Sigil

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Prometheus (Foy's Quarters -> Galley)
Skills: Perception

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Mr. Coiffeur sat quietly in the midpoint seat of one of the tables in the Galley. He had somehow procured for himself yet another demitasse of rich, black coffee, but seemed to let it merely steam, resting upon a plain porcelain saucer. He was alone in that room for the first few moments, and spent them listening to himself breathe while staring at the vapors wafting away from his hot, black beverage. Smiling contentedly, Foy drew from the back of his belt a nigh comically oversized straightrazor, seemingly designed for purposes other than providing a close shave in proper, talented hands. Such was Foy.

He put one leg across the other, sitting in comfortable repose. The razor in his hands was utilized for nothing more than reflecting light from one spot to another. It was a thing of masterfully crafted, elegant beauty wrapped with cold intimidation. Absently, he trimmed the barest layer of epidermis from the edge of his thumb and then went back to merely regarding his favorite sharp implement with admiration.

It wasn't long until someone else arrived. Some two, point of fact. "Miss Croix, Miss Qiao," he said, closing his blade and setting it on the table before him. "Lovely to see you again this fine morning. And it most certainly is a fine morning, is it not? Medical emergency aside, naturally." In that moment, Anisa entered and, upon noting the lack of personnel in the room, gave her second address over the whole of the ship. "My, how positively scandalous..."

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus (Bridge -> Galley)
Skills: Computers

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Ok, it was distinctly possible that Harper had completely misjudged the nature of the order from Captain Crowe. Instead of the remainder of the crew showing up in the Galley for briefing, it was the entirety. This was not what he had in mind when making the call to stay within the confines of the Bridge and wait for this potential human trainwreck to manifest in front of the vessel. It probably was the proper course of action to head his narrow ass to the Galley, firstly because Anisa had offered up a pretty convincing argument as to why he should reconsider, and secondly because the angry lady was supposed to arrive in roughly one hour. It was quite possible, given all things considered, that the talk session with the crew would take less time than that. Better safe than sorry.

Harper hastily keyed the specifics of his earpiece comm into the ship's computer and left the Bridge at a jog. Hopefully, the device would now alert him in the event that they were being hailed or a non-shipwide alert sounded from the Bridge. In effect, it utilized his comm like one would a standard electronic paging device common to small crew ships like this one. There was likely already a pager somewhere on the Bridge, but right in that moment Harper had no idea where it might be. Task for tomorrow.

As he neared the archway at the end of the corridor to the Lounge/Galley area, Harper brought his jog down to a brisk walk. Entering, he intoned a quick, "Ma'am." and found a seat around the periphery of the others present.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Streets of Newhope Docks
Skills: N/A

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There was a small amount of anticipation as Bridgette approached the restaurant stall near the edge of the docks. It was the little things, as cliched as it was, that brought her joy. One such little thing was enjoying a simple and nourishing breakfast in the open air, even if that open air was around the Newhope docks. A brief exchange followed as Bridgette and the older couple exchanged pleasantries. They remembered the tall Aesir native, and with kindness as well. That was a rare concept, in her experience. Bridgette looked over to her little brother, whispering to him with an encouraging, "Hey, lemme know if you want anything, okay?"

Bridgette moved to place her order and reached into a pocket for enough local scrip to cover the cost, but the gesture was quickly waved away. She wasn't sure why they were being so kind; far be it for her to pass up a free meal, however. You take the breaks that come your way. Scanning through her options, Bridgette pointed to a bowl of rice pudding and a handful of juicy, seasoned strips of meat on sticks. She tore into the pudding first, attacking it with a decided lack of table manners bordering on wild abandon. To her credit, it was really good. But being fair, she wasn't the sophisticated, fork-on-the-right kind of girl anyhow.

