Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Sprayberry Rd, in front of train tracks -> Continuing W on Sprayberry
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic

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Something still seemed off to Ash as he carefully made his way back to the Hordebuster. It was a freak occurance, this snow drift. They didn't usually form unless there was something present to collect against. And one this high? He had seen piles almost this high in the mountain passes of Virginia, though they were made in an especially snowy winter and stacked by the passing of snowplows. Perhaps (and this was a sobering thought) there was a large vehicle there at one point that the snow gathered upon, sticking around after the vehicle left. Of course, that would mean that there was another large truck not too far away, which could mean trouble. They had enough problems as it was. And even they had fewer problems than those who had to slog it out on foot, if indeed anyone else made it out.

Problems for later, Captain. Stay alive now. You have your mission. As usual, the formal little dip into his subconscious manifesting as a voice was correct. It had been a little bit since he'd heard from the Soldier; sadly he did not know if that meant he was more sane or less right then, but the voice was right. He had his mission. Thana had hers. They meet when it was all over and begin again.

Tucking away his knife and pistol, Ash climbed into his Hordebuster and opened the suicide door for Niesha. When they were all safely back inside, he briefed Riley. "Freak drift. Looks clear, the 'Buster can chew through this. Couple of Dead a ways behind, few on the side of the road, bit they don't seem interested in us right now." Not when there was an entire settlement in a huge, flaming crater that proved to be far more interesting. So Ash buckled in and reviewed the situation from the driver's seat. "Hold on to something." he advised, bringing the engine back to life and shifting into gear. Ponderously at first, the Hordebuster rolled forward, picking up just the necessary inertia the give the plowhead purchase into the bank of white, semisolid soft cover. It parted readily, allowing their access, yet enough of it pattered across the windshield as to become lodged between the protective grate and the lamimate safety glass, making vision perilous.

A slight twinge of anxiety hit Ash. He would lose precious time and potentially put these people in danger were he to stop climb outside to clear it, and if he stopped now they might get mired in the remains of the drift until the rising temperature gave them their eacape. He hit the windshield wipers, for what good they did. It was some use; they gave him the half second of vision outside regularly. Thankfully, luck was with them in the form of the train tracks. Rolling over them jostled all of the loose snow down to the bottom portion of the window, where the wipers made good enough work of it. And so, they rolled along Sprayberry Rd, continuing on their way to Arnco Mills.

"Would one of you please get on the map? I want a different set of eyes to confirm our route." Ash almost breathed a sigh of relief at their continued progress. He was nervous for a moment, but so far as his passengers went, Ash wanted them to think this was business as usual. So to speak.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Sleight Of Hand

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Vladimir came strolling up to the back of the main tent. It was not a walk, nor a saunter. It was a the stroll of a man full of smug satisfaction, positive that he had just performed one of the greatest exhibitions of his career. Between that and his performance at Astley's the previous evening, he was fairly certain that The Great Bazhooli and the Russian Imperial Circus would be the topic of many a conversation in London for a long time to come, regardless of the recent unpleasantness with the Soulless. His own experience with the inky black, tentacled, flying thing that had Veta had him quite disturbed, yet as ample evidence of his own belief in the unbridled awesomeness of his Circus, the performance had made him feel a lot better since the attack.

He was not a stupid man, though. It hadn't left his thoughts entirely. In fact, the whole incident left a sense of profound confusion in him. Most Soulless by their very nature, were once living, Soulled people. That creature didn't look like it had ever been human. And the powers it exhibited? If it was Soulless and not some kind of demon, it was truly a horrifying fate for any living, mortal man. He shuddered at the very thought of it, and was doubly glad that Elizaveta was safe. Not just safe! Oh no, his little Veta was assertive and strong, leading the Circus's presentation as if she was born to it. It was a short matter of time until she took her rightful place as Tzarina of the Russian Empire, ushering in a whole new era and new opportunities for the Circus, and Alexandrov line. He would deal with the monster from this morning at a later time. There was celebration to be had. If the Graveolase did not accept them now, then to hell with them all.

The feeling of utter satisfaction in himself and his people remained flowing and undaunted as he strolled (yes, still strolling) to the gathering of his people at the back of the Main Tent. He did not see the two guards that he ordered to the tent. Perhaps they were waiting around at the front entrance; after all, the Lady Crypt was not Circus nor was she part of the Grand Mamushka. Yet. It made sense to wait for her there.

