Sigil

🦄 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

A polite knock sounded from the exterior of the office door, prompting The Lord Major to respond with a terse, "Enter." He was expecting the soldier that he sent to supply for a report, or perhaps a young clerk with a fresh telegraph from the War Office. As such, his manner was short and businesslike. When he saw that it was his dear nephew Peter, Reginald gave a satisfied grin and showed him a touch of family hospitality. "Please please, do come in! Take a seat; would you care for a post-breakfast cup of tea? Hmm..." A thought had occurred to the Lord Major regarding Tea, he quickly located a quartermaster request and scribbled something in the margin. "Never can have enough tea, or enough spirits, when organizing a long-term outing, you see..." he mumbled, with bright eyes, seeming almost jolly.

When Peter mentioned Vera, the Lord Major set down his pen and began to listen to his nephew with rapt optimism. "Ah, she has already left the Barracks? I must seem quite the cad, not seeing her and her entourage off, especially after a medical scare such as that. Well, it is good that she is perfectly well; I shall have to apologize later for my lack of courtesy."

Further mention of Miss Ridgeway and William Drake was met with an amused but inquisitive look. "Yes, yes... she has been surrounding herself with a few Colonials as of late, has she not? Though I suspect, like yourself, that Miss Ridgeway is either a good influence on her, or she a good influence on Miss Ridgeway, with equal likelihood of either being the case. As for that Drake fellow... I've not a full read on that man. Candidly, Peter - the first meeting I had with that man involved me coming to a false conclusion and bellowing 'Have at you!' with drawn sword. At any rate, I cannot say much more about him aside that I do not believe he wishes our dearest Vera any harm, and seems to comport himself as a typical American, for good or ill. Why he continues about, I assume, has something to do with our ever-present mystery, and the possibility of treasure, I suppose. Though why he was associating with Vera at all to begin with, I could not say with certainty."

Reginald sighed. "Very good. My dailies are almost all sorted, just one last..." he signed the backmost of a short stack of papers, blotted the excess away, and dropped them with light flourish into a box labeled "OUT" to one side of his desk. "Excellent. Now for the real efforts of the day. I shall have to speak with Lady Munn about the particulars, of course, but for now I believe I shall Quartermaster up a few provisions and store them separately from the base's."

"But you didn't come to speak with me about that, now did you, Peter? Is there something else on your mind?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"Behold, I send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you."}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's

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St. Etheldreda's Church/Ely House

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The boy seemed lucid. This was good. Lucid enough to remember his name and spontaneously express interest in something completely off topic. Mary looked at him with a searching gaze, trying to ponder out some detail about the child that would account for his behavior. Whatever compelled her (and others) to remain sequestered indoors for more than half of the morning, perhaps it affected him in some way, too, differently than it did everyone else. Like some pervasive force wanted to get little Adam out by himself, unprotected and with clouded mind.

He had mentioned Elizaveta, though not by name. A "pretty woman in a gown" that "looked like a princess" was an excellent physical descriptor for her, however. And as Mary thought of it, maybe his mention of Veta wasn't off topic, even if he wasn't aware of it consciously. The boy had been in some sort of trace. The last time she saw someone likewise entranced, it was in fact the Grand Duchess herself. As it turned out, she had an appointment with the Russian noblewman in just a couple of hours for the midday meal. She might have some insight into the boy that Mary did not.

"It's all right, Adam." said Mary, as sweetly as she could. Children were not her forte, though she was not completely without experience. She closed her hand over the boy's and looked into his eyes. "That was the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. She is not here right now. I am meeting her for lunch, Adam, and if you would like you may come with me. Are you hungry?" It was a polite question more than anything else, but if the boy was joining her at the Circus (a thing which Mary was intently curious about, high royalty traveling with performers), then a full breakfast was not in order.

First, she had to collect her messages. Mary looked to Sister Alma, smiling knowingly. "Of course, Sister. This day seems to be a trifle befuddling for everyone. Thank you very much for informing me; I shall go see Sister Mary Lazarus immediately." A thought occurred to Mary, "Sister? If you would, could you please see if we have anything suitable in unclaimed laundry or donations for our little Adam to wear? We are having an outing today." Hopefully not the same kind of outing that she had yesterday; either of them. The first one resulted in a mob forming at the marketplace, the second an evening of infamy at Almack's. Mary could only hope that the day would be less interesting. "Oh, and please let me know if I can pick anything up for you while we are out. Thank you, Sister Alma." If a touch forgetful, she was always kind. A little kindness in return never hurt anybody.

Sister Lazarus was St. Etheldreda's archivist, among other things. She could generally be located in Records, one of the rooms behind the Great Hall. It wasn't too far out of their way to the kitchens, and especially for a young boy, a little something to entreat one's appetite before luncheon would be beneficial. Mary stood and addressed her charge. "Come along, Adam. I'll take care of you." she said softly, holding out her hand.

The next couple of minutes found her at Records, speaking with Sister Mary Lazarus. "Good morning, Sister Lazarus. I spoke with Sister Alma. She informed me that you have messages for me." Mary kept her demeanor reserved despite her anxiousness to get word back from her Order and the Vatican.