When she got to the meat skewers, Bridgette was near speechless. Near. "Whoa... This is cuntslap fucking amazing. Can I have a couple more?" There was a light in her eyes that let slip that she was duly impressed with the meal, and in such a way that almost made up for the stunning display of vulgarity that had equal chances of being labeled Mental Illness or Superpower. Regardless, the older lady behind the counter smiled and gave her another handful. Bridgette pulled one off of the stick and shoved the whole thing into her mouth, chewing mightily. When she had gnawed through just enough to facilitate limited speech, she made a valiant attempt to do so. "I mean Jesus Fuck, I'd give a Reaver a handie for one of these. What's in it?"

The couple laughed, though a tad uneasily. After a couple of seconds discussing among themselves, the responded to their guest. "Fēicháng gǎnxiè qián jǐ tiān duì ròu de hǎo jiàgé."₁

Bridgette was rather taken aback by the statement. That is to say, she didn't have a clue what they were talking about. "Um... huh?"

"Zhè ròu!"₂, emphasized the man again, nodding his head with a grateful smile, "Xièxiè. Shíjiān hěn jiānnán, nǐ gěi wǒmen zúgòu de ròu, ràng wǒmen de shāngdiàn kāifàng yīgè yuè, fèiyòng."₃ Both of them bowed low to Bridgette, expressing happy gratitude repeatedly. When they finally rose, the lady plunked a large mug of tea in front of Bridgette and Cyril both.

The Viking lady was stunned. She didn't sell them any meat, she sold them a... "Shit." It took her a second to realize that she had said it out loud. Bridgette sold them her horse just last week, but she thought they needed it for pulling carts or a gift for their grandkids or something. This just seemed wrong somehow. "I'm so sorry, Muffins." she whispered gently to her meat stick. Her eyes came up to meet theirs, unsure as to how she would proceed. The problem was, it was undeniably delicious.

The query of, "Nǐ hái hǎo ma?"₄ snapped Bridgette out of it.

"Ah, fuck it." she responded nonchalantly. "Now a piece of her will always be with me. Can I get this to go?" And she would be damned if she was going to tell Cyril anything about this.

"...Muffins..."

Translations

1 = Thank you very much for the good price on the meat the other day.
2 = The meat!
3 = Thank you. Times have been hard, and you gave us enough meat to keep our shop open for a month, at cost.
4 = Are you okay?

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Streets of Cairo -> Anglo American Hospital
Skills: N/A

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"Thank you, my good sir." said the Lord Major quietly, nodding at George. It was not his place to hold the door open for the old man, seeing as he was not British, let alone British Military, there was no obligation on his part to show undue courtesy. Perhaps, that is why it might be considered actual courtesy and not respect given because of rank. Such things were excellent perks, but ultimately forced politeness always seemed to be a little tarnished. He climbed out of the Rolls-Royce and stood for just a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the Cairo sun before walking toward the main doors of the hospital.

His gait strengthened and shoulders took on a more authoritative posture the closer that he got to the building. Whether it was just the Lord Major playing a role or refusing to look beaten and downtrodden out of respect for his family (last respects, specifically), he began to look very much like the solid and indomitable Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone that the people under his command would recognize. Reginald entered the hospital and quickly located the front information desk. With crisp, direct words, he inquired of the clerk behind the desk, "Good morning. I am Lord Major Keystone of His Majesty's Royal Air Corps and Commanding Officer of the Qasr El Nil Barracks. My purpose here is to claim the remains of Peter Keystone. To whom do I make inquiry?"

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

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The Baron was looking a touch more resplendent than usual, for one who was getting ready to commit himself and the entirety of the Barony in London to hard and fast road travel. It was not uncommon for the Circus to pack up and leave unexpectedly, though it usually occurred when they received word of unusual Soulless activity elsewhere in their Empire. Be it unexpected, they were very, very good at this. Vladimir still marveled at the efficiency with which his people could pack up and get the hell out of a location; like nobody else in the world as far as he could tell.

