Sigil

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: (in front of) Prometheus - Newhope Docks

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Foy chortled a hearty and genuine chortle, listening to the words of his fine and stalwart compatriot. "Ho ho ho hoooo... as a certainty, chum of mine! I most wholeheartedly agree, that particular trio of alliterative descriptors perfectly befits the proper mantra of a Gentleman perusing social environs - Taste, Talent, and Tact. I might amend this last point upon the instance of one acting in a manner contrary to those virtues or threatening to upset one's moments of repose, altering to Tactic. Something of a more martial and decisive nature, with positive oodles of discretion."

Straightening his tie and refastening his platinum tie pin, the dapper gentleman continued, "So far as our more godly associate is concerned, I worry not about the spiritual ramifications of such matters. I am no theologian, and I must admit a sense of reigning apathy on the dour and unwavering topic of "Sin", brother of Farraday's arms. Regardless of his presence, were I gifted with a Reader's sense of clairvoyance, I too might predict the onset of a right and proper 'staching in our future; by strength of charisma or coin, matters not to me. Naturally, you recall my philosophy on the otherwise publicly taboo subject, yes?" Foy did not particularly wish to get into details, being in mixed company. "What does give me concern, dearest Jahosafat, is that the Gentleman of Starched Collar is a few paces closer to the jocularity than we. By your leave then, my good sir? We must away, and just the second that propriety dictates that it must be so."

Thankfully, the debonair fellow had a reputation of taciturn professionalism while the heat was on. Be it stabbing, sniping, or engaging in fisticuffs, Foy was ever the direct, smiling sociopath that one needed in that moment. However, this was leisure. All bets were off.

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William Harper

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Location: (in front of) Prometheus - Newhope Docks

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In Harper's mind, this was taking way too long. He didn't particularly enjoy spending more time out in the open than was necessary, particularly now as it was getting dark out and they had a break-in earlier that day. Even Anisa's insistence that he accompany her to get the ship, despite the fact that he mistakenly took it for trust and not a security matter, had come to put just a trace more paranoia into his thoughts that evening. Everyone was present. It was time to go.

Unfortunately, there really wasn't a physical approach that he could take to speed things along. Some of these people were weightier, more experienced fighters than himself. Plus, he couldn't utilize his big wrench in the matter of getting people moving along. Sadly, he had left it inside. (Not that he would actually consider it seriously, but the mind wanders into inappropriate areas sometimes.) Instead, he comported himself with a rather businesslike note in the manner of a dutiful Lieutenant, approaching Anisa and Dorothy with hopeful but neutral sentiment.

"Ma'am? And ah, ma'am? If I may, I get that this piece of R & R is necessary, especially with us just getting to know each other. The truth is, I'm not sure if I want to go, either. But we need to stick together, and if you will forgive my presumption, you two should probably talk. I will be happy to keep conversation with the less sociable of us, seeing as I'm right there with them."

Decent enough sentiment, unless one surmised that the reason he suggested they stick together was that there was not an overabundance of trust established. "That being said: Captain Crowe, Doctor, I suggest we get this started. Ma'am and ma'am, if you will please excuse me for speaking freely, let's begin the evening." Harper knew if Dorothy found a way to stay on board the ship, he would use it as an excuse to stay, himself. He could use some semi-private quiet time. Anisa didn't seem to want that for anyone, so he might as well go with it.

Turning his attention to Daphne, he remembered his relatively mannered upbringing, be it not quite as mannered as some of the crew. "Miss Pender? May I escort you into town?" he inquired, offering her his arm.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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With his two messages sent, all Caesar could do now was sit back and wait. It took longer than a couple of minutes to run a full and proper background check no matter how talented they might be. There was nothing but time before the funeral proper, though it would be for the best if he made appropriate appearances beforehand. Custom suggested that the guests pay their respects not only to the deceased, but to their closest family as well. Seeing as Benecio was the one cobbling this whole series of ceremonies together, not to mention that he wasn't the closest relative to Alicia present, it would fall to he and Maria. Yes, it was his responsibility to return to the crowd of Gonzalez men and women, not to mention the many additional members of La Familia by marriage, distant relation, and close association.

