Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Intersection of Sprayberry and Jackson St. (E8) -> Roscoe Rd. (E7)
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic

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Oh, Ash heard the question that Riley had posed him, but he didn't answer right away. It was an interesting set of circumstances shaping up outside of the grated windows that held his attention just then, drawing the capacity of his brain to process and respond away like some manner of conversational highwayman, demanding that the Captain "Stand and Deliver", said delivery coming in the form of conscious thought. But one couldn't blame him, really. It was an odd sight.

A pane of ice held over the vast majority of the wide intersection and continued to the road beyond. Jackson St. was suitable for tobogganing, were one lucky enough to have a passable toboggan (the sled, not the hat), and the ice had the most interesting group of dead people atop it, trying like hell to stand back up in the middle of a continuing series of nasty tumbles onto the slippery and frigid road. Like, a LOT of them. It had all the makings of a beginner's Ice Skating class comprised of palsy-inflicted kindergartners. Except for the rot. And the mindless shuffling toward the pillar of smoke and despair that used to be Newnan. But it was definitely surreal. Ash kind of wished he could get video of it for a post-apocalyptic blooper reel later.

It did slowly dawn in him that he needed to take this next part nice and slow. It made no sense to floor it and pray that he wouldn't inadvertently run off of both sides of the road and take out a (living) family of four. Slowly, deliberately, Ash shifted into a lower gear and allowed the Hordebuster to crawl across the intersection, adjusting his direction in minute ways. And shoving away a small handful of them as the great plow wedge of the front did its job, but at slow speeds.

He finally allowed himself to respond to Riley. "Military..." Maybe she was trying to take his min doff of things for a little while and maybe she was just going for conversation. It really didn't matter. He appreciated the act and acquiesced to her seeming curiosity, though thoughts of long ago brought out a little more of his Virginian accent than he was trying for. "Dad had a good thing going with the Distillery... wait, we've never really talked, have we?" he paused, giving a look to the former music icon. A lot of what he would have said might as well have gone completely over her head, what with them not being particularly close outside of duty logs and guard details. "Okay, short version first: I blew away my ASVAB scores, and figured I could get a solid education though the Army. There wasn't anything else about the family business I didn't already know, and lots of my people went military. Easy enough, I enlisted and got into the Virginia Military Institute. I liked the discipline. I liked serving my country. And I liked helping people. So I went career. The family business would be there when I retired, and I would have owned ...oh, half of it by now." As far as he knew, he was the last surviving member of his immediate family. If the Distillery even still stood, by rights it was all his. But that was only by the law of a nation that, in all honesty, just didn't exist anymore. It made his heart wistful, thinking about the plans from Before. It seemed like so long ago.

Ash carefully maneuvered the Hordebuster into a shallow turn, hoping that the icy road would allow them to pass by unhindered if he took it gently. He was rewarded with a lack of wheel-to-blacktop drama, wherein he safely turned his truck onto the beginning of a new road. "Alright, Miss Ridgeway. We are officially on Roscoe now, headed northwest. One road down. Hopefully, some of these Dead will begin to clear, the more space we put between us and Newnan." And hopefully, the others found a safe way, too.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Corner of Tennis Courts -> Trees just North of Tennis Courts
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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"JesusFuckingChrist," thought Thalia, wondering what the hell she just witnessed. The old man decided to play berserker with two men armed with guns. How he survived, she'd never be able to guess. Blind, stupid luck. Had to be. She surmised that she had better reaction than the man, more recent training, but living like they all had to for the past few years kept you sharp. What Thalia saw wasn't particularly sharp, though. Quite the opposite, Alexander looked like he just accidentally pulled off the biggest "Hail Mary" since the invention of the concept.

The dumbstruck young woman debated the possibility of remaining where she was and letting Alex twist in the wind for the next few moments all by his lonesome, or doing something useful though it may expose her to whomever was still lurking around out there in the open. A quick scan of the area told her that, with the exception of the two very recently dispatched persons nearby, the place looked clear. Unless someone was hiding within the treeline or underbrush elsewhere within a direct line of sight, Thana and herself were the only ones to witness the spectacle of inexpert axe murder. But the scream from that first one could be a problem.

Neither apparently had the time to use radios, if they had them. That was a good thing. But that yell might call others to their area. There wasn't much in the way of snow on the ground here. Thalia could make a grab for one of the bodies and drag it back under the trees and brush where they were with a minimally observable blood trail, but that would take time that they just might not have. Hope and luck as their allies, Lola's group was keeping them so busy that no one heard the minor skirmish out their way. Hope and luck. Yeah. Thalia was far happier that she brought along an extra gun. She had more faith in that than either hope or luck.

As Alexander joined them and asked his question about contacting the TANK, Thalia really wanted to say something to the man. His execution was sloppy and haphazard, reminding her more of an enraged, blind woodsman than a warrior. But she could not fault the results. The men were dead. More importantly, the three of them weren't. The mission would continue. "Okay Mugsy. Good on ya, but we can't count on JarJar-ing our way through the rest of them." She could tell that he probably needed a moment. They didn't have one of those, though, nor would they for a while. "From where we are now, we can cut around the court and the pool fences, come up behind that brick building." she motioned with a blooded machete, pointing toward what appeared to be a windowless poolhouse at the corner of the fencing opposite them. "As long as this end stays clear of assholes, we might be okay." Her Boston accent had faded to a trace, replaced with dispassionate, solid tones. She didn't live for this kind of work like others in her family did, though she did view it as a heavy responsibility.

