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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1 → 8 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Dr. Swamp
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Forest: Front Gate
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 4
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎


Swamp, indeed. It was an interesting, if not very accurate pseudonym that was forced upon him, in his estimation. No matter, it would suffice for now. It would probably be for the best that he be lent the use of an alias. The man now known as Dr. Swamp settled back in his seat within his carriage, hoping to get a small nap before it was time to socialize. Try as he might, sleep did not seem to want to take him that hour. His mind was abuzz with a million things, some of which were in preparation for just this night. It would ordinarily be an exceptionally rare privilege to visit the illustrious and secretive Shadowell Manor, but upon this day much of the luster had been taken from the pearl of the event. Hopefully there would be cake. He did rather enjoy cake.

The carriage rolled to a stop near the large, foreboding gates of Shadowell Manor, it's driver resolute in his professional endeavors and yet hesitant about approaching too closely, circumstances given what they were. Instead, he gave a sharp but polite rap on the footrest of his perch, giving final notice to the assertion that they had arrived.

The good Doctor grabbed up his personals and made sure that his mask was comfortable and well-fitting. He would be wearing it for a long time, and under unusual circumstances. Swinging open the door to his fine carriage, Dr. Swamp retrieved a stout, knob headed walking cane, suitable for gentlemanly outings of this nature, and stepped out into the weather of the season. The sudden rush of biting cold struck him; had he forgotten to bring his overcoat again? It seemed a pity, he did very much like his coat and it would have been useful to him at the present. While the Doctor did appreciate the cold over excessive warmth, the telltale shivering that came about him unbidden did convey the fact that he would much rather be indoors at that moment.

A slow, knowing nod was given to the driver, followed by a coin pressed into his palm. Understanding his duties, the driver nodded back and retook his position with the carriage, leaving Dr. Swamp to see to his affairs.

Leaning heavily upon his walking stick, Dr. Swamp moved to join the milling group of people in finery with faces obscured, and settled his gaze over on such individual in particular. Another gentleman, or so he assumed, wearing mask and garb not dissimilar from his own, but of seemingly lesser, almost comical quality. He gave the man long regard before observing the rest of the persons gathered in greater detail, noting the lopsided ratio of ladies present. A smile might have been visible from under his mask, if viewed from the proper angle. Anonymity may lead to other, more interesting forms of trouble, be it tryst or merely social frivolity. Dr. Swamp adjusted the flower on his lapel, a beautiful, delicate thing of clockwork petals rather than its natural counterpart, and produced his invitation from his inside vest pocket.

Dogs and doormen, guns and secrecy. High fences and blood and masks. What joys this night would bring. As it came his turn to step through the gates, the Doctor noted with some reservation that the lady in front of him had chosen that moment to collapse. With a sigh, Dr. Swamp knelt before the prone and prostrate figure of Director Kindle. "I dare not make assumption without a proper evaluation, though a layman might guess that the weather is a factor." he said with a touch of impatience. From his kneeling position, Dr. Swamp held up his invitation to the imposing gatekeeper with a shivering hand, completing his thought aloud, "We need to get her inside immediately. She must have an invitation somewhere." The Doctor took a quick look around, hoping it would be located quickly.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks (Officers' Club)
Skills: N/A


The relation of the story of Peter, from the point of view of George Benaszewski, was bittersweet. As much a source of pride to the Lord Major as it was a thing which cut him to his very core. This was a side of his dear nephew that he knew was in there; the bravery and compassion, that which was best in all men but rarely shown. Reginald was upset that he never got to see this level of decency and personal heroism himself, but he knew it was in the boy.

Carefully, Reginald picked up the chunk of oddly shaped metal. It was the reason that he required the use of a cane - hobbled for life - and yet symbolic of the depth of character possessed by the man. Pride would have had the Lord Major tout the superior character and noble bearing of the Keystone lineage, which he was almost tempted to say aloud, but the idea died away quickly. His actions were his own, his decisions a product of his own mettle. Reginald raised his glass and gave solemn agreement to George, describing him as the bravest man that he ever knew, and whispered, "Indeed, sir. Peter Keystone." He took a healthy swallow of his whisky an set the glass back upon the table.

Reginald splashed another dram of the smoky amber fluid into his glass and George's, inquiring of him, "Where do your duties take you next, Mr. Benaszewski?"
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov
"The Great Bazhooli"
Location: North of London (By means of Northwest Inner Wall)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Brivaldi, Acrobat, English


Standing atop his great black horse in the manner of a top-hatted Russian monolith, Vladimir's steely eyes regarded the people below him. The urging to commit to a path, one way or another, was a tougher decision than he had preferred to make. On the one hand, the visions of his own people, and by that he meant the Firewalker, Constantin, gave very telling images about the direction they needed to go. On the other hand, the innate knowledge of the German, Ludwig, allowed for a path to their ultimate destination, and in fact, their quarry's intended destination, even faster. Provided that they could book appropriate passage in time. Therein lay the problem.

The words of those around him gave him less in the way of hope than he really needed. Until Constantin had to toss in his two rubles. The fire in the elder Russian's eyes stoked to life. His knees gave the tiniest of bends, and then straightened with unbelievable velocity, launching The Great Bazhooli into the air to tumble, spinning, end over end one full revolution to land directly in front of the newly arrived Firewalker. His hat was in one hand, which he promptly fit back upon his head with a flourish. "Da. Da! DA, Firewalker Constantin! Is vhy ve pay you the... eh, vell, the moderate monies! Yes? Yes. Qvick like rabbit, run to Baron. Vill be needing English Pound Sterling for travel money. Permissions from him, moneys from Viktor. For please. You have amazing idea!"

Vladimir began to select a smallish group, but powerful in Rusyn training, to join he and Ludwig on the road to Bristol. The bulk of the Circus would continue on the northward path, following the signs of the Tretiy Glaz. Vladimir laughed long and hard, the regarded his advisers for the journey, Ludwig and Thalken. "Am thanking the boths of you. Good. Good! Ve take both. Now, must decide whos and vheres. Follow mission of Grand Duchess! Stop vedding of pain and miseries. Then ve meet up vith Circus again. Group on land, find and help qvesting womens. Meet up again. Who goes, vhat do ve take?"

