Sigil

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

@Lady Amalthea @FantasyChic
Yeah. I jumped the gun on that, owing to the counter. Add to it that I also mishandled the bit with Benaszewski's reaction checks. The post should be (and will be) scrapped. My bad. Ignore it, please.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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_{"The tempest comes out from its chamber, the cold from the driving winds."}

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)

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Give the kid a task, he takes it as a sacred mission. Mary had to admit that the child, Adam, took to his duties with extreme gusto. Perhaps even a little more than herself, when she was younger. People had accused her of being too rigid, too formal in her actions; even so much to say that "leisure" was a foreign concept to her. Well, maybe it was. With the threat of Soulless hanging above the collective heads of humanity like the sword Damocles and her people at the vanguard of this peril, there wasn't much motivation to learn more casual social niceties. Another time, another set of global circumstances, maybe. There was no time for it now, and further, she did not have inclination to encourage that in Adam.

There was a certain amount of satisfaction in the boy, though. Even though he was just playing at being a knight, he was doing so effectively in someone else's camp, and doing so to persons of importance within said camp. The kid was not easily shaken. This was a good thing. Of course, it probably helped that he was going about it in a manner that was disarmingly adorable. It brought a tiny smile to Mary's face. The smile faded back away when she realized that she gave a large, unbalancing weapon to a small child and told him to stand guard. She dearly hoped that no one would get hurt.

When Sister Sophia declared that it was safe for others to enter, Mary was not surprised to see Adam first. She waved him inside, silently bidding that he take his place next to her. As the others entered, she answered the question put before her. "I am not trained as a physician, Adam. But she is much drier now, thanks to your observations, and has a better chance at recovery. I am certain that these people will do everything in their power for their Grand Duchess."

Indeed they seemed to be doing exactly that, and with haste, if not precisely organization in the strictest sense of the word. Vladimir's own son had long vacated the tent after lighting the stove, for what ends she could not say, but that did not stop the older man himself from barging back in after Adam, clutching several earthenware bottles. The Russians obviously had a plan underway, and so Mary took a step away from the bed to provide them room to work.

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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's Park)

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Several things seemed wrong with the day so far. Let us ignore the big, black, tentacled ice monster that tried to murder his little Veta, though that was admittedly the most important event thusfar. No, Vladimir was really more referring to the host of oddballs that somehow made it into his Circus, including those in residence within the canvas structures and wagons of the Tent City. Their Firewalker was one of them, without question. Vlad had come near to pulling out sections of his own hair earlier that day during his moment of desecrating a perfectly good sword. But he did seem so eager to help. It was somewhat redeeming. Then, there was a removed cousin who, for whatever reason, was carrying around a drinking vessel with some manner of reddish-pink, sweetened urine (though he was beginning to suspect it might have been another, more practically explained fluid - although the jury was still deliberating). And lastly, here coming up to Elizaveta's tent, was a small Cockney child butchering his own native language and waving about a weapon much, much taller than himself, with a fierceness that was equal parts maddening and endearing. Or would have been, if the tiny slayer were not between himself and someone he cared about deeply who was in dire need of medicinal attentions.

Luckily, the situation was righted almost as quickly as it began. Vladimir waved a cautionary finger at Adam as the scamp disappeared back into the tent. He might have taken a swipe at the back of his head, but his arms were quite full at the moment. The finger wag would have to suffice until he could get at Adam later, if he remembered. Then again, there was Пугающая католическая девушка to consider. Even if the kid didn't know how to use that weapon, he had an idea that she would prove a sharper challenge. English women were not especially known for their combat prowess, though he had seen a couple that might answer that statement with a grin since he arrived in London.

But dipping back to Constantin, their resident firewalker and the only one to join him deep in the fog earlier; the man came bounding up to the tent carrying armloads of ...stuff... All kinds of stuff. Lots and lots and stuff. Vladimir's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, staring under quickly frizzing hair that was drying fast over the heat of his blood boiling, coursing just underneath his scalp and thudding dully in his temples.

