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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli

Страшная католическая девушка & Vladimir Alexandrov




And so, that one gentle English evening, it was said that the impossible occurred. Maybe not fully, absolutely impossible, but so unlikely as to warrant notation as a truly rare and remarkable event. You see, this fateful evening, as the sun's setting began to make the sky purple in its twilight hour, The Great Bazhooli was rendered speechless.

To be clear, that is speechless. Without speech. Mute. Sans talking. The most garrulous person inside of the Russian Imperial Circus (possibly excepting Viktor, he has his moments) was standing quietly with a look of possible shock on his face. He was staring directly at Constantin, eyes wide, trying to take in the entirety of what he just said. His eyes still on the unruly firewalker, he carefully picked Adam up beneath his arms and backed out of the tent. The moment, the very second that Constantin exited the tent, Vladimir mysteriously regained his ability to speak. "салат? салат!?! Ты серьезен? Вы стоите там, рассказывая мне, что с щедростью замечательных блюд с нашей родины, уже приготовленной, вы хотите САЛАТ? Я беспокоюсь о тебе, Константин. Вы не можете поддерживать Fal'shbort с листьями и стеблями одуванчика! Кроме того..."1 He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, ... что, если бы люди увидели тебя?"2

The Great Bazhooli took a step back. He still held Adam steadfastly with his swarthy arms, toned by a lifetime of labor, hurling sharp objects, and acrobatic training. He didn't seem to mind, care, and/or notice, even to the point of motioning with the boy for emphasis. "Reputation! Reputation, my boy!" he said, shaking poor Adam at Constantin. "Ve cannot have ourselves being seen vith eating of unmanly foodthings! Is for British, da? And for French peoples. You vant salad? I do not even think ve have the salads here." He placed Adam over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes, continuing, "You vant eat light? I get you eating light things. The potatoes and beets and salmons, all choppy choppy vith pickle and the sourest of creams and the most grette-ed of vinegars little island of England has seen, ever!"

He turned to stride away, toward where the food was being prepared and portioned in a central pavilion. He had to stop, as the a couple of the circus's cooks were headed directly toward Elizaveta's tent, carrying bundles and trays of things that were venting aromatic and toothsome steam from the sides; a telltale detail that his words from a couple of minutes earlier were being heeded. "No no! You vait for a minute, for please. The Grand Duchess, she is partly of nakedness and I vill make the stabbing if she is disturbed, da? Da. Is for good."

For the first time since picking the boy up, Vladimir addressed him, lumped over his shoulder as he was. "Come, boy!" as if he had a choice in the matter, "Ve get you the steaks and the honeys now, you vould like? Attack vith teeth. Maybe fork. But maybe fork is being too slow. Teeth is ok." He walked a few more steps before setting the kid back down, coming to the realization that it might be polite to do so.

Meanwhile, inside of the tent, Mary was just about to explain the concept and importance of The Green to Elizaveta, but found herself staring at the tent flaps, engrossed in the conversation erupting just outside. She maintained the usual serene look she normally adopted from practice, but her face was turned unerringly to the sound of The Great Bazhooli being dramatic yet again, even as she held her arms out to assist Elizaveta. When the word from outside became a discussion in English concerning the possible state of the Grand Duchess's undress, Mary snapped back to the task at hand. "I am very sorry, Gran.. Lady Roma.. ah," she fumbled, blowing out a sigh. Her kneejerk reaction was formality in most all situations, as a side effect of her disciplined upbringing with the Vatican. This situation had to be different; Mary had promised the Grand Duchess that they would speak plainly while alone, even to the point of referring to her by abbreviated first name. It was unheard of for someone like Mary, even if she still held the social position her family once did in the British Empire, to speak with what could be interpreted as a lack of respect for someone much, much higher in the hierarchy, second only to an Emperor in royal standing.

But she promised. As a part of the oath she took upon becoming a Dame, she swore "I will speak the truth at all times, and forever keep my word". Speaking to a Grand Duchess as a friend became part of that, the moment the words left her mouth that she would attempt to go against her training to do so. "Veta. My apologies, Veta." Mary beamed an almost childlike smile, as if she had just gotten away with something juvenile like running off with a cookie unnoticed. "Of course you do not need a lecture, or any other such aggravations right now. I shall act as your aide in the place of Sister Sophia, certainly."

As Mary helped Elizaveta ready herself, she began to discuss the nature of the place she referred to as "The Green". "Gretna Green. It is a village just on the other side of the border between Scotland and England, where the laws concerning marriage are much, much less restricted. Many have eloped there because lawful marriage may be obtained from almost anyone, without a period of waiting, so long as there are two witnesses to sign the document. Such marriages are recognized as binding by The Crown."

Mary stopped for a moment, putting facts together. She was so intent upon the threat of Soulless at Almack's the night before that a few details had waited until now to congeal in her brain. "The young woman, Miss Wyndham? That unpleasant fellow she was marrying was Lord Rutherford, yes?" It was more of a comment than a question. When certain realizations hit her, anger bubbled up a bit beneath her ordinarily calm features. It had been many years since she had remembered any of the names from her Clan's seat, as she spent the majority of her younger years to the north, in Stirling. She did remember two things in that instant, though. "Rutherford is the name of the ruling family in Roxburghshire, where my people once held seat. And that Lord Rutherford made himself very scarce after I announced that I detected the presence of hidden Soulless. The moment he disappeared from view, the attack began." It was an observation more than anything else, but her mind was drifting slowly toward accusation. Mary needed to pray, to get her mind in focus on facts. She needed to know if personal emotion was swaying her view on the situation. But first, she needed to get Elizaveta ready to meet the Graveolase.



