My apologies, it looks like my more creative urges got the better of me. Message received. Will keep to an existing character's post. (I really don't want to play The Ringmaster as a PC. <shudders>)
The Ringmaster, a shrewd and fairly portly individual named Viktor, was busy with his attendants trying to squeeze himself into a man-girdle when he heard his name being called, nay, shouted into the late morning air. He threw a shirt on over the not-quite-fastened torso restraining device and poked out from his personal tent, located near where the action usually was.
Viktor knew what was going on with Veta, but seeing how many hands were on the case already had slipped back to the tents to ready himself to meet the public, if such an event were necessary. The best way he figured he could help involved dealing with people outside of the Circus, organizing the personnel (aside from the Bazhooli Sem'ya, that was Vladimir's concern), and keeping things running smoothly while those who could help directly did so. There was also the painful necessity of drafting letters to the Emperor and the Imperial Court if the unthinkable were to occur, and the Grand Duchess not make it.
Naturally, that letter would be delayed by a day or two while another, faster moving one was sent, detailing the immediate need for additional monies and supplies for Elizaveta's betterment.
He heard the urgent tone in Constantin's voice, and as soon as he saw the younger man running about, screamed back at him. "Cold Veather Gear? It is in STORAGE VAGONS! STORAGE! Back of the Tent City!" He pointed in the general direction of the cargo wagons forming a blockade around the back of the area. It was all common knowledge, but perhaps he was looking for the Noble(ish) Ringmaster because he knew every nook and cranny of the Circus like the back of his hand. If anyone could locate something buried in storage months ago, and quickly, it would be him. And because it was Veta, he would make sure it was handled immediately. "Come, come. Tell me vhat you need, I vill get..." He managed a jog back to a specific cargo wagon, waving Constantin back with him.
Co-GM's Note: For the sake of simplicity, just assume that Viktor locates and gets you what you need, as long as you tell him specifics.
Meanwhile, the younger Alexandrov, Konstantin (yes, but with a "K") sprinted along as fast as he could, pausing only long enough to snatch up a live coal with a set of tongs from a cooking brazier, plus a handful of wadding. By the time he got to Elizaveta's tent (a place where he would otherwise never dare tread), others were arriving. He set at once to light a solid fire in the tent's blackened iron stove. It would provide plenty of heat, but not a lot in the way of light, for a couple of hours before needing tending. Hopefully, the Grand Duchess would be a little better by then.
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's Park)
The Great Bazhooli did not quite notice the lack of warmth in himself. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline passing through his blood, his heart pumping at a rate that propelled him to action above personal safety. But he was freezing cold. What he did notice was the block of barely breathing ice that was shaped like his little Veta that he carried in his arms. No matter how cold he might have been, she felt colder still against his skin.
The tiger, Myshka, was doing a truly admirable job clearing the road for him. He seemed to instinctively know exactly where they were going and what to do when they got there. The animal was probably just as waylaid by the cold as he was, probably moreso despite his larger body mass. It was a kind of love/hate relationship with Myshka. He seemed to get along fine with Vladimir, even follow some simple commands that he would issue, but only if it meant getting to or helping Elizaveta. Otherwise, he took his life in his hands just as much as any other poor soul that got that close to a territorial 500 pound kittycat. But times like this, they worked together well, their only things in common being an attachment to the Circus and a mutual love for the young Romanova.
As soon as Myshka situated himself in Veta's bed, Vladimir lay his charge next to the great beast. He level of worry increased at that point, fueled by the desperation of a lack of options. At least while he was carrying her to possible safety, he was doing something. His efforts at using the Krasnoye were seemingly ineffective against whatever afflicted her, and there was nothing else he could do. Now that his usefulness was over... Vladimir slumped into a sullen heap to sit upon the floor of Veta's tent, leaning against the central pole. The fire was lit in the tent stove, pushed closer to her bed. Any moment now, Constantin should be returning with a bed warmer they could load up with hot coals to really get that temperature up. Any moment now.
Suddenly, he sprung up from the floor, a purposeful smile on his face. "Bottles!" he cried, pointing his fingers in the air with the most grandiose of "AHA!" moments. Perhaps there was somethig useful he could do. "Ve need bottle! Glass bottle! Clay bottle! Stone, steel, full vith vater! Yes!" The intent was to place said bottles upon the tent stove, thusly making quick and simple, bed-friendly sources of replaceable heat. "HA!"
With that, he ran for the exit.
