Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

---

---

Caesar Gonzalez

---

Location: Somewhere Above the U.S./Mexico Border

---

---

The appearance of supper roused the grizzled master of dismemberment from his deep and profound slumber. If there was anything that could wake Caesar, it was the appearance of medium rare red meat (be it wrapped in golden puff pastry and slathered in mushroom duxelles). Almost as if by magic, even. The second that the scent of their first-class repast cut through the canned air of the plane's cabin, Caesar snapped to life, springing to his feet with hands instinctively moving to fill with sharp implements.

A gruff but unintelligible grunt later and Caesar excused himself to the cabin lavatory, where he took care of a pressing internal issue. He returned to a slightly more talkative Cecily, who was seemed particularly interested in the cinematic selections they had at their disposal. She looked disturbed. Highly. "We have time for a movie, Niña. Put something on if you want." He gave consideration to asking the young lady what troubled her so, but stopped just shy of doing so. If she felt like sharing, he reasoned that she would before too long.

Their meal looked superb. Caesar was never really one to personally go for the finer things in life, content to take things as they came. His money merely made it easier to do what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. It just so happened that while he financed his own desires, he was exposed to fine food and wine, vehicles, art, etc., and found that he did not hate it. Still, it was not with any particular degree of joy that he sat down to eat. His "usual" beverage, so far as plane trips went, was actually a large bottle of water. Ok, the water, plus mescal. Just not in the same glass.

About halfway through his steak, Caesar mentioned aloud, "I don't know who will be meeting us at the airport. Might be MSS, might be blood. There could be a scene. Just let it happen. Also, not everybody in mi familia speaks English." He cleared his palate with a sip of liquor, "I haven't seen these people in years. Maria will definitely be there. Benicio, Angel, too. Couple dozen others I share a name with. A lot more I don't." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, "Maria... might want to kill me. Maybe she has a right. But not until we're done."

---

---

J. Keystone

---

Location: Justice Airport

---

---

They looked like the last ones off the plane, but there was no mistaking who they were. Five of them, head to toe in tactical utility wear, head to toe black. Slender in comparison to many people that he would train in unarmed combat, but they possessed a look about them that hinted to everyone around to treat them like broken glass - dangerous, best left alone. Three men, one woman, all younger than the broad pugilist would have liked. They spotted Keystone right away. Approaching directly, they stopped just outside of striking range. One extended a clipboard with official looking papers attached.

"Ibanez, Tech Specialist. Who am I reporting to?"

He wasted no words on flowery banter. "Actin' Director Johnathon Keystone. Use my last name only, right? So, you lot rated on 'and to 'and? Firearms? Tactics, Stealth an' the like? We've got us a situation in Justice, understand."

"We all have company certification in at least one firearm type, Sir, plus intermediate to advanced close combat skills. Two of us were military. The other two were recruited right out of college. Alicia trained all of us personally and we've been wearing the Black ever since. No looking back. Some asshole murdered her and we were the first ones to volunteer. We're anxious to get settled in and started, Sir. You point us where you need, and we're on it." The others seemed fine with letting this ...Ibanez speak for the group.

"Right. We can use all the 'elp we can get while Jefe's with his family. You in charge of your group, Ibanez?"

"No, sir. Seniority. We were informed that our direct report might already be on site, or arriving soon. That you?"

"Bloody 'ell no. 'eard that, too. Caesar, erm, Mr. Gonzalez told me it'd be someone unexpected-like, gave me a signal to listen for. They ain't 'ere yet, far as I'm knowin'."

"Ok, Sir. If you get us to your Hub, we can at least take over and do a fresh diagnostic, get acquainted with your system and your private files. If it's okay though, Sir?" He seemed to want to ask something.

"Yeah?"

"None of us was eaten since lunch yesterday. We could really go for a burger or something. Is that alright?"

Keystone gave a small smile. "Of course! We'll work somethin' out on the quick. Now, let's get your baggage and be on our merry."

