Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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Maria was on the warpath. Thalia figured that much out, at least, when she dropped off little Liam with her. The younger lady hadn't really been the best with small children or babies, owing to her mildly antisocial nature. But this was family, and family was different. This little baby was the future of La Familia Gonzalez. Besides, from the look of her aunt, the family was going to need that future because she was going to murder Caesar. Certified badass that he was, Maria was fierce and he always held back with her. So thee she stood, amid the wildfire storytelling, some fringe members of La Familia placing bets as to what would occur next. A few closed in on the dual-cultured Thalia, eager to get more detail on what had happened, but as it turned out, she knew little more than anyone else. Though she did put a bill or two on the upcoming wager. Such was life with these people. And apparently, such was death with these people.

"Your grandpa's in the shit now, isn't he?" she cooed to little Liam in a singsongy voice. "Yes he is. Yes he is..." As gratifying as it was to make a little sport of what was going on, she was worried. When these two fought, it was either resolved quickly or it spread out for months, with equal opportunity for something awful either way. If they got into a machete fight on the roof before the night was over, it wouldn't surprise her in the least.

Back in the main house...

Caesar damn near got back to his rooms, too, before his ex-wife caught up to him. He had occasionally thought it odd that she involved herself in the lives of his family as often as she did, but this event was fully understandable. Alicia was her daughter, period. She had every right to be here. Even his personal philosophy on the matter supported her presence otherwise; Maria gave birth to a Gonzalez and did not bring shame to them at any time. Though not his wife any longer, she was La Familia Gonzalez if she still chose to be. And in that moment, she flexed that privilege like a champ.

The grizzled former Federale withstood the chainsaw-esque barrage of Maria's verbal assault, taking it all as water cashing upon a cliff face. Of course, that was the thing about water on rock - eventually, the water was going to break off something. Eventually. The threat of removing him from his own house aside, she did make a single, valid point, recurring and hammering away at him with pointed insight: Caesar was working the case during a period he should be mourning and receiving the goodwill of his family. His suspicions be damned, he was not paying proper respect to his daughter, nor fulfilling his duties as a host to personal guests from the States.

Grimly, he nodded to Maria. "Sí, tiene usted razón₁." He turned and began to walk back the direction from which he had come. "If you follow me, it's not happening."

Translations

1 = Yes, you are right.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: The Other Side of Armageddon

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"Hasta el último hijo de puta allí.₁" said Thalia promptly, speaking in perfectly inflected Spanish. She had no use for survivors, needed no new friends from among a group of murderers and assholes that were directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of people she cared about. She took the map from Thana and gave it a once over, noting that there was one town in particular marked in central Georgia. She doubted that it was a battle plan, seeing as it was laminated, and not very recently. Still, it was a useful, detailed map.

Sighing, Thalia looked at Astrid's shield in front of her. It was a fine, strong device, made to withstand a serious beating. While a little cumbersome for her general preference, the woman was specifically trained in its use, and not just as a thing to hide behind. She had claimed it for her own the moment she shuffled off its previous owner from her undead coil, though despite this, it would always be Astrid's Shield. They were not fast friends, Thalia and Astrid. Not like herself and Bridgette. There was a huge amount of respect for the Shieldmaiden though. She was one of the few that passed along survival skills to her that had saved her life on more than a few occasions, not to mention had helped herself and Lola over the course of an irregular winter. Those two women helped her adapt to the world as it was now, and she would be forever grateful to them for it. She could survive, even thrive in it, Dama Muerte willing. And the shield was a damned useful item. If she could have gotten hold of one of Bridgette's spears, that would have been massive. No one could make a killing tool like that tall, foulmouthed bitch. And from the look of the smoking crater that used to be Bree's last home, she wouldn't be seeing one ever again. It was a shame.

It suddenly hit her: Thalia had left her own spear in the Tank. Primitive, but damned effective as a stabbing tool with a point as hard as copper. Not the kind of thing that would fit well in the cab of this truck, though. Undeterred, she kept a light conversation going with Thana, to get more information about where they were going and better feel out the lady who had assumed command of this half of the expedition. "Yah, girl talk." Her tone was such that it was difficult to tell whether or not she was being sarcastic. "You know - Where did you get your hair done? Meet any cute boys? Hell, meet any cute girls? Oh (and here's a good one), where are we going, exactly? I don't see Eden on the map. I've got a lot more, but let's start there, lady."

A thought jostled loose in Thalia's brain, "Wait, no... what was up with that guy in the truck? Hell, what is up with that truck? He joining us up the road?" She had originally assumed that Thana and the guy she was with was there to box them in like some kind of trap, but the temperament of the group even after their loss made her begin to reconsider the overall feel of these people. Then again, they were all going to the same place to kill a whole lot of people. Perspective was necessary.

