"Football, yeah..." mused Thalia, not really giving her two truckmates her full attention. In lieu of this, her eyes kept scanning the area around them, making note of concentrations of Zeds and hoping to catch a glimpse of street signs. Still, she wanted to maintain something akin to a running conversation with these people. People who were talking were more relaxed. Signs about their intentions could be gleaned from changes in vocal stresses and volume. She wasn't a trained psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, granted. She was a person with a mean hook, right and left, who had a long standing history of pissing people off. Like in boxing, some people just tended to telegraph their intentions. So she kept up a little small talk.
"Yah, Georgia. I keep forgetting. You guys are all about football down here. At least we're not in Alabama. Those guys..." She shuddered slightly, remembering her limited experience with 'Bama fans. She shrugged off the memory and instead tried to focus on the here and now. Thalia glanced back at Alexander, noting his hesitance with the bugout map. It wasn't exactly a GPS where she could punch in an address and get directions spa back at her, but she wasn't entirely helpless so long as she had a major road and/or landmark to work with. "Hey, you want me to take a look at that?"
"Fascinating is it not? Oh such mirth I will find in this new adventure of ours my fellow Farradayan. To watch an observation such as this up close, it will be truly illuminating. Perhaps it will give me more insight into our flesh eater counter parts for they are more alike than we," he mused aloud before running his thumb along the length of his jaw. Turning his head towards Foy he shook his head and waved with his hand once again. "I could never. Tis the grand opening of your establishment and you are the one that must claim a pair of Madisons. I insist, after you good sir."
"Oh, I most certainly concur, Josie old boy. Truly an endeavor that rings solidly of, and you have aptly described, both illumination and fascination. Although to gift the situation with sincerity due, my pursuits are somewhat less intellectual than your own, focusing more toward the pursuit of cooperative enterprise. Plans upon meticulous plans, you understand, my good sir." Foy placed his hand upon Jahosafat's shoulder, motioning toward the stairs with his other. "And yet, I did not have the good sense nor initiative to suggest this most obvious occasion for celebration. I insist: After you."
Lifting his arm and wrapping it upward, Jahosafat nearly mirrored his dear friends action and placed his own hand upon Foys shoulder. His grin broad and bright as he gave another sweeping motion with his arm; a flair of the hand and even a bit of spirit fingers at the tips. "Ahh but it is the pursuits of enterprise that give the pursuits of intellect true meaning my partner in perversion. So I must insist: After you."
Foy heartily patted Jahosafat's hand, then held it to his shoulder in a manner not dissimilar to an impromptu handshake. Both now perched upon his shoulder, he reasserted his motion toward the stairs but embellished it with a grand wave, rolling his wrist with a flourish at the end. "My most respectable sir, I shan't be comfortable taking position in front of you, unless such was a setting of skirmish or to shield you from other potential harm." He cleared his throat, "I must re-assert my insistence, old friend: After you."
"Oh dear heavens and I could never take a position where as I were to descend from this perch above the nethers before you my lovely chap. Would be ill-fitting of my respect towards the name Coiffeur! I would be no better than a Hur Bao Duhn Sah Gwa. Could not dare have it as such. I must insist; After you," the ebony doctor stated with mirth in his voice as he removed his hat and added it to the flourish bow to his compatriot.
The dapper Gentleman Barber removed his immaculate felt bowler hat - his second favorite hat in his collection of fine headwear - and lightly gripped either side as he held it over his heart. A look of mild dejection softened his visage as he spoke. "My benevolent and lettered individual, the name of Coiffeur retains respect purely by the manner in which it reciprocates said respect amongst our peers. And our money, but that is altogether a different dialogue." Foy took a half-step backward, bowing his head and motioning toward the stairs with his hat, "I implore you, dear friend: After you."
Jahosafat burst into a jovial bought of utter chortling as he twirled his hat along the end of his fingers before letting it roll up his hand slightly. "I do declare we are at an impasse my fine fellow. Shall we descend then from the heights above those who are lower than us in the only manner that is befitting two gentleman of such equal breeding, wealth, and dapperness? Together!"