"Боже мой!" he snapped, face tight and slightly contorted. "Constantin! Vhat hell, eh? You did get the..." No! This was not helping the situation. He shuffled the bottles to one arm as best he could given his predicament, and scrutinized the haul. From among all of the stuff he had gathered, Vladimir extracted a single brass bed warmer, extended a tense but polite word of gratitude; Спасибо, Constantin." and disappeared into the tent.

Vladimir wasted no time in depositing his bottles upon the flat top of the tent stove, hoping it would not be too long before the water inside warmed to a degree sufficient to provide an hour or so of good, solid heat for his little Veta. But to expedite the process, he opened the top of the bed warmer, and with the small iron shovel hanging from the stove deposited a good scoopful of live gledes into the vessel. He gave them a good shake and using as much care as he could, slipped the warmer underneath the thick coverings of the Grand Duchess's bed. "It will have to do, until vater heats. Vater!" The mildly unhinged Russian darted back to the stove and unstoppered each of the bottles. To leave them otherwise would have been to invite haphazard projectiles inside of the tent, that while a thoroughly amusing prank to pull in the winter months, would have been spectacularly bad that day. "Vhen steams little, cork tops. Wrap tight vith cloth and place into bed vith Veta and Kitty. Da? Two at time."

The word "da" seemed to signal that Vladimir was allowing himself to feel the cold to which he had been subjected. He looked unsteady on his feet now that the adrenaline was wearing down, and retreated from the bed, nearer to the stove. Not ordinarily a man to tire so easily, the past hour had been physically and emotionally draining. He could only imagine what Elizaveta must be going through, being in the clutches of that creature directly. Vlad could only hope that their efforts would save her life.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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Every word in the name Maria spoke slammed into Caesar's skull like a forge hammer clanging against a troublesome piece of worked steel, echoing in the larger part of his conscious brain and drowning out everything else.

Illiam. CLANG Caesar. CLANG Hannibal. CLANG Keystone. CLANG Gonzalez... CLANG

The hammer belted out a long set of painful, psychological cadence as he stood there mutely. It took him a moment to realize that the merciless hammerfall inside of his skull was his own pulse, grown to epic magnitude as he understood a few basic truths about his little girl. First off, Alicia had spent some time opening the London office of MSS. It was where they learned more of this huge Brit, about whom they knew only by reputation. She came back home for a couple of months, but continued to take short trips across the Atlantic for supplementary training, much of which involved getting their recent personnel acquisitions certified in the business aspect of their dealings. After those couple of months, she became scarce. They didn't see each other again until Seattle, a couple of months before she presented Caesar with the Justice, CA contract.

Hindsight was killing him. So many things crowding together at once inside of his thoughts, so many connections made. The most horrifying one to him was her black book of contacts. Caesar selected Keystone because he was not a model employee, he had a fearsome reputation, he was a continent and an ocean away from all of the drama they found themselves under, but mostly because he had Alicia's trust. He naturally assumed this because her black book of contacts listed his name in bold letters, with a star next to it.

Caesar would be taking a very close look at that book later.

Neither of them had said anything about the child. It occurred to him, his given last name was Gonzalez. Not Keystone. The huge son-of-a-bitch didn't know. Alicia must have kept it hidden from him as well. That Cockney prick was still going to pay for using his daughter in this way, but he didn't know that he was a father.

The gruff and bereaved man blinked and focused his attention into the here and now. He had a grandson right here, being held out for him. It was a thing he did not expect to have in this lifetime. Tenderly, Caesar held out his hands, supporting the boy and bringing him close. Bright, blue eyes and ebon hair greeted him, a sign of his obvious mixed parentage. He thought to his niece just then, technically a generation up from this boy but bearing similar features. Was this the future of the Familia Gonzalez? Time had a funny way of changing things. It didn't matter, really. Though he did hope that he and Keystone didn't disagree on important, immediate matters for him. "Liam Gonzalez." he mused in a gravelly voice. "This one is strong."

