Sigil

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

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Reginald & Haring

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Location: The Ferry (Sun Deck)
Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck)
Skills: Perception, Engineering
Skills: Lightbulb

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Gene's sudden assertion of the testicular fortitude of his fellows of the Isle of Angles & Saxons was met by the sudden, instinctive puffing up of the Lord Major. In truth, he was totally taken by surprise at the words of the otherwise unassuming Miss Benaszewski, otherwise he might not have spent the next moment looking positively confusticated and befuddled, struggling for the proper words at the moment. The honor of his native Britons had to he upheld, possibly with a series of examples of English Courage (no, not gin). Acting in any manner that was likewise of an intentionally insulting manner would be a damned unchivalrous state of affairs, as well. He was a man descended of old world knights, and as such was not at all replete of chivalry, as outdated as it was becoming in recent years. At the end of his likely humorous and sudden crisis of ethic, Reginald merely gave an understanding smile and responded with a dry, low toned, "Cheeky..." followed by an answer to her question, "Your brother is below decks. Cargo, young Miss." He was ever the gentleman, regardless.

Perhaps it was this lapse of concentration that kept Reginald from responding to the sudden aftermath of a vigorous Lord Majoring issuing from Corporal Reddish, taking on the form of Vera plummeting from the side of the boat. Over the rail and far below, the Nile had accepted another unintended visitor into her watery arms. Immediately, Reginald snapped into emergency mode, contemplating any and every possible way that he could repair the situation and save his adoptive niece from the great river. Aged but still sharp eyes took in the details of the boat around him, noting what he had at his disposal. There were various bits of deck furniture, structurally attached cable or some such similar cordage that he really couldn't use, possibly something involving a makeshift rope ladder involving articles of clothing... Lifeboats! Lowering one would take a long time and possibly hit Vera, but if he were to commandeer one of the lines about the pulley system. Yes! It might work. Looking to the closest person that he had authority over, Reginald began to roll up his sleeves and enlist Reddish's aid in the rescue to come. "Corporal! The lines attached to the lifeboat - I require your assistance to -"

In a highly uncharacteristic turn of events, the Corporal interrupted Reginald mid-sentence. It began with him barking out an honorific, but it was an interruption nonetheless. "SIR!" Reginald was stunned. "Begging the Lord Major's forgiveness for the brazen affrontery with which the Corporal has arrested your highly regarded and impressive verbiage, Sir! The Corporal shall file a report for insubordination immediately upon return to the Qasr El Nil Barracks or the next available outpost of the King's Royal Military, if it please the Lord Major! But if Sir might allow some latitude before issuing an Official Order that the Corporal will be bound to follow regardless of following consequence? The Shipmaster has staff equal to the task of saving Lady Munn with the preexisting knowledge to do so, Sir! It would be the bloody same as a group of them commandeering something from our Motor Pool whilst we were drilling inspections, and cause an incident as we no longer have authority to appropriate civilian property without established tactical necessity! And we'd be forefront in their way. They have this. We officially cannot, Sir!" Such a mouthful was spat out with continuous speed, flowing from one syllable to the next rapid-fire yet still uncannily understandable, and all with one lungful of air. It was actually quite impressive, if a touch annoying.

Reginald was beginning to turn red. First Gene, now his own batman speaking to him in a manner that was significantly more common and casual than he had expected from either of them. What was worse, in the instance of Corporal Reddish, was that he was right. That fact probably aggravated him more than anything else. He was absolutely correct and probably saved Reginald from some social or diplomatic fallout, even if that meant that he was powerless to do anything to assist a young lady he viewed as close as any family. Closer than most of his own by blood, point of fact. Helplessness did not suit him well. He leaned just a bit outward to peer at the water below, exclaiming, "Hold fast, Vera my dear! Assistance is forthcoming!"

Turning back to Reddish, the Lord Major composed himself as best he could, considering that someone he cared a great deal for was overboard and the Corporal was annoying the living piss out of him. He pointed in the direction of the staterooms, and reminded tersely, "It is best that you're not around when Lady Munn gets back onto the boat. You have your orders, Corporal. See to them. Dismissed."