Foy's eyes brightened at the potential of this new idea. He spun his bowler between his fingers in front of himself in a manner that hinted at consideration. "I say old chum, there may be merit in the concept. If nothing else, it shall be the first in a grand display that will reach pitched crescendo in the structured motions of a proper Farradayan rug-cut!" He raised an eyebrow, looking to his friend, "Together?"
"Indeed! It must be as such for these poor folk have most likely never encountered two such as our selves, a proper representation of the genetic grandeur that is and can only ever be from the great home of Farraday! We must give them a proper spectacle befitting of nucleotide variants that set us not only apart but above and beyond all the rest!" the physician proclaimed proudly as a peacock prancing on the pasture. "Together!"
"Indeed 'Indeed', my highly esteemed Dr. Moreau! Such social simians require the proper and fitting example of persons of cunning, intelligence, taste, and breeding such as ourselves. It would behoove them to take to our example, though you are no doubt aware of the fable concerning the horse being led to water, yes?" Foy nodded excitedly, "Indeed, together!"
"More to be a correlation between the majestic lion and field mouse. While the mouse does have a purpose and they can witness the awe inspiring magnificence that is the king of beast, he shall never be able to elevate himself as such. Yet, he can remove a thorn in our paw from time to time. Or shall I say, a nitch in our knickers," Jahosafat said with a slight jump and a provocative tone as he wiggled his eyes brows and set his lovely hat back atop his head. "Together!"
"Yes! Such extreme sayings of sooth have never been uttered with such absolute certainty! Whilst my knickers has been suitably un-nitched by the activities of our host's talented hourly courtesans, I must observe that, in your resplendently apt metaphor, the lions and field mice may not engage as such, else the mice will explode." Foy considered his last statement, shrugged, and went with it. "Together, sir!"
"Indubitably, much like the story of the China-man and the Bear from Earth that was!" Jahosafat exclaimed as he ran his fingers along the brim of his stetson and slipped his arm through Foys. "Indeed!"
"I adore that story, sir!" Foy remarked, curling his arm around Jahosafat's in a brotherly manner and tapping his own bowler hat back upon his head with his free hand. They had a party to make and an appointment to keep downstairs, and the first part of that was the Grand Entrance. "Indubitably, Indeed, and Together! Are we agreed?"
"Right ripping good tale it was!" Jahosafat chuckled as he thought back to the wondrous legend of lore. Thumping the brim of his hat, he checked himself to ensure all was in order before looking back to esteemed Bestie and gave a nod. "Agreed."
"Unquestionably moving portrayal of life during, my insightful Doctor! Well spoken, and in the spirit of bardic poetry." Foy smiled a slightly crooked smile, bowed his head in appreciation, and smartly suggested, "I believe we must now be off, my stalwart compatriot. Agreed?"
Grinning broadly from ear to ear, the doctor kicked his heels slightly and readied himself. "But of course, agreed. Shall we?"
Mr. Coiffeur responded in delighted tones, "Most assuredly, we shall! Agreed. Indeed agreed; and agreed indeed, sir."
"Haha! Then we have reached a double indeed agreed! Let us descend!"
"Indubitably sir, and I concur! Agreed!"
"Quite, agreed!"
"Agreed!!"
"Agreed!"
And with that the two dapper gentlemen from Farraday descended down the stairs and over to the table, arm in arm. The most poised and perfects lads in the lot if they did say so themselves. Indeed!
Hur Bao Duhn Sah Gwa - Flat Chested Stupid Melon Head
William Harper
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck Skills: N/A
As it turned out, Harper could not make good on the promise to get Daphne another drink of something comforting and flammable before their food was served, as the waitress was making her approach with their meal at that moment. He wanted to keep an ear pointed in the direction of the newest addition to the crowd at the table, although it seemed like their Captain had that under control. The moment that he had Daphne back in her chair, he began accepting plates from their waitress and helping to distribute accordingly.
The appetizer platter, laden with smaller amounts of various local foodstuffs, was placed flatly in the center of the table. It might make for difficulty in dealing cards in the immediate future, though that was really more a difficulty for those playing cards. Harper was, in his estimation, getting more accomplished sitting, sipping his beverage, and listening to the people around him. As the lady began handing out individual dishes, Harper continued his service to the table, at least partially.
