Sigil

🦄 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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It seemed that Foy wasn't particularly making new friends at the table. This suited him fine, as the location didn't seem to draw from the best of social circles anyway. But, he was part of a Dragonfly crew now, and certain standards had to be relaxed for the sake of conducting business. But speaking of business, it was a little galling that these ...persons... did not believe that he was a master of the Barbering Arts. More to the point, the inference was that he was not just the barber. As if ships didn't have, and/or need barbers. That was just silly. Why, ships (Capital ships, mind you) would pay through the nose to have someone like him putting out his shingle on premises. It wasn't just a cover for his more illicit activities, oh no, it was an ancestral occupation. One that he performed masterfully.

Still, he wasn't scoring any brownie points here. Far be it for him to address these people in the manner that an apologetic person might; such things were not within his comfortable skill set. But he could continue to be himself, and be damned the consequences. "Just the barber, really, how gauche. I am also a certified rapscallion, a ne'er-do-well, a Man About Town, and when situation calls for it, I exist to provide color to otherwise monochromatic proceedings. It is my solid and inimitable forte, above and beyond the shortcomings of persons better suited to more pedestrian undertakings." Foy tucked away his straight razor, a smug expression readily coming to his face.

"But never you mind about my shoes, Sister Mary Incorrigible. I wager only as much as I feel like being charitable by the evening, and cards are but an intermission for me, rather than the main show." He noted Dorothy's arrival, and switched conversational gears. "How good to see you again, Dr. Pender. I trust the stroll was suitable to clear one's head? Does wonders for myself, particularly with a bit of mischief after. I would toast to mischief, understand, but I have not a libation in front of me, which is a considerable shame."

Foy pulled out a pocket handkerchief and waved down their server, the second she seemed unoccupied. "I shall have a tumbler of whiskey, neat. Decent stock, none of this lower-shelf stuff, you understand. And if you would please, set the bottle on the table and walk away. That aside, do get another round for the table, upon yours truly." He pulled out a decent amount of scrip bound with elastic, peeled off a few bills and handed it over to the young lady. "For my expenses and your trouble, of course. And make sure you take care of the pair not at the table, as well."

He began accepting cards as they were dealt to him, eyeing the newer people at the table. Speaking to Jahosafat, "My, what a little adventure this is becoming, is it not?"

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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Harper took the mild to moderate sarcasm offered by Anisa with stride. He was curious as to where she might have hidden her firearm, and now that he knew, well, it reminded him that the fringe types that lived out near the edge of space had to be resourceful to survive. Such was his practice is he wanted to survive, as well. Perhaps his strength in that regard was being overlooked. It might be easy to do with this group. For the most part, conversation had been steered away from him, especially by the newer people at the table. Curiosity from strangers avoided. There was much to be said for it, being in his position.

He took to the floor with Anisa, carefully trying not to scuff her very nice shoes. It took a couple of passes, but with her leading Harper was able to settle into a rhythm, effecting a passable dance routine. He still felt awkward, at least a little, but he kept his hands appropriately placed on the Captain, and his feet moving in their new pattern.

"I'll be straight with you, Captain." began Harper in a low voice. He kept his eyes locked into hers, as if rapt attention could help convey his words over the sound of the music. "The first time I asked you to dance, I was trying to divert your attention away from shooting Daphne, as I'm pretty sure I can't out-draw you." He smiled, not quite unsettling but leaving one to wonder how much, if any of his explanation, he was joking about. "Now the last time, I wasn't fully in the liking of how the conversation at the table was proceeding. Figured if I remove myself and a focal point from the table for a minute or two, talk would shift elsewhere." Most of what Harper did had a purpose behind it, whether or not even he realized it. There was rarely wasted intent.

"And you are definitely someone who can draw attention, Captain." He let that statement hang there for a moment flatly. His intonation was such that it could have meant one of a couple of things. Harper was pretty good at being unclear, almost as well as he could be direct. It gave him a conversational back door with which he could mount a daring escape if needed. A sigh and a more serious look found him, and he continued with a relenting voice, "But the reason I asked you to dance specifically now is..."