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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: (Outside of) Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)

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The Great Bazhooli was not a huge fan of fog. As a general rule, fog made it more difficult for others to see him, a thing which he considered a great injustice to the public. After all, he was an internationally known performer, attached to the greatest forum of the performing arts to ever set up tents in Europe or the reach of the Russian Empire. No, he was not a fan of fog.

Now, what many did not know about Vladimir, or the Bazhooli Sem'ya, for that matter, it was that they did more for their people than entertain. As the fog thickened around him, dampening his skin, hair and clothes, unnaturally cutting low the illumination of his torch, his performer's persona quickly fell away. When the torch became saturated enough to become a low, smouldering representation of its former blaze, Vladimir knelt to the ground and thrust it into the soft earth of Regent Park. It freed his hands to do what they did best; handle sharp things with proficiency.

There was a lot of moisture in the air. Vlad had heard of London's famous fog, had seen it several times, but this was ludicrous. It was also dangerous. The fog seemed to limit not only sight, but hearing, as if designed to isolate. And his little Veta was out there in it. The music from camp could not reach him at this point. he was out there alone, just him and this perversion of ordinary atmospheric condensation, the only reason he did not turn back now being that his concern for Elizaveta far outweighed his sense of personal safety. So long as he kept a straight path, he reasoned, he could find his way back out and risk another attempt along another angle immediately.

Vladimir filled his hands with sharpened, tooled metal and continued at a slower pace, a little lower to the ground, employing the much less flashy (and significantly less expected from him) skill of Stealth. If this fog had malevolent intent backing it or taking advantage of it he most assuredly did not want to present too obvious a target. And he had to find Veta. Senses tuned, he continued forward, a more cautious man.

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

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Keystone

Location: Leather Goods Shoppe

Interacting With: Shopkeeper, Cyneburg

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Keystone was not much of a craftsman. Outside of Forging the Perfect Omelette, he spent his formative years living quite the urban upbringing. Generally, this meant that he lived a mostly vocationally specific existence, counting on others in the society to do the same, resulting in a sort of necessary codependency for life to push forward. In other words, he couldn't just grab a ton of raw materials like Cyneburg and make something useful for himself. Well, anything more useful than a tarp, and even then he only had a moderate chance of success if one handed him a large bundle of pre-sewn oiled leather, labeled: "TARP - no assembly required".

At any rate, leathercraft wasn't his thing, outside of sewing up the occasional split seam. What he could do was count out three silver coins and ask for his change back, which he promptly did before surrendering his masterful leather coat over to the trained professional.

Keystone had a half hour to kill before the coat was ready, barring any unforeseen hitches. To begin with, he took a look around the storefront, browsing through the wares to see if anything caught his eye. It was a strange feeling, looking around a shop while waiting for a repair. Like a slice of everyman normalcy, day-to-day errand running before stepping back into the literal horror of his recent life. He might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Risking a piece of casual conversation, Keystone called back to the shopkeeper, "Oi! Many thanks for fit'n me in on the now, like y'did. Don't suppose you got anythin' of special interest for a bounder like m'self?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Somewhere Above Central California

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Caesar hadn't intended for the conversation to drift toward the legalities of carrying weapons in Mexico. All he wanted was an hour or two to get something resembling meaningful sleep before they landed in Monterrey. In the air, the possibility of an incident or attacker was minimal (as were their options were something to happen), so this was probably the safest that Caesar ad his guests were going to be for quite a while; the perfect time to catch up on his Zs. However, a brief overview of weapon policy did look like a valid topic before he nodded off.

It was early in the morning still, but that didn't stop Caesar from ambling over to the bar and pouring a tumbler of mescal. A tiny second of ...well, not happiness, by a long shot, but a split second when the world did not suck, was felt when he uncovered a cloach containing croissants and fruit. He picked up a buttery, flaky piece of french goodness, grabbed his drink, and turned to Natasha and Cecily.

"They don't like knives, either. Northern Mexico is a little more relaxed, but the cops are the cops. Common practice is to shake down tourists with fines, then say that they can be paid immediately." Well, Caesar would know. His own history has him with a full career as a Federale, the good and the bad of it, retiring as a Commandant. "Corruption is massive. A street level operator can make a good living like that." He tore off a piece of croissant with his teeth and washed it down with the clear, pungent booze. "Unless it's a tool. Farming, fishing, whatever. Fully legal."

"Military, Federales, and Private Security can carry whatever the hell they want to, short of military hardware. Active or retired. Everything needs a license." By this time, the elder Mexican had found his way back to his seat and reclined it. The mescal was safely holstered in a nearby cupholder and he clutched his croissant in one hand, settling back in his seat like he owned the place.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Justice Airport

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Meanwhile, Keystone continued to slowly sip his insanely potent energy beverage and watch people move past him. Some were one-shot visitors into his field of vision, but a few made repeat appearances, like the lady getting her laps in, jogging around the terminal with wearing the same track suit that one might wear were they running a trail in the park or around the neighborhood. It was by the third time that Keystone noticed that the mild paranoia common to all security professionals making itself known, and he made mental note of the inappropriate jogger. Yeah, it was probably just nerves. But better safe than sorry. It would be potentially embarrassing for something unfortunate to happen while he was sporting MSS credentials. Though, as Keystone thought about it, that would really be more of a black eye to the TSA.