"Jùxíng Xīniú Pìgu1 sized Baozi, right here. And here." he responded as the waitress announced the contents of a plate. He was not completely happy with the fact that the lady was auctioning plates to the table, though he was damned near ecstatic that he was not being served a half-portion of "soyloaf" under supervision of armed guards. As she set food down in front of him, Harper turned to Anisa (who was apparently beginning a job interview with the new girl), gently placed a hand on her forearm, and said softly, "Ma'am?" before sliding a huge, heaping mound of Baozi almost directly in front of her, but not quite as not to disturb her hand of cards. His hand hovered there for just a moment, until the opportunity opened to speak. Again in low tones, he continued, "Let me know if there's anything more I can do for you, Ma'am?" His eyes lingered for a moment before returning to the rest of the food being served. Ever the able Lieutenant, of course.
Hot & Savory Cashews and Peanuts - Harper. Pomegranate Macaroons - Captain Crowe. And to make good on his promise as best he could given the situation, Harper locked eyes with their waitress, pointed at Daphne's drink, and held up one finger. He sipped his own drink, waving away the offer of another as he wasn't quite halfway done with it yet. Even though the half-paranoid man was intent on quietly keeping up with the conversations as they progressed at the table, he was face to face with a large amount of barbecued pork inside of a pillowy, steamed bun. His attention might have to be diverted. Bu before that occurred, he furtively risked a glance in the direction of Captain Crowe, seemingly curious as to how she was faring with food, conversation, and the incessant dram that seemed to follow them that evening.
Providing a polite smile standard to British manners in times of new introductions, Reginald turned to Lauren to respond to her initial query. Last In is First Out, as the uniform rules for military rotation went. Naturally exceptions were made based upon rank and nature of emergency, but if all things were on equal footing, it was considered proper to act in the manner prescribed by the immortal Lewis Carroll's equally immortal character, The Mad Hatter: "Start at the beginning, and when you come to the end, stop." Not that Reginald put much stock in the words of an opium-smoking mathematician turned author who didn't have the forthrightness to pen under his given name, but wisdom came in many unexpected places.
"A pleasure, Miss Ridgeway, for certain. I shouldn't mind lending my eyes in the archives, of course, if only temporary in nature owing to other business. However, permission must be established by the masters of this institution before a relative layperson such as myself place hands upon the treasures herein. To wit, I should have to hear from the Curator or Lady Munn on the matter."
Concerning the man he had personally approached, Mahendra Zalil, the Lord Major found himself pleasantly surprised. He was being mildly satirical with the comment about the man being Oxford material, and found it noteworthy when he responded that he did indeed attend and graduate from Oxford University back in jolly old England. Unless he was not fully understanding the British idiom, in which case Reginald was simply going to have to push onward, conversationally. "Yes, quite. Action in service to King and Country is never wasted, sir. I am a Woolwich man myself; career military, you see. But so long as circumstance brings the two of us together in this place of revered study, I would like to pose a very pointed question, sir: Did Lady Munn happen to mention when she would return?"
Josephine took the occasion to make polite greeting, though it seemed that her attention was focused elsewhere. Not wanting to ruin her emotional crest, he responded with a simple, "Likewise of course, madame." She had her eyes on a potential target, or Reginald was the Queen of France.
Ms. Banoub finished up the exchange by posing a question of relation. "Ah, I see that you have met the Lord Captain. Yes, the young man is my brother's son; nephew by blood and the Second Heir to the Earldom of Sussex. It would otherwise be a miraculous coincidence having two Keystones this far away from the Motherland simultaneously."
Caesar considered giving the doctor the finger. And by that, he meant nailing her with a tranq pistol and posing her in a chair so he could charge people a dollar to sit and take their picture with her. It almost gave him something to smile about. Unfortunately, the actions that she had taken seemed a lot like the same bluster he might use to get out of a compromising position, were he about to get caught doing something he shouldn't. Maybe she was truly offended. Maybe said offense was enough to override certain innate curiosities concerning the enigmatic nature of her host. And maybe this whole thing was a ploy. Caesar promised to cease investigating for the day, and he intended to. But his suspicions were raised yet again.