Reddish cocked his head to the side, eyes widening in anticipation of what horrors Reginald might bestow upon him. Surprisingly, they never came. Or they didn't look to arrive yet. He snapped his hand into a vigorous salute, almost jubilant in his application of one of his favorite phrases, apparently of all time: "Yes, Lord MAJOR!!!"

Too soon. Reginald lost a bit of his composure, retorting, "Damn it, man! Off with you!"

Again laying a hand upon Josephine's back, Reddish again motioned down the length of the ship with his other, suggesting, "Shall we inspect your stateroom first, Miss Clarke?" He wore a helpful look and a warm, accommodating smile.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Joyous Corridor -> Music Room
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 4
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In that moment, the Doctor felt the need to immerse himself into the task set before him. Logic and no small amount of survival instinct slapped the idea from his head with enough proficiency to get him back into the reality of his situation, which was admittedly potentially very hostile, but not before an unexpected party joined him with the intent of making an introduction. Walnut. Professor Walnut. What very peculiar names they were forced to wear, like an unwanted conical party hat at a child's birthday celebration. Like the masks they wore at that moment. He thought that he had heard that name earlier in the evening, as some of the others introduced themselves to one another using their ever-so-interesting noms de guerre. If he ever found out who sent those invitations, and by extension who gave them those names, he had half a mind to plot something particularly uncomfortable to unleash upon them for the trouble of it all.

"For the sake of conversation, my name is Dr. Swamp. Pleasure to acquaint, of course." He gave the woman a piercing look for a moment, taking in the details of the woman, her mask, and her clothing, as if soaking up detail. Then oddly, he silently gave an affirming nod to her and motioned toward the entryway to the Music Room. It seemed that the good Doctor had acquiesced to the presence of another person of learning, as implied by his concluding observation on the matter which bordered on sarcasm, "He will not need to go far for a second opinion."

Dr. Swamp returned to the Music Room and located the patient. Plum. He was being particularly lyrical in that moment; whether it was a performance or a symptom was beyond him without further examination. Difficulty stood before him, in the form of a full room of curious onlookers preventing privacy and access. Swamp cleared his throat loudly and addressed those present, leaning upon his stout walking stick as a man wearied by a situation beyond him. His voice was heavy and dry. "My good people, I require the run of the area. If you would like to be of aid, tell me how long he has been speaking like this. It could be symptomatic of something far worse. Also, the bird - Please remove it. I would keep the examination as free of infecting agents as possible. I shall need what supplies have been gathered so far, if any. Lastly, please clear the room. I have a patient to attend that I cannot among a crowd."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Chicago (Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A

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The "fishes" comment invoked a grim chuckle from Caesar. "...Yule Brenner..." he mused. The scene from the movie that she quoted was supposed to be indicative of a powerful king demonstrating a more balanced side of himself and the ability to change. Caesar couldn't help but wonder if it was supposed to be a crack at his expense or if she was just a fan of "The King & I". Regardless of motivation, questioning it would profit him absolutely nothing. The meat of the comment raised a eyebrow, though. Adelaide might have meant well, but her statement didn't seem to really touch on his present situation.

"Trust..." he began, trying to phrase his words carefully, "Nothing says you can't take my money and feed me bullshit after I go. Someone trying to lie to me would be nicer to my face. Asking you to do the research yourself is trust." It was trust of a sort, anyway. That and, if he were honest, Caesar wasn't exactly a "library" kind of guy. Especially not an unfamiliar one. He looked down at the numbers that she set in front of him, observing, "It looks like trust costs extra." Technically, it wasn't the most fair of statements. She would be the one performing a service, albeit one that she seemed to be charging twice for - once for access to her personal library where she had to act as guide to locate anything within, and once again to read what she found that was relevant to the matter at hand. But that thought was off topic just a hair. "It's your security provider I refuse to trust. You are just running a business. I hope with all this trust I'm buying, you can throw in some privacy." He was using that word a lot today, "trust". It seemed to devalue the meaning, somehow.