In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
William Harper
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck


The former Alliance pilot known in this incarnation as Harper listened politely as Daphne discussed the nature of their original crew's most recent impromptu landing on Whitefall. As much as he didn't approve of crashing in any instance, the old saying about "any crash you can walk away from" definitely held true. It did seem a shame to destroy one of engineering's marvels of yesteryear; a Firefly Mk3 in good condition. Perhaps one day they could hope to recover the vessel, if scavengers hadn't picked away its parts and such before then.

But the time for depressing observations was best left for later on. Right then, Harper had company, a drink in his hand, a new crew, and was out from under the thumb of the Alliance, for now. Plus, he had his own ass to cover in case their visitor from earlier returned. Not that he would know this person by sight, really. He was in the fore of the vessel when the shooting started. But an eye out for anything out of place, or anyone paying extra attention to their comrades. Still, he was catching as quiet a drink as possible in this night spot with a young lady (and fellow pilot), and she deserved at least as much of his attention as he was directing to things outward.

"Yes, hopefully." he agreed, referring to Daphne's desire to not land a ship with failing engines ever again. "It's interesting to look at a situation you've been party to from someone else's perspective. About Whitefall, I mean." Harper noted the two people behind his young companion, especially interested in the fact that their path took them from the bar directly over to the crew's table, almost immediately as Jahosafat secured it for them. One of them was the same woman that bought Anisa a drink not minutes earlier. Could be nothing. Could be something.

When Daphne suggested that they join their compatriots at the recently vacated table, Harper agreed. "Yes, I like that idea. Just a second?" He waved the bartender over, motioning for refills on both of their drinks and pointing toward the table. Tossing a bit of scrip onto the counter, Harper placed a hand on the small of Daphne's back and began to lead her partially across the room and to the table, where apparently a game of cards was afoot.

Harper pulled out a chair two seats down from Anisa, and motioned to Daphne. He eyed the two that arrived from the bar just before them, trying to draw what information that he could from their clothing and demeanor. He smiled, quietly and politely, and took the seat between the one he pulled for Daphne and their Captain. There was a bit of friction between the two as of late, and he intended to act as a buffer between them for the time being, especially now that alcohol was flowing. He didn't really know either of the women very well, but it seemed like the responsible thing to do in the situation. Internal drama might lead to distraction, anyway, and he really didn't want to deal with that until they were out in the relative safety of the Black, whenever that would be.

He looked to Daphne to see if she needed anything in the meantime, then turned to Anisa. With a neutral voice, he remarked, "I'm sorry that we are a little late to the table, Ma'am. And who are these fine people?"

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Submitted for approval: The Hat

I apologize in advance. Or not. We'll go with not.





In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks



Reginald planted himself back into his desk chair and looked up at Haakon as he asked to rejoin his friend in the lobby area. The Lord Major gave a functional but polite smile and responded with a simple, "Indeed." Then his attention went to a superbly ordinary stack of papers that he had set aside just as Peter had arrived for a bit of tea and light discussion, earlier in the morning. They were written mainly in English, but had a free hand script of Arabic in some places. Quite passably ordinary.

A knock sounded at the door to the office, invoking a stern, "You may enter." from Reginald. It was one of the soldiers he had sent off to inventory certain supplies, returning with what he hoped would be a full accounting of their stores. Reginald looked over the document, sightooed, and responded to the soldier thusly: "Yes, very well and all that, but where, by chance, is the rest of it? You've only given me the portions on uniforms and foodstuffs!" It wasn't much, but it would serve as decent jumping off point. "Nevermind. Just tell the Sergeant to have it ready for me as promptly as he can make it, yes? Off with you, then. There's a good chap."

The private flashed a quiet salute and darted back out of the room, intent upon carrying out his last decree as only a British soldier might.
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez

Location: La Hacienda


Caesar really hoped that the phrasing that Cecily used was metaphorical. They were standing in an ooen courtyard, the sky visible anove them and a light breeze running through the archway from the main area outside. The old man looked at her oddly for a second, then realized that she probably was being a touch creative with her verbiage, but not by much. There were an increasing number of people coming in to pay their respects. Thought it was still not remotely the number of people that this courtyard could comfortably hold; for someone who wasn't fully healthy and had just finished a lengthy plane ride, it might start to press in a bit. Caesar's suspicions remained, but they were tempered with understanding.

"Cecily, please stay here. Hang out with Angel and the Luchadors, or something. See? There she is, with El Sasquatcho. They will make sure you're ok. I need to find something out before we go any further."

With that, he turned and walked toward the main exit. If Natasha were trying to get someplace more open, that might be a fine place to start. He was disappointed to see that he was incorrect. Well, there were other spots to get away from people in open air. Caesar returned to the interior courtyard and made his way toward the back, through the main rooms, and out to the garden and recreational areas.