As Natasha brushed past him, he met her gaze evenly. He declined to make comment, as anything he really wanted to say at that moment would likely be met with more venom and vinegar, now in the more open areas where the disturbance would filter down to where the family was viewing Alicia. And besides, she was leaving. The problem was, so was Cecily. He permitted himself a simple piece of advice to the departing Dr. Brinne hat he hoped she would take to heart, "Watch out for El Sasquatcho! He's a hugger."
He had another piece of advice for Cecily, now that he heard that she was leaving as well, "Be very careful where you place your trust. Let me know when you're back safe." He could have given her a hug just then, but that wasn't very Caesar. Instead, he left the file on a nightstand near the door should Cecily want to take a look at it, and prepared to rejoin the viewing.
From the next room, there came a shout. The usual alarm sounded in Caesar's mind as he slipped unerringly into his more protective, slightly more murderous persona. Drawing his .45, he moved with solid grace that belied his advancing years, hugging the wall until he came to the door to Thalia's room. He reached one hand over, gingerly closing it around the doorknob. Giving it the slightest of turns, he was able to tell that it had not been locked. With practiced motion, he threw the door open and clasped both hands around his pistol, flinging himself into the doorway in hopes of getting the element of surprise upon anyone or anything that might be harming his family. His hair, long and unbridled, flowed behind his every movement as a superhero's cape might, coming to rest behind his broad frame covered by a black leather biker vest. He was truly a man that was not to be trifled with.
Yet, instead of moving upon a grand threat, he let the gun fall to his side. Slowly, he tucked it back away and leaned upon the doorframe, supporting himself as he grabbed his sides and began to laugh. Honest, true laughter. Thalia was standing a couple of feet from little Liam, frozen in place with a look of shock, alarm, and utter disgust rolled into one horrifying moment. He shook his head, took a step back, and spoke aloud, "It's a good thing your father is a priest, niña." She didn't know it, but once upon a time, she was the little one in this particular scenario. He remembered it well. "I'll have some cleaning stuff and air freshener sent up. Just hang on."
Thalia gave a wordless exclamation, refusing to so much as move a muscle. She wasn't sure what to do, but she didn't want to make it any worse and moving, in her opinion, might make it worse. Caesar backed away slowly and began down the stairs. Along the way, he crossed paths with his brother Benicio, coming up the stairs with a large envelope. "Angel está en una situación. El pañal de Liam explotó y ella está atrapada. Le estoy ayudando."1
The younger Gonzalez brother responded in English, "Okay. I've got her for now." then hurried the rest of the way up the stairs. His motive was rather ulterior, but he assumed that the package was really meant for her, judging by its contents. She and Benicio together, by the clues left for him, but not for Caesar. At least not yet.
1 = Angel is in a situation. Liam's diaper exploded and she's stuck. I'm getting her some help.
There are days when drama and event seems to stack upon itself. The day did not start well, and that was an understatement. Luckily, so far as anyone could tell, Elizaveta pulled through alright. Still, the ink-black tentacled creature of unknown origin gave him pause. He had no problem facing off against the thing, especially as it meant defending his beloved adoptive daughter Veta (who happened to be the future ruler of the Russian Empire), despite the fact that he had no idea what to do to give it a true death. Then the business with the Scary Catholic Girl. The lack of business from London, when it was supposed to be its busiest period. And the unexpected entry of the Graveolase. And the accidental decapitation. And, and, and.
Of course this was on top of the difficulties last night. As he understood, there was an all-out attack upon Almack's Assembly Rooms, occurring at the same time that he was performing at Astley's Theatre. Considering the type of crowd at both locations, it might have just as easily been at his location as Almack's. This was not good. At least now that the Graveolase was present, they had the opportunity to perform for someone. And not just a stock performance, oh no: It was the demonstration of the Grand Mamushka, a dance involving many skilled individuals working in concert, involving knives, fire, acrobatics, music, and singing the likes of which enhanced the moment step for step and blade for blade. If only he could get to his favored Bazhooli Sem'ya to confirm their state of readiness for the performance. But as with everything else today, some new wrinkle just HAD to appear.
In this instance, it appeared in the form of a chain of persons calling for him, calling out "Великий Бажули!"1 and holding an arm in the air, giving Vladimir a path to follow through the gathering of circus folk. It was a path which he followed with great haste and determination, hands still full of sharp and pointy objects, his top of his tall hat bobbing above the heads of the gathered circus folk even as they parted to allow him access to his destination: Constantin, plus a curious looking man carrying a small burrowing mammal.