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale


“The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming.”
Location: Road between Nottingham & Manchester
Skills: Horseback Riding


Mary tried very hard to ignore her friend's assertion of murder. Had she but put it any other way... Well regardless, she was not going to support outright murder. Challenge, perhaps. Or the exaction of punishment appropriate to a violation of God's or the Crown's edicts. Or simple defense. From what she had heard of this Rutherford, any of these events were possible. The fact that he was Mary's clan's seat Laird, as a matter of standing, tempted her to adopt a certain matter of moral fluidity concerning the man's death. Perhaps this is why, when accepting many of her vows, she relinquished claims that were not specifically permitted by the Church. It split loyalties otherwise. At any rate, she would have to ask permission from a ranking member of the Church before taking up any secular appointment, even if it involved her own family.

This was, however, immaterial to the emergency at hand. Veta was taken, be she still alive or no, and was in the clutches of what she assumed was a form of Soulless. To follow her, which was the young Apostolic's decision, would be to abandon the quest she had pledged herself to when they formed their accord in the Circus tent. However, Mary had already pledged herself to protect the Grand Duchess to the best of her ability. However, she also promised Elizaveta the use of her sword, metaphorically speaking, so long as it did not go against the Church's interests. These things weighed heavily upon Mary, but despite wisdom to the contrary, she had decided to follow the path of this creature, if only to recover Veta's body.

Then the decision was made for her. Thunder, wind, biting cold and unnatural lightning colored of blood. This was not weather that was sanctioned by the Almighty. And worse yet, any trace of their trail was obliterated. Utterly, completely gone. Looking to the east, Mary could see that whatever this was, it was merely the first course in a grand feast of difficulties poised to hammer upon them. Cassius whinnied and began to rear, nervous despite his superior training. Mary leaned down, attempting to calm the noble beast. Grudgingly, Mary turned back to Virginia, having to shout over the weather, "In the Name of God, I swear that I am sorry, Virginia! We cannot follow Veta! If we do not seek shelter for ourselves, we are also lost! We must continue after Millicent, or this will have been for nothing!"

Tears streaming down her face, Mary urged her tense horse back in the direction of the road north. They had to find decent shelter, and very soon.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sorry for the double post. CS submission:

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Hordebuster
Skills: Leadership, Mechanic, Engineering


Ash actually let out a scoff when Tiffany made her crack about religious people. It was a tiny irony; Ash had been raised in a household that was pretty religious. Churchgoers apparently, when they weren't making illegal hooch. Well, his and his father's generation did a fairly good job of legitimizing their people in the eyes of the law. Mostly his father. Still, no matter what horrible things were going on around them, personal loss, or awful goddamn collapse of an entire community full of people just trying to make it in a world that shared a zip code with Hell, Ash was a man who, deep down, still believed in God. He just wasn't sure what he'd say to God if he met the guy today. Probably something that would get him in trouble.

He kept a solid demeanor going for the sake of his people, though. They had a plan, it had no obviously major flaws, and Ash meant to follow it. Part of that plan might have been mentioned in front of Jack and Tiffany, then again it might not have. Now was about a good enough time as any to review. "Known hostiles in this area are from Eden - Peachtree City - Fairburn and Franklin joined up with us." Though he didn't say it, in hindsight maybe they would have been better off on their own. Scraping by was better than joining The Horde. But he continued on a positive note. "We have a team hitting Eden right now. If nothing else, they're going to be too goddamned busy to deal with the likes of us." Yeah. Them or the wall of the Dead slouching unerringly toward them. One problem at a time.

Following Tiffany's navigation, Ash took a left onto the first respectable street that came along. South... It wasn't quite east, but it was more productive than traveling the opposite direction of where they wanted to head. They'd fully course correct soon enough. Just a question of when. Unfortunately, that last chunk of positive thought was cut short by a bout of coughing. Ash recognized that smell; plastic wire casing due to an electrical fire. "Shit. Radio!" he exclaimed through a cough, moving his left hand to open the window (but not the window grate) next to him, "Turn off the radio! Batteries out!" he elaborated, trying like hell to maintain level and forward motion in regards to his vehicle. He slowed but did not stop. Their urgency had to be tempered with safety. Lives were at stake; theirs and others.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: Eden
Skills: N/A


Thalia was a huge fan of the concept of gearing up and blowing town. Now that the big guy, the asshole in charge, was kind enough to have accepted her offer to eat a bullet in exchange for raiding their supplies, Thalia intended to do just that. Weapons and food. She had all the weapons a girl could ask for, including a lent Beretta that she would have to return, but ammunition and as much food as she could carry out of that place would suit her just fine. "Hey there, Navy..." she started, looking over Thana, Yeah, you could use some stitches and a shot of mescal. Let's get out of here." First things first, though. Addressing Alexander, she simply said, "Window." and motioned to Thana's rope.

There were a few things of hers back in that tank that she needed to get. Actually driving that thing out of here, while it would had been extremely helpful these past few months, was not an option. It would be best to disable the mobile weapon and salvage what they could, which in her case meant her backpack and crude spear. It was silly, but she liked that length of fire-hardened stick. Damned useful too, as humanity in general had found out, utilizing similar technology since its dawning. And the backpack; she had been traveling light as of late. Plenty of room for ramen, MREs, and cans of SpaghettiOs. Come to think of it, Lola kept a decent stash of foodstuffs back there, herself. Then it hit her: Lola.

Her best friend in the world was dead. Her only friend. The last person she fully trusted was laying dead in this place, and there wasn't a single thing she could do about it. At least she got the chance to put a blade into her brain. It counted for something. Thalia felt like crying right then and there, but stifled hard and fast. Not yet. Almost there, but not yet. Thalia looked to Thana. The Navy chick had people she needed to get back to. One in particular, if the promise she shouted across that newformed ravine meant anything. "We have more supplies in the tank. This place has got to have a couple of working vehicles somewhere. I say we load up, and get back to the truck. Whoevah wants to part ways afteh, fine. We don't owe each other a thing." She looked back down the way they had come, in the general direction of the cache, "And it looks like your people are gonna need all the help they can get."

Looking back to Thana, she continued, "I've got someplace I need to get to. Just to see if it's still standing. Just so I know. It's a long, long ways from here though. Before I do, I'm going to help you get back to your guy. Okay? You and most of the stuff in that room." She smiled, trying to add a touch of levity to the situation. "Except for the SpaghettiOs. I already called dibs."