"He sent out His word and healed them, and delivered them from their destruction."
Location: Regent's Park -> Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)
The Circus seemed to be in some sort of uproar, though for what reason Mary could not tell. The sudden twitching of her young charge, Adam, followed by a eerily serious command issuing direction was noted by Mary with some wonder and concern. The last couple of days had taken her from normal (or what passed for normal for her) to the cusp of one of her greatest fears: an uprising of Soulless that threatened all of Humanity. With this in mind, she was willing to take a few things on faith. Taking things on faith was in her job description, anyway.
Mary reined her horse in the direction that Adam pointed, her heart filling with a sense of dread purpose. She was fully in the belief that the boy, through whatever window of Divinity, had been given the task of guiding her in that moment. Of course thinking logically, if someone like Mary were needed in a hurry, enough to warrant guidance from on high, it could not be good. Her talents mostly lay in rooting out and destroying threats to God's children, waging wars both quiet and overt upon the Soulless. Yes, she had to get wherever Adam was pointing.
As soon as her decision was etched upon her face in stone, Mary and Adam were greeted in extreme passing by a massive, white tiger, bounding along on its own direct path. The crowd parted, as any sensible group of persons should when an animal that dangerous moves among them. Mary noted with some satisfaction that the tiger was moving in generally the same direction that Adam pointed while having his curious episode just then. Again with satisfaction, Mary noted too that Cassius didn't react whatsoever to the massive apex predator rushing past them. Immediately afterward, what appeared to be a Russian Nun parting the distance, calling back for Vlad.
"Vlad?" she wondered aloud. "But isn't that...?" Now, while the young Apostolic's brain was focusing on the odd Russian knife thrower who gave her a ride back to St. Etheldreda's, the question she almost got finished asking was answered by that very man, hauling his human cargo as fast as he possibly could through the path that the tiger opened. He did not even notice Mary and Adam atop the splendid grey horse, foreigners within the boundaries of their Great and Most Splendid Tent City. Someone was hurt. And Adam correctly predicted where they were headed, as if Mary needed to be there.
It was a little slower moving, getting to that tent. Tent was perhaps not the most appropriate word for the temporary shelter; Silk and Canvas Palace might have been better. It was opulent as far as tents went. Fit for an Emperor, or at least an Emperor's daughter. Then it hit Mary like a gnawing, burning worry. Who was Vladimir carrying? Mary slid from Cassius and fized his reins to the nearest strong, deep pavilion stake. It was not the most appropriate place for a horse, granted, but it would keep him around until she returned and made apologies later. She took up her halberd and helped Adam down, instructing, "Stick close and stay quiet, Adam. I do not know how we will be received."
With resolve, Mary strode up to the tent with little Adam in tow. She was unsure as to what she might say, but knew that she had to meet this head on. Someone, probably someone she had come to consider a friend in a short time, needed her. She had just raised her hand to announce her presence upon the tent's canvas opening when a familiar face popped out. It was Vlad. And seemed very happy to see her. "Scary Catholic Lady! HA! Da, DA! Come in, you come in, but qvickly!" he barely allowed Mary to cross the threshold before exclaiming her presence in his native Russian, "Это страшная католическая леди! Ах, Дама Мэри Хейл, из Ватикана! Мэри - друг Веты, новая арка-могила. Мы позволим ей помочь, если сможет."1 "Everybody, out ov vay! Please, Sister-Knight, vill you pray over our Veta? Can you help?"
Mary swallowed and looked over Veta. And her tiger. It was a foregone conclusion that she would have to get within mauling range to help her, so she needed a couple of things first. She offered her main weapon to Adam, stating, "Please take this and stand to the side, Adam. Lay it down carefully if you need to, but out of the way. Thank you." and to Vladimir, "What has happened to her?"
Vladimir dropped most of his pretense, opting for quick, direct answers. "Soulless attack, or Monster. I do not know. Ink-black vith tentacles, vas invisible at first. Had two heads, froze everything it is touching or coming near. Lake became as ice. It vas trying to kill just Veta, like assassin." First the Arch Graveolase, now the Grand Duchess. Highly placed individuals. Mary thought she might be next, now that she had position, however temporary. Well, let them come. People might be ready this time. But the description of the Soulless had her at a disadvantage.
