Sigil

🦄 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): Big Top -> Main Entrance
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive)

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The surety that Vladimir had seen this woman before reached a pitched scream in the baxk of his brain. He did know of this woman, as did any Alexandrov or Circus member who has slent any time in his family's holdings in Carpathian Moldova. There was a masterfully painted portrait of her hanging in a place of prominence therein. There could be no mistaking it. He had so many questions. So many indeed. It was not a common occurrence for a long since passed ancestor to materialize physically and give blessings for their family's endeavors.

His many questions would have to go unanswered, unfortunately, as the woman blinked out of existence as quickly as she appeared. He may never set eyes upon her again, let alonenhave time for a pressing conversation about their origins. Perhaps it was for the best. Vladimir had pressing family duty which required his attention, no matter what his personal wants might have been. Truth be told, he did want a great many things. He wanted to rest and relax. He wanted to clean up, then join in a celebration of life and living with his beloved Circus. Vladmir wanted a cup of chilled wine and warm company with whom he may participate in the little [and not so little) indulgences that made life truly worthwhile.

Instead, he found himself striding purposefully from the Grand Pavilion to the main entrance just in time for the changing of the guards, his very tall hat perched upon his head, his coat hanging loosely about hus shoulders, and a saber now sheathed at his waist as accompaniment to his collection of fine knives. Such was the responsibility of The Great Bazhooli; service to his people with grace and style before personal wants. There would be time for rest and celebration later. For now, something potentially threatened the safety of his charges. That simply would not do. Vlad offered the occasional word of salutation to some of the people that he passed on his way, congratulations to others, but as he neared the main entrance his demeanor became very businesslike. The guards understood what this meant and acted accordingly.

A brief conversation in Russian followed as the old guards, new guards, and Vladimir went over events, giving the occaaional glance in thw direction of their would-be guest for the evening. The Great Bazhooli stayed on after the guards switched, taking a moment to peer down at the man near their gate. He cleared his throat and spoke. "I knov you. From last night at Almack. You and sister. I read sister's eyes - spoke much about her people. Did not like vhat they say." He took a step back from the gate and spoke a little louder, gathering the attention of the guards stationed nearby. "Private show. Have been told no admittance. Family gathering after. You have not invite. Vill be very long vait for you."

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all."}

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

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The representative from Japan had made mention that Mary was being awfully quiet, while the representative from the West Indies was extremely vocal about her opposition to the admittance of both parties presenting this evening. Well, the young Dame Commander was about to leave an impression upon them both. Whether it was a good impression or bad one, she was not overly concerned. They could get in line behind her or they could take steps to oust her from her position, but this was the decision of the evening.

Mary stood to her full height and looked upon the Grand Duchess following her fiery and impassioned ultimatum. She knew that this was going to happen. She was present in the tent earlier when all of this was discussed. Finally, Mary was fully ready to break off from the Graveolase if they rallied against the decision and ally herself with the Russians. She was even under orders from the Vatican, before her sudden catapult into the position of Arch Graveolase, to learn from these people. Her path lay with these colorful and powerful people. Not to mention that the little piece of politics that she had seen within the Graveolase was provoking her ire. Power struggle? It sickened her.

"Indeed, Madame Del'ataunt." Her body turned from Elizaveta, eyes locking with the more experienced and possibly more powerful representative of the West Indies. "They have been hiding within the borders of their empire, doing the work of the Graveolase because they will not venture to assist. They train only within the Circus because they take in those displaced and orphaned by the Soulless, and give them purpose. Many that were once helpless have become a sword against the darkness because of these people." That term, Sword Against the Darkness, was one used to describe the Venators of Mary's knightly order. She felt it was fitting in this instance. "And the fact that they can teach their abilities to those who are already Trained makes them valuable allies. It is a friendship to cultivate in these dark times, though some within this council would rebuke them." Mary spoke with the surety of the righteous; her mild accent of the Scottish border and midlands pronouncing itself with slightly more emphasis, marking the point that today of all days, Mary Ignatia Hale, Dame Commander and Apostolic of the Papacy, was most assuredly wearing her ovaries on the outside. There was no suffering of fools nor blind acceptance of others' judgement, and politics be damned.

Mary turned fully to the remaining Graveolase present, giving her voice volume and clarity. "It matters not what might happen decades from now. For those of you who do not know, the attack upon Almack's Assembly Rooms that took the previous Arch Graveolase, Lord Buckingham, was not isolated. It was one of a concerted effort, executed simultaneously across many places in the civilized world. I shall say this differently: The Soulless have organized, and are attacking with directed intelligence. We are at war. War. While individuals squabble over what power may or may not be theirs to claim, the truth exists that unless we all come to unprecedented accord, including the acceptance of those who may help us, we are all dead; men, women, children all. Whomever 'wins' this numbing game of politic will sit upon a grand throne, surrounded by ash and decay. The world our Lord created for us will become a carcass for the Soulless to feed upon."

