Sigil

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

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Keystone

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Location: Deymin's Tower (3F)

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Keystone assumed a rigid stance, bracing for the winding, undulating approach of the monstrous centipede. His aim was to take some of the heat off of Sana, but that wasn't going to happen while a giant bug was trying to take a chunk out of him. The beast's many segmented legs clicked rapidly upon approach, seemingly even more rapidly in building anticipation of a free meal. Rather than attempt to bowl over the pugilist, the creature reared back and snapped its venomous mandibles at him, hissing and squealing sounds alien to his experience all the while, save for a chance encounter with a Carrion Crawler. This thing looked nastier. Its first attack missed barely, its head lancing at Keystone's unprotected face. A disciplined shift of his head in one direction kept it from ripping into his more sensitive flesh (or blinding him, most likely), but just barely. The second attack was clumsy, however. A follow-up with little zeal, almost like hesitation on the centipede's part. Perhaps it had some form of fiendish intelligence that Keystone did not immediately detect, and could tell that this human was not frightened, and was not easy meat. It missed again, apparently rethinking its haste.

From off to one side, Keystone could make out the words of their recent, diminutive companion, calling for his help to "flank this bug". No problem! He could flank. "Sec on that!" he growled, angling for an opening to get the creature between himself and Nor. The Centipede reared back for a better grab at Keystone, and that was when the big man saw his opening - not to maneuver, but to strike. With speed that was surprising for a man of his size, Keystone darted forward, planting a foot firmly on the ground and channeling his inertia into a good, solid punch. The black metal of his knuckle dusters connected heavily, oddly making no noise upon contact but obviously doing damage. It was more than enough to disrupt its plans to attack, and the advantage was pressed aggressively by Keystone. Another strike followed; not as powerful but still damaging and an excellent setup for what was to come.

The power of his bracers coursing through his arms and chest, Keystone stepped inward one more time to deliver a telling blow. He began a cutting inverted fist strike with his legs, tensing and releasing each muscle as quickly and fluidly as was humanly possible. A wave of power generated by his technique built, traveling up his body and meeting with the magical energies of the bracers. The two forces came to a sort of agreement and focused in the points of his knuckles like hardened Chi, unerringly striking the underside of the centipede's head. If the monster was even physically able to blink, it wouldn't have had time to as exoskeleton crushed inward, severing cerebral ganglia and rippling the beast fully straight and upright before allowing it to crash back down to the floor below. It was dead and Keystone was just getting started. "Right. Flanked'im." he growled again, already turning his eyes toward his next obstacle. "You." he intoned flatly. It seemed he had picked another target.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

_{His childhood bedroom. Caesar sometimes comes back here to think.}

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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The central area was more alive than ever with food, drink, and music. Fresh fruit, seasoned rice, and roasted, sauced pork scented the air, touching the senses along with snatches of conversation in Spanish (mostly), alternating between sorrowful, serious, and joyous. The extended family had come to send off the jewel of her generation to the hereafter, possibly to a version of Heaven that more resembled a colorful, Mexican Valhalla. Considering the family's background, it was just as likely that the Poderes Que Son₁ had to shuffle them all off someplace else so that they didn't take over the regular Land of the Remembered Dead. Their numbers were high and there was a hell of a reputation to think about.

In the midst of this, Caesar was beginning to honestly get into the spirit of the occasion, swaying in emotion from grief to laughter and many settings in between, sharply flavored with nigh trademarkable rage. The man had lost his daughter, and he was just now getting dealing with it in a manner that would have been deemed acceptable by the rest of his extended family. Spoiler alert: It involved alcohol and sharp things.

...meanwhile, upstairs...

Thalia sat back with wide eyes and a look of astonishment at the contents of the file in front of her. No more tricks, no more signs of dangerous code infecting her machine; nothing but cold, hard information on something that occurred years before her birth but somehow had all the earmarks of knowledge people would kill for. She knew one of two words associated with whatever bullshit this was that Caesar and Alicia involved themselves in, and both of those words were in this file. "Black Sunday... holy shit." Her voice was almost breathless with wonder, coupled with a sense of dutiful foreboding. "I think I know why Alicia died, if I can sort this out."

"You keep going into this, M'hija, there's no going back." Benicio gently warned. "Maybe you should take what you have to Caesar."

"I'm not sure what I've got here, Pops. This is huge. I need more time to look this over. Tio Caesar's going to have to see this eventually, huh? He's got enough on him right now. Let him mourn some."