Approaching his father, The Baron, Vlad seemed to heighten his spirits. "Baron! My Baron..." Formality was not necessary, really, but any respect given in front of others was guaranteed to be returned in kind. "Ve have destination, Baron Alexandrov, eh..." his slowed down, so as to better enunciate the name of the town, "Gretna Green, local Talink calls it. North into Land of Scots, just over border. Is more, but Gretna is vhere ve must go. German man Ludvig knows how to get through Jericho Valls."

"...also..." his face darkened a little. Asking his father for special concession was not something he liked doing, especially if that concession was for those not of the Bazhooli Sem'ya. "...ve will need others to travel vith us for vhile. Ludvig, trains boy Scary Catholic Girl save-ed. Also Talink boy. Maybe is good hostage, maybe is good guide. Maybe ve use feed bears. But for now, need place for sleeping, both." The children were guaranteed a spot with the Sem'ya, which was simple enough to arrange with their resources, but the grown men were not. A brief but memorable negotiation ensued in overly formal Russian, involving mush in the way of arm waving and what appeared to be knifepoint threats back and forth. It was the way certain things were done among these people, and it drew the vaguely amused attention of the less busy members of the Circus around them.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit." -Isaiah 17:9}

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Location: Nottingham
Skills: N/A

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The fiery Dame Commander would have found herself guilty of Bearing False Witness were she to say she was not relieved when Virginia opened her eyes and spoke to her. As the young Lady Crypt rose from her trance, so did Mary, offering a hand up if necessary. She held any questions she might have had concerning Virginia's spiritual jaunt until her friend offered it of her own accord. Even then, Mary waited patiently until she was done. Reflecting upon her words, the idea of a child near death tugged immediately upon her sense of compassion, one of the Knightly virtues, but concepts like practicality and justice prevented her immediate insistence that they rush off to the child's aid or otherwise abandon their quest.

"Be it in the plan of the Almighty, I would help the child, Virginia. And in times such as this, I do not put heavy confidence in 'coincidence', either." She hung her rosary down at her side, still wrapped loosely around her wrist. She then cleared her throat and addressed the query asked of her, "Elizaveta is downstairs checking on our beasts. We really should be on our way in a little while, ourselves."

She gave a second or two of thought, and posed a question of her own: "Would you mind terribly if I took the liberty of blessing your axes, Virginia? I know you are not Catholic, but I also know that you are a decent and true soul. Our need is great, and we are riding into the aftermath of yet another Soulless attack. We need not do so now - time does grow short."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak)
Skills: N/A

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It was most certainly getting on in the evening. Though without the innate sense of time that his fellow Emendator, Gio, possessed, it was accurate to say that he had "Groundhog Day'ed" this loop enough times to get a really, really good sense of the passage of this set of hours. Nonetheless, a being as venerable as Belladonna deserved respect, the least of which would be manifest in what casual manners Gilbert possessed. He swept his hat from his head in another grand gesture, bowing at the waist as a royal courtier might. "You are correct, Mistress Belladonna. The hour grows late - later than comfort allows. Excuse me, please."

Gilbert turned to the gathering children and chaperones, and of course the present Paradoxes. Oddly, it occurred to him that he was one of the senior Emendators on site, and as such should probably demonstrate some form of responsibility with the young charges, more or less. Especially with the hour growing late. The more modern incarnation of The Hat was remarkably laid-back, easygoing, and the type to enjoy life with all of its little points of wonder and luxury. It was not always this way. Not by far. The man he used to be, eons ago, was merely a tool that he brought to the fore in case he was needed. But make no mistake, Gilbert was still that person. A man who ruled the known world at one point in time, bought and paid for by the strength of raw personality and prowess in battle. The least he could do was assist Nancy in corralling a group of kids off of the grounds. Having stragglers at this hour could prove disastrous.