He also made note of the nearest points of egress, were he inclined to make a hasty exit. And hell, while he was at it, he scanned the room, attempting to pin down any other seemingly casual individuals that didn't quite look like they were waiting on a plane to arrive. The fact that Keystone was going to be at this exact place at this exact time, waiting on a plane to arrive was not exactly a matter of sworn secrecy. So, he made his little observations, sipped his beverage (slowly), and continued his wait for a few key members of the Seattle Tech Crew to arrive.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Tatiana & James

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James expected that someone would ask him that question, eventually. Most people just nodded knowingly when they found out what he did, but this was the eleventh hour, the last minute, and the only remaining chance anyone might have to do more than speculate as to his motivations. Maybe Tatiana wasn't present when he explained it to Ash. Hell, maybe he was a touch suicidal in exactly that second, and the little lady wanted to ask again now that things had cooled down some. The least he could do was oblige.

"Maybe Sana killin' herself wasn't 100% on him, Tati, but he was part of it. Didn't care a fuzzy shit 'bout that girl. Took advantage of her though, after losin' her brother, just 'cause she reminded him of Miss Zoie." he shook his head, tears starting to form in his big, brown eyes. James wasn't finished talking yet. "Then Sana picked her dead ass up an ate Bryn. That girl... not a lot of folks knew her good, but I did. She was sad sometimes, but kind, and had a smile she didn't show people. We was friends." James's face turned from sorrow to hate, shifting with seamless ease. He was definitely flipping through stages of grief like a champ. "A good woman lost her life to save him, out there." he pointed away from Newnan, out into the corpse-infested badlands that were once Georgia. I honored her, and hauled that worthless ass back home where he didn't give two shits past fillin' his own belly and fuckin' whatever said yes, all while makin' problems for the rest of us. Dick wasn't worth anyone's life, hell sho' not Alicia's."

Tatiana sat there listening to what James had to say. She could understand his logic in the situation, well what logic he was able to put together right then considering just how emotional he seemed to be. He was shifting from sadness to anger quickly. It was a large change from the usual happy James but it wasn't surprising considering everything that had happened that morning. It seemed like it was a long time coming in James mind and this worried Tatiana. She had missed the signs of Sana and obviously had missed the growing rage in James.

"That man's a cancer. An' if I had to die to cut him outta Newnan, still worth it. Dick ain't hurtin' nobody else no more - my family's safe from that sumbitch."

"Maybe safe from him but are ve safer now over all because of vhat you have done? Ve are losing you, a protector, hunter, main person that grows our crops. Ve are losing Ryan, vho has been taking care of medical garden and helping with creating medications, not to mention trainer and knov Eden. Ve are losing Beatrice, hunter and trainer," she said as she sat there. "Ve lost tvo last night because of various reasons. One in vhich includes me not seeing vhat Sana vas going through. Nov Richard dead because I no see groving hate in you." Tatiana sighed a bit as she pushed her hair back out of her face. It was not like the little ballerina to see so serious.

"I didn't ask nobody come with me, Tati. You gotta know that. I don't know why anyone'd wanna leave this place, world bein' what it is. Hell, Imma have to ask 'em, once we out there a ways." His face had notes of actual disbelief. He wanted to tell Tatiana that he and Gavin would try to do something about Eden, at least enough to even out their sudden loss in manpower that day. When the others in his group found out about it, they might even decide to come back to Newnan, anyway. James wanted to tell her that he protected Newnan still, even if he wasn't welcome there anymore. That he would try to protect them for as long as he could. But he just couldn't come out and tell her that he planned to go full Blackneck Beast Mode upside the collective heads of Eden; that he meant to light up Peachtree City with fires fueled by their home and their corpses, if he had his way. "Ain't no hate been growin' in me, Tati. I never trusted Dick. Sittin' with them two dead girls, rememberin' how he treated Miss Zoie, seein' him eyeball Miss Thana like he was? More people was gonna die, Tati, an' that's a fact. I had to do somethin'."

Tatiana eyed James, she knew he was holding back something. It was written all over his face. "Vhy you kill Richard, vhy you? Vhy not talk Ash? All people, Ash listen to you most. Vhy take lav into ovn hands?" she asked as she sat there looking at him. He had given his reasons to why Richard needed to die in his eyes but she wanted to know why he had to be the one to do it personally.

"I brought him in." There was crushing responsibility in his voice. There wasn't a lot of time that they could talk, really; not as much as either of them would have liked. So James kept up with the soul liberating honesty. Call it a full confession, one big, greasy chunk at a time. "Me an' Alicia took Ash's Buster without askin'. Had a big ol' time with that truck. She saved him, died for it, too. I took him outta the shit and into our home, Tati. Our home. Everything he done past that, all that hurt? Some of that's on me."

"Even if some is on you, some is on me. Some is on Ash. Some is on Alicia even for saving him. Means none is on us. Vhat happen because of him is on him. Maybe not even then. Maybe on his parents, maybe on Zoie. Ve could say all day vho is blame but that doesn't ansver question. Vhy no go to Ash? Not trust him? Or you vant revenge?" she asked bluntly as she watched him.