"I cannot claim to know what that was, Master Alexandrov. But I will try to help, if I can." Mary walked over to the unconscious form of Veta on her nicely appointed bed, complete with tiger. She only hoped that Myshka would recognize her as a friend, someone who was there to help his mistress. She removed her rosary from her belt and slowly brought it to Mary's forehead, holding the crucifix lightly to her freezing skin. With her other hand above Elizaveta's heart, Mary began to pray. She focused her prayer into a mental centering as she opened herself up to the Vatican trained skill of Timyne, attempting to drive the affliction from her friend.
"In nomine Patris, et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti. Loving Father, be it Your will, I beg that you shine a ray of Mercy upon your servant, Elizaveta. Remove the corruption and preserve her Soul, O Lord. Knit her flesh, that she may still serve you on Earth. Please spare this woman. Please, in your infinite wisdom and capacity for love, raise her from this affliction and put strength into her limbs. In nomine Patris, et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti.
Back at the tent opening, Vladimir was slowly backing out, mumbling quietly, "...bottlesbottlesbottles..."
1 = This is Scary Catholic Lady! Ah, Dame Mary Hale, from the Vatican! Mary is a friend to Veta, and the new Arch Graveolase. We will let her help, if she can.
Though Keystone's strike landed upon the door with odd quiet, it clattered loudly against the wall behind it. There was no hiding their presence now. They were quite overtly entering what appeared to be a cared-for dwelling, in contrast to its outside appearance. Yup, they were on the right track. "Bloody wizard lives 'ere, or I'm made of fine, fragrant cheese, I am." He looked back at Thomas, still unbelievably (and seemingly without reason) dealing with a massive stomach issue. Keystone began to actually wonder if Kyra wasn't onto something, asking him if people just threw up whenever he was around. On this particular adventure, there was a disproportionate amount of chunk blowing, and he was the cause of much of it. But this? Nope, sorry. Not today.
"Righty-o then, Tommy old boy." he began, tucking his black knuckles back away and filling his hands with his brass-and-silver ones. "Bloke what makes magic 'nuff to raise an army of dead bastards's about somewheres. If'n we're all gonna snuff it, you may as well strike a pose more dignified to die in, yeah?"
Keystone started into the tower, internally agreeing with the present assessment of the other two already inside. He hadn't expected total quiet, though. Not even a token attempt to dissuade their entry. This looked very much like a trap. If it was, he had literally just set his foot into it. As long as he and his new pals were edging toward brutal, screaming disaster, Keystone thought to take in the sights. Perhaps a clue could be gleaned from the decorations around the room; tapestries and such. But that armor... "First on, I gots me unkind 'istory with empty metal suits and the un-bloody-dead." he started in an even voice while cautiously looking over the nearest set. "Never can tell when they got a surprise for ya."
Pudding Pop. Not too horribly colorful, but Foy could not fault the woman too much. Noting the distress it brought to her to say aloud, he surmised that it was due to a lack of practice in the art of fake, flirtations conversations, or that she really did consider Foy to be a horribly distasteful man. Or both; it could very well be both. The extremely dapper fellow was fully aware that his lavish and sophisticated ways tended to put off (as he would put it) persons of the less genteel of upbringing. But Dorothy was an educated woman, possessed of a fine brain and general social ability. Foy was certain she would grasp the meat of his intentions.
He accepted her hand and gave a small, smug smile. Stepping lightly, he continued along, eyes searching for the means to get around the building as soon as possible. There was a glimmer of longing as he heard the bell over the shop door and his eyes momentarily followed the sound to a wonderful sight for the man: A Men's Apparel Shop. Now, were he to have his preference, Foy was significantly more fond of the cut and feel of a bespoke suit, though it may be forgivable to purchase off-the-rack if he could find an appropriate fit and the quality was appropriately reputed. Unfortunately, he could not explore the brands of merchandise nor speak with the tailors present in McTavish's. He had a woman to track, and pursuant to this, a back alley to enter.
As they neared an appropriate entry point, Foy leaned in to speak with Dorothy. With low tones, he queried, "If I may, Doctor, I am merely one of the players upon a stage of your choosing, following your artistic direction. Whatever are your intentions when we find this reprobate? I can play it as soft or as hard as you prefer, but I simply must know beforehand."
William Harper
Location: Prometheus - Newhope (Docks)
As it turned out, with a little forethought it would only take one trip to gather everything without giving himself a hernia in the process. He had a piece of roomy but standard luggage that featured wheels and a sturdy frame that he could pull behind himself, as he did on the Eavestown Docks back in Persephone. The new items that he had acquired were mostly to replace existing ones, so there was only a marginal increase in weight and packaging. The AKM that he had taken from the late Camilla's belongings admittedly was something completely new to him, as he did not carry a long rifle prior to his joining the new crew, but it slung across his shoulder in the ergonomic manner that it was supposed to. It was a tried and true soldier's weapon, and it carried like one.