The tree cover wasn't great from that point, but at least they had decent vectors of escape if it was needed. "Okay, I'll get this started." Thalia blew out a deep breath and took off for the next group of trees, sparse though it was. There was the option to cut through the tennis court directly; it surely would have saved them a minute or so, but that would mean being inside of a low fence in open terrain, literally a stone's throw from the Eden main building. No, while they were still trying at stealth, Thalia would not suggest it, no matter how clear it seemed.

🦄 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) Front Gate -> Main Tent
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Granted, the first conversation that Vladimir had with Ludwig was ...odd... but this one seems to have slipped into the truly bizarre. Not that things within the Circus were ever very normal, by outside standards, but any time that they find an excuse to throw a party, things became colored with bright splashes of inexplicable. The members of the Circus who had been performing earlier were beginning to filter back into the Big Top, anxious to have full reign of their beloved tents and temporary walkways. Not to mention that a good portion of the food was there. Per Vlad's orders, the bulk of it was still back at the Tent City proper, where the Bazhooli Sem'ya and a good number of the Circus Folk were kicking off the party in earnest. It was where Vladimir wished he was right now. He wanted to speak with Veda and his father about their upcoming plans, now that they had told the Graveolase where they could shove their invitation (except for Mary, she was okay for a heavily armed Catholic lady, plus the Baron liked her).

Fortunately, if he could not go to the party, it seemed that the party would come to him. Part of it, at least. Part of it that had alcohol. The whole of them made it a point to avoid the area where Vlad, Ludwig, and Thalken were standing, partly out of respect and partly because of the glaring looks issuing from The Great Bazhooli if anyone ventured too close. The presence of armed guards making a more-or-less circle helped in this endeavor as well, though they were scattered out a bit. One person did make it through despite the imposing demeanor of Master Alexandrov; a very large and tall man by the name of Igor, whose profession as Strongman was easy to guess by way of dress and musculature. Vladimir himself was noteworthy, despite his veteran years, for having very good arms. He was toned and strong, maintaining this by strenuous training in acrobatics and knifery. Yet next to this man, he seemed a slender reed. His presence was forgivable in this instance, if only because of what he carried: One massive hand bore several goblets of non-uniform design, two metal and two wood, hanging between his fingers, while his palm awkwardly clenched a thick glass one. The other hand held three bottles in a similar configuration.

Vlad stepped back and to the side a bit, keeping himself out of what he figured was Thalken's peripheral vision. For right that second, he wanted his guest's attention to be focused on the man to whom he would be speaking, in all of his random, confusing glory. Perhaps he had a way about him that the Russians did not, and Vlad was curious as to what might happen next. He had a date with a bottle. Moderately, at first. Vladimir paused for a half second, reconsidering his plan for the next few seconds. No, this may require a different approach. A three second discussion with Igor had Vlad's hands with the two wooden goblets, one filled with a clear, mostly odorless liquid and the other with a decent Novorossiysk wine of their homeland.

With something akin to respectful patience as to the events about to unfold in front of him, The Great Bazhooli took both cups into one hand, their stems clutched between his fingers casually. He walked a quick path around to the side of the pair of men, Thalken and Ludwig, so that both might openly see him approach. As he did, a quick whistle came from the giant man, Igor, who had made his way back to the food table. Vladimir's head whipped around just in time to catch a bundle wrapped in paper with his free hand, and he continued on to the Honored Guest of the Circus in the middle of the area. "Take, Talink." he intoned, offering over the deep cup of clear drink. "Maybe you talk better vith, eh, to say... vet vhistle? Da. Is made from potatoes." He raised an eyebrow knowingly, "And beets." He did fail to mention that it was deceptively potent (even for a distillation), but possessing a robust sweetness if one could get around the nigh obscene alcohol content.

Vlad diverted his eyes over to the armed guards still around their position, then back to Thalken. He reached out his other hand, this one containing the bundle wrapped in paper, the contents of which were two smallish pies about the size of his palm each, stuffed with diced potatoes and what he hoped was seasoned beef. His voice picked up with just a touch of drama, that others in the vicinity "Hospitality of Circus is for everyvone given invitation. Or passage of safety. You have second vone for now, I am thinking. Eat. Might be here for a time."

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"In God's name let us go on bravely." -Joan of Arc}

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

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It was strange, hearing Elizaveta insist that they dress as commoners. Mary hadn't really taken a close look at her social standing in quite some time. It simply hadn't occurred to her that she wasn't a commoner. Mary was born into the family of a hereditary Knight, technically a member of the nobility, but that was rendered quite a moot point by the deaths of the male members of her family and their holdings in Stirling put under the custody of the Crown. She had been placed with extended family for a time who seemed to despise her, merchants who gladly shuffled her away to the Church the moment the opportunity presented itself. Her formative years were spent with the Swiss Guard and the clergy of Rome, learning humility and how to do remarkable, violent things with the Lord's blessing. She couldn't even take a secular title anymore, not unless the Church gave their blessing.

