Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Keystone & Caesar

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Office -> Airport
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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"Okay. Run this by me one more time. And rememeber, you're already on my shit list for never mentioning that you were involved with M'hija." It was more of an excuse to speak angrily than anything else. Caesar probably had more right to be pissed off at his own people, his ex-wife and his cousins. His brother, certainly, and his niece as well. All of them knew that Alicia had given birth to a steel-eyed baby boy that favored his mother just as much as the giant of a man who sired him. None of them had said anything.

"Bring y'geriatric arse round this way, yeah? Still goin' on." He was just about done with Caesar's bullshit. Their age and size difference notwithstanding, he wasn't in any rush to get into a fistfight with this man. Caesar was a legend, after all. But Keystone was zooming past the point where he felt like putting up with every piece of abuse the old man wanted to dish out. Maybe he should have mentioned something, but what was done was done. They could move forward, drag the people they needed to in front of Alicia's mother for whatever hell she had planned, and let the chips fall where they may.

Caesar glared at the large Cockney for a moment, then at the screen. "What in Taco fucking Tuesday is that supposed to be?" growled Caesar, dipping into a sliver of a stereotype for emphasis. He didn't like that his system was being overridden, apparently at will by persons unknown. He sure as hell didn't like the cryptic message, either. But it sounded familiar, somehow. He just couldn't place it.

Meanwhile, Keystone couldn't help but blush, if just a little. "Bloody 'ell..." he breathed into his hands. He knew exactly what this was. Word for word, note for note. He ought to; Keystone had every piece of music associated with the author and singer of those lines. He even had pictures. And lots of views on YouTube. It was his guilty little secret, laid bare for one of the scariest men imaginable. There was no getting around this. "That there's lyrics from Adele bloody Adkins, Boss." Yeah, say it nonchalant like that. It'll be okay.

"Yeah?" Casear paused, building up tension, "How do you know?"

"Never you fongin' mind. What d'you got, then?"

The two men went over their perspective bits of noteworthy finds, some of which fell into their laps and some of which were paid for with blood. Things seemed to continue pointing to some small town a ways outside of Chicago. Especially Caesar's "ransom style" note. And it was inferred that they needed to arrive on scene ASAP. An unknown entity or agent of their own narrative was edging them toward something, yet at the same time promising the possibility of answers. It was a rabbit hole, to be sure. How far could they go before it swallowed them up forever? But too much had happened to stop now.

After a not too lengthy discussion, the pair decided to at least check out this place in America's Heartland, hoping that clues would be forthcoming and whatever person was watching over them would tell them the right direction to head in. Caesar out in a call for his pilot to start working overtime, and Keystone set to grabbing what he needed from around the office. "We s'posed to expect trouble?" he inquired of the older man.

"Yeah. Always is. Bring your working tools with you. I've still got a lot from the funeral." Caesar nodded at his own words, leaving Keystone to wonder just exactly what kind of service they had down in Mexico. And when he could visit Alicia's gravesite. For now, he had to content himself with giving his son a smile and gently, very gently picking the little guy up, giving him back his pacifier, and letting the feeling of fatherhood wash through him. He had to finish this, just as much as Caesar. His little boy might not be safe until it was over. Keystone was going to be a better father than his own.

The next half hour saw them equipped as for a weekend in very hostile territory. Weapons, body armor, electronics, booze, tea, knives, clothes, and money in the form of physical cash as well as digital credit. They left Liam in the immediate care of the Tech team (because why the hell not, they were doing everything else) and slapped the two huge bounders from London on the case as bodyguards until Maria was free from her meeting to make more pointed decisions about him. The appropriate messages were left for the new Director to ensure that everything was passed along, business and personal, as well as the records of everything they had found and their reasons for the quick departure. She would understand. This was about Alicia.

Refuel, restock, and take the hours in the air to focus on what was important. Focus on what needed to be done. Caesar and Keystone took to the big man's Ramcharger to hurry back to the airport. Along the way, the big Londoner found an item that he had neglected to bring in from earlier: a boxed set of that program he had been shown the other night, by that Coroner chick. Well, if he had any free time, he'd make sure to catch up on it. Into the luggage it went.

"Hey Keystone? You ever been to Chicago?"

"Nah. Hear the food's good, though."

"Had to be food with you, huh?"

"Yeah? Piss off."

Into the air and places beyond.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main Building, Study -> En Route to the Mill)
Skills: N/A

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The smile that previously adorned Gilbert's face split open a little wider. He even moved his hand over his mouth, in the off chance that he needed to muffle a guffaw or two. The object of his mirth was, for the most part Alicia, if his eyes were of any note. It was a shame that the others never spent a lengthy amount of time in a Spanish speaking population. The young Paradox had the occasion to be a genuinely humorous woman, moreso when given to her childhood tongue. Whether it was intentional or not was anyone's guess, even Gilbert's. Nonetheless, he endeavored to maintain what little amount of manners he still possessed while casually demeanored. "Announcements and the like, Alicia." He wanted to say more, but the sight of her clenching Eve's pipe in her mouth and seeing to an Eve-ly task such as levying humility at one or two of the newer Paradoxes. Though admittedly, The Dice did so with a more experienced hand at decorum.