Vladimir stood a short length away from the pair of them, giving just enough room to loose a blade from his grasp with more than reasonable assurance of a successful insertion if the occasion called for it. So much as he wished to bellow in solid Russian, a language which he had a more fluent gift for vocabulary and style, he surmised that English would be the better medium for conversation, given their location and the fact that the extreme majority of Russian speakers in London were accounted for by the Circus's numbers. He addressed the man with much in the way of hand movement and flourishing of his knives, as suited his artistic custom.
"Strange and uninvited man vith veasel! You stand in presence of Great Bazhooli, Impalement Artist and Master of Bazhooli Sem'ya! You vill state name and business, on immediate! Or..." Vladimir ran the flat of one of his knives across the edge of his hat's brin, bowing his head slightly and taking on a mischievous grin, "Or prepare to be Bazhooli'ed."
Location: Ville au Camp, Main House, Passageway outside Room 107 Skills: N/A
Gilbert gave an easygoing smile as he shook his head in a self-admonishing manner. He directed his gaze to Sophia and in smooth, even voice, allowed an apology to roll from his lips. "Ah yeah... So sorry. I am caught between the entirety of human history and the desire to be polite. Sometimes the two fight with each other." He motioned after Sophia as she turned and began heading back to the passageway in which her room occupied, and followed up behind her.
Meanwhile, James was having an odd bit of fun trying to figure out exactly what the taller and obviously more muscular gentleman in the creased clothes and stylish fedora meant by that last statement. In life, James was a huge fan of turning the occasional enigmatic yet extremely backwoods phrase. When he got his bearings in this place, be it Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or "Other", he hoped to get back the full use of his cheerful sarcasm. The opportunity for a chunk of tasteful sarcasm wasted, James sat on his words, and tried to wrap his head around the new guy. "...entirety... of human history." he mused out loud. Maybe it was just an expression of the period; maybe that meant something in the 1940s. Or from whenever he may or may not have died. It was a lot to get used to, he supposed. But the man looked damned comfortable in his own skin, and in this place, whatever it was. If he was like himself, or Alicia, or Sophia here, then he'd been around for a long time. Unless he was one of those Emendators that he was told about. He didn't look all that different from the other dead guys he'd met so far.
Now that thought hit home with him. James was a dead person, walking around like it was no nevermind. Is this what it felt like to be a Walker? From their perspective, anyway? The next time he settled down to a nice, juicy steak, would that be him actually gnawing into a warm, living torso? The thought made him shiver. Was this death and unlife? Was he a drooling, snarling corpse looking for a helpless victim to chew on, but seen through a nigh-idyllic filter? It was damned sobering, and James hadn't even gotten his morning snootful yet. Just then, he could really go for it, a.m. or no.
Well, if he was going to get answers about the man, or about this place, he'd better start asking questions. James looked down at his hands, now full with the bread and jam the tall man had thrust upon him, shrugged, and jogged after Sophia and this mystery gent. By the time he got up to them, they had found their way back in front of Sophia's door. James opened his mouth to pose a question, only to realize that he was a half-second too late as the man began to speak. He would have sworn that he was trying to cut him off except that he was facing another direction altogether. "It's confusing for me sometimes," he began, "and I've been at this for a while. I can only imagine how this must be for you. Strange world, unfamiliar year, and you being new Paradoxes. Well, welcome to Ville au Camp anyway. I'm the guy you talk to if you need anything. You may call me..."
At that second, a feminine voice of eastern European accent blurted an exclamation in their general direction. James seemed to quietly understand that she was referring to the larger man in his company, but Gil looked bemusedly shocked. "Father of Giants?" he inquired quietly. With stronger voice and definite mirth in his voice, he continued, "I knew a guy that had that title. Name of Caelus. He wasn't all that sweet, though - matter of fact he was... ...hmm, kind of an ass." He smiled at Alexandra, then looked at Sophia and James, "I am called Gilbert. Gilbert Summers, but my colleagues refer to me as "The Hat", as we all have our jaunty little nicknames." He chuckled a little. For all of the names and titles he had gone by over the many centuries of his existence, "The Hat" was fast becoming his favorite. It sounded a little like a Mafia nickname. And he was fond of hats. "Some of those nicknames are very, highly appropriate."