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

---

---

Reginald Keystone

---

Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

---

---

Qasr El Nil Barracks

Reginald produced a second cup for his nephew. Being the personal office of a bonafide Lord Major, one could be rest assured there was tea service for at least two present. His jug of breakfast tea still held reasonable temperature, hot but not piping, and while it was not a proper, delicate, porcelain teapot, it would suffice quite nicely in a pinch. Or a breakfast. Or an overland campaign. He listened intently to what Peter had to say on the matter of his Courted Lady Vera without giving comment or posing question. He just let the man speak to him as an equal.

Setting down his cup and pushing it away from himself, he responded with a rhetorical question. "Peter, old chap, do you remember my marriage?" Reginald wasn't speaking to him as a soldier, nor as his uncle. He had dropped pretense, giving direct words as one man of honor might give another, in a fashion as brotherly as it was direct. "My marriage, Peter, and its failure. I married a Lady who was also Proper, Lovely, and Intelligent. And we did match, quite so." He offered up no look of self-pity, only factual honesty. "It was my fault, of course, but the point was that I should never have gotten married in the first, you see. Don't get me wrong, having done so I fulfilled my duty to the Keystone line and given legitimate second tier heirs (wonderful kids besides, love the Dickens out of both of them); I do not regret it all." Ignoring the fact that he hadn't actually seen his children in quite some time, he did have feelings for them. His lack of presence had reason, but it was reason he kept to himself.

"I ruined my marriage, my great match, you see, because I found love. But you know this story. There is so much more to it that others have only hinted at, and I have never confirmed. But do take this into consideration, Peter: Make certain that you truly have love in your heart for young Vera. Not camaraderie, not enduring childhood friendship. Rush not into marriage, dear boy. Court her. Take your time. You have all the time you need."

In an effort to shift conversation back to the more casual, "Oh, but trust me lad, many have noticed the Lady Munn. I'm just not sure how many, if any, she has noticed back."

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

@Lady Amalthea

Howdy howdy. Need another set of rolls for Tracking, if you would. Yay!

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

---

---

Foy Coiffeur

---

Location: Newhope Docks (Underground)

---

Foy was quite the vision in splendid bowler cap and charcoal suit as his pace increased. His scrutiny was clearly fixed upon he trail before him; the droplets of blood and pieces of footprint that indicated the passage of their slow-moving quarry. The farther they got, down in the irregular gloom of the storm drain, the more Foy took on the mannerisms of a lanky yet aristocratic hunting dog, becoming more alert and low to the ground quite like a long legged Picardy Shepherd. He would advance into the dark, the only evidence of his passing being the quiet tap-squish, tap-squish, tap-squish of his remaining Madison shoe and soaked double sock upon his noble and immaculately pedicured feet.

"Humidity, madame." he whispered to Dorothy, refusing to break stride. "Reduces the rate of sanguinous coagulation and evaporation; makes a discernible estimate tenuous. Likewise, oils dew to the surface and tracks become muddled. In short, I possess the necessary skills to follow our evasive stowaway, I however have not gleaned enough raw information to discern much more at this stage in our endeavors. He stopped, raising a hand to indicate something that had caught his attention. A finger point later, and Foy had taken off, down the right passage.

Ah yes, the Great Farradayan Stachehound had caught the scent of something slender and wounded, and in his excitement to pursue said prey, damn near ran headlong into a opening chamber that branched off into three separate paths. As fate would have it, his be-sock-ed foot slipped dangerously forward, drawing him into an unintentional fencer's lunge. His arms flailed, hips wobbled this way and that, as he attempted (for the sake of vanity as much as professionalism) to avoid falling headlong into the potentially gooey and occupied liquid below. The next few seconds found the thoroughly spastic looking Mr. Coiffeur whipping his limbs about him in a barely dignified fashion.

This time, he succeeded.

Gathering what remained of his dignity, Foy straightened his tie, checked his revolvers, and cleared his throat. He looked around at his surroundings, trying to get a handle on where to head off to next. Three options... Were he wounded, he would not want to risk further infection or simple nastiness by slogging through the muck and wet, sticking to the path he was on. But such intentions were not his to guess; they were for him to confirm. "Hmm, yes, well... I do not know about your proclivities, Doctor, but I must confess this is the first three-way into which I've found myself ensconced since leaving Farraday last. Ho hooooo..." He laughed, but did immediately get back to the task at hand: Selecting a path.