Translations

1 = Every last son of a bitch there.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp, Kitchen House

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The impromptu education on the proper cup of Builder's Tea was a cheerful continuation to Gilbert's morning. It was nice to see Evelyn mirthful, if just a little. He noticed that "a little" became "a little more" as her accent shifted into something a hair more Cockney. The least he could do was acquiesce to her request for the perfect cup of tea in the broader but still early hours of the day. "No problem, Evie." He smiled, showing off damned near perfect teeth framed with a warm expression. He picked up his burgundy ascot from the back of his chair and hung it about his neck untied, thusly doubling the number of visible articles of clothing he was wearing at that moment. Between that and his pants, he was (very) slowly amassing a passable ensemble.

He gave a nonverbal offer before adding an amount of milk and sugar to Evelyn's cup, and continued his end of the discussion. "But of course. I would remind that the workaday ladies and gentlemen that are only allotted a handful of decades above ground have mastered the art of the perfect cup of tea. But I do admit that you have spent much more time in Western Tea Country." The comment about the choice of cup was also noted. Being honest, he would have said that he had completely forgotten the preferred style of cup in that moment, but there was no way he was going to just come out and say that. "You are right, of course. I can't just hand you a mug though, Evelyn. You are far too graceful for something so clunky this early in the day. We need to see you just like this: Petite, intelligent, powerful, and ever the lady." He smiled warmly again before sitting back down in front of his breakfast and shoving it into his face with semi-abandon. Luckily, there was a napkin present. It would likely be very needed.

The next bit of conversation took a more down note, sadly, as he may have overstepped a line with her concerning her abilities as an Emendator. Theirs were not gifts that they asked to obtain. Sometimes, even his were a burden. It must be doubly so for The Dice, if not more. Luck be a Lady, but no one ever asked the Lady if she wanted the honor in the first place. Gilbert tried to look as understanding as possible through his assault on steak and eggs and bread and fruit. Such was his way.

The last two things that she said to him were fairly pointed. Of course the day was unending. That was the point of their little temporal oasis. But the very last one... Checkmate. Gil invented the damned game a LONG time ago, and though it had gone through changes over the past few millennia, it was still Chess. Mentally reviewing the board however, she was correct. He sprinted to the back door which Evelyn had just left, calling out after her jokingly, "This will not stand, woman! GAAHH!" Sighing, he continued with an almost defeated, "...Pawn to Queen Four..."

At least he could return to what was still a nice, warm, massive breakfast, though now with less company.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House, Room 209 -> Room 107

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Sadly, no one passed by James's room while he was in clothing transition. Though his frame once went a little toward the girthy, he noticed that the years he spent living and laboring in what amounted to the worst parts of the Bible had worked some changes to him. He was a little older. There was no denying that. Time and terrors had taken their toll, but living to survive and help others survive had made him a leaner, stronger, more constitute individual. Okay, so it also drove him into a state of mental anguish wherein one particularly bad night and following morning nudged him to commit an act of murder. Maybe he had to, maybe he didn't. He'll never know now. But physically, James was doing just fine for a man in his forties. And now he had his troublemaking partner back. This might not be Heaven, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Hell, either.

During his rapid clothing switch, he heard something clatter on the floor next to him. From his pocket, a single curve of what appeared to be ivory fell and came to rest next to his boots. Carefully, he picked it up, examining the curious item. He remembered what this was from his previous life, though memories from what seemed to be just yesterday were still fuzzy. It was a tusk, one that came from a boar. He could not say why he had it now, any more than he could have told himself with certainty why he woke up in clothing better suited to ginning cotton. It was strange. But everything so far this day was, anyway. He tucked the tusk into a pocket of his overalls and looked around his room to see what else was provided for him.

The basic amenities were there; bed and dresser, mirror, etc. Basic furniture that one might find in a bedroom of the era. Interestingly, there was a fireplace as well. That was a feature he could appreciate. While he stood, giving a touch of awe to the respectable fire alcove, his eye caught a few things lined up on the dresser along the wall. One was a very familiar ornate brass necklace, featuring a detailed casting of a stag's head. Very gaudy for someone like James, but it wasn't his originally. It belonged to someone close to him, a fellow archer and agriculturalist named Maria. It was from Maria that the people of Newnan learned a very valuable lesson, turned into a horrifying cautionary tale:

Never kiss a corpse.