Then there were the two women he brought along. Cecily, because she might require the protection of being a couple thousand miles away from the rampant murders, surrounded by armed and pissed off people that loved Alicia and respected Caesar, and Natasha because she was the doctor treating the wound sustained by the junior Coroner. Caesar was more of the type to inflict grievous injury upon others rather than repair it, the occasional necessity of burning wounds closed or biting on a leather belt to tolerate pain aside. As it came to it, he did think it was a little suspicious that she volunteer so readily. Even as his daughter's body lay in a state of unliving still and quiet elsewhere in the complex, his mind was twitching eagerly to track down those responsible.

His suitcase was present in his bedroom, laying atop the foot of his bed. He walked over to it, considering what was inside. Clothes, of course, personal items, toiletries... and weapons. His leather vest, torn and repaired from hundreds of fights over the course of several decades, damn near a flag for his family to fly that symbolized who they were and where they came from. For that matter, he was a symbol for his family. More than a figurehead, Caesar was the patriarch of his clan, a large group of like-minded persons of Spanish and Aztec ancestry, with other assorted genetic odds and ends thrown in that served to strengthen the bloodline, as carbon and chromium and titanium might in an amalgam with iron to make deadly, sharp steel. He needed to be that symbol now, as he was going to ask the people present to lend their help, such as they could so far away from home, with what would come next.

Caesar was going to ask them to go to war.

The main difficulty was, of course, that to war with something, you had to nail down exactly what they were going to attack, and how. This wouldn't be an open conflict. This had to be surgical, precise, and secretive. But first, he had to look the part. The trappings of corporate America had to go, what little he allowed himself over the last couple of weeks, replaced by the day to day street clothes he would have worn otherwise. His engineer boots, rugged pants and trademarkable leather vest, of course. But mostly, it was his choice of weapons that even he did not ordinarily show openly around, back in California. Two machetes of appropriate size strapped to his back, a couple knives, his .45 pistol (one thing he genuinely appreciated that was American, those Anglos knew how to make a fine firearm), and Alicia's switchblade. He tied a large, black bandanna around his head and let his hair fall freely, then buckled on wide, studded leather bracers. This was the garb he might wear if he were readying for one of his legendary rampages; stealthy at first, until the first motorcycle chase or massive explosion. Then all-out carnage. This was what he did. This was what they did. It was fitting that they make their supplications to Dama Muerte, Our Lady Death: Caesar intended to send her a lot of extra company. But first, before he walked back outside, greeted his people, or anything else, the old man needed to take a few minutes for himself.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard...

The young lady ushered Cecily and Natasha down the stairs and into the throng of Gonzalezes below. She was known to all of them present, being the daughter of the Priest, and as such was given a respectful amount of space as she passed through the crowd. o her word, she located a thick, glass goblet and filled it with sweet, red wine diluted with juices, a few chunks of citrus fruit floating across the top. She handed it back to Cecily and snatched a flask-style bottle of something warmly amber colored for herself. This was the way things were done here. Stuff was provided, people took it, repaid as best they could or, in their case, took their right as guests of the family. All would come back around eventually, anyway.

She lit her candle, found a clearish spot for it, and took a knee in front of Alicia's body. A small prayer in Spanish could be heard over the murmurs of the crowd, just barely. Slowly, she stood and wiped tears away from her eyes, cleared her throat, and looked to the two women in tow. Her voice was a little shaky. "Yeah, um... I'm going to give a couple of minutes down here, say hi to some people. Then I'm back upstairs. This party's going to be going all day and all night, so ah... ...stick with me or do your own thing, I'm okay with both. The um, the channels..." Her voice cracked a little. She took a pull from the bottle she had just liberated, cleared her throat again, and continued, "Channels and stuff are set to American standards in the main room upstairs. DVR whatever you want. I'll let you know when it's time to eat."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub

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The background check was coming along quickly and smoothly, much moreso than he would have expected. He wasn't what you would call a "Computer Guy", by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew how to read a report and draw some of his own conclusions. The Seattle Tech Team made it a point to drop links and copies of their findings directly into Keystone's upper access cloud. At first, it was ordinary stuff, born on this date in that place, parents did this, went to school there, yadda yadda yadda. Nothing too out of the ordinary, standard growing up and coming of age type stuff. Promising career, travel, etc.