Gilbert was actually surprised that he didn't receive some sort of argument or backlash concerning his sudden and (recently) uncharacteristic issuing of commands and push to organize. He was the laid-back Emendator, when he wasn't training someone or on mission. This was supposed to be his time to relax for a few days, maybe get some maintenance work in at the workshop. Get something together for Sophia's missing hand, perhaps. Be left alone for a good bit of it, and associate in the company of others as it suited him. But Eve's disappearance had fundamentally changed the dynamic of the Emendators, possibly even the Paradoxes as well.

And to that thought, he had his own work to do that morning. Nancy's comment was not lost on him, though direct response seemed potentially discouraging. Instead, he have his Sister of Uruk a wink and a knowing smile as she left the room, to attend to her business elsewhere in the timelines.

"If you would be as kind as to excuse me," stated Gilbert, setting his hat back on his head, "I have an appointment to attend in Eve's place. I would appreciate returning to see the place as I've left it. I would be very upset otherwise." A nod of thanks to Gio for his expedient work with the portals, and Gilbert exited the Study, bound for his workshop in the Mill.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main Building, Study -> Following Alicia)
Skills: N/A

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Now, that was the Alicia that James remembered. The cocky, brash, troublemaking chica that flew off the handle, yet somehow knew the precise moment when to stop. Also who knew when to see to business. The thing with the pipe was a little much, but why the hell not? Things hadn't been normal for him in years. Not since a big, redneck bonfire party out in the reaches of south Georgia some years ago, when he saw his first dead man up and walking around, trying to eat folks. This semblance at an afterlife was just another extension of the cosmic game of "What The Fuck" that he had been playing for a long time yet. Every day a new opportunity to roll the dice and move his piece forward on the board, for whatever nonsensical good or ill it would serve him.

Naturally, when Alicia not only wanted to take him up on his offer to talk, but was in the mood to share her booze, he was very near overjoyed. He accepted her hand (not like he had a choice, really) and joined her as she exited the room and led him to the threshold of her private quarters. They were very good friends, once upon a time. She was with a decent guy at the time, or at least a version of her in his timeline was. He was just happy to be around people again. It was never anything physical between them. This Alicia was different, but maybe they could be good friends again. He was a different person himself now, anyway. "Hells yeah, Taco Belle! Straight tequila at Seven In The A.M., 'fore breakfast an' such. I'm in!" Oddly, he wasn't being that sarcastic with his statement.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Headland: E. Main Street, E8 (dismounting Hordebuster)
Skills: Engineering, Mechanic, Advanced Driving

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The Sister had given her response to Ash's simple and direct statements concerning where they, as a group, were coming from and his stance on the issue of what to do with persons, clergy or otherwise, who threatened the safety of those he claimed as his own. Her response, or rather the beginning of her response, held the spirit of the words and inflection that he was looking for. Understanding. Reassurance. Even a hint of gratitude. Then she had to throw in her remaining comment, which was the exact opposite of what he needed to hear. Ash took in a breath to speak aloud his decision on the matter of her presence among people he swore to protect to the best of his ability, when a car raced by his window like a bat out of Hell.

Of the many things that Ash was trained to expect, coupled with that which he learned from experience these last five years, this was NOT one of them. A car speeding past was not an insurmountable bit of surprise, though it was not exactly the first thing he thought would happen today. But these things happened. The portion of the incident that threw him off was when a red-haired woman leapt from the vehicle and screamed; first in Russian, then his first name, among other things in English. Tati.

Jack was the first to react, and did he ever. Like a Massachusetts Commando, busting out of the Hordebuster with the subtlety of the Kool-Aid Man and covering the distance to secure his wife. The first reaction out of Ash was elation. Then the slightest twinge of jealousy. In the two seconds of that emotional development, the soldier in him came to the forefront. Tatiana wasn't his wife, but she was his people. He had no excuse to still be in the goddamned truck.

Ash swung open the door to the Hordebuster and secured his Marlin lever-action rifle. He swung out of the vehicle like a 1980's action movie superstar, landing solidly upon the ground and raising his rifle to take down one of those despicable subhumans who took that wonderful young woman and her baby against their will. It was at precisely at this time that he took a bullet to his shoulder. He spun partially and fell to one knee, a fast growing spot of red upon his shirt. Ash had been shot before. It never got any better. "I ain't dying in Alabama." he growled, trying like hell to act through the pain.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quincy: D13
Skills: Survival

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Sarcasm and flirting, such as it was, was immediately knocked aside the instant that the saw kicked on. Thalia's first impulse was to jerk away from the sound of it, but immediately after that gut reaction a more purposeful thought process took over. She was scared beyond imagining right then, but knew that the only way to preserve her life was to make Manny's job as easy on him as possible. Her breathing increased in depth and frequency, her only saving grace in this being that she had no clear view as to the fate of her arm, as Thana's own limbs prevented it where she was being held down. Oh, she was going to try to move, regardless. It couldn't be helped. It's why she was being held down like the guest of honor at an S&M club.

When the saw parted her skin, she could hold herself back. When it entered the muscle and sinew, she could not help but scream. Scream, kick, try like hell to get away from the very act that was saving her life. She fought just as hard to stay still as she did to move, but that decision was already made for her, thanks to Beatrice and Thana. When it hit bone, she was done. Checked out. Gone. Shock slammed into her like getting drenched in freezing acid. It was only a second, maybe two, when she tried unsuccessfully to convulse. Tears were running before, but now they streaked her face, falling from her eyes even as her mouth broadcast the tortures she tried with naught but marginal success to choke back. She didn't want to draw anything toward them, living or dead.