...back downstairs...

Caesar stood tall, a bottle of Mexican mountain booze in one hand and a blade in the other. He had a cigar hanging out of his mouth and his hair hung around wither side of his craggy face. Around him, musicians of every type gathered, their instruments in hand, each doing their part to play the Spanish language version of "Wooly Bully" while Caesar half-drunkenly conducted them with his machete.

Translations

1 = Powers That Be

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

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Reginald Keystone

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

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"Common thieves and the like, traipsing in like that own the place. Filthy little buggers haven't the general charisma the good Lord gave trouser lice. Perhaps I should speak to the War Office about requesting additional men, you know, to attend the safety of the Museum and its people." Reginald tucked away his Webley revolver, shaking his head. "Ah, with the permission of the local government and the Museum's management, naturally." he added cautiously. Cairo wasn't the same place it was years ago, back when it was a protectorate of Great Britain. Certain hoops had to be jumped through. Reginald might even survive to see the entirety of British influence relegated to an embassy and a couple of bases allowed to remain for diplomatic reasons purely. How very uncivilized.

The words of the Starlet rung true with him. It was not considered a proper thing for a woman to learn how to handle a pistol, but it being the 20's he had to admit that times were changing. "Indeed, although the carrying of firearms while within the Base is highly discouraged by means of riflepoint negotiation, perhaps I could arrange for a strongbox for certain guests of the Empire to be set in the guard station near the main entrance..." Reginald appeared half lost in thought, getting certain mental ducks in rows.

"Great merciful heavens!" suddenly exclaimed the Lord Major, finally putting 2 and √4 together. "I do believe that the fatal incident in the Archives might not have been a coincidence, either!"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Outside of the Hordebuster, Sprayberry Rd, in front of train tracks
Skills: N/A

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"Aye aye, Captain Tightass"? Ash tilted his head back in Riley's direction, giving the slightest questioning glance at her. He had heard this muttered under her breath some several times back in Newnan, and had let it slide on account of various factors. Her difficulty with authority was well noted and she needed some time to adapt to her new surroundings. Truth be told, he hadn't expected much different from her, considering her celebrity status from Before. So long as she did her job well and wasn't overtly insubordinate, Ash was willing to deal with her tiny bouts of sarcasm.

That was when there was a Newnan, however. As of that day, there weren't even two bricks piled on top on one another that could pass as a former settlement. They were on their own, without so much as a secure base camp. The concept of Ash still being a Captain over anyone was supported only by the rank insignia on his patrol cap and in his pocket, right next to Leann's old Lieutenant Colonel's oak leaves. Maybe one day when he felt less ethical, he'd attach those to his lapel and cap, then proceed to refer to himself as Colonel Ashton J. Holloway. Or not. The thought was fleeting and silly. Just like Riley's comment to him a moment ago.

"Ridgeway?" he remarked quietly, trying to get her attention, "Highly inappropriate. 'Aye Aye' is Navy. I'm an Army man." From his tone, it was difficult to tell if he was joking or being serious. One might assume it was a dry attempt at humor, even sarcasm of his own coloring the air. He had a talent for sarcasm, once upon a time. Still did, but it rarely left his mouth anymore. Reality had suppressed it somewhat. What it had heightened was his survival instincts, however, which he intended to delve into over the next few minutes, circumventing the roadblock and keeping his own posterior intact.

The thought occurred to him, and not for the first time, that maybe their efforts would have been better put to use helping Thana's group with Eden. But he had his own job to do now, as bitter a pill as it was sometimes.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Near Eden, Golf Course (15 -> Other side of wall from 15)
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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Okay. Thalia had his. She was quick, she was strong, she was motivated. This was a wall, literally a vertical obstacle to overcome. This was nothing. She'd seen some parkour videos on YouTube, back when there was a YouTube. It seemed easy enough for those skinny beardo guys with man-buns to pull off such an ascent, and she was pretty confident that she could beat the crap out of guys like that, up close and bareknuckle, quick, dirty, and quiet. Yeah. Thalia had this.

The enigmatic Miss Carmichael took a step or two back; just enough to get a few quick taps on the ground before launching herself up along the side of the obstacle as a swift, controlled ascent. She made quiet connection with supports, to pivot and push off of it to make solid connection with the next. Unfortunately, Thalia completely forgot that parkour was an acquired skill, not a thing one may just step into like a comfortable bathrobe. This lesson was sorely learned as she found herself promptly hurled toward the ground from about seven feet up, gravity claiming dominion over the situation with iron resolve. Luckily, her butt broke her fall. Inertia shoved Thalia on her back, shield first. The handle made an interesting impression near her spine, promising to make a tender mark in the near future.