He might have felt like an intruder, walking up on a conversation to which he was uninvited. He even did, but just the slightest bit. "Maria, por favor, would you please see to Liam? I need to have a conversation with Dr. Brinne." Caesar could already feel the resentment building about him breaking up a good talk in progress, so he quickly added a serious, "Please, Maria."
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
James Mandingo Grady


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


The solid, familiar sounds of James's favorite heavy truck reached his ears, just following the heated but short discussion he had concluded with Thalia. He had only met two members of her family, but upon meeting the young lady, there could be no mistaking the bloodline. She was a little difficult, granted, but James took comfort in the fact that her people continued. The world needed one of Caesar's people in it, probably more than ever. He even gave a little smile thinking about it, watching this girl with Astrid's shield and one of Caesar's old company's machetes.

But he had let his mind wander. James indeed did find that he was hearing The Hordebuster coming around the bend. The unmistakable plowhead on the front of the vehicle was visible first, rounding the bend in the road and emerging from behind scattered evergreen and deciduous trees. Then the rest of the truck burst into the scene, bigger than life; gorgeous and ugly all at the same time. He had no earthly idea why it would be headed down this way, but he never expected to see it, nor its driver again. It filled him with immediate, profound joy.

As it came to a controlled stop behind the tank, the driver's side window opened. James raised his hat high above his head and waved. Thana had exited the truck, striding over to the group, but Ash had stayed a bit more cautious. His inquiry as to whether these people were friends of his was taken by the veteran hogger as a sign of concern on his part. Ash was an honorable guy. If he wanted to do them harm, he would have back in Newnan. "Naw, Cap'n! We all good!" he called out. There was so much to tell him. The news of Thalia and the functioning satphone, the bittersweet revelation of Astrid and her body finally being laid to rest, the story about the TANK... things had happened in the time since he had left Newnan. He knew that he couldn't come back, but some things needed to be passed along to the guys back home. Beatrice had begun to detail Thalia to Ash in her own rough but endearing manner of homespun sarcasm. James was readying himself to follow up with a bit more detail after his own "all clear" declaration.

No sooner had the previous words left his mouth, though, than a great rumbling could be heard. The sound of stone fracturing and grating against itself, mixed with the cacophony of imploding ruin. Metal twisting, rending, the works of humanity ripping apart as the very earth beneath them cracked open wide. James had experienced lime sinks before, owing to his background, but never like this. This was huge. Unprecedented. Massive. And it was in the direction of Newnan.

The sound of roared throughout the still air, even as far away as they all were. Then an earth-shattering KA-BOOM, leaving a mushroom cloud floating over the horizon to the north. He instinctively took a step toward forward, toward his former home and almost every friend he had left in the world, when the sickly sound of the ground ripping open assaulted his ears, even as violent shaking threatened to drop him to the pavement below him. He still had his hat in the air as a crack violated the ground beneath him, split off from the main tear in the earth. Collapsing and widening, it refused to even give James the base courtesy of telling his friends goodbye as it began to swallow him up.

James tossed his hat into the air, scrambling furiously for the side of the opening chasm. He almost did, until the ground crumbled beneath his fingers and dropped him into the unforgiving shards of rock below. Whatever Providence existed did him but one favor: Before he got to experience the unnatural and mortal folding of his body, James clipped the back of his head on a shaggy chunk of exposed piping. Unconscious or dead, the point would be rendered almost moot in two short, horrifying seconds.

The story of James Mandingo Grady came to a close with his broken body at the bottom of a crack in the earth, having died for nothing and no one, save random misadventure. The legend known as Black James (!) has ended. May he finally rest in peace.


Location: The Meet


The arrival of the Hordebuster was noted with concern and and annoyance. It felt like a setup, pure and simple, but something was off. Thalia opened her mouth to say something - just in time for all hell to break loose.

It could be easily said that this was not a good day for Thalia. But viewing the horizon and feeling the shake of the earth beneath her feet, she was fairly certain that there were people just north of them who were having a much worse day than her. Thalia wasn't even fully cognizant of the fact that the ground was rebelling against their presence in a more direct, fatal manner, until Lola grabbed a handful of her jacket and hurled her away from the growing split in the pavement.

The sudden and unbidden thought of This is the East Fucking Coast flashed, her brain racked with disbelief. But this was happening. Thalia looked to where she was standing a second ago, and realized that the obnoxious but endearing Kiwi just saved her ass. Wow. She might actually deserve some consideration the next time she started getting suggestive. Maybe. When Lola asked her if she was still alive (calling her Jet again, she noted), Thalia responded with a half sarcastic, "Yeah, you win." She paused for a second to cough up a lungful of kicked-up dust, rasping out, "But no kissing, okay?" Slowly, she started to pull herself up to her feet.

Thalia looked over to Alexander, making sure he was still with them. ...Lola, Mugs, me..." he counted aloud, and looked over to the other group. "Hey James, are your people good? Ja... damn." Her people might be fine, but they were down a couple. That guy seemed pretty cool, all things considered. Then there was the sarcastic guy, standing near the equally sarcastic girl by the truck. Bad day all around. But from the way the new lady on the scene carried on, she might have just lost someone she cared about.

Seems there was a lot of that going around today.

Ash Holloway


Location: Armageddon


Get up, Captain.