Mary turned her head to face Veta, but kept her body positioned toward the assembled dignitaries. "Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova: Upon my authority as the Arch Graveolase in interim, I invite you to join the Council, or appoint a representative in the manner of your people's choosing." This indeed was a formality. But time was of the essence here, as they did have a journey ahead of them that evening. She needed to finish this event decisively.

She looked to Ludwig next. While not quite as convinced by him as she was the Circus, Mary was impressed by his abilities. "Ludwig Zimmer, correct sir?" she spoke, making it a point to check on Adam while addressing the off-kilter Teuton. "You are impressive, and your skills noteworthy. But I hesitate. People of strength may be found in every culture, and from unexpected sources. But tell me more about your organization. Specifically, tell me what your people may contribute to the Graveolase for the cause of protecting humanity from the Soulless."

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

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck (Backroom)
Skills: N/A

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The room looked seemed designed for intimidation as much as business. Not just because of the placement of the doors, but the placement of the people within it. Obviously the older man was in charge here. You don't sit behind a desk in a room that looked like the setting of a snuff film, surrounded by persons of questionable morality, unless you were in charge. But that was a given fact by the way he casually insulted the both of them in the opening salvo of conversation.

Harper maintained as neutral an appearance as he could, though he was still in something of his Lieutenant persona. It was comfortable and easy to maintain, being as a lot of his actual history was with the Alliance Military, not to mention that up until a few days ago he was actually a Lieutenant in the Allied Fleet. True, he didn't have his peaked cap and black-on-grey uniform on at the time, but it was rather obvious by his demeanor. Only now, his Captain was a brunette spitfire who proudly claimed to be a Browncoat when she wasn't threatening to have people murdered for minor infractions. Nonetheless, she was his Captain, and she did have an amazing amount of leverage on him if she chose to exercise it.

His decision to stay on with the crew of Prometheus was not overly influenced by that potential threat, however, nor were his actions in the situation to which he was now committed. This was his duty now, to see it through to the bitter, screaming end. He wasn't extremely worried about it this time. Uncertain as it was, the older man behind the desk started things off with speech designed to put them at the defensive and/or provoke a reaction. From him or from Anisa, he could not say. And while his instinct had him zeroing in on the largest man in the room to set a quick and dirty example before they had a chance to react, logic pulled him to a different course of action. There were five men against their two. Anisa had been drinking heavily, and while damned handy with a pistol, Harper was not a gunslinger in the traditional sense. He relied on his wits to keep him alive. That and a fairly recently acquired hairline sliver of nigh batshit insanity that he dipped into from time to time.

He did notice the attention of the woman that worked for the establishment. A split second of baser impulse hit him before he forcibly stamped it back down. Harper allowed himself the barest of smiles; a tilt of one corner of his mouth paired with an acknowledging nod as she left. It occurred to him then that he hadn't experienced the touch of a woman in years. Over three of them, to be precise. That was a hell of a distraction. If he let his mind linger on it he might put them both in danger. No. The pursuit of such things was not on the menu. Instead, he chose to react to Anisa's insistence to their new acquaintances that he was perfectly capable of speaking for himself.

"It's fine, Captain." he said coldly, enunciating every syllable clearly. "I'd rather we skip formality and get to business. We are here for business, right?" As he spoke, he walked the remaining steps to the chair Anisa claimed for herself. He remained standing, resting a hand on the back of her chair and leaving his other at the ready in case the situation prompted him to go for a weapon.

At this point, Harper really wanted to be back at the table in front of his baozi. Not that it showed.

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck (Table, Main Room)
Skills: N/A

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Philistines! Absolute philistines! Giving it ample consideration, Foy was certain that, without context, most of these people had precisely zero idea what a "Madison" was, let alone the distinction of them from other, less appropriate forms of footwear. While extremely suited to formality when buffed to a solid shine, their ankle-high cut and reinforced stitching made them very suited to more strenuous work, with just enough heel to present a forward, classy appearance without being inappropriately gaudy. Foy was fond of those shoes. These people just didn't get it.

Jahosafat understood, that was obvious from his breeding and demeanor, and of course the superior community in which he was raised. Good, stately Farraday. Foy gave a lightly exasperated nod in his direction, being as he was very likely the only person at the table that truly understood his plight; the loss of a custom pair of cobbler-fitted Madisons. Perhaps when this was all over and he had amassed enough personal contacts to do so, he would cut the good doctor in on his plans to expand his business and establish a series of Haberdasheries suitable for men like themselves - or those who wished dress the part.

But enough thought into the future. That was a possibility that had nothing to do with their sub-ideal present. At present, he was holding a hand of cards surrounded by people with guns as he brandished his singular sense of style and jovial nature. Perhaps he should have brought his revolvers with him. It seemed quite the hot spot, packed to the brim with opportunities to perforate individuals that may or may not deserve it. Also in the present, two interesting things happened: A question was posed to the table by means of the increasingly vocal Dr. Townsley, and Daphne joined the conversation!