Thalia kept one of her pistols out as she returned to the cache. Everyone seemed to be helping themselves, which was the prudent thing to do. Especially considering that it was a very orderly ransacking of the supplies. No one trying to hoard or divide the good up for themselves. It was the first step in trust; if not trust then cooperation, at the very least. No one was trying to Alpha their way through it nor pull weapons yet. This was good. As long as they were all getting along nicely, Thalia would join in on the looting. She grabbed a bag and deposited a couple boxes of 9mm NATO rounds inside, as well as some spare clips and a good knife. Following that was as much food and bottled water as would comfortably fit. No sense in overstuffing and being greedy. She turned to the others, "Navy's got herself a problem, what with all that blood she's losing. Beatrice here's got what? Slug still in that leg? I can use some bandages myself. And we got to get these supplies to people that need them - I got more in that tank. I'm willing to bet that Asshat back theah has some goodies in his quarters, too. We got work here still, and those of us that can walk okay without major blood loss need to do most of it."

She didn't order, she didn't bully. Thalia had her own plans that just now coincided with this group of people, and survival was more likely if they were all in their best condition possible, and as thoroughly equipped as possible. It was almost a movie trailer tagline, but Thalia had somewhere to be.
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Scythe
Location: Woods near the Hidden Airstrip, Grimm, Indiana


Debris was the least of their problems. Directly, anyway. The trees, on the other hand, had much to fear. A random chunk of what used to be a skyworthy vehicle tumbled and spun well over their heads, descending earthward in a ballistic arc. The shaggy piece of aircraft aluminum and fiberglass must have been propelled straight up, or nearly so, in the last big detonation, just now properly finding its way back to the earth from whence it came. It clipped the top third off of a white spruce overhead, dropping the chunk of majestic evergreen down to the earth below. Unfortunately, that space of earth was occupied by a Miss Kingston and a Mr. Ross.

The smell of green woodsmoke and fresh sap permeated Iris's nostrils, the only clear piece of sensory input she could detect at first. After what seemed like a hour (but was probably only a few seconds), she became aware that she was laying on the ground and a voice kept calling to her, repeatedly insisting that she wake up. Was she asleep? Yes, she might have been. This could easily have all been some stupid dream, a byproduct of all that "exotic Californian cuisine" to which she had been subjected recently. Honestly, there are some things broccoli shouldn't be a part of. Ever.

Perception became jolted into a much clearer state of awareness as Ross took hold of Iris's arm and gave it a slow, steady pull. The resulting flash of unparalleled agony that erupted from Iris's leg and midsection fully brought her back into the world of the living, a state which she immediately regretted. Sheared branches had impaled her abdomen and the bulk of the trunk's weight pressed down upon her, pinning her to the ground. Though the downed foliage prevented any inspection lower than that, there was grave and sharp suspicion that at least one of her legs were broken, and quite badly. There was a taste of copper in her mouth, faint but quite present. It was unmistakably blood.

Ross let her arm go the instant he realized the state of the young woman and looked around frantically, hoping for some miracle to have occurred or for something he could improvise into a lifesaving apparatus, a lever, something. There was the barest, most desperate chance if he could get Iris out of there immediately. Cut the branches, pull her free, drag her down to the nearest place with antibiotics and surgical equipment. It had been a long while since he had been around this area, but he was pretty sure there was a veterinarian's office somewhere down the hill. They could make it. They had to.

Ross's concentration was snatched away from the emergency at hand by a rustling sound off to his left. Though Iris could not see from her vantage, she could hear a breathy, whuffing sound, loud enough to be detected over the distant sound of fire crackling. The grunting, baying sound that followed unmistakably marked the source of the sound as one of Indiana's slowly rebounding Black Bear population. Even if one had never seen a black bear in person, it could be nothing else. The older mercenary froze in place, one hand drifting to his sidearm. This was not something he needed - that either of them needed - to deal with right then. The damn thing was probably curious about the loud noises in its foraging grounds, and upon coming to inspect the source of them, smelled blood. A hungry bear is a dangerous, unpredictable thing. Ross and Iris didn't have time to wait and see what it was going to do, either. With a steady hand, he raised his gun and took aim at the ursine beast.

In response, the animal sneezed once, made an odd rawrk-ing sound, then began scraping dirt and loose pine needles over a recently deposited pile of "bear leavings". Ross sighed heavily and lowered his weapon. "It's okay... It's okay. Bear shitting in the woods. He doesn't care about us. Alright girl, I'm going to find something to cut these branches, and we're getting out of here. You're going to be just fi-" A sharp metallic sound, like a freeweight clapping onto another cut his sentence short. Ross's eyes went wide for a second. He slumped to his knees, and then fell over to one side. A single, perfectly round hole decorated the back of his head, venting blood and cerebrospinal fluid in a steady stream onto the dirt below.

"No, no, no, no NO." came a voice from behind him. "No, we can't do that at all. Not at all, not at all, not at all. Less fun when they're fully dead - need them to kick a little bit, hmmm... Kicking. Screaming. Squeeeealing. Just... just a little. Just a little ...bit." The voice was oddly feminine, but colored in a way that made it sound grotesquely cartoonish.

The source of the unsettling words stepped around and into Iris's view. Through the haze of pain and shock, she could see something that made her long for the possibility of being food for woodland predators. It was a clown. Mama June on a strict regimen of anabolic steroids and cooking lard, somehow crossed with the neglected diesel engine of a late model garbage barge. She was huge. A kind of morbid obesity common only to hoarders and shut-ins, yet impossibly this one was active. Even agile. The puffy costume common to those in the clowning profession clung tightly to her, plastered down with a horrifying state of unwash to the point that it was semitransparent, showing the disturbing folds of corpulent skin underneath. Ruffles and folds of cloth that once bounced about with light and airy movement now hung limp and soiled, mortifying stains set with indelible permanency underneath her arms and around the neckline, with mildly dissimilar ones radiating from her crotch. The skin of her face seemed to hang off of her skull in a way that suggested, rather than promised, that it was still attached. Filthy blonde hair framed her chunky, sweat streaked features, divided from a ripped bald portion of scalp above and braided into pigtails that slapped the sides of her face as she breathed heaving, labored lungfuls of air. The grease paint that was once thickly applied had mostly rubbed off, though a shadow of what was could be sussed out among the grime and cracked dermis. She held an older model of captive bolt gun, a pneumatic device used for the quick and repetitive knocking of herd animals for slaughter. It dripped tiny blobs of crimson that once belonged to Ross.

The tiniest giggle escaped her. She looked down at the pinned and horribly wounded Iris, and gave her a broad, toothy smile. "Girl time! Yes, girl time, girl time, all the time in the world, time. I've sooooo missed being with the girls. So very, very much. But we must keep them alive this time, yes. Aliiiiive. Your mister didn't stay alive, but that's okay, girly girl. I can have so much fun with them for a while after. After. Yes, after..." She stepped a little closer to Iris, breasts heaving with excitement at meeting a new friend. "And after, plaything, little plaything, make me feel so jolly and gooey and..." She stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. She detected something nearby.