Then one name stood out. He wasn't sure where he had heard it before. Maybe in a briefing somewhere, or a bit of paperwork shuffled off somewhere. It seemed important, somehow. Right in the back of his brain somewhere, a detail he couldn't shake. He didn't want to go to Caesar with nothing more than a strange feeling, so he decided to do a little light snooping himself. Keystone leaned forward and ran a search over the company intranet for a certain Doctor contact of Natasha's, along with a corresponding overt search on a popular search engine. Keystone hoped it was nothing. He really did.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Building A (Home)

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The Captain stood inside of his house, sticking near to his door. It was interesting to him that Thana seemed to make herself at home rather readily. Faster then he did originally, now that he put some thought into it. It was a good thing, though. He felt the corner of his mouth tighten into a small smile. Hallucinations be damned, Ash considered himself a passable judge of character. And objective enough that the fact that he had opened up to someone both physically and emotionally for the first time in a very long while wasn't going to cloud that judgement in any meaningful way. A slice of happy for himself wasn't going to make him forget about the security and stability (insomuch as anyone's life was stable) of his people. It was a quality that made him a decent leader, even if he greatly wished that Leann was still alive to handle the job.

The thought of Lt. Colonel McCormick caused him to reflexively move a hand up to the collar of his jacket. It used to belong to the woman, and her grandfather prior to that. If anyone from his old unit could see him, Captain Ashton Jameson Holloway of the United States Army Corps of Engineers, Combat Division, parading around in an old Army Air Corps flight jacket, they'd hit the floor laughing. He might flatter himself to believe that he was as qualified to handle this extended emergency as well as Leann did, and it took him a little while to grow accustomed to wearing it.

Waxing introspectively, it seemed that he had been surrounding himself with strong, capable women as of late. Leann, Alicia, Zoie, Bridgette, Astrid, and now Thana. A moment of sadness passed over him. All of these women had one thing in common, except for Thana: They were all dead. Worthy of surviving, but lost to a world that didn't deserve them.

As Thana returned, Ash snapped out of his thoughts. Maybe it was the shock of being referred to as "Captain Tight Pants". Back when that series was running, he was still a Lieutenant. He didn't become a Captain until all of this mess started, and by then no one was really talking about cancelled shows from the FOX network. Then again, the principal protagonist in that series started out as a Sergeant, so he was doing just that much better than another specific ex-military man caught up in constant dilemmas of one form or another, fictional though he was. "I remember that show..." he said in an almost sleepy tone. "I liked the pilot. Good guy."

Shaking his head, Ash picked up his pack near the front door. "Standard bug-out ruck. Useful for fast exits or extended runs." He probably didn't need it, especially with the choice of transportation he intended. If everything was normal, roads were clear, and there weren't people trying to eat you (living or dead), it would have been a mere jaunt up the road and back. Life wasn't like that anymore, though. They might want something from the pack if circumstances forced them to find another way home, or God forbid, were forced to maneuver on foot for a prolonged amount of time. "Alright ma'am, let's get you armed and outfitted for a scouting run. We have a little more ammo a Mossberg with a bayonet mounting you might find interesting at the Armory. How are you with a scattergun?"

Ash stepped outside, slipping the bag over one shoulder. He gave Thana a lingering look of admiration before stepping off of his porch, beginning to lead the way to the Armory.

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James & Thalia

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Location: The Meet (Three-way intersection near the Hershall Norred Water Plant)

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Mild annoyance gripped Thalia as Lola took point, again, and kicked off the conversation with some of the most outlandish bullshit she had the pleasure to witness. It was Lola's way, controlling the conversation by starting things with raw shock value. Shook a lot of people up. She could stay cool and collected while people struggled with a conversation that kicked off with a "dafuq?" moment. Sometimes it was useful. But Thalia's mild annoyance was due mainly to the fact that her friend hijacked the opening salvo on an exchange involving her family. She opened her mouth to assert herself into the conversation when the man in the center of the intersection spoke, breaking her confidence in what remained of humanity as a rational, sane species.

"Oooh, lordy-lord no, little lady. Y'all don't wanna hit Eater's Cleaning offa 85. They like to dress up Cocker Spaniels in yo best undies, then make those inter-species erotic movies with 'em. No ma'am, you ain't gonna catch a man like me yonder, 'less they's got strippers givin' 'way free hot dogs in the parkin' lot an' the cameras're pointed somewheres else, get me? Now, Reese's up on Brown Street? They the shit." He waved his satphone in front of him, then slipped it in his pocket and adjusted his stetson hat upon his head. "But beggin' yo pardon, Miss Kiwi, there ain't no reason to be cussin' muthafuckas out. I'm very much that dick on the phone."