As it was, Vladimir happened upon his fellow performers just as Elizaveta was finishing up what he assumed was a congratulatory speech to everyone assembled. He smiled a broad, charming smile, ready to take part in giving warm, cheerful regards alongside the Grand Duchess. Then she dropped the news of what actually happened during his absence. The part where the Graveolase offered them a seat at their table, and immediately following, the part where Veta declined. Powerful emotion welled up in The Great Bazhooli, spilling out a scant moment after the area went deadly silent.

"HA!" he roared, a single syllable of laughter escaping into the otherwise quiet scene. That barrier broken, he allowed himself another bout of utter amusement. "HA HAAA! That is our little Veta! HA! Who needs Graveolase?" Vladimir had a little difficulty enunciating that last word, owing to his preference toward speaking the Slavic tongues. But he got the point across. In truth, the news didn't bother him so much. If the Graveolase denied them again, then very likely he would find himself in a place of dejection and rage, but this? It just didn't matter so much to him. And Veta's decision (for reasons totally unknown to him) struck him as something done from a position of strength. Being part of the Graveolase was secondary at best when compared to putting on a performance of epic magnitude. And tonight they put on such a performance.

"Yes! Yes my friends! I am having pride, like never having pride before in every one of you! Our goal - goal of Circus vas as it always has been: Put on show! Ve put on the grandest of shows this night! And ve have succeeded. Ve have done everything asked ov us, and ve remain strong! Bazhooli Sem'ya is strong! Circus, strong!" He whipped his hat off of his head and snapped the fingers of his other hand loudly, prompting a blade to appear in his hand seemingly out of nowhere. With both, he made grand, sweeping gestures to those assembled. His powerful gravelly voice rang out in support of Veta's "You know vhat this means, brothers and sisters of Circus? Da, you know what this means! Ve make own table! Build own Council! Ve raise our people vith strength of own arms!"

"Tonight, ve celebrate!" He waved the performers along to the food areas, eager to start the festivities himself. Before he joined them himself, he looked to Veta with seriousness in his eyes. The unspoken message seemed to be, "I hope you know what you're doing." but the actual words were, "Vhere is Lady Crypt and little Earl James? Talink is outside gates. Man ve met at Almack's. She needs to be varned. Guards know, are doing as ve planned."

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant – not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life."}

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

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Mary stood with her usual, practiced serenity, watching as the members of the Graveolase left the Main Tent in varying degrees of disbelief or irritation. Mary gave them the attention that they deserved upon their departure. Technically, she was their host even if the meeting took place in the Circus, a place where she held no influence other than the friendship she had forged with some of the people who lived there. Certain formalities needed to be observed nonetheless. As they left, she extended various well-wishes upon their departure, with tidings of "God bless and keep you on your journey" and "I hope our next meeting bears more positive fruit." She disliked politics, but it was no reason to burn bridges or make more enemies right then. There was even one or two "Thank you for your support," and "Please be in contact. Allies are important in the fight to come." It was mostly just being polite, but she did wish to extend honest thanks to the representatives from Scandinavia and Japan. She had no idea what the problem was with the lady from the West Indies, but she was not curious enough to attempt to find out right then. There were more important personal matters at hand.

The invitation to return to Veta's tent was a welcome one, though she felt that she might need to remain a little longer in case of some issue or another involving her new station. The indecisiveness was quickly dismissed, owing to the fact that she had already given her word on the events which would follow the meeting. She had much to get together before their departure. Everything else that has happened over the course of the day were areas that she had little experience navigating. But this little expedition involving overland travel, a mission for the greater good, hunting down evil and (hopefully) protecting the innocent? This was most assuredly within her sphere of competence. Above all, she was a Knight. Even if no one else in this country recognized it, this was her duty and her pleasure, especially as it meant going on a mission with two good friends, equally suited to danger as herself.

Resolute in manner, Mary returned to her friend Virginia. "Lady Crypt? If you would please give me the honor of your company, I would like to discuss other business." and then in a quieter voice, "Are you ready, Virginia? Please let me know if I can help you with anything before we depart." Mary was beginning to get eager to depart. It had been quite some time since she had set foot upon her native Scotland, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. As long as she could help someone, especially a friend of her friend, it was very much worth the journey. She knew her horse was well fed and well rested; they had taken great care of Cassius at the Circus. Maybe he was as anxious to get back into the action as she was.

