Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Headland: E. Main Street, D9 (inside Hordebuster)
Skills: Leadership, Mechanic, Engineering, Advanced Driving

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South. Always south, in a roving, roundabout manner. It wasn't like traveling back Before. Hell, if it was, this would have been a day trip rather than a year's worth of heartache and blood. But some good things have come of it, even if they were rationed out in portions just small enough to stave off thoughts of suicide. Headed down the road, the Hordebuster began to roll through a section of once inhabited township that the signage named "Headland". Possible jokes about the name (of the junior high school variety) spun through Ash's head, prompting the smallest laugh. Take them where you could get him. Might as well.

After passing a couple of restaurants, Ash began to slow the forward progress of the 'Buster. There was an open field to one side of them; it looked like it was used for sporting events at one point in time. To the other side of the road were smaller streets breaking away from the main highway, filled with what promised to be a series of single level houses with attached garages and acceptable lines of sight between them. But what made him come to a stop was the sight of a building with prefab sheet steel exterior walls and big red letters reading "City of Headland Fire & Rescue".

Ash ran his hand through his hair. It had gotten a little longer than he preferred it generally, but haircuts were something of a luxury these days. He nodded his head, bobbing it slightly to the side as if contemplating something. Finally, he heaved a big sigh and spoke to the other three survivors in his truck. "Okay." A look resembling determined optimism came over him, "Okay, I like our chances here. Better than the last few places... Alright, we need food and meds. Weapons and ammo wouldn't hurt, either. Best as I can see, here are our options: Neighborhoods across the tracks here and up the road, there. Little ways back there are some restaurants. Probably raided out, but I wouldn't give pass up a #10 can of whole tomatoes if they had it. And right there," he said, pointing out of the window toward the Fire & Rescue building, "could be something. If the Fire Department hasn't been cleaned out, it could contain emergency rations, blankets, medical supplies, even weapons. If there's a tank truck in there, they have to carry potable water by law, and tons of it. IF," he stressed, "it hasn't been scavenged to hell and back."

"Food takes priority. Houses will be the best spots for that. We can split into teams and clear a few of them, wrap things up with the Fire Department. If you think I missed anything, now's the time. Sound good?"

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quincy: E9 (Front Porch)
Skills: Survival, Shield, Scavenging

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Thalia remembered the old "Charlie's Angels" TV series. It wasn't really a great show, persay, but it did advance the idea that women could kick ass in a decade where it was largely assumed that they couldn't. So go them. She remembered the movies that came out, too. They were a little better, but let's face it, people weren't really going to see them because of GRRL POWER. Ok, admittedly, she kind of liked the movies. Not that she would tell anyone, but she also liked My Little Pony, so her taste in fine film and television series was questionable.

The point in her mental tangent was that, arguably, she was reminded about Charlie's Angels because of the relationship she had with the other two women on her House Clearing team. If ever a movie script would be written about three badass women doing badass women stuff, it would be about the three of them. They'd embellish certain things, obviously, and they would all have perfectly coiffed hair and clean shaven legs, but Hollywood would just have to be permitted their little flaws for the sake of a good story. With this in mind, Thalia couldn't help but crack a little smile from behind her very Nordic shield.

She had mourned for the previous owner of that shield, and felt that she would have approved its current holder and its current use. But her mind was in the present, and that present was with her new friends. Thalia stood with Beatrice and Thana, ready to take point with her big Viking shield and Ruger pistol. Her little mental foray into television of yesteryear aside, the mixed Latina lady known to a few as Angel braced herself for the initial push into the residence. After this, she intended to cut herself a new spear from the spring saplings; it would do wonders to open her options for these small operations. Just now her knife and pistol would have to suffice. Upon Thana's query as to whether they should "clean house", Thalia responded to the affirmative. "Yah, ready on your signal. You good, Killer Bea?"

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Hank Wright

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Location: Okefenokee: F14 (Outside Truck)
Skills: People Reading

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It always seemed to come with stress. Sure, Wayne was a hell of a guy, but he had his own demons. It was exactly the kind of a thing that Hank could relate to; it wasn't that long ago that he had his own descent into mental illness. Seeing dead loved ones. Hearing their voices but never quite catching what they said. It was a form of hell that he had to live through for too long. If there was any one thing that was positive about the world becoming a playground for the shambling dead, it was that seeing actual dead people walking around jolted his brain out of the delusions that ensnared him.

Wayne? Well, his demons weren't remotely as horrifying. Not as horrifying as the real threats out in the world. Permit the man his little idiosyncrasies. That and the fact that he could channel more unchecked aggression into a single gut-punch than any man Hank had ever met. It was art.

The truck refusing to budge another foot was coming. He knew it was coming, and there was no stopping it. The goal was to just get as far as he could on what the broken down shitbox had left. Well, he had just found out what was left, and it still pissed him off. While Wayne expressed his frustrations in the manner of his own choosing (so to speak), Hank instead contemplated the possibility of just sitting there until his biological needs forced him to make the hard decision between moving or soiling himself. Even then, it would likely be a coin toss.

"Wayne, uh... Hey there, bud?" he said tersely, rubbing his temples slowly, "Do you think it's in the realm of possibility to - oh I don't know - give me a minute or two of quiet time while I decide if it's a good idea to slam my goddamned head into the steering wheel until it's naptime, hmm?" He groaned, fully aware of the futility of reasoning with the man in this state unless something of extreme and immediate importance was looming. "Alright. Alright, okay." he whispered to himself, "We're doing this." He moved to open his door, only to be surprised by a wholly different voice coming from a little piece away. Apparently, it was a Roman. The vaguest expression of "What The Fuck" could be read on his face, which slowly twisted into the much, much less vague, becoming true incredulity. He stepped out of the truck and retrieved his shovel. He liked that shovel. He'd used it plenty.

"Whoa now. Hold on there, History Channel." he said bluntly. "My pal here's working some shit out, but while he's doing that, let me ask you a question: Did you dress like that before the world went to shit?" He shifted his shovel behind his neck and rested his arms across it, giving the older man a sort of casual, cruciform stance. "Cause I mean, I've seen plenty of nutbars both before and after, but I've never seen someone actually choose to reinvent themselves into god damn Spartacus." Hank halfway turned his head in Wayne's general direction, "Isn't that right, bud?" He was obviously buying his friend a little time to right himself, and simultaneously attempting to judge the tiny reactions in the newcomer.