Thalia was not about to let these two get into a lengthy conversation about what amounted to verbal one-upmanship. In a loud, clear voice, she blurted out, "How did she die?" She wanted to cry, wanted more to stay stone-faced, and partly wanted to unceremoniously put a bullet in each of these people and wander off in the woods alone. "If you're for real, you would have told me on the phone if Alicia was okay. So how did she die? Then tell me how her father went, and why the fuck you're still standing if those two aren't."

James's mildly amused look vanished. "Damn, girl. You really one o' them, ain't you?" he took off his hat and held it in front of him, bowing his head slightly. "She went out with a gun in hand, helpin' someone else survive. I was there. Sumbitch made it, too - that day." Tears welled up in his eyes, thinking back to how he was powerless to do anything but watch her die. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, girl. Muthafuckin' horde took her. Her man wound up puttin' her down after she turned, luck had it, and it damn near broke him. They buried her next to her pops." There wasn't a hint of mirth on the man's face, humor having drained away, leaving someone obviously under emotional strain.

Her own tears forming, Thalia stepped closer. She stuck her own phone back into a pocket and asked the follow up of, "And how did 'her pops' go? Huh?"

"Same day. We was under attack from these fuckbats from Peachtree City, usin' the dead folks as cover and distractin' us. They waited till we had supply teams out and pinned us under fire. In the mess, half a goddamned Walker slipped offa the top of a building. Big Daddy Caesar shoved this girl name o' Meghna out the way, took the hit himself. Bad muthafucka knew he was goin' out, just went full-out monster on all the dead folks 'tween us and the armory. He went out givin' us a fightin' chance. In the end, though, he asked this girl Zoie to bleed him out quick and put a blade in his skull. No way he was gonna put his folks in danger. Kinda man he was. That an' scary beyond all reason."

Thalia just nodded. "Thank you." she spoke quietly.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli

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The cost of admission had been paid by many, tickets almost innumerable waiting to be reclaimed by the proprietors of the Russian Grand Circus. Many other points of sale were fired up and ready to be distributed for a modest fee, concessions and souvenirs to delight the people of London, young and old alike. But they simply weren't there. Neither the young, nor the old, nor the able nor infirm, merchant nor mistress, prince nor pauper had arrived to take in the experiences of the Circus - arguably the most prestigious Circus in existence. This was the first impression of Vladimir as he and Mary exited the imposing living quarters of Baron Alexandrov.

The profits from the performance at Astley's Amphitheatre, courtesy of The Great Bazhooli, would keep the troupe fed and their day-to-day repairs met for some time without dipping into savings. This was not the concern, so much. The expenditure necessary to travel the distance they did was supposed to be recouped in the first day or so of full performances, seeing as it was London during the Season. They were like an army moving without clear supply lines; help from home would take a lot of precious time to get there.

Not only was their financial schedule behind, there was a circus full of performers in full regalia with no audience. It was thoroughly infuriating to the talented men and women present. Add to this the uncertainty of the Grand Duchess, and these were not happy people.

"Word concerning the tragedy of Almack's has spread across London, Master Alexandrov. No doubt the incidents from this morning also weigh heavily upon the minds of the people." Mary said, looking around with sharp eyes. She was pulling her hooded, white robe on over her more ecclesiastical garments, covering the signs of her profession. The Swiss halberd would serve to give her away, though, to anybody who knew the origin of the weapon. She accepted the help of the more mature Russian standing beside her, Vladimir arraying the tough cloth over her shoulders so she would not have to set her weapon on the ground.

The young apostolic gave Vladimir a warm smile as a quiet expression of gratitude. The act was not necessary, but it was delivered in a casual, genuinely helpful manner that was lacking in a city full of men preoccupied with the appearance of overly chivalric assistance, given to what they considered the "weaker sex". This was a nudge of help between peers. Mary appreciated it.