Harper leaned in close and spoke quietly, so that there was minimal chance anyone else could hear without the aid of surveillance equipment. When he was done a few seconds later, he pulled his head back, nodded to Anisa with serious expression, and continued dancing. (Will PM his messsge)

His face suddenly changed to something more lively and mildly sarcastic, punctuated by a droll, "Oh, I love this part of the song. Dip me?"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Porch) -> Kitchen House
Skills: N/A

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As the group took a brief stroll through the remaining two rooms of the main house, Gilbert gave himself the tiny luxury of listening to the conversations of the new Paradoxes. It amused him somewhat how glib of tongue some of them could be, especially considering that he was standing directly in their midst. One of his more smug smiles curled along one side of his mouth, followed by the barest of head shakes. It was an interesting phenomenon. Naturally, Gilbert figured the frank and open discourse with zero guile might be due, at least in part, to the guttural fear yet sudden liberation of being dead. The walking around, taking in the evening air, "what would you like with your tea?" dead, not the shambling about, eater-of-brains kind of dead, nor even the significantly more boring, just laying there kind of dead where your only real concerns (were one cognizant of anything or even spiritually present) were bugs and/or necrophiliacs.

A couple of them were quiet, or very nearly so. The optimistic dark complected one called James looked to have his initial zest run down like a music box coming to premature rest, and the extremely pale one had yet to speak in his presence at all. Everybody had their own way of processing. Hell, when he found out what he was, there was one hell of an adjustment period. On the other hand, some of these new Paradoxes seemed firmly planted in a specific attitude, be it sarcasm or flirtation or a strange sense of conversational neutrality. None of it particularly concerned him past the need to keep a cursory listen for warning signs of psychosis. That had happened before. Wasn't pretty.

"Are we ready?" he inquired lightly. Everyone seemed to have finished up this stop on the nickel tour, and he was eager to get them back into Evelina's care for another round of Q & A. If he had to field additional questions that didn't involve the layout of the grounds, he might be inclined to answer. That's just not how it worked. Dropper feed information to these people at a rate that their brains could handle it. Problems would invariably arise otherwise. "Ok, if you'll follow me..." Gilbert stepped off of the porch and cut an immediate left, walking toward the Kitchen House.

"The front grounds are pretty straightforward from here." said Gilbert, crossing the ground in front of the house. As soon as he cleared the outer wall, he pointed beyond the house to a pair of smaller buildings. "Garages. The less sophisticated types tend to call them 'car holes', but trust me, they're garages. Oh, ah... modern equivalent to a carriage house or a cart shed. Moving on..."

Gilbert continued taking them in a straight line toward the Kitchen House, passing a copse of trees with one very familiar, sprawling Oak. "All of you will remember this. The old Oak is the present site for the gateway here. This is where you arrived. Nice spot. Out of the way. Serene, even. Sometimes I like so sit out here with tea, maybe some sandwiches. Get a little weapon practice in. It's a nice spot, other connotations aside. But hey! Let's keep going."

Just past the Oak was one of Gilbert's favorite places and the end of the line for them, so far as the initial tour went. "And here we go, the Kitchen House. The weather in this part of the country is, ah... Well, it has humidity and heat that's near impossible this far away from the equator. The Kitchen House produces food for the whole of the grounds and staff, and in the summer. Damn. Just damn. Be glad it's away from the house. That last part shouldn't be a problem for us, but there it is." Gilbert waved a hand toward the ramp and deck attached to the building, "Let's file inside. Miss Lucas should be waiting."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Porch) -> Kitchen House
Skills: N/A

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James, meanwhile, walked along behind Gilbert like a man expecting to either wake up any moment then, or fall over stone dead. He had to admit, it was a nice place. Quiet, out of the way, light breeze flitting through the greenery; not bad. Of course, it was extremely likely first constructed and maintained by his ancestors, slave labor sold in exchange for manufactured goods, traded for raw materials of the New World, and left to the mercy of secondary buyers who, for the most part, treated them worse than cattle. "Fuckin' Dutch..." murmured James, taking in his surroundings. Maybe not his forefathers exactly, his people were from south Georgia. But he couldn't definitively rule it out, either. Such was life.

James recognized the tree, alright. It was where he first saw Alicia again. His dead bestie right in front of him. It was an amazing dream at first, until his own crushing guilt got the better of him. He needed to have a talk with her as soon as he could. Confess to her what he did. He had accepted punishment for it in his previous life, and hell, maybe this was part of it in a more metaphysical sense. There was a darkness in James that he had accepted a long time ago and that the world in which he had lived made thrive. He really didn't like that it was there, even though it probably saved his life on more than one occasion.

