Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Rule One of surviving the Lady A's zombie apocalypse:

Never kiss a corpse.

That rule is there for a reason. Isn't it, Nal?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster -> Arnco Mills Safehouse (E10)
Skills: Leadership

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Ash had absolutely no idea where the bump in the road came from, nor why Riley would do something that would cause the door to fling itself open. Whether the damnedable thing did not close fully the first time around or no, the fact remained that the former music icon got unceremoniously hurled from her seat (Shameless plug for seatbelts here, even in the midst of the Apocalypse, boys and girls!) and very almost impaled upon a mailbox post. This was highly counterproductive to survival. Ash had lost enough people to stupid mistakes and chunks of unforgiving misadventure in addition to the standard ways of checking out these days - disease, bullets, and the teeth of the Dead. Hell, they were just opening up to each other in the midst of all this chaos, and were very close to settling into a safe, dry spot to crash for the evening.

It was enough to snap Ash into a state of readiness. Before he fully knew what was happening, he already had his seatbelt off, gun drawn, and had crawled across the seats to see about Riley's safety. She was moving, breathing, and quite alive. He pulled himself out of the Hordebuster from the passenger side and stood over the prone woman, scanning the area for any signs of walking corpses that might make life difficult before giving her a hand up.

What happened next made Ash smile. Genuinely smile. Not at first, mind you. First, a strange car was pulling up to their location, prompting the first adrenaline spike of a fight-or-flight response. His .45 began a rise toward the vehicle, stopping when he got a glimpse behind the windshield. Then the near face-splitting grin took hold. "Hot damn, Riley. We just got reinforced." Someone else survived. It was just the two of them, but someone else survived. Ash was cautious, but temporarily happy. They weren't alone. "Jack, Tiffany!" he risked raising his voice a little, "Let's make sure this place is secure and gather what resources we've got." His words commanded, but his voice was full of relief. "Talk after. More might be coming." Ash put away his pistol, and went back into the truck for his pack and bow. Might as well get started.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Bushes in front of Main Building (E10) -> Entry
Skills: Stealth, Survival, Pistol, Sharp Weapons, Shield

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It was a rare thing when someone facepalms in the middle of a pitched battle. This was one of those times. If there was a person who would be recording the events of this day for future, she really, really hoped that this bit of it didn't make the final cut for the movie. First Thana rushes past, screaming like some redneck berserker on a murderous rampage. She might even respect that, owing to her many training sessions and supply runs with a certain spearwielding angry blacksmith who used profanity like oxygen. But this time? Vastly outnumbered and with a working plan in place? It was a good thing that she didn't die in the first three seconds of the exchange. It might deprive Thalia of the privilege of handling it personally.

But when the flow of combat took a turn, you either went with it or got smashed into the rocks. Alexander had come to this conclusion just before her, apparently, screaming "Charge" and running past her with his gun a'blazing. "Gahd. Fucking. Damnit." she breathed, her hand moving to cover her face as best as possible, considering it was gripping a machete soiled in the blood of their enemies. She stood up from her crouch and breathed out a massive sigh. "Fine. Let's do this." At least the way in was clear.

The idea of being quiet had still not left her altogether. She heard the shots fired inside, followed by the banter common to situations like this. She knew about banter. It came with the territory of belonging to her family. Usually, the back and forth was more gruesome in nature, though. Ah well. It would have to do. Whatever got her blood pumping and blade singing, she was all for.

Thalia entered the main building to see the bodies of the dead, dying, and undead strung above her. Her people honored and revered the dead. This was a horrible mockery. Dama Muerte would consider this place an abomination, one that deserved to be burned to the ground along with anyone who was sick enough to participate in its upkeep. Starting with that asshat who was hiding behind the pillar. She could see his shirt and the toe of one shoe poking out from the hard cover. But as of yet, Asshat had not seen her.

Let the others fire away. Let them talk. She preferred to walk a different path just then. Thalia looked to Thana and cracked a potentially unsettling smile beneath the skull painted over her features, and edged to the side a little way. Then she sprinted. Direct line and her machete trailing behind her, Thalia ran with soft steps toward the other side of the pillar the Edenite was taking cover behind. As he was more interested with the supposedly dead lady who was shooting at him, it was just a matter of placing the blade in the right spot before he could swivel his gun around.

As the man soon realized, it was awfully difficult to do that when you were partially decapitated. Thalia had stepped sideways around the squared pillar, pausing just long enough to give the confused man a wink before the sweet spot of her blade entered the side of his neck, fountaining his life's blood and tacking him to the wooden pillar even as his legs kicked and bucked, dancing a little jig of death. Thalia laid a hand upon his gun arm to prevent any last twitches from discharging his firearm anyplace dangerous, then recovered her machete, allowing his body to slump to the floor.