Thalia lay there for a second, then noticing Alexander's approach. Wordlessly, she raised a finger in the air and shot the veteran soldier a harsh look approximating "not a word, old man" before pushing herself off of the ground. She looked at the wall with fresh eyes, and pondered another way past it.

It was inevitable, of course, that she have to get in the water. She tried to avoid it, considering the season. But she had to get in that place. The first, impressive round from the tank had gone off, signalling the sneak attack from the flank. Their already tiny group was short a person - the other person with actual military training - and nightfall was approaching. With haste, Thalia untied her hiking boots and cuffed up her jeans as high as she could, then ventured into the water to the right of her, her footwear laced together over her shoulder. She had no idea if it would help in the slightest.

The water was cold. Damn cold, influenced by the season and the melting snow. If they managed to actually do this, she was definitely scrounging up a new pair of pants from the wreckage. That was a trail of "ifs" to follow, and she had barely made her first steps down it. Thalia hugged the wall on her approach, quieting as best as possible as she neared the edge. There was little to be done about the spreading numbness in her legs until she found dry ground and warm environs to recover, else she gets some adrenaline going. The latter seemed more likely. She was almost around when she snagged on something in the water. If it was a foot trap then it was long neglected, but it was something, and it took more than a little quiet struggling before she pulled free. Then finally she was at the edge.

Peering around, Thalia saw a line of trees coming up to the water's edge. This wall was apparently constructed with Zeds in mind, moreso than people. Perhaps it was a favorable sign. As quickly as she could, Thalia traversed the open space on the other side of the wall to solid ground, unrolled her wet jeans, and threw her boots back on. It didn't seem like anyone took notice of her yet, and she aimed to keep it that way. She hunkered in the trees, pistol at ready, and took a quick look around.

🦄 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): Main Entrance
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive)

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Vladimir raised an eyebrow at the younger man upon the ground just outside of the fortified encampment. There seemed a little presumption in his voice, as a sense of pride that hadn't quite been stamped out by unfortunate current events. There was the barest hint of sympathy in the corner of Vlad's mind, not that it would affect his demeanor in the slightest. The man was a Talink, and due to circumstances, was considered an enemy of his people. The fact that he was not hostile and out in the open, not having unduly entered the sanctity of Circus grounds allowed for his continued survival, though a matter did have to be addressed. There was no reason they could not be civilized, after all.

"Lady Crypt is in meeting vith Sister-Knight Mary and others. I vill not interrupt. May speak vhen done. Understanding two things: For start, you are not velcome on grounds, yes? Any talk you have vith her is happening outside this place. For second, the Lady Crypt does not make rules here. Is not deciding fate ov anyvone. Ve are like ambassadors and this..." he held his arms wide, as to signify the grounds around him, "...is like tiny piece of Russia." He wasn't 100% on the legality of that assertion in this country, generally other places respected their boundaries in this regard, and they were run by Russian nobility, albeit lesser in rank. Plus there was the matter of the Grand Duchess's presence. "Vill talk after important peoples are done. For now, vill be a vait. I hope you are bringing snack."

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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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What seemed to be a smoothly running conversation concerning the admittance of two additional parties to the Graveolase was unraveling like a cheap sweater. The initial reaction of Ludwig, though repetitive in nature, gave off an impression that he was willing to have a short discussion about himself and his people, hopefully to allow Mary to get to know more about the German delegation and the application of their Trained skills in combat and non-combat situations. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no room for Mary to respond to the assertions of the man before the conversation shifted far away from the reason they were all present in the first place. The whole experience was highly unexpected, breaking the serenity of Mary's visage if only for a second before it could be repaired.

But when Elizaveta spoke, it was close to heartbreaking. It was a masterful show, and while Mary knew next to nothing about the actual history or practices of the Graveolase outside of their reputation for fighting against the Soulless and the immense political power they had at their disposal, she had to admit that the words of the Grand Duchess fit the situation. Were Mary not in the position she was now, Russia may very well have been declined, again. Still, to hear those words leave her mouth while she sat in the position of authority to make the unjust situation right, not to mention the reactions of the Graveolase after the fact, gave her a profound sense of sorrow.