The start of his adoration for this tiny explosion waiting to happen was such that he barely noticed his daughter's casket being unloaded from the hearse on the other side of the main courtyard. At first. His grip on his new grandson remained soft and supportive, though his gaze turned steely and sad, watching his baby girl being carried into the comparatively smaller courtyard of the main house. Benecio was there, managing things as he always seemed to. Understanding washed over the old man. Liam and Angel were the future of their family; the ones who would eventually take over La Hacienda and own his company. They would one day control the family fortune Caesar spent a lifetime cutting away from the world. The baby in his arms would be like unto a prince in his own right. People would want to get to him for that reason alone. He needed to be protected at first, and trained to be a better fighter, better soldier, better businessman and better person than Caesar. Liam would need to understand his roots - all of them - and know that his people came from the dust of Mexico and the streets of London.

"You were right not to tell me, Maria. I can't tell Keystone yet, either. He needs to come down here." He thought for a second, having gone back to marveling over the tiny life in his arms. "Where was he born?"

Meanwhile, Benecio was busy moving Alicia's casket over to the empty shrine in the main house's courtyard. The moment she was set up and her casket opened, a gossamer cloth was draped over her fallen form and many hands busied themselves lighting nearby candles. A bell was rung, signalling that the Lady of the Gonzalez Line was ready to receive vigil. Slowly, people began to gather offerings and gifts, then shuffle toward the complex to pay their respects.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub

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Blissfully unaware of the happenings taking place so far away, nor the conversation that included him by a man who had done horrible things to people for far less than what he had done, Keystone set about to reorganize his schedule based around the new staff. There would have to be a bit more in the way of training sessions and overseeing grunt work on his end; it was his task to maintain the business until a suitable replacement. In this particular instance, he was very much looking forward to the demotion. It would not be far to say that the crown weighed heavily upon his brow, point of fact he was having a bit of fun making other people jump to do his bidding. Perhaps too much fun, sometimes. It was better that he turn it over to someone else before he get too comfortable. He might miss the ability to effect real change in his immediate surroundings that did not involve direct violence, no matter how much fun direct violence might be.

He checked his sat phone, curious as to why Caesar hadn't gotten back to him with a "message received" notification. Perhaps for the first time, Keystone gave thought to what must be going on down in Monterrey. He had already mentioned that he wanted to be there, but his new staff was correct: It was better that he stay where he was, holding together that which Alicia and Caesar worked hard to set up. It was their only holding in Justice, California, and the only reason why they had any authority to do anything in town that involved investigation or threat response in the first place. Maintaining this was important.

Keystone stopped what he was doing, enraptured in a single, potentially useful idea. If he could land smaller, less resource-requiring contracts elsewhere in Justice, there ran the possibility that he could generate a supporting income for their more clandestine activities that could be kept in separate books and solidify their presence in the city. Even if something (God forbid) happened with the Queensguard contract, MSS could stick around and continue its other work. Places like clubs, apartment buildings, hotels and the like came to mind. Simple contracts with existing infrastructure. Places of recent interest, what with the murders, would be ideal. Nodding to himself, Keystone began looking into his office's computer for potential locales. Hell, he might as well get in touch with Marketing and Advertising, such as it was, back at the Home Office.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Merchant Area

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Foy sighed, and hard. He slowly whispered two words in reference to something he had mentioned in passing earlier, "...pitiable indeed..." before answering Dorothy more audibly, "The small answer is no, to be mot forthright. With regret Doctor, I am afraid that I must disappoint." The erstwhile chipper behavior was beginning to melt away, and he returned his revolver to its holster. He ave another cursory look around to see if he had missed anything basic. The alleyway was fairly well maintained (in comparison to the one they found themselves in after emerging from the fetid and stale storm drain), as one behind a commercial street might be. But no matter how hard he scrutinized their surroundings, he could discern no new footfalls, nor any sign of blood. He had not actually expected blood, but it was worth a check anyway.

"If I may, madame? I am bereft of ideas as to which locale our quarry has absconded toward. I know that she is not here, though despite circumstantial matters to the contrary, I cannot speak to any certainty that she even set foot where we now place ours. Now, we could very well search that large and unpleasant refuse receptacle in hopes of turning up convincing evidence that she, in fact, was here, though the time required would give her a respectable distance more away from us. Barring that, we could force ourselves into the ladies' clothier here and extract information from its proprietors," he smiled a little too easily at that last thought, possibly alongside a touch of impromptu dentistry to bolster our point... but that would also require the investment of time, and draw attention that we would pragmatically avoid this early into our visit to Newhope."