Nonetheless, he wasn't stupid, using the brief conversational hiatus to give a listen into the wilderness around them.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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

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Caesar could always sleep on planes. There were those who were unable to do so, and he did truly sympathize with them, but there was something similar to an understanding that he had with aerial transportation machines. The thought process was, if he was suspended tens of thousands of feet in the air inside of a pressurized metal tube traveling at a few hundred miles per hour, there was nothing that he could realistically do in the event that something unfortunate were to occur. Ergo, he might as well catch a nap. If he absolutely had to get some rest afterwards, he could always take the edge off his wakefulness by perusing his collection of fine (and not so fine) tequilas. To that end, Caesar was raptly alert, and anxious to get to work.

With the request for meeting with Ms. Queensguard already taken care of, there really wasn't much that could be done on a straightforward, purely business level. Caesar recalled that his niece was asking onto Alicia's laptop earlier, and decided that a better use of his time would be to locate said machine and deliver it to her, completely unaware that she had already rallied the people of her new tech team for just this purpose.

Meanwhile, Thalia herself was not in the mood to deal with the delivery guy's shit. She looked the man square in the eyes and held it for a long moment. "I'm new here. You're going to have to bear with me. You delivery guys, you don't like to get tipped in Justice, right? 'Cause that's exactly how you're acting. Like you don't want to get tipped. God forbid there be -" she gave an expression of mock horror and slapped her hands to the sides of her face, "- security protocol with security company, right?" Thalia dug through the multiple bags of food and located the stack of paper napkins provided, continuing, "Here, take these and wipe the bitch off your face. And you know where you can stick the extra chopsticks." The irked young lady counted out the appropriate amount of money for the food provided, rounded to the next dollar up, and gave no more than a 15% gratuity. "That'll change based on how your company acts moving forward. Get me?"

Keystone spent the next bit of time marveling over the bulletproof playpen for little Liam. He'd only been a father for about a half hour, but this seemed to make total sense to him. Plus, in the event of a firefight, he could grab his son with one hand and use the pen to provide ballistic cover. Total sense to him. He took another moment to look down at his baby boy with quiet awe, still coming to grips with the fact that he was responsible for another tiny version of himself mixed with Alicia Gonzalez. Then the thought hit him; this child is going to grow up to kill somebody. Probably more than one. A lot more.

But Maria was right. There was business to attend to, most notably right then the awkward process by which his new boss got registered into all of the little odds and ends of the system. It wasn't difficult, just a little tedious at first. Considering the fact that she had her own ideas at the work that needed to be done, perhaps it would be best to just take the individual issues as they came. This time around. And if it caused an error, well, they could back up and deal.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: Perception

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The ever perceptive Gentleman Barber was rather taken aback by the spontaneous show of actual, physical affection demonstrated by the Captain. It gave him a considerable eyebrow arch, and likewise a glance down to Jacqueline. He responded to her questioning look with a slow, sober nod, but would speak nothing aloud for the moment, content to allow the events of the galley to transpire without his influence. He was almost relieved when Anisa ordered Jahosafat to take escort her elsewhere.

Foy parted way as Jahosafat and Bridgette made their exit. Now was not the time to jostle about for his proper spot in the pecking order; not until he had a better idea as to who he was working with. Best to slide a step out of the way, which as it turned out was a pleasant idea anyway, considering that Anisa's second was also making her way past, along with her little sister. Hell, he might even tip a cap in their general direction, such was the acquiescent grace that was Foy. If only for the hour.

As it turned out, he knew that Jahosafat was capable of, which was far more than his doctorly duties let on. Now, if the powerful blonde (and her even more powerful brother, possibly) was what he thought she was, then it would behoove him to give her unimpeded passage until they were better acquainted. Afterward, a casual sizing up would be in order. But to business!

Enough prompting and bandying about with coy talk and questions of domestic drudgery. Jacqueline had expressed interest in exactly what he did as part of this crew, and there was a simple way to show without being tempted by the dulcet allure of aggression. Foy was certain that it would take less time than was necessary for Anisa and the Pender sisters to have their little pow-wow in the Captain's quarters, and so began to show Jacqueline to his own room, toward the displayed equipment therein. It would doubtless give a far better representation of his role than any flowery speech he could give. Not that he would waste the opportunity for a flowery speech, naturally. What would be the point of demonstration, otherwise?

Unfortunately, his plans were waylaid by the sounds of conflict and gunfire. Ordinarily, that would have been the dapper daddy's morning call to work, but here on board the ship? What was to be their sanctum? No, that would not do at all. The sounds of the violence were toward the fore of the vessel, meaning that he could scoop up a conveniently placed firearm from his quarters on the way. He hesitated only when he heard ...laughter? "That is, ah, perturbedly odd." he said aloud, stopping in his tracks.

It also seemed odd to him that Mei took this opportunity to engage him in discussion. Much as he did love to talk, this seemed highly irregular, considering the circumstances. "Regretfully madame, I find my attention otherwise preoccupied at the moment, and my time accounted for following our briefing likewise in demand. I've not had my shingle suspended professionally aboard this vessel but for an hour or so, yet already I find scheduling demands upon my noble personage. How very noteworthy."

As it turned out, they were in for a change of crew as well. Three off, two on. A doctor, pilot, and whatever Fitz was for a berserker and, well, whatever Cyril was. While it didn't make total sense to him, it was not his place to question. Not out loud anyway, and not at that time.

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Prometheus (Medical -> Upper Deck above Cargo)
Skills: Tactics

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The sounds of screaming and gunshots tore at Bridgette like carnival rides and cotton candy. A look of notable glee leapt upon her face, and as Jahosafat took off for the purposes of "helping", she assumed, the violence infused Aesir native followed suit.

Of course, Bridgette's take on "helping" didn't always fall in line with the commonly accepted standard. She unslung her great shield and, foregoing her spear, drew one of her wide bore sawed-off shotguns from her gunslinger's holster. Weapons had already been discharged, and while there was a good amount of open space toward both levels of the Cargo section of the ship, there were also numerous blind spots and choke points, like the stairs she would have to use to close the distance. Shield was a good idea. Spear? Not until she got closer and read the situation. She liked her shotguns fine enough anyway. They had character.