It was around this time that the pair of them noticed the strikingly noticeable presence of Sister Lazarus. She did tend to stick out among this crowd, especially as the number of proficient English speakers seemed to be less than elsewhere nearby. Still, the sun never sets on the British Empire, or so they say, and a least parts of the language tended to travel the globe, at least enough for the occasional performer or workman to point in the general direction of Mary, Vladimir, and/or the imposing tent of the Baron Alexandrov.

"This von is scary also. Not as you are scary, Страшная католическая девушка₁. Is different. Eh... Maybe is something important?"

"For Sister Lazarus to set foot in a circus, Master Alexandrov, I must assume that you are correct. However understand, when I speak your language with greater proficiency, we shall discuss "Scary", sir."

It was at this moment that the two of them heard the accented voice of Sister Sophia call from Elizaveta's tent, "She's waking!" It was enough to make Mary stop short and turn to the source of the sound, torn between her concern for her friend and her possible obligations to he church as represented by the presence of Sister Lazarus. Sensing an ethical dilemma in the making, Vladimir took on a more commanding aspect to his voice and posture, straightened the tall, leather banded hat upon his head, and proclaimed, "Sister-Knight, you see to Church. I see to Veta and boy. Trust me, da? Come back vhen done. You are still Veta's guest, also now Baron's."

Mary looked to the older man with a hint of apprehension. Should she be offended at being ordered about by him? This was his place, after all. He held authority here, though he did not have it over her, specifically. She eyed the Russian for a second or two before deciding that he was, at least in this instance, fully worthy of her trust. Those she cared about inside of the tent were receiving proper care and attention, and specifically Mary was the object of Sister Lazarus's search. "Thank you, Master Alexandrov. I shall see you again shortly."

The Great Bazhooli immediately returned to Elizaveta's tent, shooing away the unnecessary lookie-loos and returning order to the area in front of tent with well placed shouting and strategic waving of his arms, in the time honored tradition of histrionic, knife-throwing borderline maniacs going back generations. As he entered, he removed his hat with a flourish, bowed to the interesting and unusual sight in the bed, and remarked with gusto, "Is vith humility and pleasure that I, the unvorthy, look upon open eyes of Grand Duchess Romanova! You are sight of beauty unmatched, elegance in any circumstance. And is doing my heart good that you are vell." He took a knee and bowed again, forehead coming close to scraping the ground, seemingly not put off that she was sharing the bed with a 600 lb. tiger and a strange British child that usually followed Mary around. Once he stood, Vladimir noted with more sincere and casual tones, "The Sister Mary is here, but I am thinking you missed the brunching. How do you feel?" There was much to fill in, but first he needed to know that Elizaveta was alright.

Meanwhile, Mary made her way over to Sister Lazarus. It was a rather easy task, what with the pointing and staring at a Nun in full habit in a place other wise without such an occurrence, with the exception of their own Sister Sophia. "Sister! It is an unexpected pleasure to see you out; is everything quite alright?"

Translations

1 - Scary Catholic Girl (Strashnaya Katolicheskaya Devushka)

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

Reginald decided to stay out of the whole "marriage" conversation. It was something for Peter to torture his American friend with; merely something for him to enjoy from the comfort of his desk chair. The news that his nephew had neglected to eat since coming to Cairo did take him by surprise. The cuisines of North Africa and the Middle East, jumbled together in a cultural gathering place and once world power took on a singularly unique note, here in the capitol. The British influence helped a bit too; were one to ask the Lord Major, the food was probably the only thing that made up for the nigh intolerable desert climate.

Still keeping away from the topic of Peter's courtship to Vera, Reginald sipped his tea and interjected, "Oh my, well you positively must sample Cairo cuisine. Perhaps, if schedules permit, a nice supper this evening? The locals have this wonderful flatbread that pairs exceptionally with coal-grilled lamb and some manner of lentil paste... I haven't the foggiest what it's called at this moment, but it is divine. Of course, closer to the English speaking parts of the city, there are a number of respectable fish & chips purveyors..." His parental instincts kicked in with his nephew, a point that he noticed almost immediately. This was a grown man who had been through much in recent years, who very likely did not need another overly concerned mother hen clucking around him. "Well then, gentlemen. Please enjoy the tea to the fullest of your leisure, but following, I've a couple of short engagements that require my attention. The Officers' Club shall be at your disposal; you might be able to secure a light brunch or the like, if you so desire. I recommend the date bread. It is an experience, you see. Otherwise, I..."