Still at the scene, the black bear raised onto its hind legs and roared loudly, staring down the strange events unfolding in its claimed territory. Clown-Lady began to cackle, a lingering and piercing sound that jarred bones and set teeth to grind. The bear suddenly fell silent and dropped to all fours, giving serious consideration to picking out a new spot on the hill to call home. One could almost hear the bear enunciate "NOPE!" as it turned around and began to exit the area with decided haste.

No! no, no, no... No, it saw us. It saw. SAW US. Little girl, you stay here. Right here. Riiiight... Nanny will be back. Promise. Then we can have our... girl time. Hmm, yes... Talk about television and hairstyles and..." she stomped heavily on Ross's dead skull, screaming, "NO BOYS ALLOWED!!! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? Your turn next. Next, fun... but bear..." The clown turned fully in the direction of the retreating bear and ran, impossibly fast for her ungainly bulk, laughing and promising awful things to the woodland mammal in her wake.

Iris had lost blood. A lot. Too much. Eyes fluttered closed, and considering the circumstances it would be a blessing if it was indeed the last time that they did. But even this last mercy was denied. From nowhere, a heavy slap sounded from her cheek, delivered by a grimy, fetid hand. Clown-Lady was back, covered all down her front with splashes of drying crimson. How much time had past? The fire had gotten closer; the air around them was drier and the small of smoke was almost all encompassing. Almost. The rot and animal smells of the clown seemed unaffected by even this.

"No! Girls stick together. You can't go yet. Not yet, no. Can't go yet. Not until I let you. Girls. Stick. Together." The thing that likely used to be a woman took iron hold upon Iris's shoulders and yanked with unforeseen strength, actually moving her some from underneath the downed tree. The problem was, she was still impaled by several branches. The holes made by them widened and tore unmercifully, apparently away from the notice of the monstrous clown who merely tugged harder and harder. The last thing that Iris heard aside from the ripping of her own flesh and internal organs, was this awful, insane thing scolding her:

GIRLS STICK TOGETHER! STICK TOGETHER! YOU DIDN'T STICK TOGETHER, LITTLE GIRL! DID YOU? NO! NO! DIDN'T! ...not as much fun... but some. Not as much ..."

Caesar & Keystone

Location: Queensguard R&D Complex
Skills: N/A
Skills: Stamina


Of all the things that Keystone had done in his life, all of the hurt and damage that he had both inflicted and personally suffered were nothing as compared to the horror that lay before him. It was a baby. His baby, a thing which just yesterday he would have deemed next to impossible, but here he was. More importantly, here lay his diaper, filled to bursting with something vaguely resembling a septic system backup that invaded a Play-Doh factory and tried to run away with the unfinished products therein. Point of fact, the experience made a marked change in the man, altering his respect for the average stay-at-home Mom to something more elevated, even exalted. "Gravy's fonging, piss-weathered sake, Miss Santiago..." He looked up at the mature yet vital woman, nodding. "I understand now." His voice was filled with the certainty of a man that just uncovered a fundamental truth for himself. Grimly, he set to task.

Meanwhile, Caesar was doing as Caesar did, which mostly revolved around reading site reports, asking the occasional technical question, and intimidating the employees in small but meaningful ways. Having made quick rounds in the Hub, he settled on the Tech Crew from Seattle. He hadn't seen them in a long while; not since coming to California. But he recognized them all, and they certainly recognized him. The only person who didn't know anybody here was Thalia. "It has been a long time. Thank you for coming down this way. As you well know, being here constitutes hazard work. You will be compensated accordingly. As you also know, you have been waiting for your team lead. That in a moment."

He took the time to address the deaths on site, but he kept it quick. "Director Keystone has already told me what went happened recently. I need you to know that none of this was your fault. There are things at play in Justice that appear to remove a lot of choice in our actions. It's like we're cursed. And you are adjusting to a very bad situation. As long as you are loyal, as long as you give me your best, you have a place here. Alicia has earned your trust and respect. It's why we are all here. It's why you will always have a place with us. Now," He waved his niece over to join them, which she did with neutral expression. "This is Thalia Carmichael. She comes to us from the Boston branch. Youngest department lead that we have ever had at MSS. You will hear rumors. You remember, she earned her position here. I wouldn't put her on this unless she didn't."

Thalia noted that he left out the part where they were of direct relation. Truly, she could pass as a stranger almost as easily as a member of La Familia; she could thank her mother for that. If one were to look closely, they would see the telltale hazel eyes with the same shape as her cousin and uncle, and the sometimes unruly black hair, but otherwise, she looked mostly Caucasian, if of uncertain complexion under artificial light. A very pale skinned lady of Scottish descent birthed her, and it was her features that warred with those of Benicio Gonzalez, her father by blood. Thalia gave Caesar a sideways look, but turned her slightly narrowed eyes to her new team instead. "Big introductions latah, alright?" she spoke with authority, her New England accent getting the batter of her. Get me up to speed, and someone find me Alicia's machine. That last part's on the now.

"And someone let me know the second my take-out gets here." Priorities.



In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Belladonna & James

Location: Ville au Camp -> New Orleans, 1800's -> Ville au Camp
Skills: N/A Skills: N/A

It was truly amazing how the turning back of time kept a grave so very fresh, at least the ground itself. Belladonna knew better than to assume that the body was in the same shape it had been two months before. Filling a roll that was one held by an Emendator was a great task and rather enlightening. A lot of time had been spent with Alexandra over the last two months and it was enjoyable but it was time to move on. James was up now and she let a spider crawl across her fingers as she waited next to the fallen ones final resting place.

And indeed James was up, not only in the rotation for training but up for the morning, headed toward the gravesite with something of optimism brewing in the back of his brain. It was a long two months training with The Watch, one of serene studious intent. One of papers and uncomfortable desks, and busting his mind to remember things he had long skipped over in his high school and GED lessons from a lifetime ago. But this time, he had the unique distinction of learning from am elder Paradox, one that, by the looks of her, would be giving him a much different sort of lesson for the day. Optimism, and the barest hint of anxiety of the unknown, colored his thoughts as he walked up to the pale Paradox, removed his cowboy hat, and said as respectfully as a Child of the South could muster, "Mornin', Miss Belladonna. It's a honor havin' this time with you."