---

---

William Harper

---

Location: Cargo (and just beyond)

---

Well, a good pilot follows orders, and Anisa was his new Captain. So it made perfect sense that, as soon as she beckoned, Harper's sense of military protocol kicked in. He set down what he was holding inside of the hold, brought his feet together and spun to face her. She seemed a touch unstable, this Captain Crowe, although the observation seemed a touch hypocritical coming from him. Nonetheless, this was his journey, she hers was the train to which Harper had hitched his wagon. Time to see where it all led.

"Aye, Captain." he reaponded, following in step behind her and to her right. "Ah, ma'am? Status of the Retribution's system - we're clean. Wiped multiple times and reformatted. Anything that might be of use is in a throwaway device, available for your perusal at leisure." He cleared his throat, still keeping step behind Anisa. "Dr. Moreau is handling the physical sanitation of the rooms to the best of my knowledge."

He wasn't going to say anything about it, but he was really looking forward to being present for selecting their new vessel. He had a few good ones in mind, with a ratio of upkeep cost vs. performance. If the proper models were available for purchase, anyway. All he could do now was follow, act as his Captain's consultant when asked (or if something obvious came up), and see what was available from the seller. Though a good, refitted Medical ship, Corsair, or a smaller version of their recently vacated Patrol vessel was ideal, in his mind.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

---

---

---

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

---

---

Wet and irritated, Vladimir continued his near-blind search through the mist as thick as cotton, hoping, searching for any sign of his little Elizaveta. Given the utter lack of visibility, it was something of a long shot. Nevertheless, Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov was not going to give up. No, he would stride forward with calm, confidence, and utter faith in the eventuality that he would find the Grand Duchess and bring her back to the Tent City safely. The scream that cut through the otherwise quiet fog seemed to have plans to the contrary, though.

When the hole opened up in the fog, seemingly ripped open by the roar of a very familiar feline, Vladimir took off like a bullet. Of course it could be a trap, even so far as to reveal the best bait one could set up for the Russian knife enthusiast: His ward Veta. But suspended by an unknown force while the waters below her threaten to freeze her fearsome tiger in place? No! Not without a fight. Maybe it was not the most pragmatic thing in the world to do, but he was the one and only Great Bazhooli, Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya and protector of its people. Especially Elizaveta. Even Myshka. For no one else in London, to his knowledge, could do what they could do.

He knew this enemy. It was the Golgravtiz. He could not give it the gift of a final demise with his current supplies, but he could hurt the horrible creature, at least temporarily, or restrain it. Catching sight of Constantin nearby summoning a Gologramma to fight the looming threat, Vladimir reached into the depths of his own creative energies and began manifesting his own semi-illusory copy.

"Golograviz! Foul ice-bitch! Release girl and tiger, ve maybe give head start." Vlad roared with a commanding, gravelly voice. He stood straight and tall, braced for the inevitable push to come. Smiling darkly, in the manner of a menacing butcher or executioner, he gave the thing a promise: "Or prepare to be Bazhooli'ed."

---

---

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

---

Location: St. Etheldreda's

---

St. Etheldreda's Church/Ely House

---

---

Mary smiled down at Adam. "Certainly, child. We shall leave for the Russian Circus this morning, the two of us. But Sister Alma is correct. I want to see you eat a little something before we depart. Toast and jam, perhaps, or a bit of oats and honey. I will join you, of course." She was already anxious to head to Records and speak to Sister Lazarus. Taking the boy's hand, she began walking back out of the Garden. "First, we are headed to speak with our Record Keeper. I must admit to some excitement, Adam. I have been waiting for a message to be returned of serious importance."

Sister Lazarus certainly had a sense of humor, if a little gruff in nature. "Why, Sister! That borders on the blasphemous." It was not meant to be totally serious, though humor and sarcasm was not her strongest point. "You keep a meticulous archive, Sister Mary Lazarus. The Bishop must appreciate your diligence." Of course, a compliment grounded in honesty was within her social skill set.

