Sigil

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Sitting Room)
Skills: Alter Form

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"Viking flair?" asked Gilbert, making an attempt at rhetorical confirmation. It was not every day that he was asked to use one of his abilities in full view of others. It made him feel just a bit exposed; humanity wasn't exactly known for being understanding nor forgiving when faved with the new or the unknown. Ot to mention that these people had been through a lot today. Gilbert remembered when he first became aware of what he was. It was not pleasant by any means, and this was long, long before the world was comfortable with fantastical stories that were not attributed to gods or spirits. This particular bandage had to be ripped off at some point, though. Might as well get it ober with.

Addressing all of the non-Emendators in the room, Gilbert led off with a reassuring voice. "Now, I'm going to ask that you do not react. You all are not in any danger. Just... Observe. Ready?"

A ripple seemed to fo over Gilbert as his bones and musculature shifted. It was mild in some places, but in others, particularly his face, it was a radical restructuring. The color of his hair and eyes began to alter, followed by a thousand tiny details that made the total transformation complete. Almost instantly, another man sat in the seat that Gilbert once occupied, smilong a similar, laid back smile to the man, but for all intents the very image of a Scandinavian warrior from hundreds of years ago.

With a voice that was not quite his own, Gilbert sppke, "We all have our little gifts. This one let me live many lives, flowing from one era to another seamlessly. Also, very helpful for getting away from people you owe money to." A little joke, hopefully to break any tension. Silently, he awaited the reactions of those around him. In his experience, it may be wildly unpredictable.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Sitting Room)
Skills: N/A

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The statement that they had aome kind of abilities gave James a little pause. Considering he could not remember some pretty basic things he spent a lifetime practicing, he damn well hoped there would be something to compensate. He hadn't imagined that it would be something as grand as what this "Dice Lady" could do, determining deaths and pulling a few back with her.

Come to think of it, that seemed pretty damned insulting, doing something like that to a guy. He lived through some of the worst hell experienced by mankind. Survived. Thrived even, when he got a community behind him. Then some accident that Dice may or may not have been a part of... Even if totally blameless, it colored his opinion of her. At the same time, he did kind of pity the woman. It must be very lonely being her.

The mention of a demonstration of powers got James's attention, though. Not in the awe-inspiring way that it might havw others, more of a mild dread that there was even more oddness yet to come. Oh, but he did gasp when it happened. Sat back further in his chair with wide eyes, partially in shock over the whole display. James stared for what seemed a while, before using humor to diffuse his own mixed confusion about the current situation.

"Holy hell, son! If'n I could do that, my ass might be able to flag down a cab mo'often!" There was mirth in his voice and optimism in his face, neither of which he truly felt. If anything, James just wanted to find someplace quiet and process all of what had happened so far this morning. Hell, he wanted to cry. James glanced to Sophia, then wondered where Alicia had gone off to. He desperately wanted to find something familiar to latch onto right then.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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Foy took the extended hand of the rather nervous Dr. Fitz Townsley, offering back a firm but not domineering squeeze. He was a gentleman, after all, and was getting the responding end of a formal introduction. Such were the ways of etiquette, regardless of surroundings. Besides, the man looked very much like he was more than slightly uncomfortable in precisely those surroundings, possibly requiring something in the way of civility amid the uncivilized. "A pleasure, Dr. Townsley. Though my, but aren't we ponderously resourced with persons of higher learning? Doctors in particular have attracted my notice, though inhabitants of these less established environs may very well be due a modicum of enlightenment that comes with association with the learned and more refined of the social strata." A look of some regard then came over the dapper individual, as if he was considering something. He smiled gracing the table with his fine example of dental hygiene. "You know, old chum..." he continued, still looking to Fitz, "...with the exception of over-masticating your words, you have a passingly familiar accent." Foy looked to their ship's pilot, "Isn't that right, Mr. Harper?"