The last thing the Edenite glimpsed before the darkness took him was Thalia recovering his walkie and holding it up to her lips. She depressed the talk button and issued a low, wordless growl into it. The factor of intimidation was chief among the reasons why, but also, anyone else with an active radio in hearing distance would have their position compromised. She ducked back behind the pillar and nodded to Thana and Alexander. They were in the middle of it now. No sense in going gentle.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus (Regent's Park), Main Tent
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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At first, Vladimir had no idea what the mad German was going on about. He had taken several things on faith that day and the previous, but it was starting to strain his ability to do so. Not faith in a higher power directing their activities to a noble and worthwhile end; it occurred to him that God had better things to do than oversee the meeting of a family enemy and a highly confusing man foreign to both his and London's cultures. His faith in the decisions made by those higher placed than himself within his own home, the Circus, was taking a beating.

Elizaveta was the Grand Duchess. Vladimir was next in line for a hereditary Barony, possibly more as time went by. It was his duty to follow the orders of The Grand Duchess, so long as it was not to the direct detriment of his people. That's just how it worked. Even if he did raise her as family since her tender years. And The Baron? How does one refuse one's father, who had been through everything he had also been through, who lived and ate and breathed Circus, Alexandrov, and Bazhooli for longer than even he had? He would certainly know what was best for Vladimir's people. It was just that he was unaccustomed to being overruled as it came to his Sem'ya or left in the dark as to what was going on. And if nothing else, Vladimir was certain that something was going on. He was not a stupid man, if his antics often painted him in the brighter colors of a showman.

Whether the canvas falling was Thalken's fault or no, there was a danger present. A good amount of that danger was averted when Ludwig extinguished the heavy cloth that fell atop them all. Cold was preferable, massively preferable to being burned alive. "Master Zimmer!" exclaimed The Great Bazhooli, in all of is awestriking Great Bazhooliness, "You have save-ed lives, many lives of family, and protected centerpiece tent! Vere I not to be holding things of sharpness and platter of yummy foodstuffs, I might summon strength of arms to give vith the massive of hugging! But for now, da, for the now, ve must get young vones to safe place." He indeed knew such a place. His vardo was safe enough for him most days on the road, with the added bonus of it not being the place he stayed when the Tent City was assembled. Vladimir simply did not want to say out loud where he wanted to take them, just in case.

In more serious voice, he continued, "For please, hand to me little Viscount James. You take the Adam boy, and ve go, da?"

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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: The Regent's Park (Outer Circle Road)
Skills: Horseback Riding

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The prayer from Elizaveta was a touch unexpected. Perhaps it was lingering prejudice on her part not to expect that others would have piety similar to her own. Most especially the Grand Duchess, owing to the fact that when Mary first met her (and confused her for a lesser member of titled aristocracy) she was in St. Etheldreda's, under the direct care of the Bishop, and was there in part to instruct Mary on the Trained ways of the Russians. She was not Catholic, but she was pious. Mary answered her prayer with a clear "Amen." in her serene yet strong voice. She did not care that it was not popular among Catholic teachings. It was an honest supplication to God upon setting out on a long and dangerous journey. "Christopher Sancte, Defendat."₁ she returned, invoking the same saint as Elizaveta in Latin.

Virginia's insistence that Sister Mary not refer to her as "My Lady" earned her a smile from the young Apostolic. It was true, Mary had the tendency to address others in the most formal manner possible, especially now as she was leaving in a highly secretive manner to address business that involved matters both personal and professional. She was a Knight at heart; a Crusader against the darkness, and she was accompanying two members of the aristocracy on this mission. Now as she thought about it, both of them had asked her to speak to them plainly and without title, a thing that she agreed to so long as they were not in the company of others. With a shrug, Mary supposed that each others' company counted as them being alone, considering they had both made the request. "Very well, Virginia."

Upon reaching the road running a perimeter of the Park, Mary urged cover over speed, at least until they exited The Regent's Park proper. "I recommend west, Elizaveta. That route puts trees and a body of water between ourselves and the Circus. Past that we must decide which route to take out of London."

Translations

1 = St. Christopher, Protect Us.

🦄 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) -> Dock (Outside of Prometheus)
Skills: Perception

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A very fine bowler cap found its way back onto the noble and perfectly proportioned cranium of The Esteemed Mr. Foy Coiffeur, tapped with just a hair more panache than was truly necessary to affix it snugly but not too tightly. It rounded out his look of dapper frontier aristocracy in such a way that few other things could, save for perhaps his immaculate handlebar moustache. And to point, Foy wrapped himself in his bespoke charcoal-colored suit coat, produced a tiny tin of some unguent or another, and utilized it to wax the ends of his magnificent facial accessory. He flashed a debonair smile, if only for a moment, and nodded at Harper as he spoke his peace.