A sharp knock at the door stopped Reginald mid-sentence. He cleared his throat, addressing the visitor, "Yes? You may enter." followed by a quick, "Eyes front, Private! Hold attention." There was no way he was going to have yet another incident in his office. "State your business."

"Supply report, Lord Major!" he piped up.

"Yes, yes quite." Reginald held out his hand to receive the report, snapping it under his vision as soon as it touched his fingers. "Right. Take the surplus goods from the first column and set them aside, itemized, ready for quick loading. Further, these items..." A pen from his desk checked next to a handful of entries elsewhere in the report, "Also set on standby; enough for a diplomatic outing. Do remind the Supply Sergeant to account for this in the weekly requisitions. Quick about it then, Private!"

The soldier snapped a salute and delivered an appropriately decibeled "Yes, Lord Major!" before taking the paperwork back and marching doubletime back out of his office.

"Where was I... Ah yes, appointments aside (which should only last a few minutes), otherwise I shall join you the the Club afterwards, if it be your desire to remain. But for now, we take Tea. So, Mr. Benaszewski, how long do you expect to reside in Cairo?"

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: (in front of) Prometheus - Newhope (Docks)

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Despite the somewhat depressing circumstance of Foy's status with his business and family, a state that while temporary did limit his higher-end options, Foy was determined not to let any opportunity fall by the wayside. This was good. It was a public outing, semi-formal at best, where he had an opportunity to make new contacts and associate socially with his close friend and confidant. He would not even let the overwhelming snark of Captain Crowe dampen his mood on this occasion, responding to her with as much genteel optimism as his breeding would allow. "I've not the precognitive clarity to posit the actions of your decadent attire, Captain. I've only the basest of notions that, were your magnificently framed dress (cleaving to you as such) to pen a diary entry, it should contain sentiments of appropriate gratitude indeed!"

Naturally, he could not help but notice the restrained guffawing of the ship's resident Shepherd. He found it curious, really, as to why one would find humor in the application of upper-crust Farradayan manners. It seemed epidemic. The thought occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, additional examples of such matters of etiquette were needed in the man's vicinity so that he might see the light of debonair propriety given silver tongue. Why, it might even be a saint-worthy service.

He was about to voice this idea until he remembered that Jahosafat very recently gave a return query after his assessment of Foy's own observations of the scene unfolding, which naturally demanded he answer with humility and grace. "Indubitably, my good sir! You are as the flashy, Proud Peacock combined with the ambitious hunting instincts of a Mighty Mastiff, sniffing out the boldest and most dazzling of partners to offer your arm!" He punctuated the various nouns and adverbs of his highly sophisticated rant with highly affirming points and gestures, often stepping closer to the two of them and backing away as the observance of personal space became necessary. "And in sooth, she surely is likewise just as lucky to have acquired two such as we, jewels in the crown of her undoubtedly memorable tenure! Though (and you shall have to forgive me, friend of mine), but I daresay to proclaim her a sister might be a minuscule poorly aimed; a cousin perhaps, or better placed as a peer! It may be in bad form to commit one's self to a sibling for what proposes to be a raucous evening of carousing and debauchery, if you take my meaning sir!" An exaggerated wink issued from underneath his very fine bowler hat, rather overtly drawing attention to the last few words of his comments.

"Ah, but I have desire to be off from this plebeian dockfront and on to the festivities! There's drinks and 'stache-ing to be had; whyever do we tarry?"

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William Harper

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Location: (in front of)Prometheus - Newhope (Docks)

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The look of utter confusion seemed glued to Harper's face as he witnessed the growing conversation between Foy and Jahosafat. It was the look of someone listening to a fully grown adult relate in painful detail the childhood explanation of Where Babies Come From, complete with cabbage patches, storks, and "special hugs", but genuinely believing every word of it. This was a problem that would only get worse with the application of alcohol. God help them all.