"With your leave, Lady Crypt, let us return to Her Grace's private quarters."

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck (Table, Main Room)
Skills: Carouse, Perception

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The next round of what Foy could only describe as conversational posturing gave him a mote of amusement. This was typical of contracts he had taken in the past where he was expected to work as a part of a team that had not been previously established. Everyone had their tiny pieces of self-aggrandizing behaviors to flaunt, and if one looked closely at what was said, one might be able to glean the general nature of the role they would play in the group. In his estimation, the trick was to maintain one's composure despite the various verbal slings and arrows that were unerringly flung about. And today, it seemed that he was the recipient of many of those pointy projectiles despite his insistence at being polite. Well, polite enough for the plebeians, anyway.

The pseudo-charming smile of the dapper gentleman continued, even as he looked at his cards. Finally. He gave them a few second's consideration, complete with a raised eyebrow "Aha" look, before unceremoniously dropping his cards facedown in front of him. Maybe Foy had something, maybe he did not. No one would know now. It did give him the opportunity to collect his thoughts and peer at the people at the table around him.

"I assure you madame," he stated, addressing Jacqueline, "that I am an exceptional Barber (and thank you so much, Fitzy). In manner of a resume analog, one need look no further than the immaculate jawline and tightly styled shock of hair upon our fine and glorious dealer. Or for something more along the lines of the contemporary, our absent Moral Compass has likewise received the professional attentions of my strop and razor. It is not the end-all-and-be-all of services readily available because of my illustrious presence, certainly, but you should consider the extreme serendipity in the opportunity you have been presented by an invitation to my Parlor, despite your sardonic resistance to the notion."

The question from Dorothy came as a bit of a surprise. It certainly raised one of his eyebrows. "Why, Dr. Pender, I am surprised at you. Scalping? The very idea is barbaric, not to mention a pointless endeavor of trophy hunting. The most unsanitary sort of trophy, as well. Far be it for me to engage in such a practice." Foy shook his head in apparent disgust, and finished off his glass of whisky. With the burn of alcohol still in his throat, he finalized his thoughts on the matter with, "Not unless the client is particularly specific about the matter."

Foy rapped his glass upon the table and stood, pushing the chair back behind him. "I shall attend to matters upon the floor, my good man; see what music can be had in this place. Would anyone care to join?"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Road To Servants Quarters -> Nearing Main House)
Skills: N/A

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Shirtless and painfully morose, the Emendator known in this era as Gilbert Summers carried the mangled remains of Peter Keystone in his arms, ever striding toward the Main House. He gave it a good amount of time before speaking, spending most of his time staring down at the former Paradox. He supposed that even dead, he was still a Paradox in the strictest of terms; given the fact that he should have been permanently shuffled off to the hereafter during World War I in Germany, his corpse shouldn't be in Louisiana in the 1940s. It might have been easier if, upon second death, the body reverted back to its rightful place in time. But that was all science fiction - an interesting genre in literature and the silver screen, but life was just a little messier than the works of Hollywood's fine performers and directors.

Gilbert didn't bother looking up too often. He knew the grounds of Ville au Camp like the back of his hand, every rock, tree, and divot in the earth. Sight was a formality. He did maintain his contemplative silence as Evelina moved to join him, simply looking over in her direction and giving a tiny, sad smile. He did appreciate that she had decided to join him for his walk back to the house, eve if it was just a moment of sharing the same general space and putting one foot in front of the other. If anyone knew how he felt at that moment, it was another Emendator. Who else in the whole of existence could? But perhaps he would never fully understand her feelings. He didn't feel Peter's oncoming death. He didn't roll the dice. And he didn't bring Peter back as a Paradox. He was just there to sense his second death, though. Maybe it counted for something.

The moment saw Gilbert's thoughts drifting into the present, specifically the present group of Paradoxes that were harvested across the timelines and eras. His initial feelings about them were varied, of course. Some of them seemed to settle in way too easily. Two were showing actual signs of clinical depression. And one... ...well, maybe Gil should make sure to wear shirts more often. At least for a while. His impressions of the new Paradoxes as well as recent events prompted two questions, which he expressed to Evelina in smooth, even tones. First, "Πιστεύεις ότι μπορούν να χειριστούν ό, τι τους χρειαζόμαστε, Εύη?"₁ Followed by a comment to the more immediate surroundings, "Μπορείτε να το ακούσετε? Ακούγεται σαν να υπάρχει ένα άγριο χοίρο εκεί..."₂

Translations

1 = Do you think they can handle what we need of them, Evie?
2 = Can you hear that? It sounds like there's a wild pig over there...

