was traveling a couple thousand miles away, to lay to rest a woman who was formative to his own introduction to and training within the Company. Maybe he would be able to pay his respects later on, after all of the foolishness in Justice died down.
Before Keystone found his way to Gate A17, he had to pull his vehicle around to the more public area of the airport. And seeing as he'd be entering "sterile areas", handled by the TSA in a manner that only they could, he was going to have to leave his toys in the car. Locked in the glove box, for whatever good that would do in case the car was hit by a rocket launcher (which could very well happen in this city, the rate things were going). The attention he was paid by the workaday personnel at the security checkpoints moving into the terminals was predictably thorough, as it usually was for a guy of his dimensions attempting to gain access to airport secure zones. After the first couple of checkpoints, he made it a point to wear his MSS credentials on the outside of his jacket. It helped some. He wasn't just some 500 lb gorilla in business tactical wear, he was a professional 500 lb gorilla in business tactical wear.
It hit Keystone, in a moment of ugly yawning, that his sleep the previous night wasn't exactly quality. Before his eyelids decided to stage a rebellion, he stepped into the first Duty Free shop he saw and picked up a sixer of UberBeast Citrus Violation Energy Beverage(*). Despite it being illegal in five contemporary countries (four of those due to mandatory religious observations), it was one of the few things he could hork back that would actually effect him in any meaningful way. Not to disparage his experience with something he had stumbled across called "Southern Style Sweet Tea", a thing which, upon consumption, he was convinced was the key ingredient in crystal meth and likely accounted for the state of many long-term addicts' teeth. If he were honest with himself, however, he really did adore the stuff. He just couldn't find it made properly in California. Very sad.
So there he sat, back of his chair against a wall, scanning the area for potential threats (you know, for fun!) and waiting for his tech team's plane to arrive. Popping open a can of the fizzy, sleep-destroying soda, he took a tentative few sips and settled in for his moderate wait.
(*) "Now with even more cheetah adrenaline and cerebrospinal fluid!"
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: Justice Airport (and above)
Caesar sat for a few minutes, taking in all that was said to him from beyond the grave, yet again, by his daughter. One of the messages that he got from this video that stuck out was that not all of the women in Juno were downright evil. It made him think back to something that his contract holder in Justice had told him. It was something along the lines of her saying that both she and Alicia saw eye to eye on how they wanted things to proceed, and hoping that they could come to a similar understanding. Not to mention that Gretchen lady, whose death was a little too suspicious. Caesar had given some consideration to simply snatching up the first member of Juno known to him and keep putting knives and fire to her until he found out enough information to begin his own killing spree. He had some measure of gladness that he did not; if there were the possibility that he only had to viciously murder most of them, it would be easier. Moreso if he had the help of some of the others, if they were allies of his daughter.
It looked to be a longish flight, so far as flights went. He'd been in a plane for longer than six hours before, lots of times, but it was not his preferred means of travel. But while he was thinking of it, there were a couple of points to bring up with his guests before they landed, and by extension, before he went to sleep before they landed. "Natasha, Cecily... Thank you for coming. If you've never been to Mexico, I need to tell you, the weapons laws are stricter there than here. I can carry because I have history and licensing. I don't think we'll be in the country long enough for me to push through permits for you, either. If you two get caught and I can't bribe the right people, there could be problems. Best to leave anything on the plane." It went without saying that they would be surrounded by armed and pissed off members of the Gonzalez clan, alongside local MSS personnel when after they landed. It was an odd time, and Monterrey was full of its own dangers and problems. Still, Caesar felt a little better about their safety, being away from Justice for a day or two.
"There's a bar, and movies, and food... and other stuff on this plane. Mi casa es, right? I'm going to get a little sleep." Absently, he wondered who would be there to meet them after they landed in Monterrey.
Black James(!)
Location: Outer Gate
James accepted the necklace with some hesitation. This was not a mere trinket to remember someone, more than it was the last thing that this young lady had to remember her departed sister. "Now, you sure you wantin' me to have this?" He would have wanted to comment more, but Kris had pulled him into a hug that threatened to crack a rib. James wasn't sure of the occasion where he would wear this necklace, but he would do what he could to keep it safe. Tucking it into the bib pocket of his overalls, he whispered, "Gonna miss the hell outta you, baby girl. Wish I didn't have to leave ya."
