Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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"What's going on is big, Maria." Caesar's voice was low and even, keeping the baby in his arms settled and more or less content. "M'hija got involved in something without my approval. We're still trying to figure out what it is. It mostly involves powerfully placed women in medicine, military, industry... Our contract holder in California is part of it. She might be okay, though. Complicated. Lady named Queensguard. She brought M'hija on board." A look of stress and pain rolled over his face. He tried to suppress it to finish speaking his peace; his success in doing so was only partial.

"I'm running out of people I can trust, Maria. I would close down the branch and expand somewhere else, but someone has to answer for our daughter. Someone has to answer..." Yes, someone would pay for this, if his feelings on the matter had a say. The person next to them would pay, too. And the next nearest. And so on, and so on. The lucky ones would only have fresh coating of arterial red, and the only truly safe ones would be already dead or behind him, handing over the next machete or knife or corkscrew as he cut a swath of jagged meat and bone through anyone stupid enough to get in his way.

"You know Law, Maria. And you know business. You know my business, okay? And you know me. Married or not, you birthed a Gonzalez. You are Familia, now and always. I want to give you the Justice, California branch of MSS. This baby's father is acting Director now. I need you to take over for him. Full access, full control. The fact that you don't like me very much will only help you. Don't answer now - let's see to our daughter first."

The parade of people continued into the complex from outside. They entered the main house at first, but some found their way into one or another of the other two houses and their grounds. They seemed to be of all walks of life, businesspersons and laborers, musicians, soldiers, artists. There was even a small group of masked Luchadores in attendance, each bearing gifts and deferring quiet respect to Caesar and Maria as they passed by. One thing they all had in common was a relation to the Gonzalez clan by blood or marriage. Everyone knew everyone here, everyone relied upon the person next to them. It was a huge, multigenerational family, the core of which bred some of the most interestingly calamitous people in Central America.

Meanwhile, one floor up... The door to the central room swung open the rest of the way, revealing that it was indeed their chauffeur from earlier. Intense hazel eyes look like they had been crying very recently, red rimmed and still a bit watery despite the strength of her voice. She had a large woven basket over one arm, the same hand holding a sixer of Corona. In her other hand, she clutched two plain, white candles and a book of matches.

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, before I begin, are either of you fucking Caesar? It's just like him to... Wait, sorry. Not my business. Sorry. Umm, yeah. Dad wanted me to give you these," she held the candles out to either of them, continuing, "If you can't tell from the accent, I'm from the States. These big family gatherings sacred the hell out of me at first. I mean, our Matron is the folk saint of Death, for Christ's sake. Most normal people would be scared shitless to come on this property. Hell, I'm surprised no one in the city warned you about us. Oh!"

The exclamation was due to her suddenly remembering that she had a whole other armload of stuff to drop off. She set the candles on the table nearby, and additionally dropped off the beer and basket. From inside the woven carrier, she pulled a stack of steaming, soft shell tortillas and a tupperware container of what appeared to be shredded meat. "Carnitas, if you guys are interested. Corona's yours too. Other shit in the common room, full bar, San Pellegrino, sparkling flat, fruity, blah blah blah... Look, here's the deal: Whenever you two are up for it, it would do the Family good to see you pay respects to Alicia. Really simple. Take one of these candles downstairs, light it off of one of the candles in the courtyard, and find a quiet spot to tack it down. They'll be down there all night, at least."

A word of warning, "There are four candles making a rectangle around her body. Don't step inside of it. It's disrespectful." followed by an almost cheerful, "The kitchens and firepits on the grounds are going to be churning out food by the shit-ton. We gotta feed the living. NOW, if you've got any questions about us or what's going to happen next, you'll have to do it in the other room. I'm about to find a bottle of Mescal and dive for that fucking worm. Could get ugly. You with me?" The young woman began backing out of the bedroom and into the main area. "Hmm?"

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub

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On hold. Hold sucked, but at least the music was okay. MSS was pretty good about that. It helped that the original music was picked out by Caesar's family and some of his original employees. While it was an interesting bit of happenstance, listening to the Rolling Stones belt out "Paint It Black" while sitting behind a desk twiddling his thumbs, it was becoming tedious. Kestone knew what they were doing, too. They were verifying that he was the actual Acting Director of the Justice, CA branch before releasing anything sensitive to him. Hopefully, this would only have to happen once.

The Tech crew, meanwhile, were making themselves busy digging into the odd and ends of their local network, making the odd comment about antiquated passwords and chuckling at the search histories of people who were supposed to be on shift. The quieter one, Whitmore, raised his hand high above his terminal, which was responded to by the tall lady, Vinters. She immediately scooped up an energy beverage from her pack and hurled it across their setup, sailing at an almost perfect spiral until it nailed the palm of his hand. The barely had to stop typing. Other employees craned their necks to observe the curious knot of people in what they assumed was their workspace, until the Party of Four from Seattle basically just made it theirs. The seniormost one, Ibanez, addressed the onlookers.

"How many of you are on monitors? Yeah, eyes back on them. Let me know if you get a flicker or static. I'm going to try something."