Holding out a slender hand towards James the elder Paradox gave a chilling smile. "I am sure it is. An old friend of yours has spoken to me about your time. Truly a dark era, one I believe I would have enjoyed greatly." Her words were silky as they rolled off her tongue. A friend of his? Who could she have been speaking about? The trainees were pretty much stuck with their trainers if they weren't sleeping, so that would mean that she hadn't had a lot of time to speak with Sophia. Was there someone else there the rest were not aware of?

The assessment that Belladonna gave of James's native spot in the timelines was not an incorrect one, though he had to take her assertion that she would have enjoyed it with a grain of salt. Or a shaker full. "That place where I'm from? It ain't so dark." His voice was grave, even certain as he spoke. There was a telltale note of experience to his words. "It'll draw the darkness outta you though, hard an' fast, like it or not. Even the best of us, if'n you want to survive." What used to be his Georgia, United States, at the beginning of the 21st century was a place that belonged in the worst parts of the Bible. James wrestled with the desire to return to help the people he considered family and sheer relief that he was no longer in the middle of it, even if he had to die to get out. Then the rest of her words hit the fledgling wereboar. "Wait, which friend?"

There was a sly smile on the womans lips as she looked towards James. "Schrödinger." Belladonna was rather frank in her speech as she glanced up and down his body. "Oh this will never do, you look far too free." Kneeling down she reached behind the tree by the grave and pulled out a burlap sack. Rising back to full height she held it out to him between two fingers. "Today, I own you. Now, change darling. We have to hurry, the boat sets sail soon." The woman was still dressed in black with a tight corset but on closer inspection it was obvious she was no longer wearing her hobble skirt. The woman was in black fitting slacks and knee high boots. She even had a whip on her hip.

The man cast a very wary eye over Belladonna. The truth of his people's history, the being of African descent living in the American South, was that some of his ancestors were considered property, once upon a time. It looked very much like he was about to visit that "once upon a time" very shortly. On the other hand, a charmingly svelte goth lady just claimed personal ownership of him. That... could have perks. His own proclivities warred with his sense of ethical outrage at institutionalized slavery, until two facts poked into his mind: One, he would likely be sent on tasks in places where a person who looked like him would be at severe disadvantage. He needed to play the role that would allow him to blend, like a professional. And two, the lady had said Schrödinger. "Schrody? He a damn... You talk to cats? Course you talk to cats. Why wouldn't you talk to... ?" James shook his head a few times and tried to rummage through the sack. There was a fairly decent quality suit in there, with tails and a very fancy derby hat. Black, of course, with white shirt and wide black tie. It was, at one point in time, disparagingly described as a "monkey suit". "Aw, so I'm your Houseboy, is 'at so Miss Bella, Ma'am? Aight then." And when his brain caught up to him, "Wait... what'd Schrody say to you?"

There was a nod from the woman as she laced her fingers together. His look would play the part she needed of him for this little expedition. Motioning with a slender finger for him to follow her, she made her way towards a portal that was ready. "That man says a lot but never speaks straight. I believe he has spent too much time as a cat. Something you should be aware of, those who can change into animals tend to take on their traits if they stay in that form too long. It will be interesting if you should have a run in with Mr. Clops," she said in a sultry voice as they walked, her feet moving smoothly over the ground and through the portal. As they emerged, they found themselves in a cemetery surrounded be above ground vaults. "Ahh, such a lovely city New Orleans is."

"Been to Nola, some many times..." began James in careful voice. He was tugging at his tie almost reflexively before he forced his hands down at his sides. Needless to say, such formal attire that also marked him as property was not comfortable, even if he was attached to someone as drawing as Belladonna. He also didn't feel like processing the news he just found out about the fuzzy orange cat that used to steal scraps of barbecue from him while he worked, so he tried to focus on the here and now. "Fun place. Dangerous, too; last time I was here there was 'lectric lights, though." His mannerisms indicated a man who was apprehensive, even nervous, but trying to shove it down with some success. "Miss Bella, ma'am?" he respectfully inquired as they walked, "Maybe I ought know what we doin' here." James slowed his pace until he was a step behind his teacher and to her right. He figured that he might as well begin acting the role he was here to play. They would definitely talk about the cat later.

There was a slight sparkle in the womans eye as she glanced in the direction of James. "You young Paradoxes. Always in such a rush to know why, what ever happened to the thrill of the unknown?" she asked as she reached out and lightly adjusted a button on James attire. Her nail tapping it for a moment, a quiet clicking sound echoing through the grave yard. "Anticipation is nine tenths of enjoyment." There was a coyness to her expression, however subtle before she turned and began walking between the crypts as if she was taking a leisurely Sunday stroll through the park. "This way."

Admittedly, it was something of an adventure for James. He knew there was a lesson to be learned here, and did desire to "find himself" as a Paradox. Still, he was more than a touch uncomfortable right then. His desire to please the alluring Belladonna Crypt was one of painfully few motivators he had to continue. "I'm yo' man, Miss Bella. Whatever you need. But Ma'am? I just died. Everything is unknown now, if'n you get my meaning." He matched pace, albeit a little stiffly, keeping an appropriate distance from the powerful woman.

A glint of joy, was it joy or mischief? Either way, a glint of something came to the womans lips as she looked over her shoulder as her hair spilled out over her back. "That just means you have the joy of having everything being fresh and for the first time once again. How I envy you." Turning and continuing on her way she stopped at the edge of the cemetery as they came to the street. "Save for this moment. Do nothing." Her voice held a hint of remorse as she spoke and then it grew firm as she stated for him to do nothing. It seemed there was a lynching taking place just a block up from them.

The noise associated with people doing something awful to another human being was always the same, or very similar at any rate. He had heard it before. Echos of the past catching up to him, be they the rebounding sounds of his ancestry or the horrors he had witnessed man inflict upon his fellow man in his native timeline, it kindled a sense of sorrowful rage that burned just underneath his skin. Two months ago, before his death and subsequent loss of the abilities he so finely honed over a career of being a backwoods folk hero, James would have put a stop to this. He wanted very much to try anyway, but the extreme likelihood of embarrassing failure would also result in his swift, undramatic death and put Belladonna in danger. He addressed the pale woman with quiet and serious voice, though his eyes never left the scene one block over. "This what you meant by 'Anticipation is nine tenths of enjoyment', Belladonna?" A coldness to his demeanor took hold, his hands closed into fists and he spoke to his Senior Paradox as nothing less than an equal, his "role" be damned. "I know what a lynchin' is. Why I got to see this one?" Indeed, the lesson was lost on him without clarification.

