Sigil

🦄 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 -> Table, Main Room)
Skills: Carouse, Perception

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"Certainly, madame." said Foy in response to his dancing partner, Jacqueline. "Though when a gentleman of stature sees fit to announce that one is pleased to greet another, one usually does so in the a manner less befitting something in one's sleeves. Though I must confess, understand, that my opinion of you is improved somewhat by your proficiency upon the floor; that is to say, I shall not win many competitions of the sort unless we practice vigorously, nevertheless, you have kept up with my nimbleness of foot and that, my dear Jacqueline, deserves a mote of recognition." He backed a step away from the buxom grifter and gave her a polite bow.

From where he was standing, he noticed that the food he had ordered earlier had just arrived at the table. Much as he would have liked to take a moment to sample the local cuisine, he did promise a singles dance (read: cutthroat duel of move bustery) with his good friend and fellow Farradayan, Jahosafat. The food could wait a few minutes. He seemed to remember Harper mentioning it was too hot for liking when he was served, anyway. He returned to his thoughts with Jacqueline, saying, "Perhaps later in the evening we might recommence with the joviality herefrom, Miss Croix, but I believe I have a prestanding appointment with..."

Foy was cut off by the entrance of Captain Crowe, who was looking all business. She made a hand gesture reminiscent of certain military signals, which reflexively made him stop and straighten his stance. At first, he thought it was trouble. One of his hands went near a comically oversized straightrazor at his waist while the other hand moved a little distance from his body. Not that anyone standing would be aware, but he was bracing for the specific gestures necessary to eject one of his wide-bore derringers from his wrist holsters. But she seemed fine. Harper exited behind her, and he seemed fine, too. So it was not fisticuffs and broken bottles; more was the pity. Worse, it might mean they had to wrap up their night before dining, or even getting in that dance among Farradayans. How unexpectedly tragic.

Foy relaxed his hands, both, and turned to Jacqueline. "Miss Croix, I have had a lovely time, but this very well might be the end of our acquaintanceship. It has been a pleasure, if not a ideal pleasure given the circumstance. But if you will excuse me..." The mercenary barber gave his pockets a quick feel, ensuring that certain items were still present (including his wallet, as promised he would), and gave her a quick "Madame." before heading back to the table.

A brief talk with the retreating waitress netted him a takeaway box for his untouched meal, and he awaited the inevitable word of his departure.

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William Harper

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

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Harper was less nervous than he expected he might be, dealing with the persons he was dealing with for the lest several minutes. He had dealt with hard people like this in the past. Very recent past, actually. And out in the wider, more civilized 'Verse there seemed to be something akin to rules of fair play. Or at least guidelines. He was not fool enough to believe that this would apply on every occasion, but these men seemed like they wanted to do business. There were just certain little rituals of strutting and establishing pecking order before the actual talk came around. He could respect that, even if he found it needlessly time-wasting.

The thought suddenly occurred to him that, despite actively being in the Alliance Military and spending a few undeserved years in prison, he had never considered himself entering into a criminal enterprise until this very hour. Oh, he was a murderer, that was certain. But even that was an extension of trying to stay alive. This was something a little different, if lesser of offense. It didn't seem to bother him, oddly enough.

He stepped from the doorway to the back room, walking as casually as his straight and militant posture would allow. He took a second while Anisa was lighting her cigarette to mentally go over the exchange toward the front of the conversation. He had insisted upon being called Anjin, after the character from Shogun; a British navigator and ship pilot who got stranded in a curious place far away from home. Anjin was just what they called him. The character's actual name was John Blackthorn. Maybe he would use that alias when he finally was able to get out from the precarious situation he was in. It wasn't bad. Maybe he'd start using it as an alias now.

When Anisa did speak, Harper found himself snapping to act in accordance with her wishes, much like he was conditioned to during his time in the Fleet. "Yes Ma'am." he said without hesitation, voice solid and strong. He wasn't some naive junior engineer anymore. Ok, he was never as bad as that fellow fro the table, Fitz, but he could have easily been accused of being naive once upon a time. Better or worse, he was a pilot working for an independent party who happened to be a Browncoat. Damn, but his life was complicated. "Highly interesting, ma'am. Makes me wonder what happened while we were away."