Harper knew precisely what he mean by that question. Both he and this Engineer had certain similarities in diction, possibly indicating a common point in background. Foy considered the pilot an enigma; one that he might begin to unravel with careful attention. It could be a coincidence, of course. People of education often spoke in like manner. Unless they were from Farraday. But this might be another clue - not his suspicion, but Harper's reaction to it spoken aloud.

The reaction was uncertain. An annoyed narrowing of the eyes and clenching of a hand. Foy's bright eyes saw Harper's other hand drift toward his hip, reasons being unknown to him without error; although that was the side where the former Alliance officer kept his new sidearm. The agitated fellow likely didn't stand a chance against the seasoned gunman if it came to drawing iron, nonetheless combat was not Foy's intent. He mentally marked down the occasion and continued to associate elsewhere at the table.

The sudden exit of Jahosafat was acknowledged by Foy, though not with the usual grand verbose discourse one had come to expect from the lettered Gentleman. It was considered a great act of impropriety to continue a conversation with a man who was hastily on the go, unless the subject was highly important or traveling in the same direction. He was neither, so he limited his response to Jahosafat's suggestion that he stay and "soak up the culture" with a simple, "Indeed I shall, my stalwart compatriot! You two tend to ...doctor-ous proclivities, or some such." Well, no immediate plans for a dance-off, more was the pity, but he did take the opportunity to locate and settle into a seat, right near the newest girl at the table to who he had professed owed him a new pair of madisons. He was just about to respond to Mei's assertions that she did not dance with, as she put it, "strange men", when the Captain made a butchery of pronouncing the word associated with persons originating from his birth planet.

"Ah Captain Crowe, if I may? I appreciate your vigor in the distinction of my people, buy it is more rightly pronounced Farradayan. Day. Common verbal misadventure, you understand." Then he was taken aback at the tactless but horrifyingly close to the mark exclamation that came out of Anisa's mouth next. "Would that you would be so gracious, Captain, but I am no one's Boy Toy - of that I can assure you. Though I find it coincidence beyond the metaphysical that you would have acquaintance with my dear sibling. Beyond that, the application of personal insult is as unnecessary as it is lugubrious, madame."

Lightly flustered at the unexpected turn of events, he called for the waitress, "Barmaid! I should require a pheasant, or some other such tidbit. Oh, what in unsolicited combustion do these folk eat in Newhope? Ah, Blackened Beef Heart, perhaps, with an appropriate vintage? No, just... whatever shan't make me vomit, if you would please. What he's having!" he decided suddenly, pointing at Harper. "Lad has taste, if not the most ardent of transparency." And to the table, "So, whatever shall we discuss, that I may absorb the culture of the hour?"

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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That barber was playing on Harper's last reserve of patience. Stamping upon a raw nerve, at the least. It was not that he was a very talkative man, nor that his vocabulary made Harper wonder if he had a thesaurus surgically implanted into his frontal lobe. Those were minor annoyances at best. No, the son-of-a-bitch was inquisitive, perceptive, and looked like he was close to figuring out a detail about him; one that would be a detail too far, in his estimation.

He thought back to the various questions and comments the pseudo-aristocrat had tossed in his direction over since they had met. Obviously he suspected something. He had, even before Whitefall. Perhaps he did not realize that the desperation of his situation might drive him to club the man over his highly dignified head while his back was turned and stuff his corpse down a garbage chute, or perhaps his arrogance did not allow him to consider that possibility. Either way, the moment that Foy had involved him in the conversation by implying that he and Gitz has similar accent (if only slightly), his first impulse was to put his hand nearer to his gun. If Foy kept this up, especially in public, Harper wasn't sure what he was going to do. They needed a heart-to-heart later on.