So the Alliance Pilot wanted to get to business in quick order, did he? He couldn't wait to jump ship at his first opportunity to associate with his former quarry, somehow got in good with the Captain in what he assumed was record time, and threw himself into whatever illegalities were lined up for the lot of them - to the point of passing along the information of a contract being lined up before the Captain or First Officer. Between that and his decidedly Core World accent, there was more to this man. Oh, Foy simply had to know... Even if he weren't cut off from the majority of his financial resources, he would have stuck around with this crew just to solve the mystery of Lieutenant William Harper and his gigantic, phallic wrench. Foy did so hate being bored, and this dull, unassuming man was getting very interesting for one paying attention. For a moment, the dapper gentleman wondered what Dorothy, Anisa's 2nd in command, thought of the sudden and unexpected rise of this chiseled upstart. Was she jealous? Be it a quiet turn of events, it was most certainly compelling.

Foy gathered his food that he had yet to put utensil upon, sealed away in a takeaway box and convenient, disposable bag. He nodded expectantly at the words of his dear friend and fellow Farradayan, Johasafat. He said nothing initially, but pressed his finger to the divot underneath his nose as a knowing gesture, followed by another smile; this one subdued, quiet, and accompanied by a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Indeed, good sir. Much learned and much more to learn, to wit: Our new companions may provide just the diverting breeze of cool air to clear our heads and find our ...metaphorical thoroughfare... anew." Foy ran a finger across the brim of his hat and, in typical Farraday Gentleman's practice, held out an arm to Jacqueline.

"Miss Croix, it appears that our ways shall not part quite this evening, were you to accept the unusually gracious offer of our upstanding Captain. To that end, I should be thought the better man were you to allow me to escort you back to the safety of our quaint yet admirable vessel."

Be it the case that he walked singly or in pair, Foy made his way back toward Prometheus with light, agile step, filing in behind Jahosafat so as not to obstruct nor hinder his own walk in the evening air. By the time everyone had assembled near the pedestrian but functional cargo doors, he thought to speak up. After a silent piece of time following Anisa's hasty speech echoing her views on insubordination and its direct correlation to airlock-inspired mortality, naturally. "I shall take my supper in the dining area, should anyone wish to join me before turning in; furthermore, should anyone be in need of my Barber's Arts, please make an appointment for the morrow, if you would be as civilized to do so."

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck (Table) -> Docks (Outside of Prometheus)
Skills: N/A

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It seemed that the young lady he had escorted to the Lady Luck had found companionship elsewhere. Then again, the young Engineer that she had been dancing with seemed to have been claimed by another, a woman that Harper's father would have referred to as a "missile twister", or a woman with experience manipulating the more masculine gender. It was no shock to him that the naive, possibly sheltered fellow would have fallen in with someone of her ilk. But like Anisa had mentioned prior to their conversation at the table and subsequent conversation in the backroom of the establishment, she was looking to round out her crew with people of specific skills. Hers were among those she was looking for, apparently, and Harper was fully aware that pulling double duty as Pilot and Mechanic was going to layer the stress onto an already stressed psyche; hence the Engineer.

Of course, there was the Daphne connection. Unless he missed his guess, Daphne seemed to have a thing for Fitz, and Fitz had Jacqueline's talons dug smartly into his hide. Perhaps he needed to stand back for a little bit and let whatever this was play itself out for a little while. Personal drama was the last thing he required in his life right then, and not only because it was hard to hide a body on a ship out in the Black. So no, he was going to keep his face neutral and stick to the plan that he laid out when he got to the table and return to the ship. To that end, he gathered up his and the Captain's meal plus the platter in the center of the table that no one seemed to have touched, and set it all into a series of disposable boxes that fit into a tall, handled bag, which he gripped in his left hand. His right remained free, a force of habit in this circumstance as it was the closest one to his pistol. He balled it lightly and placed it behind his back, straightened his posture fully, and made for the exit.

There was an element of surprise as he saw the Captain waiting on him. It was possible that he had overstepped a boundary and she was seeking to correct him outside of earshot from the others, which would be preferable, or that there was a further issue to discuss with him. On the off chance that this not a question of impropriety, he addressed her in a semi-casual manner. "Ma'am..." Okay, obviously not fully casual, but his tone suggested something other than his training with the Fleet. He continued in a quieter voice, "Food is here, but I could go for a glass of something neat and flammable. Do we have anything on board?"