Upon receiving the letters, Mary immediately broke the seals ans read them. Her face, genuinely serene and angelic, fluttered with tiny amounts of emotion, if but for a fraction of a second each. Disbelief. Gratitude. Dismay. Acceptance. Resolve. "The attacks... they're everywhere. We are at war." Mary took a moment to process what she had learned. This was not a coordinated attack in a single location. This was an orchestrated assault that occurred worldwide. It struck a chord with the young Apostolic. This was a thing for which she had trained, and simultaneously dreaded. Her Order was vastly outnumbered for something like this. She had to inform the Graveolase, if they didn't already know.

Mary showed the letter from the Knight Grand Cross to Sister Lazarus, pointing to the bottom paragraph. "If you would, Sister, please record this event in the Archives." The other information will be come widely known very soon, but a copy of her appointment to greater responsibility within her Order demanded a backup, lest the papers be lost in the meantime.

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

---

---

Keystone

Location: Leather Goods Shoppe

Interacting With: Shopkeeper, Cyneburg

---

---

Examining the wares about the room gave Keystone a similar assessment to what the leatherworker informed him; the pieces were definitely too small. A couple might have fit around parts of his frame, but would be so tight as to restrict proper movement. Maybe even proper blood flow. He could only imagine that a codpiece would be right out, not that he was the codpiece wearing type. Now, owing to the nature of his personal contributions to their merry group, the concept of a decent set of greaves wouldn't entirely be out of the question. He did wear a set of particularly well constructed bracers, though they were Dwarfcraft metal and not Human tooled leather. Maybe one day soon he'd find his way back to Dwarf lands, get something forged to make a passable matching set. Of course, his were of an older style, even among the Bearded Folk.

Maybe that is precisely where he should go after this little side trip. It was generally in the direction of his most recent travels, and the height of the average doorways aside, he felt rather comfortable in the presence of Dwarves. Well, some of them, anyway. Go and train with the Battleragers for a while, help harness his Chi in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible.

His thoughts on the near future were politely interrupted by Cyneburg, inquiring as to his seeming lack of armor and the preference of others of his ilk to forego more earthly protection. "I ain't a Monk proper, y'understand." he rolled out in his distinctive urban underclass. "Just train with'em. Somehow, I can catch a piece o'what they do." Motioning over to his coat (presently under repair), he continued, "And 'sides, I am an armor wearin' man. More or less. Them Monk-folk though, just slows 'em down. Even me, if'n I wear anything 'eavier than what I got, lots o' my Monk learnin' pisses right off."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Ash Holloway

---

Location: Outer Gate -> Headed North

---

---

"No." growled Ash, darting out to grab Miss Sally as gently as he dared. She was a tough old bird, but obviously in a bad spot just then. He listened to the new guy, just introduced by Sally as Ravi, a medical professional. Heart attack. Nope. Sally was the soul and conscience of Newnan. She was its spirit animal. The passion and resiliency of the town and its people were reflected in her no-nonsense attitude and willingness to laugh and live. No way in hell Ash was going to stand by and gawk while she was betrayed by her own heart.

Ash remembered the last time someone fell victim to a heart condition. It was right in front of him then, too.

He quickly but carefully gathered Sally up in his arms and started back up the street for the Inner Wall. "Jack! Get us a truck or cart or something down here immediately, see if we cant get it to beat me to the Inner Wall." He was still moving, not quite a jog but more than a walk. He continued addressing his people as if they were keeping up, very much hoping that they were. "Froggy! You're my guy today. Go on ahead and get Medical prepped. Take the new guy with you." Ash turned his head a split second to locate the other Brit in town. "Ravi, right? Ok, Ravi, this is the first part of your interview. Dr. Bonheur is a surgeon; you're going to assist him."

Very vaguely, he remembered that Tatiana wanted to speak with him later. It was pushed to the back of his mind almost immediately, but resurfaced almost in spite of the emergency literally in his arms.

Ash tried his damnedest to cradle Miss Sally in such a way as to support her head. "Come on, Sally. You've got this. Just hang on, we've got you."

---

---

Black James(!)

---

Location: Outer Gate -> Headed South

---

---

James had removed the vast majority of emotion from his face before Gavin settled into the chair next to him. He looked back, noting that the other two had decided to stick to the back of the truck rather then avail themselves of the seating inside; it didn't have the full legroom of a true crew cab, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the truck bed. If they happened to catch a look at James and Tatiana's session of cathartic ugly crying, it was perhaps understandable that they would prefer some distance for a while.