Ash wasn't sure what happened, but the back of his head throbbed. It wasn't clear pain, but it was close to it. He became aware of his limbs; legs folded beneath himself, one arm dangling, the other obstinately clutching the doorhandle of his truck. It was a highly precarious position, hanging from a door, legs on one of the steps. Exposed. Open. And with an amazing view of the shitstorm raining down upon everything he allowed himself to care about. Still, he couldn't quite clear his head. Vaguely, he thought he heard someone calling his name. What the hell happened?

Get your legs underneath you, Captain. You are needed.

He grunted, shifting his feet about until they could support his weight. In pieces, the memory of what happened came back to him. Thana had gone ahead while he was still climbing out. The woman was fearless. He had a thing for strong women, apparently. Then... Then the world broke. Like a bomb went off in Newnan and the aftereffects ripped their way toward anyone who lived there, regardless of where they were, propelled by a sinister intelligence. It was coming back to him, as did the reason why it left his memory in the first place.

On your feet, soldier!

As the initial rumble hit, Ash's boot slid awkwardly on the step coming out of the Hordebuster. The explosion immediately afterward and increasing shake of the ground caused a momentary loss of footing, pitching Ash to the side and slamming the his head into the frame of the door. Stubbornly, he refused to let go of his grip on the door handle, but he remained in a daze, consciously aware of nothing for the next few seconds except for the mushroom cloud over his home and and unnatural upheaval of the ground.

Get up, or MORE people will die.

As if life were suddenly forced into him, Ash drew a large, shuddering breath. He sprang vertical, only to slip on the steps leading to the driver's side door and stumble onto the ground below. Again, he picked himself up. Adrenaline lanced through him, sharpening his senses and bringing him fully back into the now. He heard desperate shouts from Thana, demanding that he respond immediately. "Tha..!" he started, interrupted by a fit of coughing. "THANA!" Ash put a hand on his pistol and began moving forward through the dust and ruin, as close as he dared to the edge of the crack in the earth. What he saw broke his heart.

Help who you can, Captain. You will have time to mourn later.

James was dead. Ryan was dead. Thana was across a barrier that may as well have been a canyon, with Gavin. At least Tex was interested in making sure she was safe. It was the best Ash could hope for right then. "Present and accounted for, Ma'am!" he called back, over the last of the settling rock. His voice was hard, but tinged with grief. It was a tone that many in Newnan knew very well. But mostly, he was just glad to see that Thana was still alive, even if his friend was not. Then realization hit him: that sound was massive, and it was going to draw every one of the Dead for miles around. The explosion and line of smoke would serve as a beacon to draw them in, as well. But not just that - the living might be there, too. Ash almost welcomed the Dead. As far as he knew, Eden had a hand in this. He wouldn't put it past them in the least. And they would be along soon to pick over the bones of Newnan's carcass. "God, I'm so glad you're okay, Thana." He wanted to be over there, near her, holding her, whisking her away someplace safe, wherever that might be anymore. "We need to get out of here, and now. Whatever Dead have defrosted are going to be swarming this way! And Eden... Those fuckers are going to be lining up to pick off the survivors one by one!" The thought crossed his mind to pay Eden a visit, quick and quiet, and kill every last one of them. They had supplies, they had shelter. And they'd probably never expect a move like that.

Before you do anything, see to your people. They need you, Captain.

Damned logical voice in his head. It was right, though. He couldn't move to join the group right in front of him, and there had to be survivors in or around Newnan that probably wouldn't make it without his help. "Damnit... Get these people away from this place. There are supplies in the warehouse back up that way," he pointed back up the road that James's truck had taken to get to the meeting, "and we have a meet-up point established in case everything gets fucked. I have to see if anyone else made it, Thana. I'm sorry, I have to. All else fails, you're not at the meet - I will look for you... Remember the city we talked about in the truck? I'll find you, Thana. I will goddamned find you." He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. Desperation was poking through his stony demeanor, visible only in the details. Zebulon, Georgia was a meeting point for anyone who lived in Newnan, if they could make it. Then Mexico Beach, Florida, for anyone who still felt like following Ash after. But now, he had to see if anyone was even alive back home.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli

Страшная католическая девушка & Vladimir Alexandrov



This small child had a overabundance of nerve. First he inexpertly threatens The Great Bazhooli with the Scary Catholic Girl's polearm, insisting that he cannot enter one of his own people's tents, and now he wanted food. Admittedly, it was for Elizaveta. Mostly for Elizaveta, Vladimir suspected, but it was supposedly for a cause that he agreed with. He admired the little guy's дерзость1. Vlad took a knee, speaking quietly to Adam. "Da. Da, little one, there is food..." a light seemed to come to life in his eyes, one known very well to the others of the Circus. He was seldom without it when he spoke, unless the situation was grave. It served to indicate when he was brimming with unrefined Bazhooli-ness that needed a venting point. His casual whisper gradually turned into projection, which then splattered messily into the realm of shameless roaring. "...there is food in plentiful amounts, little Adam. Foods of our people from generations past! Foods enough to gorge herd of vild donkeys! Donkeys, Маленький!2 Have you concept of the donkeys, and food they can vith the eating? Donkeys!"