The remaining items, a crate of preserved fruit and baked goods plus the BOX of ammunition that belonged to the lost crewmember, strapped to his case in the same manner that it had before, though now it was a little higher. Once everything was strapped down, put aside, and loaded for transport, Harper began the task of removing himself and his belongings into his new home. He gave curious nods to Atticus, Daphne, and Jahosafat as he passed them, and in fact stopped to pose a quick question to the native Farradayan Doctor on his way. "I know why I'm doing this, Dr. Moreau. I don't understand you and your friend are, though. Why?" To him, asking a question point blank like that was a serious gamble. His experience of recent years told him that questions led to conflict, and it was best to solve the dilemma on your own, else bribe someone who knew. A payoff was acceptable. A conversation was considered suspect. But he couldn't act like he was still in the Halo, as hard as some habits were to break.
He would have to get to know his new crew, at least a little. And they would have to feel that they trusted him, at least well enough to work alongside one another. Smooth things out with this mixed crew before small problems became big ones, just as long as he didn't get too comfortable. It probably wouldn't hurt for Harper to extend an olive branch to the other pilot either, he reasoned.
Location: Near 545 Corinth Rd, Newnan: In the woods. (Not far from the Coweta County Water Authority)
As soon as the truck was inside of the warehouse, James hopped out and moved toward the loading doors, intent on doing what he promised he would just as soon as he pulled his big truck indoors. It was just starting to warm up, meaning that the Dead would be more active. He didn't want to take any chances, even this early into the season. Of course, the question now became: Deal with the dead out there, or deal with the dead in here? This new wrinkle that might or might not be him actually losing his mind was, at minimum, noteworthy. It seemed that there might be something else he had in common with Ash.
The sense of cautious alarm that was slowly filling James since the three-second appearance of his (sort of) mentor took a sudden halt. The reason for this particular derailing of his emotional train was due to none other than the young lady he had ushered into Newnan, once upon a time. The twinge of panic ceased, abruptly replaced by a sudden chortle that took him by surprise.
The chortle turned into a good natured laugh. "Aight there, Miss Beatrice. You gots yo'self a deal. If I decide to do some killin' on the quick, I promise, you'll go last." Even though the crack was at his expense, it was still pretty funny. He needed a good laugh. Or whatever this was. The moment Ryan stepped back inside within conversational distance, James pulled the loading door back down and slid the locking bar across.
James hadn't witnessed Gavin's outburst, having driven the truck inside of the warehouse when it took place. He continued with their plan to assess, stockpile, and share information, helped along with a generous serving of hope that he just had a minor, stress related incident with that whole "hallucinating the scariest man to ever walk the earth" thing. "Ok, y'all. Plan was for us to get here (which we did), take an inventory of the truck an' that there boat, get us good and equipped to meet the world, then have a sit down 'bout what happens next." He looked around at the people present. After that talk, maybe the other two would be happier heading back to the relative safety of Newnan.
"I'll start with my truck."
Location: North Of Newnan (Spring & St. Clair) IN A TANK
To say that Lola was a trying woman was an understatement. She was obnoxious. She was loud. She had zero qualms with announcing her plans to vent horrid air from her rectum, comprised mainly of digestion gasses present after the breakdown of desiccated semi-permanent foodstuffs that were more preservative than actual food. Despite this, she was an honest and dedicated friend to have. Even if she was ...a bit... unrefined. Thalia had known many like that. Not quite as unique as the distinguished Kiwi of the Armored Cavalry division, of that she was dead certain.
And speaking of dead, if her belch were any indication, Thalia would be wise to sleep on top of the tank tonight. Or under it. Whatever she would come to decide then, she needed to do something about the problem upon her now. Reaching above, Thalia unlocked the turret's hatch and raised it to a quarter open position - enough so that she could raise her seat and effectively take in the air outside, even look around a bit, but not so much as to give access.
Thalia groaned with mild irritation. She didn't actually believe that Lola would intentionally make sure to launch an attack on her expressly forbidden by the Geneva Protocol. She did believe that, probably without malice, Lola would crop dust her in the night purely without thinking. It wouldn't have been the first time. This occasion would be fueled by the presently joyous to behold combination of "Chili, and Mac & Cheese... together". La Madrina have mercy on them all. Leaning way down to collect her pack again, she managed to grunt out, "...let one fly while your mouth is open next time." before she managed to hook a strap and bring it back up to her seat.