In the interest of keeping a clear head, Harper had surreptitiously consumed a few drinks of the extremely low-alcohol variety. Now that the evening was winding down, he had some concerns with actually getting any sleep without distilled assistance, particularly with additional people on the ship with whom he was not familiar. Perhaps he would feel better after he got something solid on his stomach. For the meantime, Harper matched pace with Anisa on the way back to the ship, stood quietly as she gave the new people the very simple rule list, and waited for his opportunity to get behind the closed doors of the Dragonfly vessel.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: Investigation, Security Tech

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The relief on Thalia's face was palpable, even as Caesar became more sullen and remote. Seeing and hearing his deceased daughter on the computer screen gave him more than an ounce of mixed emotions. Not the least of which was a sense of urgency - one which prompted him to use his training as an Investigator to try to commit as much of what she was saying down to memory. Caesar had taken down as much information as he could and filed it away on his sat phone as well as company intranet, not to mention the small updates he had been sending Keystone (a thing which gave the big man profound irritation, though Caesar did not know that). But that last bit, followed by the sudden destruction of the flash drive, had taken him completely unaware.

Struggling to maintain what he had retained in the labyrinth of blood and very businesslike chaos that was his mind, Caesar turned his attention to the various apps on his device that would prompt the speedy recording and distribution of information before it began to be altered by the maelstrom of compromised emotion that was he. What gave him the most concern and simultaneously the biggest head scratch was the image of a cat with an ankh just seconds before the system flared and burned out the flash drive. To the best of his knowledge, that was impossible. Thalia had clearly taken proper precautions when accessing the file, following getting the countermeasure under control, and whomever was hacking her machine directly would have to know that she was accessing that offline drive at that moment. The implications of that thought were damned grim indeed. Had his Familia been infiltrated? Compromised somehow?

Thalia herself was about to hit a level of batshit that she had previously not been able to reach without pharmaceutical assistance. She quickly disengaged the flash drive and disconnected her system from the secure (possibly "secure") network at the Hacienda and ran a quick diagnostic. If her machine was harboring an unwanted guest or more corrupted data, she needed to know immediately. Getting a whole new computer would be a pain. Luckily, she kept most of her important stuff on individual, external drives. Starting over would be full of suck, but the process could go quickly.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, near the Security Checkpoint nearest the party -> The Party
Skills: Leadership, Security Procedures

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Keystone answered his phone immediately, figuring on it being Caesar finally cutting out the text messages and file uploads. It was an unfortunate circumstance that it was in fact not his boss, but their contract holder here in Justice. And boy, did she have a compelling question: "Care to explain how someone just got murdered right in front of me?"

That security checkpoint was ever two steps away from him, seemingly forever and a day since he had attempted to get himself and the Tech lady following him to it for a report. Now it seemed that, in addition to every single checkpoint refusing to answer him, he had gotten no word whatsoever about someone being killed on his watch, neither by means of security measures (panic button, med emergency alert, fire alarm, etc.), nor a communication by any personnel on scene. It was as if the only people present that were doing their jobs at MSS was himself, Ibanez, Vinters, Huang, and Whitmore. And he hadn't heard back from Whitmore comparatively in a while, either.

The MSS Justice Branch had problems. Damned big ones. Keystone would have given a lot right then to have Alicia alive and in charge, or Caesar back scaring the hell out of people with a glance. His people were useless, and they were supposed to be his eyes and ears in this place, especially now as the cameras were down. He might as well answer the lady. Keystone owed her that much. "No ma'am. Ain't capable of explainin' somethin' I wasn't witness to. We're goin lockdown. A detail will be with you on the immediate."

Keystone turned his attention to his comm unit, establishing the clearest, most forceful tone he could muster short of yelling. "Right. Complex is on total lockdown. I want the party sealed off - no one in an no one out for the duration without my personal okay, y'get me? Don't give a bloody twatfart who they says they are. HUB: Get the on-call list for tonight, an' ring up every bugger what's on it. Ibanez: I want cameras and satellites back right bloody now." The painful thought on this was that they would have to bring in the police now, a thing which he most assuredly did not want. The Justice cops had a reputation for corruption. But the legalities of the matter were clear; MSS had a right to detain people only so long as they are waiting for law enforcement to take over a scene, and then maintain a presence so long as it was private property and did not interfere with their investigation. Keystone was no investigator. Caesar was, but he wasn't there.

The possibility that the murder was a distraction from something else did not escape him. But someone was killed, someone else did it, and their contract holder was in the room with both of them. He turned around and returned to the door leading to the main room of the Gathering of the Social Elite. Keystone gave himself a couple of seconds to get in a deep breath ad blow it out, just enough time for an existing security detail to merge with his group of two on the scene. "Secure exits. One man on Queensguard at all times, that'll likely be m'self unless I say otherwise. No one goes nowhere, right?" Into his comm, "I want perimeter and checkpoint sweeps, and I mean right fongin' now or the lot of you'll be sacked before I dim your bloody bulbs. And make the call. Boys in blue need t'be notified." He nodded to Vinters, secure in the concept that she would hang on his last order, that being to stay with him. As soon as the ground security team acknowledged their places taken, Keystone opened the doors, assigned a sentry, and walked straight to Elizabeth.