But hey! That was a totally different lifetime, right? Yeah! This little odyssey that he was on was one part second chance, one part self-discovery! Residing on an old Plantation as a dead guy, possibly with superpowers, with a collection of some of the most eclectic and potentially strange people he had ever had the pleasure of making acquaintance that had also died, and/or had been around since the dawn of frigging time. So, okay: Garages, Oak, Kitchen. He's got this.

As he ambled into the building, he did really wonder if alcohol was forthcoming.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Near Eden
Skills: N/A

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Lacking the option of yet another sharp item in the back of the truck, Thalia had to remain content with the machete on her back, her survival knife, and (in a pinch) her E-tool. Though there was always room for more. Thana insisted on taking the axe, which was well and good. An axe was a hell of a tool, even made a pretty good weapon for those with the preference, but it was hardly her go-to item for personal dismemberment. A little too overbalancing for her tastes.

Thalia was occasionally fond of military types. They had their little proclivities and rituals, not unlike the way in which Thana and Alexander saluted one another before heading out. She was tempted to make note of it, but considering she was neck deep in little rituals and quaint, ancient practices herself, she felt it might be a touch toward hypocrisy to mention anything aloud. It wasn't exactly the vision of normalcy to paint a skull of one's face with ash and char while reciting a prayer to the female representation of Death in Spanish, all after supplicating the ancestors of a friend while sending them to Valhalla. Thalia wasn't military. But, feeling the mood of the day, she had to admit she was something similar.

Without a pack to weigh her down, Thalia could travel light and quiet. This was the benefit to leaving it behind, in the tank. It also allowed her to strap Astrid's shield to her back without much fuss. She kept her shiny, new Beretta at the ready, round chambered and ready to make some noise. She hoped it wouldn't come to that this early in the game, making noise, so kept it at the ready but did not plan on using it unless thee was no other option. Her machete, though, found a place in her hand. That, she had no problem making liberal use of.

What she did have a problem with was that she could hear singing. Singing. Cole Porter to be precise, so she was pretty sure where the idea came from. Lola wasn't here, and that wasn't a female voice belting it out. Nope, it was Alexander. She could only hope that, if they were caught, the bad guys would eat him first. She could also hope that they were spread out enough on their approach that attention called to him did not effect her. She shot a look over in Alexander's direction that promised horrifying things if he kept singing, but in their present position she could not ensure that he would notice, nor comprehend the murder in her eyes.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security Hub (His Office)
Skills: N/A

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(Narrator: When last we saw our intrepid hero, he was on the phone in his office getting jerked around by the company's marketing and legal departments. Let's see how it's going.)

Keystone let out many a quiet "sod it" over the course of a marathon wait, the hold music slowly making a move on his soul. How long he had been at it for a simple answer of protocol was beyond him, but it felt like months. This continued until a notice signaled him on his desktop, coming down from the client, or the business thereof. A message, requesting an appropriate detail to provide security on extremely short notice. A thing like this would have to involve some collection of high and mighty muckedy-mucks, lest the meet during regular business hours, and/or in a public site. The big guy would have loved to have met at a public site. Like a steakhouse. Yes! A traditional American steakhouse. Ok, after his workout, definitely.

But not now. No, now he had to oversee or delegate oversight for this suddenly scheduled meeting. With a sigh, Keystone hung up his office phone, killing his call he'd started much earlier, and punched in an extension.

"Yeah, needs me a team. Site's bein' barney'd into a last soddin' minute venue for some stick-in-the-arse brigade. All availables, then. Didn't square much in detail. Yeah, one o' those. I'll be waitin' out to receive. Cheers."

He stood, took a minute to refit his ballistic vest and throw a layer of clothing over it, anx walked out to the Hub proper. "Vinters! You're with me. Grab you an earpiece. Grab one for me, while you're at it. Ibanez, you're eyes n'ears. Get on the screens." With that, he strode out to the receiving area, a moderately pissed-off blonde lady in tow.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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Caesar made his way down the stairs, past the onlookers, and back into the viewing area. He was not overly comfortable there, any more than he was truly comfortable anywhere where he could be scrutinised. But these people were family. It wasn't as bad. He had less to worry about with them, and they had come to pay respects anyway.

Which remimded him: Those two upstairs were up to something. He couldn't tell what, nor even if it related to him, but something was being played close to the vest with his brother and niece. But, family. If they wanted him to know, they would have told him.

Meanwhile, back upstairs...

"Shit." hissed Thalia, her hands speeding over the keyboard. She knew that she should have isolated the drive better than she did, maybe plug it into a throwaway device beforehand.