"Why, young Miss Pender, I am magnanimously pleased that you have found continued use of your verbal facilities! It is an occasion worth note, to be sure. If I may give consideration to the future of our merry troupe of clandestine specialists, I might pose a query: Now, please do not answer immediately, you understand, as we are within mixed company... however, I find myself without a valet. Would you consider the benefits of proper edification thusly? But later, Miss. Now is not appropriate to the environs."

And to the other matter, "Why Dr. Townsley, what an interesting bit of conversation, particularly as it concerns myself, you see. Whilst I agree with the assessment of my dear friend and associate Dr. Moreau on the exemplary aesthetic qualities of our, ah, commanding officers, I must admit to reasons more diverting and potentially lucrative than to which I have been set in recent weeks. Additionally, opportunities to spread civilization to the uncivilized. If I may?" Foy reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tin of moustache wax. He popped it open, taking a second to apply a minuscule amount to the tips of his fine facial hair, then capped it and slid it across the table to Fitz. There was a slightly caricatured image of himself on the lid, a tiny Foy head, if you will. "You may have seen these fine products in certain higher-end vendors' establishments, places in the grooming trades, or in the water closets of the discerning and well-to-do." Foy regarded his last statement, shrugging, "Or maybe you have not, as is more likely. I wish to change this, you see. Expand marketing and products to those who wish refinement but have not been exposed to it as of yet, all the while plying my familial and personally acquired professions for one who offers opportunity. And thusfar, it has not been a bore." Foy certainly seemed pleased with himself. "Oh, you may keep that, if you prefer."

Spoken to the table broadly, "I shall see the wager and stay."

🦄 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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Every so often, Keystone wished that there was a viable, marketable alternative to stairs. He trained on stairs, carrying water buckets up and down and whatnot, and was a very constitute fellow as it came to acts of endurance, but stairs just seemed to always be such an obstacle. Maybe that was the point of them in a fortification. Whatever the architect who designed this place had in mind, it was his burden to bear now, so he'd better get to bearing it.

What awaited Keystone on the third floor struck him as peculiar. And very much not what he was expecting. The group had made some headway, but were still outnumbered and in horrible tactical position. As much as the large man hated using magic, it looked to be an appropriate time for it. With a sigh, he breathed the word, "Arcos." activating the bracers on his forearms. The tingle of magical energy answered, and he raised his hands to a ready position before setting to task. From the stairway, Keystone began making his way over to the centipede harrassing Sana to the side of the room, shouting in the manner of the City Guard of his homeland, "What's all this, then?"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House -> Road Heading Towards Servants Quarters)
Skills: N/A

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"Weather Manipulation," began Gilbert, addressing Alexandra's two word query, "is just one of the things we call it. Weather Control, Power Over The Atmosphere, whatever. I suppose someone with a more poetic soul would find a prettier name for it, but..." he shrugged, "I'm afraid I'm really more of a glorified historian."

Gilbert did crack another smile at the mention of Storm. He was vaguely aware of the concept of Storm, the superpowered hero that was raised in a place where her people thought her a demigod because of her abilities. But as she learned more about herself and the world at large, that notion changed. Much like Gilbert. As his mind was poring over the details of his own early history, he barely noticed that the conversation was going on without him.

"Why yes, I do know who really built the pyramids." he said, his mind's eye going back millennia. No the imparted memories of human history, but his things glimpsed with his own eyes. He was present for much of it, in a couple of different guises. Gilbert was just about to go into greater detail about it when his face began to contort, flashing through stages of emotion quickly. Something was wrong. His voice came out in a harsh whisper, "Egypt. Damn... they're here." The sudden rush of information hit him especially fast this time, as he was already pulling up personal memories from the location, be the time frame a little off.

His eyes snapped up, going from one to the other of his Paradox charges. He made for the door immediately, just in time to see Alicia sprinting down the road headed toward the servant's quarters. She knew something, too. "Destruere. Damn you, Peter." he whispered, grief tinting his voice. He stepped outside of the Kitchen House proper, and before he knew it his feet were put one in front of the other, faster and faster, until he was catching up with his Paradox friend Alicia running down the road.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Kitchen House, Front Porch Area
Skills: N/A

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It seemed that James was perpetually two blocks behind the Party Bus, as it were. In tending to his own questions, he turned around and totally missed the collapse of his friend from back home, Sophia. Well, maybe friend was a little bit of a stretch; they didn't know each other all that well before her passing, but in this place their familiarity was more than enough to draw James to consider Sophia a friend now. At any rate, he completely missed his friend going into some sort of fit and falling to the ground overwhelmed. James broke off his conversation with Alicia, not like he had much of a choice when she began tearing off down the road, and stood indecisively as he struggled to make a decision: Does he go and try to lend support to his friend Sophia, or does he back up his friend Alicia, despite his utter lack of training presently?