Besides, right now he had more important things to do that involved food. While he wanted to rop into everything with bare handa, he contented himseld with the use of utensils for the time being. And the ment moment that Anisa mentioned that woman's name, Beatriz? The look of consternation on Foy's face made the situation worth it. He smiled inwardly, looking to the Captain. Was it rude? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes. He made a note to buy her another drink later.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: In The Truck
Skills: N/A

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The idea of food was appealing to Thalia. That is to say, it was always appealing to her, but the concept of breaking bread with new people had a way of bringing them closer. As much as the once formidable level of rat's asses she could have given was massively depleted, the very appearance of said Hindpartus Rodenta to offer could mean a definitive difference in the amount of trust they might have for one another as they go about their epic quest to outright murder as many fuckers from Eden as they possibly could before cruising out.

That and, well, food. Thalia had an almost unnatural ability to pack away sustenance at levels beyond the capacity of hungry men twice her size, all without the appearance of gaining an ounce. She once postulated that, given time to prepare and barbecue sauce, she could ingest an entire roasted hog. Right about now, she could really go for that whole hog. Hell, she'd go whole hog for a whole hog. A good, cold lager would hit the spot nicely, too. Yah, some Harpoon Ale sounded like heaven. Unfortunately, all she had was an MRE. Check that: Part of an MRE.

It was also her habit to be thankful for what she had. She got a little breakfast that morning, along with instant coffee. Now a little pre-violence snack to tide her over before she could get to sweet, sweet spoils of war. Or died. Seeing as she had places to go after today, she really hoped it was the spoils of war bit. Dying would suck. This in mind, Thalia retrieved Thana's pack and pulled out a brown-green plastic covered box with muted black letters printed upon the side, reading: Meal Ready to Eat, and ripped it open following the soft click of her automatic knife actuating. Before she started distributing the packets within, she uttered a quick, "Dibs on the matchbook!"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum
Skills: N/A

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Reginald gave Ms. Banoub's advice on the matter of Vera and Peter's mode of address all of the consideration he felt it deserved. Ordinarily, that would be a sharp word or two, followed by smug acceptance of the fact that the ways of the Kingdom served as an example to others, and word to the contrary was likely handed out by malcontents. He did have to admit to one point; to those sadly uninitiated to the ways of formal and informal address of those close to one's self, it might seem a trifle unseemly.

To be fair to himself, this particular issue wasn't one that had come up before. Peter was presumed dead, lost in battle against the Kaiser's men. Vera was the closest thing he had to family on this continent, and they did have a close relationship. Not to mention their families agreed that he would watch over her, in his own way, so long as they were both in their present positions. So with careful consideration, Reginald looked upon the face that housed the sharp, unfiltered tongue of Ms. Banoub, smiled politely, and simply stated, "Quite." It was as much as he was willing to concede and showed a modicum of agreement.

To conclude the exchange with Mr. Zalil, Reginald perked up his outward demeanor. "I cannot say whether the offering of Lady Munn's assistant is sufficient authority to allow my entry, however I cannot say that it is not. At the very least, it would mean that an employee in good standing with the Museum has offered his access, which takes applicable responsibility from myself if this indeed becomes a breach of protocol. I thank you, Mr. Zalil, and shall content myself with checking..." he thought back to the sections in Archives that had been mentioned, "...5VbC, unless there are any objections. Well then, let us be off!" The Lord Major nodded, pleased in his continuation of triumphant decision-making, and patted his clipboard in the palm of his hand.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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The quartet of slightly mismatched persons of venerable ages scurried their way past the main viewing area and up the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. To say "scurried" was a stretch; the three abuelitas might have been aptly described as scurrying. Caesar himself moved with something more akin to plodding, seeing as he was still carrying the lion's share of the gear he had gathered from the basement. It was a strange day, and not just because he was giving traditional honors of interment to his only legitimate daughter. As his feet hit step after ascending step, he come to a lovely hindsight conclusion about his choice of guests and how appropriate their presence really was.