With a voice that carried authority over ancient kingdoms, Gilbert announced with arms held wide, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Young Masters and Ladies of the Night, it is with greatest regret I announce that the festivities for the evening are over. Please stop by the refreshments cart for a bag of goodies," He gave a nod to James, motioning to one side of the bottom shelf, "And immediately following, attend to the heels of the two lovely young women; find your way back to home and hearth. I will help see you to the end of our grounds, if only to ensure that no spirits or were-kind assail you on this dark and foreboding evening." he fell in step behind the visitors, ensuring that none took a detour before arriving at the main exit, "And have yourselves a Happy Halloween, children." He punctuated his sentiment with a sustained laugh that began lighthearted, but slowly turned into something resembling a primal Disney villain.

"After you..."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak)
Skills: N/A

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There was a question set to James by the extremely pale Paradox. Far be it for him to deny a fellow recently dead person the request of a story. Even one as depressing and frankly, unbelievable as his. Then again, the concept of what was and was not believable took a very strange turn for the worse not too horribly long ago for him. Thinking on it, the same manner of revelation smacked him across the face a few years ago, when a whole different type of recently dead people shambled into a big redneck bonfire party he was attending and turned his concept of "normal" on its head. How he survived that encounter was beyond him. Perhaps the very instincts that he hated within himself, his capacity to be a killer, saved his ass that day. It allowed him to survive and help others, but it bore down on him. Maybe this was how people needed to be to survive in his timeline. He hated it.

James was just about to respond to Andromeda when Gilbert began to speak. It seemed Shakespearean in delivery, despite the common selection of words, as if he were the Sovereign Deity of Movie Ushers, come to alert people that the film was over and there was no Marvel-esque scene in the middle nor the end of the credits. Hell, James himself almost felt like leaving the grounds, until the tall, swarthy Emendator looked in his direction and indicated that there were goodies specifically set aside for the young'uns.

The look upon his face was similar to a deer caught in headlights, except with a mouth stuffed full of candy corn. He bobbed his head up and down, managing to get out a muffled, "Um hmm!" and dropped back down underneath the curtain skirting the cart. Sure enough, there was a box just full of paper lunch sacks, bulky with various goodies and treats. He hastily began passing them out while trying not to choke on the mass-produced confectionery goodness that mortals knew as Candy Corn. When the area became a little less crowded, he responded to the question set to him just earlier. "Miss Andromeda? Love me that book, by the way - hot damn classic - but uh, Miss Andromeda? If'n you wouldn't mind so much? Me an' Sophia's timeline ain't exactly the best o' Southern Hospitality, umm... I give ya details later, but one thing about it: Humanity damn near died out. Dead folks killed off almost all of the livin', and a lotta the livin' wanna use up and deplete the rest of 'em. It's like Hell, Miss A, less you got good friends." He shuddered reflexively, and wondered how his people were doing back in Georgia. He sure as hell hoped they made it out of there.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Arnco Mills Safehouse (E10)
Skills: Leadership

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Ash was settling into something resembling restful slumber, trying hard to allow his body to relax and eyes to close. It seemed like an uphill battle, but biology had a way of making bringing things together for a man who had been put through a physical and psychological wringer. His concern for Thana and the others weighed heavily upon his mind, as did his responsibility to his people here around him. But his eyes did close after his turn at watch was over, and he did pass into a state of rest.

Oddly, in his state of rest, Ash was dressed like a 90's slacker, trapped inside of a large, permanent structure out in the desert somewhere. The interior or the structure itself was divided into living quarters and, curiously, miniature versions of differing ecosystems. He was being attended by a strange, possibly mentally deficient man who insisted upon being referred to as "The Weasel" despite everyone's best efforts to the contrary, and they were given the equally strange task of cultivating a crop called "Purple Sticky Punch". It seemed so distant to Ash, yet so oddly familiar. All of it.

