Sigil

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Room 203)
Skills: N/A

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For a while, Gilbert lay atop his bed. Bedecked in nothing but a pair of front buttoning shorts, the "boxers" of the period, he preferred this time to recline over his covers, exposed to the air of the evening. It was not a decision he made a lot, being as he was a man who had grown to appreciate the various creature comforts that life had to offer. Tonight, he was thoughtful as he drifted toward slumber.

A lot had happened over the past handful of hours. The group dynamic had changed. And the house was full again. If he listened intently, he could hear the various creaks and movements associated with an older dwelling such as the Destrehan House supporting residents. It was the quiet reminder of his coming responsibility to these new Paradoxes and the world that he did so love.

Gilbert put his hands behind his head and looked over to what was left of the door. If that was a permanent bit of damage, he might be angry. Instead, he contemplated revenge upon one or the other of the people responsible. He briefly considered using his gifts as an Emendator to find out who did it; it was locked away there anyway like some piece of barely recalled trivia he had but to put effort behind to recall, but decided against it for the moment. There was more fun to be had another way. Plus, it would be fixed with the reset.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Room 209)
Skills: N/A

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Sleep wasn't coming easy to James. I mean, how could it? His mind was awash with not only the memories of his former life in Walker infested Georgia, but pieces and traces of what he had come to realize were other lives from other timelines. The implications were staggering. James wasn't the philosophical type past a certain point, really. That point has been crossed a while back. This was more of a "buckle up and hang on tight" moment for him.

Dead friends to reunite with. A new war for survival to be a part of. Oh yeah, and now he was a frigging Wereboar. That was some shit right there. Wereboar. He wondered if that full moon deal had any hold on him. Either way, James was sure that he couldn't sleep. Wasn't going to. Not possible, considering what his day had been like. Today took everything he knew or thought he believed and turned it sideways. He might not sleep for ... .. . .. ...zzzzZZzzzZzzzz

Only the camouflage tuxedo and big, gaudy deer necklace bore witness to the sudden and remarkable bout of narcolepsy-grade slumber that fell over James Mandingo Grady. The situation as a whole and the many questions of the here and now were presently between he and his subconscious to puzzle out until the sun rose over an all new same day.

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

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Keystone

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Location: Deymin's Tower (1F) -> Out
Interacting With: N/A

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The delay necessary to spew innard gravy was horribly counterproductive to the overall goal of survival. While the act of actually vomoting was not a thing he could help, hindsight would have told him that intentionally aiming it at someone was a tad childish. Funny, but again counterproductive. But when Thomas likewise lost the contents of his stomach, well... Keystone was sometimes a big kid.

Putting away the need for childish guffaws despite the pressing mortal danger, Keystone made a single, serious push for the exit. Not necessarily the exit; any means of egress would suffice. The shifting and sliding stone of the tower made that perilous, obviously, but slightly less perilous that staying put. Keystone made a beeline for the nearest piece of open air visible through the outer wall and, in a feat of agility not ordinarily attributed to a man of his breadth, jumped for it.

The aperture was somewhat irregularly shaped, prompting the big man to match his posture to fit through the Hole In The Wall. Resembling a flailing practitioner of limbo dancing crossed with a stylized Egyptian walk, Keystone was barely able to fling himself through and into freedom beyond. He hit the ground at a stumbling run, having to scramble on all fours at first, but righting himself in short order.

Now, to see who else made it out.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: HordebusterArnco Mills Safehouse (E10)
Skills: Leadership, Mechanic, Engineering

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This had quite possibly been the worst, most traumatic day in Ash's life, with the possible exception of the day his father's distillery, along with half the town of Esmont, Virginia, fell to a horde. Almost his entire family had been lost that day - killed or missing and presumed dead, along with most everyone that he had grown up with. Of course, one can't really put all of that horror into a single day. It had been a siege. A long, long siege. The "day" was actually the end of that siege, when some scared, hungry asshat thought he saw an opening and screwed everyone over. There was the slightest hope that one day the town of his upbringing could be rebuilt, the homes and farms restored, Newnan was an utterly destroyed place; literally a smoking crater in the earth and the final resting place of many of those he had come to regard as family.

There were four people he could help now. If was a far cry from what he wanted, but it was something. Not only that, but unless the Hell that was Newnan held the horde's attention, and raptly, there was a good chance that this horde was going to roll over the safehouse south of them, too. This realization hit him the second that he fired up the 'Buster. He could live with only helping four. But he could live better if he helped a few more. Ash pulled his highly modified roadbeast left onto Main Street, heading South onto Main Street. He looked to Tiffany, sitting next to him in the passenger's seat. "I'm making for the Moreland Safehouse. We have to get back to 27, but it's got to be south of Newnan. Need you to navigate, Tiff."

It was only a couple blocks up, conditions permitting, before he intended to change direction again. This was not a trip he wanted to take until morning for purposes of safety. That plan got destroyed as completely as their home did, just that morning. Well, silver lining to this clusterfuck of a day, if they were correct about Tatiana's whereabouts, the newly married couple would be reunited sooner than expected. "If you've got a map too, Jack, I need you to back her up. We're going to go get Tati."