Back in his office, Keystone looked positively bored. Hold still sucked, no matter what music.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Agriculture: Storage (West Side between Inner and Outer Wall)

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Tomatoes, yes. Those damned tomatoes had been haranguing him for the past few minutes, delaying Ash from the things he wanted to do, which in turn was delaying him from the work he needed to do. Still, this woman held her form close, and Ash could feel his will being sapped from him as he momentarily lost himself in her touch, the feel of her pressing against him. This woman had to be an angel. There was no getting around it. An angel sent from heaven to both comfort and tease the emotionally beleaguered Captain, giving him just enough of her blissful attention to keep him going, and yet maintaining a tactical professionalism that kept him focused when necessary. Ash had almost completely forgotten about the sudden, unprecedented hallucination from earlier, but just almost. It was a worry. Lucky for him, Thana seemed to divert a lot of his worry with plans for the immediate future. Already she was looking out for him and this community. Of course he was being directed. It's what a good leader does in times of crisis, keep people working toward a goal. Ash was impressed, even knowing he was the one being tasked.

Obviously, she had additional motivation to get a good piece of work out of him, which he wholeheartedly embraced. The words that Thana used, "clean ourselves up", brought about a dulcet wave of memory from the previous night. Images of cascading warm water, the scent of bath soap mingling with more primal, urgent sensations. Then of course, she had to go and use logic on him. "You seem to be right a lot, Thana." he whispered, one knee almost buckling as her teeth found his earlobe. He felt a distinct pang of disappointment when she pulled away from him, a sensation of relative cold where she used to be, both physically and emotionally. "Can't clean what isn't dirty." He could see a glimmer in Thana's eyes, one that echoed the pounding in his chest.

Ash noted the stack of bricks that Thana pointed out. He sighed, smiling gently, and began to take a sidestep in the direction of his task, when he saw something that forced a sudden stop. His taskmaster had turned her back to him, bending over to recover a bucket from nearby. He now had a decision to make. Ash recalled something that she had said, behind closed doors. Thana had said, very directly, that outside of his house they were totally professional. Only back inside were, as she put it, "all bets were off". To indulge a childish grab would be selfish, not to mention something that could have gotten him court martialed in his previous life. He sighed again, "You have no intention of making this easy, do you?" He nodded, regarding that wonderful woman. "Bricks it is, ma'am. But that other conversation we were having?" he said, referring to their more personal interactions just a moment past, "We have continue that later."

It was probably the only time that Ash had ever enjoyed moving bricks.

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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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James gave a quick smile as Beatrice joined him in the truck. Though the details were fuzzy concerning exactly what was going down, the quick and dirty basics were out there, all in the open. "Miss Bea, I'm glad you decided to come with. You ain't gotta do this thing with Eden, now, hear me? As I understand, it's best you eat a bullet 'fore you let them catch you alive. Keep it in mind. Understand, I mean to do dark things. More, anyway. I'm hopin' you don't think less of me after."

The misgivings of Gavin and his lack of extremely long-range hardware struck James as somewhat coincidental, as was Ryan's somewhat transparent advice to provide precisely that sort of hardware and set Gavin to the task. Truth was, the talented blackneck had already considered this as a possibility. There were a couple of vantage points where one might set up; windows or accessible roofs from which to fire, or the copse of trees that hid the warehouse from the main road, even in the winter. Perhaps the trees would be the best position, but it would really have to be up to whomever took the role of Sniper. These days, if you were going to snipe, you needed a spotter. Not to select targets and pick degrees on an imaginary grid, but to make sure the Walkers didn't sneak up and take to gnawing on you while you had some poor or deserving bastard in your sights. But hey, the former convict was correct. Throw the man a bone. They were all a team now. They had to be.

"You on point, Irish." he craned his head over to Gavin, "Hey there, Tex! I don't know 'bout no M25 SwS, but I got Alicia's old M24 in back of this here truck, if'n you wanna give this meet n' greet a little insurance."

Though the full accounting of what they did or did not have had not reached his ears yet, James did know a few things that he left the place with, personally. They were kind enough to let him keep his bug-out bag, which contained clothes, MREs, first aid kit, a knife and a machete (though he was more of a axe man, himself), poncho, water and extra collapsible jugs. He had the necklace that Kris had given him, and the box of assorted medical goodies provided by Niesha. While in is house, he had shuffled off to one of his escorts a few sundries. And of course, while kicking around for that satphone in the back of the truck, he located both it and his bow (with a fair number of arrows), plus his massive Barret anti-materiel rifle. James had tools and duct tape back there, things he came into Newnan with, but he had no accounting of anything else Jim put back there, nor the personal belongings of his new cohorts.

He was aware of some of the items in the houseboat, but he was not the only one to stock it over time. Along with the other watercraft at Newnan's disposal, thing was largely forgotten. Only he and Ash remained of the original group that put the stuff there, or even set up this little oasis. It would have been nice to have gotten permission to utilize the other boats that Newnan had claimed. The thought did cross his mind to set up a little flotilla in some nearby water source. Maybe not the lakes they were right next to, but close enough that his truck or any other towing vehicle they could scrape up wouldn't burn off the entirety of their precious gasoline trying to get there. Hell, if they could put down Eden, anyway. Plans for the future would have to be put on hold. James didn't have a future yet.