Before he could make heads or tails of it, something from the waking world jolted him alert; a crashing sound that brought him to his feet. Bleary-eyed, if only for a half second, he thumbed off the safety of his weapon but kept it pointed down. "Riley, you got a visual?" he whispered. Hopefully it was just wind, an errant raccoon, or some other, mundane explanation. Leaving things to chance was not an option for him. Not a very good one. Ash walked quietly over to Jack's sleeping form and gave him a nudge. "We've got a noise. Could be nothing." he whispered. If it was really nothing, great. They could dip back to sleep. Otherwise, it was high time to assemble.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Doors across from Fitness
Skills: Survival, Pistol

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The sarcasm that marked her speech over the last few moments dropped away the moment that she figured out what Thana was doing. Having lived off of MRE's for a while now and being Lola's tankmate during that time, she had seen a few interesting things done with the reactive contents of one of those neutrally colored bags of semi-permanent nutritive field rations. The grim determination that filled her earlier returned, and Thalia pulled herself to one knee, taking almost a sprinter's stance.

The explosion took her completely by surprise. She had seen that trick used with old soda bottles to great effect in crowd controlling Zeds, but this? A metal canteen seemed to be significantly more effective than a former 2-liter of Dr. Pepper, enough so to allow for Alexander to get a good shot off, even with hands that looked like they were brought to us by Stouffer's. She brought her eyes up, focusing further down the hallway. She slipped her Glock back out of her holster, again joining the Beretta in front of her, and rose. The tear streaked ashen skull painted across her face seemed to take prominence over her features. Thalia appeared as a handmaiden of Dama Muerte.

While the young lady known to a few remaining living souls as Angel would have preferred to close the gap between her and her intended targets, relying upon her talents as a close combat girl, the ranged firearm approach was much more practical. She saw two of them at the end of the hallway with surprised, blinking faces, and aimed accordingly. One after the other, the guns in each of her hands barked repeatedly, flinging metal down the hall faster than human reaction could account for. The Beretta finally fell upon an empty chamber, prompting her to take a more side stance and concentrate on her MSS issue Glock. It finished the job quite effectively, and by the time she stopped firing, two lay in pools of liquid maroon. "Naht done yet..." she spoke aloud, risking a quick glance behind her to make sure the others in her group were still standing. Bleeding but upright, she still had a job to finish.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Justice Airport, Private Hangar
Skills: N/A
Skills: Mandarin

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Caesar growled softly, flexing his hand with a slight wince on his face. The Brit's head seemed like it was cast out of bronze - solid goddamned bronze. He could understand how a man could tune his body into a weapon, hard, solid and painful. Lord knew he did a fair amount of it himself in his younger days, even kept himself up pretty well in his advancing years, but that man... If he had to get into a full-on fight with the guy, he'd have to keep to blades and fight dirty. Luckily, they were on the same side. Not just the same side anymore, he noted. "Él es familia ahora, Maria."₁ he said in his gravelly voice, looking over to Maria with an otherwise calm demeanor. He quickly switched to English, "And he has all of his teeth, just like you said on the plane."

The pain in Keystone's head seemed to melt into the background. He hadn't spoken Mandarin much since leaving Asia, except for a brief exchange with one of the tech team back at the Complex. Even then it was just a word or two. To hear someone speaking it fluently was surprising, to say the least. But not even remotely as surprising as hearing what she was saying in that language. The exchange with Caesar melted away, all of the annoyance forgotten. It was replaced with a sense of wonder and mounting protective instinct. He looked into the eyes of the boy, bright blue and inquisitive. As the baby boy touched Keystone's chin, he did precisely as Maria suggested and carefully, slowly, brought the boy near to him. He stood entranced for a moment, just looking at the boy with his eyes and Maria's hair. Distantly, he responded to her in oddly accented Mandarin, "Nǚshì, wǒ yībān dōu zhǐ gēn xìng. Keystone de míngzì."₂

"You are the father of M'hija's son. Married, not married, don't care. Bienvenido a La Famila.₃ It would be a good idea to start learning Spanish."