The necklace went to her sister after her passing, and upon his exile she gifted it to James. He genuinely cared about those girls. They were like family. It was a bittersweet reminder of them both. He picked it up for a moment, looking at it wistfully, then put it back down reverently. Slowly, he moved to close his door. About halfway through the motion, he stopped, transfixed by what was hanging on the back of it. He started to smile. Then he started to laugh. The Call of the Mirthy Blackneck sounded down the hallway as James tried hard not to fall over, his hand coming to rest on the nearby wall. He laughed long and loud, and when he had to pause to wipe the tears from his eyes, he looked back at it again. Really took it in. It was a tuxedo, the last one he had worn for the last wedding he attended for the last night he spent in his home, around the people he considered family. It dawned on him, his tears weren't just because he was laughing so hard.

"Hell with this, I'm findin' my girl Sophia..." he decided on the spot. Alicia said she was in room 107, so that's where he was going, and now. He pulled his boots back on and stepped outside of his appointed room, locked it up, and put the key securely in his pocket. He descended the stairs across the hallway, and navigated the rectangular path of the corridor until he located Room 107. James took in a deep breath, let it out, and gave three solid knocks. "Hey there, neighbor! Y'all mind if I can borrow a cuppa sugar?"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks

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Qasr El Nil Barracks

The pretense of pride or vanity concerning the slowly departing colonic winds inside of his office faded immediately. It was a rare thing that anyone, including Vera, use only his full first name when addressing him. Generally, his older brother (the first born and thusly impeccably titled Keystone) referred to him as such, often going as far as to omit his title of nobility and earned rank within the military, even in public settings where such a thing would have been proper and polite. It irked him greatly, though he would never let it show outwardly. At least, not directly. The fact that he went out and earned something that his family did not give him was a source of pride on his part; at least his brother could not say the same. But he was the Earl of Sussex, and Reginald was not.

All the same, the use of his full first name only, Reginald, was something that got his attention. The fact that Aziza was saying it to him meant that there was a matter of non-official but equally important business to discuss. Another show of the importance of the occasion was that the talented Miss Tarek didn't say word one about the noxious assbomb he unintentionally dropped moments ago. His voice softened to one of understanding and pragmatic seriousness. "Indeed, Aziza." Two could play at that game, though he said it with kindness. "I shall always stand ready to help you, in any way that I am able, so long as I draw breath. What do you require of me?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Passive Skills:

• Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
• Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.

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

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Vladimir was just beginning to give orders to the appropriate people to have this matter handled with expedience and grace when Elizaveta strode out, dressed in the appropriate finery befitting the daughter of an Emperor, and gave her own set of reasonable requests on the handling of the situation. Truth be told, Vlad already had a decent handle on the situation, but the advice about the hay on the ground was one that he had not considered. The nearby horse pens that the flaming clown recently entered and exited would be an excellent source for just this commodity; bales of the stuff should be packed away with the animals' fodder and it was easily replaced. The five hundred pound tiger licking the neck-hole of the very recently fallen woman was unsettling to the extreme, however, the beast responded to Veta's verbal cues readily. If Myshka ever decided not to one day, they would all be in a heap of trouble.

"Da! Right avay, Grand Duchess!" he called back to his adoptive daughter, waving one hand above his head and clutching the severed head by its hair with the other. He kept it low until he was absolutely certain that Adam was out of direct line of sight, the same forced smile upon his face, before dropping the highly unsuccessful act of pantomiming nonchalance. A great, blustering sigh escaped his face and he slumped over, seemingly exhausted with the mere thought of what had to be done in the face of one of the most important meetings that the Circus might ever have.

All at once, Vladimir rose himself to his full height and did one of the things that he did best - he began to yell. A forceful voice, to be sure, commanding and confident, spurring his people to coordinated action. "Sem'ya! Circus! You have heard vords of kind and beautiful Grand Duchess! Ve do this! Like never happened!" He looked around for a second, still holding the severed head of the young woman. When his eyes fell upon a nearby roustabout, he spoke to the man directly. "If please, find Ringmaster Viktor. Tell him vhat has happened. He is good vith speaking; tell him for please to inform family." His voice grew in depth and force again as he addressed the remaining persons about his general vicinity. Considering the crowd that gathered, they were plentiful. "Ve do this quick! Graveolase and other guests arriving now. I have head. Get body, roll both in cloth. Make sure head facing right direction. Is important."

There were a few members of his direct family nearby, the extended Alexandrov Family of the Circus, more appropriately known in these environs as "Bazhooli" (singular or plural). "Get Bazhooli Sem'ya together, ve must prepare. Graveolase avaits. Tonight, ve dance the Grand Mamushka! Everyvon else... ...be impressive. Be yourselves. Squeeze every drop from your souls, and help these people to see our greatness. Above all, panache." He raised his arms above his head, bringing his small speech to a crescendo, "Okay! Ve know vhat to do! Qvickly now, let us be off!"