He straightened his tie over his ruined shirt and brushed off the arms and shoulders of his soiled coat as best he could in a futile gesture of attempted cleanliness, mustered as much dignity as the situation allowed, and looked to Dorothy, "If you would allow me the honor of escorting you back to our temporary domicile, I wish to relocate my belongings someplace more permanent before it gets along in the day, and I am uncertain how much timenit shall take following a bitter and unsatisfying repast of crow."

Despite not actually being part of the crew proper (or for that matter, even being aware that they had a ship at that time), Foy felt the slightest twinge of negativity at their situation. In his mind, it was the smart call. Return to the ship, take stock of their new situation, and initiate steps to bolster their security. Perhaps Foy could garner a little extra "walking around money" by doing just that, hovering about the cargo door with his big Callahan firearm, overseeing the sanctity of whatever vessel they acquire until it was time to either review his contract or move along to the next one.

"Well, solidarity, I suppose." he said with a hint of nonchalance. Offering his arm to Dorothy, he spoke in gracious tones, "Shall we?" and motioned back out of the alley the way they came.

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus - Newhope (Docks)

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As it turns out, when you depart an Alliance vessel and your new Captain wants nothing with a molecule of Alliance association brought along afterward, there really wasn't a lot carry in. Now, personal effects were a different story. Each member of the dearly (and not so dearly) departed crews of both the Vengeance and the Retribution had their personals and sundries stored in Cargo, which meant it was moved into the holding dock, which of course meant it now had to be moved back. New ship, but when you're lugging around someone else's stuff the distinction gets a little blurry. All the same, Harper took note of what they didn't have; supplies, provisions, extra parts, and realized that they were going to be busy the next day.

Well, Harper was no stranger to hard work, that was for sure. So, grab another box. Carry another case. Load up yet another armful of things that belonged to a dead person. Vaguely, he wondered if some of their clothes would fit. He was a pretty slender guy, that Tanner might have a few things he could appropriate. He was a little curious on how he would look in a brown coat... Maybe later.

Harper had taken note of the younger pilot, Daphne, for a while now. Carefully observing from the periphery, he had been trying to gauge her reaction to a new pilot coming on board. As of yet, all he could surmise was that the Captain wasn't 100% pleased with the young lady recently, but nothing of her ability nor mindset. As his work progressed, he made it a point to reach out to her, conversationally at least.

"Ma'am? Ah, sorry. Daphne?" he started, much as a person might who was recently out of the military and was trying to readjust to casual speech, "If I might, um, how long have you been with the Captain? You seem young for this kind of work." Harper held his voice authoritative but neutral, trying not to sound judgemental; merely a detached, inquisitive party.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Medical Garden (10)

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Ash smiled, but just a little. He had heaped a lot on Thana in a very short time, and she had proven to be up to the challenge and then some. He looked upon her now, giving himself a second or two to linger over the details of her face. Like himself, this lady seemed capable of separating Work Mode from her personal life. A thing he had discovered was that her personal life, behind closed doors, was a culminating volcano of passion that one simply would not have expected if they just saw her at work. It was a lesson that Ash himself was very near to forgetting. Whatever else happened, he needed to show his appreciation for her solely for that gift. Aside from her more intimate qualities, Thana had already proven to be a valuable asset as a Lead and as his backup; it was still just her first day, officially, and she had his trust.

But speaking to official duties, Thana had requested that Ashton lead her to Agriculture Storage. He was fully aware that she had already been to the area, having announced it near the front gate after his ham-handed proclamation of her position. Ash was fully aware that she probably knew exactly where Storage was located, but like a lovestruck schoolboy who was just asked by his crush to carry her schoolbooks, he joined her just outside of the Medical Garden and, as requested, began to lead the way. "Right away, ma'am. West outside of the Inner Wall, and past our metalworks."