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Yard just outside of the Kitchen House)
Skills: Peccary Form (involuntary)

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If nothing else, James realized over the sound of panicked grunting and squealing (that he painfully accepted as coming from himself) that he could run. He hated to run. Never got a handle for it, except for when it was to save his own skin or someone else's. Living in the wasteland of an Undead Apocalypse could make someone a runner who wasn't, but it didn't mean that he liked it so much. Not only running, but he was making a lot of noise in the process of hauling ass across the yard to the Kitchen House, having himself a good, well deserved freakout session. But he wasn't winded. This form was fast and constitute.

Throughout the course of losing his shit almost entirely, James managed to dip one of his grand ivory tusks into the ground around him. Still propelling himself forward as fast as his cloven hooves could propel him, the massive, pointy mass of solid bone began ripping the topsoil up and away like a plow through loose earth. He used the drag to whip himself around, facing back toward the Kitchen House. Uncertain of what the hall was going on right now but very certain that he wouldn't get any answers by running away or destroying nearby property, his adrenaline-surging, fear-shivering porcine form plopped its piggy ass upon the ground and let out a deep, near bass toned, bellowing squeal. It was a monstrous, nightmarish sound, one that could easily find its way into a horror movie were someone present to record it. Though as horrifying as the sound was, the look on James's features (though masked behind that of a wild boar) was nigh to pitiful. Sadness, despair, horror... but the potential to inflict serious terror upon others was apparent behind his milky eyes and coarse bristles. James felt alone, just wanting some help and needing some answers.

🦄 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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...Upstairs...

The flood of information coming at Thalia was obviously important. Names, dates, aliases. Directly underneath was a report of a church shooting, all involving people with these aliases that were pulled straight from Roman mythology. Well, mostly involving names pulled from Roman mythology. Her eyes narrowed, contemplating writing some of this down. Ultimately, she rejected this idea as her opinion revolved somewhere between the concept that print was dead, and that the only reliable way to secure a written message was to eat it. Getting the message back out was a more cumbersome animal, though. Much more cumbersome. Only two routes to take with that one, and while not really the dainty type, Thalia would rather just make a copy and bury it someplace inconspicuous. Like shrunk down into a single pixel and tacked into a copy of her favorite old-school video game. Maybe a FPS. She thought she had a copy of Duke Nukem 3D on one of her flash drives somewhere. Yeah, it would work. Just this moment, she was in a secure location. There was time.

Another mention of a tragedy, same day. This one was a car bombing that claimed the lives of more of these Roman Goddess women. Three more. It was like someone came by and cleaned house that day back in '83. Hell of a Black Sunday. It looks like the kind of thing that Caesar might have set up, except that there were a lot less stabbings, and far fewer deaths that looked personally motivated. But there were interesting quirks to both incidents that she had read about so far. The shooting saw a Valerie Pye and an unidentified child living, while the bombing claimed a presumably unexpected death - a man named Russel Avery, former Navy.

Okay, she was going to have to tell her uncle about this. Thalia knew absolutely nothing about the situation so far. She didn't know what Alicia had gotten herself into in the first place, not really. Vague outline at best. It was great that she was able to get into this file, awesome that she might have something that could help, but without even a base knowledge of the situation so far, this made little sense. She needed perspective. Or someone did. Absently, she pulled out her favorite automatic knife, unloading the blade into the space next to her and retracting it repeatedly.

...Downstairs...

The viewing had turned into something resembling a highly respectful Irish wake, minus the Irish (for the most part, anyway). The gathering was getting a little loud, what with the music reaching a faster tempo and more people joining in. Caesar was not entertaining the possibility of dancing, likely ever again. But people were. Even a ritual revolving around the death of a cherished family member was a thing that required celebration. Let it never be said that they were not a people in touch with their own mortality. It colored every aspect of their lives. And even in the face of this final destination of all things that lived and walked upon the Earth, the Familia Gonzalez sent off their flesh and blood with song, with food, and with the promise of revenge.