"What is wrong?" inquired Benicio, still cradling little Liam.

"Bitch booby-trapped it with a virus. God damn, this is nasty. Give me a minute." Whether it would take merely a minute or if this would become a pitched battle, Thalia was able to prevent her system from getting fried immediately. The countermeasure was still active, though, and Thalia had her work cut out for her as she attempted to isolate and remove evidence of the corrupting software. Whatever was on this drive had better be worth it.

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

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Dirigible

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The sun was high over the sands surrounding Cairo, dunes painting shadows with undulations of differing hues; blues and purples mostly, casting their irregular shapes across the Sahara. The view from above was spectacular. One could look in certain directions and see no sign of human presence, just beige-white sand stretching to meet the sky in the distance, alternately hazy in the heat or as clear as spring water while moderately cooling breezes swept across. Looking back to the city, it had all of the industrious appearance of a well ordered anthill, alive with the personal and commercial comings and goings of people from many, many walks of life.

The Nile cut its way northward, the oldest and most permanent highway of northern Africa. It was this landmark that the dirigible followed, its swift but remarkably smooth flight running parallel to the great river. The craft itself was not particularly large, about the size of a fishing skiff without the large, multichambered, hydrogen-filled inflatable above. There were structures that resembled fore and aft castles, were it a larger ship, though the fore was mostly for shelter and sleep, while the aft was a passable engine house. It launched rather quickly at the behest of someone important back in Cairo. The object was to head northeast, into the verdant grounds of the Nile River Delta and to the city of Port Said for proper outfitting and provisioning before the big push halfway across the Mediterranean Sea to the island of Cyprus. From there, the dirigible's only two passengers had the option of securing alternate transportation or staying with the balloon overnight, its eventual destination far north in Anglican country.

The master of this particular vessel was an older man, approximately seventy-five to one hundred and ten years of age to look at him. A slender, stork-like fellow who constantly wore a raincoat and had a lit pipe in his mouth, speaking around it in such a way as to make his precariously garbled accent sound even less like he was an Englishman, which he claimed to be. Though he smelled lightly of elderberries, the old man had a firm handshake and glint of hardened steel in his eyes. He spoke with confidence in himself and his craft, and insisted that he was ready to fly, and on the immediate. It was all they needed to know. His two passengers were on board before the manifest's ink was dry, joyous about the opportunity awaiting them in England.

It was a chance at a new beginning for Aziza, and chance to try again at life. Regroup, gain influence, and maybe, just maybe have a decent shot at getting her son back. It would also be a new beginning for Harry; a long life of quiet study and reflection if he so desired, far away from the guns and bombs of his past. There was hope riding along with them, high above the water and sands of Egypt.

A half hour out of Cairo, the pair of them were vaguely aware of sudden turbulence. The winds seemed calm and they were puttering forward at a decent clip thanks to the dirigible's main, rear-facing propeller. But still, the dirigible seemed to be shaking and listing starboard. It was very strange. The shipmaster was nowhere to be seen at this time. He couldn't have gone into the forecastle, that would have meant passing Aziza and Henry - a thing which he most assuredly did not do. But he was the authority on this boat, such as it was. If there was a problem, he should know how to handle it. Harry assured Aziza that he would locate the man and see to the difficulty, so she needn't worry. What happened next...

Harry was about five or so feet from the door to the aftcastle when he noticed the smoke. It was only a wisp or two, curling around the doorframe. Nothing much. But in there was also where the shipmaster kept the canisters of compressed hydrogen, and if one of those ignited? The two of them would learn firsthand whose holy book from their childhood was correct. Bravely, Harry grasped the doorhandle and pulled. Then he immediately wished that he had not.

The elderly shipmaster was located. He was a foot and a half from the door, laying unmoving on his back. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, teeth cracked and broken around the stem of his pipe which was still held firmly in place. One hand reached for the door while the other was twisted into a rigid claw, grabbing at his chest as if he might tear out his own heart. He was aflame from the knees down, but that was purely because the rest of the room was from that point back. The engine bucked and sputtered, thick with oil-based residue set alight by unknown means. The hydrogen canisters were present, all the way in the back of the room and while not burning, they were beginning to visibly swell in the heat. The door's sudden opening gave the fire inside a flush of new air to fuel itself, flaring up and sending Harry stumbling backwards into the main, open area of the skiff body. Shock kept him from feeling the horrid burns that marred much of his exposed skin, a tiny blessing in the grand scheme of things.