"Ma'am, this might be a good time to get you to your office and put on a kettle, if you take my meaning. Need statements, an' there's a killer still in this room."

...meanwhile, at the front gate...

"What d'ya mean, lockdown? No, we're expected, y'see!" An accent very much like Keystone's emanated from the backseat of a Yellow Cab, prompting a small argument and a couple of light punches from the persons squished into the vehicle's seating. As it turned out, the event plus the mishaps that had plagued the evening had made Keystone completely forget about his friends from London, and the fact that he was supposed to pick them up at the airport. Oh, but his face would be red when he remembered this one, but for the meantime, they had to dig out and show off their official MSS employee IDs. Then submit to a scan. Then show a picture of themselves in a bunny suit. Or something equally as mortifying.

🦄 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: Arabic

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Discussions with local law enforcement were generally less than entertaining for someone involved with the British Royal Military, owing to the current political landscape. The Lord Major had trained a lot of these people, but now that Egypt was no longer a protectorate of the Crown, there were mixed feelings about the presence of anyone with a cultured accent of the Angles and a position of authority. For this reason, Reginald made it a point to converse with the Cairo Police in their native tongue. Respectfully, of course. Letting a native people know that you have taken the time to learn their primary form of communication, in itself, send a message of respect. Especially if one can play up the role of the doddering but kindly old military man nearing retirement. Naturally, that wouldn't fly with anyone that had known him on a professional level prior to this moment, but it was a solid plan nonetheless.

Time had gotten away from Reginald. He had obviously missed a meal or two, a situation he hoped that he would remedy very shortly. He had seen death often enough that it rarely blunted his appetite, unless it was in a particularly gruesome manner. Twisted among the wreckage of an aeroplane didn't count. Not anymore, anyway, as it ranked right up near the top of his preferred ways to snuff it. Quietly in his sleep was dead last, though if he kept surviving like some spotty-faced git, that was probably the fate that awaited him. Reginald huffed at the thought. Succumbing to some manner of horrific disease was preferable, as it could be stated that he was at least fighting something, be it more of a metaphorical sense. Being knifed in a barfight was preferable. Glorious combat whilst in uniform for King and Country was the pinnacle, naturally. But shuffling off this mortal coil in the assistance or defense of family or friends was a damned fine way to go, too.

The Lord Major smiled lightly at the thought; a series of imaginings that came awfully close to a daydream. Then he snapped out of it. There was Fellowship business to be done, and back at the Base (if his orders were carried out properly) there should be a few pallets of supplies, incidentals, and some luxury items waiting for him. But for the meantime, Reginald acquiesced to Vera's request to return to her office. "Well then, I do say that was a bit of adventure that I could have done without." remarked the Lord Major. "Bloody shame about Mr. Elvsgaard. Bloody shame..." There was actual sincerity in his statement. Not that he was a great friend of the deceased reporter; that part was obvious. It was an unnecessary waste of life, which did bother him somewhat. The shameful waste of a person. He shook his head and pressed on, "What have we left from Archives that might be of use to us, if I may be as blunt?"

...meanwhile, at the front door...

Knock, knock, knock; a sharp rapping sounded from the main doors of the Museum, now tightly locked up as it was very much after hours. A single voice might be heard from the other side, calling in solid if somewhat concerned tone,

"Lord MAJOR!"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main Building, Dining Room)
Skills: N/A

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The Hat wasn't particularly known for having an overabundance of manners. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was literally from a culture that, while considered the beginning of civilization from an anthropological standpoint, was considered barbaric by today's standards. He was a barbarian. These people were lucky that Gilbert didn't fling off his cotton and silk clothing with wild abandon and beat them all to death with a table leg. Nevertheless, he was most certainly sitting down to a wonderful repast, calmly holding a spoon over a shallow bowl of warm and nourishing soup. He was even fully clothed, attired in basically the same clothing as earlier in the day, but of finer quality and with no distressing evident. They were to receive guests, as per usual, and he wanted to look his best even if he didn't feel it.

Though to pay homage to his more barbaric history, Gilbert declined the point of etiquette demanding he extend his pinky.

The news that the Paradoxes would begin their training tomorrow prompted Gilbert to speak. Before he could utter a word, Evelina's roll of the dice drew his attention. Even as she gave a look of relief, Gil breathed a quiet sigh, content in his assumption that no other massive event of death and dismemberment would be taking place somewhere in the multitude of realities this hour. He hoped. He picked up where he had intended to start speaking, "The sooner the better, too. Many of you may have tendencies toward a more combative approach to Paradox-ing." Yes, he used it as a verb. "My role in your training usually involves this, and a practical approach to history to avoid potential anachronisms. Leaving those behind can have massive effects on reality as we know it."