The little Russian girl was going for the meat of it. James knew her well enough not to underestimate her tenacity, but even in this, he blinked. "I don't not trust Ash. Now, if you're needin' to label me with only one of those, it's closest on revenge. But it ain't all about needin' to make that fucker pay, neither. What was Ash gonna do? Lock him up 'cause Sana offed herself? Kick him out 'cause of somethin' he might do? Death and other bad shit followed him 'round, and he's keepin' his hands just clean enough so's Law couldn't touch him. Ash gotta be fair to folks." That's what it meant to be a leader, in James's mind. Fairness, and making the hard choices for the good of your people. "I kill him. Turn myself in, tell why. Only one more person gotta go, then. Everybody else's safe from him, Tati, all it cost was a bullet."

"No, cost more than bullet," she said as she leaned closer and rested her hands in her lap. "Cost your home. Cost friends. Cost part of soul. For vhat? To kill man vho didn't kill anyone? Dah, he influence lives around him but he not kill." Shaking her head a bit she leaned in even closer. "Sana could have valked avay, she let him treat her dat vay. Alicia made the choice to pull trigger to save him, and you both made choice to take truck vithout Ash permission," she said rather bluntly. She had been told the story time and time again from various people who had heard it, who had been part of it in town at the time, even from Richard. "Vhat fair in life? Outbreak not fair, var vas not fair before that. Nothing fair. Cost far more than bullet. You lose yourself. Perhaps bullet better than monster one can become? Deaths that happened because you place blame on Richard is blame of many of us. You kill Richard, dat on you. Make you vorse than vhat you kill. Cost more than bullet."

Solid tears flowed from James, the more Tatiana hammered into him. His voice remained relatively unmarked from the experience, at least enough that he was understandable. "We all made choices, girl. I made a choice and put an axe in somebody. I saw Sana an' ..." His voice choked out a sob, but he fought hard to continue, "Sana an' Bryn lyin' there... after I put 'em both down. Hells naw it ain't fair. I lost my shit and it felt like justice, Tati. Simple as that. I thought I was gonna pay for it, too." He stared at his hands for a few seconds, rocking back and forth a little in his seat. "Sana, me, even Dick, there - Outbreak changed us all, girl. You didn't know me, couple years back. I was a goddamn monster. A man don't just shake that..." His voice trailed off. "...a man don't shake that. Not all the way. Me leavin's for the best." James took in a shuddering breath. "I don't wanna be that guy no more."

"You don't have to be," the little bird said sympathetically as she watched him break down. Sighing slightly she handed him a handkerchief from her pocket. "Each of us have volf inside, fighting constantly. One good, one bad. Vho vin? One ve feed," Tatiana said as she slipped over to James and wrapped her arms around him. Pulling him close and hugging him tight. "Feed right one."

James didn't relax into the hug for a few seconds. He felt that he didn't deserve it in the least. But deserve or not, this was the last time he was going to see Tatiana again. He wasn't going to go off, letting her think he was angry at her. The angle was bad for a full hug, but James leaned his head into her and brought one arm up, his hand finding the warmth of her strong but delicate limbs. He allowed himself the tiniest of comfort from her. And then he began to weep. Openly and hard, an ugly sort of cry that spilled his emotions shamelessly out into the open.

Hugging him a bit tighter, Tatiana let him get it out. Just sitting there, hugging the man she considered an uncle. "You have people vho care. They vouldn't go vith you if they didn't," she said in a quiet voice. She didn't know this Gavin fellow and she wasn't close to Beatrice or Ryan but she knew those two well enough to know they wouldn't do anything in this life if it didn't matter to them. They weren't ones to mince words or actions.

James had fed a wolf today. He fed it with love, and he fed it with violence. James had an abundance of both in his heart, almost to exclusion. The problem was, he had no idea which one he fed that morning. Pulling back slightly, Tatiana gave James the brightest smile she could. "Feed right one. For family, for you." Slipping back she pulled the handle of the door and swung it open as she started to slide out. "Vill see you again, I knov it."

"I hope you right..." It was all he could think to say just then. "I really do. Love you, Tatiana. Stay safe." The last of his tears were receding, which he hastily wiped away with his shirt sleeve. He looked to his axe that Ash had given back to him and methodically reassembled his gun. James still didn't know which wolf he fed within himself, the good or the bad, but his work wasn't finished yet. Love might still motivate the man to help Gavin attempt to destroy the single greatest threat to his former community, but he wasn't sure which canine was getting the steak that day.

All he knew was that at least one of them was going to get nice and fat.

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Outer Gate

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The gate closed behind James's truck, finalizing within Ash his own sense of ethical obligation. It still didn't make him hate himself any less. And though his friend was only just outside of the Outer Gate, the sense of distance between the two seemed palpable. James was officially gone now, whatever else happened in that moment. A passed sentence, act of violence, and a huge metal wall symbolically and physically separated them, and his absence left a hole in the heart of Newnan.

His absence also left a hole in the administration of the Newnan Community. It is precisely this issue to which Ash gave attention.