It took him a spare second to realize that he still had an eerily staring head in his hand, prompting an immediate exclamation of "Дерьмо!" and the dropping of his arms to his sides. He palmed the human casaba and walked carefully in the direction of the formerly living person's horse. Other members of the Circus were advancing carefully from the other direction, and in a few moments they had the body corralled and the head more or less resting atop the corpse's neck, rolled up in a sheet of canvas. The worst of it was done.

The Great Bazhooli stood back up, and looked in the general vicinity of the salad-eating firewalker. "Costantin! For please, can you get bale of hay? Ve need ground cover, and the peoples are arriving now."

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_{"I will speak the truth at all times, and forever keep my word."}

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

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Sometimes the laws of the Church and the rules of her Order weighed upon Mary's freedom of choice. It was cumbersome sometimes, but she understood that their ways were there for reasons. Some of them were more obvious than others, granted. Their regimentation, their level of organization, their attention to recording events and, last but not least, their network of communication were powerful (if mundane) strengths of the Vatican. Mary was but a set of eyes and ears for her people, and a sword in dark times if called upon. A cog in the great clockwork that was The Church. It was who she was.

Then a thought occurred to her. As of that morning, she had officially received word of her promotion to Dame Commander of the Order of St. Sylvester. So far as her standing went in the Order, Mary was no longer outranked by Bishop Mansfield. Within the Church was different, but she was not part of the standing clergy of St. Etheldreda's Church - she was their resident Knight. The thought was a revelation. The rank of Dame Commander gave her the responsibility to command the Papal Knights and active Papal Dames of her region; assign tasks, initiate actions covered by the writ of the Order. In practice, Mary was the only one. She was a commander without soldiery to order about. This meant that she did not have to pass her actions by the Bishop, though he still served as her liaison to the Vatican. She could assign herself tasks and carry them out accordingly, and report to the Grand Cross of her order as it was necessary. This was a touch more freedom than to which she was accustomed. It felt weird.

Renewed strength in her voice, Mary addressed Elizaveta. "The moment we have time, Your Grace, I wish to speak to you privately. Before we meet with the Graveolase, if it please you." There were a couple of things that needed to be handled before she stretched her newfound authority. Come to think of it, she needed to speak with Virginia before the meeting as well. There was a lot to go through before sitting down with these people. Much to do, little time in which to do it. Best to start soon.

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

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck

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"...Osiris..." repeated Harper. He shot a look toward Fitz that lasted for a only a fraction of a second; strangely, it looked like pity. He immediately took a drink from his tall, frosty mug and quietly set it back onto the table, forcing his expression to remain neutral. He didn't even realize that he was tapping his nails on the edge of the table until he was five or six rotations in. He was right about the guy's speech - through the stuttering, it had a similar cultured inflection with which he had grown up, himself. The situation had some significance to the man.

This was a naive engineer from Osiris, thrust into an uncaring universe with apparently zero social skills nor idea what horrifying possibilities awaited him. He seemed exactly the type to get his intellectual curiosity piqued, leading him to trust the wrong person and get his guileless ass shoved into some dark, forgotten part of the 'Verse to rot until he finally manned up and started clubbing down the right people with a big fucking wrench before manufacturing a horrible, life-ending industrial accident and effecting a daring escape from a prison (that technically didn't exist), using the technological skills birthed of a superior Core World education. Not that he was projecting. Of course not. That would just be silly. Fitz didn't even look that much younger than Harper, though his demeanor might have suggested it.

He was giving consideration to answering Fitz's return inquiry when Anisa leaned over and made her request, taking Harper up on his offer. It was probably for the best, both the fact that the Captain put in a hearty food request and that the subject had opportunity for change. Though it was the proper thing to do, Harper would rather not have answered the question of his origins anyway. It might lead to a conversation he didn't want to have concerning his background, and he'd rather not lie to him from the outset, particularly in front of his new crew this early in their association. Nodding, he locked eyes with a passing waitress and held his hand out to get her attention.

Firmly but politely, he addressed their waitress, "Evening, ma'am," motioning to the menu. "Alright, App platter, and go ahead and make it the Jùxíng Xīniú Pìgu₁ sized one, we have others joining. Baozi plates - two of them, one for me and one here..." he lightly tapped Anisa's shoulder, ...and macaroons. Pomegranate." He gave a second's consideration and continued, "Oh, the Hot & Savory Cashews and Peanuts for me. And what the hell, upsize that Baozi. It's been a while." That was an understatement. He handed over his menu to the waitress, then looked to Daphne, "Anything on the menu strike your interest?"