Harper squared up with Anisa, keeping a respectful, arms length distance. "I'll pack up our things and report to the ship. He buried the reflex to give the lady a salute, but could not quite prevent the it fully. His hand moved just a tic before he caught himself, gave a tiny smile, and walked smoothly over to the table were Foy was packing away his food. "Same over here. he spoke to the waitress in a neutral tone, "And for the lady too, if you would." He motioned to the items in front of Anisa's unattended seat, and to the items in the center of the table. As the server left to acquire the needed materials, he spoke to whomever was listening at the table: "Our three day leave has been postponed. I'll leave it to the Captain to fill in the details. See you onboard."

Almost as an afterthought, manners should dictate that he see to the person whom he escorted there. He looked around a moment for Daphne, curious as to where she had gone off to. But whether he caught up to her or not, it was time to go.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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A broad smile caught Gilbert quite unaware, even despite the blow they had all taken with Peter's death. He was a man who was fully enamored with the ups and downs of humanity, identifying strongly with them and what their world had to offer. As a soldier, possibly even the Eternal Soldier, he had downed and killed more people in combat than anyone who had ever been. But this is part of the experience - war brought out the worst of people, but it also brought out the best. The heroes. He never wished strife and bloodshed upon anyone (maybe in his much younger days), it was just that he was so damned good at it. Coupled with the unerring fact that there would always be the need for warriors, it was most definitely part of the experience, forevermore.

Hopefully, this particular experience would bring out the best in the new Paradoxes. It surely was bringing out something in them. No, the smile was for the Russian lady, trying hard not to spew The Original Mountain Dew out of her nose. The smile continued as Bart addressed him. It was a fair question, and from one of the new Paradoxes he was supposed to be showing around the grounds. Before he answered though, he did have the courtesy to return Sophia's wave and give a friendly nod in her direction.

"Fair enough, Bartholomew. There is a broad answer and smaller, more specific ones. The broad answer is that we are offering a second chance at life, of a sort - a life that for... all of you, I think, was ripped from you without cause or meaning. Though we're not offering it persay, you are receiving new abilities that humanity only dreams about. They're a little unstable at first, but almost everyone gets the hang of them in due time. And lastly, you have something that cannot come at any price: Purpose." His voice stayed friendly and even, not pushy or condescending, at least as far as he could tell. It was a little vague, but sincerity flowed from his lips as he spoke. "Now, I think you've already seen your rooms, if that's what you're asking about, and the house. For the rest of the tour, well, we will have to get back to that sooner or later." At this last sentence, he looked knowingly at Faith, who seemed chock full of questions about the implications of the new rules under which they existed.

"Metaphysical and existential questions are really best left to Evie, ah, Miss Lucas." he started, continuing to clarify with, "The Dice."

But it occurred to him that he hadn't yet responded to the good natured sarcasm offered up by Alicia. He thought it was good natured, anyway. But with the requirement of drinking being that someone live in a time period before 1900, his smile got even bigger before he actively suppressed it, and took a drink from his coffee cup full of Corn Squeezin's. Even he winced a little bit, followed by a light exhalation. "That's not quite fair, now is it? Anyway, you cannot hang the War of 1812 on Yours Truly. That little brouhaha was kicked off by President Madison of the United States, though if you asked me he didn't have a choice in the matter, and the British were hoping to soften up their former colonies before a full invasion anyway with allied movements in Canada and extreme sanctioning." He gave a small laugh, "Just wait until I get going."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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There was a lot going on in the room. Conversations happening all around James, of which he was involved. The one, anyway, with Alicia. Then she said something that gave him serious pause. She had mentioned earlier that she had a child in her other timeline, an adorable little boy. That was well and good; James was even happy for her. Well, happy and sad both at the same time. It was a lot to lose, and the little boy would never know his mother. But the fact remained that there had to be a father involved in this somewhere, and from what Alicia had said, still alive. Until Caesar got to him, anyway.