Somethings about death even Belladonna didn't want to answer as they started to go forward to watch and witness what was unfolding. Whatever people had heard, it was nothing compared to actually watching one happen right in front of you. The mans neck was bound by rope and it was tossed over a railing on the second floor of a building. His feet teetered on the edge of a rickety piece of what one might have called a stool in its better days. "Because this one is personal." Her voice held a tint of remorse but her job was to help people find themselves and she was a firm believer that the past defined who we are. Taking a shallow breath she repeated the simple statement of, "do nothing," just as a small child who couldn't have been more than ten looked at the man with tears in his eyes was held back by an older woman.

She was screaming "James!!!"

"DADDY NO!!!" the boy cried. It had no effect on the crowd.

In the history of the Grady family, going back as far as they could remember in the United States, there were hushed rumors of an ancestor that was strung up by a mob. No reason was ever given as to why, nothing mentioned except that he was taken by violence. And the name, James, was common in his family. Two and two together told him that this was no coincidence, though he never imagined that this story took place in the middle of New Orleans, right on the street. His voice slightly shaky, even as a previously unknown feeling of wonder mixed with subdued rage bubbled within him as he asked, "What's the reason they doin' this to him? There even one at all?"

"Was accused of deflowering his owners daughter." Belladonnas eyes didn't leave the man as the scene became more chaotic but her voice remained even and calm. Chances were the man didn't do anything, that the girl had been caught having been already versed in the world of the flesh and blamed it on the man. It was a common occurrence and it wasn't like a slave could ever get a fair chance in a court. "What we are comes from what happens to those that came before us." The man stood proud, refusing to show an ounce of pain as a whip connected with his backside, mearly a flinch in his eyes.

"Don't you cry boy, never let them see you cry." His words were fierce, defying as he locked eyes with his son.

James stood dumbfounded as the condemned man gave a final piece of bold advice to his son. It clicked with him in a very personal way, echoing the words of his own father, back when he was about the child's age. Other children (okay, white children) had pelted him with rocks, splitting skin and hammering bruises all over him. Luckily nothing was broken, but father gave him the same talk. "Don't you cry now, James. That's what they's wantin' from ya. Bleed all you like, but don't never let 'em see you cry. Don't let 'em have that." A quiet rage built within him then that swelled within him now. James knew that, deep down, he was a good man. But he also knew he was a violent man. Was this his lesson? Was that predetermined about him from this moment?

The young boy sucked it up as his father demanded and nodded at him, he seemed to steel but a rage filled in the childs eyes. "Innocence lost, too young." Belladonnas voice was tragic as she spoke before glancing over towards towards James and lacing her fingers together just below her breasts, a look of understanding came to her features before she turned and walked down the street, putting the mob and the scene behind her even as she could hear the screams of the mans wife ring out as her husbands neck snapped. "We will be late for the boat."

The desire that James felt to do something about the lynching was strong, even though he knew he did not possess the skills he once did. The anger or his ancestors burned behind his eyes, but outwardly a cold stillness took his features. It formed the second that he saw the look on the boy's face change from sorrow to rage, quiet rage, just like him. He knew of it well, like an unwelcome but necessary visitor, come calling every so often. This moment hammered into his people the will and the ambition to survive. The desire to do whatever it would take to ensure the continuation of them and theirs. The shred of hate and longing that he knew all too well, buried beneath the smiles and the barbecues and the homemade liquor. It was very possible that it was the thing that kept him alive when his timeline decided to throw an undead uprising at him, and in turn fueled his desire to make sure everyone he called family then was safe and fed. It was also a motivation that made him a murderer. And he was. One of the last acts of his life was to take another's.

James fell in step behind Belladonna again, lesson learned from his jaunt into his family history. "Yeah. Boat." he rasped out.

There was one more quick stop to make. Every story had a beginning, a middle, and an end. James knew his end, he died. He now knew his beginning. He needed to have a middle for this tale. Coming to a large paddle boat in the harbor, Belladonna boarded with her property in tow. Once in a lavish stateroom there was a portal hidden behind an armoire. Stepping through, it seemed as if nothing changed at first. Then there were subtle changes, furniture and bedding was different. "Ahh, post Civil War, better." Holding out an arm to the man she gave a sultry grin. "I may not own you in this time but make no mistake you are still mine."

The very recent lesson still fresh on his brain, James followed along behind Belladonna almost robotically. He didn't stop to question whether or not they should be boarding an unfamiliar boat, nor why she gothic Paradox chose to step behind an armoire. He'd read that book a number of years ago, and unless a giant talking lion and/or Tilda Swinton in full Ice Witch regalia was waiting on the other side (which honestly at this time he wouldn't be that surprising to him, all things considered), he wasn't going to make a big mention of it. When they reached the other side of the portal, the near lack of difference did come as a source of confusion, but again, eyes open and mouth closed. James responded to Belladonna's words with a noncommittal look. He accepted her arm with courtesy nonetheless; after all, he was a gentleman of the South, more or less. "Just let me know where you need me, Miss Belladonna." His morale had obviously taken a hit.

"Oh don't tempt me my dear, I have such a vivid imagination and we are short on time, but perhaps we can arrange something later," the woman stated in a sultry tone as she rested her free hand over the other and they headed out. It was a gambling ship and it was obvious that times had changed, dramatically. Clothing was practically the same but who wore what was not. There were plenty of dark skinned men and women walking about; talking, gambling, eating, drinking, and just enjoying themselves. Making her way to the main room she stopped in the main room and took look around. "Oh yes, we have made it just in time for the show."

The thought that initially ran through James's head at the mention of a show was one of some cynicism. A riverboat show, even one during a time when it looked like his people had better control over their own destinies, ordinarily sounded like an interesting dip into the culture of the period. However, James had a feeling that this was playing out to some potentially horrifying end. For the meantime, he tried to tuck those thoughts away and merely enjoy the scene and the fact that he was on the arm of a lady who seemed to draw every eye in the room. His mood still darkened from the previous lesson in history, he nonetheless attempted to sound less grim as he said, "Well, then after you, Miss Bella."

Belladonna tightened her grip on James' arm and remained perfectly still. "No, just watch my darling." The show was beginning. An middle aged black man sat at the table, he looked to be nearly done with everything in the pot, and cards in his hand. Across from him sat an older white man with a large grin on his face. "The difference a generation makes." The white man placed his cards down and boasted as he reached forward to take the pot. "Things are not always what they seem." The black man gently laid his cards down, he had won the hand and left the white man speechless. "Calmness on the surface." The white man started yelling, making quite the scene, threatening the black man. "A lifetime of rage beneath."