He took a spoonful of soup, careful to only slurp it a little, before finishing with, "Just remember, you aren't really going to know where your tendencies take you. You might find yourself very surprised at what you pick up easily, and what now comes with extreme difficulty."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main Building, Dining Room)
Skills: N/A

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"...so, this place a tourist stop?" thought James to himself. He had decided to take supper with the Emendators, leaving Alicia to do what she did by herself. She always did seem to like her privacy when it was requested, or merely taken. At least the incarnation of her that he knew in undead-infested Georgia. But he supposed that the details of a person might be different from timeline to timeline; alternate experiences affecting outcomes and choices made, etc. As if he had seriously considered this line of though EVER. His situation made him think of a great many things that he had not previously delved into. Perhaps he should have joined her, who knows? She had given him a lot to think about, and he was busy with those thoughts all day.

So, James sat at the magnificent table in the main house, eating his meal and wondering exactly how one "trains" at being a wild boar. One way or another, he was going to figure it out in the morning, that was for damned sure. What was also for damned sure was the fact that he was vastly out of his depth right then. The same creeping sadness that took him that morning threatened to do so again. It helped no one. He would have to take his own time to grieve, to come to grips with the hard logistics of what it meant to be pulled back from the brink of death and squeezed into a different timeline on a single day set to repeat ad infinitum.

Well, to hell with it. Immerse himself, adapt or die. He'd read Darwin. Well, he read stuff from people who had read Darwin. Ok, no, he'd scrolled through The Darwin Awards online a long time ago. Same thing, right? He needed to get involved. "Aight, Miss Dice. Thank ya much for the meal, I'll try not to put m'elbows on the table or nuthin', and uh... What can I do to help out tonight?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Hordebuster, Roscoe Rd. (D6) -> Roscoe Rd. (C5)
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic

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Ash thought yet again that this was probably the first actual conversation he had with Riley. Due to their massive differences of upbringing and social status, it was unlikely to the extreme that they would have ever had a personal talk of this nature back Before. Let it never be said that an apocalypse did not make for strange bedfellows. Even so, the fact that he was so wrapped up in his own brooding and turmoil for so long was poor excuse not to get to know the people who counted on him for leadership and counsel. Not just that, but as per usual James was right with his own homespun, backwoods form of wisdom, when he said that Ash needed people to keep him in touch with his humanity. Character flaw or trauma of the sudden change in the world, he could grow dark. Maybe if he opened himself up to others, as his recently deceased friend had suggested on numerous occasions, he might have fixed some of the horror that went on inside of his head. With Newnan collapsing and the death toll massive, including those close to him, perhaps it was time to follow his late friend's advice and throw himself into making human connections.

But first, he was about to make a different sort of connection with those two corpses shambling in the middle of the road in front of him. They were dispatched in the manner that many others were that hour; destined to be shuffled away by the cowcatcher style plowhead on the front of the damn nigh trademarkable vehicle/second home that was the Hordebuster. The massively altered truck that was designed to save lives, sadly now could only haul three away from a crater that used to be home. But it felt somewhat satisfying to obliterate a couple more of the Dead on the way out.

"I think I'm the opposite of you, Riley." remarked Ash, "You loved your job and so did I. We're pretty much the same there. But you are a performer. I'm a U.S. Army Engineer. Or was. You can't do a job that you love so much anymore. I can't stop doing my job. Walls, fortifications, motor pool... Clean water, renewable fuels, organization, leadership. Training soldiers. Manning the line. Making the hard choices with resources. I don't make friends really, but I kept as many people as I could alive for as long as I was able. I loved my job, and I can't stop doing it, ever."

For a moment, he looked haggard. Older than his 32 years because of his expression alone. It was the look of a man who had seen too much and knew it would only end when he did. "I'm tired, Riley. So goddamned tired." Ash began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he continued down Roscoe Rd. He was anxious to get where they were going.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Trees just South of Tennis Court (E11) -> Bushes in front of Main Building (E10)
Skills: Stealth, Survival

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Their hope at a clear path to the door had evaporated the moment that Thalia laid her hazel eyes upon the scene. At least three between them and the door, and a couple off to the left. Over open ground as well. She might be able to nail one or two of them with her pistol before charging forward, but at best that would give away their position and kill any chance at getting in undetected. Not to mention that they were approaching from lower ground. Over the rise of earth, there was no telling if there were other sentries on standby, and how many there might be. These things did not add up to a successful end to the day.