A streak of sorrow hit Ash for just a moment. The metal shop was largely unused due to the untimely deaths of the women who lived and worked there. It stood as a reminder that life was still fleeting, and life was still precious. "Just to the side of Crops, Thana. Can't miss it." He wanted to reach out and loop his arm in hers, as he did when walking to the reception, but forced himself to maintain his stalwart professionalism. Except for his eyes. They may betray him yet.

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Black James(!)

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Location: Near 545 Corinth Rd, Newnan: In the woods. (Not far from the Coweta County Water Authority)

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It was obvious that the conversation over the phone was stirring more than a little in the way of curiosity and emotions from everyone else in the warehouse. Leaving Newnan aside, they had a pretty good thing going here. Gas in his vehicle, moderate sized houseboat and good amount of supplies, plus whatever they had stashed in the back of his truck in the way of weapons and tools. They could live off of this for a long while. Naturally, bringing unknown persons into the mix was risky. Very risky. Possibly as risky as Gavin's intended goal. But he really wanted to take this risk. If he was right, this was the family of a very dearly departed friend of his. She needed this message, at least, before James went and got himself killed.

James addressed the young lady on the other end of the phone before getting to his people in the warehouse. "Aight, Representative. Hold please." His words to her were lightly sarcastic but delivered softly. he covered the receiver end of the phone and looked out at Gavin, Ryan, Beatrice.

"Naw, you right, Bea. Ain't a one person should make decisions fo' the group. I gotcha. This why, when we done in this here building, any y'all don't wanna be around me only gotta clear a mile an' change back to Newnan. They take you back in, too - I'm the only asshole ain't welcome. We all good?"

He took in a deep breath and blew it out. A headache was forming, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. As much as James would have loved a drink, that was not going to be the wisest idea, if they even had any, right then. Knowing Ash, though, there probably was something potent and potable around here someplace... but not for now. "Listen, some miracle done hit. Y'all never knew Lici and Caesar, right? But they helped get Newnan together. Them an' Ash an' Leann. Lotta folks still alive 'cause of them. You shoulda seen them work. That's some scary shit."

"But they ain't with us no more. I took it hard, kept shovin' it down. They dead, both. But there's this girl right now comin' down from Boston lookin' fo her family, turns out is them. She don't even know. I gotta tell her what happened and why, she deserve to know. Gavin, if'n you would please, we need to hold off that plan 'til we can get this square. You want tell them, go right ahead. Imma be on this here phone fo a while more. But just in case, those wanna leave go ahead. Those wanna stay, I'd appreciate if y'all can take stock o' what we got in the truck and what we got in the boat. Get ready, just in case."

James put his attention back to the phone, "Ok, Representative. We all good. Lemme know where you at, I'll talk you down."

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Location: North Of Newnan (Spring & St. Clair) IN A TANK

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Maybe she shouldn't have restarted the conversation by going along with Lola's little joke about "representative". The guy on the other end of the line was going along with it a little to readily. While a little annoying, she figured that someone directly wanting to cause her harm would try to be less humorous and more sickly sweet. What's more, she knew that she was going to him to hear bad news. She did not know the extent to it, but it was hands-down negative, no way around it. Her family was dead. She had braced for it, and this guy wasn't saying different. Oddly, it helped with that nagging issue of trust. Not all of it. She just knew that the man wasn't trying to tell her what she wanted to hear.

No matter what, even if everyone she loved that was anywhere near Chattanooga or Atlanta was a corpse, she still had San Antonio to check, and probably more importantly Monterrey, Mexico. The quest could continue, such as it was, just with fewer of the Gonzalez clan than she would have liked. Right now, she had to find out where this person was and see the truth of it (or lack thereof) in his eyes. If someone had to die, she was fine with that, too. Her hands got plenty dirty, even before the Outbreak.

Thalia's heart sped up. This was actually happening. Answers, and/or payback. She looked over to Lola after the Kiwi's quick talk with their passenger, and nodded. Thalia agreed, they had to get moving one direction or another real damn soon. She nodded her head and spoke into her phone.

"Spring and St. Clair, jerky. North auf a few lines auf smoke I'm assuming is Newnan." her Bostonian was flourishing. "If you try to fuck me auva, I guarantee you'll be fertilizing the entire landscape. Now do you feel me?"