On the one hand, Cecily's life may very well have been in danger. The easy answer was to get her out of town until things cooled down, if they were going to cool down for her. At face value, it made sense. Caesar was headed out of town on easily explainable and understandable business, using a private plane. An extra person or two on the manifest would not be an issue. But was bringing them to La Hacienda really the best option? It was secure, yes. Safe, even. But if people knew the extent of Caesar's company's involvement with this Juno crowd, it would definitely be a location of interest if it wasn't already. Again, hindsight dictated that he probably should have re-asserted his offer for her to work for his company directly and transfer her immediately to the home office in Tennessee, using executive privilege to minimize publicly accessible paperwork. The offer was still valid if she wanted it, as he reminded her earlier, though with the current social climate now he figured it would be less likely that she would accept. Caesar had to tend to his own violently quixotic affairs before he insisted upon saving anybody else.

Then there was Natasha. Maybe he did make a mistake. Not in checking up on her privately; he was planning on doing that to damn near everyone he had come in contact with over the course of this series of fuckups and misadventures, now that he had his Tech team in place. His mistake came in confronting her about her association with a prominent member of Juno. Intentions noble or ignoble, he should have played it much closer to the vest. And he still didn't trust her. Not as much as Cecily did, obviously. Asking to come with them on this trip was a bit of a red flag, but again, hindsight. If any harm came to Cecily, Dr. Brinne was definitely going on The List.

It was easy to tell which room belonged to Thalia. Even if this wasn't Caesar's home and he was arriving for the first time, it would have been evident. It was not like cartoony stink lines were radiating from the open door, but there could be no mistaking the muffled grunts of disgust coupled with the bubbly giggles of a highly smug baby boy. Steeling himself against what he knew awaited him, Caesar approached the offending room, even as the elder women around him fell silent.

Meanwhile, in Thalia's room...

As Thalia did whatever she could to stand her own presence, Benicio took to little Liam as an experienced parent might, removing his jacket, rolling up his sleeves, and diving right in. He uttered many small prayers in supplication to God, Jesus, Mary, and Dama Muerte, invoking saints and reciting snatches of hymns meant to inspire patience and strength. He was underprepared for this explosion of challenging, post-digested material. He was going to soldier on nonetheless. His daughter decided to then get back to business, now that the brunt of her splatter was removed.

"Why would Alicia give me... or, us... something that she didn't want her father to see?"

"I do not know, Angelita." he responded as he wrestled with ass-swamped baby clothing, "She kept many things from him. And from us. Maybe it was to protect."

"Maybe she wanted a life outside of La Familia."

"Could be. Is that why you wanted to be like her, so much?"

"It's not like that, Dad. Alicia was so strong. She was the first friend I had after Mom died. She made me feel comfortable down here, you know, before..." Thalia trailed off, unsure as to how she would proceed without hurting her father's feelings.

"Before what, M'hija?"

"Before I even knew you, Dad. You didn't know how to deal with a ten year old. I know you loved Mom, I know she left you and never told you about me. You didn't deserve that, and you didn't deserve a scared, lonely little girl who wouldn't even talk to you for a month. I'm sorry. Alicia's visits were the only thing that I looked forward to. Before I got to know my Familia. Violence and all."

"You look so much like her, Angel. You might have your uncle's eyes, but you have her spirit."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't thank me." he smiled a little, "She could be such a bitch."

Thalia couldn't help but start to chuckle. Tears formed, spilling down her face. But she kept laughing in a flurry of mixed emotions. "Is this where we're supposed to hug, now?"

"You're covered in shit, M'hija. We'll hug later." he chuckled, glancing to his little girl with endearing eyes.

"Let's get this over with." came Caesar's voice from the doorway. He plunked the shop vac down and began unloading the mountain of cleaning supplies. One of the women with him raised a hand to her forehead, dramatically feigning a fainting spell. Another suddenly remembered a pressing appointment elsewhere. The third shook her fist at the one who retreated, picked the "fainting" one from the floor, and began fussing at people to get to work.