Oh, Mary had title. One that she fought and bled for, unlike the vast majority of the Ton. She earned the right to be called Dame, and most recently, she added Commander to the list for the purpose of protecting the common good. As for Arch Graveolase? She didn't earn that one. It was dropped upon her by the dying words of Lord Buckingham. It was a burden. Though she had not paid the cost associated with this authority, Mary had the feeling that she was going to. Still, the young Apostolic did not feel that she was of noble class. Not anymore. But the truth of it, the bare, rough truth, was that if nothing else, she was the daughter of a Knight of the British Empire. Even though it was bottom-rung, it was a position of noble bearing. She spent her earliest years in a smaller castle of stone and brick, did not have to labor during that time, and never wanted for food nor friendship. It was halcyon. It was humbling.

"Yes of course. Thank you, Your Grace." she said quietly and accepted the bundle of clothing from Elizaveta. She did take her up on her offer to use the changing screen, making her way over to the moveable partition and stepping behind it. It felt strange, removing the trappings of her profession. There were the type of clothes that she had worn for a long time now; the entirety of her adult life. Similar garb when she was in Training with the Vatican. It had taken a step to the finer since becoming a representative of the Vatican and a Papal Knight, granted, but it was tough, it was functional, and it was suitable for wearing for extended periods of time. To embark upon a mission in this manner seemed almost like she was hiding her affiliation with the Vatican, a thing which she was not find of, not one bit. On the other hand, the mission could not begin until they got out undetected. She would be noticed, unless she resorted to true stealth. That was not the best option either, and infinitely more difficult with her horse in tow. Determined expression on her face, Mary quickly changed and reused the burlap wrapping to secure her cassock and other articles of clothing.

Mary looked down at herself after she had changed. This was a strange feeling for her, dressing as such. She looked a bit like the woodsfolk that the Crown might use to patrol their forests, or one of the yeomen that the Knights would employ as military scouts. She stepped back out from behind the screen, cautiously at first, but slowly becoming more comfortable with the new attire. A thought struck her, and she gathered her hair back as best she could, hiding it underneath the hood of her riding cloak. "There are few with hair like mine in London, and none within the boundaries of the Circus. It would give us away." She looked to her halberd, this time sighing. That would definitely stand out. Mary might have to get creative.

"As might a dappled grey stallion and a formidable white tiger. I should not wish to cause alarm to any of your people, Grand Duchess, but perhaps a distraction of some kind is warranted?" Mary had yet to get to her horse, Cassius. Another hurdle to be overcome without being seen. The sooner that they had this done and got onto the open road, the better in Mary's estimation. She began buckling on her weapons underneath her cloak, ready to get moving.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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

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It was an unusual series of changes of intent that had just transpired, and right in front of the Lord Major. Vera wanted to go to the front to speak with the guard stationed there while Miss Kingston wished to see the flattened cranium of Haakon down in Archives, now altered simultaneously so that Vera wanted to access the Archives while Nora wanted to stay in the office. It was a little befuddling to Reginald, who simply chalked it up to womanly prerogative. A Lady is allowed to change her mind at any given occasion, for reasons that ever remained a mystery to the more stogy of the male gender. Much like himself.

"If you have reason to look about in the present disorganization of Lady Munn's office, then please, by her leave do so. I cannot guarantee the overall safety and canniness of this building, though I suspect that the worst has transpired here for the evening. All the same, it might not be the worst idea to engage the lock after we have gone." Reginald bowed stiffly at the waist, giving Nora a neutral "My Lady," and headed out to follow Vera (who was recovering nicely from her sudden near-falling experience). The Lord Major offered her his arm so as to hopefully avoid other such potential spills, and began making his way back toward the Archives and, gruesomely, the site of the Reporter's death.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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

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At the mention of cards being used as a punishment for a toe-crunching misstep, and rectally no less, Foy's eyebrow again arched skyward. This act was followed by a quiet chuckle and the amused baring of pearly teeth. "Why Miss Croix, I was given the distinct impression just seconds ago that you weren't interested in such extracurriculars." His smile turned into a devious grin, accented by eyes that glinted mischief, "And here I merely desired a dance." It was unclear as to whether or not the foppish Farradayan was joking. He too took note of Atticus approaching the table in a state of scandalous undress, and gave him the most gentlemanly of nods as if nothing was amiss and he was greeting an old friend from across the room. Nevertheless, his stride did not break as he made his way to the slightly raised stage, slipping the vocalist a rectangle of paper currency.

He whispered a quick exchange, and turned to Jacqueline. "I have taken it upon myself to request something with a touch of combustion to begin the festivities, if you are still inclined, Miss Croix." He did need to get in the singles dance, and if fact had intended to first; his polite request for anyone else to join him hung on the likelihood that Jahosafat would be otherwise engaged with the cards for a hand or two. After he gave his word that he would wait for him to take to floor as well, the events were set. To deviate for the sake of favoritism (a thing which only bothered him if he was accused of it, and accurately so most of the time) would be seen as most impolite. Foy was ever polite. Rarely nice, but ever polite.

In the end of his thought process, he rationalized that this peppy introduction for the evening's musical session would serve to warm him up for the Farradayan Dance-Off which was to follow. Oh yes, stretch those legs, remind himself that he was not merely an Independent Contractor and Barber Extraordinaire, but he was one spiffy operator on a dance floor. Then challenge the best of them. Maybe second best. The title seemed to change hands every time he and Jahosafat had the opportunity to duel upon the polished wooden planking of their own nonlethal Field of Honor.