As long as he was asking questions, why in the hell was the wind still kicking up so badly? He thought this was fixed. Or patched, at the very least. Then he remembered what Alicia had just told him. Sensory overload. Cabinet under the sink. He nodded, decision made. James was going to go where he could be of use. While others ran toward whatever the disturbance was north of them, James jogged determinedly into the Kitchen House. As promised, just under the sink there was a glass jar packed to the brim with cotton balls, not unlike one his grandma used to have. He popped the top and got out a handful, immediately moving to help Sophia afterward.

"Hey hey, baby girl..." he said in a quiet voice, approaching Sophia carefully, "This might ought help you out, just be careful we can pull'em back out after, huh?"

🦄 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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Meanwhile, back upstairs...

Of course it was getting worse. It had to be getting worse. That paranoid bitch and her "gift" to one of her few legitimate cousins was going to fry out her system, even as she mechanically speedtyped command after command, putting out as many Intrusion Counter Countermeasures as she possibly could as fast as her meat and bone hands would allow. Thalia wished she could type at the speed at which she thought, as her brain was working a lot faster than her body would allow So many ideas she could throw at this problem. But, as the old saying went, "You can wish in one hand and shit in the other; see which one fills up first". Well, given those as her choices, it seemed that little Liam answered her query just a little while earlier. If she could open up this particularly nasty piece of programming, she could retool and rewrite enough sections of the code as to make it inert. It was her thing, coding. But that took time she didn't have. Oh yeah, her system was about to get gutted. Her only silver lining was that she kept much of her good stuff on flash drives and other externals. But still, this was a prime machine that she sunk a lot of time into. It would be a massive pain in her ass to have to format the whole damn thing, or worse, find a replacement.

But she wasn't going down easy. It just wasn't in her. Thalia prepared to hammer out another few lines, maybe try to open the virus itself to view exactly what the hell this thing was. It was a calculated risk, but it...

...didn't matter whatsoever. The screen flashed BLUE. Yes, that BLUE. So sorry, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Go directly to fuckit. Then something odd: The outline of an emoji taco materialized pixel by pixel and began to laugh and shake and piss Thalia off to the point that she stood angrily, reaching underneath her jacket to the back of her belt. She pulled a Glock and thumbed off the safety with a single, fluid motion. The barrel snapped toward her compromised computer in a deadly, matte black arc, hovering for a half second to receive confirmation from its sights before potentially unloading half of the magazine in an expression of blind, impotent rage.

But she didn't. The Laughing Taco (a name she swore to use if she ever opened a bar or a strip club) began to walk around her screen waving a pistol about, causing Thalia to cock her head to the side like a very puzzled Border Collie. F..o...r...k......i...t.......o..v...e...r...... appeared on the screen above the taco, along with a prompt to enter a password. "There's a level of damnit I want to express." she said with forced calm. Nonetheless, she tucked her pistol away and sat back down in front of her machine. "Okay..."

The lady had a fondness for the spicy stuff on her tacos. Might as well give it a go. Determinedly, she keyed in the letters: H-O-T-S-A-U-C-E.

Down Below...

Caesar took a modicum of spirit lift, thanks to the music playing around him and the dancing of his highly extended family. His face did not actually show anything except for the same grizzled expression that he always seemed to have. He looked down to the Mariachi group playing. They were rather contemporary in style, not wearing big, floppy sombreros like one might notice playing for parties or on the street. Come to think of it, Caesar was certain that he'd met the guy before he joined the Gonzalez clan. Yes, he'd skewered this man with a knife from a few meters away. He remembered now, it had been about fifteen years back. Hmm... It was funny how things worked out sometimes. Now they were as family.

The Mariachi was something of a badass in his own right, and though he might lend moral support to the cause Caesar set himself toward, the older man knew that he would not assist. It wasn't required of him; every man must seek vengeance for himself on his own terms. It just happened that he was able to with deep pockets and government connections. And other family members that shared bereavement with him. The music was stellar, though. Fitting to the moment and enough of an entertaining distraction, if only for a couple of minutes. But all things must end, and after a short time the difficult decision had to be made - do we stop, or do we play another song?

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Receiving
Skills: N/A

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Quite the Rouges' Gallery of the elite and influential, complete with high representation in government, law enforcement, and media. One might expect the Juno members, but not the heavy male presence. Though they did have a fondness for blackmail and extortion as a means of control. Briefly, Keystone wondered what Juno had on these people, particularly the Police Commissioner. If he were there strictly voluntarily, that was one thing, but if he was on the hook for something, getting him off of it could be highly beneficial to everyone.