James did not know the incarnation of Caesar in the other timeline, but he indeed knew the man in his own. Scary beyond all imagining was a start. Full of love and vigor was a continuation. And damn, could he cut a path through bodies like it was nobody's business. Whomever this Keystone was, he would have a lot to answer for. James didn't know why he was compelled to find out more about the man, though he suspected that it was because of his close friendship with Alicia's boyfriend st the time of her death in his own timeline. It almost felt like she was cheating on him, though that was silly. Even in marriage, the deal was "Til Death Do Us Part". A separate incarnation on a different, parallel dimension of temporal possibility probably counted for double.

The Wereboar Blackneck (who was toying with "Hog Wild" as his new superhero identity, though Wereboar Blackneck sounded pretty good, too) raised his glass to Alicia, saying, "Hey hey, scary lady? Tell me 'bout that baby-daddy o' yours. He a good man, right? Take care o' that boy? If'n your pops lets him live, I mean. What he do for a livin'?" He had to admit a growing curiosity. For someone to have a child with Alicia? Had to be something about him.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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The young lady at the computer blew a comma of dark hair out of her face. It was just starting to get a little longer than she liked it; just enough length to put it into her eyes, not enough to pull it back. And she wasn't generally a bandanna kind of girl unless heavy labor was involved. So yeah, it was time for a haircut. Any of the abuelitas would be more than happy to do a quick job, but Thalia knew full well that she would have to sit and suffer through a long lecture about "how pretty her hair was", and "why doesn't she grow it long, like a little princess?", a thing which she was anxious to avoid.

These were the thoughts of a person trying to avoid pain, naturally. The corpse of her favorite person in the world was laying in out to view a floor below, surrounded by people who were technically family, but just didn't know her as well as Thalia did. She was thinking of something comparatively trivial to keep her mind off of this, while simultaneously blanking most of her conscious thoughts so that her brain could just do what it did when she sat down in front of a computer, whatever that was. Her hands moved, stuff happened. Keystrokes later, she got what she needed or she ran into an obstacle that required more than she had right then. It was like swinging a machete sometimes, in that once you do it enough, become comfortable with it, it barely requires thought to bring the blade down.

When the metaphorical blade came down this time, Thalia barely registered it. Caesar, still looming over her in the room, cleared his throat when he noticed that her hands stopped moving and the screen became still. "Sobrina?"₁ he nudged, moving to her side. Her eyes were still moving back and forth as if speed reading, the idea supported by the faintest movement of her lips. "Yah, alright Boss." she responded flatly. The older man did notice that she had slipped from addressing him as family, and more like she was an employee. Caesar noted that this might not be going the route he wanted to take with his brother's child. Thalia piped back up in a distant voice, "Hey, found something on that kid... Wait. That lady you took a contract with in Justice, what was her name?"

"Queensguard." It was Caesar's turn to respond flatly.

"Elizabeth Queensguard?"

Time stopped for a second. Ceasar dropped to a knee to better see the monitor, even as Thalia swiveled her machine around to show him. It was a picture of a younger Valerie Pye, holding a young teenage girl in front of a church, as part of an archived newspaper. The caption identified the girl as daughter of Everett Queensguard, Elizabeth. "This..." started Caesar. He was unsure of the significance of this image, but he knew it was significant. "She was there. When Juno got massacred, she was there." Well, when this incarnation of Juno bit it, anyway. If the Wentworth file was to be believed, Juno had a very different lineup back in the 80's. How far back did it go? Roman Goddess codenames adopted by a differing series of prominent women, one of whom was (briefly) his Alicia. Caesar entered this new information into the company intranet and sent a copy to Keystone. In case anything happened, others should know.

...back in Justice...

Keystone and Vinters reached the nearest security checkpoint to the event. Before rounding the corner, he was already calling for a report and making plans to access the heavier arms therein. If those asshats were slacking at their posts instead of being directly on top of a very, very possible physical intrusion of the grounds, there would be Hell to pay. Or worse, there would be a pissed-off Cockney East End Londoner as big as a luxury sedan to pay, and he didn't take an I.O.U.

Translations

1 = Niece?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Roscoe Rd. (E7) -> Roscoe Rd. (D6)
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic

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The ice and snow had less of a hold on the road for this stretch of the journey. It was a thing which gave Ash some measure of relief. While he could see sections of accumulation a little farther up, he'd take what relief Mother Nature allowed them. He'd already resolved to engage Riley in conversation. It felt like a good time to continue. But first...