There were other stores, one in particular, if Newnan absolutely needed it. Of course, it would have been of better help if they had a pilot... Better, not necessary.

Introspective thought about things that might be was not helping. They had a meet to get to, and in very little time. "Aight, last call 'fore this train heads out, y'all. Last one get the gate, I'm outta here. Mr. Gavin, sir! Rifle's in back. Pick you out a comfy spot when we get closer, if'n you've got a mind to." James started up the truck, eager to get a move on.

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Location: Closer to The Meet - IN A TANK

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The directions were simple. Simple enough, at any rate. The past couple of minutes after Thalia's phone conversation had given her precious time to slow her heart rate and begin thinking like a survivor again. She relayed the turns necessary (or one major turn, really) to Lola in near monotone, thinking mainly about questions she wanted to ask to confirm that this guy was on the level, occasionally checking the optics in the turret to try and pick a fallback in case things got ugly. Naturally, that assumed that things got ugly and she was still alive. The bring alive bit was important primarily because she was going to be the most exposed in this little gathering. She had to be. This was her mission and she needed to take point; nothing else would do.

It generally went against her survival strategy, being vocal and in the open. She was more of a "quiet and to the side" kind of girl. It had worked very well for her so far. This was a highly personal affair and family honor demanded that she be front and center for it, even if she was the last of her family. Still, she didn't know that. Strongly suspected. Braced for. Accepted. And there was still hope in Texas and Mexico, certainly, though Thalia had no idea what it looked like out that way.

"Thanks there, Lolz. I'm going to have to make this up soon, yah? Okay, road's about to end. Hang yourself a left coming up, and keep this big, steel baby headed south. Lemme know when you pass a highway and come to a school." She was back in control of herself fully. A little anxiety could be felt in her chest, which she tried to push down. This was nothing more than an initial meeting with people who may or may not have credible information that, if accurate, would alter the parameters of her search. "Hey, Lola? If these people wind up being decent, let's not scare them off right away. They might know other stuff." Knowledge is key to survival, both Before and now. If they weren't decent people, well, it might not go so well for them.

🦄 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

Another look of shock and horror overtook the venerable Lord Major, one that could only have come from a mangled, roughshod order of that age-old Elixir of the Gods, the right and proper balm for every rancid, odiously negative thing which may afflict a citizen of the British Empire. Reginald couldn't believe his ears. Certainly, the young, disfigured man was not talking about The Tea... Oh but he was. The discussion was, in its own way, just as unsettling as George's initial appearance in Reginald's eyes. His face grew surprised at first, then a rumbling, burbling anger began to well up in his brain if but for a second. The thought of Tea being intentionally served cold and sugared. It was just undignified. It was un-British. It was un...

Then he noticed a hint of smile from his guest. "Oh, you are a villain, Mr. Benaszewski!" exclaimed the Lord Major, beginning to chortle. "You, sir... Oh yes, indeed." He picked up and rang a bell on the edge of his desk. A steward opened the door, silently waiting for his orders. "Tea service, my good sir! It is a bit early, but tea service nonetheless! Earl Grey, if you would please, and make sure we have plenty of lemon for Mr. Benaszewski. Thank you so much. But quickly now! We have a guest."

"Very good, Lord Major." he responded. "You have an NCO waiting to report concerning the Cairo Prison assignment."

"Yes, yes; excellent. Please show him in." Reginald looked to Peter and George, "My apologies, this report should wrap up an incident from last night, from the Crown's perspective. Just a moment's indulgence, if you would."

The doorway was soon filled by the vigorous presence of the Corporal, finally back from escorting the starlet and reporter to and from the Prison. The Lord Major was anxious to hear the final words on the matter, file them away, and move past this incident with a touch of leverage to ensure that their agreement as gentleman and ladies all was maintained. The Corporal set a foot inside of the office, snapped raptly to attention, and glanced (for a mere fraction of a second) at Peter and George.

George.

Denial smacked him at first. He attempted valiantly to relay his report, even so far as to croak out the first couple of syllables of "Yes, Lord MA..." before his voice crackled into a draining shriek and the suddenly stark-pale Corporal darted from the room, his banshee-esque klaxon sounding out into the lobby and beyond.

Nonplussed, Reginald looked to his nephew and George, casually stating, "See? A moment's indulgence. Now, were were we?"

🦄 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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A kind smile greeted Adam when he returned Mary's polearm. He was very thoughtful, and proving to be highly intuitive. She accepted her Audist weapon politely but otherwise stayed back, allowing the people of the Circus to take care of their own. Mary's own abilities (one in particular), might prove beneficial if more mundane efforts were unsuccessful. She had attempted before with little success. It was understandable, Elizaveta was still being chilled to the bone when Mary invoked the skill of Timyne, a thing which was trying at the best of times and requiring an act of divinity at the worst. Unaware of anything else that she could do at that time, she simply stood ready to defend, heal, or offer service to the Grand Duchess.