Naturally, he seemed very adamant about the concept. But moreso in the superior cuisine available, which in all honesty was a mere cut above the concept of street food. They were a circus, after all, and had only had food prepared at that moment with the expectation of ticket-bearing guests from London. But it was significantly better than most had access to in the city proper. Vladimir had risen (read: leapt) to his feet, enraptured in the discussion of suppertime. "Ve have the hot, moist cheburek! Ve have the fish blini! Ve have the cakes made from potato, da! Ve have pastry made from honeys and beet sugars! Meats carved from bone, roasted over aromatic voods! Sausages both sveety and meaty! Cheeses both pungent and exotic! Sugars! Savories! Salties! Roasted beet on stick! Roasted turnip on stick! Many roasted ve-ge-ta-ble... ON STICK!" The wild look in his eyes seemed to spill out into the rest of him, animating his limbs to the point of barely controlled flailing.

Dashing to the tent flaps, Vlad poked his face out and began screaming culinary requests at passersby that worked with the cooks and/or utility personnel. "You! You there! Нам нужна еда, вода и вино в палатке прославленной великой княгини Романовой! ТЕПЕРЬ!3 Meat pies! Yes, many meat pies!" his seemingly disembodied head bellowed. "Чтобы нас не догнал Голод, и мы обращаемся к инфекционному каннибализму, разрывая кишечник наших друзей и семьи! Пища, чтобы исцелить наших больных и исправить наших раненых!4 ...and something sweet. Is for boy."

Meanwhile, Mary was keeping her hands full trying to think in the vicinity of a fully active Great Bazhooli, pondering the meaning of the visions of the Russian firewalker, Constantin, and the observations of Elizaveta. The concept of visions was not fully unknown to her; there were rumors of people from the Church with similar abilities from history, though they were either treated as prophets. Or heretics. Or set on fire. Such was the fate of one of her personal heroes, The Maid of Orleans. Perhaps her presence was fortuitous in this instance, or even determined by Providence. "Miss Wyndham..." It seemed like so much had happened the previous night, enough to have lasted months instead of just hours. Perspective was an odd thing that way. "I believe that I had the pleasure of speaking with her just the once, and it was in introduction only."

She considered the event at Almack's in greater detail. "I am afraid I must confess that my attention was elsewhere. The engagement announcements were not my priority. Though I seem to recall that Miss Wyndham was not in the best of spirits that hour." She wondered again about the vision. Haze, lace, broomstick, thistle. Pain. Considerable pain. Those images brought memories of how marriages took place in Scotland, with a blend of the old and new ways. She supposed Ireland too, perhaps Mann (though the Scandinavian influence was just as heavy there), but why a thistle, specifically? Mary had a thought. Perhaps it was something that clicked, but more likely it was an idea based upon her own conjecture. "The thistle... is a national symbol of Scotland. It is not necessarily associated with weddings, in and of itself, outside of my country. Provided that you are correct, Grand Duchess, and the vision pertained to the wedding of Miss Wyndham and that unseemly Lord, then it is specifically a Scottish wedding."

But why Scotland? There were Vicars in London that would perform the ceremony, after the proper time and protocols had taken place. It would only be a matter of time, unless they wished to bend protocol and bind themselves in holy matrimony much, much sooner. Between the screaming of the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya, sticking his head out of the tent, Mary asked a solemn, two word question. "The Green?"



In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck


There come a time in every man's life (or a certain type of man), now and again, when the stresses of being in the Black for a time weigh upon him. Specifically, those weights tend to lean heavily upon the nethers of said men, and in such a way that it prompts them to remove those weights in the only way that is socially acceptable in a place that caters to the varies tastes of spacefaring individuals. Like many services that may require a specialized touch, it was always best to inquire of a professional.

While it was not certain what the charmingly dapper gentleman known as Foy Coiffeur said while addressing the young woman he had chosen for his intended professional activities (which he had to repeat twice, changing the wording each time to avoid confusion), the slap that resulted from it was visible from across the establishment. Foy looked confused for a second before laughing and pressing a single piece of scrip in the woman's hand under the pretense of taking her hand in a farewell gesture. The lady nodded, now also smiling, and pointed to another, more provocatively dressed lady. He tipped his hat and removed himself to start the initial conversation anew, this time with a slight change in cast.

Thankfully, this discussion went much smoother. Before you could say, "Sorry hon, that'll cost extra", Foy and this mystery woman were escorting one another toward the staircase leading up to the Rooms of Questionable Intent, her hanging off of Foy and genuinely appearing to be interested in his company with zeal that can only be sourced with capitalism. As they passed by near the table that Jahosafat reserved for the crew, one might hear him exclaim, "With certainty, my steampunk courtesan! You see, it is graced with its own moustache, of course. Ho ho... Indeed! A 'stache-ing we shall go!" Again thankfully, but this time for anyone else listening, the two of them ascended the stairs and were quickly out of earshot.

The Courtesan, as we will refer to her starting now, stopped by a door. She produced a key from somewhere inside of her corset and opened the door. Foy waited until she entered the room first, removed his hat and coat, and sauntered in with the certainty of a man who just paid for it. As the door swung closed, one could faintly hear the dapper gentleman's cry of "Indubitably!" before the lock clicked home.

William Harper
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck


Harper raised his glass to his lips as Anisa threw back her whiskey. Admittedly not much of a drinker and unwilling at that moment to take leave of his senses, Harper's beverage was something from the kiddie menu in comparison to hers. Still, the manner in which she handled her booze was impressive. Time would give the final tally on that one, however. He just wasn't comfortable enough to fully let loose.