Foregoing the Galley stairs, Bridgette instead ducked back into Cargo, locating the stairs there and making a beeline. If this party started to move, she wanted to have a good vantage to get behind it. But as soon as her boots hit the first few steps up, she was greeted by an odd sound: laughter. This didn't make sense. None at all. If anyone was going to he giggling after trading small arms fire, it was going to he her. Confused and slightly frustrated, Bridgette continued to the upper deck with the caution and determination of a battlefield veteran. She was just in time to hear Anisa announce the sudden decline in crew numbers.

"Aw, fuck's fucking sake, Anisa!" she exclaimed, holstering her sidearm, "How are you going to get a girl all warm for some action and then just stand her up like that? That's not goddamned fair at all..." her voice trailed off as her bright, seablue eyes drifted down to what Anisa was holding. "Is um, is that a fluffernutter?"

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A

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It was a lovely parting order, make sure no one kills anyone. It made sense. There were a jumble of new faces in this crew, technically one of which was his, by a couple of weeks. Well, as it turned out, the people who were getting introduced were doing very little to damage the calm of the vessel. There looked like a little showboating, which was to be expected from folks trying to impress a new group. Or advertise their areas of expertise in a frank and practical manner. The blonde lady was obviously a soldier type, though from what armed force he could not tell. Her brother obviously used to be something of note, but fate or something less savory made him as he was today; simple but powerful, and most certainly loyal beyond reproach to his dear and vulgar sibling.

Even Jacqueline and Fitz, the newcomers from the previous evening, had settled into something approaching calm. The occasional bit of snark and sarcasm aside, these people were a damn sight more civil than the people he had spent the vast majority of his last three years with. This was a different sort of chaos than to which he was accustomed. Less directly violent, but with its own sort of unwritten code of honor, it seemed. It was all for the best as Harper's own experience with violence, while moreso than the average wage-earner by far, was nothing compared to some of these people. Gunslingers, mercenaries, Vikings apparently, and whatever the hell Foy was, coupled with specialists necessary to travel and prosper along the Rim. Given a straight opportunity at a shooting match, Harper was even the equal of most of these people at technical skill. With a pistol, anyway. Or a wrench. Not that there was a high probability of being called out for "Spanners at Ten Paces", but it was something.

But again, make sure no one kills anyone. Harper wasn't really prepared to play bouncer in a room full of rogues and brawlers. He most certainly wasn't prepared for the actual source of the disturbance, that being from Anisa herself, and the two remaining original crewmembers. By the time he figured out what was going on, the shot had already been fired and the decision already made. Luckily, no one was dead yet. Harper stepped from the Galley and into the hall beyond, just in time to hear the intercom announcing that their Second and former Pilot, Dorothy and Daphne Pender, were parting ways with Prometheus. Parting ways with Anisa.

All of her bravado and violence aside, it must have torn her apart. Her former crew was all dead or leaving her. He was attached to Anisa by means of leverage and opportunity, and while he was a poor substitute for everyone that she had lost, Harper was going to be there. Distantly, he remembered the familiarity with which she had embraced Bridgette earlier. Had Anisa known what might happen, and sought to bring in others from her professional history? Was she already rebuilding a working crew before the hammer fell on Dorothy and Daphne? It would have been positively Machiavellian of her. The thought of it caused Harper to raise an eyebrow. How very interesting indeed.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

@Lady Amalthea

Yeah, it's in Sister Mary Hale's original quotes section for Soulless Regency, among other interesting tidbits of righteous fury.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Forest: Past the Gates (Chair 2)
Skills: Intellect
Hit Points: 4
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Slim... Yes, today was a day for unwarranted Noms de Guerre. Dr. Swamp shook his head, attempting to brush away the pseudo-insults of the plebeians from his mind. Admittedly, he was rather slender. The manner in which he pointed it out, and then scooped up his potential patient without so much as a "by your leave, sir" smacked of a point of overconfidence that was likely birthed of the rather pedestrian ability to move large sacks of grain or lay bricks in a straight line. Well, it was of no importance in the long run and certainly didn't affect his reason for being at Shadowell Manor on this evening. In fact, the sudden lack of medical emergency to deal with made his entry a lot less complicated. If the lady(?) perished in the meantime, it would be upon the hands of whomever that ruffian was. Not that he expected a death; but again her death or her recovery was not material to his motivation for being there. The Doctor would, if the situation warranted it, deal with the man or merely ignore him at his leisure.

On the other hand, the fellow in the long nosed mask, with that everpresent bird. He showed some signs of being interesting; speaking in some manner of flowery pentameter. Perhaps he was an entertainer of some note; though were he of note his clothing might have been of better quality. Nonetheless, Dr. Swamp did enjoy the antics of a good show or dramatic reading every now and again, when work permitted. So much to do in this day and age that required the steady hand and sharp mind of a Doctor. So little time for festivities. Perhaps the man really was famous, and sought to disguise himself in the rags of a common street performer. Yes, he would inquire later. Later.

For now, Dr. Swamp was somewhat more captivated by the machine coming toward them all. Interesting, really. Beyond anything he had personal witnessed around the city, insofar as reliably transporting more than a couple of people, and the light sources had interesting features. Steam, obviously. Very interesting indeed. He took it in at a casual glance, giving a nod of his head to the fellow who introduced himself as Owen, and moving ever forward until he located the nearest empty seat. It appeared stable enough. Settling in, the esteemed Doctor waited patiently for the machine to rail them to the Manor proper. And then, to the Masquerade.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Evelina Lucas & James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp -> Dakota Territory, 1884 -> Ville au Camp

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The past two months with Alexandra has been quite the adventure. It was not often that Evelina opened up or showed any raw emotion. She had only allowed herself that one slip but it was enough. At least for her. She worked hard to maintain a level of professionalism but it was hard, especially now that Drem was gone and she really didn't have anyone to lean on emotionally. She had opened up to Gilbert some but with the new Paradoxes, there really had been no time. Taking a long puff from her pipe, she waited for her newest pupil, James.