Then Adam did said something strange. With hesitation, he called Mary's attention to Sister Sophia, who was giving divine supplication in her native tongue. The prayers, or variations of them from denomination to denomination, always had intonations of power to Mary. Even though no ethereal gift brought about by Training flowed from her through Sophia's words and she did not understand Russian, it rose and fell with potency; the words of the true and faithful.

In hushed voice so as not to interrupt neither the attention paid to Elizaveta nor Sister Sophia's words, Mary responded to her little ward, "It is a lovely language, is it not? I am afraid Russian is not a language I know... Oh? You mean pray? Yes, I can certainly teach you this." Mary took a knee next to Adam and continued, "This is one I sometimes use as a focus when the Lord works a Healing through me... but first, you need to open your mind and heart to God, with trust and humility. Take a breath if you need to; for many it helps to bow your head and place your hands together in front of you." She demonstrated briefly to the boy a basic supplicant's pose.

"Excellent. Now, place your thoughts on Elizaveta and concentrate on love and warmth. Giving. Hope. Open your heart to the Lord and speak. Match my words. Ready?" Mary began, speaking quietly but clearly:

"May you be wrapped up in God's love,
Found deep in His everlasting wings,
Carried and kept, safe and cherished.

Mary paused the prayer purely for instructional purposes, speaking quickly and quietly. "Speak your intent with feeling; put yourself into it, Adam."

"May the healing power of Christ
Breathe across your being now. Amen.

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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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Vladimir had hope to see immediate change in Veta's condition, with the administrations of two Sisters, and one Trained at that. He had expected more from himself, possibly for the same reason. Perhaps it was too much to ask that, after such an attack that she had to endure she spring awake and wide-eyed, ready to meet the day with smiles and a healthy appetite. His own condition wasn't great, and he had less to deal with. Far less. The others in the tent seemed to have adopted a more "wait and see" tactic. It made sense. Recovering from exposure ordinarily took a bit of time. Perhaps that was exactly what was needed. He just didn't want to to nothing in the meantime.

The earthenware vessels of water were going to require a few minutes on the stove to heat up appropriately. Vlad could tend to his own needs in that time. He would help no one as a sick and immobile Great Bazhooli, oh no. That simply would not do at all. With teeth that began to chatter, Vladimir weakly (for him) addressed the persons still in the tent.

"You vill excuse; I am needing to be varm and dry, too. Veta is good, vill return in minutes. Please excuse." He did not address anyone in particular, merely extending his words to whomever would hear before pushing himself off of the center pole of the Grand Duchess's tent and staggering out into the daylight. While an impressive village of canvas and wood, it was not exactly a major metropolitan area. Locating his own lodging was a very simple affair of a few meters. He came close to stopping while en route thanks to a warm and drawing cook-fire, but he knew he had to continue. Just a small investment of time otherwise, and he could tend to his Elizaveta from a stronger position. That was motivation enough.

Inside of his tent, Vladimir peeled his still-wet clothing from his person and unceremoniously flopped them down onto the ground. There was sufficient cover separating his feet and the actual grass and earth of Regent's Park, and it was a good thing too. He had no desire to have even the appearance of being exposed to the elements. Even in London. Even in the summer. He had to make this fast - he had more important people to tend to than himself. Well, one more important person than himself. The present incarnation of The Great Bazhooli saw hurriedly pulled himself into simple undergarments and black, loose-fitting pants, over which he donned fashionable and functional high black boots. He buckled on a familiar belt and, upon checking the buckle for ease of draw, revealed it to actually be a brace of push-daggers. Following this he buttoned on a black shirt with close pinstriping, making it an interesting debate as to whether is was indeed black shirt or a grey one from a distance. The leather cuffs on his wrists were changed out for larger, more elaborate ones, lightly adorned with metal studding and wax thread stitches. He threw on one of his near trademarkable high-collared red waistcoats and slipped a filigreed red bandana over his head, followed by his leather banded top hat. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, Vladimir resupplied himself with many, many sharp things. From his boots to his lapels, including all of the ordinary spots a regular guy would keep a knife, Vlad armed up.

Briefly, he considered readying his long gun owing to the situation, but thought better of it. He had more important things to attend. Likewise, the more formal attention to his face and hair would have to wait. Tossing his wet clothes into a temporary hamper, Vladimir confidently paced his way back to Elizaveta's tent. The water should be getting up in temperature. In a couple more minutes, he could begin ministering to her needs for warmth, giant tiger and supplicating nuns aside. In preparation, he placed a few more pieces of wood into Veta's tent stove, and checked his bottles. Not just yet. But soon.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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The baby who bore Caesar's surname had made it very apparent by the solid handful of his grandfather's hair that he wasn't going anywhere. The old man, despite fresh grief over his daughter, found bittersweet joy in the little bundle of potential ouch that his family called Liam. Alicia had planned this well, from what Maria had told him, albeit behind his back. The citizenship status was a nice trick, too, guaranteeing that the child had easy access to three major nations and whichever countries shared habitation rights with them; the United Kingdom connection would be especially useful in this regard. His face took on a determined aspect as he looked to the baby, then back up to Maria. "Yes, M'hija was smart. She got that from you." It was true; though Alicia was a stone solid badass, she was talented in thinking her way out of situations that Caesar would have merely stabbed his way through. He was stealthy, but very unsubtle. "Maria, I need your help." He wasn't ordering, nor was he begging, but the plea was straightforward and unmistakable - mostly because Caesar Hannibal Gonzalez does not ask for help, ever.