It looked like an anachronism at face value. Thalia had found the specific object of her search that morning, and pulled a new looking satellite phone from her pack. It was a kind of ritual that she did regularly, trying to contact the numbers saved in her phone. But it wasn't insanity nor stupidity that guided her. As long as the communication satellites flew in space above, as long as the phones were intact and had power, as long as the hardwired memory had the number stored, and as long as the phone was on, it was still fully possible to use them as a communication network. They might have a good number years left for the satellites, but the other factors would likely be the determining ones. Point of fact, since the world turned upside down, she had no success whatsoever except to use the device to play a few games saved to it or consult an outdated map. Things of that nature.
Perhaps they is why the hardened woman, one unaccustomed to shock and awe, announced in a truly amazed voice, "Lolz! Holy shit, Lolz - it's ringing."
Ash & Thana
Location: Building 10 (Medical Garden)
Thinking back on it, Ash had been distracted. He generally wasn't the type to leap before thinking things through, as Thana had put it. But that's precisely what he had been doing all day. Attempted discussion of civil matters sandwiched between pieces of tragedy had been throwing him off, making him glean certainty from possibility. "You're right. I've been jumping the gun today." The most obvious one that struck him was he directly told Thana that he would announce her as Agricultural Lead during the evening meal, then did so within the hour without consulting her. "Goddamnit, I owe you an apology. I've become too accustomed to telling folks the way things are, when I'm not avoiding them."
Ash removed his personal sidearm, a Detonics MXT .45 pistol, and ejected the magazine. He checked the chamber, and satisfied that it was clear, slipped the clip into the webbing of his holster, which he immediately detached from his belt. He looked at his gun for a moment, nodded, and inserted the weapon into said holster. His eyes looked back into Thana's eyes as he placed it into her outstretched hand. "I'm sorry, Thana."
Reaching out a bit more, Thana took the side arm from Ash, nodding slightly as she did. "I know," she said in an understanding voice. Taking her coat from around her waist she placed it into the folds of the fabric to conceal it and set it down for now. She didn't want to leave the medical garden carrying the leaders side arm. It would raise enough questions to why he wasn't wearing one. Having her be the one to carry it, even more.
Now that that was taken care of she let down her defenses a bit. She didn't like to be on duty when they were alone but she had had to be. If he was going crazy, he could be a danger to himself, to others. She had meant what she said, she didn't want to have to put a bullet into his skull. He was the last person on this earth that she would want to do that to but she would if it came down to it, no matter her personal feelings. Reaching out she cupped his cheeks and let out a slow breath as she pulled him closer. Her eyes gazing into his own, there was a gentle understanding in them. "Now, who do we need you to stay close to until you can get a grip on things?" she asked softly as she rested her brow against his.
Ashton had become unused to physical affection. The warm glow he felt from Thana's touch instantaneously lifted his mood, doubly so when she settled her head against his. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, barely catching the scent of her hair in the stiller air inside of the Medical Garden. For a stark second, Ash wondered if this was some rift in his armor; if this was a method that could be used to manipulate him. The idea of it, certainly, but the possibility of it now was laughable. Ludicrous. Even if it was, right then he didn't care. He had his Thana, and just the knowledge of it was an act of merciful healing. "You, Thana. I need you with me. If it happens that I need to be put down, you have an excellent sidearm there to get it done with."
Thana's lips pursed slightly as her fingers curled into his skin. "I'll stay with you but don't joke about that," she said in a firm voice. If she had to she would but it wasn't something she wanted to be made light of, dead should never be a light subject.
He felt his face warm, turning a shade of red otherwise reserved for embarrassment, but present here out of pure, pupil dilating want. It was probably not the most appropriate response at the moment, but it was honest, despite the absolute unpleasantness of the day. "Let's go home."
Leaning back slightly she couldn't help but smirk as her eyes drifted open. "As much as I would like to go home and break in a few rooms, thanks to you I have work to do," she reminded him. Sighing in a playful manner she gave him a quick teasing kiss, nipping at his bottom lip in the process. "Next time keep your mouth shut when it comes to giving out jobs ahead of time. It messes with your down time." Chuckling she popped her cap back on her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Or in this case, your up time."