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Coming to Adamm's Wing -> Doors to Elev Equip
Skills: Stealth, Survival, Pistol

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This was getting creepy. Things had become more quiet than a standard firefight was supposed to be, and according to every single action or horror movie that Thalia had seen, ever, this was traditionally the point in time when something terrifying and awful happened. The monster jumped out of the closet, the bad guys show up where they had not been just a moment before, or the floor opens up like a giant trapdoor, depositing them into some noxious substance and/or holding cell.

Briefly, Thalia wondered if it was a great idea to have their people so spread out. Part of her wanted to hold up for a moment or three and make sure that the others could keep up, but the majority of her psyche was screaming at her to finish this bullshit before the bad guys regrouped or they fully lost the light. If they were nearing the end of the unexplored territory inside of the Eden complex, then there were just a few more people that had to die. Hopefully, it wouldn't be them. Thalia told her self that this last piece was just a matter of clearing rooms, one after the other. Just like downstairs, except the element of pant-soiling surprise wasn't with them anymore. She was a fighter, not a soldier. There was a difference. But they couldn't just stop now.

There was a door coming up on Thalia's right. Good enough place as any to start. She burst through, gun leading the way. Check doors, clear rooms. Kill anything moving. Finish this.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Justice Airport -> Streets of Justice
Skills: N/A
Skills: Security Procedures

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The present and extended incarnation of La Familia Gonzalez piled into the restored and refitted Ramcharger that now served as the massive Londoner's personal conveyance. Thalia joined Maria and Liam in the spacious backseat, and Caesar climbed into the front. The elder Mexican had seen this vehicle around the MSS Motor Pool. He had not expected much from it, but then again, this was mostly Alicia's deal. She had the thing for cars. The updates that were done to it in his absence were impressive. The piece of 1980's utility muscle vehicle nostalgia had been brought up to the modern standard of luxury and entertainment, and within the time he had spent down in Mexico. He would have to make sure that his staff was compensated accordingly.

Caesar was amused to note that Maria was still just as willing to speak down to him now as she always had been. Possibly even moreso. This exchange was such that he would gain absolutely nothing from continuing it except for a headache, and so refused to respond to her sliver of shared wisdom. Caesar did make it a point to follow up on her other assertion, as it directly involved both business and Keystone. "Si. I told you over the phone that I was going to appoint someone Director. There she is. She helped me start MSS. No one else knows our business better, legal or illegal. Paperwork will be processed the minute we hit the office. So..." He looked Keystone dead in the eye, and with neutral expression concluded his thought. "...you're fired."

"The hell, Caesar?" sounded from the backseat, courtesy of the young lady with the slight Boston accent. Keystone wagged a finger in her direction, voicing his own sense of odd disbelief in agreement with her. "Yuh huh. What she says, yeah?"

"But I can't have some deadbeat raising my grandson. So there's an Associate Director position opening up I think you would be perfect for. More ground and field duties. Less papers to push."

"...bloody prat, you are..." remarked Keystone, pulling out onto the blacktop. He shook his head and began making his way out of the airport and into the main roads surrounding, using an alternate path to get back to the Queensguard complex. He leaned over to hit the vehicle's GPS, marvelling at how much easier it made route planning on unfamiliar streets, and accidentally pulled up his personal music selections in the process. For the space of a few seconds, the armored security vehicle was graced with the dulcet sounds of:

Keystone's Dirty Secret

During those seconds, Keystone felt the telltale sensations associated with one's face turning red. He quickly glanced around before attempting to shut the music off, succeeding primarily in cranking up the volume before it finally went quiet. From the back, he heard the one they called variations of "Angel" stifle back a laugh. Then another. Then she could not help herself. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't fight so hard to turn it off. "Wow. Wouldn't have expected that, Big Guy. You must really like Adele, huh? Oh, congrats on the new job, by the way." Sarcasm was indeed strong in this family.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A

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It was surprising to Foy that he was ever so slightly shocked by the news. He was no stranger to death; one might even say he had a career based upon the concept, but that was all it was, a concept. The dapper gentleman had functioned quite effectively as an Agent of the Alliance, and prior to this an officer in the Alliance Military. People under his command had died, as what happens in armed conflicts. Orders he gave led directly to the deaths of others. And he had shuffled off many from this, their mortal coil, on a very personal level at the behest of others. One would even call his indifference to the whole thing borderline sociopathic and not be incorrect. But this was different.

Despite the glaring flaws in the man's parentage and upbringing, Foy found that he genuinely liked the guy. Oh sure, for all he knew, the esteemed Shepherd Pearson was raised by a pair of derelict slum dwellers, living off of government sponsored social charity programs and recycled soy; the only reason why he did not share a similar fate was because he was somehow able to join the priesthood. But Atticus was part of a group bound by something other than contractual obligation. It was a thing that which Foy was inexperienced, outside of family. Well, and Dr. Moreau.