James's face seemed to light up, as if by a switch. "You one o' them Enema-daters, ain't you? Hot damn!"
There was a snort that issued from Gilbert that was supposed to be a laugh. Unfortunately, it got caught somewhere in his sinuses and tried to escape in a manner that was equal parts ouchworthy and comical, prompting another bout of snickering and suppressed guffaws. "Emenda... nevermind." He wasn't a bit offended. "Hey, our group's getting a little crowded. Maybe we should take this to the Sitting Room and, well, sit for a while. I'm sure you have questions, requests, concerns... ?" His voice seemed to deepen and roll out like a great lion purring, "I'm sure I can be of help."
A smirk tried to spread across Thalia's face the second that Thana clipped that Zed. She put a hand up to her mouth in a casual manner, only partially successful in hiding the expression from anyone general view. It wasn't so much that she took any kind of perverse glee in seeing one of the shambling dead nailed by a moving vehicle, merely that the event caused a fairly random thought to involuntarily pop into her head.
Thalia imagined for a moment that they were on a nice, pleasurable drive out in the country; Thana at the wheel, Alexander with a map playing Navigator, and Thalia herself leaning out of the window wearing goggles, ass balanced on the door and knees bracing her solidly as she takes another whack at a Zed melon with a Louisville Slugger. "...base hit! Base hit!" she would scream, taking a point for herself as the last swing had put an imaginary runner into a hypothetical scoring position due to a full head-from-torso separation (but not very good distance, she was afraid). Three up and three down, the end of an inning. Of course, that was the kind of thing that Lola would be into, though she doubted that they played much baseball in New Zealand. Maybe there would be time to get in a game or two after this business was cleared up. Thalia was pretty sure that she could explain the basics of baseball well enough to get a more or less decent game going. Zed Baeball. Too bad they didn't have a bat.
"Either of you two play much baseball?" she wondered aloud. The smirk turned into a short giggle at the thought, as she passed the map to Alexander.
As soon as the woman who had offered assistance stepped away and Daphne was off the ground, Harper took a moment to lean in a bit and speak with lowered voice, even as the table erupted with mirth, "For what it's worth, coming from me - I'm sorry this happened." In truth, he was. But even with his fabricated history, Harper was once an Alliance officer. Some things didn't fly with polished commanders. He wasn't sure if Anisa was particularly polished, persay. The Fleet was polished. Hell, Captain Quinn was polished. Anisa was no-nonsense, certainly. Maybe not polished in the strictest sense of the word, but she was pretty strict. Not someone to mess with, at the very least. A line had been crossed, and it wasn't the first time. "Hey, I'll get you another drink before supper shows up, okay?" It was a polite gesture perhaps, though he knew it ultimately would not make up for her contract being terminated a moment ago.
Then something truly odd happened: The woman who was hanging around them started speaking to the Captain. Not just speaking, but confessing. Harper was not present for the dram that unfolded in the Retribution's cargo hold, nor the chase afterward. He did hear about it. And it was a cause of some concern for him when he did. Suffice it to say, this woman did not look like Alliance. She didn't carry herself like Alliance. And he was pretty sure that, if it came down to it, they could set her down into a warm, quiet hole someplace covered in lime and topsoil without the Alliance batting an eyelash about it. So there was a Plan B. Excellent. He couldn't wait to hear more.
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Newhope - Lady Luck Skills: N/A
A smile spread across Foy's face as his good, dear friend Jahosafat spoke. Like himself, the ebon gentleman has a particular proclivity for the appropriate use of words to suit both his Farradayan palate of verbiage and get his point across in a manner that was easily digestible by the Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur. "Oh indeed, my dashingly insightful sir. It is truly a parallel not too horribly unlike the works of the nigh legendary Dame Anthropologist studying the comings and goings of the lesser able; though whilst her field of social inquiry lay scattered about the tree-climbing throwers of fecalate, we have..." he gave it a half moment to consider the best manner to continue his thought before shrugging it off. "Well sir, I suppose in ways it is not too horribly dissimilar; and thus I concur with the findings of my honored colleague, which would be yourself, without doubt."