But right at this moment, he had a lovely and sarcastic lady(?) with whom he owed his time. It would be frighteningly impolite to not give her the attention that the moment deserved, platonic though it was. Besides, he had to make sure he still had his wallet afterward. As the music began to key up and the first notes flew off of the house band's fiddle strings, Foy began tapping his foot in perfect synchronization. He looped his hand around Jacqueline's waist in an assertive but gentlemanly manner and took her hand into his, suddenly sweeping the pair of them away as if caught in a rushing river current of Contemporary Frontier music.

Mood Music

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, outside of Room 106 -> Moving to Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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The nod from Evelina was accepted, as was the whisper of gratitude for carrying Peter's body back and into his room. Gilbert had seen death in his lifetime, possibly far more than any other creature that had ever walked the Earth. It was equally possible that he had caused far more death, at least on a personal level, than any other creature that had walked the Earth. Not counting people that had ordered massacres and genocides, mind you. Such people were useful only as examples of the worst humanity had to offer. Gilbert was a warrior, not a monster. And even now, he was more of a historian or a trainer than that, anymore. Still, it was very hard to erase unfathomed millennia of killing, be it for duty, honor, defense, or glory. Soldier, not killer. Most of the time.

"You are welcome." he said simply, in polite response to Evie. He hadn't much in the way of Peter's blood on him, so it was a quick matter of using a pocket handkerchief to wipe the crimson from his skin in places, after which he pulled his slightly wrinkled shirt from the back of his belt, along with his vest, and tossed them back on. It was only then that he paid attention to the presence of the new Paradox. "Miss Aldrich." he intoned, giving a respectful tip of his hat to her. "It's a lot at once. More than most. You are in good hands." It was at this moment that he took a look into the more recent history of the past few minutes of the Destrehan Plantation grounds. George had help. More than enough offered, from the looks of things. He could, and probably should, return to his little tour group. Andromeda had an Emendator giving her personalized attention. The most he could do was offer a snatch of polite conversation before returning to his fledgling Paradoxes. A slight bow to her, and Gilbert was off, walking back to the Kitchen House to see what had become of the new people stumbling over their new powers.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Yard just outside of the Kitchen House -> Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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Sarcasm and vomit. Hell, James could have stayed in zombie-infested, post-apocalyptic Georgia for that. Sarcasm, vomit, transparent girl (ok, now THAT was an acceptable superhero name), and he was a big, tusky pig. It was enough to make him want to cry. Or vomit. Or say something sarcastic. Going glassy wasn't an option for him, though. You see, as previously mentioned, he turned into a pig. It wasn't that bad, really. The process would take a lot of getting used to, that was for sure.

But someone had mentioned a drink. That someone was him a while ago, but someone else did very recently, and that lady was busy walking into the Kitchen House, presumably for the purpose of acquiring said beverages. Now that was something that he could get into. Walking up behind Alicia, and upon noting with satisfaction that he was plodding behind her in work boots and not muddy hooves, James gave her the space that she required to sashay, saunter, or otherwise move freely and act like a boss with the other Paradoxes until he could get at whatever flammable, intoxicating liquid this place had readily available. When she pulled out the mason jars of clear liquid and set one down in front of him, James was in awe. Slowly, and with slightly trembling hand, the solid blackneck reverently lifted the jar to eye level, getting the best possible look at this wonderful, wonderful miracle. "Naw, girl..." he started, voice barely above a whisper, "Naw, that's just... Wait." More strength came into his voice as he mentally put a couple of things together.

The jar said "Holloway", not "Holloway & Sons". Further, James had only ever seen this particular spirit in a bottle, not a jar. And he'd only ever seen it from one source. Then it hit him - this was 1943, not the new millennium. Ash's father wasn't in charge of the distillery, this would be his grandfather. And by Distillery, James meant "Operation". There was still good money in tax-free liquor, and Prohibition had given a lot of people the taste for, as his good friend put it, "Homestyle Appalachian Sippin' Whiskey". Though the family had gone legitimate in the more recent decades of his alotted lifespan, in the 1940s it was still technically a criminal enterprise. An open secret, in the truest sense of the word. The Captain had nothing to do with this booze, oh no. This was his daddy's daddy. And the tradition went back farther than that.

A smile crept upon James's face that broadened into a full, toothy grin. He took in the aroma of pungent, mountain spirits, letting it linger for a while. While others were taken aback by the dulcet notes of fine moonshine, James welcomed it. This represented one of the few things that was good about the Apocalypse: The friends he made among the survivors, people he otherwise wouldn't have had anything to do with were the world to plod along as usual. He first sampled this spirit with a man who had held a gun on him, a man who had become his friend and ally, whose people became his people. The man whose name was emblazoned across the front of the bottle, and could work alcoholic goddamned magic with a late peach harvest.

James heard Alicia's warning about the booze, but waved it off. He brought the jar up to his big, friendly smile, and too a gulp. Time FROZE. Two or three seconds passed as he stood there, eyes wide and transfixed on something in the distance, despite the fact that they were behind walls. The smile remained, but there seemed to be pain behind it now, and a certain "begging for release" vibe in his eyes. His head tilted a few degrees to one side, only slightly, and then James calmly set the jar back down. "Ooh. Aw damn..." he exhaled quietly, slowly leaning forward as if to take pressure off of his stomach as the truly inspiring liquid hit home, exploding as warmth within his gut. It was definitely made by the same family. Notes of specific flavor and a telltale finish proved that to him. This was Holloway stock. It was just a little less people-friendly than the unoaked Virginian whiskey that he had grown accustomed to. Younger. Bolder. Possibly designed with weaponization in mind. It wasn't any stronger, persay, but like his newfound power, he was going to have to grow accustomed to it.