"You ain't gonna cause no one no mores pains." The black man spoke.

"What?" The white man looked confused as the older man stood slowly, he looked confused but the rant had stopped.

"No more. Not you, not yer family. It's finished." The white man went from confusion to fear and rage.

There was no way that James could know what had, or was to occur. But considering the nature of the scene in front of him, "The Show", and the one that he had left just a moment (and decades) before, there was an idea beginning to congeal in his brain. James looked coldly at the events unfolding before him, then to Belladonna. He nodded back to the conversation at the table, saying, "Best served cold." in a flat voice. Humorless sarcasm. The nature of his people was hardship and revenge, apparently; a tradition that he wholeheartedly leapt into during his naturally allotted life in Georgia. Okay, so this man deserved whatever he had coming, and maybe even James's victim did, too. Maybe it was part of him, down to the core. But it wasn't everything. There had to be more than pain and death. This show wasn't done yet, and James was suddenly very curious as to how it would end. So he simply stood there as witness to what was about to be uncovered, arm-in-arm with the original Lady Crypt.

It was a scene alright. The white man going off, threatening the man, calling him a cheat. Yet the older ebony man just stood there watching him unload. That was until a gun was pulled. For a man as old as he was, he had quick reflexes. A cane which had been resting against the table came up, smacked the gun to the side as it went off, came back down and crushed the mans hand on the table before a fist landed in the white mans face. This wasn't some town. This was a river boat, a gambling river boat. It might as well been the wild west for they had their own laws and ways of doing things. No one stepped in to stop it. It was between these men. The white man had drawn first, that was all that was needed for the older gentleman to do what he did next, which was bash a skull in and leave the dead in a pool of his own blood on the ground. "Like I said, you ain't gonna cause no one no more pains."

"Never let them see you cry. That was what his father told him." Belladonnas voice was cool as she spoke before glancing over towards James. Her dark eyes flashing slightly before she continued. "What happened that night didn't end. It just was a beginning. You're beginning." Turning she motioned for him to follow her. That was the end of the show but not the end of the story. She wove quite the tale as they headed back to the room, telling how that old man was the very child that had watched his father be hung. How he had had children of his own, and grand children. The money he won that night funded them to move to the Southeast, start small farms of their own. The man that died just before them, was the grand son of the man that hung the man known as James. A man who had actually raped that young girl. His son and his grand son were no different. Hurting people through the years, always getting away with it. Until now. Their line ended with that old man, he had killed them all.

"They earned their fates, as did Richard Johnson." Motioning towards the portal she leaned in and gave him a chilling kiss on the cheek. "It doesn't matter how justice is dealt, just make sure it is dealt." With that, she stepped back through the portal to home.

James hung back for a second before stepping through the portal. Belladonna's direct mention of the man he had opened up with his axe, Richard, seemed to freeze him in place, provoking his emotions forward to be dealt with. The kiss on his cheek afterward seemed to stay there, feeling of mercy. Even permission, after the fact; a vindication that he had made the right decision in ending the man where he stood. Family tradition, apparently. Did Belladonna absolve him, in her own way, of the sins committed just prior to his death? Was his sense of personal justice actually more in line with the way the world was supposed to work? And if so, then why was his guilt pressing down upon him?

In the end, the only conclusion he could come to was acceptance. Not of others, but of the darkness that still existed within himself. It kept his family line alive during one of the worst periods of human indecency, and it kept himself and his people alive for a long while during an Undead Apocalypse. His death was one of happenstance. Accident. Meant to happen at that time. Perhaps it was so that his brand of darkness, instilled into an otherwise good, decent man, could be utilized by these Emendators. It was too much philosophy for him to deal with consciously right then. James entered the portal back to Ville au Camp, jogging to catch up to his Paradox teacher. "Miss Bella? If'n you'd care to join me, I could really use a drink. Set and talk a while. I gots me a lot of work to do, 'fore I'm ready." And step one was getting a lot more comfortable with his new abilities.
In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Prometheus (Lower Level Bunks)
Skills: N/A


It was an interesting conversation with the Grifter, certainly. Not quite endearing, obviously, as Jacqueline's half of the dialogue swayed frantically between inquiry and blatant insult, but it was not so irritating as to force his hand to something drastic - like ceasing to speak at all. It was within the best interest of every rational, speaking person that Foy continue to exert his vocabulary based influence upon humanity at large, starting with this very crew. A smattering of class never hurt anyone. However, the talk passed the time while tasks were being worked and was not without its own ounce of entertainment.

"Truth be made apparent, Miss Croix, I charged headlong toward and through that response, albeit in full honesty, as a gambit to see whether I could elicit a similar response from yourself. Primarily, understand, as I felt your questioning merely another in the series of barbs you have had the initiative to hurl in my direction. To that regard, I should apologize; such mentioning of one's unmentionables in form of query is patently not the act of a gentleman, at the very least among persons such as ourselves who are not overly familiar with one another." The dapper Farradayan gave a light bow, cocking his head to the side slightly in token submission. "Madame, my sincerest."

The work was done to Foy's satisfaction. It was not very hard, merely a matter of setting sheets properly and making sure everything functioned, along with a few spot checks to ensure basic comfort and quality, whatever passed for that upon a vessel of this size and comparatively utilitarian function. For just a split second, Foy considered spending his time renting out a spot on a luxury vacation liner, traveling between resort destinations in the Core, rather than taking duties aboard a Dragonfly vessel. He could revel in the anonymity that the crowd of multitude of different types of people could provide and have several new suits tailored for him in the meantime. Maybe work on his poker game a bit. Take in shows. Reacquaint himself with the fashions of the 'Verse and alter his plans for a Haberdashery once he had his business back under direct control. But even that, over enough time, would get boring. There were few sins greater than boring, and if nothing else, this tiny boat was not that.

And now, it was time to meet the new people. Hopefully the last crew change before they got to business. Now, Foy was a man who was all about business, from the top of his very fine bowler hat to the soles of his polished Oxfords, and every part in between. When Jacqueline suggested that they go to meet the new people, the upper crust Barber was in total agreement. "Indubitably, Miss Croix! I concur wholeheartedly. If you would give me but a moment..." Foy said, gathering up his hat and coat from the furnishings where he left them from earlier. Donning them hastily but with perfect seam alignment, he then strode from the double dormitory and held the door open for Jacqueline.