"Ready for a bump?" he inquired, though it was less of a question and more of an imperative. The second that he spoke his sentence, a dull thud resounded from the great plowing wedge along the front of the Hordebuster. It was the re-deading of a formerly living individual, one that didn't seem to pay much mind to the approaching vehicle. There were more a little was up. They could move it or lose it, as far as he was concerned. "I grew up in a rural town outside of Charlottesville and my family made booze for living." he began, very matter-of-factly. "Getting hammered and kicking up trouble was just something that happened." Ash's voice had settled into a sort of wistful, stoic calm, a slight rasp creeping up in a way that reinforced his trip down memory lane. "Town's small enough that everyone knew who everyone was. If you were stupid enough to egg a house, your dad would be on the front porch waiting on you with a switch. We did plenty, though."

There really wasn't much of a need for the military to straighten out the good Captain. In many ways, it served to fuel his more troublemaking impulses. Just that back then, the Army gave him an automatic rifle and a squad or more of trained, motivated men with which to make trouble. Well, for the bad guys, whomever they were that month.

Ash veered to the right slightly, giving this next walking worm-buffet a little latitude. It wasn't quite enough; the Hordebuster clipped the poor, undead bastard, spinning it around two or three times before it hit the ground. "Oops." he intoned, still near deadpan. It was a if part of his personality had been subdued temporarily, but was struggling to push its way back out. He kept his eyes on the road but casually asked Riley, "Do you miss performing?"

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Trees just North of Tennis Court -> Trees just South of Tennis Court
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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From her little copse of trees, Thalia weighed out her options. The groundskeeper had spent many a season away from his duties, apparently, as did a presentable maintenance crew, the end result being enough patchy bits of growth to use as irregular soft cover, coupled with the fences around the pool area being down. Most of it, anyway. Provided the way stays clear, it might be a feasible option to cut across the cracked cement section between the pool and tennis court, making tracks for the trees just across.

Of course, there was another uninvited guest out there with them; a Zed that hadn't quite taken notice of her just yet, but surely would if she ran across the pool area. As she briefly contemplated her options, she glanced back to see Thana's approach. Her insistence that they should make a run for it served to reinforce Thalia's earlier thought on the matter, but she still held doubts. A lack of on-the-ground intelligence made her wary, even though those kinds of logistics were difficult to come by these days. Also, while Thalia was damned competent at being a stealthy, roguish individual, Thana and Alexander were both military personnel, or were back in the day. They weren't breaking in nor scouting for information. This was a full out, small squad strike. Okay, across the tennis court it was, and onward to Eden.

Thalia figured that if they had any surprises for them in the way of munitions or explosives, they'd have heard it being used against the main, massive threat, the TANK knocking on their back door. "Yeah." she said quietly, switching out her machete for the Beretta in her dominant hand. "But as soon as we're done I'm eating the hell out of your peanut butter." With that bit of cryptic banter out in the open air, Thalia hopped a segment of downed fence and took off at a run, cautious about her surroundings but leaning more toward getting from Point A to Point B.

🦄 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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"Обман! Предательство! Мы были сбиты с пути!"₁ shouted the imposing form of The Great Bazhooli as the thick and colorful fabric of the inner tent collapsed from its rope moorings and began to settle around him. In true and austere form fitting a man of his upbringing and station, the legendary performer quickly halted the voicing of his outrage and the suspicions arising therefrom to throw back the entirety of his goblet of aromatic, late harvest wine. As the final drops were shaken from its rim, the tent cloth finally landed upon him, its deceptive weight pressing his arms down to his sides and wrenching the cup from his hand.

Vladimir was dead certain that this Talink fellow had something to do with it. It made little sense otherwise. He was already acting in a manner that was suspicious, skulking about the front gate like an unwelcome visitor, only to be allowed in after Elizaveta put forward her thoughts on the matter. Now that made no sense to him. He was of the family that made threats against the Lady Crypt, now revealed to be of a branch of his own family's progenitor line. And now this man was led into the heart of their transitory home, only to follow up with this highly distracting event. No. No, he must find a way out of this canvas Bastille and see to the business of his Family and his Circus. Vlad would get to the bottom of this, no matter how many times he would have to engage in the less subtle aspects of knifery more akin to "push in, pull out, repeat 'till dead". Oh yes, he would get to the bottom of this chicanery. But first...