There was one saving grace to the situation, however. What appeared to once be topiary was left to grow mostly unchecked. It did not constitute a fully safe path with obstructed cover, but it did make for a halfway decent approach from the side. Running up on superior numbers, even with the element of surprise, could end in total disaster. No, to Thalia's thinking, they needed to get closer before opening fire, use the bad guys' own men for cover. If she timed this right, she could even do it at a run, so long as they were focused elsewhere. But first...

Thalia reversed her grip on her new Beretta, James's old sidearm, just long enough to give Thana a more accurate view of her middle finger. The barest hint of smile pierced through the ashen skull painted over her face, and she said with her Boston accent peeking out a bit, "Sorry Navy. You're not my type. I might feel different latah, but right now I need you to covah me. We have to hit the front doah loud. Run in along those bushes, we can get into pistol range before they know we're theah." Being as this was about to be a gunfight, Thalia slung Astrid's shield across her back and readied her machete in her now free hand opposite the firearm. That kind of shield would be of little help against bullets. She looked a little too comfortable as she kept low and darted across the road in a nigh-suicidal advance against superior numbers. They had made it to the building. It was about to get loud anyway. Might as well get that first, hopefully unbalancing hit in as soon as possible.

🦄 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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There were calls of alarm coming from underneath the canvas and rigging, mainly from the friends and relatives of the boisterous man known to the rest of the world as The Great Bazhooli. Truly, this was a thing which rightfully raised alarm. There was only one hitch: It seemed impossible to him that all of the supporting ropes gave away simultaneously. Something had to be the cause of this mischief. Or someone.

First, his suspicions turned to the very person who had insisted upon meeting the Lady Crypt in the first place. That impudent, disrespectful Englishman who was barely a man in years, despite his insistence at being taken seriously. But no, unless this were some elaborate ruse designed to catch the Circus off guard by burying himself in tent canvas, he probably wasn't the one responsible. Or he wasn't stuck at all, having narrowly escaped by some means unknown to him, putting either James or his big sister Virginia at risk from retaliation by this Talink fellow. Well, last he saw, Lady Crypt was with the Scary Catholic Girl. While very young yet, she seemed capable with her long, pointy weapon. But the little brother was unattended, except for the attentions of that jabbering Ludwig man and the other child; the waif that Mary had saved from a Ryne attack just the day before.

Vladimir did not know much about the abilities of the mad German. Perhaps if he did, he would have had more confidence in him to protect the children from potential harm. But as it sat, he did not. He did suddenly hear a smattering of words that made little sense to him, spoken in a notable Teutonic accent. As best as he could tell, it was coming from across the clearer area a bit, underneath the large lump that used to be a table laden with foodstuffs for the consumption of celebrating Circus performers. Now, it made an interesting Table of Random Insanity. Plus the children, he hoped.

Discretion being the better part of valor, or a similar sentiment to it, Vlad carefully began picking and stepping his way toward the mass that was the food table. It wasn't a long walk by anyone's standards, nevertheless care had to be taken to avoid stepping on or near any of the wiggling lumps of person and cloth along the way. When finally upon the sought-after lump, The Great Bazhooli debated the necessity of finding a seam to pop open, run to the edge to attempt to pry the whole canvas back, or merely create an opening with his ever-present handful of sharpened steel.

Apparently, someone else had the idea to create their own opening, thusly escaping their temporary confinement. Constantin, as it turned out. And he appeared enraged. This was good. Vladimir didn't want to be the only one. "Я вижу тебя, Константин!"₁ he began in his native Russian, "Я не знаю, кто несет ответственность, но у меня есть подозрения! Пожалуйста, я выведу детей отсюда, организуете ли вы этих людей, чтобы вернуть холст?"₂ And then booming in plain and clear English, that his voice might be heard over the clamor and din of the occasion. "The rest ov you have orders! Vhen tent peels back, you know vhat to do! You, under table! Back to other side, vill have to cut. Now!"

Vladimir wasted no more time putting a blade into the canvas and drawing it across. This was no opening of a seam. The cloth was thick and strong, and even the sharpest of blades required a bit of muscle to make a passable aperture. "Viscount James, Masters Adam and Ludvig." His voice took a bit of a down note, raspy and quieter now that he had direct line of sight. "Ve have to get you out ov here. Come." he outstretched his hand, ready to help the first person climb out from underneath the table. His other hand found its way underneath the canvas still covering the table and awkwardly pulled out a platter, still mostly laden with meat pies, sausages, and fried sugar beets (on a stick!), proclaiming, "Have supper. Ve go now." If that Talink guy was still underneath the canvas, he would be just fine until Vlad could get these people back to his personal vardo.