In the courtyard of the main house, Benecio stood beside the open casket. He pulled a candle from his jacket pocket and lit it with an engraved, silver Zippo. The venerable priest allowed the first melted wax to drip drip drip upon a small, shallow dish, and then set it down upon the cobblestone-covered ground to one corner of the shrine. He repeated the process three more times, forming a rectangle of floor level illumination. It was as of yet still bright, broad daylight, but from the nearby crate of fine wax candles, this ritual looked to be scheduled for many hours.

The people that were previously viewed in tents, campers, and RVs outside the walls of the complex were slowly, respectfully filing in past Caesar and Maria, offering nods of respect their way. So much as they showed esteem to the two of them, the crowd wasn't specifically here for them. One by one they entered the main house's courtyard, dropping off gifts of jewelry, various fruits, bread, and token amounts of money. Dozens upon dozens of them entered to view Alicia's body, men, women, and children all, mostly keeping respectfully quiet but with a few breaches of etiquette from the youngest of them. The crowd left their offerings to the deceased and to the family, each lit a candle, and settled in quietly on low chairs, benches, and cushions upon the ground. Never once in this time did they step within the confines of the four candles around Alicia.

Meanwhile, one floor up... A knock sounded at the door. It was not the main exterior door, but the interior leading to the common room. It was still slightly open from earlier, and the person on the other side could be partially seen through the aperture between the door and its frame in the form of torn jeans and a black leather jacket. A voice floated in from the other room, feminine, brash, and sounding very much like the "chauffeur" from earlier.

"Hey, you two decent? Dad wanted me to drop some stuff off for you, answer some questions, and to try not to swear too mothershitting much while I do it." In a sarcastic tone, she followed up with, "Oops, my bad."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub

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Keystone jumped online and checked the intended arrival time for a very specific plane arriving in Justice later that evening. It was the same time as it always was scheduled, just as it was the last time he checked. The plane was still in the air, no delays. It was a little quieter in his office than he would have liked, and busy work wasn't his thing. Nevertheless, he really didn't have much else to do except for waiting to get reports back from the Tech crew and general staff. It could be worse, thinking about it. He could be swamped with uselessly repetitive paperwork. Wait, no; he had people for that.

Seeing as he had little to do directly except for making the occasional command decision and let the business underlings handle the business stuff, Keystone got on his phone, placing a call to the main office in Chattanooga. "Um, yeah. I'm needin' you to put my call through to Legal, right? ...bloody piss-swillin' 'ell you mean, "Does I got authorization", eh? I'l reach through this bloody phone and smack some man into ya, less you transfer the line to Legal, get me? YEAH. Director. Justice, Calisoddingfornia, ya nance! Thank you! ...circus act, this is..." The reluctant Interim Director Keystone sat on hold for a little longer than he would have liked but did get an actual person from the main Legal Department on the line. "Hey, how'saboutya, then? Need to speak with someone 'bout the legalities of gettin' small startups, diff'rences in the law from HQ to Cali, y'understand? Also, the guidelines on a branch Director contractin' new clients with existin' businesses. Yeah, I'll wait."

At least these guys didn't give him the run-around. Yet.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Merchant Area -> Newhope Docks

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At first, Foy was surprised that Dorothy deigned to give over her arm, echoing his sentiment of Solidarity. He had the distinct impression that the authoritative Browncoat found him to be of a rather oily, unpleasant sort, despite his own high opinion of his culture and sophistication. It was a burden sometimes, being him. But someone had to shoulder it.

Arm in arm, the well-dressed (if slightly unkempt) Farradayan walked the two of them back out of the alleyway and up the main thoroughfare proper, angling in the direction of the Docks. He scanned the signs along the walkways until he found the appropriate directions. Although Foy very likely could have returned the way they came to the Merchants' Area, he had a burning preference to remain above ground this time. Overland travel was preferable to the storm drains of Newhope, particularly as he had just acquired a rather dashing pair of brogued Oxfords he would just as soon not lose in the same manner as his second-favorite pair of Madisons, just earlier. As the pair walked, Foy engaged Dorothy in light conversation, as was his wont. "Unreservedly, madame. Solidarity. We have engaged in uncontracted extra-curriculars that, sadly, have not yielded the desired outcome. So much as it is not foremost within my character to one I am not bound to by paper agreement, indeed honesty is, as they say, the best policy."