Meanwhile, Thalia was having loads of fun trying to keep her backpack from rolling off of her shoulder while cramming a section of seasoned bread into her face. She seemed really taken with the whole scene; it was touching, in a violent sort of way. Really reminded her of the whole family dynamic from years back. "Hey, um... big guy?" she spoke through a mouthful, "Now that you're my cousin, or something, can we have this family get-together someplace that isn't an airplane hangar in Justice, California? Like, someplace with guns and a good Thai place that delivers? I'll settle for Chinese."

The responsibility of his present task snapped him back to his more professional duties. He was still a bit off his game, having just found out that he was a father and all, but he had the forethought to mention, "I, uh... ain't got me a booster for the li'l guy." He made himself stop, go back a step or two mentally, and say his name aloud. "Liam." Names after him apparently. At least his middle name. "Illiam... Gonzalez?" Well, he was born out of wedlock. Then again, so was Keystone. It was his mother's name, not his father's. Holy shit, the pattern continued.

Translations

1 = He is family now, Maria.
2 = I generally go by my surname only, Ma'am. Name of Keystone.
3 = Welcome to The Family.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Prometheus (Foy's Quarters -> Galley)
Skills: Perception

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Ah yes, of course. The Second. Foy had most assuredly made his deal with Anisa concerning the actions that he would take and who he would allow to order him about, but this... Okay, it made sense. Foy was, at least on the "extended temporary", naught but a face on board a mid-bulk transport vessel. Merely a well groomed man-at-arms, such as the profession still existed in one form or another, and subject to the same share of, of manual labor as everyone else, unless they were to procure some manner of physically imposing stooge; a true Brick of a man, to fill said role. Until then, the Prometheus had to deal with the dapper grace and charming dexterity of Mr. Foy.

And what was that about "Mr. Foy"? It seemed rather that he was in the Navy. Well, he kind of was, once upon a time, but that was long ago. And no one called him "Mr. Foy". Ever. "Mr. Foy..." he mused aloud, trying out the syllables on his tongue. It sounded so provincial. Eh, he could live with it. He casually stepped over to the faceplate to his room's PA and keyed in the option indicating Medical. "Indubitably, Miss Pender. I should be more than satisfied to attend to ... eh ... domestic associations, despite the pressingly pedestrian nature of it all. I should make note of a previous insistence, originating from our dear Captain that requires my presence in the Galley, and forthwith! Then I shall acquiesce to the mundane drudgery of squaring away quarters for whomever Captain Crowe has allotted them. And I am out, madame."

Though still technically indoors, Foy pulled on his suitcoat and bowler hat, eager to see to the day's business. With a spring in his step, the debonair Farradayan walked confidently from his room, turned down the corridor aft, and arrived with in the Galley/Lounge area with a slight, cocky smile.

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus (Bridge)
Skills: Computers

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At first, Harper didn't fully grasp the nature of Anisa's command. It seemed contradictory, telling him to inform her when the new lady (and he used that term, Lady, very loosely) had arrived. She was a double edged sword to Harper and they hadn't even met formally; obviously her skills and/or experience were required by the Captain now that she was down a crew member, though what she would have in common with Atticus was beyond Harper's capacity for rational thought. That wasn't quite his place to say, one way or another. He wasn't the guy in charge. He was just the guy that had to survive in the changing environment set before him.

But back to point, the request was to notify her the moment that this Vinters lady arrived, and simultaneously join her in the Galley, as he was non-medical crew. He puzzled on the proper way to handle it - perhaps he would rig the signal to broadcast into his personal earpiece whenever a wave was set to the ship. He had done something similar before. But then he regarded one word in her order: rest. The rest of the crew. Apparently, those present in the bridge didn't quite count among the number that had to be briefed about the Preacher, which made sense considering he was already present when Dorothy gave the update over the intercom. "Yes, Ma'am." he said absently in the direction of the bridge door, toward the exiting form of Anisa. That was his task now. Wait for the lady to arrive.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Crappy Lodging (Near Lady Luck) -> Streets of Newhope Docks
Skills: N/A

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"Alright, fuck... Hey, wipe your face, Big Guy." said Bridgette to her not-so-little brother. "You can't meet new people with a face full of marshmallow fluff, okay Cyril?" It was a good feeling, leaving their temporary abode behind. It was, in her opinion, a total shithole. In several people's opinion, more than probably. But life did not completely suck, aside from some only partially crippling issues with stability and a dwindling, uncertain supply of funds. Hopefully, work on board Prometheus would fix, well, one of those things.