As a blessing, shock fell away to unconsciousness. But not before the saw parted her radius and slammed into her ulna. Perhaps she would dream of the post-apocalyptic prosthesis she would eventually acquire. But most likely, her brain would try to spare Thalia from experiencing any of this, and keep her sleep dreamless and deep. Just before her senses left the waking world, Thalia could swear that she smelled the friction of the saw blade scorching her living marrow.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Okefenokee: E13 -> E12
Skills: People Reading

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Hank had to admit that Wayne was pretty damn good at this whole "not dying" thing. Then again, he also had to admit that running off like he did was a great way to break their "not dying" streak. Swallowing random pills of questionable origin wasn't the best way either, and so was intentionally distancing himself up the road a piece, singing... Queen? Give him some Stones any day. He could seriously take or leave Queen. Nonetheless, he had to respect the group for their talent, and rebuke Wayne for his vocal misadventure. "Freddy Mercury is goddamn cartwheeling right now." stated Hank flatly. "I know he's been dead for a while now, but I'm like, oh, 80% sure he'd come back from the grave to put a stop to this."

Just beyond his friend, Hank saw the staggering figure of another one of those Dead Assholes that seemed to litter the world like so many flies on shit. He couldn't tell from this distance, but it kind of looked like it had a big, bushy moustache, reminiscent of the legendary vocalist. It could have been anything, including a trick of the light, but it was already on Hank's mind. "Well, cram a cactus up my ass, I think Freddy's actually going for it." Hank picked up his pace, shifting into a jog to try and catch up with his survival partner, regardless of the random assortment of drugs in his system. As long as he stayed out of swinging range, he figured he might be okay.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside -> Grand Vestibule (E9)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 4
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The first thing that he noticed was the click of firearm hammers coming to rest in the ready position. Lots of them. This served to snap him back into something more of how he was when this latest chapter in the book of his blackmail began. He did not break stride, forcing himself to maintain the same cadence of cane-step step, cane-step step at the same speed as earlier. He reasoned that it would be difficult to continue his good and necessary work were he a corpse, and so strove to keep any of his inner thoughts from reflecting in his actions. The Doctor was there for important reasons, at least one of which was yet to be revealed to him.

His pace slowed a bit to address the object of his very recent sketching. She had been getting a LOT of attention, and now from ...a woman? He looked at the seemingly promiscuous woman oddly for a half second, then returned to his intended course of conversation. "Chanteuse Amaranthine." He had heard her name mentioned earlier but never asked for himself, "For the sake of this endeavor, I am called Dr. Swamp. While I am not as colorful of company, I can say that I give this event the candor and respect that it is due. This is dangerous ground. If you choose other company or no company, I will understand. Otherwise, I am claiming that seat..." he pointed the beak of his mask toward a chair in the far corner, opposite of Titian and Walnut, "...for your use." And of course, for his own use should she decline. "By your leave. And," he hesitated, fumbling with his words as he concluded, "I am ...pleased... that you favored my um, my sketch."

Dr. Swamp nodded briskly, and strode as best he could with the assistance of his stick (cane-step step, cane-step step), to come to a stop next to a chair toward the back corner of the Grand Vestibule. He set the tip of his cane down in front on him, and placed both hands atop it. If Amaranthine desired the seat, it was hers. He was just grateful to be in from the bitter cold, opulent surroundings be damned for the moment.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Bristol, Harbor
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Brivaldi, English

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Vladimir was fast realizing that attempting to control any of Ludwig's actions for the sake of propriety were ultimately doomed to failure. Moreover, the attempt to do so might actually cause him to miss out on these little tidbits of interesting information. Water travel was indeed faster, in many instances, than overland travel. But this other option that he mentioned: Canela? Lacanela? La Canela, perhaps? It was difficult to tell what Ludwig said sometimes, as English was not a native language for Vlad and the German fellow had the most distinctive accent. But these people, were they the traveling equivalent or possibly superior version of The Circus, as it came to the open ocean? It was a curious little mystery for him; one that he intended to ask Ludwig about later on.

In the meantime, Vladimir had led his great black Brivaldi horse, Tolstoy, onto the boat. He unburdened the animal of his bags, the flat wooden box, and the like, including the cloth-wrapped bundle for Millicent if they should meet in time. By the time he was done, Vladimir heard the unmistakable voice of Constantin, returning from the marketplace. With a laugh and a hearty slap on the back, he assisted his colleague by taking up the big, heavy bags from him, starting with the horses' fodder. "Da, da! Is job of moderate amazingness, Firevalker! Good." He quickly set his personal gear and a good amount of their travel provisions to one side, and then let his other two companions in on the deal. "Ve have cabin. Is not big, but is having bunks for us all. Iv not vanting rooms and bunks, hammock in cargo. Not knowing how long trip vill take, speaking something about Esk. Are vaiting for us to veigh anchor and make vith the leaving, so..." His eyes settle upon he basket in Constantin's arms, kicking off a brigh and wholehearted smile. "Fishes an Chips! Ha! I am hoping you brought enough for us all, and extras besides! Fishes and Chips!" Vlad took up a hearty portion of the common street food, and even as the boat prepared for immediate castoff, began stuffing his face with wild abandon.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{“It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work.” -1 Corinthians 3:13}

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Location: Carlisle
Skills: Horseback Riding

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Mary did not feel well. Mary's horse did not feel well, either. It was more apparent with the equine, as it lowered its head and partook mightily of the mid-thoroughfare horfing. Mary was slightly better off, maintaining position atop her mount amd being, thus far, free of horfage. It allowed her to address some of the points that Virginia had made about their present, unusual circumstances.