Before people began to wander back off to their begin or continue their perspective duties, Ash cleared his throat loudly and demanded that attention of the citizenry of Newnan. "...AHEM... As long as I have you all out here, there is another piece of business that needs to be addressed." He gave them a few seconds to quiet whatever murmuring was going on before he proceeded.

"For those of you who have not formally met her," began Ash, motioning to Thana, "This is Dr. Thana Martin, Lieutenant Commander, United States Navy. Her Ph.D. is in Botany, and she has extensive working experience maximizing Agricultural resources with the United Nations. Plus, she comes with a hell of a character reference."

"I have officially appointed Dr. Martin as our new Agricultural Lead. The other leads will give her their support, and the Agricultural staff will show her the same amount of respect and consideration that they showed Mr. Grady during his tenure." He looked to Thana, nodding his certainty and approval at the decision. "She will undoubtedly have different ideas on managing the land and the staff than to which you are all accustomed. Dr. Martin has my full support. She will also have yours. Is that clear?"

Ashton waved noticed looks from among the crowd gathered, heard whispers, and even caught the raised hand or two. "Please hold any questions or comments for now. You'll have an opportunity after I'm done with announcements. Yes, there is more."

"Dr. Bonheur - You have an amazingly full plate. Your duties have tremendous demands on your time, and each one is vital to the success of our community. You have served valiantly a our Medical Lead since your arrival, and have basically founded a school of Applied Medicine out of our main building. Sir, you have contributed much to Newnan, at expense to yourself. It is for these reasons that I relieve you of your position as my Second. Your professional time is better spent with the Hospital and your School. No shame, Froggy. None. As for your personal time: You need to actually have some. Concentrate on medicine, concentrate on teaching."

Ash looked over the crowd of Newnanites, seeking one person in particular. "Jack!" he called. Ash wasn't sure whether to refer to him as Jack Hudson or Newnan, thinking back to their conversation the previous night, so he opted to go for the less formal recitation of his first name only, hoping to catch in later discussion his preference, and if it was situational. "As Security Lead, the safety of our community and the patrol of our walls and grounds are under our direct supervision. Our Security staff is at your command. You would benefit with increased autonomy of action when needed, and the authority to execute any order I pass down the chain. I hereby appoint you as my Second, in addition to your duties as our Security Lead. You now have the authority to make decisions for the community in my absence, and I will rely upon you as my Executive Officer." Not to mention the fact that, as his Second and Security Lead, his combined duties would keep him busier inside of the walls more often than out, providing a more stable family life for his young wife and their coming child. Unless he personally volunteered to do so, his job would keep him close to home.

"I believe that completes new business. Unless there are any relevant questions or comments, please return to your duties."

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

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Laying her spear across her lap as she sipped her bitter, black liquid, Thalia gave another look around them. At the corner of an intersection in what used to be a residential area, right up next to a small, neighborhood park. This place must have been the very image of Southern Charm back in its day. Now, the scape was bleak with snow drifts and neglect, possibly recoverable if a dedicated group of survivors were to out in the TLC necessary to make them into homes again. But it wouldn't be her. Thalia had her own plans. Right then, her own plans involved sipping coffee.

Instant coffee wasn't one of the things that would have appealed to Thalia before the world started to eat itself. She was more accustomed to hot and rich arabica blends, expertly brewed and occasionally with a pinch of cinnamon or flavored with dark chocolate. Mostly, she took it black. Or she used to, before. Now, instant coffee crystals were a dream.

God, she was thinking a lot about coffee this morning. It was distracting.

Their guest seemed to be grating against her host, Lola. Not in any huge way, but there was a hint of tension. Thalia herself had her usual suspicions, which given her background, already made her wary of new people. This guy seemed harmless enough, and if he had been on his own for an extended period of time, it would be normal for his social skills to take a little while to reacclimate. "Look guy, you don't know us, we don't know you, and the best we're probably going to do is a neighborly cup of hot water with some fucking distraction dissolved in it." Her eyes narrowed at the man, and she leaned forward a little in her chair, "You seem like an okay guy, though. Tell you what, there's some nice looking houses around here. You want a cup? There's your best option. Bring us back some good, solid coffee mugs, and my hot cocoa is yours. Deal?"

Come to think of it, this place was probably ideal for a quick search. Central location surrounded by houses, it could be a gold mine. But that smoke in the distance, were it indicative of a settlement, might support the possibility that settlers had already picked this place over. Maybe she could find something, Thalia was quite the observant scavenger, but any prize might not be worth the effort. Sending Alexander to score coffee mugs was really more of a litmus test in that regard, but the prize was real. She would fork over that delicious chocolate powder.

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

@Lady Amalthea

Edit made. Thanks.

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

@Lady Amalthea

Requesting edit. Got ahead of myself with the information provided for my last post.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope Docks (Underground)

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The irrepressible gentlemanish individual scurried down the ladder underneath the manhole, and into the gloom below. There was a sort of change that came over the man as he descended, a set to his jaw perhaps, or a sudden wave of outward professionalism washing over him. For all his pomp and finery, Foy was a mercenary, with a history of asset recovery and elimination for the Alliance as well as private parties. You do not gather that sort of reputation by being a useless dandy.