Translations

1 = Giant Rhino Ass

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda

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Maybe Natasha was right about one thing in her barrage of accusations and insults: Caesar was not acting as a particularly honorable man. He indeed was trying to get what he wanted regardless of bridges burned in the process. Hell, a huge part of him hoped it was a fire that spread, consuming everything in his path that was not helpful to him and his pursuit of what he considered justice. Though taken objectively, revenge itself was the darker side of honor. Revenge is what honorable men sought when they had lost enough of themselves. To that end, he was very much behaving as a man of honor, albeit a broken one.

He still couldn't gather much from the Doctor's responses, though. His points were not covered in her retorts. Quite the opposite, they seemed to be avoided completely. Perhaps it was simple outrage. It's not like Caesar sugar-coated anything. But if it was more than that... well, it meant that she was a talented conversational gymnast. He did sincerely hoe it wasn't more than that. Caesar gave himself a ten count, and trudged back to his rooms inside of the Hacienda proper.

Back in the courtyard...

"Oh, I'm flashing between grief, sarcasm, and being a hostess. It sucks." said Thalia in a flat tone. "Alright, I'm going to grab some stuff to eat, then. Keep strength up, right? Okay..." She shrugged and started to walk back into the crowd. "Just lemme know if you need something."

🦄 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

Okay, so maybe he didn't quite nail it. Hopefully, with the open window, all this mess would be sorted out and wafted away in short order. It wasn't the best nor most well thought out plan, but it would clear out the more aromatic of their difficulties. In just a couple minutes. Few at the most. It was unfortunate that his precious jasmine water did little to nothing in the way of assisting with his dilemma. Quite unfortunate.

But Aziza was there for a reason, and it wasn't purely to breathe the air. Reginald ushered his two nearest visitors to chairs on the outer side of his fine, English Oak desk, and addressed them. "Yes, yes. My most profound apologies for the atmosphere; there has been something of a distressing yet temporary malady afoot, you see. Now, if you could be as charitable as to forgive the interim difficulties, to what do I owe the honor of your presence, madame and sir?" Reginald was ever the gentleman, despite unforeseen setbacks of his condition.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Location: The Other Side of Armageddon

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Thalia didn't particularly like the idea of splitting away from Lola and the protection of her tank. On the other hand, she also didn't particularly like the idea of being a spectator in the upcoming carnage. The rogue Gonzalez was an up close and personal fighter, trained from an early age with fists, blade, and pistol. The most she could do in that tank was act as a spotter through the machine's optics. It was safe. Quite safe, really, in the new world of snarling dead people that wanted to eat you, but not so much in the way of personally satisfying when one wanted to get their hands dirty. Thalia had survived in this brave new world by liberal uses of stealth and discretion; just sometimes though, the occasion called for actions of a little more of an acrimonious nature.

At any rate, one of theirs would be with Lola, and she would be with them. Looking at it cynically, it was much like having mutual hostages to ensure cooperation. In the event that anything shady was going down, Thalia made it a point to target the authoritative woman first. She was fast with her hands and could move more weight than her own. It hinted at specific training outside of the basic crap they taught line soldiers. She'd beaten the crap out of several grunts in her time who thought she'd be easy meat. Well, she wasn't. And not that she gave a rat's hindparts about Newnan, except for the obviously staggering loss of life they just experienced, but this "Eden" place? It deserved every single piece of hurt they could inflict. For Alicia, Bridgette, Astrid, and whoever else the pissed-off lady lost due to their fuckery. The human race would be better off if they were dead, and Thalia could try to find the rest of her people with her honor satisfied.

She accepted the radio this time, with the stipulation that, "This'll probably stay with the vehicle. Or I'll have to keep it off a lot of the time. I prefer to go in quiet. 'Preciate it though, Mugs. Let's do this."

"I'm with you in the truck," Thalia said in a very matter-of-factly manner. She continued with a ounce or two of sarcasm, "We can get in some girl talk on the way, yah?" She wasn't a hundred percent happy with their situation. That much was certain. As Thalia moved to get into the passenger's side of James's truck, she slipped her automatic knife into a more ready position and set Astrid's shield upright in the floor, leaning against the glove box. "If that's all we know then let's move, while we still have surprise on our side. Let's shock and awe these bitches."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Location: Ville au Camp, Kitchen House

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The smile on Gilbert's face broadened, turning from kindly to charmingly warm. He rose, allowing himself a really good, growling stretch before turning to a cabinet nearby. Luckily, the ancient but youthful warrior had decided to retain the use of his undergarments beneath the frilly and floral apron. After locating a tin of packed, black tea, he spooned a healthy amount into a steel mesh tea ball and turned back around to the table. Deftly placing the spherical steeping device into the tea cup, he filled it with rolling, steaming water from the kettle on the stove. "Builder's tea usually comes with a bit of milk, as you well know. I think this hardly requires it, myself. I can fetch some from the icebox if you would like." His accent was mild. Very mild. Except for the occasional vowel or cluster of awkward consonants, one would believe that he was every bit the traditional American, if a hair darker skinned than the ruling class ideal of the nation.