"I so not believe it illusion," she began, leading her horse up the road at a walk, "else it is an illusion shared between ourselves and Cassius." She patted the horse's neck, checking to see how it was faring after the session vomiting. "Mad, spooked, or upset horses oft make their displeasure known dramatically. Not do I believe that a Soulless lent their aid to our cause; it would go against my suspicions, and fly in the face of their normal behavior. Perhaps we have an ally. A living ally, I mean to say."

"I recommend that we take but a few minutes to water Cassius and give him minimal feed. Then we press onward. We might hazard the last push to arrive in Gretna Green."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Office
Skills: N/A

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I am Keystone's sense of pant-shitting horror. I am not exercised enough, which is a shame considering how much he exercises everything else. The old boy has been shot at, threatened with castration while bound with rope, stabbed by his own father with the intent to do him murder, assailed by people and things commonly present in myth and nightmare. Still, I have rarely seen the light of day. It is humbling when a man of such bravery and physicality, such raw strength of personality (if lacking certain social graces) simply refuses to acknowledge my existence. But sometimes, just sometimes, a thing occurs that allows me a second or two of freedom.

When Keystone's cursor started acting of its own accord, he was a little startled. Perhaps he unknowingly had an elbow or something on the keyboard. So for s single, brief second Keystone took a simple accounting of his elbows. There were two of them. Both were accounted for, ergonomically placed along his arms between his wrists and shoulders, one to each arm. So, it wasn't that. There was nothing draped across his machine either, no scrap of paper or novelty desk items; drinking bird thingy or those suspended metal balls that go clack clack clack (God he loved those things), so he could only figure that there was one logical explanation:

Demonic Possession.

The Nuns had warned him about thing like this. Not that he grew up in an orphanage or anything, it just seemed like people with religious backgrounds sought him out to make sure he felt guilty about himself or so that he wouldn't suddenly begin smoking crack and worshiping Satan. The Anglicans and Catholics alike, like some kind of a magnet. So yeah, his computer was apparently taken over by The Great Adversary himself: The First of the Fallen. The Spoiler of Virgins. The MASTER of Abortions! It was doing things in a manner most unholy, things which simply could not be in a secure and loving world. The thing was sending him horrifying messages about... about... Wait, was that a clue?

Everything might be connected but not in the way you think. Stop focusing on the cups and start focusing on the sword.
The ides of March are upon you.
The debt is half settled. Finish it.

Holy crap, that WAS a clue! Only he had no damn clue what the clue meant. Maybe Caesar or Maria or Thalia might. Ok, not Thalia, she got involved after even he did. Only one thing to do. Keystone attempted to message Caesar yet again, a simple preset text message about a meeting being moved up, like it was some sort of code. The big Londoner had no authority over the old man, though he really hoped that Caesar had an excuse for not getting back to him on what was probably very important matters.

Tentatively, even hesitatingly, Keystone set his phone down on his desk and typed in a return message:

New here. Who the arse are you?
Mayhap you can tell who needs a blade taken to 'em, and where I might do that.
Yeah, and it's almost bloody June.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Queensguard Industries R&D, Receiving -> En Route to Security Hub
Skills: N/A

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Ransom note, eh? Well, it's not like it was the first time he'd ever seen this happen. So very many people in his long and painful professional background were snatched away by the Cartels, or by rich, independent businessmen who thought that stepping on the regular, working asshole would be overlooked by the Powers That Be. Seeing as everyone he held dear was either dead or in the same building he was, Caesar was pretty sure that the letter didn't directly involve him. Intelligent but murderous eyes scanned the paper nonetheless, which led to his immediate surprise. Was someone trying to help them?

Well, if they were trying to help him, they were doing a piss-poor job of it. With both hands and a compass, Caesar had no idea what to do next. Perhaps if he had some other information he could use fir a comparison... It's quite possible that his latest protege might have done something other than let people get killed under his watch. Like, oh, he didn't know... some minor investigative work, perhaps? Well, there was one way to find out. Caesar turned on his heels and started back toward his offices, just as his phone vibrated once again. This time he checked it. A text from Keystone. No, this required a more direct approach.

Calling the big man directly, Caesar continued his stride down the hallway, studying the paper in his hand. When Keystone finally picked up, the older man leapt right into the conversation. "Goddamnit, Keystone! Where have you been this whole time? Strange things are going on, and you're what, back in the office? No, stay there! I'll be up in a minute. We have to compare some notes, and I think we might have to head back to the airport today. Yes, I mean it! I'll be right there!"

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main Building, Study)
Skills: Greek, Spanish

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The first thing that he noticed was that Evelina was gone. It wasn't like her. This was the first day following the last Paradox training session, one of the things where they all had a session discussing things as a group, most definitely some things privately, and spent a good amount of time in reflection. That last part was important - reflection. Some feedback was going to be good, other was going to be ...not as good. Yet they were all part of the same team, and so had to move past their little difficulties (their big ones, too) and work as a team. Emendators and Paradoxes joined together with singular purpose.