True, it was highly inconvenient. But so much as Ash wanted her company right then, he could not deny the necessity of her getting her starting duties out of the way. Perhaps he would have her company still, just in a highly different manner than he had initially suggested. More outdoorsy. Significantly more attired. Additionally, if he kept seeing things that obviously weren't there, Ash could casually inquire or give it a moment to see if she would react.
"Fair enough. In that case, it looks like I'm with you. What is the business at hand?"
"That is particularly generous, Peter." said Reginald, squaring his attention with his recently returned nephew. "I daresay your father might have differing opinion of your choice of investment, considering as you have given me a "carte blanche" statement." There was the slightest hint of positivity sprung across the old man's features, to be quickly absorbed by graver considerations. "If it please you, nephew, and I would take it as a considerable favor were you to not find insult in my next statement; but if it would please you, I wish to minimize your personal expense in this endeavor." The offer was very generous and the Lord Major was glad to hear it, but he had reservations, much of which revolved around Peter maintaining his familial standing and fortune.
"Should funds come wanting from usual channels, I will write down a modest number - the most modest one that still covers expenses. Sans personals, of course. But I will call upon your assistance in this regard last. Such ventures often have unexpected expenses that can jeopardize the best of planning, you see, and I would want the bulk of your generosity available for times such as those, unless otherwise necessary." Hopefully with both his and Peter's honor intact, a sometimes difficult thing when discussing matters of personal finance, Reginald moved on to his nephew's next, and probably more important point.
"Yet concerning Vera, wholeheartedly, sir! Even for an old chauvinist like myself. This would be the instance, and she would be the woman from whom I accept my orders, of course. Naturally, excepting that we get another one wearing the Crown. Goes without saying, quite."
Location: Private Hangar in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, Mexico
True to his word, Caesar began loading their bags into the trunk of the stretch towncar as everyone else entered the vehicle cab. There weren't very many bags a they hadn't planned on being there for very long time, but among their possessions there was one case a little heavier than the others, dark and nondescript, otherwise not remarkable except for the temporary paper tag around the handle, marking it as Caesar's. This one he saved for last.
From the view inside of the limo, one might note that Caesar spent much longer than was necessary behind the open door to the trunk. There was the occasional snatch of conversation in Spanish involving the more refined voice of Benecio and the gravelly syllables of Caesar. While the discussion was brief, it was enough to surmise that they were doing more than talking about the most space efficient way to store suitcases.
Meanwhile, the partition inside the vehicle slid down a couple of inches. The rearview mirror showed a pair of sharp, feminine hazel eyes, partly obscured by a shock of dark hair which was held down by a chauffeur's cap. The owner of the eyes said nothing, seemingly waiting for some cue, but the gaze from her was unwavering and fierce. Within the next couple of minutes, Caesar and Benecio had both entered the vehicle. The doors shut, and a moment of tense quiet fell. Caesar was the one to break the silence.
"We're not going to a secure MSS facility." he began. His demeanor was difficult to read. Did the old man prefer an antiseptic series of rooms instead of a nice, luxurious hotel room? Was he feeling quite the opposite, and his growing need for comfort in his autumn years supersede the practical necessity of staying safe? Possibly being in his home turf was a thing that made him feel safer. Or it could be none of those things. Point of fact, it was most definitely not. "There is a Hacienda just outside of the city, near the mountain the Gonzalez Crypt is under. Most of La Familia is already there."
Benicio attempted to explain in more detail. "It is an estate, just outside of Monterrey. It still has a city mailing address. Most of the members of the Gonzalez Family were brought up there, and technically it is under my care now. The family will be expecting a full observation of the rites of Nuestra Dama de la Muerte."
"Not everybody in our family follows her." remarked Caesar in strong, corrective tones, as much to Cecily and Natasha as it was for Benicio.
"Correct. But she has paid particular interest in our family, Caesar. You know this better then most. And she always gets what is due her.
"Hmmm..." grunted Caesar, not willing to continue the discussion. "Ángel! Hacienda, por favor." The intense hazel eyes from the front seat disappeared as the partition rolled up, and the limousine rolled out of the hangar. The powerful Mexican sun beat down upon the vehicle, restrained from most of its fury by thick, tinted windows. From behind the glass, one could almost clearly make out an American accent enunciating a slightly put out, "Yeah, on it."