Maintaining what neutrality she could in her face, her voice told a different story altogether. "I cannot express how disappointed I am to hear this. Ludwig, I obviously do not speak for the whole of the Graveolase when I say this, but please accept my apology for your treatment this evening. For myself, I only wished to hear of the logistics of your organization before giving an official nod. But you do not know me. You and your people have dealt with this council for a very long time and I fear that politics have overly colored the proceedings. Today is my first day in an official capacity. Yesterday, sir, I was merely a woman representing the Church and their Knights here in London. Tomorrow, my position will be highly uncertain. So it would befit me to make the most use of my time tonight before attending to other business."

Mary was not accustomed to giving speeches. Her discourse so far had been rather raw and off-the-cuff. Nor was she accustomed to speaking from emotion. She was a creature of discipline and formality when in public, but this required more than a simple logical observation. Turning to the Graveolase and guests assembled (and she would get back to the issue of The Amazing Teleporting Orphan later, just you wait), she gave her voice an admonishing tone and continued, "The level of disrespect shown here is disgraceful. The organization of the Graveolase was founded to protect humanity from the threat of Soulless worldwide. We each have areas of our Training that lack, which others of differing origin have traditionally filled these gaps with their own abilities. The teachings of Rome, for instance, present difficulties when dealing with disembodied Soulless. Yet we have a vast network and the ability to communicate over great distances. The Vatican is organized and powerful. But we will ever require assistance with Cargast, which may be provided by Jerusalem or the New World's teachings."

Indeed, speaking with tact was not her forte. "Yet the Graveolase would deny this man's people because he is ...what, peculiar?" Mary motioned to Ludwig, eyes still on their other guests for the evening. "The Graveolase would deny Russia, and the God given miracles they can achieve for purposes I cannot fathom, shy of pride and politics." Mary shook her head. "No. This will not stand. The sword of Damocles hangs above us all, suspended by a single horsehair. The threat is real, and the Graveolase cannot afford to be exclude anyone who might stand with us. Mankind needs capable and positioned warriors to fight for them."

"To that end, two details: One, the offer of membership remains open to both Russia and Germany. They have but to accept. Two, we have many nations that consider themselves civilized, my native British Empire included, that yet deny half of the population the means to fight for themselves or make decisions for the good of their people. I would have it that women, at least of Training, have access to the rights of Inheritance and Succession, to be supported by every country within the influence of the Graveolase. Too many people who would be our allies have been denied or subjugated for long enough. I despise politics. Greatly so, I fear, yet here we all are. This is about the continued survival of humanity, period. Everything else is secondary. When the Graveolase does these things, we will increase our effectiveness and draw from a whole new avenue of dedicated, grateful, and potentially influential soldiers. If we remain exclusive, we will, and I repeat will be overrun. As a whole or piecemeal."

"We are warriors, all of us, and we owe it to ourselves and the world to remember that. We stand together or we die. This will be done."

The words of the Mad German resounded in her ears. Particularly the last bit he spoke to Veta, stating outright that there were many more groups of similarly Trained people that he had encountered, people that the Graveolase had rejected time and time again. With those words lingering in the air, Mary gave an accusatory look toward the rest of them in attendance (except for the Scandinavian as he seemed to be the lone dissenting opinion among the group, to whom she merely nodded), then looked back to Elizaveta and Ludwig. "Master Zimmer, I see now that you and your people have knowledge that our people have tragically forgotten. I wish to be your friend, if you would have me."

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

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Meanwhile, the two guards from the Main Gate followed the instruction of the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya, weaving a path to the main tent. They spread word of the occurrences at the front to those who had not heard it using the colorful verbal shorthand of Circus Rusyn, who in turn spread it outward like ink hitting still water. One drop of color hit and spread, followed by another and another until the message hit the outer boundaries, where the guards had already gotten the information and confirmed it.

The pair found their way to the canvas surrounding the surprisingly eventful meeting of the Graveolase, unwilling to interrupt the event and so standing at the ready for the instant that the woman described as: "A woman of pale, moonlit beauty with piercing eyes and noble bearing, the eccentrically exquisite friend of the Scary Catholic Lady with a melodic voice and upper class London accent. You cannot miss her." As well as they probably could not miss her, it was likely far easier to pick her out as the one who was not of the Circus nor the Graveolase who spoke native English and was not Mary. Luckily, they had the name Crypt to work with.