It was too cumbersome to go for his saber right now, engaged as he was in the folds and seams of the tent fabric. But a knife? Oh yes. He had many about his person; it was a very few mild muscle movements for him to draw one near to his hand and find a seam to which he would apply it. He had hoped for a seam. It was easy to repair and the awl-marks would guide whichever roustabout was tasked with its mending. Vlad pressed the tip of his blade into it with surgical precision, parting the strings that held it taut. Short popping sounds issued and Vladimir could feel the cool rush of fresh air reaching him, informing him of his success in escaping whatever paltry trap this was. "A foolish thing to attempt, try to restrain Great Bazhooli!" he called with as much dramatic flourish he could out into his voice, given the circumstances "I vill find, an I vill get truth! Da, ve have vays!"

The Great Bazhooli grabbed either side of the seam, somewhat awkwardly with his right hand as it was also encumbered with a blade, and gave a great heft. Strings parted, albeit with effort. The canvas partition was made to withstand a lot of trauma. Just not at a broken seam. It was then that he realized that he could not tell one lump underneath the cloth from another. So much as he would have loved to take a tent pole to the nearest body, he was unable to differentiate one person from another, shrouded as they all were. No, he would have to help before he got his answers, and that guy Talink was likely just as trapped as everyone else. For now. Fine, help people now, find out the truth, celebrate even later.

This evening was becoming highly annoying.

Translations

1 = Deceit! Treachery! We have been led astray!

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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 -> Stable area
Skills: Horseback Riding

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The uproar coming from elsewhere in the Circus gave Mary pause. It was not exactly what she had in mind, but as long as no one was hurt nor unduly inconvenienced, it would have to suffice. She had done worse, granted, but not to people who had given her shelter. The only thing that kept her from voicing some manner of objection was the fact that their need was great, and an innocent needed their help. Mary had her suspicions, after the attack at Almack's. So far as she was concerned, this fell precisely in the realm of something that she needed to investigate.

To that end, she gave a sharp nod to Elizaveta's request to make for the stables, and ensure that Virginia was with her. She had a fine horse waiting on her that probably wanted desperately to hit an open field and push itself, kicking up clods of dirt and grass behind it. As the Grand Duchess darted off, Mary followed suit. It was a short sprint to the back of the Circus; the young Apostolic knew where to go. She bore her bundle of vestments in the same hand as her halberd, leaving one free to reach for Virginia. "This way, Virginia!" she called subtly, using an element of informality purely for the sake of speed and convenience. "You are with me, my Lady."

Mary made her way back to the stables at brisk, solid pace, and quickly located her horse Cassius. She threw her saddle and bags over the grand beast's back, securing everything with the quick, practiced movements of an experienced rider. She was a Knight, and this was her trusty steed, were it put to writing for future generations to ponder over. Mary then swung herself atop Cassius and held out a hand for her friend Virginia. For once in a great while, Mary had a beaming look that was close to excitement, were she to allow herself the luxury of strong emotion. "I've got you, Lady Crypt. By your leave, let us find the road north."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum - Archives
Skills: N/A

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It was not the perilous journey of a man starting to war, nor the slow and steady trot of a man going to pick up his laundry. Reginald moved with even pace and remained as neutral to what lay in the Archives as one could, or at least as well as one could who knew of the corpse that was likely still warm with its previous vitality, so soon was Haakon's demise. Reginald had made the journey before; archives to office, office to archives. One could not help but to do so if one knew and visited Virginia at her place of work with any regularity. The Lord Major was certainly one of those men who did precisely that. All the same, a tiny refresher was welcomed.