He took a little hope when Anisa met his eyes. There might be another mostly sane person in the crew. That thought was particularly uplifting to begin with, but the realization that normalcy was indeed the crushing minority threatened to fill him with annoyed depression. This aside, it looked like the crew was mostly all assembled outside of the ship, but still seemed to be waiting on something. A quick head count revealed that their other pilot had yet to arrive. He did hope to have a word or two with her as the evening progressed. There seemed to be an element of hostility he wished to squash; camaraderie between like professionals was far preferable, and alcohol was a fine social lubricant to ease those particular gears along. If she intended to stick with the ship, it might put a damper in his intentions for the evening. Still, reviewing his conversational options otherwise for the venture into Newhope's nightlife, he would be trying like hell to associate with Dorothy, Anisa, and/or a shaded corner with an easy path of egress and a clear view of the main entrances. Large crowds had the effect of making him a touch paranoid, as of late.

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

@Lady Amalthea
Post up. Long and short of it: Keystone moves maximum distance toward Sana.

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

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Keystone

Location: Deymins Tower

Interacting With: His own observations

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Multiple suits of armor advancing in a hostile manner quickly became multiple suits of armor laying motionless on the ground, steadily leaking dark, fetid fluid onto the tower's flooring. It was easy. Way too easy for his liking. One remained active, presently in a melee with the group's newest member, a knife-wielding Dwarf. Keystone respected a solid knife fighter; someone with his sort of underclass background had to learn a little something about short, stabbing implements. The man himself was more of an unarmed specialist, obviously, but he did get a decent, informal education in the subtle arts of "push in, pull out, repeat 'til dead". He even became a proficient hurler of most things sharp and pointy to round out his options in a fight.

A split second of consideration had him weighing the possibility of sprinting down that way to engage with fisticuffs, though that would have taken time and there were already three people in potential smacking distance. Of course, he could have pulled his big seax, a perfectly balanced and lightly ensorceled blade, and hurled it mightily into the fray. Buuuut... while respectable with a hurled knife, he was not masterful enough to guarantee that he wouldn't perforate Nor in the process. Not a good enough balance on the risk/reward scale for his comfort. With the presence of three people around the single opponent, he figured it was handled.

Keystone did note that there were two down around Sana, who was fairly close by. He had grown a little protective of her as of late, and if these creatures littering her area were undead, he wanted to make sure that they were truly down. The undead, or just as likely, the persons animating and controlling them, were a tricky lot. It wouldn't be the first time one had sprung up from seeming incapacitation. Instead of cluttering up the fray closer toward the exterior door, the massive pugilist made his way over to Sana, intentions of guard doggery in mind.

"Oi, you proper?"

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

@Lady Amalthea

If I am reading this right, only A4 is left and it's not quite upright. Yes?

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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Caesar growled softly as Maria left. Perhaps he didn't explain himself as accurately as he would have liked. Of course it was dangerous; it was always dangerous. She knew it just as well as he did. But what they were doing now, in Justice? It was a whole other level of danger that they were skirting. Levels of government, street cops, federal agencies, the military? Multinational corporations involved at the highest levels, all parties pooling resources and contacts, all set on the goal of maintaining their secrecy and covering their asses by eliminating anyone who threatened their existence. Caesar was one man, and while one determined man could perform great things with the proper motivation (he had proven this several times), he was fairly certain that he would not survive this ordeal. Maybe he shouldn't. His brand of chaos probably shouldn't exist anymore, its time years past its usefulness. He was old, tired. Caesar lived to see the deaths of his parents and child, both. He might have one or two more big adventures left in him, tops. And the line would live on through his brother, his niece, and his baby grandson.

Yeah, Maria knew it was dangerous. Caesar didn't think she knew how dangerous it really was this time.

With reservations mounting about offering her the Director's position, Caesar turned and entered the courtyard of the main house. People parted before him, not unlike the Red Sea of Exodus, silently admitting him into the candlelit presence of his late daughter. He stared forward, unwilling to meet the gaze of any of the family at that moment. It was not the time to take audience with these people yet. That was for later in the evening; his people were fairly observant of ritual. He did as everyone else was doing at that time, as one of the group of people gathered to pay their respects - Caesar procured a candle from the box of them toward the front, lit it from another candle, and found a clear place to set it. The first few drops of wax served to form a good base to tack it down upon, and so he did, his one candle joining the many already present.

Caesar paused for a moment to view the scene. The arrangement of his M'hija was tasteful, even elegant. Tables were set nearby, laden with the token offerings of those who had chosen to attend, featuring various breads and fruits, small amounts of money and pieces of jewelry of various amounts of value, mostly local silver. Everything was in greater number than most funerals he had attended, likely due in no small part to the fact that Alicia was the only daughter of the family's patriarch. Everything was set up in a highly respectful manner. It would have been very nice, very comforting if Caesar could allow himself to feel anything other than restrained, raw-nerved grief right then. He gave a moment's silence upon bent knee in front of Alicia's remains, just outside of the area forbidden by the four candles initially placed around her. He then rose and silently exited the courtyard to the back, entering the house proper.