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

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William Harper

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

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People were pushy. It didn't matter where you were in the 'Verse, be it the Core, some blip of a barely terraformed moon along the Rim, or a frigid penal colony in a cluster of lifeless rock in the Halo field. People were pushy. Moreover, unless you had a hell of a reputation wherever you were, you had to be pushy to survive. Acceptable alternatives to pushy were "invisible" and "could-snap-any-moment-crazy". At the moment, Harper wished to be invisible. Blending in was his thing; being nondescript and not volunteering personal information had kept him alive. A dash of crazy was helpful, too. More helpful than he would like to admit most times he had to dust it off, to the point that it was difficult to separate himself from the learned mannerisms that he had picked up during the years-long tertiary education he received at the behest of a government he used to work for. It was no secret that Harper was once an officer with the Allied Fleet; Anisa had met him while he was still wearing his black & grey Class B uniform. The timetable of his actual, voluntary involvement differed, however.

But back to the present. People were pushy, like this man with the accent that stemmed back to Earth That Was. Maintaining it over generations meant that his people either lived in cultural isolation since Colonization, or he came from a prominent background in one way or another. Or both. Even if it was birthed of his personal history, the man thought himself important enough to control the situation, detail for detail. It was likely that the muscle around him felt the same way. So while Harper did not wish to indulge anyone with personal information (such as using his name around people who might be inclined to research it), he also had no desire to cost Anisa business or upset the local black market bigwig. The Captain's livelihood had become his own, and pissing off the criminal element would get him noticed in a hurry - at best.

"Apologies for speaking out of turn, Captain." began Harper, keeping his eyes on the man behind the desk, "If I'm correct, the gentleman just wants to know he's respected in his own home." He nodded in a manner that suggested acquiescence. "But the Captain is right. I'm not the guy putting my X on the dotted line. She is. And my business is with her directly. You need a word to put with the face, okay. Call me Anjin." It was a name he picked up years ago, perusing one of the libraries back home. If he were a well-read man, he might have been exposed to a copy of Shogun. Anjin was the name given to an English pilot contracted to a Dutch ship that ran aground in the Japanese islands during the European colonial period. It was a complete work of fiction, but somehow being put adrift into strange waters such as this made it all make sense to him. Had this man read the book, he would be able to figure out that Anjin readily identified him as a Pilot and Navigator, formerly military. And who knows? He might have some Japanese in his background he didn't know about.

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Foy Coiffeur

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

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Foy slapped his cards upon the table with a hearty chuckle. "Ho hoooo..." he chortled, "Well, isn't THAT a fine How-Do-You-Do? Why, Fitzy old boy, I should declare that you have had the most ensorcelled slice of happenstance that I have ever held eyes upon personally; at least so far as cards are concerned. That, my good sir, or you are the most charmingly convincing hustler to enter this place in many a year!" With a chuckle, Foy pushed his wagered monies farther in the direction of the younger Engineer.

He did give a quick glance over to Mei as she mentioned the dressmaker's shop. Of course! Even though the tracks went somewhat cold in the busier market area, it stood to reason that she might have holed up there. If the owners were feeling particularly kind, that would have also explained why the business was closed up during the day, barring some little known cultural holiday that they were observing. He gave a knowing, "Hmm!" to the commentary and nodded to Dorothy. They hadn't failed, persay, more than cut their losses from a "maybe" situation and returned to base, which happened to have transformed into a totally different vessel by the time they returned. Life was funny that way. Foy did mean what he had said earlier: Though it was not his usual type of contract, thusfar working for them was not boring.

Then, as if on cue, something inquisitive came from the mouth of the blonde grifter across the table from him. "Barber Boy, madame, is the name of my sidekick whilst I toddle off upon one of my more altruistic crime fighting benders, naturally." The sarcasm was heavy in his voice. "I must disagree with you, you see. Though my background might be chock full of intrigue and mystery, business dealings and random 'stache-ry, I would be more proper to inform that the details of my life are inconsequential, given the breadth of informality and levity to which our present situation holds us. I do stand by all of my earlier statements about myself, if this is of any support to your query, madame." He thought about it for a moment and piped up, "One may surmise that I have talents beyond my capacity for style, though truthfully, what more does one find truly requisite in life? In all fairness, I am verily replete with history, but my willingness to follow the letter of contractual obligation prevents detailed discussion."