Somewhere in the courtyard, a gathering of testosterone junkies (mostly Gonzalez, but there were a few Rodriguez and Delacruz in the mix) gathered in a circle as people exchanged hard currency, arguing the merits and liabilities of the two men circling each other in the center, arms up, engaging in the pugilistic arts. Eventually, every gathering devolved into something physical. Couldn't be helped. Hurling machetes at targets, boxing, lucha, holding palms above lit candles; these things all came about as the alcohol flowed freer. Caesar looked upon the scene with a wistful notion, shaking his head. If he were a couple decade younger, or if he got about halfway down his bottle of booze. Yeah, just a little more time. Maybe get a plate first.

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J. Keystone

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

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The earpiece of both Keystone and the lady known to him primarily as Vinters sounded with what seemed to be an issue fro the team in the Hub. "Boss, we had monitor flickers from all of our screens a little bit ago. We didn't think much of it, but it considering the guests it might take some looking into. What do you want to do, sir?" Keystone sighed. Naturally, there was going to be a problem tonight. The tech team was there to do what they did best; something for which Keystone was not trained. It's why they were present. "Right. One o'you get on monitors, gimmie a look at what's kickin' about whilst the flicker happened. Pay special on the guests, yeah?"

It took a minute, but there was a response. "Can't say for sure Boss, but it looks like that Wentworth guy might have signaled." A cold grip took Keystone's spine. If he did signal, that meant that he didn't do anything himself, if he did anything at all. If he did do something, that meant that there was a team in play inside the facility. Or a traitor. Something wasn't right. "Bloody 'ell... right then, make sure I gots a briefin' room on the ready, and run a diagnostic on the right fongin' quick. I'll keep an eye on Ol' Wenty. Just be ready for some noise, yeah? ...oh, gimmie a physical sweep. Real eyes on scenes. Report back stations A-friggin'-SAP."

With minimal hestiation, Keystone entered the gala, the lady from Seattle at his left rear flank. Standard practice, given the situation. He gave the room consideration, noting secure points and exits. But more than that, he tried to get a good decent look at the habits of the people there. Did anyone seem to be overly cautious? Withdrawn? Reject or minimize conversations? And to whom was Wentworth speaking? Did he have personal security on scene, plainclothes or standard? And where were Keystone's people? Many things to watch for. Many more to ponder. But most of all, when would be a good point to get this fucker in an armlock and lead him out of this room and into a quiet place where a proper discussion could be beaten out of him.

🦄 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 (Is being very, very British a skill?)

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The possibility of actually getting British soldiers to assist in the security of the Museum and its personnel gave the Lord Major a sense of personal pride. He had certain gentlemanly instincts pressed into him from early in life, much of which involved the ethical responsibility to protect you and yours. Especially if that meant the nobility, to which Vera belonged whether or not the rest of the Peerage fully accepted her. And of course the national pride associated with his fighting men in uniform representing the Union Jack taking point over the most respected Museum and Historical Archive on the continent, hemisphere, possibly the world (outside of London, of course). Even if the exchange was in passing, Reginald internally swore that he would look into it.

Concerning the Curator's request, Reginald responded with affirmation. "Quite a proper idea, my good man. I shall maintain what remains of the sanctity of these offices." He straightened his officer's cap and drew his saber back from its scabbard, holding it point downward in front of him. The standard practice amongst persons in the service of the British Crown was to hold the weapon point upward, its back, flat edge resting (or nearly so) upon one's shoulder. Reginald was an veteran soldier, transferring from the Army to the Royal Air Corps just as soon as he helped to found it. The saber of the Royal Air Corps, as a step into the evolving necessities of combat with multiple fields of fire, was fully tanged, tapered, and most relevant to his situation, double edged. It seemed a fitting metaphor for his life. "As well as an old soldier can, in any case."

Then his attention turned to Mahendra, who had given inquiry into possible course of action. It seemed odd to him that Vera's assistant would look to him for orders. But it was within his nature to give them, and he was called upon. "Mr. Zalil, if it please you, I believe that I can see to the office. However, I do not think that anyone has secured the crate that Miss Clarke and myself were seeking. I forget the number, sir, though I believe that the young lady has it memorized. Unless I missed something in earlier conversation, of course. It may contain something of interest."

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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: Stealth

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Careful steps brought Ashton closer and closer to the obstacle that impeded the Hordebuster from ferrying himself and his two charges to the hopeful safety of their initial bugout point. There were the scattered numbers of the Dead still around, and while their attention was directed mostly toward the continuing sounds of ruination and the column of dark smoke that used to be their home, Ash knew full well and from very recent experience that their attention could be diverted to something much closer if one wasn't careful.