"Damn, but that'll take the wrinkles out y'sack. Mmmm. Thank you, little lady!" James's voice gained strength and clarity as he spoke. "It ain't The Man's, but damn if it don't do what it's supposed to!" He turned around, looking for whomever was around, "Hey! Y'all need to get in on this. Don't know what you missin'." He decided to take Alicia's advice on the matter this time, and brought the jar up to his lips again. This time, he started slow.

🦄 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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Caesar was a few seconds away from legitimately losing his shit. From what was witnessed issuing from the youngest Gonzalez just prior, not to mention the massive cleanup necessary, it can be assumed that when a more experienced patriarch loses his shit, it was epic. The last such time that Caesar (metaphorically) misplaced said feces, he was in an undisclosed location in Chile and the body count was beyond massive. There was fire, there was an execution by car, there was even the strategic use of tropical fish in one instance. Axes, flagpoles, machetes; there was very little he did not use in the pursuit of his goal. Of course, the operation was supposed to be a surgical strike involving taking out a specific target and securing enough evidence for the local government to move on the operation.

What actually happened was that they pissed him off and he ripped through them like a bad burrito. And let's face it, Caesar Hannibal Gonzalez was One Bad Burrito. He was kind enough not to charge the government extra. Besides, the hard currency and guns he liberated from the complex more than made up for his trouble and medical expenses. That wasn't even the best example of him totally losing his shit, just the most recent prior to taking MSS international. When pressed, Caesar was a goddamned Fecalangelo.

Now, the reason why he was headed into a state of imminent crap-displacement was because of the information that was pulled up on Thalia's monitor. While the younger woman could not make the connection, her uncle was beginning to. One of those names, Diana: Code name for one of the members of Juno, specifically the roller derby team. He knew of her as Amy Chang, but according to this, "Diana" was a lady named Valerie Pye. At least it was back in 1983.

"Angel, listen close. I don't want you getting any more involved than you have to, okay? M'hija's dead because of this. You get me? Dead. I know it hasn't hit me as hard as it's going to. Not yet. The job isn't done."

Scanning over the file, Caesar noticed that some already finished their own job back in '83. In a church, no less. The names were familiar from the Juno lineup, with one exception. Oddly, that name was, itself, Juno. It might be an organization now, but thirtysome years ago is was a person. And that wasn't all; every one of the names on the list were dead, killed in that very same church, except for one. And a child.

"As long as we're in a secure location, I want you to run a search for me." So much for not pursuing the investigation out of respect for Alicia. It seemed like striking while the iron was hot and while they and the means to do so quickly and quietly offered a better alternative to respect: Revenge. Or a step closer to it. "Find out if Valerie Pye is still alive, Angel. Her and that kid that survived, if you can. Everything you can on her. That's for start." Indeed it was just a start. Almost as a hunch, he continued, "And see what you can pull up on Elizabeth Queensguard. How old she really is, what she was doing around '83." Oh, there was more. Much more. The small amount of information uncovered could keep him digging for weeks, if he felt the need to be obsessive. Hopefully, uncovering one or two pieces of the puzzle would snowball them into more. For starters, who this mystery woman is and how she ties into everything else imploding in Justice, CA.

...meanwhile, back at the party...

Keystone had his ear to the phone, listening to the steady repeat of electronic ringing. A second, quieter sound interrupted the ringing, causing Keystone to whisk the phone away from his head for a second to see that he had received a message from Caesar. A company Email tucked into a secure but nonessential folder with a subject titled "French Omelette and Kippered Salmon". A curious header, but one that he could not look into immediately. It was only when Mrs. Queensguard picked up the phone on her end that he realized that it might be important. Very important. As soon as he was off of the line, he was going to look into it. But first...

"Mrs. Queensguard, ma'am, this's Keystone with MSS. If'n you'd be as chipper as to not react to the next words, I'd be grateful, yeah? Right then: The complex is under a cyberattack right bloody now. Security feeds're down, an' we're bettin' there's someone on your payroll what's helpin'. More on, that knobslob Wentworth looks like he's passin' signals. I've got a bloke what's gonna take your server physically off the plug in a mo' till my Tech team can get it sorted, and I'm waitin' to 'ear back from teams on foot 'bout intrusion, if any. On the now, just in case there's bronzecockery afoot, I advise you duck for a powder and we get you offsite quiet-like. Otherwise, we'll keep on the job. 'Ow're you wantin' this 'andled?" Truly, the Cockney was strong with Keystone this evening.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Sprayberry Road (G15) -> Intersection of Sprayberry and Jackson St. (E8)
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic

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The Hordebuster had made its way up and around the bend without much in the way of incident. The qualifier "much" was really code, indicating that were they outside of a large moving vehicle, things would be worse. Oh sure, there were indeed the Dead along the road and in the middle of it, but the most interaction the survivors in the truck had with them was the occasional bump as the great wedge on the front of the Hordebuster shuffled another one off and flung it to the side. Luckily, there weren't a whole lot of them that were squishy enough to warrant an involuntary gag of Ash's behalf. In this day and age, it really did take a lot to get most people to gag, but the almost cartoony way that The Hordebuster could make walking corpses explode? That could still get some of the more hardened survivors a-horkin'. When it wasn't gut-busting hilarious, anyway.