Well, disreputable as he might have been, from Anisa's accounting of the situation his replacement was far worse. And he was given the galling task of readying her room, plus an extra. With surprising tact (at least to begin), Foy addressed the Captain. He was a gentleman, after all. "Madame, you possess my clearest and most unadulterated sympathies for the unexpected mortal transcendence of your dear friend and trusted crewmember, Shepherd Pearson. I should flatter myself were I to assume that my presence would offset the burden placed upon you or your ...fine vessel... Yet I remain ever at your service in the meantime, Captain Crowe." Foy made the motions of straightening his tie, even though it was impeccable, and continued, "To that end, I have preference toward resuming my duties in preparation for the arrival of this new jewel in the crown of Prometheus... Bridgette, you say?" He motioned to the exit with an outstretched arm, "If it is permissible, Madame?"

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Newhope Docks (In front of Prometheus)
Skills: N/A

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Bridgette giggled at her little brother's antics and gave his shoulder a playful shove. He wasn't particularly funny, but he was so naively endearing that she couldn't help but laugh. "Hey thanks, Cyril." she said in gentle, dulcet tones, "I feel a lot better now. Let's go." She threw back the cup of tea and said a quick goodbye to the proprietors of the stallfront eatery, capping it off with, "...yeah, sure! I'll come back here the next time I'm stuck on Newhope. You guys're awesome! Just, tell a girl what the fuck you're feeding her," her voice turned dead serious before immediately veering back to head-bobbing, lunatic cheerful, "Okay?" Momentary shock hit the lady behind the counter as she slowly slid a container of rice pudding across to Bridgette. The surly Shieldmaiden flashed her a smile, carefully accepted it, and left the establishment in her rearviews.

The approach to the ship was careful at first, Bridgette wasn't completely sure what a Dragonfly Class Vessel looked like. She had to take out her terminal to verify the docking site and ship register just to make sure. So when Cyril asked if the vessel was their new home, Bridgette was confident when she responded in the affirmative. "Helvete ja, baby brother. For at least six months." She was concerned with how Cyril would be accepted by the crew, obviously. The puppet show was going to be a hurdle. That was a concern on the immediate. Bridgette herself was another matter. Much of what made her her these past years left its own mental scarring. A lot of it. Anisa had only ever worked with her on the short-term. She was going to see a whole new side of Bridgette Vinters, Shieldmaiden of Borr. In time.

So much as she wanted to disagree with that fucking sock puppet, it did have a point. Instead of addressing the errant bit of altered laundry, she cocked her head to the side to look at her sibling directly. "Doesn't look like anyone's on the Bridge." It was a guess, more than anything else. It wasn't like Anisa to invite someone over and leave them standing on the doorstep. "I'll send a wave. They don't answer, I'm hucking bricks at the fucking windows." She keyed up a message to the ship from her cortex terminal and tried to make it as professional as possible: "What the solid fuck, Anisa? You putting the spurs to that slim piece of man-meat and can't crack a door for a bitch? Huh? Open up, please!" She repeatedly tapped her index finger on the camera's transparent lenscover for effect, then started staring at the main cargo door of Prometheus.

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: Computers

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The news seemed to hit different people differently. The newer people that joined up the previous evening didn't appear to take this impromptu meeting as much more than an information dump, a briefing like any other. Harper did his best to study these reactions to better get an idea about these people. He was impressed with the way in which Anisa set aside her personal feelings and got the job done. And it was a hard task, making the announcement like she did.

Circumstances had turned Harper into a lightly paranoid, partially unhinged man of admirable formal education. But at the core of it all, he was a survivor. And if he was going to survive for the next two years, which was an important step in his master plan entitled "How Not To Die and/or Get Sent Back To That Unregistered Alliance Penal Colony", he had to play it smart. Staying off the grid was a big part of it, and his best bet to do that lay with this woman, who he had been slowly beginning to realize was just as human as the rest of them despite her ability to be a massive hardass. It was just her way of surviving, he figured, the same way he was trying to. He had put his trust in this woman, and so, he had to put his trust in her choice of crew. That step of faith was about to be tested.

The comm in Harper's ear gave a quiet, telltale chirping sound, alerting him to an incoming wave on the Bridge. He was about to let Anisa know about the incoming message when it began sounding inside of his skull with full, auditory clarity. Apparently he forgot to add a line of code somewhere. Regardless, the message indicated that their new crewmember was here, in the angry, resplendent glory that he had witnessed from her earlier communication. Harper shook his head, sighing. This was what they were waiting for. As soon as the dandy Barber finished requesting to be dismissed to see to some other duty, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Ma'am? Pardon the interruption please. Miss Vinters has arrived and is requesting permission to board." In the most ass way possible. "If you want a chuckle, check the wave later. She's right outside of Cargo, Ma'am."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Anglo American Hospital
Skills: N/A

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The Lord Major listened with as stoic of a face he could give at that time. He had lost someone very close to him, seemingly for a second time, and this Information Desk Jockey could only give him the most mechanical of answers, as read like small engine repair directions. He felt his own sense of affrontery rise within him, and even dared open his mouth to speak a good number of discouraging words to the man, but hesitated. The chap was only doing his job. He was doing so efficiently and was not involved in the least with Reginald's family nor his command. Instead, he offered a basic, "Thank you." and began to follow the man's directions.