The morning light filtered through the trees over James as he made his way to the barn. It had been a highly interesting few months with Belladonna, putting it mildly, and he was a little sad that her tutelage had come to an end. Interesting things had been learned from her. Things he would not have been exposed to in his previous life. Six months in, and he was almost completely a different person. But he was keeping the hat. It was a point from which he was not willing to budge. James brushed the thoughts aside as he came up to his destination. The Dice made him a little nervous. Supposedly, that's what this training was about, so he was already off to a good start.

Before entering the Barn, James rapped his knuckles on the door frame, politely inquiring as to his state of welcome with, "Miss Evelina?"

Turning around Evelina was dressed in her signature dark blue but the attire was slightly different, as was her hair. Not to mention the fact she had a six shooter on her hip over the dress. Not that she could use a gun, she was not to fond of them but apparently it was for something more. "Good morning James," she said as she stepped out from behind the horse she had been saddling. "Your clothing is folded and on a stool in the stall over there." Her voice was even as she spoke and motioned over to the right before picking up a stetson and placing it on her head.

James eyed the stetson, and indeed the whole of Evelina's apparel before moving to take a close look at the selection put aside for his use. Of particular interest was the sidearm strapped to the Emendator's side. Was he going to need one, too? How dangerous was this trip going to be? He tried to focus on just the present, confident in the fact that whatever horrors were waiting on him would be a lesson-worthy experience, and he would get to that soon enough. "Hey there, Miss Dice, Ma'am? You thinkin' I'm gonna need one o'them Peacemakers, too?" After a moment, he exited the stall and held his arms out, as if to show himself off. "So, how I look? I was thinkin' on keepin' my hat, but nah. Wanna go for that Full Immersion I done heard about from them LARPin' geeks back in Georgia."

There was a quirk of the brow from Evelina. "Have you been trained to use any weapons as of yet?" she inquired. Not that she was trained to use a gun but James didn't know that. She wasn't one to arm those that didn't know how to use a weapon or did not have a long history of being in the field. People who were armed with no training could be very dangerous indeed when push came to shove.

There were times that James missed the skills of his previous existence. Sometimes, the fuzzy bits of yesterlife would get muddled with his present state of being and he would count assets he no longer possessed as his own. It was fleeting, a half second at a time, maybe, and it was getting less as time went by. But just sometimes, it was confusing. Time was, he was a good shot with a pistol. Had a favorite Beretta and everything. He was better with a rifle, though that was not the case anymore. His own embarrassment at his mistake forced him to reevaluate a smidge. "Uh, that'd be a no, Ma'am, now that you mention. Gun ain't my thang no more. I am a fair hand with a short blade, thanks to Miss Bella." He put his hands in his pockets and glanced downward for a second, before looking back up at Evelina, "An' I ain't got one of them from Mr. Hat yet, like I seen some of the others with. So I'm sorry - please lead the way."

"Neither am I but I do not know how you would handle yourself if you had one. Let us get you a weapon though," she said as she knelt before a trunk and opened it. She chose a belt with a side arm, emptying the bullets from it and then handing it over. She also found him a nice bowie knife and sheath. "That should do," she added before making her way towards a portal. "I am sure you have heard it before but it bears repeating. Do not intervene and do make sure to blend in," she said before stepping through the portal. The sun was low in the sky, setting in the west as she glanced around the area. A tumbleweed rolling by over the dusty ground just outside of the cave they had walked into.

This Emendator seemed to be in a rush to get to where they were going, in contrast to the two previous ones who had been teaching James. Admittedly, he and Gio never actually went anywhere to begin, and Belladonna's first outing was understandably not something he wanted to jump right into anyway. But he did his best to follow quickly, lest he piss off the lady who raised him from the dead. James walked through the portal even as he secured his weapons - his pistol at least. Being unloaded, it was little more than a prop. The knife, of the other hand, he wanted a closer look at. Briefly scanning his environment, he noted that he was in no immediate danger, and turned his attention to the blade in his hands. He rolled it between his fingers, got a good grasp on the balance and edge, then pressed it firmly into its sheath and placed it on his belt. "Many thanks, Miss Evelina. That should do f'sure." He had no idea if a knife would help him in whatever this lady had in store, but he was comforted by the fact that he had it. "So ah, what we doin' first?"

"First thing is first, we need a ride and I do not suspect that McFly will show up with a car anytime soon," she said rather matter-of-factly before holding up a finger for James to wait. Stepping back through the portal she came out a moment later leading the horse that she had saddled. "I do hope you can hold on," she said as she slipped her boot into the stirrup and got into the saddle. Holding a hand out to him she motioned with a jerk of her head. "Up we go."

The generally optimistic blackneck shrugged and reached out to grasp Evelina's hand. He noted that the pale, slender Emendator was a lot stronger than she looked. It was probably true of all of the Emendators, but he wasn't about to ask into it right then. He was being taught a lesson of uncertain outcome by an immortal. Some things could wait. Inexpertly climbing onto the horse and getting a firm but respectful hold, James indicated that he was good to go with a quick, "Ready, ma'am."

Evelina nodded as she tightened her grip on the reigns before easing the stallion out of the cave and heading west. There was a nervousness about her and one could actually feeling a slight shake in her body as they rode. The sun was setting and out in the distance a town could be seen growing as they started to approach. "Some things are a first, even for us Emendators. Keep your wits about you, this isn't going to be like most training sessions." There was a warning in her voice as she spoke.

"Aight, okay Miss Evelina." responded James, noting the change in her overall demeanor. His tone was that of reassurance, not only that he had indeed heard her properly, but that he was willing to offer support. "I ain't knowin' what I can do for ya, but I'm here to help, much as I can." There was a definite shot of worry that ripped through James, however. Anything that could make one of these Emendators nervous, especially one with some power over death, gave the still-fresh wereboar Paradox nothing short of The Willies. "Takin' yo lead, Miss Lady."

No words were spoken from the Emendator as they came to town. It looked to be like any other town in the old west. It seemed to just have been dropped out in the middle of nowhere. A single street ran through the town, buildings on each side for about a quarter of a mile and then nothing once again. The tallest building in the town looked to be a salon slash inn. It was the only one with lights burning inside and the sound of people drinking, yelling, and gambling could be heard clearly out on the street as they road past.