Foy gave a little smile and sipped a good amount of his whiskey. He set down his glass and concluded coldly, "I sincerely doubt that talk of business dealings and intellectual properties are your cup of Chamomile, by the by. But what of yourself? Lady of clandestine self-making, I should imagine?"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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

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For whatever reason, Gilbert was especially aware of the smaller details of his surroundings. Every exasperated look, every out of place hair on the Paradoxes and Emendators present, even the odd frequency of the unnaturally summoned wind whipping about him. The whole ordeal seemed to have brought out the majority of the household, who showed the appropriate emotions of the hour; shock, confusion, grief, concern. Thankfully, having to haul back the mutilated body of a friend was not a commonplace occurrence at sunny Ville au Camp. It wasn't the first time though, he noted dully.

Gilbert's steps slowed as he neared the knot of people around the fallen Peter. For a second, he wondered why he was even running in the first place. It wasn't like he could do anything about the unhappy inevitabilities of death. He could not knit wounds nor bring the enigmatic spark of life back to the lifeless. In this way he was helpless. A soldier, not a worker of miracles. The most he could do now was just as Evelina requested of him, and bring his mundane abilities to bear. "Yeah, Evie." he said in a quiet voice, unbuttoning his shirt. He quickly stripped himself down to the waist and tucked his clothing into the back of his belt. With the shake of his head, Gilbert hoisted up Peter's body and began to carry him back up the way he had come. His gait was slower, head bowed underneath his lightly distressed fedora. Gilbert turned his head back to address Evelina as he walked, "Where shall I place him, when we get there?"

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James Grady

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

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It was an odd thing, watching someone he knew in a previous life jam cotton balls into various places about her face and head. "Yeah. You welcome, girl." He tried hard not to let the situation color his voice, but it was another weird thing in a day that was easily the weirdest frigging day of his life. Or non-life, afterlife, near death, whatever. And that said something, coming from a timeline with an undead uprising. At least there, you knew where you stood in the grand scheme of things. This? Sophia just got smacked with something that required her to fill her head holes with absorbent plant fibers to function normally. James was just waiting for the hand of God to smack him with gills or something. Maybe he'd gain the ability to fart rainbows or line dance like a real country music star. That'd be something.

So far, the whole life after death thing was confusing and irritating at the same time. James shook his head, still partly expecting to wake up any second now. But until he did, he might as well run with it. "Yeah girl, what them two was sayin' 'bout the roll slowin'. Just you set y'self down. Maybe I'll get you a water? Sound good?" Yup, that was the answer to everything. Sit down, have a glass of water. Or tea, this being the south and all. Wait, that probably wasn't a bad idea, actually. "How 'bout tea? Tea work? Imma put a pot on. They gotta have teabags in here someplace..."

It took James a few seconds before he realized a question was asked of him, this by the Russian girl who had also just come back from the dead. He looked at her as if the object of his search should have been obvious. "Cotton balls, o'course Miss." He probably didn't realize that the sundry, quite household in his own lifetime, was not as ubiquitous elsewhere and in different eras.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

_{His childhood bedroom. Caesar sometimes comes back here to think.}

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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...meanwhile, back upstairs...

Benicio could only look on as his daughter went through the full range of emotions, dealing with the digital, coded hell that Alicia has left for her. The elder Gonzalez did what he could to keep little Liam quiet in spite of the swearing and spitting of their girl, affectionately referred to as "Angel" among close friends and family (though there were suspicions that the nickname did not come from her serene, pleasant demeanor). She was his little girl, his very own M'hija, and she had her own way of doing things. Unfortunately, that was was a little too close to his brother's way - or what Caesar's way was a couple of decades ago.

Thalia, meanwhile, had pulled her Glock back out and set it on the desk next to her keyboard. The safety was still on, naturally. With a baby in the room one cannot be too safe, yes? Certainly. But the weapon was at the ready to blow her computer into tiny pieces of plastic and silicon if that damnedable Laughing Taco decided to make things more interesting for her. Well, lucky for her, the computer, and the Laughing Taco, the password prompt accepted Thalia's first educated guess. She did know her Prima. Breathing a sigh of relief, Thalia created an isolated folder to copy the file into, disconnected from the 'net, and assigned a delete macro to the new folder and any contents. Carefully, she removed the original flash drive and opened her copy.

File # SGJFE-1432 Wentworth Security, Black Sunday, Aug. 12, 1983

"You know, this might be the kind of thing we should tell Tio Caesar about, huh Papi?" suggested Thalia, glancing back at her father the Father. She was told very directly by the man to suspend any investigation into the case for the evening, anyway. Respect for Alicia and all that. But was this not showing respect for her cousin? Looking into and following up on the very piece of information that she provided miraculously upon the day of her viewing sounded an awful lot like she was respecting the hell out of Alicia. Especially as she damn near burned out Thalia's system from beyond the grave. Touche, Taco Belle. Touche indeed.