Keystone noted the man who had turned his back. By itself, it meant nothing. Perhaps there was something to it, though. He spoe into his comm, quietly indicating the man to see if anything could be discovered, else just get good images of the guy and look into him in a bit. And maybe it was just company loyalty (such as it was), but the big man took a measure of offense at the presence of that Wentworth guy. Truth be told, his presence made him more than a touch wary. The guy likely knew Keystone's profession better than he did; not on a ground level, kicking of much ass manner, but all of the areas in which he was not experienced or facing a steep learning curve. A good part of him wanted to obliterate the man's face with a single, powerful smash of his ham-sized fists, protocol be damned. That was probably not the best course of action, however. Might be damned satisfying. It did raise questions about why he was there, though. Could he be compromised? Might his presence mean that MSS was in danger of losing their contract with Queensguard? Could this be a setup? He did wish that Caesar was there. Or a more prominent business intellect.

The big guy put in an order through his comm for a bolstered physical presence, complete with electronic sweeps on bottleneck points. The camera crew might be problematic in this regard, though without actual knowledge of the event, their contract holder crippled them somewhat. Again on his comm, he put a task to the staff present, "Basic security protocol, then. An' find out if Ms. Queensguard's got any special instruction on 'er lit'l soiree, yeah? Don't want me trousers 'round me ankles when somethin' unexpected goes off."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum (Archives -> Vera's Office)
Skills: N/A

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Reginald had felt this before. It was tension. Nerves. The raw, unrefined proprioception of people put into a position where something was horribly wrong. While it was possible that the ambient anxiety came from the undeniable fact that one of their number was dead by extreme misadventure. Though it did seem a bit fishy, a heavy crate falling from a sturdy shelf. Too any coincidences happening all around them, too many portents of doom, and the dreams... How could one forget? In the hustle and bustle of the occasion, he had completely forgotten that he had been tied somehow to an ancient death god, complete with heart removal, as he witnessed the rise of an inhuman army or two. Thinking about it from that perspective, a crate to the cranium seemed perfectly normal. Even preferable, for some. Not so the Lord Major, granted; he would have preferred glorious combat or horrific plane crash. Oh! Or both! Glorious combat against a superior opponent, resulting in a horrific plane crash! Yes, so much better. Sadly, he never did meet his equal in aerial combat. These days, people didn't even remember his callsign.

But that was worry about a bygone time, and/or events that had yet to happen. This was the present. And in the present, people were running about and drawing weapons. Instincts of an old soldier or not, that got his attention. The moment that Josephine found a place to sit, he passed along his flask of very fine whiskey to her and filled his filled his hands with personal weapons; one hand drew his Webley revolver, his other settled onto the hilt of his officers' saber, still sheathed at his side. "Save a bit for me, Miss Clarke. I'll be back in a moment."

The door to the office was ajar and Neema was the first to draw steel and prepare for the push. It would be unforgivable for her to enter first while Reginald stayed behind. Simply unforgivable. "If you would allow, madame?" he whispered to Neema, "Now is not an occasion for Ladies First. I insist." He drew his saber and stepped forward, intent upon entering Vera's office alone.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Near Eden, Golf Course (7 -> Treeline Between 6 & 11)
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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The spray of trees dominating the center of the golf course was a decent enough place to set up temporarily, but it was not the goal. Hanging out here for too long would result in her missing the kickoff of this soiree, one full of stabbing and gunfire punctuated by the occasional use of explosive ordinance. Damn, but she did appreciate Lola. Even if she did nothing else, just her being her was enough to give Thalia a chance to do what she did best these days; sneaking and stabbing. If she kept that up for long enough and didn't die today, chances were fair that she would make the right people answer for the deaths of her family and her battle-sisters from Fairburn, not to mention acquire enough supplies to keep her and whoever wanted to join her going for a good, long while. Just not if she stayed there. Thalia had to get low and move out on the immediate.

Crossing open ground in the daylight was not her cup of chai. Everything about it screamed danger at her. By now though, the TANK should be coming near position, drawing most of the eyes that way. Plus, checking the grounds in front of her, Thalia noticed that she was actually near the bottom of a gently arcing, shallow hill. Even if eyes were near her, that approach would make it more difficult to pick out her movement. It was as good an option as any.

Thalia took a breath, let it out slow, and began a smooth jog across the golf course. She kept as low as she was able to, given her desire to cross distance quickly and keep a sharp eye on her surroundings. Luck seemed to be with her in that moment, as she was able to make it to the other side and meld into the treeline without incident. Now to make eye contact with the others and regroup before the candles were lit on this particular cake.

As best as Thalia could tell, Thana had given her signal roughly to the right of the direction she was headed, in the trees just around the corner of a nearby building. They were supposed to meet up soon before the real festivities began; Thalia assumed that it must be at the point where Thana had signaled. With all of the skill imparted to her as a child of La Familia Gonzalez, she zipped unnoticed through the trees around the building, and into the space that Thana used as a signaling location. Unfortunately, it was completely unoccupied. The generally angry young woman allowed herself a quiet sigh, and reviewed her options. To the west was water. North was that building with a small amount of open ground around it, and east was the golf course. Remembering the game plan, the wall they had to get around jutted into the water slightly, and it was close to trees.