You do so by being an exceptional dandy.

Foy's descent was punctuated by a sudden slip and catch as a foot lost traction, nearly pitching himself into the fetid unknown of what lay beneath the Newhope Docks. A slew of possibilities took hold of the perpetually tidy and kempt man in the split second of uncertainty, possibilities of what awaited him in the darkness of the underground. Was this a proper sewer? The ships had to decompress their bilge somewhere, after all. This dock didn't seem the type to have the untreated waste of a thousand ships a day flooding underneath their feet, though he did not know this planet extremely well. If he were very lucky, it would be a simple maintenance access space, dirty but relatively dry, nothing a good brush-off couldn't fix after they were done wit the hunt.

Luckily, he caught himself in time. The last few steps were solid enough, and he soon found solid footing on the floor of the subterranean passage. A sluice-way of dark water ran in the middle of the narrow passage, with raised access walks on either side. So it was a storm drain; the quaint middle ground between his best and worst case scenario. If maintained properly, they would find a straight and smooth pathway taking them wherever they needed to go; if it were not, this could get a little stickier. It wasn't his first time tracking a fugitive in a gloomy tunnel.

As Dorothy fell in behind him, Foy picked out the distinct outline of a footfall coupled with splotch of sanguine color. Silently, he waved it to her attention, and pointed in the direction that his experience indicated. He drew a revolver and took a forceful step forward, quietly waving Dorothy forward.

It was about at Step Number Two that his right foot made awkward connection with the edge of the sluice, giving him the split-second option of twisting his ankle or sliding further to the right. The very human desire to avoid crippling injury, even temporary in nature, won out in that very short time, unceremoniously depositing his foot damned near to the knee into the grey water flowing past them. His spine straightened and his arms flailed about for a second or two as he struggled to maintain balance. As Foy succeeded in keeping upright, his face adopted a look of restrained alarm and disgust. His foot was in the stale runoff of so many amateur cooks, people hosing down their ships, livestock cargo, and rainwater mixed with trace amounts of synthetic lubricant and vehicle fuel, all flowing and fermenting to parts best left alone. Rodent droppings and hangover vomit likely mixed in with this horrifying under-dock stew, which he was now stirring with his best pair of leather Madison shoes. Or at least, just the one.

Suppressing a shudder, Foy removed himself from the horrid water, or at least tried to. Be it a tiny denizen of the shallow, opaque fluid, or merely a bit of rubbish that caught upon him, as he withdrew his foot, his very fine shoe was painfully removed from his immaculately pedicured foot. Revulsion piled on top of him, and he pulled off his now sodden, black sock, splatting it upon the wall nearest him like grandma's homestyle test for cooked spaghetti. It stuck there, dripping foul fluid along the wall beneath it. "Just a suit, indeed." he whispered, aggravation evident in his voice. Foy hastily removed his other shoe with his free hand, shaking it in the air before dropping it softly upon the ground next to them. It was a noteworthy piece of footwear, one a laborer would never think to own, nor could afford as a reasonable purchase otherwise. And that was just a shoe, I presume?

Foy removed his remaining sock, and in the tradition of action stars everywhere, fixed a steely look of coming revenge as he tied it around his head in the form of a tailored, monogrammed headband. He quickly replaced his bowler hat and took up his gun yet again. Someone would answer for his damaged suit and ruined Madisons. Oh yes, they would answer, indeed...

"Come along. Where did you go, little rabbit?" Far from the usual verbose dialogue, the mercenary Coiffeur was a thing of cold business. He took a harder look at the spotting and attempted to determine what he could from the pattern; speed, gait, and the most important bit - direction of their intended quarry.

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William Harper

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Location: Cargo (and just beyond)

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It didn't take long to get back to Cargo, seeing as he really only had a picture frame and his personal terminal to carry with him. He debated stopping back by the Bridge and doing his best to urinate heavily upon the Captain's Chair, possibly behind a panel or two, regretting only that he did not dine on SoySparagus beforehand (guaranteeing none of the fresh vegetable flavor but twice the pungent aftereffects), resulting in a situation that the new owners wouldn't discover until they were well into the Black, with unseen hilarity ensuing. Ah, to be a fly upon that wall. But no, Dr. Moreau took great effort to make sure they had a sanitized vessel, it would be additionally insulting to the wrong person. So, just slightly unethical on his part. Damnit.

It really was a shame. Unfortunately, he did have to lay low, be a pilot of whatever ship whose console he was placed behind. Do his job for his employers. Browncoats this time, for two years. Just two more years. Ok... Time to keep being Harper.

His posture slowly crept back to the of the able Lieutenant, despite the fact that he was not Alliance anymore. It was the best way he knew to behave in the manner of a professionally spacefaring man, and most of these people had a background with the "bad guys" anyway. He was just another officer gone turncoat when given evidence that he was on the wrong side. Hell, technically, that was exactly what he was anyway, just with a different timetable than most people in the same situation. By the time he set foot back into Cargo, Harper was (aside from his unshaven appearance) every bit the solid Flight Officer.