Tatiana was next, giving her reminder that they had their appointment as soon as he exited the walls of Newnan. "Yes'm, but you go back inside the second we done. I ain't havin' you on my conscience, 'specially not now." He turned his head quickly, trying to see if anyone was listening too closely. Froggy approached just behind Tati, giving him encouragement and pushing a deck of cards into his palm. He really couldn't think of anything else to say except for, "Hey, thanks man, really. You know how I do."
Ryan was fast enough with the smartassed comment about his cooking. Now, he was pretty good, no doubt. But James gave some serious wonder as to why he really wanted to go with him. Face value, it made no sense. Of course, he might change his mind when he finds out what they're going to attempt just as soon as they pulled away from town. But that comment did remind him: He was leaving his gigantic smoker/grill here in town. It wasn't practical to drag with him anymore, and these people could find better use of it than himself. He would have to find another meat cooking device to dote over. That was his parting gift to Newnan.
Jack... Jack earned a huge hug from James when he heard his news about their upcoming. "Man, damnit, you got a family. A family, Jack. You take carea that little lady, an' good." James was flat out jealous of the man. Not because of Tatiana, specifically; they had settled into the sort of relationship that close family might, but the idea of having a family to call your very own, in that moment, became a thing he longed for. He wouldn't get that where he was going. Point of fact, it would me miraculous if he survived the day, given their task. But if he did, and there was a wholesome, safe place he could go to, he did very much entertain the idea of starting a family and passing along all of what he knew to the next generation of black, pagan(ish) rednecks. Just for the hell of it, James bearhugged the Massachusetts native one more time before moving on, lifting him bodily off of the ground in the process. A tiny, little human named after him. That was huge.
Then there was Niesha. She had come a long way since their beginning, and he suspected a bit of trauma on her part, way back when. Not that he could blame her. The world was a traumatizing place. But he'd seen a possibly disturbed young lady settle into a routine and become a damned fine addition to Newnan. They needed people like that. And it was proof that you got to come back from whatever the world had done to you. Just sometimes, you needed help. Her parting words seemed a little distant, like she didn't want to be there. Well good call, James didn't really want to be there, either. All told, he'd rather be on a lake somewhere, surrounded by deep water, putting a hook and line down and trying to figure out the more subtle aspects of fishing. But he took the box of goodies from Medical, nodding gratefully. "Yeah. Goodbyes suck. But it's a world fulla possibility. Never know. Thanks ya much for the band-aids n' stuff, little lady. I won't forget you." He turned and settled the medical supplies into the back of his truck.
It looked like almost everyone had given their goodbyes. Everyone except for a few, just standing there with blank expressions as if they wanted to say something but just couldn't quite get it out. He looked at each of their faces, Tiffany, Ray, Amelia, Riley, ...and Meg. "It's aight, y'all. I know, it's hard for me, too. Y'all'll be just peachy without me, no doubt... But I'mma miss all of y'all very much. Who knows? Might even see me out there on Runs, if'n I decide to stay in the neighborhood." It was a polite nothing. While he had hoped to see them again someday, the reality of his situation was that his probable lifespan was finite and looming.
But a dark cloud passed over his face when he learned that Beatrice was coming along with him. She didn't know yet. She didn't know, and he couldn't say anything right then. They would have to find a place to stop before they got far out to brief Bea and Ryan. Maybe they would be more comfortable returning to Newnan, after. Or maybe they'd take the same stance as Gavin and himself. James leaned against his truck, looking at Beatrice for a few seconds. "This a hard road we takin'." he said softly, "Real hard. You sure you wanna ride this train?"
Ash Holloway
Location: Outer Gate
Ash stood by as people came up to James one at a time, giving their goodbyes and a couple of parting gifts. After his last words with Ryan, he had said nothing, preferring to stand at parade rest and wait out the remaining few minutes until James's departure. Check that. James's group's departure. Ash had made mention that people should know what was going on, one of the reasons cited being In The Event that someone wanted to join him. He didn't actually expect any takers. Well, the joke was on him. There were a couple. Plus the new guy, apparently.