Okay. South it was.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

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The guard shrugged, apparently disinterested with the news that their would-be guest would be hanging his hat at the main entrance for the foreseeable future, or until he gained an audience with this "Crypt" person. He waved to one side of the path leading up to their post, requesting, "If vould, пожалуйста, eh... 'For please', yes is word. If you vould vait, for please take steps to von side ov path. Vhen are having to tell others there is no admittance, vould be bad manners to block the vay. Da? I thank you."

He resumed his initial position just inside of the main gate. The two obvious guards did not ignore the presence of the insistent man, nor did they do anything to initiate conversation. Their orders were clear.

Further back into the more public parts of the Circus and the Tent City, the muffled sounds of steel ringing against steel could be heard, seemingly in tune with masterfully played music and heavily accented singing in English. Whatever was came to its crescendo, it certainly sounded like a joyous occasion. The smell of food being prepared was carried by a light breeze onward, promising sweet and savory dishes alike for when the guards rotated. In the meantime, the shadowy areas inside of the Circus proper showed illumination from torchlight and braziers, snatches of music from time to time, and quiet movement from its inhabitants.

Getting back to their initial conversation from before the stranger requested entrance to a closed show, the one, more talkative guard addressed his watch partner, "Вы собираетесь на вечеринку позже?₁"

And received a response of, "Нет, я могу спать.₂"

Translations

1 = "Are you going to the party afterwards?"
2 = "No, I might sleep instead."

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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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This was a surprise. Very much so. They had practiced and practiced for months on end, an entire year to get this show just right, to time every throw and every grab. They could do this again with their eyes closed. As a matter of fact, that would be an excellent way to do it, were they to demonstrate the Grand Mamushka again. Or on fire! Yes! As per one of his most classic quotes, as was the quote of many Great Bazhoolis before him and very likely many afterwards, "Let us do the same trick... ON FIRE!!!". That would truly be a spectacle to behold. Already, Vladimir's mind was racing with ways to reassemble the act; taking away pieces from the whole and put them together into a string of blindfolded, flaming mini-events that would lead up to a thing that would delight audiences, yet was not the classy grandeur of the Grand Mamushka. That was reserved for only the most important of occasions.

But that wasn't surprising. What made Vladimir give a second look was the appearance of another, standing with his Elizaveta. She had a stately and statuesque look, along with a air of confidence that she belonged there. True enough, Vlad thought he had seen her before, though from where he could not say. And Elizaveta did not seem to be nervous in the least. Quite the opposite, they appeared to be very comfortable with each other's presence. And when she turned to address the Circus, Vlad was positive that he knew her somehow.

Though he was still on his knees in the center of his ring, Vladimir bowed to the raven haired lady. He took the opportunity to gather up his blades the moment that she turned back around and spoke in the direction of the Graveolase, specifically intoning something in Latin to Virginia. Vlad did not speak Latin, but it was fairly distinctive against the tongues that he did know. Mary should know. Perhaps he would ask her later. In a strange way, this new woman reminded him of the Sister-Knight. Almost as a negative copy, really. They both looked to possess a similar confidence, a similar look of outward serenity, and they both spoke Latin, though this one was garbed in purest ebon while Mary was a vision of militant holiness with her fiery red hair and white robe. Very strange. Perhaps they would speak.

But this should not be his biggest concern right then. Veta was not in danger, and he had to deal with the chaos after the show. Plus, there should be ample time to make a social appearance. He did promise his people a party, and they sure as hell earned it tonight, regardless of the decision of the Graveolase. His eyes were still drawn to the captivating lady in back, but his feet began to shuffle with his people toward the back of the tent regardless. Just before he got to the tent flaps, Vlad was stopped by a perimeter guard runner who pulled him aside, briefing him on the situation elsewhere. Vladimir responded, "You have orders, yes? Good. Rest of guards know? Also good. Vill handle here; you go."

Apparently, there was more to be done this night.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all."}

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

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Mary was suitably impressed with the performance. Being in the position she was, she could not very well leap from her seat and give thunderous applause for all she had just seen, but a good part of her wanted to. They were good. Very good. Trained skills being put to use as entertainment was highly impressive, and it served to demonstrate their abilities very well. Even the skill set presented that was not directly related to Russian Training was impressive, as decent circus performers were supposed to be. The blending of the two, though, was massive. She wanted to act in the same manner as the German fellow, ad was likewise a little depressed that it had to come to an end. They were good. Very good. If they didn't have her endorsement before, they would have gotten it then. One could only hope that the others felt the same way.