Striding toward the basement, he looked back to George and posed a question. Some two of them, really. "My Peter, if you would Mr. Benaszewski, did he die a clean death? Honorable, decent, for something?" Reginald had his own notions about death. One could say that he longed for it, under the proper circumstances. Everyone else that he flew with before the Great War had passed on, and most of his buddies during had already gone as well. Many died for the greatest purpose of all: The promise that, if they won that day, they might have their families live in tranquility for the rest of their days. "The War To End All Wars", they called it. Such a notion was silly, but the most unlikely notions were the ones worth dying for. Sometimes, Reginald just wished that he had been taken by crash or by bullet years ago.

He boarded the lift and heeded the advice of the monotone information receptionist. Second basement, end of hallway, left. Maintaining his proper, broad shouldered, stiff upper lippage was beginning to become tiresome, though as a proper British officer he could maintain for quite a while in adverse circumstances if need be. This was to be tested as he finally advanced upon someone fitting the description of the alleged Morgue Clerk, and he addressed accordingly, "I am the Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone, come to see to the affairs of my nephew, the Lord Captain Peter Keystone. Do I have the privilege of addressing the man who may facilitate this proceeding?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir & Ludwig

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Location: Wall of Jericho, Northwest Interior

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It was strange indeed that Ludwig's wagon led the procession of Russian Circus performers. Strange so strange, never stranger, stranger things, unusual things, unusual suspects. The Baron remembered a time when someone other than Circus did this, but it was still fellow Russians (Moldovan actually, but still part of the Empire), and they were acting as guide them toward a hidden Soulless encampment. Ho ho ho, encampment, entrapment, end the mend, mend the end, mend the fence, jump the fence, what a post. Otherwise, this was fully new ground.

A German, specifically one with a touch of madness, would only have led the Circus in the most unusual of circumstances. But not madness, just gladness, no madness, only mad when called mad, madness is a mess, gladness is joy. Oh joy, oh boy. Apparently, the entire Circus leaving in the middle of the Season without so much as a warning, only to escape a London held in the aftermath of a Soulless attack by means of utilizing a hidden passage in what was supposed to be an otherwise impenetrable defensive wall, most definitely counted as an unusual circumstance. "Is this vay, da?" Vladimir asked of Ludwig, and not for the first time.

"Way, way, yes whey, curds and whey, little Miss Muffet, a tuffet, tough isn't it?"

Vladimir and The Baron both flanked the lead wagon, careful to keep an eye out for any potential trouble. To the left to the left to the left right left. The thing was though, there was none. The path they were led down, but a short march from Regent's Park to the questionable section of wall yielded only as much trouble as two members of the Watch could give the might of the Russian Imperial Circus. Double trouble, double mint, anyone have gum? That is to say, negligible. Negligible, negligee, lingerie. Oh nighty night! Breaking off from the rest of the procession's vanguard, both The Baron and The Great Bazhooli chose one guard each and handled them with the best method open to them, circumstances permitting. Circumstances, circumcision, oh vey!

For Vlad himself, he approached his man with open arms and a seemingly unflappable sense of optimism. "Hellos! Many hellos, Guardian of London-Town! Ve are, eh... little bit lost." he said, bringing his thumb and forefinger close together in front of him as to emphasize his point. Yes, a point, pointy pointy, stick and stones, to the point! He stepped closer, drawing upon Tizirovat', a lesser used skill in the Rusyn set. Vladimir's low, raspy voice blended harmoniously with Tizirovat', drawing upon the strength of his indomitable personality to influence the man. "Is okay. Few circus people stopping to ask direction, da? If remember, maybe report tomorrow. Is not important. Vhat is - little farther down Vall. That vay. You might vant to look, you and friend." Vladimir's voice rolled along pleasantly even as he nodded his head, as if in agreement with something the watchman was saying. The pair of them wandered away, leaving the Circus to their own concerns. "Right!" Vlad called to Ludwig, "Vhat now?"

A step of two or three. Two steps forward, one step back and around and around. "To the wall, up the wall, no down the wall. No." To the left of the wall. To the right of the wall. No, no that wasn't it. "Move must move. Press, no push, no pull, no press. No." Press, mess, bless, chess. Chess! Towers, towers, knights, knights guard towers. No... That wasn't it. "Oh yes, yes, chess," with a snap of the fingers and a dip in the hip. Brushing away vines and binds, and stone and carvings. "Sacrifice a pawn to protect the queen," with a punch to the wall and a yelp and an owe from the lips.

Here was the problem, so far as Vladimir saw it: Ludwig made no sense and clear sense at the same time. Clear, crystal clear, crystal, glass, mirror, mirror on the wall. He was confident that the German knew what he was talking about. Or to. Unfortunately, he could not translate the man's jumbled mass of words into anything resembling a coherent thought or idea.