James fell likewise silent as they approached the western settlement. He had a pretty good idea what to expect from the locals so far as reactions to his presence were concerned, which were a mixed bag given his loose knowledge of the period. Riding bitch on the horse with a white lady taking the reins was probably a good idea, although Evelina on horseback while he walked might be a better one. Time might not be with them, so James kept his ideas to himself. Okay, most of them. "It's like I'm inna episode of 'Gunsmoke'!" he mused quietly, curious as to who the "Miss Kitty" analog was in this slice of reality. Early seasons, naturally. James seemed to remember that Father Time took a ballbat to the lady as the series went on. Still, he kept his eyes and wits about him, as suggested. When someone like The Dice got nervous, you paid good attention.

As they reached the edge of town, Evelina pulled back on the reigns and glanced around. Dismounting the horse she tied it off to a post and motioned for James to follow her. One could still hear the salon down the road but there was another sound. A whistling sound in the air. Her hand came to her chest and she swallowed slightly before pushing on. Rounding the edge of the last building and spotting a fire out in field behind it. Three people were sitting there. One was a young woman of Native American decent. Another was a large cowboy who when he turned, James would know the face. It was Gavin, or at least, Gavin for this time period. The last, his image hung in painted oil over the mantel in the library back at the main house. "Drem..." she whispered to herself as her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.

Following Evelina, a glimmer of recognition came over James in that moment. He only recognized Gavin at first, and had to stop himself from calling out to the big Texan. He had gone so far as to take off his hat, intent on waving it about to draw attention. But something was wrong. Gut instinct and The Dice's warnings held his mouth shut, even though he didn't understand why. It wasn't until his Emendator companion spoke the name that James began to understand. "...wait, he dead. Right?" he whispered, looking to Evelina. "I mean, this one of them 'Dr. Who', fixed-moment-in-time thangs, or can we grab the muthafucka and make for the exit?" He knew it couldn't be that simple. It never was. Hoping against fate, or something similar. Then he noticed the level of anxiety, fingers scrunching up dress fabric. His hand instinctively started to drift toward his knife, but his voice was kind as he asked, "You okay, Miss Evelina?"

Evelina shook her head. "Nothing can stop this..." she said in a quivering voice. Drem rose sharply and Evelina turned her back, she couldn't watch. Drem yelled for them to run as he drew his guns and started firing into the air. The bullet flew but vanished and blood came out of thin air. The run didn't come soon enough. The woman seemed to be eaten by an unseen force, her body getting bitten in half as she screamed. Gavin rolled onto his back but was lifted into the air by nothing. His head was rolling on the ground before his hat could even fall off.

James's eyes widened as the unseen force tore everyone in front of him apart. If he had the presence of mind to do so, he likely would have soiled his undergarments on the spot, but even that bit of stress response wasn't coming. James had seen awful things being done to the human body, by the Living Dead as well as the Living, but they were perpetrated by things that he could see and understand on some level. This was horrifying in a different way, as it was a thing that should not be and wasn't perceptibly there. Yet something else pulled at the fledgling Wereboar. His own history, or the history he most connected with, at any rate. He was a gentleman (kinda) of the American South, and this was a Lady, if there every was one, who was going through some amazing personal distress. As he understood it, this was her ...what, boyfriend? Lover? Whatever, it was someone important to her. The question as good as smacked him across his face - Were they there for James, or for Evelina?

It didn't matter. Eyes still focused on the scene of carnage, he reached out to hold Evelina, whether to hug or just help support her up, he would gauge propriety as he went. "I gotcha, Miss Evie. I gotcha." Maybe he was stupid for trying to comfort an Immortal, a true Power in the timelines. The woman who held his life within her dice. "I'm right here, Ma'am. But maybe we ought get gone now, you think?" If James made it back out alive, he was going to throw up and collapse, he just knew it.

Evelina could hear Drem yelling and fighting. She knew she shouldn't have come to witness but there was reason behind what seemed like a poor choice of location. Each person that was losing their afterlife had had a horse. Each of those animals were about to go through what their owners had even though they were speeding off. Towards Evelina and James. Rushing past them and across the street towards the field on the other side of the town, trying to get away from this unseen force that was leaving devastation in its wake. Terrible events triggered abilities.

It was instinct; pure protective instinct that James pulled Evelina close into him and placed himself between her and the charging horses. It was probably stupid in hindsight anyway, seeing as a ton and a half of speeding horseflesh would turn James into a weeping lump of salsa on the ground, whereas The Dice could probably shrug it off. Emendator were made of tougher stuff. Old habits still died hard, as the saying went. But there was more than that going on. Somewhere in the back of his brain he felt something, like a new sensation growing into a cardinal sense. It was full, unbridled, palpable fear. Fear. But it was not his own. Separate from his own feeling of horror at the force which was consuming and laying to waste everything around him, James could hear the sounds of the horses' panic as they neared and threatened to trample them both. His eyes catching those of the lead horse, James's mind protested as much as his mouth as he reflexively raised his arm and half commanded, half pleaded, "WhoawhoawhoaWHOA Nellie! Thataway!" He swung his arm in a wide arc as if to ward off some unseen flying insect. Then something truly odd happened: They listened.

Strangely, impossibly, the horses knew what James needed. The last few fractions of seconds before the first one got to him, it snorted loudly and diverted path just enough to avoid colliding with the pair of them; the Emendator and the Paradox. James could feel the wind of their passing as the others followed. Fear mixed with wonder on his face, and he exhaled a shallow, "...I felt them. I could feel them... We gotta go."

Evelina took a step back and nodded. Turning, she grabbed James' hand and began moving swiftly back towards the horse they rode in on. It wasn't long before she was back in the saddle again and holding her hand out to James. She knew what was coming and it was far worse than he had already seen. Yet, the purpose to coming there had been filled. A high anxiety moment that forced an ability to show itself. There might have been other ways to drive someone forward but she knew the life the man had lived before this one. She knew what Belladonna had taken him to see. The man needed a bigger push and she just gave him one.

Trauma did seem to be the opening theme to every one of James's training sessions. Especially his first one with The Watch. That was a truly horrifying experience. Not so much as personally viewing the death of an Emendator, but still pretty awful. Shaking these thoughts away as best he could, James took Evelina's hand and pulled himself onto the horse. No words were necessary. It was time to leave. The implications of his budding Paradox skill could be figured out when the threat of evisceration was significantly less.