From behind the closed doors of his personal rooms, Caesar placed a sent a message back home. He wanted to say so much more than he did. There were certain revelations that had to be addressed when the time was right. In the end, it was a simple order:

Have your people do a full background check on Dr. Natasha Brinne. Works with the Coroner's office. Will work something on this end.

Followed by another, very similar message:

As soon as you are free later, run a solid background on Dr. Natasha Brinne. Use company intra if you need.

Meanwhile, one floor up...

"Asexual Chemist? That's kind of a waste, girl. You've got stuff to offer." This from the soon-to-be Mescal pounding cousin. With the slightest apologetic tone, she continued.

"Hell of a band name though, like, for Indie stuff? 'Asexual Chemist' ...whatever. Look, you don't have to drink remotely as much as Doc there says, but its not a bad idea to have something in your hand while you're around most of these people. Best way to keep them from offering you more. It's a culture thing. Tell you what, I can get you a glass of sangria. It's okay warm and you can nurse it for the evening if you want. Or you can hold it in your hand, take a few minutes downstairs, and run back up here. Just watch out, as soon as a meal is ready, lot of people will seek you out and try to stuff the both of you like a Christmas goat." She didn't ordinarily speak this much, especially at somber occasions like this, and particularly when they hit close to home. But after a short talk, she promised her father that she would show perfect hospitality and that these women, Cecily and Natasha, were in need of their protection.

There was a note of confusion that played across her face as Natasha opened the door and looked to her to guide them down. The scene downstairs was perfectly visible from just outside the door, and as far as she was aware she described the custom in enough detail to facilitate proper observance. Mostly, she was anxious to get back to the semi-private bar in their common room and her share of the carnitas. But Papa was fairly adamant about her responsibilities as a hostess/liaison to the Familia Gonzalez. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that this was her duty today. "Must be a little tired. Give me a sec, yah?"

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. "Sorry, work number..."

Upon checking the phone, the generally foulmouthed priest's daughter tucked it back away and shot a glance to Cecily and Natasha. "Hey, I'm being a kind of a bitch tonight. Sorry, you two. Let's go downstairs. I'll give you a demo. I haven't lit my candle yet, anyway." She walked out of the door and gazed to the courtyard below before leading them down, a sense of wistful melancholy overtaking her. "This way. Hey, Natasha? What did you say you did for a living, again?"

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Security Hub

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Goddamned hold music. He really didn't give a more or less decent set of rat's hindparts that it was an okay lineup of classic rock, after being made to wait through several transfers, many of which were to people he had already spoken with once, twice, three times a lady, it was beginning to become symbolic of everything he wanted to put a bare fist through, starting from the unfair circumstances of his childhood and running straight up to present day. Vaguely, he was still pissed off that he wasn't going to be present for Alicia's funeral. Not that they were madly in love or anything, but the news of her passing was a blow. Pure happenstance occurred for him to be assigned to assist Caesar. He might call it kismet, fate, what have you, but he was determined to do whatever was necessary to assist in finding out whomever was responsible for this gross injustice and doing arduously painful things to them, in whatever capacity was called for at the moment.

Finally, thank whatever deity stood on high to give him an ounce of reprieve, but a new message came through while he sat staring at an unnecessarily cruel phone. When it came in, he pulled up a separate screen and took it in. While Caesar never got around to answering him concerning his update, his answers were implied in the order given to Keystone. The gargantuan Brit scribbled a name and occupation down on a post-it note and walked it out to the new Tech team from Seattle.

"Right. First order for you lot from above: Full background check on this name, A-bloody-SAP. Copy what you find into a secure access folder an' bullet point the choice bits for me, yeah? Quick on it. Thanks."

A quick wave of acknowledgement from the team was given, eyes never leaving their screens. Keystone noted with satisfaction that additional tabs bearing the appropriate name and picture were pulled up, and his order was being carried out immediately in seamless, cooperative unison, each one looking into separate aspects of their charge.