Except they could not be of a singular purpose. The lady known as The Dice was gone. Which brought him to the second thing that he noticed: He couldn't feel her anywhere, either. Not in the collective history of humankind, not in the recent history of the Destrehan Plantation grounds. Now he learned from Alicia that she wasn't appearing on the vid. That was troubling to the extreme. The sudden switch to Greek was also troubling, though not because of the language itself. What the words conveyed were harrowing, both what was written and what was said aloud. Being as he was in the region while the language was evolving, Gilbert felt very comfortable joining the conversation. An air of calm confidence settled over him; it was not what he actually felt, but it most certainly was what he needed to project to the others. Only Alicia might know the truth of him.

"Συμφωνώ με τη Νανσύ. Τα Παράδοξα χρειάζονται εκτροπές. Τίποτα όμως μαζικό, αυτό πρέπει να είναι ο χρόνος τους." He looked around everyone, Emendators and Paradoxes both. Giving Nancy an even gaze, he cracked a little smile and continued, "Μην κάνετε τίποτα φρικτό ή μόνιμο σε αυτά. Όχι μέχρι να γυρίσω, ούτως ή άλλως. Ξέρω ότι μπορείς να είσαι λεπτός και υποτιμημένος." He even gave her a little wink, his smile broadening.

When Belladonna spoke, it immediately snapped his head around with rapt attention. He took in her words and nodded in agreement. At least he knew where to start. "Επιστρέψτε το συντομότερο δυνατόν, αν θέλετε. Πρέπει τώρα να περιφέρουμε τα βαγόνια μας. Οι σκοτεινές ώρες μπορεί να πλησιάζουν, και όχι με το διασκεδαστικό τρόπο. Θα ήθελες να επιστρέψεις σε μας με ασφάλεια, κοπέλα κυρία."

Finally, to Alicia, who seemed to want to get in on the differing language action (and selecting one that only she and Gilbert knew out of this group), "Por ahora, solo sea su voz. Las otras Paradojas confían en ti. Lo mismo hacen los Emendadores. Trabajaré con el resto. ¿Bueno?"

There were questions from the other Paradoxes, to be sure, but the totality of the Emendators' conversation was not for their ears. Not yet, anyway. Nonetheless, ignoring them might lead to panic. Panic was counterproductive. "My apologies, really. Some concepts must be discussed among those who have experienced them. Too much knowledge too quickly can be as troubling as blind ignorance. It comes down to a common frame of reference more than anything else. For right now, unless we need something of you, let us do exactly as Evie (ahem) as The Dice ordered: One week. Take the time off. Look back on your training. Reflect. Until one of us says otherwise, let us handle the issue at hand. One moment more, please?"

Gilbert addressed the other two Emendators, switching back to Greek, "Έχουμε ακόμα ένα Παράδοξο εκεί έξω που δεν ξέρει τι συνέβη. Δεν θα είναι στη λίστα του Παλαιού Παράδοξου. Νάνσυ, νιώθεις να πηγαίνεις στην Αίγυπτο; Ίσως καλύτερα να προέρχεται από εσάς." A sudden change back to the language of the time and place had him speaking with optimistic syllables, "And Giosue, if you would be as kind, I need to take a field trip of my own. New York's Deadlight District, 1980's. I believe that The Dice wished to show one of our pupils the area's nightlife. I can at least take care of that for her." In a more serious tone, he concluded with, "Τη στιγμή που την άφησε τελευταία. Χρειάζομαι απαντήσεις."

The smile reappeared on his face as he made for the door. "Andromeda? It's time for some Extra Credit work. I need you to join me at The Mill. And bring your new coat. It looks good on you."

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James Grady

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

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Time was up already? Why, it had only seemed like a year and a half since he's died, been brought back, and then sent through a series of ongoing tortures spanning the gamut of time, space, and alternate realities beyond his previous imaginings. He even got notecards telling him how he did, at the estimation of his Emendator teachers. Scanning over them, he was surprised. Shocked, even. There were certain words used to describe him that he weren't sure were accurate. Good words, but he wasn't sure about the veracity thereof. Things about leadership qualities and good instincts. Other words were used to describe him, too. Less flattering ones. Words like rage, guilt, and darkness. Phrases like "waiting to explode", among others.

There were recommendations for further training, which he was actually okay with. James had learned a ton over the past several months. While it was not effortless, there was really nothing else quite like the forced, accelerated learning that he was getting with these people. He could eat this stuff up, if it didn't kill him anyway. That was a very real possibility. Past the recommendations for further training was a sort of prognosis about his future as a Paradox. Depending upon how it was read, it could be very good, or very bad. Hopeful he would assume, looking at the positive feedback, but he had a ways to go, obviously. And he had a LOT to work on within himself. He probably always would. James knew there was a darkness inside of himself. Sometimes it was even a damn useful tool, so long as he could put it back away.

The moment that he finished reading the letters and had his happy little introspective moment, he realized that something very off was going on. And it wasn't just because they were all speaking in that strange language that they spoke in the Spanakopita joint around this one place he used to love to visit in Texas, but that didn't help matters much.