As the Hordebuster swept the street clear of Dead guys, Ash found his mind wandering back to his youth, revving up his father's riding lawnmower and tearing across what open grass was available in semi-rural Virginia. The machine ran smooth; many of the people in his family were mechanically inclined. But various knocks and thudding coming from the bottom of the mower were rocks, tree limbs, and the occasional unwary gopher (as you couldn't wear them back then, apparently), whereas the things rebounding from the 'Buster used to be people. Had Kid Ash he known what adventures were waiting for him adult, he very likely would have traded places with the gopher. Coin toss at best. But he was alive now, and so were at least two others for which he felt responsible.

Now the Hordebuster sat at the corner of Sprayberry and Jackson, between the abandoned gas station and the Barbecue joint. Yeah, he couldn't think of James right then, no matter how much he wanted to. Shit had to be held together, and whatnot. Still, he had lost his best friend. It felt like a selfish thought; everyone who was still alive just lost family, or people close enough that they might as well be. Newnan. The Newnan People. It didn't matter what came after this, they would always be Newnan to him. It was the same sort of sentiment that got Jack and Tatiana to change their surnames to match the city. Ash really hoped that those two made it. They represented Hope.

It suddenly occurred to Ash that Riley had asked him a question. He shook the cobwebs out of his head, and addressed the younger lady. "Huh? Sorry. Ah, not sure. This is a "play by ear" situation, Riley. We're moving faster than a lot of the others are, and not all of them are going to Arnco Mills. We have a general fallback point. Unless the situation is hostile, it's there we're spending most of our time waiting. A day to regroup, probably. Then we have to look to getting our emergency supplies." Ash had his own agenda, outside of his responsibility to his people. But even though Newnan was a crater, he was still their Captain. Someone had to be, or they wouldn't be "a people" anymore. And they needed to stick together now more than ever. His own agenda would have to wait, but just barely.

The road ahead of them was more heavily populated by The Dead, a thing that would make life hazardous for anyone coming through on foot. Even in the 'Buster, Ash didn't like it. If anyone were equipped to clear a path, though, it would be a post-apocalyptic Army Engineering Officer sitting at the helm of a piece of homemade siege equipment. Ash shifted back into gear and set himself to pushing forward.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Headed toward Tennis Courts -> Corner of Tennis Courts
Skills: Stealth, Survival, Sharp Weapons

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Thalia wasn't 100% happy with their situation. Running point on the sneak attack was a logical decision to make, seeing as she was the only one specifically trained in both stealth and survival techniques. But most of her decisions wee based on a one-person operation. She wasn't a Field Commander. Not even when she worked for her uncle's company. She had authority, true, but there was a difference between having a rank for the purposes of doing a job, and being a strategic leader. At the very least, she could scout out the best path and try to clear a couple human obstacles. Or formerly human obstacles. Even back Before, it was her bread-and-butter.

Of course, that was the problem. Facing in the direction she was, toward the tennis courts, Thalia could point out two people moving toward the noise of the TANK on her left flank. The cover there was slight at best; any movement that made their peripheral vision focus on a human silhouette would give them all away immediately. That was an inconvenience, though. Hang out quietly and they would pass. The problem was that there was a third Edenite in the thicker cover ahead of her. If this guy had noticed them yet, he would have indicated something, used a radio, or just opened fire. But he had not. Again, her kingdom for a silencer. But this guy was right on her 12, and an approach was difficult until the other two yahoos had passed by or were killed. Quietly.

While she was not thoroughly satisfied with her current predicament, she was pretty damned sure that her bestie back in the big, steel beast was having a blast. It just seemed like her. In the back of her mind, Thalia thought, "Yeah, two dollahs says that Kiwi's already prioritizing killing fuckahs, eating a sandwich, playing a few holes of golf and then... new hairstyle? Something like that..." She'd just have to remember to ask. Well, if she could get past this one guy ahead. Thalia had failed to fully sneak up on the first Edenite in her path, a thing which, in all honesty, she probably got lucky that she didn't blow the whole thing in that second. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to be lucky again.

Ok, the two bastards out in the open had taken three good steps toward the general area of the tank, taking Thalia out of their peripherals. The second she could, she darted across the paved path and into the copse of trees near to the tennis court. She kept low. Upon doing so, she noticed two things: 1) The front side of the building was near the bottom of a sloping hill. It would make an assault easier, but stealth on a direct approach very difficult. 2) The man in the bushes still hadn't seen her. Yet. Maybe he was taking a piss. A really long one. With his back turned.

Thalia approached from the north, sidling up just inside of the treeline. Irony working for her in this instance, the huge open space behind her was clear and allowed for an unseen approach, so long as no one else appeared in the clearing. Not ideal, but the bushes around and the old mulch on the ground around trees that were once ornamental sufficed nicely to muffle the approaching steps of her hiking boots. Her first good look at the man finally let her know why she was so successful thusfar: The man was crouching, holding a working radio to his head, a finger plugging up his other ear while he was looking at the ground, trying to concentrate on what was being reported. Was he scared and hiding? Or just totally unaware that this whole TANK thing was possibly a distraction? This was too much. Dropping any pretense of direct stealth, Thalia stepped right up to the poor guy, humming to herself, "Mmm hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm, Mmm hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm... The joy of Chola..."

The man's eyes widened and he whipped his head around just in time to see a blade descend. He was able to blink three times before the light left his eyes entirely, the last imprint upon him being the expressionless face of a dark haired young lady, painted like a skull with ash and char.