And so, the cleaning process began. God help them all.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: The Truck
Skills: N/A

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The truck coming to a sudden stop threw Thalia into survival mode. She didn't really know either of the people she was sharing space with, and the unannounced cessation of movement prompted her hand to begin moving to her knife. She told herself to calm down, reminded her basic instincts of self-preservation that the three of them, plus the crazy bastards in the tank, were headed toward the same purpose. At the very least, they were allies. You don't start off into an unknown, mortal situation by causing harm to your allies. As slowly as it neared her blade, Thalia's hand retreated, hopefully without the notice of he others in the truck.

When Thana began talking about the map, she eased back into her normal, only somewhat edgy state of awareness. Her hands curled around the edge of Astrid's shield instead, memories playing about in the back of her brain as she scanned the terrain outside of the truck, playing lookout as Alexander fumbled about with the map some more. Then Thana made the "Brapalorch" comment that, despite Thalia's reluctance to trust these people, made her snort out a laugh before she could stop herself. "Brapalorch? Jesus, I've been having mensies for a while now, nevah knew it made a Brapalorch sound." She allowed herself another snicker before adding, "Roll Tide!", shaking her head, and getting back to lookout.

Something else that surprised her: Alexander wasn't really fumbling about with the map in the back. He began rattling off a series of street names and possible routes that was actually a little impressive in how fast it came back, and all without dipping into electronic resources. Damned shame about a lack of electronics. It was her bread and butter, or used to be. "Well, you go, Mugsy... Nice work for a Bama fan."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum
Skills: N/A

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The Lord Major thanked Mahendra with traditional United Kingdom Stiff Upper-Lippage, as befitted his station. "Ah, I see. Well nonetheless, I appreciate your candor and openness, given the situation. Perhaps, if my presence on the interim is inappropriate poring through Museum property, might it be permissible to wait upon her return? I am open to either possibility, you understand." He gave a polite nod to the East Indian Oxford fellow, purely out of courtesy to another citizen of the Empire in a foreign land.

Then of course, the illusion of civility had a hammer taken to it by the particularly up front Ms. Banoub. It gave Reginald pause. He looked at her with a sideways glance before slowly turning his head to catch up with the direction his eyes were facing. They widened slightly, showing an array of emotions going through the Lord Major, none of which leaned toward the positive. His face began to turn a pale shade of turbulent red before he was able to stamp it back down with his sheer, utter Britishness, one asset of which he was heavily resourced.

It did occur to him that, despite Egypt's previous status as a protectorate state under the Empire, it was very possible that this woman did not understand the tiny subtleties of his culture's familial versus familiar customs. To wit, Reginald tried to set his feelings aside and explain with polite dignity. "Madame, if you would indulge me for a moment? What you are saying is patently ludicrous, although I can see where some confusion may slip into the dialogue for those uninitiated in articles of responsibility amongst the Peerage. The Lord Captain Peter Keystone is my nephew; the son of my brother. He is my family by blood. Lady Munn's family and my own are close allies, with connections present and potential. Moreover, owing to my status and proximity, I am honorbound and morally obligated to tend to her best interests with the same responsibility as I would my own blood. 'Niece', in this instance, is a term of endearment, though it puts a tidy label upon the relation we have to one another. Chaperone is another, though less accurate." He cleared his throat lightly, "Does this satisfy your sense of propriety, madame?"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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Caesar didn't feel right in letting Cecily walk out of the door with Natasha. There was something there that was gnawing at him, but he just couldn't place it. He wasn't going to force her to stay, though. That would make him a different kind of asshole than he actually was. He wished that he could keep tabs on her somehow or give some form of aid. But the decision was set and done. If Cecily did not want the protection and hospitality of La Familia, he wasn't going to hold it against her.