Ash risked a look back to Thana, who was standing quite cool and reserved. He knew for a fact that she was capable of intense passion. He'd experienced it firsthand. But right now, she was the vision of restrained professionalism, backing him up with her mere presence. Thana reminded Ash of himself, not too long ago, when he operated as the Second in Command to Lt. Colonel Leann Joyce McCormick. His duty was to act in the manner of an Executive Officer, advising and carrying out the orders of his direct superior. Ash was a fine Second. An even better small unit commander. And a stellar engineer. Being in full command? It was something he had to get used to. Thana seemed to flow seamlessly to and from "Officer Mode". For a moment, Ash wondered if he came off that way, and Thana had similar thoughts underneath the ice of her expression.
But for now, James was at his truck. He had said his goodbyes. And the last minute of his allowable presence in town had arrived. James had a full tank of gas in his truck, he had companions, and despite the fat that he was technically in exile, he obviously had the blessings of the people of Newnan. Ash could not act in a manner that showed generosity or kindness past standard, however. He was the man passing sentence on him. It pained him, though. James was his best friend in the world, and he was being set out into the world. Admittedly, it was probably the best sendoff that a convicted murderer had ever gotten in the history of civilized humanity. "Commander Martin, back me up." he spoke quietly but solidly, before his approach.
Ash walked up to James, right within striking distance. In a clear voice, addressed James and the rest of those assembled. "James Mandingo Grady." It was probably the last time he would get to use his full name in front of him, and one had to take opportunities where they showed themselves. "You have confessed to the murder of Richard Johnson, a citizen of the Newnan Safe Zone. Due to extenuating circumstances and exemplary service to the community, your sentence has been reduced from execution to exile." His face was stone. Inside Ash was hurting, but no one except those closest to him would be able to tell. James certainly could, and his expression reflected it.
"Sentence is to be carried out immediately." He handed over James's axe, pressing it into his hand and holding onto it for a second before letting go. Ash then produced the man's 9mm pistol, ejected the magazine, and cleared the chamber. He handed all three to James, one at a time. The bullet and magazine went first, but Ash held onto the weapon for a second, as if debating something. He pressed it to James's chest and leaned in close. By the time James had his hand up to receive the pistol, Ash had whispered something very quietly to him. He looked the man in the eyes to make sure that he both heard and understood.
It was only a word or two, but the relief and gratitude in James's face was palpable. The look lasted for half a second, quickly replaced by quiet determination. The girthy blackneck nodded three times, and turned to move back to his truck. Ash's voice rang out in proper military fashion, "Security detail! Proceed."
"You always gonna be Bossman to me, Cap'n! No matter what, you my friend, hear me? No matter what." The detail pressed together as James climbed into his big, extended cab truck. He started the engine, feeling the vehicle come to life, just as the front gates opened. Leaning out of the driver's side window, he called to Thana, "You see to him, huh? Make sure he's okay, okay? I believe in you, girl, and it was great seein' you again!"
The truck slowly rolled out of the main gates of Newnan, which were opened just enough to accommodate the width of the vehicle. As soon as he was through, they closed back shut with a single, final-sounding clang. The truck pulled up a couple more meters and stopped; you see, he had an appointment to keep.
Location: North Of Newnan (Veterans Memorial Park - Corner of Temple Ave. & Jackson St.)
The water had come up to temperature, at least well enough to use for MRE instant coffee. Thalia took a moment for herself to prepare a cup of the hot, black liquid. She would dig into her breakfast, but not yet. This morning, the erstwhile pugilist decided to settle back and slowly enjoy her cup of morning coffee, now something of a luxury item. Even if it was instant. She doubted that she would see another crop of coffee again in her life, unless she was able to get back to Mexico. Even then, being in an area with enough survivors to tend a crop not essential for survival? The odds were very much against it. She could think of worse ways to spend her days than surviving on an abandoned coffee farm outside of Monterrey, hunting and foraging, brewing fresh coffee year-round and making subtle teas from its leaves. Or, to make Lola absolutely lose her mind, there were cocoa plantations near her family's hometown, and several small scale growers of both coffee and chocolate in and near the city.
Thalia shook off those thoughts. The world in which she lived was not one of opportunity, it was a place where hard decisions had to be made to live to see the next day. Maybe she would get something that resembled a Happily Ever After with family, friends, and the capacity to consume her fill when it suited her, but that day was a while off, if it ever was going to happen. Right now, she was going to sip her freeze-dried, instant coffee, and be grateful that she had everything she had.