He heard the commotion going on outside, again turning his mirth toward Evelyn. "I am envious of your ability to do that, Evie. Let me know if I need to step in, hmm?" he said, checking the oven briefly. Seemingly satisfied with the state of his pants inside, he removed them with a flourish, threw off his apron, and began sticking one leg in at a time. It wasn't a lack of shame with this man, more than it was a feeling of simple comfort in his own skin. When his belt was properly fastened, he hung the apron back up on a peg near the stoves and settled back into his chair, in front of his gargantuan breakfast. Happily, he noted that it was still quite warm.

"Yes, that sounds like a fine idea. Tour of the grounds, I mean. Hopefully after the last of your new Paradoxes gets settled. Some of them don't take the news as well as others sometimes." It was a good idea. And if it wasn't him doing it, it would have to be her, or the Cards, or the Watch. And frankly, between those two and their tendencies toward overt practcal jokes, it was probably best if it was him. At least until the newer people were used to them. "So hey, do you know how many will be arriving yet?"

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Alicia & James

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Location: Oak Tree -> Main House (Room 206 -> 209)

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The last thing James remembered, he was looking wistfully upon the faces of old friends and new acquaintances. Some of them were people he cared for a great deal, some he had just met, and one of them was a fresh young face with the familiar, fiery eyes of an honorable but dangerous family. He felt true and honest hope for a world that desperately needed it.

Then the place that was his home collapsed into the ground.

Then it exploded.

And finally, the earth took him, too.

It was a blessing that he cracked his head on a hard surface on the way down. It didn't quite put him away immediately, though. He got the barest hint of awareness that his body was being flung mercilessly upon hard, sharp rocks before his death. And that was it. Death. James was dead. So naturally, it came as a complete shock when he felt himself laying on soft grass under shade, comfortably cool air blowing past him as an inviting morning sun filtered down from above.

He waited for his body to report pain - torn skin, broken bones, something, but it didn't. Everything seemed so slow and sleepy, a haze separating what had happened to him and what was happening now. An odd awareness began to fill his mind, like a thousand stories of lives he didn't live, starring himself, barely began to insist that they were present somewhere if he dared learn to remember. Even stranger, James heard laughter. Merciless, howling laughter. Boisterous, mirthfully uncaring laughter from a strong female voice that he swore he had heard before. He thought he recognized from where he had heard this last, but that wasn't possible. Just wasn't. She was dead. Fuck, she was dead. So was he. This complicated things.

The same voice that laughed above suddenly took a header, accompanied by the boneless sound of a body hitting the ground next to him. But she kept on laughing. Whatever this was, it was funny to utter distraction. As soon as he could move, he was going to check his fly. Then she spoke. Something about watermelon and picking cotton. James's eyes shot wide open, taking in everything but searching furtively for the source of the voice. He rolled onto his side and prepared his best "Aw Hell Naw" speech for the moment, but instead it went something like this:

"Aw Hell Naw y'all didn't just OH MY GOD GOD DAMN GIRL MUTHAFUCKIN' WHAT THE whoa a minute slow ya roll there... You dead, bitch!"

Giving it a nanosecond's consideration, "Wait, that means..."

"You're dead bitch," Alicia laughed as she looked over towards James, still holding her gut. She was starting to get a stitch in her side from laughing so hard. Taking a deep breath she sat up slowly and turned her body towards his. Even though she was able to curb the laughter to something that didn't sound like a hyena on steroids she couldn't stop completely. The outfit alone was nearly enough to send her flat on her back once again.

James wasn't exactly sure what was going on. He did firmly believe that he was dead, I mean, he kind of felt himself go, and he most definitely saw Alicia die. It was a gnawing, tearing death, one he wouldn't wish on anybody. Well, almost anybody. Whatever this was, be it Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory, the Happy Hunting Grounds or Negro Valhalla, he was with Alicia. So sure, he was dead. But he was going to play along. "Aw damn, o'course you gonna say "You dead, bitch", right after I said "You dead, bitch". Hells yes I'm dead, bitch! I'm just wantin' to know what a dead bitch finds so funny!"

"Fact that your gringo ass showed up here in 1940's Bayou country looking like your about to go pick cotton. The rope belt is a nice touch amigo," Alicia said, still laughing her ass off. The entire thing was just too funny to her. Slowly she started pointing around where they were, the kitchen house behind them and the large plantation house in front of them.