James had used the phrase more than a few times before, "This one wacky game show", but somehow the level of sarcasm necessary for it to fit this particular set of circumstances was beyond his ability to summon. There was joy at being done with his initial training, followed by immediate concern. The Dice was missing? Yeah, that didn't set right. She was the reason they were all there. What happened if they needed another Paradox? What happened to all of those necessary things she did to make the world right? Hell, what was going to happen to this place without her keeping things in order, and who was going to step up? Certainly not him. Looking over to Alicia, James spoke, "Hey girl... I got lots to talk about, long as you're offerin' an ear. Fore we get to it, I'll be happy as a pig in shit, help you find that 'quila. Afters though, what do you all need from me?" That last part was directed to the room as a whole, rather than to any one Paradox or Emendator.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Headland: E. Main Street, E8 (inside Hordebuster)
Skills: Leadership, Engineering, Mechanic

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Thankfully, the team began to pile back into the Hordebuster without further incident or casualty. While not fully to the plan, he had to admit that they hadn't lost anything, no one died, and the new person didn't seem immediately hostile. This was as close to a good sign as they could expect, this day and age. Along the slightly more annoying events of the past couple of minutes, Ash had taken note of the sidearm pulled by Riley while they were recovering the errant Nun. While the details of the incident were fuzzy due to the pouring rain, at least she had not fired it off. It was a discussion for later on, and privately. No sense in making an issue in front of everyone.

The Nun spoke her piece about the vehicle being impressive and introducing herself, moving on to God watching out for them. It was about this time that Ash started to tune out everything else that was going on inside of the Hordebuster. Something was very wrong with his truck. Very wrong. He didn't like the sudden movement in the dials and dash indicators telling him about a massive spike in engine heat, nor was he particularly a fan of the red light that came on, and suddenly went back off at exactly the same time the engine ground to a halt with a heartbreaking, anticlimactic whine. Through the wheel, Ash could feel the vibrations from a physical shifting somewhere in the engine. The audible sound of ceramic popping was one hell of a letdown, as well.

Ash knew what this was immediately. Another close friend had just perished.

The Hordebuster had been with his family since long before the Outbreak. It was the thing which indirectly kept the (legitimate) family business afloat until it had a chance to be successful. It had been there when he returned home to Virginia after the Outbreak, still lovingly kept running. It was there for his people when they needed it, a labor of love and necessity to make the alterations that transformed it from a dump truck refitted for ware transport to a road beast capable of smashing through barricades, clearing a road of stationary vehicles, and cutting through a horde of the Dead like it was taking a Sunday drive through the country. It served as his home on the open road, and most importantly, it saved lives. His and many others.

Five years after the world turned sideways, and it finally gave out. Manufactured in 1989 in Canada, released to the United States in 1990, gone through multiple updates and modifications in its life, and it was a close to a living, breathing thing with family and personality as any machine had a right to be. The Hordebuster finally lay silent, a huge, metal Hero that lay down for its eternal rest. Ash felt like he had just lost a part of himself. The great military Engineer and his most notable contribution - his most successful feat of practical engineering - was lost to him. He knew it. He didn't even have to open the hood. That sound, that shift of parts, the sudden flare of engine heat? It was a thing that could not be repaired short of getting it into a full working facility.

"She's gone." stated Ash with defeated finality, to himself and to his people in the truck's cab. His words could barely be heard over the sound of driving rain pelting the truck, but they carried the weight of a man experiencing loss and covering it with discipline. "She's gone. We need to salvage anything we can from her. Tools, cordage, tarps. As much water in as many containers as we can carry. Alcohol from the aux barrels. Anything we can move quickly with. We no longer have the luxury of guaranteed safety from the Dead while we sleep."

Turning to the newcomer, "Ma'am, I'm going to be straight with you. This just turned into a very bad day for us. Here it is: If you attempt any harm to myself or my people, it won't end well for you. I won't hesitate because you're in a habit. I will kill you. Now, if you have someplace to be, none of us are going to keep you from it. Hang out until the rain dies down and go your merry way. If you're with us, you're following my lead. Period. We're traveling south. My name is Ash Holloway, formerly Captain, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. That should about wrap it up unless you have something specific on your mind. Questions?"

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quincy: D13
Skills: Survival

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This was it. Everybody was using sarcasm to make her feel better, so time was getting close, one way or another. Even Alexander's halfhearted attempt was endearing in its own way, bringing her back to the first day they met; the day she found out about her family. The day she lost Lola. Also the day they raided a cult stronghold and did some truly frightening work. Tio Caesar would have been proud.

Manny, on the other hand, was already talking about a pirate hook. He probably meant well, but it solidified him as the reigning master of "too soon" in Thalia's mind, seeing as the cut hadn't even been made yet. She shrugged it off and vowed to smack him with the first piece of functional prosthesis she could find/make/commission her favorite Redneck Engineer to assemble.

But speaking of redneck engineering, Thalia was surprised at the physicality of the woman digging her elbows into her shoulders and pinning her torso to the table. Thana's words stuck with her. It made things more real, even more so when she landed a peck on her nose. Affection wasn't their thing. Or at least it hadn't been. And being truthful, Thalia had seen Thana fight. She had always been curious which one of them would win in a bareknuckle scrap, if they were both at their best. Sadly, Thalia realized that she would never know now. She used to be vorpal hell in a boxing ring, and something worse in a back alley. That was about to change. Still, it beat dying.

But what probably gave her the most surprise was Beatrice, getting damned physical and saying all sorts of wonderfully... suggestive ...things to her. It made Thalia consider the position that the three of them were in; concerned, tangled, and forceful, and just for a single, hot second, she felt a blush rise in her cheeks despite the looming, mortal thing which was about to happen. "O's" indeed.