Something seemed off, though, a sort of tension in the air he couldn't quite put his finger on. Tempted to draw his sidearm, Harper carefully made his way down to his belongings and, with eyes scanning are area, replaced his Terminal into his gear and carried it outside. He looked to Atticus and Daphne, the only two in the area, and inquired of them, "What happened? Where is everyone else?"

He was ready to assist in the hauling of gear, but a twinge of paranoia kept him feeling a little edgy. Much more of this, and he'd likely find himself falling back into the habit of claiming a chairleg as a bludgeon and/or sharpening a toothbrush before attempting to sleep whilst sitting upright in the corner of a concrete room. Such was the perception of his reality, half of the time.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

Reginald walked as briskly as his age would allow, taking confident strides back through the courtyard, past the arches, and to the few trees planted inside of the Barracks. It was one of his favorite spots; overlooking the Nile, usually caught cooling breezes during the afternoon and early evening. He did like taking tea there, if it wasn't too busy or noisy in that half of the courtyard, likewise if he actually had the time to, what with his regular duties. The vast majority of the time, he could get away with performing little tricks of paperwork - ordering in bulk, requisitioning emergency pay if a paymaster was unavailable (or he had an event to attend before making that decision), or splitting minor duties between Officers under his command. In this way, he kept the illusion of being the ever busy, hard drinking Lord Frigging Major, when in reality he was keeping himself open for, and jumping upon, opportunities as they arose.

The Lord Major was not a lazy man, quite the opposite. But he was a crafty old dodger who had spent his entire life in the service of the Crown. He knew a thing or two about a thing or two. And his job, if structured with a bit of forethought, was rather cushy. Important (very), but cushy nonetheless. It could not be given to just any officer, but one well liked and respected by locals and military alike, with sterling reputation of service. The Lord Major fit the bill precisely, which was probably why he had never been supplanted by a slightly younger man of equal or higher rank. He was, quite simply, The Man of his time and place.

He would have given it all away to have died in glorious battle, or serving a purpose greater than himself. He even longed for it, sometimes.

Reginald pondered his existence for a time, staring at the Nile from that small copse of trees. Then he remembered, he was, hopefully, about to set off on another grand adventure. Possibly his last chance to do so, before Death greeted him. Whether it be Angels or Valkyries that carried him away to glorious afterlife, he could not say for certain. Perhaps that Anubis fellow would weigh his heart against a feather, like in his dream from last night. It was Egypt, after all. If the Old Gods of the Sand, Sky, and River saw fit to claim him instead of the Father and the Son, it would be the ripples of his presence left on earth that would act as his judge, his proof of any decency he might have had. His litmus test of Honor. Reginald had not lived a fully virtuous life. He tried to be a decent, upstanding gentleman in all things, but he knew there were times he had failed and nothing could take it back. He had done things; things in war and choices in his personal life that were questionable, even dark. The Lord Major was an old man now. This was probably his last opportunity to live well, and by extension, die well. He needed that much, at least.

Why these emotions stirred so vividly while looking at the Nile, he could not say. Tears formed in his eyes as he thought of his wife. Well, ex-wife, and his children from that union. He screwed that one up, and how. There was little actual love there, but there was an understanding to uphold at least the appearance of mutual familial honor and obligation. He did find love, just not with her. However, that thought was where he drew the line of his moral introspection for the moment. Oh, he would revisit, probably while staring at that very body of water yet again. For now, he had something to take care of.

Carefully and surreptitiously, he pulled his pocket handkerchief and dabbed the moisture from his face in the bright morning sun. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his wallet, a largeish affair that looked more like a leather bound notebook than a money carrying device, and located a blank paper and pencil. Upon the paper, he wrote a few lines of legible print with an even hand, and turned to locate the nearest unassigned man.

"You there, Soldier!" His voice was a steady as ever.

"At service, Lord Major!" he replied without hesitation.

Reginald had reflexively braced himself for the scream most commonly vomited out by his favorite Corporal, finding himself satisfactorily surprised by the less abrasive outcome. "Take this message ahead, have it sent by wire immediately to the War Office. Tell the attending clerk that I shall be in my offices. Go on then! Handsomely now!"

The Note

Office of the War Department STOP
If circumstances can be worked out with your logistics, I respectfully request the option to present Lord Captain Peter Keystone the opportunity to supplement my roster of officers at Qasr El Nil here in Cairo STOP Further, I understand that the Army and RAF ranking here in Cairo is still utilizing pre war ladders STOP Nonetheless, promotion lists and recommendations are due here in a fortnight STOP I shall endeavor to reconcile our situation against current Theatre protocol STOP Again understand that I cannot accept a promotion or alteration that takes me away from present command due to civil and personal circumstance STOP Respectfully, Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone STOP
God Save the King STOP

The young man flashed a salute and immediately ran to attend the Lord Major's orders. Meanwhile, Reginald resumed his brisk walk back into the main building. He located his office easily enough - it's not like he didn't work there almost everyday, anyway, and began his short but necessary task of reviewing and signing basic daily forms, already filled out and proper, just waiting for his approval. Just as soon as he was done with his "work" for the day, a matter of minutes, he would attend his real reason for being there: Requisitioning, reshuffling, and scrounging appropriate vehicles, food, and supplies for the adventure to come.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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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: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)

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There are times in every man's life when they must look upon the world around them and fight the urge to slam their head into the the nearest solid surface, repeatedly, and with wild abandon. Thusly was this day for Vladimir Alexandrov: the Great Bazhooli, head of the world-renowned Bazhooli Sem'ya. The most horrifying clanging sound erupted not too far behind him, prompting him to swiftly pivot, alarmingly searching for the source of the sudden, pseudo-rhythmic cacophany.