He tried to call for Aziza. Whether or not his words were intelligible, she dashed to be by his side immediately. The fire had grown to fully encase the engine room, dashing hope of getting to the tanks with any chance of survival. Fear set in. They were vastly too high to jump, nothing to slow their descent. It was merely a question as to what would take them first: The fire, or the unforgiving mistress known as gravity. Harry looked to the dancer, a woman who, even facing clear mortality, was the most heavenly creature he had ever known. They had gotten out, damnit. They were going to make it. They would have a life and a love for the ages. Live in a grand estate. In time, they would raise beautiful children. Harry wanted a daughter. He would name her after his mother, and she would have the same eyes as Aziza, same bronze skin, same lovely hair. They all would face whatever problems that fate threw at them together, standing strong and proud of who they were. But he had never even gotten the opportunity to tell her that he loved her. That he didn't care how little of a time they had known each other, she had come to mean so very much to him.

If ever there was a moment in this lifetime, it was now. His voice croaked out something garbled, barely even heard over the roar of the flames behind them. Ropes began to snap, released from their moorings by the fire. The dirigible shuddered. Time was running out. Harry coughed, gasping slightly at how much it hurt to do so. But he would not be denied this one thing, not for a lack of trying. Trembling hands reached up to caress her face, one horribly marked by heat. Determination rose within Harry, and even though his body protested the use of his voice, he pushed through every letter of every word that he possibly could. Tears streaming from his eyes, he was finally able to rasp out:

"Aziza Tarek, I lo-"

The sound of compressed hydrogen expanding into fire is deafening. Neither one of them even had time to scream.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum (Archives)
Skills: N/A

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Reginald was aware that Josephine was speaking to him. He could very clearly make out the words "Crate", "Symbols", and "Bastet", which would have been more than enough to work with on any other day. But today was special, apparently. Regardless of his ordinarily sharp mind's ability to process new information, he just couldn't seem to keep a rational thought in his head. He was not senile, nor was he stupid. The Lord Major was a crack pilot, not to mention a superior mechanic and a man well-learned in the sciences of Engineering and Aeronautics. He had earned the position he received, it was not handed to him because of his parentage. Ok, his becoming an officer might have been handed to him that way, but his advancement was a product of his own accomplishments, paid for many times over with inspired service and blood. Yet for some reason, this educated, decorated man of experience couldn't retain a single line of words spoken more or less correctly in his native language. This was not the best day ever.

The sound of a crash snapped Reginald out of whatever mental hiccup he was having at that moment. This was not the noise of a person who had dropped a single teacup. This was loud. But oddly, for a sound quite as scattered and noisy as a crate full of archived materials finding its way earthward, the initial slamming sound upon the floor seemed like it should have been louder. Peculiar happening, that. In the distance, he could barely make out that it was speech but nothing more. Josephine had just posed another query, one that he was able to pick up and to which he could respond rather readily. "Why, I've not the foggiest what happened. It sounds like quite the disturbance, does it not?" And then calling louder, so that his voice might be heard across the Archives, "Oh I say, is everyone still functioning? I should hope that everything is still in order, lest the Museum have someone's head over it!"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him, saying, “You are mad; you are not like us." -St. Anthony the Great}

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

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Virginia had clearly asked Mary if she was ready to "meet the normals", to which she had responded cheerfully to the affirmative. But sitting in the presence of these people, she had no idea what to make of them. The Graveolase, or the ones who were the more vocal, at any rate, most assuredly did not appear to fit into the standard of the English Ton, nor any other collection of moneyed and titled persons of influence. Mary could see that there was indeed a pressing air of politic around these people, be it unlike her experience with the Papal Court or the nobility of the British Empire. It wasn't as clear to see what motivated these people, though in fairness they had just met.

Then, of course, Ludwig happened. He happened in such a way as to provoke responses from most of the Graveolase in attendance, giving Mary a better idea of who they were and what they were about. It was just the tiniest glimpse, but it was something. Two of them saw fit to introduce themselves as the happening commenced, one seemingly for the appointment of Ludwig's delegation. Though if there was a full organization of people like him, and he was selected to act on their behalf, this must be a very interesting delegation indeed. The one against his entry had introduced herself first, followed by the highly informal salutations of the representative from Scandinavia. Mary remained as serene of visage as possible, considering the act put before her at that time conflicting with her need to maintain manner and propriety in this highly important event. "Madame Del'ataunt, Master Bjorn," she began, unsure of proper titles in this instance, "it is an honor to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my unfamiliarity with the formalities of the Graveolase; is this..." she motioned to the increasingly laughable but highly impressive antics of Ludwig Zimmer, "...a common occurrence with the Council?"