"Yeah, they's loads entertainin'." responded James, his thoughts not really with the conversation. He was still thinking about the proclamation from Jack, that their child would bear his name. When Gavin mentioned a place for them to talk, the smallest look of purposeful motivation flashed across James's face. He shifted his truck into gear. "Hells yeah, we gots to find a place to talk. I know a spot, 'bout six mile south o' here. Everything we gonna need, too." he breathed a silent "thank you" to Ash, and pulled his truck away from the main gate of Newnan. Longingly, James looked into the rearview mirror. Yeah, he hoped he would see these people again. Just for now, he would take the extra step to make sure they were safe.

---

---

---

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

---

---

All those in favor of Crumpets and Tea? "Aye!" called Thalia, almost exactly at the same time as Lola, and almost immediately hating herself for it. In the couple of months that she had been in Lola's company, Thalia had come to realize that the strange woman was rubbing off on her, at least while in her presence. She had a way of enjoying the little things, oftentimes in the most ass way possible. But her flippant attitude about everything was liable to get her killed one of these days. Thalia did not want to pick up her bad habits. As much as she wanted to blame someone else, the fact remained that she did, in verifiable fact, likewise immediately vote for Crumpets & Tea. The realization manifested physically by means of a double-facepalm.

Blowing out her breath in a single, large sigh, Thalia took her hands from her face. "Boston, remember? We had that big Tea Pahty, yah? Didn't go real good for the tea." Not that she'd turn down a cup of chamomile if it was put in front of her, but she was really more of a coffee girl. "Better chance of finding mugs anyway, Lolz. Tea set is painful impractical..." She just let the sentence die there. Lola was ever the unencumbered free spirit whose style was the drunken opposite of Feng Shui. Thalia was the direct survivalist. The two just weren't going to agree as it came to decor. But, this wasn't her tank. If Alexander felt the need to, and was capable of, locating a tea set, more power to him. Her deal was for coffee mugs, simple and easy.

The moment that Alexander extended his radio, Thalia snatched it up. For no other reason, she figured that she would be the least likely to use it. If the old man was close to trouble, the last thing he would need was unnecessary radio chatter. As he began his approach to the nearby house, Thalia gave the area a scan, then took the opportunity to dig into her MRE proper. It seemed a little inappropriate, eating in front of some guy they had just offered their extra beverages. But the moment he was outside of the decibel range of tearing plastic, Thalia began to enjoy the savory pleasures of Chili, plus Mac & Cheese, together.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

---

---

Caesar Gonzalez

---

Location: Somewhere Above Southern California

---

---

The ice made small tinkling sounds as it melted, settling ever so slightly into the crystal tumbler glass. It was a clear, quiet sound, complementing the even breathing of the man seated next to it. Caesar was asleep, or very near to it, having surmised that this plane flying several thousand feet in the air was the closest thing to safety that he had experienced in some time. As he drifted away into lightly guarded rest, his landscape began to change.

---

The light of the dying sun held fast to Caesar, as if he refused to submit to the coming evening and the cold night was too afraid to deny the man the last rays of illumination. The heavens themselves wrapped their threads around the central, dominant strand of Caesar, completing the weave of the tapestry of his life flowing both unbroken and strong; it flapped in the breeze defiantly, standing against wave after wave of those who would bring him low.

Caesar was the very vision of a mythic demi-god. More than a man, but just short of an entity that demanded worship. He stood upon the top of a polished and shining Aztec pyramid, replete with radiant badassery in his fuzzy bunny slippers and smileyface boxer shorts, his hair and terrycloth bathrobe blowing freely in the same wind that brought the smoke of a thousand flaming corpses behind him; the remains of those who had challenged him and were not up to the task. More and more came, swarming, clawing at him with their yellowed fingernails and dead, milky eyes. He was in a lull now, but he saw more coming from below. They came bounding and crawling up the steps, climbing and scratching and gibbering for his blood. The light of the setting sun bathed him with the very last of its luminescence, reluctant to leave the man but powerless against the turning of the firmament.

But the sun was not his only ally.