The horse tore down the road and out of town, once away from the danger of the town behind them the horse slowed to a troy. Evelina still had not said a word but the woman did pick and choose her moments. It wasn't uncommon for her to say nothing for a long period of time and then do an information dump on one or more people. Riding up to the cave, Evelina seemed to finally breath again but a few tears fell from her cheeks before she dismounted after James climbed down. Keeping her back to the man she lead the horse through the portal without saying a word.

The sudden manifestation of a power seemed wholly secondary to the event that was just witnessed. Even secondary was generous. James followed the blue garbed Emendator and her horse through the portal, constantly glancing behind them with a foreboding sense of self-preservation. He had seen the death of an Immortal, in and of itself a paradox in the truest sense of the word. Moreover, he had a better idea as to what they were all up against. Even after passing back into Ville au Camp, James remained quiet. Contemplative, even. He coldly regarded the past hour, taking no more action than to look toward Evelina with a knowing, serious expression. No words were good enough. Speech itself was woefully inadequate.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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

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---

Reginald looked over the disfigured man with steady and inspecting eyes. He narrowed them, regarding the statement just made. Was this an act of folly? The words of a man who was trying to comfort an old soldier who was kind enough to share his liquor with him? George's offer to stay and act as protector, even when Peter was in severe doubt as to the preternatural occurrences that most of his Fellowship had been inflicted with; perhaps it was an example of the soldierly character of the man, even if he was ...hmm.... a Colonial.

"Mr. Benaszewski, sir, I understand that we all have high-running emotions at the moment. Yes, quite..." He poured another dram of whisky into his and George's glasses, continuing, "But I do not think you understand what sort of undertaking with which we are involving ourselves. Further, I cannot finance a paycheck for services rendered on behalf of The Crown, as you are an American and we are on soil foreign to the both of us during a time of peace." He tapped his thumb upon the table for a moment, considering, "But there is this: I had secured equipment and provisions for more persons than are alive now to enjoy them. We may work out the particulars later, but rest assured upon my honor as a gentleman, fair play will be observed. I accept, sir."

Reginald held out his hand as a token that terms of negotiation were concluded, "Welcome to the Fellowship, Mr. Benaszewski."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

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While the discussion raged on about the rare possibility of splitting up the Circus, some of the men and women began their own tiny side conversations. Many of them discussed which direction they wanted to go personally. It was not surprising that the majority wished to stay with the larger group that would be going north; after all, the general idea was that Circus sticks together. On the other hand, the Bazhooli Sem'ya was an even more tightly knit group than the rest of the Circus, and they wished to go wherever The Great Bazhooli led them. He was chosen among them for a reason; he was the most skilled of his generation, the most dedicated to his people, and possessed the most extroverted panache of anyone bearing the name Alexandrov.

In the end, there were very few that were able to make the decision for themselves. As much as these people were into free thought and tossing away the shackles of ordered, straightlaced society in lieu of a more mobile, expressive existence, they also understood the importance of following the wishes of those who had attained their positions of authority within the Barony that was The Circus. To that end, when Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov spoke his mind, in his own grandiose manner, they listened. They followed. They did so with the passion an intensity that made the Russian Imperial Circus the best, most famous, and easily deadliest troupe that the world had ever known.

Pursuant to this, the two guards assigned to follow around Thalken (ensuring that he did not do anything he should not, and likewise making sure that no one of a vindictive or suspicious nature did anything too horribly impolite to him), stopped when their names were called. Apparently, Vladimir decreed that, even as Thalken voiced a choice that wasn't quite his to make, that it is fact was prudent to have him stay with the rest of the Circus on the land route north. Moreover, his guards would be assigned to him on the permanent, continuing to ensure that he stay as safe as possible during his stay with the Circus and still did nothing ...evil. Neither one was particularly happy about it, but there was an understanding that this had to be done. It was their duty. Far be it for them to question the nature of their duty, not when it was so apparent. An honor, even, to have such a prominent role in the safety of their people.

Of the two of them, the elder guard carrying a fine and shiny flintlock straightened to his full height, put a prideful look on his face, and slapped his pistol-hand to his chest in grand, dramatic salute to his one and only Great Bazhooli. He was just as surprised as anyone when the gun went off.

The look on his face was priceless. The look on Thalken's face would have been likewise priceless except that his face was where the bullet entered. Without actually exiting the back of his head, it did manage to fully remove two of his cervical vertebrae and part of his lower skull, arcing out of the back of his head like a child's attempt at a spitting contest.

He crumpled like a boned fish.

---

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: North of London (By means of Northwest Inner Wall)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Brivaldi, English

---

Vladimir's eyes widened. There were not many things on this green and shiny earth that could make The Great Bazhooli immediately stop speaking, but watching someone accidentally and quite unexpectedly lose the back of their head due to a prematurely triggered flintlock was one of them. Exasperation sounded in his voice as picked back up his gift of speech, though why he chose to continue in English was beyond his reserves of logical thought. "VHAT HELL YOU DO, EH?" he bellowed, arms outstretched as if demanding an answer. He clasped his hands to the sides of his head, "No, no, no, NO! Nyet! For vhy? Now who vill guide us up to the Naughty Hams? Or the Gretna Green in Land of Scots? Who vill give lessons in custom of English? You? Gaaahh!"

His wordless exclamation was apparently the cue needed for his father, The Baron, to emerge from the northernmost parts of the procession. "Death of mercenary is of no concern of ours. Ve take any Englishman on road and hire him for guide, one whose family does not vant Viscount James, our distant blood, dead. Now, Great Bazhooli, you are in charge of this expedition. Use vhat resources ve have now and make decision. Do not think. You have answer. Say. Say now."

Vladimir looked to his father. He looked past him to see his son atop his personal vardo, ready to move at his command. The all were. They were good people. Vlad sighed. "Path of Sea must be swift. Few in number. Fast to get to Bristol. Ludvig, Constantin, and myselv go to Bristol. Firevalker! Get Brivaldi horse! You are vith us on sea!" He looked around the rest of his people, nodding his head. "Circus stays together. Iv sea claims me, another Great Bazhooli vill be tapped. Has been this vay since beginning. But Circus stay together! Bazhooli Sem'ya takes young Lord Crypt into safety. Little Adam stays vith him. Protected. Safe. As safe as ve can make them."