The odd festivities provided by the lone German were more than enough to impress Mary. Considering that he was insisting upon an audience with her, she could only surmise that it was intended for that purpose. That was, until he actually got in front of her and performed a single action involving a "Magic Bean". Apparently, that was supposed to be the entire demonstration, not every other working of Trained skill which preceded. Of particular interest to Mary was the full body transformation that came with him turning into a fairy; riding the ferret was just icing on the cake for showmanship, intended or not.

Then the guards tackled him to the ground. Amid struggle and the odd utterings in German, Mary voiced her agreement with Akechi Lee Ko, "Yes, do let him up. I would hear more from this man." Though now, Mary regretted not learning more in the way of the German language when she took training with the Swiss Guard.

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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)

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The sound of Izolde's name struck a chord with Vladimir. Tears wet his eyes, threatening to spill onto his cheeks below. He needed to use every ounce of his Russian-ness and utter masculinity to rein in his emotions as they were a powerful force of nature, not unlike a thunderstorm or stampede; infinitely more difficult to control than to let loose. "Da. Ve vill make our Izolde proud tonight." His voice was tinged with melancholy, but also with pride. "Iz all for her. Ve vill put on show so grand, Line ov Great Bazhooli back to beginning vill notice."

Elizaveta's words even reminded Vladimir of his late love, Izolde. Her inflection, even the subtle nuances of her hands as she spoke. She had taught the young Grand Duchess much, and after years of raising Veta from a child to a grown, powerful woman, it was only natural for there to be similarities. More than ever, Vladimir knew that this was his daughter, in spirit if not by blood.

The Ringmaster, Viktor, was similarly moved. He spent the next few seconds clapping and wiping tears from his eyes, having witnessed two short but very moving speeches. Then he remembered that he had a job to do. Just as they had practiced for months and months. Standard introduction, start out slow, build. The Mamushka plays the center role, all other acts operate in tandem, and the skills of Rusyn Training demonstrated throughout. Without saying a word, Viktor dabbed his face with a handkerchief, cleared his throat, and walked as tall and proudly as he could toward the event site. The Show Must Go On.

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

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Keystone

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Location: Deymin's Tower (2F)

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Centipede? Keystone knew centipedes. Nasty-looking buggers that prowled about damp, dark places. But they were tiny. A single centipede shouldn't be able to take out someone like Kyra, unless she was prone to insanely dramatic reactions to its bite. Then again, those boars were huge. Massive. If a bug got the same treatment that those walking barbecue centerpieces did, then they might have a problem. Keystone had come across something like that before, though it was not a true centipede; a thing called a Carrion Crawler. It definitely would have been big enough to take out a fully grown human, even one as ornery as Kyra.

He wasn't sure how much loyalty he owed the lady. Before two weeks ago, he'd never even heard of her. She swept in, assuming control of what was supposed to be a simple merchant caravan guard gig. Once the whole deal turned south, he was supposed to just take his silver and continue walking his path, back to his homeland to share the knowledge he had accumulated during his travels. Maybe even take a year or two off. Dabble in trade, maybe. But he made his choice the moment he agreed to stick around in this pissant border town after he knew the truth. So to hell with it all, Kyra was part of his group, not to mention Sana's friend. He wasn't about to abandon his people. It just wasn't in him.

It also wasn't in him to let the archer take the lead, going down a blind stairwell into certain peril. Keystone poured on the speed, slipping between Sana and the outer wall to come out in front of Satilla. "Get be'ind us, then. I got this."

If anyone was taking another hit because of this thing, it was going to be him. Keystone raised his hands in front of him in a basic defensive position and readied to continue down the stairs, mentally braced for what might come next.

🦄 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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The news that Anisa's run-in with his sister was such a relatively short time ago came as a surprise. Not fully shocking, as she did tend to get around, but surprising. It seemed that it was a small 'Verse after all. Nonetheless, his determination to defend his dear Beatriz ran unabated, even in the face of overwhelming logic. "My beneficent and haberdashered visions of Paradise, Captain! Six months and alone? Does this Maverick's nefariousness know no bounds? The brazen effrontery is galling, madame. Simply galling." Foy didn't figure that he was convincing anyone with his assertions at that point. Nor was he taking it with anything more than cursory concern. She was family after all, but she was a big girl and made her own decisions. Trouble she may or may not get into was her business, and while he would help when he was able and it was applicable, Foy was not her keeper.