Upon seeing a distinct opening in the foot traffic nearing the Docks, Foy raised his free hand as if hailing a taxicab or trying to flag down someone he knew. he intoned to Dorothy, "At the trot, Doctor." as he increased his pace to a jog, hoping to cover more ground as inconspicuously as possible. "We each went to great length and the best of our ability to locate our unwanted guest, engaging in sewer-crawling, bribery, cautious scouting, and the like, and still came up negatively. The young lady's location is a mystery, and so priority must shunt toward the defensive. It is the only prudent response."

The jog slowed to a mere hurried walk as they entered the more confining terrain of the Docks, watching row after row of arriving, departing, and held-over vessels as they passed by, eager to return to the Retribution. Foy found that he had a distinct feeling of uncertainty. Where to go from here? What to do? The Alliance still owed him a little money on his contract, which he supposed would eventually be cycled into the family account by and by, but that wasn't the biggest issue for him. He may have to lay low for a time, at least as much as was appropriate to avoid suspicion. Simultaneously, he needed to either get home, or arrange for the handling of his legitimate business affairs in the interim. He then recalled the suggestion from the Browncoat Captain, Anisa, that if one needed to send a message off-world, they should run it through Harper. Apparently, the Central Planets' favorite son had some area of specialization that would make it more appealing than sending a public broadcast across the Cortex. Very well then. Secure belongings, talk to Harper.

Foy slowed to a casual, almost stunned walk as they approached their docking space of origin. Something was off. Very, very off. The sizeable and mighty Alliance Patrol Vessel was replaced by a smaller ship, unmistakable as a more contemporary version of a Firefly vessel. Civilian, less eyebrow-raising, but not quite as familiar to his professional experience. "Oh heavens, I do hope we have the right place..."

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus - Newhope (Docks)

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Harper regarded Daphne with a questioning look. Apparently, his choice of words to the younger pilot were enough to put her on the defensive, else she had a general personality that geared toward the sarcastic. Or, she was testing him somehow. Harper supposed that some form of muted hostility was a foregone conclusion, considering the nature of his present station within the crew. All the same, responding along similar lines would be counterproductive. He was going to be around for at least two years. There was no sense in making enemies now.

His posture stiffened, feet coming slightly more apart as he adopted a more professional, "parade rest" stance. "You're right, ma'am. I'm not a twenty anymore. I prefer to think that I traded naivety for experience." That would be an understatement, thinking back on his worldly experiences in recent years. Harper suppressed a shudder, instead offering a smile to Daphne. "I don't think my best years are behind me just yet. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a last sweep of Cargo." A quick nod of the head and he stepped smartly away, down to the main Cargo doors.

In truth, he wanted a moment to himself in a place with actual wind ruffling his hair. Even though there were people milling about on the docks around him, he could partially count it as alone, owing to the anonymity of the crowd. No one seemed to care who he was nor what he as doing out there, which was just fine to him. Naturally, he couldn't stay for long before his more practical sensibilities took over. Survival instincts, quite possibly. It was a short moment that he gave himself before the thought of a stranger being on board the Cargo deck of the Retribution, and their unknown motives, nagged at him. It was probably best to pull back for a while, get some work done on the ship while the incident cooled down.

As he was turning to retreat farther into Prometheus, a distinct bowler cap caught his eye. The Gentleman, Mr. Foy was returning, oddly arm in arm with his new Executive Officer, or the civilian analog thereof. Harper cleared his throat, calling back into the ship for whomever could hear him, "They're back! Dorothy and Foy, they're back!" Somehow, he had a feeling that the interesting part of the day was just about to begin.

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

@Lady Amalthea

Quick question: How many posting rounds until Dorothy and Foy get back to the ship from the Merchant Area, assuming a brisk overland walk/light jog?

🦄 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

Still laying supine upon the floor of his office, Reginald sighed. He could feel a warm rivulet of blood slowly descending the side of his face, courtesy of his very dignified nose making forcible contact upon his grandiose English Oak desk, thanks to his own lack of propriety. He had even braced for it, and failed miserably to hold his demeanor together for the sake of receiving a visitor, and good friend of Peter's to boot.

It was not the fault of the horribly disfigured man. As an Officer of the British Military, one of experience and renown, Reginald should have been able to handle this as a trifle of an undertaking. He had seen men hurt and shattered in the line of duty to the Crown, but it was generally during the fight or just after, when the blood was still hot and one expected to see carnage. The painful, wet messiness of battle was what the Lord Major had witnessed. Not the effects of it years later, and certainly not the actions taken to (ironically) normalize the excessively afflicted.

The Lord Major reached for a pocket square, dabbing the blood away from his face before it reached his ear and/or threatened to stain his clean, pressed collar. Then gingerly, he inspected his nose. The level of pain that his nerves reported back was not on par with that expected of a bone break. He should know; Reginald had been in more than his share of brawls and less-than-gentlemanly altercations in his long and varied history. A busted nose every now and again was part of the territory. Luckily, this was not the break he had been fearing. A moment of pressure in the right spot would have the flow of crimson stymied in no time.