Thalia returned to the edge of the treeline and waved Thana over. The area looked clear, they had cover, and a couple points of egress under cover of the terrain, if necessary.

🦄 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) Front Gate -> Main Tent
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Guard duty was not the forte of The Great Bazhooli. More specifically, acting as guard/escort to persons he would rather just treat as a threat to his family, extended or otherwise, was not his forte. Perhaps it would be the forte of the next Alexandrov that bore the title of The Great Bazhooli, but not the present one. Vladimir would rather be celebrating with his people. Drinking, dancing, singing; congratulating the performers and making plans with Veta and The Baron about their future. Their very near future and the unexpected turn of events which brought them to their current state of affairs. But yet again, this would have to be put off because of the interruptions of outsiders.

Outsiders spent money. They visited. They spoke their collective "oohs" and "ahhs" at the wonders that the Circus could show them, and finally (not to mention most importantly) they went away. Just as soon as they did, the members of the Circus let loose and acted with the surety and comfort of people within the confines of their home. This place was indeed that; their home. Be it one that packed up and moved quite often, it was just as much their home as the great palaces of their mother country were to the royals, yet the Tent City was ever greater preferred among these people.

So as Vladimir and a cadre of Rusyn trained guards escorted a now unarmed Talink from the Front Gate to the Main Tent, it was done so with the slightest amount of barely perceptible disdain. The gate guards understood their duties had very recently began, but the others were missing their due celebration time and were anxious to get back to it. Anxious, but not stupid. Hands remained at the ready near or on various implements of potential bodily harm and eyes stayed sharp. The astute listener might have caught snatches of the same song following them as they made the short stroll to the tent, though played or sung from different sources as they picked their way past the sights and small crowds in the grounds, from violin music to the occasional pitched vocalization, to the plucking of stringed instruments and rhythmic clapping. It was quiet, comparatively. One could still easily hold a low conversation over the sounds of Russian joviality, but there was a certain unnerving quality when one understood that the music was there for the procession accompanying The Great Bazhooli; as soon as they left an area, those musicians ceased playing, even as others seamlessly picked up the tune. As if the music was there for a targeted reason.

Within a short amount of time, the group had made their way to, and into, the Main Tent. There was still a formidable amount of foodstuffs at the ready toward one side of the open area, several armed guards had filtered in upon the orders of the persons in charge who all seemed a little confused but nonetheless determined to see to their duties, and of course, Ludwig Zimmer with his metaphorical cartfull of piping hot, frothy instability. As he understood it, young James Crypt was to be present as well, though he did not see the little scamp, nor his friend Adam, the boy that Sister Mary had brought in with her. It was probably for the best. This was a meeting for business. Boys were rarely there unless they were filling a wine goblet or learning how to rule.

Vladimir raised his voice not only to announce their presence, but because he hadn't in almost five minutes and it was widely rumored that he had a quota to fill. "Peoples of Circus! Sem'ya! My peoples! Blood of my blood, family, those who vould do anything needed for to protect our own! Subjects of The Baron Alexandrov and Russian Empire! And, ov course, guest from German Delegation, Master Ludvig Zimmer. Ve are fortunate for having audience vith Thalken of family Talink. Master Zimmer? For please, floor is yours."

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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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The somber and forthcoming intonations from both Virginia and Elizaveta were matched with the steadfast manner of Mary's resolve to continue this next phase of their journey. That is to say, the young Apostolic was eager to get started. There was the question of supplies for the journey, of course, though their route took them upon a populated corridor of travel. Yet, evem as they would ride hard across the countryside, they would be setting out when most people, and certainly all respectable vendors, would be closed. Mary did, as her title implied, put her trust in God. Perhaps it was this providence that led her to pack her saddlebags with water and wine and several strawberry based pies that morning. One of the pies had already been given over as a gift that day, but there were many remaining. It was funny how things tended to work out that way sometimes. The quality might be some lesser by the time they got around to them, owing to the hard ride ahead of them, but nothing insurmountable with a fork and a little patience.

There was a sense of relief as the paperwork concerning the apprenticeship of James was handed over to Veta, and by extension Virginia. And in English, too. Sister Sophia must have worked quickly and in a steadfast manner, denying herself the company of others and missing that show to have completed the task. It was a common practice among their calling, self-denial. Especially as it meant helping others. The young Earl would be safe and happy, not to mention have access to part of his family's ancestral skill set.

Elizaveta expressed her curiosity as to her and Virginia's ability to ride. Apparently, both their actual skill in the act and the propriety of their present clothing while doing so. Mary gave a quizzical look before offering a knowing smile. "I am a skilled rider, Your Grace. I cannot match the pure and true ability of your people's trick riders, but I have taken training with a horse from a militant standpoint." It was true, she was very comfortable on horseback. What she had seen of the Brivaldi riders of the Circus was very impressive; something that she would likely never be able to accomplish herself. Given a proper horse and the need to travel quickly from one place to another, or to ride into combat, Mary was up to the task. And she did have a fine horse on the grounds; Cassius.