Caesar picked up his satphone and switched to a messaging app, sending a one word summons to his associate outside. He eyed the other man in the room even as he completed his thought to Adelaide, "It's no one's business what I'm doing here. Especially theirs." The older man took up the legal paperwork and prepared to fill them out. With witness, of course.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Chicago (Outside of Grimaldi Books -> Inside of Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A

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The ever black hole of Keystone's appetite was blunted somewhat after the first box of MSG laden food went down like a trooper. He did have a thing for Chinese food, even the Americanized stuff that one was forced to consume in this part of the world. If nothing else, it reminded him of his time spent abroad, learning things that no one in his stomping grounds had ever been exposed to. It was a fine period of his life. It even established a big part of who he was; not just some massive, ham-fisted brawler from London's East End, but a cunning, dexterous combatant that brought a lot more to the table than mere physical strength. Technique, insight, and agility uncommon in a man his size. Not to mention a much broader horizon, philosophically speaking.

Eating proficiently with sticks, too. Lest he forget, that was something that set him apart from the people with whom he grew up. So, one box down. Before he destroyed everything else with his almost legendary off-day appetite, he figured on giving Caesar an opportunity to change his mind about eating. A box of rice would suffice for the present. A bit of sesame and soy in first, and his tiny sticks were wielded with technique generally unseen among the gweilo.

As he powered through the takeaway box (albeit with less fervor), he followed up on Claire's personal experiences with people doing awful things for what they perceived was the right reason. "Y'know, some things are right at black and white, what with perspective, yeah? When I got ring-up to be on a bloody airplane to California in two hours, I was beatin' a man slap to death with his own mate. Swung that bastard like a proper cricket bat, I did, after using his bollocksack for an 'eavy bag. If they ain't dead, they're still in the 'ospital. And that one bloke's gonna get a ton o' offers to sing with the Vienna Boys' Choir, so that's good on 'im." He stopped speaking for a moment to set upon a particularly troublesome clump of starchy goodness, then continued, "What I did was brutal. Extreme brutal. Here's the thing: Two o' them was sellin' new designers, eh pills? Custom drugs what ain't on the police register yet, and they was pushin'em out back of a school a friend of mine's kids go to. Wheels of Justice spin slow sometimes, and deaths already 'appened on account o' them pills. Cops can't do nothin' yet, but I'd bet my second-favorite kidney them fucksticks ain't sellin' nothin' to them kids anymore."

"Sometimes, what's right ain't what's nice. Sometimes it ain't even what's legal. There's a line in the bloody sand, and it's way past 'grey area'. You gotta be a little darker, just to make sure it stops. Just to make sure nobody crosses that line again for a long, long time. Ya get me? People with the power to do so need to do it for them what don't. Long as you can claw your way back from the black, afters. That's why we're needin' people like El Jefe in the world. The..."

Keystone looked like he had more to say, but instead he quickly retrieved his company satphone from his pocket and viewed the summons, Inside, from Caesar. "Bein' paged." He opened the door to the security vehicle and set his yummy foodstuffs inside, then answered the call of his employer by returning to the bookstore.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Need witnesses." He was holding up papers. The setup seemed pretty standard.

"Yeah, Boss."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: La Canela Ship (Captain's Cabin)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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A sparkle showed in Vladimir's eyes, seeing as the Captain appeared to be a woman of some sort of ethical code. Not his code mind you, but a code of behavior nonetheless. At least it seemed that way as she seemed to be invoking the adage of neither being a borrower nor a lender. Nonetheless, a person with a Code, if you understood what it entailed, you knew where you stood with them. The stories about pirates and Sea Folk rarely highlighted a strict list of preferred ethic, more than a series of superstitions and ritual behaviors. Thinking about it though, it only made sense that people living a lifestyle as unpredictable (quite literally) as the sea would have a means of treating each other, complete with strong guidelines of behavior if not hard and fast rules. Unless he was totally misreading the statements as they were given to him, and seeing in the woman what he wanted to see. He was fully aware that he was harboring a bit of an infatuation for Captain Montoya, and trying not to let it color his actions. Yet. What was life without passion, anyway? Nothing worth living, that's what. So sayeth The Great Bazhooli.