"De acuerdo, y eso está muy caliente. Después de que mi muñón cicatrice, debemos intentarlo de nuevo. Sin la sierra."₁ She smiled nervously. Tears were in her eyes still as she switched to slightly Boston accented English, yelling for the old man with the rigged power saw, "If we're going to do this, then fucking do it! I don't got all day!" She was almost looking forward to screaming her way into shock and passing out from the intense, mind-blowing pain.

Translations

Okay, and that is very hot. After my stump heals, we need to try this again. Without the saw.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Okefenokee: E14 -> E13
Skills: People Reading

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The sudden bit of choice indignation at Hank's choice of words, specifically the noms de guerre he had been so free in dispensing toward the Roman fellow during their thusfar short span of acquaintanceship, gave him a half-second of pause. Giving it a think, he seemed to remember the man being called Robert by his companion. And Robert seemed particularly annoyed at Hank's little habit. But not so much, seemingly, as to refrain from taking part himself. Hadrian, he called him. Referring to a wall built in Britannia by the Romans. Sitting on his ass after work with a beer and control of the remote actually did expand his education somewhat, though he was more of a WWII Documentary buff if given his options. "That's a good one there, Bobbo. 'Hadrian'. I'd go for more of a recognizable emperor or movie character, but I gotta admit, for the connoisseur (of sorts) that's not bad. History Channel much, did ya Sport?" It was one of his favorite channels, too.

Of course, the joke was on him when it was revealed in conversation that he actually went by Hadrian. Har har har. "But, on to late breaking news about the truck: Uh, it's dead where it sits. My learned..." he gestured in the direction of Wayne, sauntering up the road to a tune that apparently only he could hear. Hank shook his head, waving away the last word he spoke as if by force of mental white-out, and continued "...yeah, nuh-uh. My colleague has been pretty forthcoming as to the WHY of it all, but if you feel like giving that rusted shitbox a gander under her skirt, have at it. Don't think she'll complain." His plastered smile that had recently cropped up had all of the earmarks of sarcasm, "Oh, but my face is going to be so red when you come a'pulling up behind us. Betcha."

Hank hefted his shovel and started up the road. Roman Guy seemed to have some interest in Wayne's safety, not to mention establishing some sort of common ground. "Yeah, whatever. I'm Hank. Now, far be it for me to argue with a man wearing a metal shirt, but, I'm giving him some space until the pills wear down some. You want to go say hi, I'm not stopping you. Let me know how it works out for everybody involved." He nodded vigorously, giving a mock expression of encouragement as he walked along. The good news was that if anybody died, Hank did have a shovel.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Manor: Seat J -> Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside
Skills: Dexterity
Hit Points: 4
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"With your permission, of course." responded Dr. Swamp as he put graphite to paper. He began directly where he had left off, at the one grey arc he had made before securing her say-so on the matter. It was a curious sensation for him, wishing to be within one's presence and taking steps toward not offending. Concerning such matters of giving offense, the good and charming Doctor would ordinarily lead others out to a grand field, wherein one might grow a bountiful crop of Fucks. Yea verily, he might call upon said people to gaze upon the field, and see that it was barren. Nary a Fuck to be had; nary a Fuck to be given. Such was the nature of Dr. Swamp. Why this occasion was different was fully beyond him, but he considered it quite the anomaly.

The lines continued to accumulate across the paper, even as the great machine began moving the newly formed bench up the iron rails and toward the manor proper. The initial jerk of the engine's startup took the Doctor slightly by surprise; while he was able to lift pencil from paper before his image was ruined, he did shift to one side, making unintended contact with the lady to his side. "Pardon." he said coolly, readjusting himself in his seat. He spent the remainder of the time on the seated, steam-driven mechanical whirligig putting lines to paper, smudging as necessary for effect, and giving the occasional glance in the direction of his sketch's model. He did not even notice the proximity of the main house until the machine came to a stop, such was the attention to detail of his work.

As fate might have it, he lifted from the last stroke a split second before the sudden jerk of brakes took hold. Dr. Swamp had the forethought to set his leg at a braced angle, anticipating a stop that was at least as eventful as the start. Not that he wouldn't mind colliding with the woman to his side, but it would not look right for him to accidentally run into her a second time. He took the moment to review his sketch. Dr. Swamp had really outdone himself this time. Really. There was a depth to the image that seemed to capture the not only the tiny details, but the emotion of the moment, and put it all in a relatable, favorable light. For artistic purposes, he had captured a glimpse of the woman's soul, and committed the image to paper.

After the thin man spoke from the stairs, announcing the intent of the Master of the House, Dr. Swamp spoke quietly to the lace-steel masked woman who had served as artistic muse, "Would you like to keep it?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Bristol!
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), Brivaldi, English

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The cresting sight of Bristol gave Vladimir a sense of accomplished joy. Not so much in having plotted the course himself, because he most certainly did not, but in the sheer novelty of reaching someplace new in the course of a grand undertaking. Regardless of the potential outcome of their little adventure and the ramifications of failure, which in truth he did not fully comprehend himself, he was simply thrilled to be along on this. Perhaps even in England, the name of Bazhooli would eventually become known and, in the appropriate circles, held within the province of fear and wonder. As well it should be.