The soft crunch of boots in snow wasn't exactly what Ash had in mind as he carefully closed the distance. It couldn't be helped, really, and the Dead didn't seem to particularly notice their approach. Yet. Always yet. It was an eventuality; if you were out in the world, sooner or later, you had to run. That was all there was to it. He would just prefer to make it a short run to someplace safe rather than a long run into parts unknown. Finally, thank whatever deity still checked in on this world, Ash made it to the other side of the looming obstacle. As expected, there were train tracks. There was snow. And there were Dead. Just a couple of them, but the former Army Captain had no desire to engage in a melee on icy ground when there was no prize at the end of it.

His mind still on his surroundings, not to mention the formerly living people within said surroundings, Ash walked up to the huge white wall to give it a closer inspection. He prodded it with the tip of his knife and watched the snow fall away. A little more prodding, a little more snow fell. Then it hit him, and the realization issued in a whisper: "There's nothing here." Nothing. Freak snow drift. How it got to be this high was beyond him, but the Buster would chew through this. Again in quiet voice, he looked back to Niesha, motioning to the truck. "we're done here. Let's get back."

Caarefully, Ash began moving back to his Hordebuster.

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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Thalia had just finished lacing up her hiking boots when she noticed movement in the water near to where she had emerged, herself. It was Alexander, of course. It couldn't be anyone else, unless a random Edenite decided to take a swim around their own fortifications. It was difficult as hell trying to be quiet when entering or exiting water, so she couldn't really fault the old man for it. It was almost as difficult as evading notice while dealing with a closed door or walking across a room scattered with scrap paper. With caution, she neared the waterfront and waved briskly to get her teammate's attention.

As soon as it was possible to do so, Thalia moved to meet Alex behind the cover of the treeline. "Good news: Haven't been spotted yet. Bad news: Navy girl's nowheah in sight. I'm thinking she got the idea to move ahead after the tank fired off." She paused in her situational briefing, ear tilted toward the woods ahead of them, "More bad news: I don't think we're alone." If it was Thana creeping her way back to meet up with them after a quick scout, great. But optimists got themselves dead, fast. As a confirmed cynic, Thalia wanted to make absolutely certain of what she was dealing with, especially if an alarm could be raised that might tip off Eden that the tan was merely Part One of a two part plan to kill as many of them as possible and feed off of the corpse of their little corner of Hell.

She slipped the shield off of her back and braced to handle it lightly and away from her body. It was stealth she was after, and masking the human silhouette, If there was one thing that tipped off the senses to a quiet enemy incursion, it was the outline of the human form. Her gun was still at the ready, but now she slipped her machete into her shield hand, holding it as a backup weapon. Chances were, if she needed to use a blade, she would have a little time to ready it. "Alright... Mugs, you any good at not being seen?" The whisper was barely audible.

🦄 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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The Great Bazhooli cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing to view the would-be guest of the Circus. Something in the way the man responded to the assertions of himself and the guards, if only a brief syllable or two in nature, gave Vladimir the impression that something was misunderstood or lost in translation. English was a second language for him. Technically a fourth language; English was as commonly spoken in Europe and all the many places worldwide they colonized and/or had beneficial trade agreements as Russian was spoken in Eastern Europe and Asia. It made sense to master the language. Maybe next he would have to attempt to learn Mandarin... but that was a thought for a later day.

Mastered English he had not; though he had become more of less fluent in recent years. It was necessary to do so, considering that it seemed to be the common language of the Graveolase, the powerful organization of which they desperately desired admittance. And the meeting in London? However could he win the crowds, or communicate just enough to seem darkly mysterious, or purchase local delicacies from London street vendors to get a feel of the flavor of the country (where everything was boiled or battered within an inch of its life and fried in lard)?

Nonethless, he continued his course of action undaunted. "Guards have gone to give message of vant to meeting Lady Crypt. Maybe ve can send messenger to your home vhen she has response, da?" He raised his eyebrows in a manner that inferred an unspoken suggestion, paused for a second, then continued. "So much as it vas unspeakable pleasure speaking vith you again Mr. Talink, I am having to handle many things this night. And is celebration. For safety, please do not intrude upon sanctity of Circus grounds or Tent City. Is home for people. Do not like uninvited in home, da?" He removed his very tall hat and gave a sweeping bow, intoning a pleasant, even chipper sounding, "If vill excuse me, I must return to business! Have pleasant evening, Mr. Talink." The last sentence rolled off of his tongue in low, gravelly voice with just a hint of humor.