The Captain seemed fairly dismissive of him at first, casually tossing a response at his small show of gratitude. It seemed to pass after he complimented the ship, he noted. Perhaps she wasn't the type who cared about manners and the like, or perhaps her priorities went to her ship first and herself second. So far as Harper could figure it could go either way with this lady. Though thinking about it, he didn't really have a baseline with which to measure her responses. If he was to pilot the Prometheus, he would need to be able to read his new Captain better; as much for his well-being as the ship's. When time permitted, he needed to observe the woman.

As she jabbed a finger into his chest and slid from her seat at the bar, Harper retreated a half step to allow her room to egress. It was the polite thing to do. Responding to her comment just prior, he confidently beamed, "Not to worry, Ma'am. Your ship is in excellent hands." then met her glance as she brushed past him, offering a wry smile in return. Addressing both Anisa and Dorothy as they stepped away, Harper intoned, "Ma'am, ma'am... do have a good time." and returned to his place at the bar next to Daphne.

He took a mental note of where the bartender had pointed earlier. Someone from outside of the crew had purchased a drink for Anisa. Had it delivered. It was a little unusual, granted, but as far as he knew it happened to the Captain all the time, which may account for the nonchalant way with which she knocked it back. But, Harper made the mental note anyway. Filing that particular piece of information away for another time, he leaned against the bar and took a sip from his big glass mug. "Sorry about that, Daphne. Dr. Moreau found us a table, but if you could indulge me, I would love to hear at least one story about piloting for these people before we join them." He raised his glass just short of obscuring his eyes and gave her a quick, "Cheers, Miss."
In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 9 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald, Josephine, & Haakon

Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks


"Down to business, eh?" responded the Lord Major, seemingly in a genuinely good mood. "Yes, quite. There are occasions that I politely admire the directness of the American woman; rather some American women, at any rate. In the spirit of this, I shall attempt to put aside the majority of my dallying."

Reginald opened a drawer and removed a bottle of aged, single malt scotch. He poured a dram into a squared tumbler glass and motioned with the bottle, as to offer. "For starters, madame, I am a little curious as to the state of affairs within the Prison. I have heard rumors that, with the transition of power, the Warden has become a bit more of a despot than previous years. Were you mistreated?"

It was straight to brass tacks then. Josephine would let the American women comment go for now. There were bigger things to acknowledge. "It depends on what you would call mistreated, one supposes. Physically, I believe neither myself nor Haakon was harmed in any capacity, but the man was rude, ruthless, and I dare say if I had stayed a moment longer in his office, I would have been in a rather uncomfortable position." She put a hand on her heart to emphasize her point.

"Do excuse me, sir. It's a moment I'd rather soon forget. I suppose being the Warden, you need a firm hand, but considering Haakon and I did nothing wrong other than trying to help Aziza, it seemed a tad too much for simple questioning."

Nodding understandingly, the Lord Major then cleared his throat and sipped from his glass of neat, dark amber liquor. "I see. To be frank, Miss, the Warden is a disreputable man that grew up in a legal system that is, to our experience, barbaric. However, with the decline of the direct influence of the British Empire in this area, he is trying to take advantage of a power vacuum, I fear. It was one of the reasons I wanted a representative of The Crown on standby with yourself and your reporter friend, you see. The odoriferous fellow needs pressure and oversight, else I fear the corruption will only grow." Reginald sighed. "I have come to love Cairo, Miss Clark. And many of its inhabitants. Young Aziza is one of these people. My time on this earth remaining to me is shorter than than what has passed. We all do what we must." He cleared his throat, sipped again, and asked a pointed question. "Considering that we cannot discuss the enterprise we are embarking upon, Miss, what motivates your participation?"

Truth be told, Josephine hadn't given it much thought. She assumed she was being taken along because of the mark on her finger and her dreams. Was there more to it? "I've come to enjoy my time here as well, even though no one seems to know who I am in these parts. Really, I'll be frank, that upsets me more than I let on, but I suppose it does make some sense. I'll admit, my motivations were purely selfish. I saw in this adventure a movie opportunity that I know people would love back home in Hollywood. However, I can see how this all needs to be kept in secret and I would not betray whatever trust was put on me. Especially by Aziza, whom you mentioned. I've come to care about the woman, as well. We girls need to stick together, as it were."

She looked down at her finger, "I'll also admit to curiosity. Why me? Why was I chosen? Why do I get these dreams that keep me up most nights? Why this mark on my finger? I'd like the answers to these questions before I even think of returning home, or I would go simply mad."

The older man nodded, seeming to understand at least some of what Josephine was communicating. Though he retained guarded suspicion, Reginald was at least beginning to believe that the woman in his presence was showing vulnerable honesty. Though she was American. And an actress. "Indeed madame, I must confess my own gnawing curiosity as to what is happening to us all. Quite possibly, this is my final grand adventure, you see. And you are also correct in your observation that you women should watch over one another. I know Aziza is a survivor, though I do not add more to her troubles. She needs genuine friends."

Leaning forward, Reginald spoke in quieter tones. "Understand, Miss Clark, that the secrecy here is also required for the success of this venture. If others knew what we were doing and why, people of lesser understanding would swarm like locusts. Besides, if we are successful in our endeavors, the story will need to be told somehow, though understandably after our dear Aziza is in a position of greater security." He almost seemed grandfatherly in demeanor. "Just one more question as relates to our friend's well being, Miss. I need to corroborate the timetable that the lads with the Embassy gave me. Sharp fellows, those. Scientific. But I digress; when Haakon penciled the last entry into his notebook, that was in route to this military base, yes?"