Now, Vladimir did know about Chess though. Not an extremely avid player, but he knew which pieces did what and some basic strategies. So far as this little chesscapade was concerned, his strategy was to mimic the strange man's actions, brushing away visual obstructions and foliage. "Looking for Pawns, da? Pawns or Queens? Am looking for both." As he spoke, he continued his search, pressing and/or moving anything suspicious.

"Find the bishop, man of cloth, cloth man, hide in a tower with the good book, book, rook, in the tower." Back and back, arms out and about point to one stone and then another, the one and then that one, grey and gray, dark and light, black and white. Bare, so bare, the square was bare. No, not bare, it was there. "A battle field! BATTLE!"

Taking a step or three back, Vladimir's curiosity was sated as to what Ludwig was talking about. Proceeding with the analogy of the hour, the section of wall that they had cleared looked very much like a chessboard. A quick overview brought to things to Vlad's attention: 1) Someone had a lot of time on their hands, and 2) There was a piece missing from the board. "Что это?" he asked Ludwig, pointing out the gap. "For sorry. Vhat is that?" Vlad began to step forward, anxious to see if this anomaly was pertinent to their task.

To the wall, to the book, look at the wall, look at the book, back and forth, back and forth, step, step. Tap tap. "Yes, yes!" Jump, close the book and look at the wall. Touch the wall, touch the nothing, feel the nothing, feel the wall. Rough, not smooth but smoother here and wait, rough, smooth rough, in and out, ridge, river, between the river, between the ridge. "Move, move! Save the queen!"

The eyes of The Great Bazhooli lit up as realization dawned upon him - Ludwig was showing him a giant puzzle! Like the toy boxes he would see imported from the Far East, where he did not know the language but had a fondness for the foods therefrom; this was a sliding tile puzzle. Vladimir firmly grasped one of the blocks adjacent to the gap and gave it a slide. It moved, but with effort, as a rusty hinge might. Vladimir began to laugh, "Ha... Ha HA!", thick and hearty as horsemeat gravy in winter. Yes, they were in a hurry, but this... Things like this were the pepper in the soup that was life. Vlad cracked his knuckles, eager to get started.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{"In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all." -Colossians 3:11}

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Location: Nottingham
Skills: The Sacrament

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Mary gave the slightest look of surprise at Virginia's words, though not at her announcement that she was Pagan. She had assumed something similar. Honestly, she had assumed something more along the lines of ancestor worship. While it bordered along the lines of Necromancy, the concept of venerating one's forebearers wasn't unheard of, even among the Church. But this? This raised an unexpected smile on Mary's face.

Before accepting Virginia's offer to exit their rooms first, she gazed upon the Lady Crypt with solemn honesty. "Virginia, I love you as a sister. You are my friend, my adviser, and I would gladly shed blood at your side. I care not that your faith differs from mine." She gazed at Virginia for a second or two longer, then walked quietly from the room. As she came to the stairs leading down to the common area, Mary glanced behind her, saying, "I should like to know more about your Veliona. Perhaps afterward, I might tell you of St. Gertrude of Helfta, Matron of the Dead. Thuringian nun; you might like her." It truly did not matter that her friend was not Christian. As a member of the Graveolase, indeed now its leader, Mary understood the importance of allying with people of many backgrounds and beliefs. All were children of the Divine. Mary was merely an instrument of His will on Earth. It was not her place to judge.

It occurred to Mary that she still needed to apply her Trained skill of Timyne to Veta's tiger. It was only fair, considering the similar ability that she shared with her horse, Cassius. She traversed the distance across the common room downstairs, stepping out into the light of the Nottingham day. It was about time to get back on the road, and she did hope that their paths would cross with the family, especially the child in need.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main exit -> Room 203)
Skills: N/A

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It was a fine night, Gilbert noted, in Louisiana. Thanks to the time loop it was always a fine night, but sometimes it still bore notation. He marveled at the fact that, even though it was an endless loop of the same piece of time, things could still come out so differently. Their actions, no matter how small, blossomed into other happenings. And now with the introduction of new Paradoxes, things were getting interesting again. And he was hungry. But that wasn't especially new, no matter what happened to the loop.

So, perhaps a quick jaunt to the Kitchen House would be a grand idea just before the reset. Mentally Gilbert inventoried what they had available. He was feeling a bit meaty just then, perhaps something left from breakfast in the icebox would suffice. Or he could go for a can of corned beef hash. He did like the stuff, even if it did remind him of dog food. Then a notion crept into his memory: There were several cans of asparagus sitting behind the dried beans in the pantry. The thought of it suddenly made him lose his interest in a midnight snack. I mean, what the hell was canned asparagus anyway? Aside from disgusting... only to stave off starvation. And he wasn't sure if he could even die of starvation. No, wait for breakfast. Go settle in for the night.