The entrance of Jahosafat did brighten his mood a bit. The man seemed comfortable with himself, as a Gentleman should; moreover he appeared to have located an amicable local lady upon which to rest his very fine hat while she worked her shiatsu-esque endeavors upon his shoulder. That did not sound like a thoroughly bad idea, though he would prefer the attention of a dispassionate professional masseuse rather than someone edging for the additional fee associated with a happy ending. There was a time and place for all of that, and for the indomitable Foy Coiffeur, this was usually after a mission.

Likewise, he did feel the slightest jump of camaraderie when Anisa gave him recognition, be it somewhat misplaced concerning his talents. He did not have the opportunity to work on her yet. He had offered; a pixie cut, as he recalled, though it was a little premature in their relationship for her to trust him with something sharp that close to her neck. Those little details were immaterial to the point, though. Anisa made public intonation that he was part of the crew. Yes, she was a Browncoat; an angry, embittered troublemaker of unremarkable origins who very likely made less money in a year than he did in a week, but she was his contract holder and she just included him in her own version of solidarity. It was noticed. Foy gave her a prideful smile and nod of his head, then deferred to his friend, Jahosafat.

"I concur, Dr. Moreau. I am not overly set into motion by this music, personally. Mayhap our talents would be better placed upon the floor after the mood of the evening alters somewhat. To wit, sir! To wit I believe that a touch of repast and a hand or two of cards might be appropriate for the meantime." Noting that Anisa and Harper were leaving the table, the Captain leading the Pilot by his hand and issuing threats involving his rectum and her footwear, he continued, "It appears that the dealer has vacated the table. Dr. Moreau, would you do the honors?" He looked to Mei, eyes narrowing but voice still cheerful, "To use the gambling parlance, 'daddy need a new pair of shoes', Miss."

"Whatever shall we discuss as we play?" This last part openly to the table.

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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Harper looked upon the growing scene with disbelief. His intent was to lay low for a good, long while. Stay on the fringe. Get noticed for his abilities, not for his past. Sure, someone had to know the truth about him; for this to work he had to settle into a group and blend in, a model of mutual benefit. As he looked around the table, staring into the faces of the people with whom he would be living and working, he began to wonder if this was all a huge mistake. The only major benefit of this arrangement so far is that, in horrible, stark irony, he looked the least like a target. Further irony, he wondered if that was going to make him stand out.

Well, it was too late now to consider the greater implications of the scenario as Anisa had his hand and was leading him away from the table. She was the one who he had confided in when the crews first merged, and for good or ill, his fate was bound to her for the meantime. It also meant that he could confide in her, where he could not confide in the rest of the crew. Little excuses like this would make for opportunities to do just that, even if they weren't exactly the fastest of friends.

That last sentiment was echoed in Anisa's warning concerning stepping on her shoes. In his best Lieutenant's voice, he answered with a sarcastic, "Aye aye, Captain. And when do we start training for that?" He did greatly hope that the little overstep didn't turn into an "airlock" moment.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert & James

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Front Porch)
Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Front Porch -> Parlor -> Dining Room -> Front Porch)
Skills: N/A

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Gilbert took some comfort in the words of Evelina. He would not have to immediately take everyone on a full tour of the grounds of Ville au Camp, which he had assumed from previous conversation would be the case. Of course, he also assumed that it would take place later on in the day. Granted, after a while he would probably have to complete the tour, but for the time being, the front part of the grounds would suffice. The words of The Dice, and in Greek no less, painted a very vivid picture of a person with detail oriented plans, or at least someone who desired "The Big Reveal" for themselves. To be frank, it didn't matter so much to Gilbert. A few millennia had given the man a very relaxed frame of mind about things. If he had to carry the bags today, so be it.

Meanwhile, James was still mulling over the concept that there was indeed a way to "opt out" of the whole, sticky mess. Of course, it would mean dying... again. And from his perspective, that would mean twice in the same day. A little tingle crept up his spine, the takeaway of a standard, mortal existence. He had faced death before. They all had, apparently. He wasn't going to give an answer about anything just yet, but James did note that he most assuredly did not immediately choose to be dead again.