Determination washing over his face, Vlad clenched his fists and began to stride toward his vardo. There were a few things he would need from there to hopefully make his trip fruitful. As he walked, he gave a commanding yell of, "Five minute! Five! Then we go! Baron leads Circus north vith Ludvig's maps! I go vest, to Bristol! FIVE." Vladimir entered the door to his very exquisite vardo wagon, where a few things could be heard clunking around. When he emerged, he was carrying a set of two saddlebags, a blanket, and a long garment box tied together snugly with lengths of rope. His saber was still at his waist, and he was ever the living weapon with his knives, but sharpened steel would not be the only things he would need for this journey. Not a hell of a lot more, mind you. Speed was of importance.

He gave the offending guard a long, hard look as he passed by. The poor man was still standing exactly as he was earlier, frozen in time. Thalken's body still lay upon the ground; no amount of Rusyn Healing would have fixed that. Then an idea hit The Great Bazhooli. He looked to the second guard assigned to the Londoner, who was still carrying his belongings. "Give to me." he calmly ordered. "Now." The man promptly handed over the dead man's sword and knives, sheathes, belt, pistol and sundries thereof. On the way back to his horse, Tolstoy, he stopped, examining one of the gypsy dancers. This one had a large, wraparound black shawl with explosive floral pattern. "May I, please?" he asked of her, reaching out. She acquiesced with a girlish smile, and soon Vladimir had wrapped Thalken's tools of battle up and secured them to his horse's tack.

Upon mounting Tolstoy(!), Vlad turned him to the western road. The frozen guard from earlier, feeling that it might be his last chance, asked a question of The Great Bazhooli:

"Master, vhat with body?" he inquired in broken English.

"Ah yes... Ve have bears, da? Russian Browns, Arctic Vhites? Ve feed yet today? Go."

This might not have been Vladimir's quest at the beginning of the day, but Elizaveta's actions and a series of Tretiy Glaz visions had forced his hand. Though he had only caught a glimpse of her at Almack's, he had heard a few things about the woman. Whether she knew it or not, Millicent had allies. Friend of his blood, friend of his Grand Duchess... yes, he would go. He had to, now. And if Vladimir got to her first, she would be armed, clothed, and healed if required. If the Circus did, well, The Baron would make sure she had resources at her disposal.

But the moment he found Elizaveta, they would most certainly have words.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{“The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming.”}

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Location: Road between Nottingham & Manchester
Skills: Horseback Riding

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Again, the discussion of murder. Mary wished that Virginia would at least use another word. Something more fitting to the task of dispatching two-legged vermin. In truth, Mary had her suspicions about the man in the first place, and his status among the Soulled. There were two off coincidences that occurred at Almack's. Maybe it was nothing. But to commit murder the creature had to have a soul. How he evaded her ability to detect Soulless masquerading as living folk was beyond her, were that the case, but her abilities in this regard were imperfect. And as she had witnessed, there were more kinds of Soulless than were detailed in her initial Training. This was a dilemma. With hope and faith, the Almighty may reveal an answer when the time was right.

When the lightning struck to the north, Mary was oddly hopeful. Something about the white blaze in the face of a raging storm, perhaps. The touch of purity among the thunderbolts of blood across an angry sky was enough for her. If it was an enemy, then she would rather die facing it that a demonic storm. The feeling that she knew this white fire from somewhere was a drawing factor, as well. Driving forward in the growing surge of unnatural weather, Mary vowed to herself that she would get to the bottom of this, and that she would continue the mission. North it was, to the pure light and to close the gap between them and Scotland. "Do you know what that could be, Virginia?" she asked of her companion. It was familiar, but she could not place it. Maybe she remembered something.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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

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Keystone couldn't say much about what did or did not come from his side of the family. He was a bastard. It's how that worked. Oh, he knew who his father was. Boy did he ever. But if the option was being born with parents out of wedlock or having that man raise him, he'd have gone with bastard every single time. The only things the son of a bitch gave him, ever, was his broad frame (that Keystone turned into something epicly powerful) and a knife scar in his side that came near to killing him. Near. The end of that altercation resulted in some very mixed feelings for Keystone.

Still, the shock and horror of that event paled in comparison to the awful depths of Lovecraftian madness that his own baby boy had let slip onto this Earth. Both rocked the foundations of self worth and dedication to a belief structure in the big man, and both served to shape him into a stronger, better equipped man when dealing with abuse, pressure or danger. The sarcastic sneer that he gave to Maria belied the simultaneous fracturing and resolidification of his psyche, and onward crept his sense of determination until finally, finally the showdown between Man and Diaper came to a conclusion.

Elsewhere, but still nearby in the establishment, Caesar was busy placing phone calls and setting electronic reminders for staff and contractees. Mostly this was to ensure that business as usual kept rolling along, but also for smooth transition from one administration to another. Among them was a request from his company to Queensguard's to set up a meet & greet, now that a new, permanent Director had been chosen. It was labeled as priority business, to be attended at first convenience. He could not order the contract holder to do anything, really, so it took the form of a polite but urgent request for a close and personal sit-down between women of power and influence. And his Associate Director. Hell, he might even get an invite, too. Such was business.

Meanwhile, Angel had slipped a Turtleskin ballistic garment on underneath her usual apparel and altered her equipment slightly to account for the fact that she was now a Tech Director, working for a security company. It was very much like her old job in Boston, made easier by the fact that many of the apps used by the company for ease of technological utilization and general convenience were created by her or were derivations of programming from which she had written initial coding. Life did not suck so far as that was concerned, and before long, with the help of her new Tech Team (ok, Alicia's, but she had inherited a talented group of people) she was good to go within minutes. The moment that she heard the delivery guy was at the gates, getting the business from the ground people there, she gave a tiny cackle and forced herself NOT to go running out that way with guns and/or blade drawn, intent upon scaring the hell out of the poor bastard and trying to score free eats out of the ordeal. She was a professional. Time to act like it. But damnit, she was going to establish an office for herself in this place somehow, hopefully before her living situation was sussed out. Hopefully.