Immediately after that quiet moment, an aged but still strong hand rose from behind the centrally positioned desk and quietly clamped onto the side, pulling along the ascending Lord Major. "Yes, deadly tea, quite..." he murmured quietly, appearing to agree with the assessment of his guest. He then appropriated a look of revulsion; this time not for George, but for himself and and dishonest road with which he began the conversation. "No. Heavens no. Sir, I owe you a great apology. While the unfortunate fall from which I have just recovered did happen quite by accident, it would not have were I to have maintained the fortitude and worldly understanding demanded of my family and my position, let alone the basic compassion that any human being should exhibit. I have acted woefully, Mr. Benaszewski, and I apologize. If you might be able to forgive my potentially continuing failings as I acclimate to your presence, I shall remain at your service in any way that is reasonably appropriate."

Reginald held out his hand to George again, this time more steady on his feet. "Perhaps we ought to start again, sir. I am the Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone of His Majesty's Royal Military, Commanding Officer of the Qasr El Nil Barracks and Airfield, representative of the Crown here in Cairo. Perhaps we might renew our discourse with a spot of tea? Or perhaps something stronger, if it is to your liking?"

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The ride from the Prison to the Barracks went relatively smoothly, except for the occasional hold up with traffic. The legal officer behind the wheel said nothing for the longest time, while the Corporal made some offhanded mention about the waning influence of the British Military here in Cairo. "Oh, we still got a big stick 'ere in Egypt, mind ya, but its not like before, you see. Social change on the winds, it is."

Nearing the Museum very close to their destination, the number of stray or otherwise present felines seemed to multiply, with many milling about or perched everywhere there was room to do so, almost as if waiting for something. The soldiery was uncertain as to whether it was the immediate cause for the detour, though Legal made mention of it in a derisive manner, leaning over to the passenger's seat, "Looks like the derelicts will be eating good tonight, eh Corporal?"

"Oh, no sir!" he retorted. "We loves the cats around here, smell notwithstanding when you get a group of 'em in one spot. Chase the rats away, they does; keeps all sorts of nastiness like the Pox at bay. Egypt don't need more plagues, I'll wager."

As they finally made their way to the main gate of the Barracks, the two garrisoned soldiers ensured a smooth transition inside. Once the gates closed behind them, the Corporal spoke up again. "Right then! I'm going to go check in with the Lord MAJOR! I advise you lot do the same once you're all freshened up and whatnot. Rooms from last night been touched up, or should o' been by now. Good day to ya!"

With that, the Corporal began jogging off to return to his duties, leaving the Legal officer to replace the car in the Motor Pool and the two passengers to fend for themselves.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Agriculture: Storage (West Side between Inner and Outer Wall)

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Ashton cleared his throat and focused his eyes cold and forward in response to Thana's observation of him. Yes, he was smitten. All hell was pouring in from many sides, but in the absence of pressing duties elsewhere the Captain's thoughts were on the woman with him. "Yes ma'am. Tomato crop - on it." His voice was serious, but the timing was more conclusive to humor. As soon as they were clear of the direct sight of the sentry manning the inner wall, he shot Thana a quiet smirk, which immediately solidified into his usual stoic demeanor.

It was a newish experience for Ash, having to suppress positive feelings from his face. If not new, then it was a mucscle that he had not flexed in quite some time. But old habits die hard, and it was getting a little easier to keep the bliss from radiating too brightly from himself. He still felt the pang of loss; this did not do away with it. He would miss Sally, her council and sense of humor. He would miss James, too. He kept Newnan fed and almost self-sufficient, not to mention he was he best friend Ash had. Their loss, be it death or exile, weighed upon the man. But Ash had realized that despair and discipline did not have to shadow every aspect of himself. He could live, too. He hoped he could, anyway.

The Agricultural Storage building was everything its name promised. It stored agricultural tools and supplies like a champ, sealing it in with four walls, a roof, and a floor of some renown, capable of supporting large amounts of weighty objects as only a proper floor can. That was to say: The building was unremarkable. It did contain what Thana needed, and now that she was inside of the storage building, it also contained what Ash needed. Then the woman surprised him. As soon as they were done giving a cursory glance at the supplies inside, including a lovely wheelbarrow, she made a highly suggestive set of choices. Between helping her gather supplies and shutting the door for a private moment with her, Ash chose the only sensible one.

"Outstanding." he said genuinely. As the door swung closed, Ash was already on his way over to Thana. He paused for a half second as his face neared hers to gently cup her cheek in one hand and whisper, "But can't I do both?" Traces of his rural Virginian accent flared in his speech, cut off by the urgent pressing of his lips to hers. He gently teased her lower lip with his teeth, holding firm and slowly pulling away, simply enraptured by the feel of her. "I'm going to be honest with you, Thana. I really don't give a goddamn about the tomatoes right now."

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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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James was smart enough to know that, under normal circumstances, this wasn't the right call. Hell, he was probably smart enough to realize that even under optimum circumstances, it probably still wasn't the right call. But too many coincidences popped up for this to be some elaborate setup by a hostile third party looking to kill them and take their belongings. And if it was, well... there weren't many things that could withstand a shot from his Barret. He'd forgone the use of the thing in all but the direst of occasions because it was, quite literally, too much gun for his needs.