A brief exchange over the phone later had Thalia speaking expectantly to her friend, Lola. She seemed a little disconnected. "South. We're going south anyway. Let's go, soon as Mugs makes up his mind."

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

Don't worry, he'll come around. Just remember, everything that has transpired did so within the last 12 hours or so. Stuff is still fresh. And the Corporal is ever the loyal subordinate. (We think.)

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

The Lord Major allowed for the oversight of protocol when Peter addressed whomever was behind the door, bidding the mystery man to enter. Not that it would matter in the grand scheme of things, but he was waiting on word back from two enlisted men on differing matters in addition to his friend from the war making himself known. Still, the slip of tongue was harmless, resulting of an anxious disposition. Reginald smiled warmly and stood up from behind his desk, ready to meet and greet the friend of his blood. If the man was alright with walking alone into an foreign military barracks, his disfigurement couldn't be all that bad. Could it? Besides, the Lord Major was a veteran of countless engagements, touring many places in the world and getting shot at in most of them. He had seen the guts and gristle of combat, noted with chilling calm the horrors that fast-moving metal can do to living flesh and bone. Buried companions, friends, and squadmates in all manner of rearranged and grotesque conditions. Peter had prepared him, and Reginald would do his absolute best to ensure that the young war hero was as comfortable as could be.

The fellow soldier politely entered the room and began to address the pair, though he looked a little surprised to see the older man present. Reginald maintained his warm smile and extended a hand across his desk to greet the former Private Benaszewski, poised to give one of his more poetic greetings on behalf of the British Empire and extend every courtesy to a representative of a political and military ally.

"Yes yes, Mr. Benaszewski. Any friend of Peter's..."

And then he saw the man's face. Well, not his face, so much as the extraordinarily offputting piece of tooled ceramic that was held on by a false pair of spectacles, with its one lidless eye glaring underneath a painted on eyebrow and over a false moustache that abruptly flipped over to a real one on the other, more fleshy side of his head. Doll's eyes. Eye, rather. The man's otherwise humble demeanor made Reginald feel quite the cad, but his initial reaction was to pull away from the unnatural look of the man's prosthetic face (his mind screamed it at him yet again, prosthetic face), to flee from the sight of it and return to kill it with fire, such was his guttural reaction.

The Lord Major was already scrambling backwards, fumbling to say something, anything except for the wordless exclamation that he wanted to, but fate took the opportunity from him. His boot snagged the roller-bearing leg of his very fine office chair, skewing his leg out behind him and to the side. The scream he had intended for his guest's appearance still issued forth, part of it at any rate, as his face descended faster than gravity alone could propel it, slamming into the top of his antique English Oak business desk with a loud, fleshy "...yaaAAHFRAP!", the furniture itself serving as a sounding board for the noise to echo slightly in the hall beyond.

Reginald rebounded from the table to a dead straight stand, trailing blood from his nose along an impossibly fast arch following the path of his very dignified (if now slightly crosseyed) head, hovering in position before gravity yanked the reins of his misfortune, tipping the Lord Major over backward. Stiff and straight as planed lumber, Reginald's body bonelessly splatted onto the floor behind his desk, where he lay for just a second, contemplating what he just witnessed before remarking on it. "By Saint Ignatius's curly crotch-beard! What the devil just transpired!" If he were lucky, it could explained it away as mere happenstance; an accident that resulted in an uncomfortable moment rather than his sudden revulsion to the man's appearance. But he was certain that George got an eyeful of his initial reaction and desire to put distance between the two of them. He felt horribly disappointed in himself. It wasn't George's fault. Reginald could have braced better, or maintained his steely Keystone resolve. But he did neither.

"If the two of you would please be as kind," he started, not moving from the floor, "...do start the conversation without me. I'm an old man, and I need to lay down for a moment. Private! I apologize." Reginald reached into his pocket and retrieved his flask of good scotch, chanced a horizontal pull from it, and placed it awkwardly onto his desk from his much lower position. "Please have a drink on me, in the interim." He felt very lucky just the that their view of one another was blocked. Reginald could not see George's prosthesis, and George could not see Reginald's shame. He did not handle that well.