J. Keystone
Location: Mr. Burrito -> Back on the road
The tacos. Ah Lord, the tacos. When the dust finally settled on the now bleak landscape of Mr. Burrito, five people loomed tall and victorious over a mountain of individual wrappers, specially designed to serve the needs of a single folded tortilla plus savory contents, then spend the remainder of its existence clogging up a landfill. But that was a huge pile of discard paper. Impressive, really. The first official request of the Justice Branch's new arrivals had been fulfilled. Strangely, all of the hot sauce from the tables was missing upon their departure, as well. Feeling sorry for whoever had to clean up, Keystone tipped well. Company expense tab, and whatnot.
Always the forward-thinking man, Keystone was particularly happy that his office had its own bathroom. The Hub, well... If the new Tech group wasn't close already, they were about to get to know each other a lot better.
Back in the big, black Ramcharger, the big guy addressed the Techies again in a more official capacity. "Right, now, when we get back, you lot go through basic protocol, like you was talkin' on about, yeah? Make sure we're secure, put up some more firewalls or encryptions or wha'ever the arse you lot're into. Just make us water-bloody-tight. Then I'll see about gettin' Miss Gonzalez's information to ya, see what you can sort from 'er 'ardware an' intranet account." There was much passive nodding and agreeing, mostly because there was a possible Taco Coma forthcoming. And it was obvious that Keystone wasn't exactly the most computer savvy guy in the car. It wasn't a true "smile and nod" moment; they were all serious about their work, respectful of Keystone (in their own ways), and fully aware they they were brought in because they were the experts in their chosen field, and El Jefe needed people he knew were loyal.
The group continued down the streets of Justice, ever closer to Queensguard R&D and their destination therein.
"Go forward bravely. Fear nothing. Trust in God; all will be well." -Joan of Arc
Location: London Streets -> Regent's Park
Mary brushed the minuscule crumbs of their small but necessary breakfast from hers and Adam's clothing. Granted, there wasn't much. Mary herself was fastidiously kept as it mattered to taking meals, and the boy was obviously hungry enough to not let much escape him. Still, the steady, rhythmic movements of Cassius did tend have the occasion to jostle, and sometimes accidents do happen. It could be said that to take a meal from horseback, even something small, is an act showing an absence of ladylike refinement. However, Mary considered it a greater crime against propriety to allow a child to go hungry, and likewise her formal training had her on horseback for many a year, following other Papal Knights and Venator. Taking a meal thusly was second nature, so long as it was accomplished with expedience and humility.
Their journey down Oxford took them through more marketable locales, sporting row after row of plaster covered brick buildings interspersed between older wood-and-stone structures. Tall windows, many barred at street level, demonstrated the hustle and bustle of London here at the start of the Season as the middle class toured the establishments of gifted neighborhood craftsmen and artists, all looking to make a brisk bit of trade.
It was a glorious example of the enduring power and sociability present in humanity, yet Mary missed the countryside. It had been a very long time since she had been to her childhood home in Stirling, Scotland, if it could even be called that anymore. The elimination of the Hale family, or at least the male heirs of the Ennobled Knightly Hale Clan was such to have their holdings reabsorbed by surrounding estates, their assets impounded by the Crown proper, or granted to other parties for various reasons. She could not say for certain if her family's ancestral Clanhold near the border was still intact, let alone her father's castle in the middle country. Her thoughts drifted toward the trees and fields of Airthrey grounds, the still waters, the abundant nature. It seemed in direct opposition to the busy urban order of London, though living in the city came with several advantages. She would have loved to ride her horse across the countryside and take in the morning air along the loch. But she was not the daughter of a Knight of standing anymore, nor was she a Lady of a prominent House. That was not her life, halcyon as the memories were.
Perhaps the memory of her childhood was what prevented her from noticing the horse and cart barreling down the road. They were to turn right onto Portland Place, another busy road which would lead them straight into Regent's Park, but that plan was unsubtly postponed by oncoming disaster. The situation gave her pause and tested her reflexes as the cart driver, moving at a rate of speed suggesting he was trying to outrun an aggressively amorous demon made of steely, orange-hot, barbed phalluses rode through the intersection of Oxford and Portland without regard to anyone else on the roads. It was all Mary could do to rein Cassius in as he reared up, narrowly avoiding a glancing connection by the heavier vehicle. The haft of her halberd came across, holding Adam fast to her. Mary's skills as an equestrian were demonstrated admirably with the dappled grey stallion moving into a quarter turn while reared on its hind legs, both riders maintaining position atop the magnificent beast. "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come." quoted Mary, settling the horse down and turning onto Portland Place. "Matthew, 24:42. Are you quite alright, Adam?" she inquired, getting back into a respectable trot northward. "Not long now."