Were he to look at the situation objectively, Foy might have the good sense to realize that, if his situation progressed much further, he might find himself with much more in common with his new companions. Even so, he was a man of breeding, education, and refinement. Dirt poor (perish the thought!), he would likely still think highly of himself in comparison to others. Well, many others. Foy recognized peers, like the one with whom he spoke presently.
"Further, Josie old boy, I find that I am in situational accord with your suggestion of immediate and appropriate festivities concerning the relocation and Grand Reopening of the Gentleman's Parlour mere mortals refer to with the otherwise pedestrian though terribly clever title of "The Foy-er". A reverent yet raucous occasion, if ever there was one!" A flick of his hand brought his derringer back into its quick release holster as a new idea came to mind, this one possibly more appropriate to the atmosphere he hoped to generate with the help of his childhood friend. "Indubitably, that is the very one, regarding both your choice of music and the status of the woman below. But given your phenomenal sense of propriety and accuracy of celebratory necessities for this most auspicious of occasions..."
As it turned out, Keystone's moment happened with speed and surety, but in the most ass way possible. The sudden disappearance of some of his team plus the bad guy, only to be replaced with two BOUS's (Boars Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist...), one of which was atop a broken desk with a mildly unhinged Dwarf riding it like the star of a porcine rodeo. On the one hand, the broad pugilist was impressed. It took a bit of intestinal fortitude to grab hold of a gargantuan pig and try to maintain for eight seconds. On the other hand, while it did rather look like fun, they had a job to do.
But that was no reason to treat it like a chore.
"Bloody 'ell, we're 'avin' CHOPS TONIGHT!" he exclaimed through the din of battle, deftly sidestepping to the creature's flank and turning his body's inertia into an initial, shuddering punch. It made connection with the beast, issuing a fleshy report of impact. With practiced ease, Keystone took a half-step forward, setting up a stable base of footwork from which he threw another another punch, this one a straight, verted fist strike that likewise hit home on the creature's side. Such a pounding would likely down a normal man; possibly an abnormal one or two. This mammoth ham-factory was something different.
An unlikely thought crossed Keystone's mind as the fight commenced - He didn't like Necromancers much, but it was the rare one that would that would provide supper after a hard fight.
The reception in the Museum seemed to be a bit chillier than usual, seeing as only one person deigned to notice his arrival. Reginald frowned briefly, then gave initial response to the one who addressed him upon entry. "It is likewise a pleasure to see you again as well, Miss Ridgeway. I trust your day thusfar has been satisfactory?" It was a twinge of politeness in response to that which he had received. The news that Vera had gone to the permit office was expected, but only in hindsight. At his own office, Reginald was the man around whom the rest of the world revolved. If he wanted something done, people fell over themselves to make it fit into his schedule. Outside of those walls, unless at the head of a march of British Regulars or up in the air with a wing of areal daredevils, he had to operate at the speed of the world around him, and the schedules of others. It was a bother sometimes, but fully understandable.
Dear Akhmed seemed a little distracted, too. It took Reginald a little time until he understood what was going on. "...ah, the starlet, yes..." he mumbled to himself when it became clear. While not an avid fanatic of the silver screen, he had many men under him who were, and discussions pertaining to the subject oft found him staring down starstruck young servicemen. Akhmed had the same look on his face. Luckily, the man was able to roll his tongue back inside of his head long enough to point out the existence and location of Vera's new assistant. Even threw in a name for good measure. "Mahendra Zalil." he spoke aloud, trying the name on for size. The moment that the esteemed Ms. Banoub (another new face) halted her party of two and looked in his direction, the Lord Major smiled, gave a polite wave, and approached the pair.
"Good day sir, madame... I am Lord Major Reginald Keystone, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, the both of you. I understand, Mr. Zalil, that you are Vera's new assistant. She is very dear to me, you see, and I have inclination to introduce myself to the man who will be my niece's right hand for the foreseeable future. Oxford material, I presume?"
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
[list]
[*]
[*] Save Another from LLA Card
[*] Kill Any NPC in LAU Card
[*] Plot Insight Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
[*]
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650[/img][/center]
[/hider]
[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Lewascan2
Arty Fox
Lady Absinthia
Archangel89