Reginald wad purposefully left the snap enclosure to his Webley revolver unfastened. He wanted unfettered access to the device in the off chance that the drama for the minor outing had not passed fully from their vicinity, and particularly as he was escorting Vera personally. It would have been such a greater world if one could settle one's differences with the proper application of a gentlemanly bit of saber-friendly cut & thrust; one received a scar that they would not soon forget and, for the most part, people did not die. Not to say that they could not, nor would not, merely that honor was wholly satisfied by the showing of blood and most of the time, it was unwarranted to press the issue further. But the world was not like that anymore, if it ever was. Reginald considered this quite a disappointment. Though this meant that, were it a worldwide custom, people like himself who served in a generally civilized armed military would be obsolete. Perhaps men specifically like himself were obsolete in this day and age anyway. He was an old soldier looking for one last adventure, after all.

"Right then..." he mused, upon reaching the Archives proper. "The crate we were after lies in this direction," continued Reginald, pointing in one direction, "while the scene of the unfortunate incident is down there." Again he pointed. "Which destination do you wish to visit first, Vera dear?"

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

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Keystone

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Location: Deymin's Tower (3F)

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This new adversary was huge. Huge. Not the largest opponent he had faced before up close and personal, but damned close. Okay, check that - this was the largest undead opponent he had gotten up close and painful with, ever. It led to an interesting change in tactic.

The creature had smashed Sana into the wall, then thankfully let go. When the bard collapsed bonelessly on the ground, Keystone's sense of urgency kicked into overdrive. He didn't know if she was alive or dead, hovering on the cusp or otherwise. Keystond did know that he was virtually helpless to do anything about it right then. He was no worker of magical feats, nor was he particularly in good with any deity. Gods and the like had little to do with people like him, he figured. He was just some guy that hit people really, really well. If that was the base sum of his existence, then he might as well go with it. Be true to who you are. The broad Pugilist intended to do just that.

First, Keystone dipped low as the great, lumbering creature turned toward him. Just as he selected the giant as his opponent moments earlier, it appeared that the Grey Render Zombie had used whatever decision-making ability it retained to likewise call him out. This suited Keystone just fine. From his low stance, he rotated his body in a single, fluid turn, bracing with a wide, powerful stance. He could feel the wind of a wide swipe ruffle the air above him where his head was just a half-second before, and responded by implanting the black metal of his Dwarfcraft knuckle dusters into the side of the creature's knee. It buckled.

The force of the blow combined with the great zombie's ponderous weight caused its knee to fold sideways. Unable to maintain its stance upright, it began to collapse as a mighty tree felled by a rage-inspired lumberjack. The creature's head wobbled and arched toward Keystone as the zombie fell, which the experienced brawler connected against with a sharp, bone destroying uppercut, its jaw coming partially unhinged and teeth spraying outward in a gory, black-blooded spectacle.

But the spark of undead animation lay within it still. The split second that Keystone recgonized this, he leapt into the air and focused the entirety of his weight, coupled with the speed of his arm, into a pulverizing downward strike. The Grey Render Zombie's cranium folded under the ferocity of this final, finishing blow, what remained of its head a fetid mass of bone and spoiled meat. His peripheral vision let him know that Sana was moving yet, if shaky. Good. She was alive still.

Keystone looked toward the summoner of this latest abomination and issued a single, wordless shout of triumph. Sometimes, just being a guy who hit things very well was enough.

🦄 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, Athletics - Coordination

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It was the first time since signing on (officially or otherwise) that he showed a glimpse into his athletic ability. He was a slender, physically unassuming type, despite displaying a sense of self-importance that could likely knock a hole through a mortared brick wall. But the muscle beneath his fancy duds was wiry and capable, which was nothing compared to the fluidity and grace that he possessed. One hand around Jacqueline's waist and another taking clasping her fingers gingerly, Foy led the dance to upbeat fiddleplaying and backup musicians that he might describe as "adequate to our necessity this evening, quite." He was finally within a zone of his competence, be it secondary. Even marginal. Dancing for him was merely a thing which one did during the grand affairs of the Farradayan Aristocracy; he was simply better at it than most. It was also an excellent way to keep one's self in properly limbered shape for his less respectable endeavors. Or to put it differently, Foy was referred to as a "dashing blade" as more than a metaphor. Stepping lively heel to toe was an invaluable exercise when brandishing a handsbreadth to an armlength of sharpened steel in practice was inappropriate.