He raised an eyebrow at the casual use of the tongue of Mother Russia, though he did not pay it any more attention than to smile richly and take another drink of the wine provided him. "Sounding like Crypts..." he mused, before shaking his head and getting on point. "Let us not make the talkings about owed, da? I lead group of peoples, too. Sem'ya, eh... family, vith extensions, of descendants of origin Alexandrov noble line and Carpathian Gypsy dating before time of Ivan Vasilyevich. Performers. Vhen not putting on show, keeping to selves, close. Not letting many in. You understand?" Vladimir set his glass down and peered into Captain Montoya's eyes. He steepled his fingers in front of himself and prepared to discuss business, as he indicated earlier. "This vay vill be our undoing, all. Not knowing how has been on sea, but land? Bezdushnyy, ah - Soulless organizing. Attacking. Killing in dark ov night and open day now. Is some safety vith Circus, most ov us vith Rusyn Training, but is only matter of time."

"Vhat thinking of Graveolase? As you say, antiqvated. Serving selves. Keeping power for sake of power. New Arch Graveolase has taken over, fiery young voman from Vatican, trying to make better change, but they resist. Good voman. Scary, but vith true goodness. Ve came here to join. Grand Duchess could not, seeing vhat she saw about Graveolase. Instead, she makes new path. Alliance vith Mad Germans; hoping alliance vith others. Ve come together or ve die apart. Is simple. Soulless at open var vith all peoples now. Novhere truly safe. Cannot keep to selves. Must ally vith, learn from others, teach others. Othervise, no future remaining. I believe is only beginning." Vladimir obviously had a general aura of drama, coupled with an outgoing, fairly histrionic demeanor. But in this moment, it was subdued into a different, quieter sort of intensity.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (C8 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A

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A lot to talk about. That was an understatement. The first thing that he wanted to ask concerned the whereabouts of Thana. It would otherwise make sense to send a scout down first, if they were unsure. Hence, the young woman with the very familiar eyes that he remembered from almost a year and a half ago. Before the Outbreak, he likely wouldn't have given her a second thought. Nowadays, meeting new people was a much rarer occasion that tended to stick out in one's memory. Though he remembered her with both arms fully intact. What the hell happened to them over these long months? Was Thana even alive?

The ultimate goal was Mexico Beach. These people were the way in. Either Thana was there, she was going to be there, or she wouldn't ever be. Ash was going to do his part, for his people and for himself. Until those he cared about and for which he responsible were in relative safety, his concerns were secondary. It was best to try to put it out of his mind entirely (good luck) and push forward. "That we do. Brief me in the truck." This aimed at the familiar hazel-eyed lady with the missing hand. This Colonel Martin (which he was sure was not a coincidence) was in control of this situation, but Ash still had his own agenda and duties to fulfill. He didn't stop being who he was because someone promised them a meal and a safe place to sleep.

Ash had already removed his pack and fully disarmed. If they wanted him to personally place his items into the chopper, no problem. That was the price for admittance. He was careful and open with his movements, keeping to what was the standard for military protocol when there was was still a military to speak of. There was one point, however minor: Ash removed the dog tags from around his neck and held them out. There were two sets, slightly different in appearance. As he was given his cursory search, he said, "I gave my word I'd return one of these personally." He looked to Maddog and nodded solemnly, then dropped them both into the back pocket of his pack and stepped away. "I'm responsible for the people behind me. The ones coming up that road," he motioned in the direction from which the Eden group were arriving, "were supposed to meet up with us at Mexico Beach. The cat's kinda with us too, but he makes his own decisions. I don't know them," he continued, nodding in the direction of Wayne, Hank, Nigel, and Erica, "and the kid with the dog is not one of mine. Thank you, sir. I'll be in transport."

The jog over to the obviously modified vehicles was paused only for a half second as he paid admiration to the lead truck; a thing that was very much like a spiritual relative to his own dear, departed, post-apocalyptic roadbeast. He missed his Hordebuster. Already his mind was churning with possible design modifications that could be done on the moderate quick, such as a reinforcing exoframe connecting the front wedges to the greater body of the truck that would take two, maybe three days to implement; such a thing would increase the impact velocity that the truck could withstand at minimal cost to visibility, and when coupled with additional ballast would actually make the truck handle easier over rough...