At the present, he had a delicate and impressionable (ha) niece who was trapped in her room, covered in something that looked like tar fused with nuclear waste produced by his baby grandson's colon. From the smell, it was probably easier to set the room on fire and start over from scratch. But that was probably not the most practical approach, with many visitors present. Caesar was going to have to go down into the storage basement or cellar and haul up some of the more industrial goodies to handle this little dilemma. He could go and tell Maria about this; she was always better with kids than he, but with the events of the evening Caesar thought it best to let himself, Benicio, and Thalia handle the problem.

A few moments later, Caesar found himself walking down a short flight of stairs into the underground areas of the complex. In contrast to other basements or underground areas, this one was well lit and organized, as if constantly expecting company. Or an apocalypse. There were others down there as well, hauling up casks of wine or trying to find a quieter corner to discuss things between them, cry, or other business related to the upkeep of the houses and grounds. He walked past stockpiles of foodstuffs, tools, weapons, sundries, etc. until coming to the object of his mission: Cleaning Supplies. Number one on the list was a wet/dry shop vac. Taking no chances with this.

So, shop vac, wet wipes, bucket, maximum strength cleaning products with and without bleach, bleach, various cloth and paper products designed to be both strong and absorbent, and an extra wastebasket that might double as a burn bucket later. And diapers. He was so laden with items that, upon clunkily climbing the stairs and re=emerging in the main area, a trio of abuelas who had just emerged from the kitchen scurried around him for the purposes of relieving him of part of his burden and follow him wherever he was headed, all the while making conversation about how kids these days don't know what it means to get down on their hands and knees and scrub a floor like back in the good old days.

Meanwhile, back upstairs...

Benicio stepped into the open doorway, eyes widening at the sight within. "Jesucristo..." he murmured, looking in awe at the splatfest within. Realizing that he had just taken the Lord's name in vain, and him being a priest, that was rather toward the bad side. "Lo siento, Dios." he quickly followed up, continuing to his daughter with, "This looks like an 'Ay Carajo' moment, little Angel. You good?"

With mastery of motionless facial muscles rivaling the greatest ventriloquists of yesteryear on up to "America's Got Talent", Thalia squeaked out, "No... no Dad. Not really. Towel please?"

"Yeah, M'hija. Give me a second." Benicio walked into the bathroom and returned with a fluffy, beige towel that he was absolutely certain he would never allow his family to use ever, ever again, and began to pat his daughter's face more or less clean. Ish. Enough to allow her more comfortable gifts of speech. Glancing over to Liam, he laughed a little, noting how utterly blissful the tiny Gonzalez seemed to be at his recent accomplishment. "Ok, Caesar will be back in a couple minutes. Before he does..." He paused for a moment to close the door, "I got a package in just now. Alicia sent me a flash drive with the picture of an angel's wing on it. I think she meant for just us to see it. When we're done cleaning up, we need to take a look a this, okay?"

Taking the towel away from her father, Thalia began cleaning herself as best she could for the moment, flatly intoning, "Sure. But first we're getting this done A-fucking-SAP."

Benicio nodded vigorously. "Yes. Definitely."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"
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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp, Main House, Passageway outside Room 107 (Sophia's) -> Room 101 (Sitting Room) by way of Hallway and Study/Library
Skills: N/A

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What appeared to be a general consensus of opinion had been made concerning a change in venue. The sitting room seemed to be a more hospitable location as compared to standing about in the right passageway, engaging in idle small talk. One piece of said talk did seem to capture Gilbert's attention, however. One of the newcomers, specifically the one that referred to him as "Father of Giants" a moment before, had brought up another identifying title. As it turned out, it was another one that he knew. With a sly grin, Gilbert vocalized a point of memory that the title invoked, "Come along, Miss Andonova, it's a little more unique than that. There have been several Great Bazhoolis over the centuries. I've known a few. There's only been one 'The Hat', so far as I know."