James's face went slack for a moment. Even being dead, this made no appreciable sense to him. Slowly, he began to turn his eyes downward to himself, trying to see what his deceased friend was talking about. His response was less than flattering. "Oh, well Good Googly Moogly!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "I done died and went to Song of the South with Br'er Rabbit an' the Tar Baby n'them!" His hands wet over the coarse fabric of his outfit, stopping to tug lightly at the ingeniously crafted rope belt. But still, 1940s? Bayou Country? That could only mean southern Louisiana or Mississippi; places he'd been before (albeit well after the Civil Rights movement). "Aw c'mon, chica! This wasn't a really great time for my people, an' someone got me dressed up like Sambo. Please, tell me you got some 'splainin' to do. But first, you givin' me some love." He rose and stretched his arms out wide. "Less you want me to start dancin'..."

Alicia smirked over towards her el mejor amigo as she slowly started to stand up. "Well, it's in your blood boy," she said with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes before she started clapping her hands and stomping her feet. As she did she made sure to place some distance between her and the black-neck before she started singing. "When the sun goes down, the tide goes out, the dark gather 'round and they all begin to shout,'Hey! Hey! Uncle Dud, it's a treat to beat your feet on the Mississippi Mud. It's a treat to beat your feet on the Mississippi Mud.'"

James's eyes grew wide, and he sputtered with mixed amusement, annoyance, and surprise. "You, hmm, oh you mutha, I'm a' get... BLACK RAGE!!!" His battle cry of Afro-American justice sounding across the trees and swamps of rural Louisiana, the indomitable blackneck charged after his troublemaking compatriot, intent on a full, solid tackle.

"¡Ay, mierda!" Alicia exclaimed as she turned on her heel and went to dart off. It would have been great if she had been facing the main house or even the kitchen house. She wasn't. She ran smack into the large low lying limb that touched the ground. "¡Carajo!" was all the little Hispanic was able to get out as she effectively tackled herself over the tree limb and took in a mouth full of Louisiana turf.

"Aw, girl..." James started, slowing himself down to a concerned jog. He knelt by Alicia, giving her a once over and then looking around to see if anybody else was present. "Chola down!" he called, "We gots us a chola down here! Face fulla countryside an' mad as hell! Hep! Help in Spanish, muthafuckas! ...wait, we in Wheezy Anna... Parle vous help?"

Sputtering and spatting bits and pieces of grass and gravel launched out of Alicias pie hole. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over towards James. It was a familiar look, one that her father had given back in his time. It meant someone was about to be introduced to what was most likely the most painful minutes of their lives. One at a time her hands found the ground and she righted herself, all the while her eyes never left the former hog hunter. Then the look faded and she realized just why Eve had placed her in charge of the welcoming committee. At that moment Alicia knew exactly what James was feeling beneath all the laughter and poking fun. "James, no one could have got off that shot. It's okay."

And that stopped the train in its tracks. Her death. Alicia was pulled from the window of a truck by a horde of the living dead, each one of their gnarled hands or fetid teeth tearing another piece away from her body. James had his gun but could not get a clear shot, and in the end, he had to abandon her in order to save three other people - one of which he murdered just a few hours before his own death. The memory of both incidents were still fresh. Strangely hazy, but readily available for recollection. "Somebody could've. Your man, Ash? He could've done it. He was better with a pistol than I was, and he wouldn't have hesitated. Not for a eyeblink." James looked forlorn at Alicia, saying, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, girl. I can't even imagine. Don't want to, neither."

Dusting herself off, Alicia shook her head. "Shit man, you know I'm not gonna bullshit you. I couldn't have made that shot. It was a bitch. It's over and actually, that wasn't how I died. Long story but just know what you saw was very different than what happened to me personally," she said. It would be hard to explain what she meant and about Justice. "Fuck man, I have a son, and papi is still kicking. So take a breath, give a girl a hug, and let me get you settled in. Then we can sits down and really talk." Holding out her arms she motioned for him to bring it in and give her a damn hug.

The explanation made absolutely no sense to James, but he wasn't about to pass up a free hug from his old running partner. He extended his arms again and stepped forward into Alicia's grabbing range, then wrapped his arms around her. "Damn good to see you, girl." he whispered, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. "But now I gotta know what's goin' on here. I'd be obliged if'n you'd start by explainin' pretty much everything you just said, 'cause that is a hot, sticky mess o' what the ass did you just say?"