Josephine had to think about that for a second. She knew Haakon didn't have his journal with him after their belongings were taken and she hadn't seen him write anything else. "Yes, I do believe that is correct." It seemed simple enough, but she wasn't sure if she just threw Haakon to the wolves.

However, her mood picked up a bit after hearing about the possibility of the story being told. Of course, Aziza would need to be protected and she wanted nothing more than to make sure the woman was looked after, but the thought that this could eventually get on the silver screen perked her up considerably. Imagine it. Herself on the big screen playing...herself! What wonders! And with the possibility of sound in movies on the horizon? Truly, this was a golden age!

She brought herself back from her daydream. "I will do whatever is within my power to keep her safe." Though she was pretty sure the Captain that often accompanied Aziza would do a far better job.

The Lord Major's own mood seemed to brighten. "Excellent, Miss Clark. Thank you so much for indulging an old man. Understand, the Papers of Nondisclosure are still a binding contract, but like any contract, it can expire based upon specific condition. I've no wish to stymie others' careers (even your reporter friend's), and I should prefer that this is made open knowledge for my own selfish ends, but at the right time." He finished off the contents of his glass, and switched conversational tempo. "Well then, that wasn't so dreadful, now was it? I believe all official queries have been taken care of on your end, madame. If you are inclined toward it, please do enjoy the hospitality and security of the Qasr El Nil Barracks as my guest. Otherwise, I would be grateful for your address and contact information, so as to better assist in organizing the upcoming venture. I've a notion that a lady of your talents will be required before our time is through. Have you any questions for me?"

"None at the moment, darling. If I do have one later, I'll be sure to ask. If you don't mind, I think I would enjoy your hospitality. That was a lovely tea service they provided when we got back." She took a moment to bask in the fact that her use here would be coming shortly. She stood up, "If nothing else, I suppose I'll head out. I would prefer walking back with Haakon, if possible, but I'll wait outside for him. Shall I send him in?"

Reginald nodded his head, "Very good, very good. If you would please, just inform the guard that our meeting has concluded and take a seat, if you feel the need to wait. Otherwise, the public areas of the base are at your disposal, as is the Officers' Club if you so desire. I believe Lady Munn is having her own gathering of more scholastic persons at the Museum, just across the yard, if it so piques your interest. All that aside, do enjoy the rest of your day." He rose from his chair and extended a hand, "A pleasure, Miss Clark."

Josephine took the man's hand and firmly shook it. Possibly harder than one might have expected from her. She smiled knowingly before she walked out the door. "Our meeting is done. I believe he is ready for Haakon now," she told the guard. She smiled at the reporter before she took a seat "Wasn't so bad. I'll wait out here for you." She debated going to the museum to see the scholastic ones as the Lord Major put it. It might be fun.

The guard stepped away from the door to Reginald's office and turned to Haakon. A brief look was given to Josephine, somewhat quizzical in nature. Apparently, he didn't expect the starlet to remain in the lobby. Still, his task was simple. A quick sentence accented with the origins of London proper bid the reporter that,

"The Lord Major will receive you now, sir."

The guard moved smartly back to the door to the office, struck an At Attention stance, and held it open to accommodate Haakon.

Haakon looked up at Josephine as she came out of the door and sat down, trying not to act surprised or nervous for whatever was to take place soon. But her smile and nonchalant comment on it not being so bad eased Haakon a little. Perhaps he had indeed been overthinking it? He doubted it as he got up from the chair and walked up to the guard waiting for him. He figured he was either being confronted with his writing, or flogged for his behaviour towards Peter the day before. But it was now or never, as he entered the office.

"Down to business, then!" initiated the Lord Major, still seemingly in good spirits. "Do have a seat, Mr. Elvsgaard." Reginald unstoppered his bottle of fine, aged scotch whisky, and poured another dram into his squared tumbler. Again he motioned with the bottle, offering similar libation to his guest. "For starters, sir, I am concerned as to the state of affairs within the Prison." Reginald had the oddest feeling of deja vu. "I have heard rumors that, with the waning influence of the Empire in Egypt, the Warden has become a bit more of a despot. Were you mistreated?"

"Yes please, Lord Major." Haakon was not expecting to be treated with a glass of whiskey, but his pleaset surprise couldn't be hidden from his face as he sat down and accepted the Lord Major's offer. "Not entirely..." was Haakon's immiediate response. He sighed, not happy to think about what had happened in the prison. Or rather what could have happened. "The worst of it was the location of my questioning really. Someone had just been...interrogated there before me, and I suspect it was our murderous friend from last night's events. Anyhow, I was not mistreated physically; only assumed that I was a murderer, thief and low-life criminal. If I had not been a foreigner, I fear that it had been worse."

"Yes, quite... foreigner..." mused Reginald, not entirely supporting the explanation given. He poured another glass of scotch and swirled it a bit before handing it over. "Well, as I explained to Josephine a moment earlier, the Warden's upbringing in the system of jurisprudence found locally, prior to the influence of the Empire, of course, is a thing that we might find wholly distasteful. As it is presently, the influence of the Crown is waning in Egypt, though we still have teeth. The Warden understands this, and seeks to take advantage for his own gain. Nothing I might not do in the same position, though I consider myself a fairer man than he. It is that exact reason why I insisted upon the soldiery accompanying you and your actress friend to the prison. Oversight and pressure, you see." He took a sip from his glass, and switched direction with the conversation. "A question, if you would be as kind as to indulge. Considering that this business cannot be discussed outside of others already involved, what motivates your continued participation?"