The more northerly route appeared to suit the disposition of the horse rather well, as Cassius settled down as only a trained warhorse does, taking up a solid canter after a block or so through a mostly open lane of city street movement. They made excellent time, passing the great public meeting space of Cavendish Square, ringed by several notable shops and townhomes for the wealthy, amid both buildings thick of wall and decorative statues of granite, marble, and semi-precious metals. Even a vast library sprang up from the side of Portland Place, signifying their coming closer to the south entrance of The Regent's Park, an internationally known place of natural respite amid the burroughs of London Metropolitan and grand venue for all manner of attractions, especially now that the Season was upon them.
The southern entrance to Regent's Park was framed by a massive ironwork gate, flung open to receive visitors of all kinds. Even Catholic Lady-Knights under Vatican orders, which was a bold statement considering social factors. Luckily for her, such exceptional access also belonged to Russian Gypsy-folk and lesser Cossack nobility from the same region. And most importantly, a Grand Duchess, one of very few that has ever been in the world, for whom she had come specifically to meet that morning.
Mary crossed the last main intersection leading into Regent's Park, a T-shaped junction of thoroughfares where Portland terminated against Marylebone Road and opened its way into the greener, sloping lands and clusters of trees that made up the Park. Almost large enough to be its own district, the Park ambled and stretched for a long, long way, encompassing an amphitheatre, the Zoological Society, a lake, horticulture nursery, and even some dwellings (though they were Crown property, one may rent or use them with special favor).
It was the goal of the armed and determined Sister Mary to locate the Russian Grand Circus and gain entry to their Tent City, to have an audience with the highest example of nobility she had personally ever been introduced to. Seeing as it was the goal of the Circus to attract people to them, they were not difficult to find. Grand tents of red and purple, muslin and canvas dotted a space not too horribly far away, though strategically placed so as not to interfere with the other locations within the park. Large cargo wagons formed a barrier on one side of the Circus while smaller vardos took up space next to residential tents in orderly rows and circles, forming their own little roads in the grass. This must be the place.
As they approached, Mary noticed that something seemed off. Hurried, possibly, though no Circus she had heard of set up shop that early. Perhaps there was a difficulty. They would likely not know until they got closer. Cassius slowed to a trot, riding into the grounds of the Circus proper with a question of location upon her lips. Now if she could just find someone familiar to her...
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)
Sister Sophia was a Nun. Nuns worked for the Church. The Church is known for tending to the sick. Ergo, Sister Sophia must know what she is talking about. At least, that's the thought process that ran through Vladimir's mind. The thumping of Veda's back and Constantin's infernal squeezing had paid off, but according to Sophia, much more was required. She mentioned blankets and torches, and to get her someplace warm. That, he could do.
At first, he gave the slightest of consideration to throwing the Grand Duchess over his shoulder and riding Myshka back into the Tent City like some manner of Rusyn Tiger Cavalry, though giving it even a nanosecond's worth of scrutiny led him to the conclusion that him committing suicide via Siberian tiger wouldn't help Veta, nor would it help himself. Ok, that was right out. Second, and probably a much better idea, would be to lift the thankfully respiring young woman into his arms and haul ass back to his Sem'ya. There was only one part of Sister Sophia's plan that didn't seem to fit:
"No! No torch. Bed varmer!" he looked over to Constantin, "Vith cold gear! Please!" It was a bit of a luxury item, but Viktor, the Ringmaster and Circus Manager was always certain to provide Elizaveta with every comfort he possibly could have, especially if it meant getting more stuff for the Circus. "Talk to Ringmaster... eh, Son!" he switched targets and called for the other Konstantin (though obviously with a "K"), "Please be getting tent stove lit in Grand Duchess's tent, da? Move the ass!"
The younger Bazhooli gave a quick showing of affirmation and began running full tilt back to the Tent City. His mission was absolute, and while he might tell someone about it very soon, it would wait until after he did as his father requested. The Great Bazhooli himself had gathered up Elizaveta into his arms, and was quite busy moving her to her large and luxurious tent back with the Sem'ya. If Sophia wanted torches after this, she could grab them on the way in easily enough.
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[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Sister Sable,
RPM,
Zman,
Shadow Dragon,
ppppppp,
Not a Sayan,
Simply Not Real,
Fetzen,
Lewascan2,
Arty Fox