Courtesy dictated that she give some response to the performance, however. With as much class as she could muster, Mary rose from her seat and wordlessly began to clap. It was not the pitched, vigorous slapping of hands that she might have felt, but it was solid and polite. Her face remained with its usual serenity, except for the slightest of smiles. She nodded to Elizaveta, Vladimir, and Constantin in turn, hoping that they might understand her restraint. Mary would have to make sure to express how impressed she was later. For now, she was the Arch Graveolase. Propriety and objectivity had to be maintained. But she was suitably impressed.

Mary viewed the other members of the Graveolase with her periphery only. She did not want to ruin the moment for them by making them feel self conscious. She did risk a glance over to Ludwig and Adam, however. Until papers were signed, the boy was her responsibility. But he looked quite content, as did James. Virginia... Mary looked from her to the pale, dark haired woman that appeared. She had not seen this lady before, but she did understand her words. These were words that her friend had spoken in her presence before. Perhaps they were of relation. Everyone here seemed to have some kind of connection; Mary was the odd one out yet again. This one seemed important somehow.

As the louder of the audience began to quiet, Mary cleared her throat and addressed Virginia as politely as the situation would allow. "Lady Crypt, do you know this person?"

🦄 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 gave a nod and a smile in the direction of Fitz. Though it was done so without the benefit of panache or social graces, the nervous man did answer the toast in with the proper response. One of the more or less acceptable ones, anyway. Either way, it demonstrated to the dapper Farradayan that he was at least attempting to be polite. "Yours and your family's, sir." he responded in turn, taking a small sip of the smoky and smooth liquor in his glass. Foy set it down in front of him, and looked to his cards.

He was still examining his hand as he began to speak. "Now now, ladies and gentlemen. I daresay that there is more than a modicum of beach silicate ensconced twixt the nethers and the undergarments of all parties here, save for perhaps our speech impeded friend, Dr. Townsley. Or to put it in the more layfolk vernacular, Fitzy appears to be the only one attempting polite conversation. I believe we are forgetting ourselves."

As a break in his rant, "Oh, and I shall see your twenty, Dr. Moreau."

"To my initial point, I confess my own guilt in regard to impolite behavior that borders upon the ungentlemanly. My apologies, of course. I shall be succinct in my manner, befitting the situation." He turned his head to look at Mei, a lighthearted look on his face that seemed in contrast with his words, "Madame, your actions and the subsequent follow-up made necessary by said actions have deprived me of a very charming pair of madisons. It is this to which I have made select, backbiting commentary, and it is the primary motivator of my ire. Second, of course, to being fired upon by an uninvited guest. The latter is occasionally the cost of doing business for an entrepreneur such as myself, but the former? One simply cannot wander into a dry goods establishment and procure another pair."

Foy cleared his throat, "Civility and proper discourse are the cornerstones of polite society. Unfortunately, all we have is this society within which we must function. And I do despise being uncivilized with persons I am not contracted against." He chuckled a bit. "Besides, I appear to have left my revolvers upon the ship." He looked to be attempting humor, evidenced by the broader smile and apparent settling in to re-examine his cards.

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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Being pulled along from one unknown to another was not Harper's idea of a good time. But thinking about it objectively, he wasn't really expecting a good time tonight. Every decision he had consciously made was based on the concept that there was a large brick of shit, tumbling and rolling through the air, aimed unerringly toward a gargantuan industrial fan set to a speed suitable for liftoff were it not moored to the ground. It was not a question of if the shit would hit the fan, but when. His lack of consumption of alcohol, the placement of himself between Anisa and Daphne, even some of the finer points of his sarcasm were designed to delay or prepare for a worst case scenario; the theory being that enough of a delay would put them back at the ship before that scenario had opportunity to manifest.

This seemed doomed to failure the moment that the stranger began speaking with Anisa and insisted on continuing the conversation behind closed doors. It took both himself and the Captain out of the larger equation in the main room of the establishment but also cut them off from possible assistance from the rest of the crew, such as it was. Not that he had a whole lot of trust in these people - that would have to be established - but they seemed the type of self-involved persons that didn't know each other and were unwilling to stick their necks out without promise of pay or other motivation. He counted himself among that number, being honest. But it had to start somewhere. For Harper, that started with the unexpected meeting in the back room of a port hangout, surrounded by alcohol and ammunition.

Maybe maintaining the persona of the able Lieutenant was the best course of action. He kept the mildly annoyed but dutiful look to his face and followed Anisa toward the door, intoning a professional, "After you, Ma'am." as they came to it. The moment he entered and the door clicked shut behind them, however, the first thing he did was take stock of the people in the room, potential exit points, and the nearest, most available blunt object he could press into service as an innocuous first strike weapon. If whatever this was started to go south, he wanted to make sure there was a suitably loud and painful distraction on standby.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp - Kitchen House
Skills: N/A

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Gilbert crunched his pickle loudly, but declined to get anything else at that time. He wanted to take a look at the eclectic group left for him to show around. People began to file out, one by one, leaving the kitchen proper empty except for himself and two of the newest Paradoxes. The initial introductory phase of these neophytes was coming to a close, prompting him to interact directly with these people on a more personal level. Though a generally open and friendly guy, Gil had opted to remain conversationally distant, responding to only the most general of inquiries. Well that had officially come to a close, more or less.