As for the second part of Veta's concern, that being her attire for travel, Mary was forced to voice partial disagreement. It was understandable, given the circumstance, and it might even be a good idea for Mary to change her clothing anyway for practical reasons. Nonetheless, she responded by sliding off her white robe, revealing the general attire of her work as a Venator. A gilt-edged cassock, true, but the Dame Commander was also dressed in breeches, riding boots, and a tough shirt of black material. Her clothing was designed to show her allegiance to the Church and act as functional knightly attire. "If there is to be a confrontation at the end of this journey, which I highly suspect, then I should wish to be attired as I am now, Your Grace. I would not turn down a change of clothing for the long ride ahead of us, if it please you." It might even be a novelty for her, to dress in the manner of the Circus (so long as it was not too immodest) or that of Russian royalty, even if it was simply travel clothing. "And I agree heartily with you, Lady Crypt." she said, switching attention to Virginia, "We must make haste."

🦄 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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It seemed that Reginald's attention was being pulled in two directions. On the one hand, Vera was intent upon passing a message along to the guard at the front door concerning his dear nephew, Peter, and the disfigured gentleman with whom he was associating earlier. And on the other, it appeared that Nora was asking him to lead her down to Archives to examine the dead guy, for whatever good it might do. It was a good idea that Vera had, but to wander off alone when the situation could be perilous? The Lord Major had no authority to dictate the actions of others in this place and with these people, though sometimes he dearly wished that he did. What would have been a quick, "Stand firm there, soldier!" actually came out more along the lines of a verbal sputtering of mismatched syllables indicating concern or alarm as he attempted to get Vera's attention. Luckily, another matter came to her mind that compelled her to turn around. That Drake fellow was nowhere to be found, either.

"I haven't the foggiest, Lady Munn, where the man has gotten himself off to. Though I must say, his timing is impeccable to make himself scarce." It was unfortunate what seemed to be happening to their little Fellowship, and here it was but their second day being Fellowed and there was already a death, two of them had left the country (to the best of his knowledge), and two missing. Now three. If anything had befallen the man, he would undoubtedly be taken aback. But at the moment, Reginald allowed himself a shake of his head, considering quietly the impulsive nature of those cheeky Colonials.

"And Miss Kingston, I should be most obliged to show you the point where the reporter met his messy demise, if you would please permit me leave to escort the Lady Munn to the guard at the front of the building first." Truth be told, Reginald was something of an old chauvinist, if just by tradition. Vera's clumsiness aside, she was perfectly capable of delivering a message to the front of her own museum quickly and safely, but gentlemanly conduct prevented him from toddling off without at least offering his presence. And naturally, his concern for Vera went beyond friendship, and into the familial. "Though if you would care to join us, we shan't be but a moment."

🦄 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 proclamation of the lovely and clandestinely talented Jacqueline made Foy's eyes widen. Further, as ubiquitous an expression as an eyebrow raise was among every culture across the 'Verse and the annals of time going back the untold millennia to the invention of the aforementioned eyebrow raise, Foy somehow managed to make this minor facial movement grow into something not only noticeable, but take up more than half of his highly smug, yet dignified face. A smile formed across his lips, which promptly turned into a grin, which further transformed into a chortling guffaw. Not a laugh in the traditional sense, nor a titter, nor even a chuckle, cackle, nor subtlest of gigglery. This was a guffaw. Foy had the good manners to catch himself before he had to take a knee and grapple with the side of the table in hopes of preventing a spill onto the questionable sanitation of the establishment's floor.

With an overt lowering his tone but not necessarily the volume of his voice, giving the mere suggestion of speaking privately without the messy baggage of actually giving any privacy, Foy imparted what he considered to be decent and worldly words of experience. "Ha ha, hoo... Ah, my dear woman, you assume much too highly of my intentions, and considerably too much concerning your powers of influence upon my person. Indeed, attention has already been paid toward my proclivities in the arena of succinct and extremely personal interactions; furthermore you do not remotely fit the criteria of a proper paramour for a Coiffeur, not being a lady professionally inclined toward the Craft Horizontal, nor one of marriageable standing." It was an odd pairing for the general selection of those Foy would calculate lucky enough to associate with him in that regard, but if one understood the family's culture and customs, it did make some sense. Some.

"A dance, Miss Croix, is my offer. Privilege enough for many who would associate thusly." He twirled the end of his fine moustache, and opened his mouth to say more but was waylaid by what he saw transpiring at the table. He raised a finger, indicating a moment of conversational respite while he witnessed something ...interesting. That lucky little snot had done it again. "Oh, my dear Jahosafat, do you spy what I spy, my good sir? Why you must; and as a matter of technicality, being that you are incrementally closer than myself to those cards, you must have borne witness to it first!" Fitz had done it again, of course, laying down a hand that made it statistically impossible for any other arrangement of cards left in the deck to claim victory. "I mean no insult, my dearest Dr. Moreau. None in the slightest as I say this; it is merely that the analogy you had put into the verbal offerings of the hour seem best paraphrased and turned to its reciprocal. To wit: Any wool left upon the flock of pink and shiny sheep has been shorn, collected, and spun into a purse to collect his winnings. Whether those winnings come as a result of beginer's luck, hidden skill, or unscrupulous cheating is beyond my comprehension. I am merely exhibit a sense of profound satisfaction that I turned my cards over before the last round of wagers were finalized."

Foy gave a nod to Fitz, intoning a warm, "To use the colloquial phrase of the plebeians - Cheers to you, sir." Or at least as warm as someone like Foy could muster in the circumstance. Then back to Jacqueline, "If you are still in the spirits for a rousing bit of heel-to-toe, Miss Croix, shall we begin?" Foy began to make his way to the floor, company notwithstanding to his decision. He was cutting a rug that evening, and making gallant sport of it, one way or another.