Lightning rolled and flashed across an otherwise stormless sky, signaling the coming of great, tumultuous clouds in which hung the silhouette of a great, godly avian, ringed by thunderbolts that provided the elder Mexican precious ambient light with which he may continue his work. If Caesar was impressed, he did not show it, merely setting a firmness to his jaw and hefting a pair of massive laborer's blades: His company's namesake machetes, items of a sort that had been lifelong companions. They were almost upon him now. It was time to get to business.

The first of them foolishly tried to take him openly from the front, snarling and snapping. His blades flashed in the electric dim, lopping off the hands of the first that attempted to grab at him. He sidestepped and spun around, intercepting the claws of another while taking the apart his first attacker at the knees. He rose, slashing in front of him to dispatch the enemy at his fore, and turned, rotating his blades in a sweeping figure eight. Their blood was real enough, coloring the stone and stairs with red-black streaks like macabre graffiti or the workings of a deranged abstract painter.

Several more backed him to the very top of the pyramid, but it cost them dearly in limbs and blood. He was like a machine, hacking and stabbing, kicking and punching. He slipped his way between and amongst the mob of no-quite-men, dealing true death with both hands. A head rolled back down the pyramid, its former owner slumping to its knees before Caesar; in death paying the homage it should have in life. It was quickly followed by another as the Familia Gonzalez Warrior split its skull twain; a horizontal strike entering around the temple, crossing through both milky eyes and separating the top if its head from the rest of it. Impossibly, the thing still stood, trying madly to blink its half-eyes and stay on its feet. A single, spattered, fuzzy white bunny rose from the dust and gore of the stone beneath him and crashed into the torso of the gruesome, partially capitated thing in a vicious front kick.

Caesar used the momentum to bend backwards almost impossibly, blades reaching out and striking two more to his rear. One got it in its belly, the other its crotch. He twisted his body around to plant another bunny into the knee of the first, bringing to to the stone floor where it experienced a half-second of continued existence before the tip of the old man's blade finished him from above. The forcibly circumcised creature grabbed after its own wounds, patiently waiting to taste death at the hands of Caesar Hannibal Gonzalez. Its writhing patience was well rewarded as it was chopped to ribbons.

He was not done yet. He would never be done. Caesar was the flesh representation of gods older than eons; concepts of Death and Fire and Rage, fitfully coexisting with Justice and Revenge. A beast in the shape of a Man, motivated by love and honor, dragging fear beyond that of mere mortality along with him against its will, kicking and screaming, begging to be released from the shadow of this horrifying force of nature that acted solely in the best interests of that which was good and wholesome. A living contradiction, a harbinger of mutilation.

The blood stained Caesar lifted his blades to the sky as the first rain fell and lightning struck the stone around him. He let out a wordless bellow; a primal scream in proud Latino bass. The sudden and intense increase of illumination allowed him clearer view of the land around him. It was crawling with hordes of adversarial creatures at all sides. This was likely his last battle, but he would fight it in such a way as to be deified after his passing. He would make them suffer for every drop of blood the took from him. He would make them pay dearly for every inch. He was El Jefe. Gods would take notice. He would make them. Hoisting his blades, Caesar welcomed the coming onslaught. He was going home.

---

Sleeping in the reclined seat of his private plane, a small smile cracked the old man's face. Words could not describe how unsettling that sight could be.

---

---

J. Keystone

---

Location: Justice Airport

---

---

The jogging woman had the appearance of one who was about to pack up her sweatbands and leave. Not that it had any particular impact on Keystone, he was merely observing the situation play out and judging it against diversion or surveillance technique. That, and that manner of extremely casual behavior that he never would have seen in an airport in London, likely symptomatic of the very American concepts of "Make Yourself At Home". Ironically enough, it seemed to sit right alongside another of America's notable signposts; "Trespassers Will Be Shot". Common language (barely) aside, Keystone didn't figure that he'd ever really get the United States, let alone someplace as culturally fluid as California.