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Meanwhile, back at the prison...

The good Corporal flung open the back door to the Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, looking as bubbly and accommodating as ever. His smile was one of the dutiful lackey soldier as he responded to Haakon with an overly saccharin, "Positively, positively! Indeed it is, squire, time to go back to the Barracks. Hoping our 'umble accommodations look a bit more smartly then, yes?" He waved the man into the vehicle with a crisp, "Sorry about our lack of ice, but you look as if you might could use a good snort anyhow. Have at it, at your leave." He was of course referring to the small wetbar in the back of the vehicle.

He exhibited less grace to Josephine, owing to her choice of words. Though it could be meant in a manner otherwise, she seemed to pass along an order, and her last sentence about someone else deciding to slander them hit home a touch as he believed her to mean his wonderful, compassionate commanding officer, a man to which he was intolerably loyal. Intolerably. The Corporal squinted his eyes at her in an overly dramatic manner, leaning in just a little even as he held the door open for her. "Sorry, love. Just for a moment you sounded like the Lord MAJOR!" He threw a sideways salute and waved her into the car, whispering, "Refreshments are inside, Miss."

The Corporal hopped into the front passenger's side of the car, owing to the fact that the Legal Officer had taken over the wheel and he didn't feel like squabbling in front of guests. The engine purred to life and soon they were on their way, putting the Cairo Prison behind them.

"You two didn't get the thumbscrews or the butt-spider treatment, did you? Oh, you'd remember it if you did, I'll warrant. They got ways of making people do their druthers, if they think you'd be forgot about. Fair piece you got British friends in town, long as that'll still matter."

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

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Keystone

Location: Deymins Tower

Interacting With: The Group

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Sometimes, Keystone hated being right. This was undoubtedly one of those times. As the voice radiated from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, followed by the creak of formerly inanimate metal, Keystone reflected on the fact that he mentioned this very thing might happen. While others might have taken the opportunity to look upon what might have been their impending doom with anxiety or fear, the big man had a somewhat different reaction.

"Wha'did I bloody well say? What did I say? Fongin', Bacon-damned 'ell I called it!" he seemed wearied at the whole scenario. But he did not long for death, nor was he a mere brawler as his size and demeanor might suggest. His travels had tuned him into a fine, experienced warrior; very likely this was only so because he was fortuitous enough to have survived where others had fallen. He knew a few things not to do. He also had some experience sizing up a situation like the one they were all in.

Now, his first impulse was to run over immediately to help Sana, but three solid facts stopped him. First, she was a competent brawler in her own right. Second, she already had someone backing her up: the Ranger, Kyra. Plus her wolf. But third and mostly, it was poor strategy. With the others soon to be engaged with their own opponents and backs facing one another across a central table, he had to remain where he was to prevent the two nearest him from flanking his teammates or attacking from behind. It would be two against one, but no one in this pissant border town nor anyone near it had seen Keystone at his unrestrained best. He had a lot of aggression to vent and people he needed to keep safe. His group was not going to die again, certainly not because he didn't give their enemies every scrap of what he could offer.

Keystone had faced similar enemies before, but he could not tell exactly what these things were. In that instant, he wished he was wearing his Black Knuckles still with their uncanny knack for destroying barriers, though his silvered brass ones would suffice for the meantime. He stepped forward a few paces, gathering his inner spiritual energies (the irony was not lost on him) and assuming the stance of a Shou disciple. His hands tightened into iron fists around his knuckle dusters, promising that this would not be an overly sophisticated dance more than an attempt at a utilitarian beat-down. Accepting his role; that of the cocky Pugilist, Keystone craned his neck until it popped loudly - even over the sounds of the drawing melee, and with a smile, chewed through words in his shameless underclass accent:

"Which one o'you chamberpots am I shitin' in first?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

@Lady Amalthea

Hi. Tiny matter, but I'm wanting to make a quick edit to Mary's post. She would be a little uncomfortable addressing anyone informally, especially out and about. Permission to change her dialogue?