But first, and most apparent, he'd have to address the concerns of his companions. "Aight now, y'all hold up. This a simple as hell affair, ok? Once again, if'n y'all not comfortable with my decisions on this, then y'all know where to go. Newnan's back north o' here. Now, this lady was sayin' they at Spring and St. Claire, which puts 'em right at the Wall, near Agriculture. Northwest wall. Pointy part. I give them directions down from there. Real simple."

James cleared his throat. "Now, They gonna be meetin' us at the three-way intersection, front of the Water Plant. Outta sight from where we at now, 'bout three football fields away. If'n you wanna get around them, there's a small road out the back way of this warehouse, put you out on Sewell. Head left startin' and right soon as you can, you hit LaGrange, and follow back up to Newnan. You good." Being as James was one of the people tasked with hunting, recruiting, and going on runs in the area, he had familiarity with the immediate area. It was a shame that this accrued knowledge was about to become pointless, but he was glad to have it for this dilemma. "Now, I done sent them round the way we come in, more or less. whoever's leavin', you pass right by each other an' never catch eyes."

"Now, if I'm soundin' too bossy, it's 'cause time growin' short til they get to the three-way. I'd like to be there first, if'n I can. I asked 'bout that truck again on account o' no one sayin' nuthin to me about it. Same on that boat, if'n Ash put somethin' aside from provisions, parts, an' fishin' gear." James strode over to the truck and began getting his personal belongings from the back. He looked like he was equipping for an extended stay in the woods, or one hell of a shooting match.

"Again y'all, I ain't tryin' to be no ass about this, but it's goin' down now. Anybody who's ridin' with me better get they shit together, or start makin' tracks back home. They's a girl out there need to know what happened to her family. I'mma goin'."

This was turning into a speech. It was high time to wrap it up. "And that's right, Ryan. We muthafuckin' crazy. We goin' straight into the belly of the beast. But we ain't goin' stupid." He was channeling some major Samuel Leroy Jackson with this verbal barrage. "I didn't expect to be alive this late in the day, man. I sho as hell didn't expect to have company. An' just as long as that can mean something, I'm on that shit. And I say, if a muthafucka hates you for no reason, you give that muthafucka a reason. Newnan's gonna be safe. Or we gonna even up them odds for 'em."

James nestled his rifle into the cab of his truck and climbed in after it. "If you comin', now's the time. Last one gets the door. Stay here if you need, no shame."

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

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Yeah, Lola was really funny. Loved forcing one's hand, be it conversationally or in the day to day chess match that was survival, out in the wide world. But she had otherwise proven to be a loyal friend over these past months, and let us not forget the fortress that she drove all about the countryside in search of whatever she was in search of.

Now, Thalia herself was looking for something. For starters, she was looking for her family, still in Georgia. Chattanooga had already been searched to her satisfaction, and Metro-ATL was the next, most logical spot. She had finally found a trace, or so she believed. It was the most believable lead she had come across so far; whoever this James person was, he had Alicia's satphone and spoke about her as if they were close. A lot of the red flags for "TRAP" hadn't gone off in their conversation, but she hadn't stayed alive for as long as she had by just trusting people.

Scratch that. Thalia was alive because she trusted the right people. You needed people to survive, this day and age, but ironically, people were the biggest threat anymore. Zeds, you knew where you stood. And just as soon as she was done here, Thalia was off to Mexico, by way of Texas. But first...

"Fuck's sake, Lola! West aun Spring until it ends in a few blocks. Then turn left!" She raised her seat back up into the turret fully, checking the optics and compass to confirm road signs and direction. "West! That way! Yaww!" Her accent was getting a little away from her in her apparent excitement coupled with frustration at having to give recently memorized directions to a crazy person. Focusing her attention to Alexander, Thalia noted, "Look, old man... I don't have a clue why you're coming with, but this is no joke. It's a very personal matter, and I can't be sure it's not some trap. Just hang out, and if something goes down, turn around and get out of here. Doesn't matter where I'm at, you get out." She lowered her seat again to better speak with Lola, "That's on you too, Lolz." Thalia had to raise her voice over the internal engine noise of the tank. "Something goes south, cruise. I appreciate your help with my venture, but it's not worth you dying or losing your tank over."

That tank did make a difference. Not just in survival, but in tactics. The fact that it was there meant that they could attend this uncertain meeting in open view, behind serious armor, and with a hell of an opening negotiation point. Otherwise, Thalia would have had to utilize her less social gifts, which might work to her disadvantage when she inevitably had to reveal herself to whoever all they were meeting. And somehow, the Stuart M5A1 seemed more viscerally intimidating than her 9mm, machete, and carbon-tipped spear.

Absently, before she returned to her spot in the turret, she leaned closer to Lola and intoned in a watery but determined voice, "Thank you."

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

@Lady Amalthea

Formal request for a reaction check for Reginald, concerning George.