Bridgette pulled her trunk behind her, its wheels occasionally clacking on uneven ground. She got the occasional stare, as she usually did. It was the cost of being her. The stares were quickly abandoned as she slyly gave the returning sideways glance and twisted smile, as a cat might when sizing up an errant gerbil. The Docks were coming up before them, with all the hustle and bustle associated. In a place such as that, even someone like her who generally stood out might find that they blended in.

As their walk continued, she caught sight of an older Sino couple that she actually knew. Small world indeed! She had sold them a riding horse that she had acquired when she first hit this rock, and dirt cheap, too. Hell, it was practically a steal. And they ran a small restaurant stall, right at the edge of the Docks! Yeah, they'd be more than adequate to sate her need for something wholesome in the morning. Bridgette veered her course in their direction, stomach practically roaring in anticipation.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Streets of Cairo
Skills: N/A

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Reginald sat in within the confines of the luxury automobile, glad in some dry, cynical day that he was not driving. It was a singular joy for him, piloting or driving or even riding horseback, so long as it was fast and he got to feel that rush of adventure that always seemed to accompany it. Not so today. The Lord Major did not wish to associate that feeling with the very pressing, crushing realization that he had just lost Peter, again. The dear bpy meant the world to him, and he had to experience this one more time. Fate sometimes took great pleasure in stabbing one in the gut and snapping off the blade.

He did not initiate conversation with George in this time, though in the actions of a gentlemen did wordlessly offer the man a drink, even though the hour was not generally suited to it. It seemed a reflex action more than anything; Reginald did not partake himself. In fact the only words that came from his mouth were an indication to the driver as to where they were going. Past that, he really didn't feel up to maintaining conversation unless important in nature.

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

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There was a decent amount of hope that Constantin would be able to discern the meaning of the latest Tretiy Glaz image by means of the general knowledge possessed by just about every socially astute Englishman. The problem was, Vlad was most assuredly not a socially astute Englishman. Oh, Vladimir Alexandrov was a very social man, no doubt. And astute? You might as well give him an advanced degree in the Astutely Sciences. But the lynchpin that threw it all together was English. While he spoke the language passably, neither he nor his associates, not a one, knew anything about this country that was useful to them at present. But they had a location to travel toward. Gretna Green, just over the border in Scotland.

Vlad had caught sight of his father, The Baron Alexandrov, overseeing the breakdown of his personal tent not terribly far from Vladimir's own. It was an impressive temporary structure, used for business and entertaining guests as much as it was an opulent place to hang one's knives. He was just about to call out for the elder Alexandrov when someone inconveniently reappeared. Vladimir attempted to summarize the situation quickly, then hop back on task. "Friend Ludvig!" he called aloud, speaking as if he was an old acquaintance that he hadn't seen in years. "There you are being, Ludvig! Of course, is vith happy heart I am seeing you. You! Ve are going to the Gretna Greens, in Land of Scots, da? Da. Almost time for going."

"Vorry not about tent! Vell, vorry little. Tent is packed avay. I have vardo, but vill not be room for all. Ve must find places for you and for little Adam. Crypt boy vill stay vith me. Maybe can find cart vith roof, put ...гамак... eh, hammocks! Da, hammocks up - just for now." He nodded his head vigorously, then intoned with seriousness, "Trunk in baggage cart now." He pointed to a nearby load-bearing cart, probably originality built for merchants or theor ilk. "Take vith only what is needed, only vhat can travel vith. Fight vith. Okay? Okay."