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

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: Perception

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Foy removed his hat for just a second and effected a curt bow in the direction of the impressively blunt blonde lady. No, not the impressively blunt blonde lady he was with, but the taller one who looked very much like she could take out a prize bull with her teeth and fingernails, albeit at the cost of basic social skills. "Indubitably Madame, my name is Coiffeur. Foy Coiffeur, and I assume the conspicuous role of Barber aboard this ...fine vessel... among other, more provocative responsibilities as yet to be fully actualized. To put it with a modicum of ambiguity, I provide professional services, of both clandestine and overt nature, for persons who establish predetermined contract for said services. I assume, madame, that we are in fields with some overlap. It is a unique pleasure, of course."

Placing his hat back atop his head, Foy completed the variation of his customary greeting, "Please understand, given the freshness of your contracted presence coupled with your status as member of this crew, should you have need of any of my tradeworthy skills, I remain of course at your service." A bit flowery of a greeting, considering the first few words she had spoken to him directly contained the phrase "sideways fuck". Be it a rather unexpected occurrence, he was attempting to convey some measure of gentlemanly grace even if it was to specific end.

Following the meet and greet, and Anisa's orders to the entirety of the crew, Foy could not help but notice that she had not given assignment to himself nor Jacqueline. He took this as an opportunity to continue their discussion from the deck below. "Addressing your assertion just prior, Miss Croix," began Foy, "I shall endeavor to keep this foremost in thought as we set to business. Point of fact, I was rather entangled in the personal task of tending to my munitions when our Captain called upon my more domestic services." A mischievous smile upturned the corner of his mouth as he continued, "If you truly wish to know more about my purpose aboard Prometheus, aside from my more obvious roles, perhaps you would join me after Anisa briefs the crew?"

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Bridgette Vinters

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A

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The first bit of speech to his Bridgette's ears following her own question as to the nature of the bespoke suited Foy came from the pretty blonde lady coming up the stairs. Apparently, she wasn't alone in her curiosity about the man, nor was she alone in her application of crass speech to express it. "Aw, why hello, Jackie. Aren't you just a peroxide fucking bombshell?" she began, using an indeterminate tone that could be interpreted as either tenderness or sarcasm. "That's just sweet enough to take the feet off a diabetic. It really is. If you're not attached to this guy on the serious, I'd fucking love to introduce you to friend of mine named Eduardo later o - "

Bridgette was cut off by the appearance of Anisa, who described the dapper moustashioed man as the ship's Barber. She looked at Foy, than back to Anisa, wondering why in the hell a hardass Firefly - check that - Dragonfly Captain would hire a frivolity like a Barber when she someone running the Rim needed to keep expenses reasonable and her crew multifunctional. Even someone like Harper, though he was on the skinny side, seemed to have professionalism and confident knowledge about him. A good pilot was worth their weight in gold out that way, but a fancy hair-cutting guy? Nah. There had to be more. That thought was dashed away when her soon-to-be Captain walked up to Bridgette and grabbed her into a hug. "Mmm." she exhaled, giving her a good squeeze. It was good to see Anisa again. Really good. Bridgette had to hold back a little; since they had seen each other last, the angry Viking lady had gone back to Borr for another termed session with gravitational strength training, and she was like iron. As long as she could keep up the maintenance regimen, Bridgette was a beast.

When she realized that she had kept the hug going for a half-second too long, she quickly let go and switched to brief conversation. "Well, hey Bitch to you! Ooh, I brought pudding!" In truth, she really wanted to give the first "Hey, Bitch", but the Captain beat her to it. She nudged the takeaway container toward Anisa, but backed off from additional conversation as she realized that she still had Captaining to do, some of which was directly related to her presence.

While other commands were given, Bridgette was bombarded by a series of flowing words, most of which she knew in passing, coming from the Barber who she had recently gathered was named Foy. Among the constant stream of upper crust verbiage were several words and phrases that did identify the man in part, so far as his underlying profession was concerned. Not to mention that his demeanor likely marked him as someone with training from the Core, even if she couldn't place the accent. But what gave Bridgette a mote of concern was the fact that he seemed to know a little about her. This was something to address later, possibly with a sack of ball bearings.

True enough to her words, Cyril was indeed coming up the spiral stairs with a dark complected gentleman, who was introduced as their doctor. She compared Jahosafat to Foy, noting certain similarities in dress and gait. Preparing to say something biting and dripping with sarcasm on the matter, she was cut off by her own sense of ethical obligation the second that Anisa mentioned the Preacher. "Yeah! Yeah, okay. Fucking hell... hey Doc, while we're at it, I wanna see this Will, huh? I got zero fucking clue why I'm his primary beneficiary." Bridgette took up her spear and shield again, allowing herself to be led out of the Galley and back down to Medical. While traversing the room back to the stairwell, she crossed paths with Dorothy, Daphne, and Fitz, giving them a wicked smile and wink as she passed by. Bridgette then turned to her brother, "Doing good, Cyril. I'll be right back, you stay here until I do, okay bro? Alright..."

As her feet sounded on the stairs, she addressed Jahosafat again concerning Atticus and his final wishes. It could be heard clearly in the Galley. "I mean, I led him into some freaky fucking horizontal shit there, but it's not like I was his first or anything, right? Right?"

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William Harper

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Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A

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Meanwhile, Harper looked on the scene as a man preparing for Purgatory might, rubbing his temples and just hoping that it would come to an end. First meetings were always interesting, as the impressions left would stick with someone, right or wrong, for quite some time. Or until more traumatic events took place to blunt them from memory a bit. Either way, after listening to everyone for a little while, he had to admit that they were certainly an entertaining bunch. Two years in the Black with these people, minimum. It was going to be one hell of a ride.

Anisa's last order to him before going into some private council meeting with her Second and former Pilot was to "make sure no one kills anyone". Bridgette was leaving the room with Jahosafat, the Captain and the Pender Sisters were having their own little pow-wow, which left Foy, Jacqueline, the big guy with the sock on his hand, Cyril, and Fitz. Mei was nowhere in sight. And it seemed that any minute, the possibility of violence erupting ebbed and flowed. Though no stranger to combat, Harper figured that the odds were against him if someone decided to actually murder someone else. But usually killings of that nature didn't happen at first meetings. Nope, one had to really take the time to get to know someone before stuffing them into a garbage chute and hitting the release valve.

Of course, she could have been mostly kidding about the while thing. Nonetheless, he nodded and gave a reassuring, "Yes, Ma'am. On it." while leaning against the bar nearby. Damn, but it wasn't dull on Prometheus.