Vladimir gave heavy praise to the antic filled and seemingly shithouse crazy Ludwig, saying, "Indeed, visdoms ov Grand Duchess and Catholic Girl both are having good compass, da? For is the second time knowledge ov German ally Ludvig has save-ed eh, vhat is... The Bacons! Da! Vith the Saving of Bacons, I am seeing. Am having the gladness now; Master Ludvig chose Circus."

The quick ride into the city and near to the Harbor brought Vladimir's thoughts back to Constantin's words from earlier. "Undervater ships? Hmm... I think is fantasy. Maybe wrong. Vould very much like seeing vone, if they have in harbor..." Such marked the fleetness of mind that The Great Bazhooli possessed, and his willingness to keep an open mind. Even if it did involve such technological impossibilities as underwater ships. And upon further thought, he really did want to see an underwater ship now. Damn that Constantin for putting the thought in his head! He would have to hum a tune later in the hopes it played repeatedly in the Firewalker's brain for many hours. But this was counterproductive.

Vlad leapt to a standing position on his saddle, so as best to view his surroundings. He placed his very tall hat upon his head, and shielded his eyes as he looked around the harbor, searching for telltale signs of a light boat readying for departure. Luckily, he was able to find a few that fit the bill. Keen eyes scanned the waterfront, careful only to pick out the ones with crew upon the vessel who were supplying or only doing light offloading, and were only temporarily secured to the harbor's mooring points. He was no expert on the subject, but he had done an extensive amount of traveling in his respectable lifetime. He knew which boats to try, at the least. Inwardly, he hoped that they didn't hate foreigners.

Vladimir dropped back into his saddle and turned to his fellow circus performer, handing him a few sterling coins. "Lot of merchants. Lot ov supply peoples. If vould please, Constantin Firevalker, ve are needing to supply selves for journey. Get vith Master Ludvig, seeing how long boat trip vill take. Also needing fodders for horses. Am not losing Brivaldi horses to Englishmens." He thought for a second, then returned to speech with a great smile on his face. "For please! Am hearing ov British style Fishes & Chips! Am hungry, and having never tried the Fishes & Chips. Vhile I do this, please purchase for me the Fishes & Chips? Fishes & Chips for all ov us! HA!"

As he trotted off upon his mighty performance steed, down toward the vessels he thought might be amicable to his needs, one could her the brusque voice of The Great Bazhooli call out, unbidden, "Fishes & Chips!" with a solitary finger pointing toward the air.

Extreme luck seemed to have found Vladimir, as the second person he spoke to gave him a very curt, very short conversation concerning passage on his merchant vessel.

"How many people?"

"Three."

"Horses?"

"Two. Important for keeping horses."

"Provisions?"

"Am not knowing vhat best for looking for, but have man on it."

"Right then. We're stocking for a haul, so if your man's not that good at it either, we can help. You got money?"

"Da, am having monies. Some now, some vhen people get here?"

"Whatever. That money down pays for us to stay until your people get here. Then we're off. North, River Esk Channel. Puts you off near Gretna."

"Good, good!"

"Horses stay in the hold. Roped off part. Hope you don't mind sharing a cabin with your friends, otherwise it's a hammock in Cargo. Hey, you fellows belong to a circus or something?"

"The Circus, Shipmaster. Only Circus that matters." Vladimir returned to standing upon his great horse, Tolstoy, so that he could see and be seen by his friends, next to the sail bearing merchant vessel that waited for them to board. "MAKE QVICK" he shouted through cupped hands, hoping that his people got the message. He was probably the only other Russian on the scene, and the only guy standing atop a riding beast.

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Sister Mary Ignatia Hale

_{“It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work.” -1 Corinthians 3:13}

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Location: To Be Determined
Skills: Horseback Riding

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Virginia asked Mary a question that she had intended to ask first. Indeed she saw the distortion, but more than that she noticed fundamental changes in the makeup of the road. This felt different somehow. Even the trees seemed like they were different than the ones they had left earlier. Had that flaming pillar of a tree hexed them somehow? Had this been another type of Soulless with which she was unfamiliar, that worked some arcane and unknown ability? Were they claimed by the darkness? The only things that seemed to stay the same was the wind and the rain, making life perilous for all those caught within it.

Mary maintained her grip on her halberd but slowed the forward progression of her horse. This was different. Very. "Indeed, Virginia. That was most unusual. Providence has conspired to test us, but it also seems to have removed the obstacle of attacking Soulless from our immediate..." Mary stopped cold. It was a physical impossibility, what she saw ahead. The lights of a city, from just around a bend in the road. They weren't supposed to come upon Manchester for quite some time. The potential distance had Mary worried they may have fallen off the path, trying to get back out of the woods just earlier. Another forest road that merely resembled their intended, that they did not figure out in the dark and rain.

Trotting into the streets bearing living quarters just outside of the town proper, Mary was fortunate enough to see a little boy peering out of an unshuttered window. "Child," Mary softly called, getting the boy's attention, "Child, we are lost. What township are we entering?"

"Carlisle, of course ma'am!" he piped up, before a matronly set of arms whisked him away from the window and clapped the shutters closed.

"Carlisle? No... It can't be." wondered Mary aloud, a look of concerned confusion across her face. Conformation of the boy's words came in the form of a lightning flash, briefly illuminating a sign proclaiming entry to the Great City of Carlisle, in Northern England. Mary did not know whether to be joyous or scared. "This makes no sense, Virginia. None."