Screw this, Thalia was taking a look.

...down below...

Caesar took a long pull from his bottle of mescal and immediately wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Classy, of course. His beloved daughter was laying on a shrine-like table covered in semitransparent cloth, surrounded by hundreds of candles. People from many walks of life came to pay their respects, the only factor in common being a tie to La Familia Gonzalez. Gifts were piled upon tables, and in the center of the area was a series of low benches and cushions upon the floor that people may use to rest and commune with one another, plus any errant spirits that might be in the room.

From one of the side rooms, doors burst open to reveal a small army of abuelitas, each carrying a covered dish or pushing cart full of yummy, traditional foodstuffs made from scratch and with love, or if not love, whatever these people substituted for it. No, it was love. Love of family and the grim determination of a people that gave homage to the anthropomorphized representation of Death. But if Our Lady of Death visited another member of the Familia that evening, it would not be because of the food, barring a horrible choking accident. They were excellent at their craft, as excellent as the family patriarch was as handling sharp implements in defense or retribution.

Caesar was not really in the mood for a meal at the time. Lots of thoughts to mull over, lots of emotions to suppress in hopes of using them later to fuel his nigh boundless rage. He did stand and stride over to one of the offering tables, securing a couple pieces of fruit for himself. Maybe a little something would serve to prime his appetite for some of that lovely roasted pork or chicken mole. For the moment, it was a grapefruit with ruby red flesh, followed by a rich, brown skinned mamey. And more mescal.

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J. Keystone

_{"Because 'Training' means two things, y'see."}

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Location: Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex
Skills: Leadership, Security Protocol

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There were reports coming in over his earpiece, of course. And silent alerts over his company phone, likely files and images on some of the more noteworthy of these people. They were all worthy of note in one way or another, but the information on them seemed to be coming out of a publicist's office: Only the overt stuff one might find from a light background check or from accessible public sources. Either his tech people weren't up to snuff, which Keystone doubted, or these people were great at covering their tracks from anything but the most developed, serious searches. The kind of searches that could not be performed in a couple of minutes from a security hub by a group of well fed but tired Seattleites, anyway. Ones that would require dedicated attention and a minor miracle.

Keystone's mind flashed back to that man, Wentworth. Other than his involvement in a similar industry, he thought that the name was familiar. Like it had come up in briefings with El Jefe, or like he had seen it written down somewhere in a file or chain of reasoning, pending investigation. Come to think of it, why was here here with a meeting of Juno members? He was male, after all. Word was that this was a group of wealthy and/or influential women, with the "Y Chromosome" crowd strictly in an assisting or subordinate role. Just seemed odd, was all.

Alicia was talented in the same area of expertise as this guy. Maybe that was the connection. Now with her gone, they would need someone up to the task of dealing with other aspects of their security. Suspicion flashed over Keystone's face with that thought. Was he involved? He would have to find an excuse to speak with the man, if just to rattle him a bit and gauge his reactions.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum (Vera's Office)
Skills: General Observation

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Reginald gave what would have been a very dashing smile in his younger years to Neema, and moved to enter Vera's office. He gave quick listen to both the concerns of Josephine and the intent of Mahendra to follow, but for the meantime paid neither of them much heed. While he understood that the starlet was without conventional means to defend herself, the area outside the office appeared to be in the clear. As for Mahendra, well, he didn't know the newcomer all that well. At least not well enough to get into a discussion about what plans they may or may not do concerning the potential dangers in Vera's office. It was best to just deal with the present issue and look back upon any mistakes as a learning experience. Even a man of his advancing years had the possibility of learning from one's mistakes. The expression about Old Dogs and New Tricks was probably invented by a lazy canine that didn't want to be bothered with learning how to roll over, in the Lord Major's estimation.

He did indeed enter the office a second later, and was immediately surprised at what he found. The light was left on, revealing a room that, while apparently devoid of direct danger or intruders, looked like it had been tossed about in an effort to locate something specific. Reginald slid his sword back into its scabbard, freeing a hand for more practical purpose in the cluttered room, but kept his Webley revolver at the ready. Briefly, he recalled that this was not too dissimilar to the way he entered this office just the previous day, though it was with a touch more in the way of volumed drama. He had to stop doing that. People might begin to talk.