And in the more immediate, she was going to address a mild concern with the new guy in their midst. "Asking a lot of questions there, Alexander. Bunch of stuff we might not be able to ansah." Mild irritation had brought out her Boston, if only slightly. "But like Lola said, we're not headed southwest. Between what she's got and what I can find, there's no need to go checking in on every line of smoke on the horizon." She sipped her coffee, breathing a sigh of partial contentment. "I'm curious myself, but it's not worth the risk."
Reginald Keystone
Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks
Reginald shook his head slowly, expressing lament as the pair of them were shuffled off by the man from the Cairo Prison. He gave it a good wait, merely observing those still present in the meantime. He carefully attended the plate of breakfast still before him even though it looked very much like the hour for it was coming to a close. As it turns out, speaking frankly to multiple persons about matters of civil importance took time, and communicating in a manner of respectability demanded that he stop inserting food into his gullet. Otherwise, certain breaches of etiquette would have occurred that really shouldn't in polite, civilized environs. Such bandying about was best left for when he was in the field, after the meat of their little adventure began.
Thinking about just that brought the smile back to his face and warmed the cockles of his heart. Maybe the sub-cockles. Maybe even lower. All he knew was, now that the Corporal and the odd pairing of Reporter and Starlet were otherwise occupied for the next stretch of time, he could attend to his official duties to the newformed Fellowship.
To begin with, the Lord Major called upon one of the sentries in position, speaking with a voice of authority. "Soldier! Yes, you... Come along, then! I require you to pay a visit to Supply. Tell the Sergeant on duty that I require a full reckoning of our present inventory against par, accounting for our present garrison! You tell him to give me a full accounting of how much we have and of what, in surplus or dearth. And the next full supply delivery."
"In brief, I want to know what personnel supplies we have in excess, and when everything will be replaced. What we can comfortably spare. If that isn't clear, you have him come see me immediately. I shall be situated in my office for the remainder of the morning, barring emergency. Quickly now! One two, one two, one two..." He swiveled briskly on his heel, snatching up a small plate of pastry and small jug of tea. "If anyone has questions or wishes a short conversation (and I do mean short), I shall be in my office in Main. In the meantime, please continue to enjoy the hospitality of the Qasr El Nil Military barracks. Any restricted areas will be pointed out to you be strapping lads with rifles nearby, the Bar is open, and do inform the sentry on duty at the main gate should you wish to leave. Otherwise, consider these rooms (and the Club, of course) our Fellowship's collective refuge for plotting and the like, until more appropriate accommodations can be had."
Ladies, gentlemen... Good Morning." He walked from the room to pursue his dailies and make the appropriate calls promised the previous evening.
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Newhope Docks
Despite the suddenly more appropriate (to his mind) tone of voice coming from his would-be Executive Officer, Foy continued his role as Tracker, attempting to suss out the subtle changes of dust and blood spatter upon he ground that might have indicated a change in direction or chunk of "Red Herring-ing", much in the way the man himself would have utilized a Bacon Double Cheeseburger in the event that he were being pursued by a particularly girthy constable. "Shhh! Madame, such skilled displays of perception and proficiency require the utmost of concentration..." His voice trailed off, polite still but with a hint of irritation.
"Ah, by St. Swiven's cirrhotic sweetbreads!" swore Foy. He began pacing back and forth, forth and back, wondering to himself how precisely he had just lost what was a trail that was so blatantly obvious to the man just moments ago. He tucked his guns back into their holsters, as it was apparent that he wouldn't get to shoot at anything for longer than he'd been realistically expecting. He had lost the trail all by himself, but as there was someone who he could blame nearby someone who had attempted conversation while he was tracking, at any rate, he decided to vent his frustration at failure upon her.
The ordinarily proper gentleman spun his slender frame around to face Dorothy, face awash with negativity. He raised an accusatory finger, and began with "Now see here, Miss, you... ah, you, eh..." Foy's plan to berate and belittle her came to a swift and sputtering halt as Foy noticed the unmistakable combination of a errant, untrampled fragment of a footprint in the dust behind her, alongside a minuscule droplet of crimson. "...yes... Yes! Now see here, behind you, madame." His hand, once raised to signify frustration, now pointed confidently as if he wished all along to display his ability as a Tracker in the same manner as a child might request a favored crayon be magneted onto a domestic refrigerator. Undoubtedly, this bit of self-gratification was done to cover for the fact that he was about to launch himself into full "Snooty".