The jog to his room was brief. He could do it in the dark. Had, many times. Up the stairs, around the bend, and into Room 203. Grab some sleep, etc. He did not count on what appeared to be an errant banana peel laying suspiciously on the floor. His hand still clutching the doorknob, Gilbert planted a foot upon the dim yellow prop, and said foot skidded out wide in front of him. The ponderous weight of the tall Emendator caught fully upon the doorknob, ripping it free from the door with a series of wooden shards. Gilbert plopped on the floor hopelessly, knowing full well that one of two people was responsible. But he was done tonight. Without bothering to right the door, he dropped the knob, stripped down to his boxers, and lay down on his bed. Gil had enough of this day.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak -> Room 209)
Skills: N/A

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Meanwhile, James busied himself with putting the cart back into the Kitchen House. So far as he knew, this "reset" they were talking about would fix everything anyway, but he at least wanted it out of the way. Keep the grounds tidy, that sort of thing. He bid a couple of polite good nights and excused himself, rolling the cart into its assigned building and turning back around to the main house. Briefly, he saw Gilbert move in the direction of the Kitchen House, but then stop, look a little green, and continue to the main house himself.

James wondered what h8s life was going to be like, starting tomorrow. Maybe like one of those old kung-fu movies he loved growing up, where he would receive massive training and a snazzy outfit. Maybe a new, fu-esque name upon graduation. It was all in the realm of fantasy, but objectively, he was a dead guy magically transported to rural Louisiana decades before he was even born. It could happen.

What could also happen was him getting rest. Being dead and the events of the day had flat worn him out. He decided to take Evelina's advice and settle in for the night, leave tomorrow's business for tomorrow. Approaching his room, he mentally prepared himself for what he would find inside. Memories and souvenirs from his old life, but also a comfortable bed in a venerable house. He could do with that. Time for sleep. The rest would sort itself out.

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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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"...damnit..." growled Ash, pulling on his personal rucksack. The dog in the backyard was making their lives perilous. He had half a mind to put a bullet into the animal and spare both it and themselves a lot of aggravation, but it was too late to avoid the Horde. They were coming, period. Maybe the dog keeps them occupied so they could get out of the front. Staring briefly into the writhing mass of rotting, putrid flesh coming for them, Ash could content himself with the fact that, at the very least, they weren't clowns. That thought alone, a horde of red noses, grease paint, and oversized shoes, gave him a sense of revulsion that surpassed even the Dead.

Ash grabbed Thana's pack and slung it over one shoulder. He could probably carry more, but time was fleeting and he had to drive. It was a short matter before that mass of Dead folks noticed that there was more to behold than a dog on top of a car and come a-looking. Now was not the time to fight. That would be suicide. While Ash felt the occasional bit of uncertainty as to his place in the world and whether or not he was doing anybody any good by continuing to consume oxygen, he was not in a hurry to die just that moment. He had to get his people into the Hordebuster and haul ass out of there. This difficulty had just moved their plans up a handful of hours. Ash's voice was quiet but soldierly as he issued orders. "Jack's on Medpack, good. Riley, get your stuff and the radio equipment. Tiff, Niesha - Supplies. As much as you can grab and still run. We got a shot at making it, but it's going to close in about a minute. Move out."

For himself, Ash made a careful beat to the Hordebuster. That thing had saved lives before, and it would again. The coast was clear, or so it seemed, so the Captain clambered into the driver's seat, tossing the packs in before him. He cracked open the suicide door leading to the sleeper section of the cab to allow for others to get in with minimal difficulty, but postponed starting the engine up until after everyone was safely on board, either in the cab, climbing up the ladders to get into the dump body, or in the vehicle that Jack and Tiffany arrived in, which he kept glancing toward in the rearview. Ash was anxious to get to put some distance between his people and these walking corpses. Their best bet would be to circle wide around the crater that was Newnan and make for the third safehouse in Moreland. It was time to go. Damn, but it really was. Luck was with them for a second or two there, how long it would hold out was anybody's guess. And if he saw just one fucking clown in that Horde... it was on.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Eden, Hallway past Mens doors -> Coming to Adamm's Wing
Skills: Stealth, Pistol, Sharp Weapons

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---

They were still moving. It was something. Being dead was not exactly the plan, and those who remained had been showing remarkable resourcefulness and determination in doing so. It was primal, almost. The idea of a no surrender, no retreat scenario in which the few of hers or the many of theirs would meet their untimely demise was not something she would have signed on for, generally. This felt different, though. So very different. Thalia had taken lives before. A handful, really, but there were people who failed to have a pulse because of her. This was done purely for survival. Right now though? Thalia had killed more people than she ever dreamed she might just today, and it was because she chose to do so. They could have sidestepped this whole, freaky dilemma, but didn't. Saints help her, but she was skirting the line between not minding the killing and genuinely liking it.