The tall Emendator took another bite from his pickle, pretty much destroying it except for a generally unimpressive nub which he tossed unceremoniously in the nearest waste receptacle. The two that remained with him seemed to have an appetite, or did until the sudden crack of thunder and his comment concerning it. Apparently, a demonstration of their potential abilities was suitable to make them take the concept more seriously. It was one thing for him to show something; he was an Emendator. At one point in time, he was considered to be a demigod by the public at large, another era painted him as a demon. These people were fully aware of their own demise, to awaken in a strange place with strange people who had supernatural abilities and spoke with the experience of millennia. He had powers. Big deal. A fellow dead person that made Mother Nature hiccup? That was worthy of notice.

Of course, Gilbert had to decide whether to address the continued attentions of the Russian Regency Era Paradox, this last incident just prior to Andromeda's brush with her newfound abilities. In the end, he decided to stick with a raised eyebrow and a short but quizzical stare in her direction. He held his gaze for a moment before shrugging and returning to his more laid-back demeanor. Not for the first time today, Gil reminded himself that people dealt with dying and returning in different ways. The dark-skinned fellow that left with Alicia seemed to do so by swaying back and forth between humor and despondency. It spoke volumes on who he was before. Meanwhile, this one seemed intent on either trying to mount him or manipulate him, and at a coin toss. Luckily for Gilbert, he was notoriously difficult to manipulate, like the other Emendators. They'd just experienced too much. As for the other, well... she seemed a bit young for him. Not in a sense of physicality, obviously, but she seemed to have a mindset that was too similar to his a few thousand years ago. Immature, impulsive, unyielding. It might develop into something formidable in time, or it could fall away as she began to psychologically adapt to her new existence. Either way, Gilbert had to observe for himself how each of them handled the transition, preferably comparing notes with his fellow Emendators before acting as anything other than a guide or counselor.

The other Paradox asked some fairly basic questions, though Gilbert took a moment before addressing either of them. He wanted to let the moment sink in. Then Gil gave a reassuring smile and addressed the both of them with open confidence. "Bartholomew Rosecliff, Alexandra Andonova." He gave another second or two of silence, looking over them with serious expression. Then his face cracked into a vaguely amused snicker. "First and last name. That's always fun. Makes the new guys think the worst. Okay, where to start? Weather Manipulator! No, it's not normal here; yeah, it's rare. Everyone gets a little something that is both a curse and a blessing. Hers..." he motioned toward the door, indicating the pale Paradox outside, "...is potentially dangerous to herself, others, dogs, cats, birds, mailmen, so on and so forth. Unless she learns control. The same will be true for the two of you, regardless of your upcoming talents. Hers are a little more volatile, is all."

He turned his attention specifically to Bartholomew, addressing the young man's more personal questions. "Being an Emendator has certain perks. I seem to be tied to the concept of civilization, as best as I can tell. I know things. Pretty much everything in human history, great and small, even the stuff I wasn't around for personally. Bart (may I call you Bart?), you're part of that history, too. And you're quite welcome. Little pieces of familiarity, loved or hated, really seem to help with the process."

Bringing the subject back to the present, "For right now, I'd like to give it a wait for the other groups to pick a direction before we leave. We don't want to rush them, and they will want a little space for their own private conversations. Especially the Undead Georgia group, I would lay money on."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Kitchen House, Front Porch Area
Skills: N/A

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A strange look come over James as Alicia spoke. The description of her abilities kicked off a memory from his last lifetime, specifically the last night of sleep he had before Taking the Big Dirtnap in a world filled with upright, mobile corpses and heartbreak. Something was becoming clear, like cracks working their way out of a pane of glass so that he might glimpse the scenery beyond. He raised his finger, mouth open as if to make a point of order when another Emendator approached, introducing himself. Alicia's introduction swiftly followed. It served to break his concentration briefly, though not so much as to get him off of his train of thought.

"How'd'ya do there, Mr. Gio, sir?" he spoke in an overly cheerful, possibly ulterior motivated voice."Why, It's just a feather duster to my short n' curlies to meet you, man, but I gotta have me a moment with my girl here. Just one sec, huh?"

The memory of his last bit of natural sleep became more vivid with concentration, even through the haze his brain seemed to put around his recollection. James took a step or two toward Alicia, and continued with hushed voice, "Aight, be straight with me, 'k? Night before I died, I saw you. Like, in a dream saw you. You told me stuff, like warnin' me. I gotta know, was that you you?"