Foy's face held a look of perceptive confidence as he moved forcefully yet elegantly across the floor. As the dance slowed toward the decrescendo, Foy took the opportunity to respond to his partner's prior declaration. "Flattery, madame, is a social transparency. Nevertheless, I must reciprocate; you have a more comely, less caustic demeanor when the music moves you."

If the goal was to get to know Foy on a more personal level, it might be revealed that he was a fairly open book. Everyone had their little secrets, granted. As it was, he was curious about learning more about the lady with whom he was frolicking as well. He had assessed her as a grifter, an assumption that she had backed up in their conversation back at the table. Learning more about a potential wild card of uncertain loyalties was a priority, though not the topmost. Were the esteemed Mr. Coiffeur to wish to dip into the psyche of anyone on his new crew, it would most assuredly be their new pilot. Things did not fully add up with him, and now that he was off in a shady backroom with the Captain, a woman who openly despised anything Alliance? Oh this was becoming just too much, like a big, shiny red button that read "DO NOT PUSH".

Of course, a perceptive person dancing with Foy might notice that the sharp and talented Barber had something affixed to one or both of his forearms, underneath his bespoke suit's shirt sleeves. Such a thing could pass a casual inspection, but was a little more noticeable when one was in prolonged physical contact. If Foy suspected anything, it did not appear on his face.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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The conversations abounded around the table in the Kitchen House, but James was really only hearing bits and pieces of it. He regarded the alcohol in his hands. It was very much like the distillation he drank with its creator, seemingly just a short time ago. Days, really. And the night prior, he had a particularly wonderful (if a little young) batch of hefty and stout sweet potato beer. Or something like beer. Well, it didn't matter so much what it would have been called, it wouldn't really exist, such as it was, for several decades to come. His booze was familiar, but it was not exact. Such was his continued existence. It was quite like that to which he was accustomed, but it simply was not it. Damn, it was welcome, though.

He almost didn't catch it when Alicia posed a question to him. He stared blankly for a second at her until the words made sense in his brain, then shook his head a little. "Sorry there, girl. Head took me somewheres else fo' a sec..." He allowed himself a small sip, significantly smaller than the first one he gulped at the outset of the jar opening. It was still enough for him to cut an awkward face and snap his fingers until the burn in his gullet went away. He exhaled a little, ending with a suspicious, "...gah... Smooth." It was a hell of a thing, Moonshine. There was good flavor present, but only if you could somehow drag your senses past the medicinal grade kick of alcohol. "Your old man... damn but I missed him. Yeah, that sumbitch'd be all over this. All over this. Hey, maybe I didn't meet Caesar in that other timeline, the one you from, right? We ever head thataway, maybe I can introduce him to it an' ask him." James wasn't 100% on how this whole thing worked; he was given the briefest of rundowns on the situation of being a Paradox by the Dice Lady earlier. But if the Walkers hadn't overrun the planet in that timeline, getting hold of some Holloway & Sons would be a possibility. "Yeah, your Papi'd be up for this. Maybe he'd've even given Cap'n Ash less shit for seein' you if he started out the talk with some of this, huh?"

It was about this time that James noticed the light from the doorway was blocked by the silhouette of a tall, muscular man wearing a lightly distressed fedora. He wasn't sure if drinking in the middle of what was supposed to be a tour was a great idea, but he was far too old now to try to cover it up with his shirt and insist that he take a field sobriety test instead of the breathalyzer. Instead, he raised his mason jar to the man and casually turned back to Alicia, hoping that were this an actionable offense, he'd get some kind of warning rather than the alternative.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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Gilbert had made the decision to get back to the two Paradoxes that he was supposed to be showing around the grounds. There was little else he could do until the hole was dug and Peter's body was made ready for interment. Perhaps continuing the tour wasn't the greatest idea right at that moment, anyway. There was nothing like bringing a slashed-up corpse into an area with confused and shaky people who had just been brought back from the dead to find themselves in a different time and place to throw one off of one's plans for the day. So maybe this would have to be postponed for a little bit. At least until Peter was buried and respect had been paid.

It did look a little odd to see that most everyone else had crowded back into the Kitchen House. Gilbert was fond of that place, insomuch as he was fond of any place that had the basic creature comforts of food and warmth, good solid chairs to sit upon and broad tables to load down with yummy things. He liked it almost as much as his workshop, or the armory. But here he was now, along with his two charges for the next bit of time.