As the gathering of Paradoxes became a unanimous thing on the porch just outside, Gilbert began the nickel tour of the house. As it turned out, the large residence had relatively few rooms aside from personal living quarters. "So, you've seen the Study and the Sitting Room. Through these doors..." he walked a few steps down and opened the front doors mirroring the ones they had just left, and stepped to the side. "...are the Parlor and the Dining Room. These four rooms on the ground floor make up pretty much all of the space that isn't a private room. Or the bathroom." The tall Emendator snapped his fingers as if just remembering something, "Yeah, ah... not sure how you more 'modern' types are going to be with this, but there's one bathroom. And it's upstairs." He waited a bit for it to sink in. Almost as an inevitability, he waited for one or more of the Paradoxes to ask "What's a bathroom?", not particularly indicating a point of ridicule, but giving a better idea as to when the new Paradox died. Gilbert himself spent more time alive without indoor facilities than with, and so understood the initial confusion. Still, sometimes, it was amusing.

James did the cursory walkthrough, entering the parlor and dining room beyond. He didn't give it much in the way of attention to detail, more just taking in general layout within the house and where the doors were. There was something familiar about this house. Not so much the actual location, as if he'd been here before. James hadn't, he didn't think. Oh, in his lifetime (or the clearest version of it he could remember), he had traveled around this area before in pursuit of his work. Maybe he'd heard of this place. It was probably nothing, a memory buried underneath the uprising of dead people that was the last few years of his life. At least that was over for him, one way or another.

When he returned to the porch area with Gilbert, he fully registered the comment about having one bathroom for eight Paradoxes and four Emendators. A hint of sarcasm came through in his voice as he noted, "It's all good. Y'all got windows, right?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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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Like a bright eyed young lady checking to make sure that her makeup was on juuuuust right before arriving at the prom, Thalia looked in the rearview mirror to make sure that the Death's Head she marked upon her face with ash and soot was still present and unsmudged. It wouldn't matter a hell of a lot to the people she intended to murder later on that day, but a girl's got to have standards. She was representing her people, after all. Glancing down at Astrid's shield, she realized that she was representing them, too. There was no one else left.

When the Silverado rolled to a stop, and in a parking space no less, Thalia marveled over the utter novelty of it all. She suppressed the urge to make some manner of comment, owing to the fact that this was a damned commonplace activity not so long ago, and when the first opportunity presented itself she rolled out of her seat and onto the blacktop upon which they had parked. Thana was pulling out a tiny arsenal, that was for sure. Not that she hadn't seen better in the course of her life, but in this day and age a bullet was damn near currency and full magazine of ammunition was something worth killing over.

After hearing that Alexander was foregoing the 9mm, Thalia jumped on the opportunity. Without a word, she walked over to the Beretta and snatched it up, giving it a once-over. She ejected the clip and cleared the chamber, tapping the extra round onto the bed of the truck. With what looked like precision experience, Thalia examined the action of the firearm, checked for any internal difficulties (grit, rough spots, etc.) and then quickly reassembled the weapon. She grabbed the spare clip and tucked it into her tac belt, giving Thana a rough, "Thanks." The inflection of actual gratitude was muted a little bit by thoughts of what lay ahead for them, but she was thankful nonetheless. It was like a tiny Christmas for her. The Beretta and her Glock were both built with the exact same frame at the exact same length. Thalia didn't even have to worry about mixing up the ammo. She even gave a coy smile when she noticed that Thana had taken the game dressing tools, which she assumed had belonged to James. Her eyes went from the roll of sharp things up to Thana, then back down. Then a kind of realization set in.

Thalia was not a fan of unnecessary cruelty. If someone needed to die, they needed to die. Period. Torture was for extracting information, and it wasn't really as reliable as people claimed it to be. Otherwise it was just for sick fun, or grotesque punishment. Thalia was not particularly fine with either. Some in her family were, hell, they were even really good at it. But not her. Torture just didn't seem to serve a point. She leveled her eyes at Thana, but did not share her thoughts. Instead, "If there's a spare short blade in the mix, I'd appreciate." She was good with sharp. Quick, precise, lethal. Just like her Papi taught her. Guns were good and all; necessary even. But nothing says "quick and quiet" or makes a statement like melee stabbing.

On second thought, she would share a piece of opinion with Thana. "Make sure they deserve it, yah?" She then looked to Alex, on the radio. "Alright. You tell Lolz to keep her ass in one piece. And don't give my stuff away. I'm coming back for it."