Turning, The Great Bazhooli began to step lively back toward the festivities. As he passed the guards, he issued a quick command of, "Следи за ним. Ты знаешь что делать."₁

Translations

1 = "Keep your eyes on him. You know what to do."

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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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Finally hearing from the Chinese representative on the matter of the immense drama that just got set upon the laps of all those present, Mary could not help but turn his attention to him, if ever so briefly, just to marvel at the excuse that he had made for his obviously prejudicial opinion of the Russians. Yes, there was a flaw in the armor of the Russians' skills, or at least for those who trained to receive visions. So far, she hadn't seen one of those visions affect someone in the middle of massive concentration, practicing their crafts, or during the act itself. She might be wrong, though. It would be very inconvenient for a tightrope walker or knife thrower to be suddenly stricken with a vision while someone's life were on the line. But it was still an excuse. One at which Mary shook her head and promptly gave zero continued attention.

She did take to note that there was no discussion about the other social explosion she had detonated within the conversation. Noe at all. Did this mean that they were all amenable to the concept of allowing women of Training to have rights of Succession and Inheritance, or that she was being ignored like a quietly petulant child? As it stood, she could not immediately take the benefits of this; Mary was an Apostolic as well as a Knight of the Papacy. It meant that she would have to ask permission to attain title or secular property not offered by the Church, in addition to many other things. But it would make life better for so many other people while increasing the ranks of the Graveolase significantly.

More important matters were forthcoming that night, however, and she did have an appointment to keep. "I have spoken my peace on these matters, Honored Lords and Ladies. So long as I am the Arch Graveolase, our efforts will be to humanity and not jockeying for better position. We will entertain and support new ideas from new sources that will help in this mission. We will return to the fundamental reasons for the existence of the Graveolase. And if I may risk accusation for appropriating favor, the show that the Russian delegation was gracious enough to prepare for us was well worth the journey."

Mary stepped down from the stands and away from the other members of the Graveolase, her polearm tap tap tapping her steps until she made it to the ground. "I agree," she said, addressing Elizaveta, Virginia, Ludwig, and everyone else who wasn't part of the Graveolase, "we need to remain friends, no matter what else happens within our spheres of politic. I will likewise come to the aid of the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. And I am open to alliance."

"These are the decisions of the Arch Graveolase. For good or ill, that is what I am now. Grand Duchess, Lady Crypt, shall we speak now, privately?"

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck (Table, Main Room)
Skills: Carouse, Perception

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Foy accepted the cards as they were being dealt to him, setting them one atop another facedown on the table. He did not choose to look at them at this time, though when Jahosafat called that he was opening for 30, Foy snapped his fingers and peeled off the appropriate scrip from his stash of per diem that he allowed himself for the evening. Wordlessly, he set the money on the table in front of him and pushed it forward slightly, indicating that he was, in fact, in. His temporary lack of verbiage was due directly to the fact that he was looking across the table at Jacqueline, his initial mote of distrust in the woman broadening. As it happened, the level of interest he had in her words and actions were broadening as well; it was not everyday that someone self-identified as a Chiseler. The bit about being a nun was mildly amusing, too.

"Very well, madame. I acquiesce to your insistent prodding as to my, ah, function within the confines of my existing personnel. Without being too horribly succinct, I shall endeavor to relate my role in simple yet descriptive terms." Foy held his gaze with Jacqueline, even going as far as to allow a slight smile to grace the space underneath his fine, well styled moustache. There was a dramatic pause (as befitted his nature) while he swirled the whisky in his glass and casually took a sip, but then he did begin speaking in earnest. "Prior to taking the reins and expanding the Coiffeur industrial legacy into something spanning planetary systems, I engaged in varied rigors that have made me knowledgeable in, and valuable to, a number of contractible entities. The people under whom I have generously given terms of service in exchange for this training understand the value therein, alongside a certain sense of both moral flexibility and professional ethic, resulting in highly lucrative offers for my services as an Independent Contractor. Reputation has a way of spreading about, as reputation will, and recent years have borne my witness of offers for contractual obligation from many sorts of parties, be they Allied, Browncoat, or less flamboyant private parties who choose to remain anonymous, generally."