The Lord Major took a quick circuit of the room before calling back to those outside of the office door, "It appears perfectly canny, if a bit out of sorts. Do feel free to enter, but if you would, please do not disturb anything until either Lady Munn or a representative of the constabulary arrives and gives an affirmative, yes?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Outside of the Hordebuster, Sprayberry Rd, in front of train tracks
Skills: Knife

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Ash found that he was in total agreement with Niesha. Desperate people would definitely do anything, even if it seems crazy. Her follow up was sobering in its own, massively accurate way, reflected in the sincerity of Ash's response. "Yeah. Yeah we do." Of course he knew about crazy. He'd been swimming in it for a while now, to the point that accepting his dysfunction was the best way to continue holding himself together, and by extension, holding his people together. He had a lot fewer people now, obviously. But the voice inside of his head was still present and/or accounted for, sir. It was part of him. Sometimes he wondered if, during those times that it was quiet for an extended period, the it was actually the dominant force behind the wheel of his consciousness. It was the part of him that was pure, logical soldier after all. Of course, that's where the idea fell apart. It had been a while since he'd heard the voice-that-was-him, and he was under a lot of tense stress. This would be the ideal time for the voice to take over, were it to. Yet here he was, wondering if his persona was being diverted by a chunk of his own psyche.

Nope. He was still a little crazy. But functionally so.

He didn't flinch when Niesha's arrow sailed past him, taking out one of the Dead approaching him. He had instructed them not to use bullets unless they had to, and true to word she did not. As she crossed the distance from the Hordebuster to his location, he gave an affirming nod. It was a clean, one shot takedown that he couldn't have done any better, personally. When she offered to handle the second one, he shook his head. "No ma'am, I've got this one." Maybe she knew that he needed to engage in a little stress relief, and merely offered as a formality. Ash tightened the underhand grip on his knife and took a couple steps forward, presenting a closer target for the attention of the shambling corpse walking up to them. He waited for a few seconds until the thing was upon him, dug in his heels for a traction, and hammered the blade of his knife into and back out of one of its eye sockets in a solid, utilitarian motion. It dropped to his feet like a rag doll.

About that time, Ash heard the sounds of Riley's minor misadventure. He looked back to make sure she wasn't hurt, then turned his eyes back to his initial goal - scouting the obstacle. "Give me some cover then, Niesha. Approach at a wide arc. Riley? Please secure the 'Buster. No uninvited guests, living or dead."

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Near Eden, Golf Course (14 -> 15)
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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Thana wasn't there. She must have continued ahead, which means that either Thana got a little ahead of herself, or Thalia was late to the party. She wasn't the type to be fashionably late for anything. Hell, she wasn't usually a fan of being particularly fashionable. Or late. Or alone in hostile territory when she was supposed to be with a group. This was not the plan. Her mind flashed back to a movie she caught just before the world imploded, "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Thalia hadn't read the books, but she had meant to, eventually. She was particularly fond of the part when Slartibartfast mentioned to Dentarthurdent, "Best laid plans of mice, and all that." It seemed fitting.

So again, the direction was south. Other options put her out in the open, or into a lake. She moved quickly and quietly, keeping the water to the right of her, steadily toward Eden proper. Or what she calculated must be Eden proper. Hopefully, she would meet up with the rest of her group and go a'hunting. She wished she had her uncle's ability to track. It wasn't something she took particular interest in back before, being as she was mostly an urban sort of girl. Wires and circuits, take out Chinese food, DVRing "My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic" (not that she'd ever admit that last one out loud); these were her areas of interest when not boxing or working in her office. Had she known that this highly inconvenient Apocalypse was going to happen, she would have very likely paid better attention in Girl Scouts. Or attended Girl Scouts. Lord knows she could go for some Thin Mints right about then.

She shook off thoughts about cookies and things that used to be, settling back into her present, horrifying reality and the reason she was participating in an assault on these people. She wasn't the rude, antisocial urbanite she was four or five years ago. No, she was the rude, antisocial survivor of today. At least for right now, as the day wasn't over yet. Lots could go wrong. And speaking of going wrong, Thalia's path was suddenly blocked by a large, flat, reaching WALL. It might have been expected - it let her know that she had arrived. But still, Thana wasn't there, either. This was mildly annoying. Scanning her surroundings, Thalia looked for a way over, around, or through this obstacle, as Thana must have.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a startling BOOM, sounding from a distance. That was the signal. It was Game On. Thalia had to get past that wall while attention was diverted. She looked about with urgency, trying to locate her ticket inside quietly.