Her eyes remained focused on her surroundings, even as her hands reflexively went through the steps required to flip out her clips, first in the Beretta and then the Glock. It seemed fitting to use the strange man's weapon instead of her own MSS issued pistol, like part of him was there, helping her. Guiding her. Fighting alongside her. Astrid's shield gave a similar feeling. Thalia tucked the other 9mm back into its holster and carefully drew her machete. Spirits seemingly melded with the ash upon her face, soaking into her essence like fire caressing her soul, fueling her. It was a strange thing she had noticed about herself since this apocalypse started - Fire. She couldn't seem to get enough of it anymore. Not that she was stupid about it, far from, just that it had become her favorite tool, second only to the blade in her hand. Visions of burning this unwholesome place to the ground and letting the Zeds pick over the embers brought a smile to her face. God, but she wanted to burn something. She would have to settle for just the battle right now and let the blaze come after.

Thana's assertion that she indeed "got her six" earned her a quiet growl of recognition. Navy was still capable of fighting, if limited somewhat. A bitch like that would survive, and that's what she needed. Thalia could now focus her attention forward, to the corner that she had to go around. Quietly and quickly, she approached, listening for any signs of movement whatsoever. She simply couldn't tell, and resolved to rush forward the next few feet as if to "shock and awe" anyone nearby. She had close and far combat options, but she did so appreciate close. Her decision was rewarded by the view of a lone Edenite swinging a rifle in her direction. The suddenly close quarters did little to help with this tactic, however. Thalia was close enough to bat the barrel of the weapon away from herself with her machete and step past the business end, silencing its wielder with a quick lateral slash to the throat. She then paused, even as the floor pooled with arterial crimson, and listened with weapons at the ready. She didn't believe there was just one hiding around here. There had to be more.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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The Scythe

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Location: Over Grimm, Indiana -> Airstrip

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That's it, Charlie, you've got this. They said you shouldn't get back to work so soon after going cold turkey, but damnit, you've got moxie. Moxie! Yes, this problem is licked, pure and simple. It takes a lot of gumption (and that's a whole lot) to get back behind the stick of an aircraft after shoving a twenty year monkey off your back. Oh, and that was a big monkey, wasn't it? Such a big, hairy monkey named GIN. Oh, but you beat that monkey with a stick, didn't you? Yeah... monkey. Let's just say that a few more times, okay? Monkey. Monkey, monkey, monkey. Monkey. And it's gone now. It is gone, right?

Oh sure, it hasn't been but a few days since that last drink and you feel like leftover ass, but that's okay! These are times that you must remain STRONG. Don't let that monkey ride your ass like you're the official welcoming committee gift/temporary girlfriend for Cell Block Six's branch of the Aryan Vanguard! And it will, oh yes. It will. It's already getting out the Motion Lotion and Marvin Gaye albums, lubing itself up and setting the mood for its last big push to get you back, but you're not gonna do it! Oh no, you're gonna fly this plane, no matter what.

No matter the chills that you've been getting, no matter the horrible, gnawing cold that radiates from your very core, yo will fly this goddamned plane over these United States, carrying your people from Point A to Point B without incident. Oh yes. Never you mind the squirrels that are staring at you from the shadows of the cockpit. Hold the phone?

Okay, the squirrels you can deal with. They're probably not there anyway. Just make sure you stay tight with the horizon, keep your altitude where it's supposed to be, and never you mind the sugar ants crawling up your legs. Are you serious? Oh, and the wave of nausea hits again. Ok, just find that trash bin again, there's a good fellow. So, you can't throw up any more, can you Charlie? Not to worry! There's still some yellow-brown bile you can dredge up. Wait, quick... that guy Ross is back. Just chill. Maintain. You have to pilot this bird, and you're almost there. Don't let the monkey win.

"Yes, Mr. Ross, sir. Just a little while until we begin our descent." Yeah, there we go! That worked. Now, give yourself a moment to feel bad. This is natural! Part of the process! No, no... NO! Stop slapping those ants away! Now you know they're not really there, don't you? They're a product of The Monkey! Alright, you're good. You're good...

Squirrels!

Fuckshitgoddamnmotherasswhyaretheyeatingyou? Why? Why are the squirrels chewing your nipples off? And why are you so tired? NO, you've got this, you've got this. You've got...

.

..

...

Okay! You're awake again! Good, good. That was a close one. It's a good thing that huge booming sound woke you up. Was that an engine? That was an engine. Are the geese even flying this high this time of year? Can they? Oh, you're descending. That makes sense. It make sense that you haven't responded to anything in the last few... what time it it? But the geese. You remember the last time you piloted a small plane through a migratory path, don't you? Yes, it was all that damn Monkey's fault! If you weren't so caught up under its influence, those geese never would have had to die. And neither would your engine. Is that what happened? Hmm?

You're not feeling too hot, Charlie, I know. But it's almost done. Oh dear, I believe that you've gone and soiled yourself. Well, no matter. And again. Alright, there's no hiding that from Mr. Ross if he pokes his head back in. But why are you so cold now? Why can't you keep your hands from shaking? Why are the fucking squirrels back again? The staring, the chewing, oh God the chewing. They're not there though, are they? Then why are you fighting them? And why can't you move your arms so much? Damn you, Monkey.