He spared a look at the television that the formerly jogging lady became transfixed by, noting the headline. He gave a tiny, dismissive head shake. That wasn't exactly how it went down. But if you looked at it from a slightly skewed point of view, the Insane Striking Back did have a truthy grain to it. Ah, spin. Keystone took the first few steps to get a little closer to the television, curious as to how badly the media would slant the facts. Then something more pressing was announced over the airport speakers; apparently Flight 1873 was arriving a half hour early at Gate 18D. This called for a direction change.

Excellent. Now he could gather the Tech crew, head back to MSS's setup back at Queensguard Industries R&D, and get them both settled in and hard at work. People one could trust were a rare commodity in this town, or so he had been informed. Recent days had him fully believing it. Keystone found a nice, visible spot in good view of the passengers from Seattle who were deplaning, and made certain that his MSS credentials were in plain view. He wasn't sure exactly who was gong to show up, nor how many. The most he could do was check their credentials against current employees; a simple task with his sat phone's work app, but they had to arrive and recognize each other first. So, Keystone stood and waited.

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

@Lady Amalthea

I put in Foy's intent to continue tracking in the IC. In case it was needed in the OOC too, here we go. Still using the means mentioned above.

The Means Mentioned Above

Hi. Needing Foy to make a Perception check to begin tracking/assume the whereabouts of our mystery guest. If this is an occasion that requires supplementary skills, I'm throwing Recon (gathering intel on the quiet) and Stealth (knowledge and ability to hide one's self and other things for a "what I would have done is..." scenario) into the mix.

@Sigil

Thanks.

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

---

---

Foy Coiffeur

---

Location: Newhope Docks (Underground)

---

Foy hated when other people were right. But here she was, the First Officer of a ship-that-wasn't, being all logical. It irked him. But, as the thought hit him, the esteemed Mr. Coiffeur could not deny that she was, in fact, correct. And they would just waste time arguing about it. "Ah, contrarian fiddlesticks!" he exclaimed quietly, or at least as quietly as one could exclaim something, given that they were on the hunt. He sighed, and remembered his manners. While Foy was in only few situations a nice person, he endeavored in all situations to be a polite person. Sometimes he failed, but he was only human. Damnit.

"Forgive my outburst, I intended to exhibit frustration in myself purely. Of course, you are correct." Far from only speaking these words, the impressively moustached man was slipping a foot back into his remaining shoe on the ground next to him, and removing the sock from his head. He placed it onto his other foot, and with just a mild shudder, retrieved the wet sock from where it splatted upon the wall, twist-squeezed it a bit, and slipped it on over the first sock. Not the best, most charming look he'd ever sported, but it would assist somewhat in not casually impaling his foot on a bit of discarded machinery or shard of something. He'd just have to be a bit careful. "Being in a state of questionable dress is temporary when compared to a pustulated discharge and limp acquired by rash behavior. My gratitude, Doctor. Though I shan't require your socks."

Now, back to that blood splatter, and his best, most appropriate estimation concerning what he could from the pattern; speed, gait, and the most important bit - direction of their intended quarry.

---

---

William Harper

---

Location: Cargo (and just beyond)

---

"Point of fact, Shepherd, I have seen the ebony doctor." remarked Harper in direct and even tones. "He is finishing up with his duties and should be reporting shortly." The straightlaced man did his best to ignore Atticus's unwillingness to share information about the location of the rest of the crew and the goings on of the last space of time. Just like in the Alliance, when there were things that were "above his pay grade" or on a "need to know basis". He didn't react, but inwardly chided himself, curious now as to what the huge difference was going to be between piloting an Alliance Black Ship as opposed to a Browncoat... well, Harper didn't know what kind of ship he was going to be at the helm of, really, but he did suspect he knew what crew he was going to be ferrying across the 'Verse.

He did, however, note a growing chunk of hypocrisy concerning the fact that he was expected to trust the Browncoats at the drop of a hat, but as a whole they were unwilling to extend the same courtesy. Survival tactic, he supposed. And moot - his new Captain knew most of the truth about him. He had no choice but to trust now.

"Be happy to help finish up, Shepherd. I came down here for that purpose." Harper hoisted a crate and grunted as he endeavored to get a better grip. "Can someone point me in the right direction? I don't think I was here for the first trip." Nevertheless, he stood ready to carry from Point A to Point B like a pro.

"Wait, isn't that the Barber's stuff over there, on the dolly?"