As he stood in the doorway, he noticed the slightly nervous expression given by James. He and Alicia weren't out doing their little tour, either. So there they all were, lounging in the Kitchen House and drinking mountain made whiskey. Gilbert sighed and shook his head, then walked over to the jars on the table. He picked one up and examined it as one might an old book or an unusual bi of antiquity. "A drinking game? I never required a game to dull my senses and bring about projectile vomiting. I will caution moderation. If you abandon sobriety entirely, they might not appreciate what comes after." He walked to the cupboard, secured for himself a smallish coffee mug, and poured a dram or two for himself. "Enjoy, but do not abuse, what we have to offer."

🦄 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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"Mmm hmm..." muttered the half-blood niece, establishing countermeasures and launching a broad inquiry into anything related to the name Valerie Pye starting in the 1980s and moving upward. She reached out to whatever contacts still owed her that were online at the time, established wide nets looking for keywords related to the incident, and kicked over as many virtual rocks as possible in the form of old newspaper articles and police reports made public. While having multiple screens would have made more sense to her, she was very proud of her SOTA laptop. It did the job more than well enough.

Of course, hindsight was usually a certain master, as it was here. A simple search on the matter was able to pull up a little information of Ms. Valerie Pye, who still resided in Justice. "Riiight..." started Thalia, scribbling down a few notes that she intended to burn later. "Your girl here, Val? Lives in Justice, California. Imagine that. She's been living in the Diamond Hotel for the last, oh... ten years. Old girl is seventy-three, and is living like a damn queen. Nothing on the kid yet..." she began to type furiously, then sat back for a moment, waiting on results to come in. She looked up at her grizzled and partially drunk uncle, ad reached for the bottle of mescal in his hand with a pouty expression on her face. Caesar looked down at her, sighed heavily, and handed it over. He could no more deny his niece than he ever could have his daughter. She was family, the future of the Gonzalez line. They even shared the same hazel eyes.

When the bottle changed hands, Caesar turned to his sat phone, punching in information as fast as he could read the little Angel's scrawled handwritten notes. A little more information to pass along to Keystone back in Justice.

...meanwhile, back in Justice...

Keystone was having nary a slice of happy while all hell was quietly breaking loose in a quiet and painfully efficient fashion. Their security feeds were down and that guy Huang was hopefully at or near the main server, taking the whole thing physically offline and giving it a once-over. The possibility of confrontation was present, but Keystone needed the team on specific tasks. Ibanez was serving as the technological go-between, holding down the fort at the Hub, and the ever quiet Whitmore was giving him the thumbs-up that MSS's tech was primarily unaffected by whatever was going on. Well, except for the security cameras. Not to mention the message updates from his boss in Mexico; another distraction that was probably important, but nothing he could address in more than a cursory manner until the immediate threat was dealt with.

There lingered the thought that whomever was doing all of this wanted MSS to shunt Queensguard's operations through their systems and infrastructure. Well, nothing could be done about it now. That was something to worry about in a few minutes, maybe. Right now, the cameras were out and for whatever reason the on-site report he had ordered simply hadn't come in yet. "Bloody, fongin' 'ell..." he muttered. He was going to have to look into this himself. "Vinters, you packin' a sidearm?" he inquired, looking over at the blonde lady with a grim face who had been shadowing him for this thusfar exercise in futility. She responded to the affirmative, motioning to her 9mm company issue Glock. Keystone nodded and pointed toward the door.

"Let's go see to our men, yeah? Nearest security checkpoint's up the corridor a ways. Keep in radio contact with Ibanez. Full sweep." Keystone pulled his own .50 hand cannon and started in the direction he had just pointed, Vinters coming up close behind in standard 1 x 1 cover formation. She was with the Tech crew, but she was trained just like every other security agent since joining MSS. This was part of it. "Checkpoint'll 'ave logs an' bigger guns, if'n we think on needin' 'em. Our people should be there, but why they ain't answerin's beyond me. We run a circuit, report back to the Hub as needed."

And so the went off, firearms at the ready, to assess the areas that their cameras could not.