His first steps into the corridor, hand still upon the door, gave him one of the very best birthday gifts he had received in a very long time, the actual date be damned. A very large, muscular man-boy wearing a sock on his hand just expressed something through said sock, puppet-style, about "Lucky Stars" and his surprise at seeing "a Negro".

It too every ounce of his sense of flagging propriety not to collapse in a gasping heap of his own barely restrained mirth. Once control was finally asserted properly, he was able to finally get out, "Oh beneficent and merciful Dapper Dan, sovereign Lord of Hair Treatment and Pomades everywhere, that is a conversation I shall revisit much, much later. Jahosafat, dearest brother-in-finery, I shall leave you to your new friend and his ...proclivities..." And much quieter, "Do let me know if you require assistance, old fellow. I shall be just above."

Foy sauntered as only Foy could, past the large, childlike man. He doffed his hat for a second in passing, giving Cyril a rather generic salutation of, "My best to you and your family, sir." Without breaking stride, he made his way up the stairs and into the Galley area.

William Harper
Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A


The first thing that Harper noticed was that Cyril seemed particularly comfortable poking around in their provisions. Perhaps these things were just commonplace where he and the sack of glass shards he called a sister were from. A sense of communal ownership, if you would, that was necessary wherever they were from because of a tighter sense of community and more limited resources. Or it could just be that the big guy didn't think that far into his actions, distracted by some particularly shiny internal monologue about making a snack.

Well, why not? They hadn't exactly signed papers yet, but they would. Such was his life now, colorful to the extreme because of the people swirling about in it. Also, he had to admit a mild curiosity about precisely what a "fluffernutter" was, despite the fact that the discussion involved a sock. That would take some getting used to.

The second thing that he noticed was the big guy leaving the Galley fully, headed back down the stairs on his epic quest to locate the makings of his sandwich. He glanced over to Bridgette who seemed to be okay with the turn of events. She must be dead to anything that her brain did not pick up as immediate trouble, so far as her brother went, like a mother who instinctively knew which kind of sniffle meant her child would be full-blown sick in three days and which just meant that the air was dusty. Harper turned more fully toward the vulgar but oddly caring woman, trying to figure her out. Naturally, she responded by returning the look and adopting a facial expression that seemed to ask, "What?" Harper quickly dismissed his gaze with a head shake and focused his attention elsewhere.

It seemed a very interesting set of circumstances he had landed in. Surrounded by quite possibly the oddest collection of random assholes and frontier types he had ever personally witnessed in the same place at the same time, ever. At the same time, there were not the kind of people that intelligent, rational folk wanted to mess with. Strangely, he thought that for once in a great while, he might be in exactly the type of company he needed to be. Harper allowed the barest hint of optimism to creep onto his psyche. He was the pilot of a Dragonfly vessel, a home in the stars for the disenfranchised and mobile Island of Misfit Toys that was doing a fantastic job of finding just the right people to crew her.

And speaking of crew, the mildly unhinged man who presently went by Harper caught a voice filtering back from the fore of Prometheus. It was his Captain, Anisa, calling for him. Completely unbidden, a giggle escaped him that was highly uncharacteristic of his Former Alliance Officer persona. It started suddenly, as if something painfully funny had just occurred to him that he couldn't quite keep in, but deepened into something sounding more cartoon villain-esque. His eyes sparkled just a bit, and he glanced up to the only other person in the room: Miss Bridgette Anne Vinters. She held a very confused look on her face. Very confused indeed.

Harper silently gave her a "mock guilty" look, as if pantomiming getting caught doing something very naughty, then jogged over to the nearby PA panel. He hit the mic button, intoning (in his usual straightlaced manner), "Galley, Ma'am. I have Miss Vinters with me." Not a trace of his earlier outburst remained on his face, though he did look to his guest in a helpful manner, "Coffee, Miss?"

Bridgette Vinters
Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A


If nothing else, Bridgette noticed that her little brother was quickly becoming comfortable on this ship. It was a pretty nice vessel for one its size; good use of interior space and a clear, simple layout. It was a shame that someone had to die for her to get work with Anisa. Bridgette did like the lady, even if she was a pushy bitch. This was new though - she was generally the liaison between the former Vengeance crew and her people back on Borr, where folks looked a little more like Bridgette. Interesting spot to lay low. More interesting spot to stage jobs in the rest of the System. But that was a thought immaterial to the present. If she could ever get an audience with the lady, they could get the Shepherd taken care of and move on to business.

A wave of morality, or something like it, washed over Bridgette. That was a coldly casual thing to think about the man. He had his faults, but he was a loyal guy. And a pretty good guy, too. The Scandinavian pesudo-anachronism, while a vulgar and more than moderately violent person, was not a monster. In the traditional sense. Atticus deserved more respect than she was inwardly showing. And it wasn't like they never had the occasional personal moment, either. She was taking over certain of his duties to Anisa, and handling his final affairs (though she had no clue why). Again, respect was due.

Bridgette paused her thought as she caught Harper looking over at her. She had taken some pains to put the man on the defensive from the start today, and here he was getting inquisitive. No problem, a quick look to show that she was quite put out by being gawked at, followed by a transition back to the archway leading toward the fore of the ship. That's where Anisa would be coming from, if she was indeed going to be meeting her at all today. Yeah, busy lady, but the were friends. Some kind of greeting might have been appropriate. Bridgette was just about to roll her eyes and sigh when she just barely caught Anisa's voice from up the ship a way, calling for Harper.

And then the pilot lost his shit.

The only thing she could do, thinking on it, was sit where she was at and make certain environmental observations, seeing how far the skinny guy needed to run to make it to her, ease of weapon procurement, etc. The last thing she needed was some guy's cheese slipping completely off of his cracker and trying to reenact the battles of North Umbria. Luckily, that Harper guy reasserted something that resembled normality and answered Anisa using the PA. Great. Just great.

Her immediate attention attention was diverted yet again by the look of a heavily maintained gentleman emerging from the staircase to the aft, his moustache the very vision of unnecessary upper-class shenanigans. Come to think of it, he looked exactly like the picture of some fop or another on the label of a jar of hair gunk he'd seen someplace. Nah, couldn't be... Okay, let's ask! Putting her best, diplomatic foot forward, Bridgette inquired, "What the sideways fuck are you supposed to be?" Followed by an abrupt, "Huh?" There. That ought to do it.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 8 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Speaking as one of the people that had been with this from the beginning, and saw the community of Newnan grow and change over the past few years, that ending was chilling. It was like someone else died who we totally forgot about but was central to every interaction that had taken place in the RP from day one. Bravo, @Lady Amalthea. Bravo.
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