Another sip, followed by, "My last such contract, which I have unfortunately had to terminate early due to factors most mitigating (though with my financial needs attended) was as a crew's Tracker, among other roles, one of which being Gunman. In shorter terms, my dearest, I am a specifically backgrounded Soldier of Fortune, who already possesses the Fortune." Foy smiled a toothy grin, demonstrating the finest of dentistry that money could buy, complete with dental bonding the likes of which were usually reserved for persons in the performing arts. "Though the family's ancestral occupation is of prominence among my people, hence the fact that before everything else, I took only the most serious of studious attentions toward style, haberdashery, and of course, a masterful grasp of all things Barbering. And might I say, I should adore getting you in my chair, young lady."

The smug Farradayan gave a glance to Jahosafat and added a vigorous, knowing nod to the motion. "Oh, indubitably my fine sir, a rug-cut shall be most satisfying following this hand. Shall we commence with the hand then, Dr. Moreau?"

🦄 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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Gilbert wasn't really the "taking orders" type of person generally, even if Evelina was the type of person to give them. This instance was different, though. Mortality tended to do this with people, he found out, even himself. "Yeah. Yeah, his room." he said quietly, nodding in the general direction of Evelina. "Such a waste." He meant it, too. Another warrior, from a noble family no less, of relation to a man who was (for his time) a legendary soldier himself. He had spirit, albeit a little damaged from his experiences that led to his demise. It was a waste. He had so much potential as a Paradox.

Even though he wasn't accustomed to performing subordinate tasks for others, the fact was that he had accepted the bloodied and still somewhat warm corpse of someone he knew personally. Someone with whom he had shared meals. Someone he had personally instructed, in the same way he had instructed all of the other Paradoxes. And now he was going to be laid to rest far, far from the place of his birth and in a time that was not his own. This was all for the sake of returning to his own people after his allotted lifespan. It wasn't a fair death; there were so few of those in the world. Not his first and not his second, either one. It was always a bad idea to go back. Hell they were even given individual instruction on that when they first arrived. Could it have been different? Or was it just his fate to perish at that time, in that manner? Were it not a Destruere, would it then have been an errant, running lawnmower, strangely plummeting from a nearby roof to explode upon him with sharpened, kinetic energy? He may never know.

Grim determination colored his features as he trudged, shirtless but behatted, back toward the main house. Maybe while he was there, he would take the opportunity to bundle him up in sheets. Or leave him in his room, upon his bed, as if he was merely asleep. He would have to decide when he got there.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House -> Just outside of the Kitchen House)
Skills: Peccary Form (involuntary)

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"Water ...water ...water..." mumbled James, foregoing the tea leaves and just procuring a glass. Being as it was the 1940's, indoor plumbing was a thing. That was something for which he was immeasurably glad. Much like the toilet; a single one for a dozen people, it wasn't the most convenient thing in the world but it was indoor plumbing, damnit. Nothing to sneeze at. Wistful thoughts of interior water fixtures concluding, he filled the glass almost to the top with what he assumed was good, clear well water, and brought it back to Sophia. The earlier thought of tea had his tastes primed for the smooth, bitter goodness, and so he gave a silent vow to himself that he would in fact return to the stove put a pot of water on for tea. Black tea. With oodles of sugar, and ice if they had it. It was the way of the American South, and who was he to buck tradition?

The moment that he handed the water over, however, James began to feel a little strange. To begin with, it seemed as if he was just getting out of a dentist's chair. His mouth felt tight at first, followed by the abrupt protrusion of his lower canine teeth. They began to grow and reshape themselves into something more resembling a tusk - huge, bony lanceheads that had gotten so large he could see them. James was growing tusks out of his face, a thing which he had to confirm with his hands. "Wha... ?" he tried to ask, but his voice came out more as a porcine grunt than a human vocalization. And then he began to freak.

James's pulse quickened, hastening along the inevitable transformation. He cut and began to run for the nearest exterior door, hoping that this was all just a fugly dream and he was not being warped and twisted by some foul magic. Before he even got to the doorway, he found himself overbalanced, prompted to the floor by necessity. Coarse, dark grey fur sprouted from all over his body, save for a collar of tufted, purest white. His tusks grew to painfully large proportions, and by the time he had hit the porch, James was almost completely lost in the physical form of a mammoth Wild Boar. A king of a grand sounder, certainly, but a huge boar nonetheless.

And then he took off, tearing around the yard about the Kitchen House with unbridled, baritone squealing abandon.