Located The Baron, but not the Viktor. On we go.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit." -Isaiah 17:9}

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Location: Nottingham
Skills: N/A

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Mary noted the stirring of Elizaveta, but did not respond other than a quiet look in her direction. They had not been in their private room for very long, in Mary's reckoning, but the plan was not to linger in any one place for any substantial length of time. After all, this was a chase. Such things would be counterproductive.

Rather the odd question to Mary, concerning the status of Virginia. Not odd so much because was inappropriate, seeing as it was a highly valid question, just that it was about a skill set that was foreign to her personal experience. Mary supposed that it was even more foreign to the Russian noblewoman, and seeing as Mary and Virginia knew one another prior to the lazt gew days' events, it stood to reason that she might have some grasp on the Lady Crypt's abilities. "I could be wrong, Elizaveta, but I believe her spirit is elsewhere. Rousing her now might prove fruitless."

She stood fully and slid her shortsword back into its sheath next to its twin, though kept out her rosary. It swung back and forth from her hand, occasionally catching a shimmer of light as Mary looked down upon her friend expectantly, hoping her journey back to her body was swift and otherwise uneventful.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak)
Skills: N/A

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The comment about bursting into song was rather interesting. Yes, he had a tendency to wax philosophic from time to time. It was in sharp contrast to how he began his life. Commanding, forceful, insistent of his own superiority. Arrogant. The man in complete control over the whole of the civilized world. Having bouts of being wordy about complex, positive feelings was a definite step away from being a total walking stereotype (possibly the guy who invented the stereotype and set the male of the species down an interesting path for the next few thousand years). And yet despite his overtly nonsensical ramblings, one point of note came to the fore of is mind as a song was mentioned. "It has always been amusing to me..." began Gilbert, a wistful look taking his eye, "...that I have been a part of a lot of different cultures - most of them militant, each one with their own little chants and hymns - and I have yet to pick up a talent for music. In the least." It never stopped him from singing along with everybody else, though. Inexpert and joyous, most of the time.

"Well, I am highly relieved to know that no one will be engaging in physical combat over the Twinkie issue." continued Gilbert with a slight lilt to his speech. "Please understand, my existence predates the concept of sarcasm, ladies." He allowed a broad smile to decorate his features, "I do have such problems with the concept." Gil arched an eyebrow and continued, attempting to keep with the flow of conversation. "This is what we do. It might seem like a chore right now, but over time you will come to rely upon this event to center yourself with humanity. That is important. Highly important. Carbs and sugar and storytime with children are important reminders of where we come from and what we're supposed to be protecting. Try to enjoy yourself."

He did take note of the sudden change in Alexandra's mood. Something manifesting? He would have to wait and see. It would be a shame if something untoward occurred in front of the kids.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak)
Skills: N/A

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James was pretty sure that Gilbert had stashed a bottle of really good scotch under the refreshments cart. Though he did not see it happen personally, he did take note that the Emendator crouched with a mostly full bottle, and when he came back up, he had none. He had other things, but that bottle of fine hooch? Gone. He had to give this further research. The punch was good and all, and the Twinkie business was a particularly spiffy bit of home comfort, but right then he could have used a drink of something brown and flammable, kids around or not.

The backwoods were-pig blackneck made a showing of dropping his now empty cup to the ground, even so far as to cap it off with a faux covering of his mouth and muttering the words, "Oopsie! Imma get that..." A furtive glance around, and James began sinking behind the cart, his big cowboy hat bobbing from he left to the right. Yes, this was him sneaking (but not sneaking). He sunk to his knees and jostled open the curtains just a bit, going for the big bowl of ice where he was pretty sure it was left last. His eyes settled upon something completely unexpected. James's eyes shot open boldly and hands grabbed plastic packaging. His head poked back up over the refreshments cart with a wild look upon his face, including a rictus grin of accomplishment and discovery.

Hands shot up, grasping bags full of multicolored triangular corn shapes. "CANDY CORN! They gots Candy Corn, muthafuc... Ooh, kiddies. Sorry."