Alicia smiled as she wrapped her arms around James and gave him a big hug. She knew this was going to be difficult to take in and all that but she had an idea of how to explain it. At least on a level where he might understand. Leaning back she motioned towards the main house. "Come on, you walk, I talk," she said as she kept an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder as they headed away from the Oak Tree. "Remember Back To The Future? Where when Biff screwed shit up they had that whole alternate time line thing? Well, that is basically what was going on when you saw me die. It is an alternate place. The main one, the one where things are at least a little better. Okay, not that much better but no face eaters."

Taking a breath she gave him a small run down of her life before she died there in Justice. About giving birth to her son Liam, about Lorna and her being close friends, about her Papi and his fluffy bunny slippers kicking in a door and making her toss enchiladas into the ceiling. As they headed into the main house and up the stairs she decided to check out her room. Unlocking her door she showed James in and headed over to her nightstand and picked up the picture of Caesar holding Liam. Handing it over to James she smiled proudly. "That's my boy Liam."

"Well, ain't that a total mindfuck?" remarked James, unsure as to how to respond to the knowledge that everything he knew and used to be was a mistake, kicked off from the main line of actual events because somebody messed something up horribly enough to break time. "Oh, not your boy. He's just cute as the dickens. And the size of them hands? He's gonna grow up and kill somebody. Damn." James quickly got back on track, "But look, I done seen enough episodes of "Quantum Leap" to know that Scott Bakula's got somethin' up his sleeve what can put stuff right, right? But before I get fitted for a snazzy white future suit, I gots me a question: Do we know each other, you know, in the other timeline? There another Black James what don't gotta split undead wigs to survive?"

"Well we didn't know each other then. You'd have to ask one of the Emendators about that," she said before setting the photo back down on her night stand. Shoving her hands into her pockets she shrugged a bit. "Listen, this place is complicated. You aren't alive but you aren't dead. This is kind of like a second chance. We don't go back to where we were and we stay away from any other place we could have been. You and I, we're called Paradoxes. The ones that run this place are called Emendators, they are fucking ancient... Like, this one guy here is the actual Gilgamesh! But he's cool, really likes hats." Heading out of her room she checked the board to see where James was assigned and got the number. "Come on. Let me show you your room. You can settle in. I have more people to go meet at the tree. Once I'm done though, we can kick back and talk some more."

James nodded soberly. This was a lot to take in. He was really still dealing with the whole You Are Dead thing, and the rest of this? This wasn't something you just got right from the start. He followed Alicia to his assigned room and paused before he entered for a final word with his friend. "Yeah chica. I'd like that. Might need some time to work all this shit out, but you come find me when you can, yeah? I missed you, girl. Missed you a lot."

Alicia handed over the key to the room to James and nodded a bit. "We will man. Listen, just get settled and then have a look around. Beware of our resident pranksters," she said before explaining a small amount about Gio and Nancy. After that she let him know where the bathroom was, where the kitchen house was, and that he was good to walk around the ground. Stopping herself she quirked a brow. "You know a Sophia Harris?" she asked as she leaned against the door frame.

A sort of odd recognition washed over James. He indeed knew a Sophia Harris, and though they were not particularly tight, any level of non-hostile acquaintance was as good as friendship given the fact that they both helped each other to survive. Their timeline was one of an apocalypse, with the corpses of the recently deceased rising with the sole purpose of consuming the living. And though the dead were a plague, the living could be so much worse. "Yeah chica, I know me a Sophia Harris. One I'm thinkin' of lived with us in Newnan. Girl came in bit, Valkyries with her hadda take her hand offa her so's she'd make it." The thought just occurred to him, "Wait, you went 'n died just before she came in. Shit, she here?"

"Yeah, she got here just before you. She's in 107 downstairs, why don't you go say hi once your settled in," Alicia suggested before giving James a quick hug and letting him know she had to get back to the tree because they were expecting others. With that, she left him to his thoughts and to look over his room a bit while she dashed back to the tree.

"...well, ain't that somethin'..." James mused to himself. While not particularly close, it was a touch of joy to hear that someone else from his Newnan that he knew to be dead was with them. He repeated the room number in his head a couple of times just to make sure that he got it, then promptly realized that he was standing alone in the corridor of a strange house after having spent an unknown amount of time, well, dead. He did need to settle in. Take some alone time. Work some things out. Like Alicia said, he needed to settle in.

Perusing his appointed room, James was just pleased as punch to see a pair of overalls folded neatly on his bed, a dark blue bandanna poking out of one of its pockets. "Hot damn, jackpot!" he exclaimed, not even bothering to close the door before he had stripped off his hat, pants and tacky rope belt, replacing them with the overalls and bandanna, the latter tied around his head. If anyone happened by whilst he was "sans pants", they'd just have to live the rest of their life with that image of the sturdy, recently dead blackneck.