"Yes, that does sound like a good explaination." chuckled Haakon, gladly accepting the glass of scotch and taking a brief sniff of it. Still not a good French liquer, but good enough. The British still having armed forced in Egypt, protecting the people the warden questioned, yes that did sound like a better reason to go soft on them. Gunboat diplomacy at its finest. "My motivations? Well, I guess finding out the cause for this branding..." Haakon answered to the Lord-Major, holding up his hand with the branded finger. He still felt an unease about it, even with the pain gone. "...including what seems to be an disproportionate number of coincedences the past days. And if I may be honest, Sir?" He paused, leaning forward in a manner of seriousness and secrecy, though he doubted they were being listened to. "To be given the story of the century by Sir Keystone, Peter, as he put himself yesterday. But I've decided to kindly retract his offer, to show that I am not merely in this just because of my own interest."

Reginald took another sip, letting the subtleties of the whisky linger on his palate for a moment before continuing. "Indeed, sir. One cannot embark upon every adventure purely for one's self. It is a fine lesson, and I am glad to see that you are learning it in your younger years." He set the glass down on the desk in front of him, continuing, "It is much the way I feel about certain persons within Cairo at this time. Secrecy has a way of assisting success and saving lives, as any soldier will tell you. The less people know about our little venture, the better chance that we shall remain unmolested by less ethical entities. Further, because of Aziza's involvement, it ensures her safety. You do not know her situation, sir. I shall not tell you. Suffice it to say, I have come to care a great deal for her and will continue to do what I must to assist her. To that end, I have a question."

Taking a careful, searching look at Haakon, Reginald nodded slightly before addressing the man. "The last entry in your journal: Was it entered before or after we came to our agreement in the hotel?"

And so it had come to That; the very center of this Greek play of drama, where the hero would either triumph over his titanic struggle or succumbe to it in a grave manner. Haakon's eyes didn't drift away from the Lord Major, though he wanted to have something else to look at as he quickly pondered on what his answer should be. He looked up for a brief moment, took a sip of his glass, tasting the smokey liquid against his tounge and further down his throat, before he looked back at the Lord Major.

"Considering we're having this very conversation, Sir, I am afraid it was written after our oral agreement at the hotel. I wrote it as we drove here. I tried to gather my thoughts after all that had happened, which cliché as it sounds, involved writing down Miss Tarek's name. Looking back at it, I see it was foolish, even if it was just a note for me to apologize to her for whatever distress I caused her."

Haakon breathed out, both glad and partly scared to have this conversation now. Like jumping into the icy waters, it was best to just do it and get over with it.

"I see." said the Lord Major flatly. "I appreciate your candor at this time, sir. However, such was not the act of a gentleman. I fear that my trust in future reliance of yourself may be strained from this. However, you did not violate the letter of our arrangement on paper, so official action is not warranted. But be advised, I shall do what I must to protect Aziza, official or no. The Warden and I share a working relationship, if not a perfectly amicable one."

Another sip, another nod in Haakon's direction. Reginald lifted the bottle again, inquiring, "Top you off, lad?" and continuing with, "Have you any questions for me, concerning the Barracks or the upcoming expedition?"

"Understandable, Lord Major, understandable." Was Haakon's short response to his figurative scolding. It was not painful, but perhaps a bit shameful, regardless of what Haakon meant by his words. "Now that I better understand Miss Tarek's concern, I understand."

Haakon took another sip as well, wishing not to dwell to long in tense moments of silence. Another one before the Lord Major offered him more, to which he shook his head and gave a politive smile. "Thank you, but not no thanks you, Sir. Perhaps another time. But I have one question in regards to the expedition; to what use am I best put to? Or is that Lady Munn's decision to make?"

"As you prefer." remarked Reginald, corking the bottle of fine whisky and closing it away in a desk drawer. "I assure you sir, you do not know the extent to Miss Tarek's concerns. Nevertheless, so long as we are on the same page, I shall concede that you have some base understanding as to the importance of silence, on this and other matters, in perpetuity. Or until her (and our) situation alter favorably to the extreme, to be determined by herself and myself in tandem agreement. His voice dropped lower, taking on a matter-of-factly note. "In the meantime, I shall ask that you reflect upon every possible meaning of my previous words, and how it can influence your stay here in Cairo. Not to mention how long that stay might become."

"But let us not dwell on the negative, sir!" he continued, suddenly seeming much more chipper. "The contents of your musings shall be scrutinized by the Embassy, for matters of diplomacy of course, and returned when everything is established to be perfectly safe and canny. For the interim, please enjoy the hospitalty the Qasr El Nil Barracks. The public areas are at your disposal, as is the Officers' Club. As for your role in this, I am not the person to ask at the moment. I am merely playing the role of Quartermaster, sir. The Lady Munn is in charge of this expedition; she is presently located at the Museum, a stone's throw from this location.

"Our potential unpleasantness aside; good day, Mr. Elvsgaard."

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