Okay, shit is together, Charlie. There's the airstrip. Just put the plane down. Don't convulse! Don't convulse. Just set the bird on the ground. Just put the bird... no, don't pass out on the stick! You bastard! The Monkey is winning! No! Wake up! Wake up! WAKE U-

---

The plane made it to the runway, no question. It came in hard, plowing nosefirst into the earth. The front end turned into an accordion, but the main body remained roughly intact, allowing for the survival of the passengers. The pilot was significantly less lucky. If the withdrawal didn't do him in with mortifying, ugly, frothing last few moments, the crash definitely did. He hung on for just long enough for shock to stop his heart, his undergarments filled with unseemly beige foam birthed of delirium.

While the passengers survived, and can escape the wreckage of the plane, the phrase to describe them at present is "Severely Fucked".

Good luck.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Justice Airport, Private Hangar
Skills: N/A
Skills: Security Procedures

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The words that came out of Maria's mouth were true. So far as family was concerned, the Mexicans and the Irish had certain similarities. Different flavor, definitely, but cultural similarities were abound. The stereotype for violence was strong in both as well. Unfortunately, it was one stereotype that Caesar lived up to. "Because we are strong, Maria. Sometimes, we need to remind ourselves." He looked around the otherwise vacant hangar. His words seemed to echo back upon him. Three generations of La Familia were in one place, one unsecured place, and they were not remotely armed enough. Justice, California was a place of death and betrayal. This was not acceptable. Purely for the sake of keeping the conversation light while they were still in relative open, he commented, "Angelita, you would know - you're both Irish and Mexican, right?" He grabbed up his luggage and began for Keystone's vehicle, but slowly, as to keep his family, extended or otherwise, in his sights.

"My ma was Scottish, Tio. Carmichael?" from the younger half-Latina, who had just righted her backpack over her shoulder. She gave a playful sneer in Maria's direction in response to the comment abut her metabolism, following it up with, "Jealous?" It wasn't the most fair of comments. Maria was a striking lady for any age, let alone her coming autumn years. But the exchange was enough for Keystone to note that they were, all three, very close if not altogether 100% friendly. They were family. Now, thanks to the baby in his arms, they were his family. He'd never really had that before, not except for his mother. She was gone, now. To make matters even more real for him, Keystone caught a glance of Caesar. He was apparently back on the clock, as it were. A chill swept up his spine, and he too understood what it meant to fear for the safety of a family. This was not unlike him, but the application of it was new. "Right then..." he rolled out in his solid Cockney accent.

Caesar grumbled something about Celts in general, unwilling to get into a discussion about the semi-murky cultural differences between Scots and Irish in the United States. Cultural identity was important, as well it should be, but foremost in his concern was getting his people to a site where he had relative control over the surroundings. "Angel, get the carseat set up in the back and help me with the bags. We need to move. Ahora. Thalia's head snapped over at her uncle, about to say some manner of snappy retort, but the look on his face shut her down. Back to business.

Still cradling little Liam in his arms, Keystone made for his Ramcharger. He carefully inched one hand forward, opening the door without jostling his tiny son. It was a little harder than he had anticipated, being that he was not generally the baby holding type. It would require more practice, without doubt. What he could do right then was his job. He was a security agent. They were in a junction point where the mode of transportation was being changed - a perfect spot to hit a target, if indeed they were a target. He scoped the entry points, windows, angles of potential attack. He mentally plotted the course back to the Queensguard MSS office, an alternate route of course, and tried like hell to retain his scope of professionalism despite the rising urge to put these people inside of his vehicle personally and cart them away to a cave someplace, preferably with a huge ironbound door and an electrified fence. Except for Caesar. He could take care of himself. Bastard punched him in his head. ...ok fine. Him, too.

Thalia took up the carseat from the baggage rack and gave it a quick jog to Keystone's Dodge. On the way, she passed by Caesar who was still looking more observant than usual, his piercing hazel eyes moving in a way that was not unlike the big Anglo guy carrying Liam. She shot him a quizzical look, asking a question without actually speaking a word. "No, Sobrina. I just have a feeling. Like when I was still a Federale." He was indeed Mexican National Police once upon a time. It was a horrifying era and a highly corrupt organization. One did not know who to trust. Many died or were never heard from again. The whole situation with Justice reminded him of exactly that scenario, how it was likely going to continue to play out, and the fact that he had more people he cared about in the mix. This would not do. "Go on, get Liam in and then let's grab our gear. I don't like us being out any more than we have to."

Though the words were directed at Thalia, Keystone took them to heart as well, responding, "Yeah, Boss. Gotcha." He buckled the baby into the carseat and made short work of grabbing and stowing baggage; the Ramcharger was damned good for both seating and storage. It was a good thing too, as he was unaware that he would need accommodations for four (and a half) people. He allowed his hurried need to secure these people and their things to motivate him, and in short order had his vehicle packed and ready to move. "Let's be off, then. Set up in the Security 'ub back as MSS on the now, figure out the afters, after. Yeah?"