He hurried around to catch glimpses of more, fresher clues, eventually leading him around and behind a series of storage crates and over to an open manhole. "Ah, bebother and attend to the irrevocable damnation of this brazen phallus-monger! I just put on this suit..." His lamentations about the situation were minor, comparatively, but justified. "Ugh... Hopefully, it's merely a storm drain, and not a proper aqueduct for used epicure."
"Ladies first? ...nevermind."
Foy's role in the group, despite formal contract (and his general appearance), was as The Heavy. It only made sense that he take point with this endeavor. He just wanted to give the very professional lady to his side the opportunity to understand that he wasn't quite the chauvinist that he might have portrayed himself as earlier. At least, that's the excuse he was telling himself that second. With a regretful sigh, Foy lowered himself into the dusky and largely forgotten sections of Newhope.
William Harper
Location: Captain's Office
"I agree, Doctor." remarked Harper, setting the picture in one of the voluminous cargo pockets on his grey and black coveralls. Time grows short, and I'm sure we all have arrangements to make. I for one do not want to spend any more time on this vessel that isn't necessary." Harper found this version of the Farraday Gentry easier to speak with than Foy. The barber/whatever seemed to eye him as a commodity, and pass off oddly short-lasting pleasantries followed by probing inquiry, followed by oddly short-lasting pleasantries.
"I'll be done here in less than a minute. Just need clean up my last tracks and I'll be out." His fingers danced across his personal terminal briefly, prompting a quick look of muted satisfaction across Harper's face. He disconnected his piece of personal electronics from the ship's system, set it into a carrying case, and rose from the desk. "Room is yours, Dr. Moreau. I'll be joining the rest of the crew in Cargo." Harper gave a last look around, just in case he missed anything. Content that he wouldn't have to come back to the room, he stepped from behind the desk in route to the main corridor. Before he exited the room, he voiced some concerns to Jahosafat concerning their next moves. "Doctor? I don't suppose you know if lodging has been arranged as of yet, do you? Otherwise, can you recommend a respectable place? Unrelated, has there been any discussion about the next ship our Captain will be procuring? Curious, is all."
Need a roll or two: Continuing tracking with Foy, using the means mentioned above.
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.
Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)
"GAAAAAH!"
The bellow could be heard across the here and yon of the Tent City, a wordless exclamation shouted in pronounced Russian accent. It was the noise birthed of a violent and unexpected waking, this from the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya as he exploded from his gentle slumber with the force of a barely restrained gale. Bedclothes flew into the air, propelled away from a central point by a force greater than mere telekinesis. Nay, twas concentrated, refined awesomeness that collapsed upon itself and was sent exploding back into creation like the birth of a new star.
The tangle of muscled, contoured limbs extended, slinging the Noble Artist of Hurled Impalement out of his fine bed and into the waking world. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but something was horribly wrong upon this day. The nature of his dreams were fading in detail, replaced with a very real and waking concern. He barely remembered the sound of a child screaming, but it was present in his thoughts - not quite pushed out by the audible goings on of the Circus, just coming to life.
The Great Bazhooli felt that something was intrinsically darker on this morning. Couldn't quite out a finger on it, but it seemed dire, if his dreams were any indication something was off. Coming from a people that were trained to receive and interpret visions, possessing histories of omen reading and various voyances of differing executions, he did not take this lightly. Heart still pounding from his unconscious visions, he grabbed his very tall hat and a selection of knives, then threw open the flaps of his tent to bound out into the day.
There was fog here, thick and white like atomized ivory, putting a slightly more ominous note to the London morning. He could make out the silhouette of Sister Sophia as she darted to and fro, apparently visiting as many tents as she could, frantically searching for something or someone. His nerves were already tuned to a fight (or a flight, whatever the day called for) as he set his hat upon his head and stepped out into the translucent morning air. A step or two brought him onto the grass of Regent Park, he noticed underneath his bare feet, where could better hear the words of Sophia. Slowly at first, the concept implied by the Sister's words of "Elizaveta" and "Missing" gelled, and his own piece of frantic took hold of him.