James's eyes brightened suddenly, a glimmer of recognition spreading across his face. In optimistic voice, he added to the conversation, "Hells yeah, knew me a Great Bazhooli, too! Odd muthafucka. Damn handy with them knives, though, had him a cat..." his voice faltered and grew quiet for a moment before he continued, "...name o' Schrodinger. Um, hey... He died on us, same day Bridgette and Astrid went." He knew it was impossible for the others, except for Sophia, to know who these people were. He just felt like saying their names out loud to make sure that they weren't forgotten; his own way of keeping vigil for them. Others died then as well, obviously. More names to remember. Distantly, he hoped that someone back where and when he was from thought enough of him to speak his name from time to time. It was a depressing thought. Here was another: "Big man said his family was all gone. Now he's dead, too. I think I mighta known the last one. Ain't that a bitch?"

Gilbert's look turned to the quizzical, then relaxed with understanding. "He wasn't the last one, James. I can tell you that much." The look he gave the man insisted that he was not to ask more, which James reluctantly agreed to. For the time being. Luckily, he attention got turned elsewhere. From James's vantage point, he saw Alicia crossing the opening to the passageway and waved his arms to try to get her attention. "Hey girl!" he called, breaking the conversation's previous decibel level, "Q & A in the Sittin' Room!" He was reasonably sure that she was going to be busy. She liked to keep busy. But it would have been impolite not to ask. Loudly.

Meanwhile, the tall Emendator seemed content to take Sophia's advice, taking a cursory step in the direction of the Hallway door. "Sure. Q & A in the sitting room." He chuckled and shook his head, interested to see the interactions between the new Paradoxes. Lots of different personalities to mix at Ville au Camp. Before disappearing into the next room, he noted the newer (and quieter) man descend the stairs and flash a welcoming smile.

On the other hand, James hung back a little, edging closer to the newcomer. He turned his head to look the man over, eyes wide as if struck with some manner of shock, and whispered to him in a rasp, "...I see white people..." before immediately following The Hat into the Hallway, through the Library, and into the Sitting Room. To sit.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Chteniye Dushi (Active, Soul Reading)

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The Great Bazhooli added a nod of appreciation to Constantin for providing the given name of the man in front of him and stating the overt explanation for his presence. "спасибо₁ Constantin." However, upon some inspection of the man heightened his doubts of the claim that he was an emissary in search of the Graveolase. Of course, they were present in his camp, but for a man to show up unannounced and uninvited and insist that he should be granted access? No. It seemed off. The fact that he had butchered the title that he had earned through trial and rite of passage, intentionally so, left Vladimir in a state of growing, bubbling annoyance. Much more of it and he may find himself shy one or two knives from his person, only to have to ask this Ludwig's corpse for permission to retrieve them from his torso. Such things would be frightfully difficult to explain to the local constabulary. If he were found.

Something felt off, however. The man was obviously mad, but the word that wafted to his ears was that he was exhibiting abilities unknown to the Circus, possibly by means of Training. But, most certainly a nutbar. Vladimir twirled his knives between his fingers, eyeing the man carefully. If only he had a means of determining more about the man without having to resort to painful, lingering torture that may or may not stain his fine if flashy wardrobe. But wait! As it turned out, he indeed did have such a talent! Vlad opened himself to the Chteniye Dushi, a technique passed down by his Rusyn forebearers that allowed one to peer into the soul of another and see what lay within.

The murky depths of the young man's eyes did not reveal much to him. His personal madness likely was not the culprit; Vladimir had read the exquisitely insane and come back with some information. Perhaps he was too far away or could not get a good enough mental connection. Either way, what little he could discern from Ludwig was that he wasn't immediately getting a feeling of alarm from the man. It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Nyet. Not having tissue. You are having seconds to explain - vhy do you stand in our home, insulting name of our Fathers as if not expecting answer of cold, Russian steel? And if here for Graveolase, vhere is invitation? Come, hand over. The patience of The Great Bazhooli is finite and fickle as vinds."

Translations

1 = Thank you (pronounced "Spasibo")