Translations

1 = I see you, Constantin!
2 = I don't know who is responsible, but I have my suspicions! Please, I will get the children out of here, will you organize these people to get the canvas back?

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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 idea that they would send word back to London gave Mary a considerable note of relief. A messenger from the next major city up would be ideal. Were she anywhere in Europe but England, it would be the amazingly simple matter of stopping into any Catholic holding and petitioning the clergy present to utilize the Trained skill of Pundanti, sending a message across the distance to St. Etheldreda's who in turn would dispatch someone to the Circus, delayed if necessary to buy them more time. That being barred, a page boy or friar carrying a message on foot would be acceptable. But they were not in a nation that generally accepted the Papacy, thanks to one dissatisfied king in their history who was denied the option to divorce by the Pope, after he had allowed it a few times prior. No, the three of them would likely have to rely on more secular methods, barring a more or less benign Anglican chapel that staffed a person of Vatican Training.

Then the thought flashed across Mary's mind that she was the Arch Graveolase, if interim, and could order the action done so long as news of her appointment had reached their holdings. Considering the methods of communication available to them, it was very possible. Next city up. Now, they had to discreetly exit the Circus and head north before they could find that chapel in that city that was a respectable distance away.

Sister Mary, or more appropriate to this instance, Dame Commander Hale clasped Virginia's wrist as she held onto hers, pulling her onto Cassius behind her. She seemed to fit decently between the Apostolic and the full saddlebags, well enough so that Mary was satisfied her friend would not be too uncomfortable and could hold on with minimal effort. Nimble hands guided the reins, silently commanding the dappled grey stallion out of the stable area, out of the discreet exit chosen by Veta and toward northward the edge of The Regent's Park. Mary's eyes were bright and breathing quickened just a little with the excitement of the moment. She was on a mission for the most noble of purposes. She might even have to include this in her next confession, as it bordered upon Pride.

Elizaveta's words imparted a sense of responsibility, even faith in her, which Mary took as sincere compliment. Of course, she would know more about the geographical lay England than the Grand Duchess, but in truth, she did not know it extremely well. She actually spent most of her younger years in Scotland, not England, though she did know a little about the major roadways, having traveled them while being shuffled away to her distant family in France. Those roads would be their best bet to get to Gretna Green as efficiently as possible. Mary had been through Gretna before, on her way down from Stirling. It was a traumatic time for a young girl, one that she remembered with uncommon clarity. Mary could indeed show them the way.

Mary checked back to make sure Virginia was secure behind her, adding a quiet, "Hold on, My Lady." She nudged Cassius forward, past Elizaveta and her great white tiger, Myshka. Until they reached the level, open ground of the main road, Mary dared not push her horse forward with anything faster than a trot. Confidence brimmed in her voice as she addressed Veta, "Thank you, Your Grace. By your leave." It was a formality, really. Mary made sure her halberd was secured properly in the horse's tack just prior to reaching paved ground and leaned to whisper something into Cassius's ear. As soon as shod hoof clacked upon hard ground, Mary dug in her heels and prompted the noble animal to rush off with an increasing rush of speed. They were finally underway, leaving the color and wonder of the Circus behind.

🦄 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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Reginald could do little more than remain as an arm for Vera to lean against in that moment. He did not know the filing system in the archives, being as his disciplines led him to differing pursuits. Ask him to plan out an assault, be it ground or aerial, and he was your man. Have him take apart and put together a car, plane, or dirigible, and again, he was the guy. But find something in hieroglyphic script in a hopefully safe place, archived according to a plan devised by scholarly types with decades of experience cataloguing things of this very nature, and the Lord Major was at a loss. Perhaps it had something to do with alphabetic order, though was that order in English or in Arabic? Or ancient Egyptian? Eh, maybe all he needed to do was pay attention from time to time, but he really just came to the museum to see his adoptive niece, Vera.

To odd counterpoint, he could find a single chunk of military gear in a giant, crowded warehouse in the dead of a moonless night if he so desired, so long as it was packed away using a derivative of the Crown's method.

In response to the various questions he had heard over the last few minutes, Reginald had to wonder aloud, "We have a number of our Fellowship waylaid or unaccounted for, it appears." He said this with nonchalance, forced though it was. There was growing worry about his nephew, Peter, and even a little about his friend George. The group was even more split as Walsh and Aziza had left, be they going to a better life elsewhere. If whatever fate that brought them together allowed them to leave, at any rate. There was some relief as he learned that Miss Ridgeway was merely out of sight and not missing. Even the Starlet has not present, and the Reporter... well, his fate was clear to see. Drake's was not. Things just did not seem to be working out in the manner that he had hoped, even before their quest had truly began. The Lord Major was anxious to get these difficulties out of the way, attend to the fallen as well as the living, and get underway.