Vladimir could barely see Constantin approaching his tent, but when he could make out the young Firewalker's features, he shouted to him, loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, "Constantin! Veta missing! Get everyone - look, look!" He broadened his address to include everyone within earshot, "Everybody, off of asses, now!" Noting a distinct lack dress of his part, Vladimir paused only enough to throw on pants, boots, and one of his red vests before sprinting back outside. Figuring that the tents were probably a bit of a long shot, he instead opted to look for Myshka - barring his lack of presence inside of the camp, he worked with the intent of searching along the exterior of the campground, hoping to pick up a trail utilizing his more mundane skills as a hunter. Every so often, he paused to call Veta's name in his search.
"Now the earth was corrupt in the sight of God, and the earth was filled with violence."
Location: St. Etheldreda's
Per usual, Mary awoke early in the day. It was not quite as early as she would have liked, but to her credit it was a very eventful evening. Lucky for her, the earliest confirmed demand on her time was a lunch with Elizaveta at the Circus, not that she really knew what that would entail given the circumstances. If a Grand Duchess invites you for a light meal, however, you go to it. Plus, she was becoming a good friend, even if she had only known her for a day. There was a certain feeling of kinship there, despite Mary's own vastly lower status in comparison to her.
Oddly, even having risen early, Mary felt compelled to take her morning exercise in her rooms. She couldn't quite explain why; it just felt that leaving her quarters was the absolute wrong thing to do just then. She had no direct duties to the Church, persay, so she would not be missed, so she spent an extra amount of time pushing herself physically, then freshening up afterwards with a basin of cool water. Then the clocks rang ten, and oddly, the compulsion to stay in her room was replaced with her usual desire to hit her day with vigor and industry. Dressed, armed, and ever prepared, Mary began her day.
Foremost on her mind was getting back in touch with Bishop Mansfield. She had sent very important messages out the previous evening, and should have gotten a response, considering the important nature of her communication. However, she had a child to check on first. Moving opposite the direction necessary to reach the Bishop, Mary strode quickly to the area of the Infirmary. Along the way, she chanced a look outside of an interior window, to see an odd sight: Her charge, the little boy - standing in the gardens, unmoving and unspeaking, looking blankly ahead. She changed direction immediately.
Two minutes, less maybe, had Mary in the gardens with the child. She approached carefully, keeping her eyes on the boy, intent on figuring out what was wrong. "Child? Child, you are a guest of St. Etheldreda's Church. You were brought here following a Ryne attack; you are out of danger from the Ryne, I assure you. This is a safe place." She eyed the boy with caution. "My name is Mary. What is you name, child?"
Keystone
Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern
Interacting With: Cyneburg (and whoever else is still in the room)
"Not that I ain't full appreciatin' the offer, Miss Cyneburg," replied Keystone, looking to the Half-Orc lady who had just made the offer to repair his coat. "but last time I got a split the bloke what fixed it used waxed rawhide cord an' treated the spot with heated oil. Only place I'd know where to find that stuff's at a leathershop. And long as I'm there..." He shrugged, "If'n the craftsman's can't take me immediate, I'd be obliged to ya, lots." Granted, there were some differences between working whole cloth and tooled, hardened leather, but a cable stitch was a cable stitch. It would be more important for his coat to be a optimally functional protective device than for it to have polished and pretty seams. Unless the broad pugilist were underestimating the handiwork of their resident Druid.
Now, what he really wanted done was to have the coat lined with the material of the cloak that Sana was kind enough to procure for him from their previous travels. Such an item would be very useful, offering the respectable physical protection as well as resistance to fire and heat. Sadly, there was no time for it that day. It was a fleeting commodity, time, and with daylight burning their allotment to get underway was getting smaller and smaller by the second. Such a tailoring feat, done properly, might likely take much longer than that. Not that he was a proper judge for a seamstress.
"Right, hows 'bout you join me? Mayhap we can find somethin' useful whilst we're out, what we ain't thought on yet. Keep an eye out, like. And if'n you know leather, make sure the knob what's sellin' ain't takin' a chisel to me." Keystone picked up his coat and made for the door, yet again. "Got an hour, right?" his tone was all business. "I'm gettin' a move on, then."
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