To his surprise, it was no deadly attack by heretofore unencountered Soulless, nor was it a peasant uprising, come to storm the Circus for its rampant employment of gypsy folk and various immoral activities. No, it was one of his own, doing something that widened Vlad's eyes like nothing had in a very long time, excepting possibly a highly disreputable Fur Bearing Trout Taxidermy Show he caught in Odessa the last time he was in town. "Costantin..." he growled, his face twisted into an incredulous stare as he could not believe what he was seeing, and from a fellow bladesman.

The actions of his circus cousin, Constantin, took him into something akin to shock. He tried to speak more, to politely ask the man to regale him the story of his most recent decision, but found he could not make the words come out of his throat. When Vladimir was finally able to say something, it was a scream. "Constantin! Что, черт возьми?" He was truly aghast. Hands found hair, tugging harshly in angered disbelief. He took a knee, mouth agape, staring at Constantin happily banging the flat side of his sword onto a metal cookpot. "Vhy for you vould ruin good blade like..." No, his brain simply would not accept what it was seeing.

Vladimir leapt to his feet, jogging the few feet back into the Tent City from the point where he started trying to locate tiger pawprints. "Killing me, Constantin! Killing! Ripping warm, still-beating heart from ribs, and stomping on vith thick, muddy boots! Kind vith pointy toes! And ice spikes! I am for the dead now, Constantin. DEAD." Admittedly, the thought occurred to him that making noise probably wasn't the worst idea ever, and perhaps the lad's heart was in the right place. "Constantin, please. Alvays, everything vith panache. Ve do not bang good steel on pots ve need later, unless is no other choice." He strode over to grab a perimeter torch, motioning for one of the nearby workers to replace it quickly.

"This is Circus! Ve are Performers! Gypsies! Entertainers! Musicians!" his voice took on a nigh-fevered pitch, the occasional member of the Sem'ya nodding in agreement with the words of their elder. Almost all of them had some form of musical talent or flare for dramatic oration, himself included. Vladimir's eyes darted back to Constantin, "Panache, boy. Style. Ve must make it a thing little Veta vill vant to come home to."

He twirled his newly acquired torch in the foggy air above his head, vying for the attention of everyone active in the Tent City. Everyvon, listen please! Veta is missing, and is not in camp!" he motioned with the torch to his left, "This half of you - get fire, get torch! Ve vill spread out, search Regent Park! Rest ov you..." he bared a mischievous grin despite the seriousness of the situation, "...Korobeiniki..." The English translation being The Peddler's Legacy, a traditional song of their people going back generations, one that they all would know. He nodded vigorously and began to sing the first words, turning and striding purposefully back out of the Tent City. He motioned to Constantin, breaking his part of the vocalization for a moment, "Come, Little Brother. Let us go find our Grand Duchess."

Vladimir palmed a great, sharp knife and hoisted the torch about him, resuming his search. As for him, he chose his path in the most dramatic and adventurous direction possible, befitting his nature: Into the thickest depth of the fog.

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_{"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.."}

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Location: St. Etheldreda's

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St. Etheldreda's Church/Ely House

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Mary tried to hide the startle from her face as the boy suddenly snapped from whatever trance he was in. Curiously, she wondered if whatever affected him also had something to do with her uncharacteristic reluctance to greet the day any earlier than Decima, ante merīdiem. In any case, the startle was a minor one, marked by only a touch of eye blinking; likely brought about by raw nerves from the previous night (not to mention the peculiar happenings of the morning so far).

As the boy fell to his knees, so to did the young Apostolic. Her hands rushed out to steady him, hopefully to prevent a complete drop to the still dewy ground below. It likely would not have caused him any shock. She did not want to frighten the boy any more than he might already have been; this must have been a jangling experience, suddenly coming to consciousness in a place away from where it was lost in the first place, surrounded by strawberries and a militant Scottish nun, of sorts. Ok, maybe it wasn't such a bad place to suddenly find one's self, but it was likely still a little disconcerting. "Steady. Steady now, child. I want you to look at me, right in the eyes. Now, do you remember your name? Come on, tell me your name and stand up for me, and we'll go get some breakfast and a nice tea for you, alright?" Perhaps they could talk in greater detail over eggs, fruit, and scones.

He had not quite answered when one of the resident Cloistered approached, informing her that she had messages waiting. "Do not worry yourself, Sister. There is an ill air this morning; I fear it has muddled us all." She suddenly remembered her own messages that she had sent last night, to the Papal Court and her Grand Cross. "Who holds the messages now, Sister?" She did desperately wish to get word back from them, but as far as she was aware, the well being of the child in front of her was more immediate. News and briefing could wait another minute. Mary needed to see if the boy was upright and cognizant. Then she could collect her messages and treat the boy to a late breakfast after.