Ok, he had to stop. Ever the Engineer. No, Ashton continued to the middle vehicle and climbed aboard, giving one last look out to his fellow survivors. This was it. Time to go.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (D7 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia was a little more hesitant than the rest of her group to just give up everything she had at the drop of a hat. As it turned out, it was really just a token second or two before she fell in line herself, and this after Beatrice had caught up and began unloading, herself. It was with a heavy sigh that she also began to remove her gear, mostly just stuffing it into her green denim backpack. She unslung her shield fully and set her pack down upon it like it was a shallow bowl full of survival gear, then scooped the whole thing up. Thalia gripped one side of the rim in her functional hand and let the other side rest on top of her otherwise pointy makeshift prosthesis as she carried it over to the growing cache of everyone else's belongings.

Finally, as she could not remove the sharp implement from her artificial arm without an investment of a little time, Thalia unbuckled the whole apparatus from her transradial stump and set it with the rest of her belongings. There was less trust than the others likely had within her, but Beatrice was right. This was their best shot for survival. That was one thing that Thalia had become: a Survivor.

She almost died a few times since all of this started. A couple of times before as well; one in the car accident that did claim her mother's life and another when she first started to work for her uncle. She was very green, a little naive, and got herself shot. After the Outbreak, she was mostly on her own, for a long while. Her underdeveloped wilderness skills almost claimed her life again. Were it not for the intervention and disciplined training of the Shieldmaidens of Fairburn, she would likely have been another victim. Since then, she had thrived out in the world, so long as she kept her head about her. The fact remained though, that she had been away from civilization for a very long time. Longer than anyone else on this stretch of road they all stood upon. Literally years. And the last place she called home was fairly primitive, though with some technological perks.

Could she even be comfortable behind walls anymore? Would she be able to trust food that she did not forage, scavenge, or kill for herself? Or was it finally time to come in from the cold? When the world knocked her down, she had people to pick her back up and teach her what she needed to survive. Ranger, Pathfinder, Survivalist. Now she was missing almost half of her arm. While she had gotten better, there was a way to go before she was at her best. And her prosthetic was not exactly cutting edge. Thalia needed help again, as much as it pained her to admit it. A better arm, and a weapon that could fit effectively with it. New skills. She needed time to train her old skills to compensate for her new limitations, too.

Oh yeah, and she could see that damned can of SpaghettiOs peeking from Bea's pile of stuff. She was getting Dem O's. "Ahright, I'm in. Let's give it a shot." Thalia submitted to a patdown like the others before her, though she was not a fan of being manhandled by unfamiliar people. Well, it was what it was. As she made her way to and into the transport, she made a request, "Heya, Bea? Introduce me to your friends. We all gaht stuff to talk about." The woman she affectionately called "Navy" was part of that, and additionally these people shared their lives with her friends and family during their last days. She wanted to know more.

Somehow, that goddamned rubber duck got itself stuck to her bag in the confusion. This was a thing she might not be rid of for a while.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (D8 -> C8, Transport)
Skills: N/A

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The nanosecond that Panama referred to Nigel as "Sport", Hank felt a overwhelming obligation to cough out the syllables, "...acus. <ahem> Sorry there, it's ah, seasonal. Allergies." There were maybe two tense seconds of quiet from Hank before he couldn't contain himself any longer, giving a quick and simple, "Sportacus," just for clarification in case he guy at the gun couldn't decode his ever so masterful cypher. There wasn't a whole lot that was going to bring him down right then, even the sudden, nigh psychic insight of the fellow old guy barking orders by the helicopter.

"Yeah. Roger that there, 20/20. County Sheriff - Cheshire, New Hampshire. Deputy before that." There was a touch of impatience in his voice, but it didn't stop him from forking over his belongings for later perusal. Hank held his arms out to allow for an easier search, continuing, "Ya know, this is a hoot and a half, let me tell ya, but I've got a real hankering not to get my ass chewed on by the multitude of Dead Assholes that I'm sure think that chopper's a dinner bell. If you ladies and gentlemen will excuse me, I'll be over there with the caravan of badass vehicles." Hank began his own quick and easy saunter, eager to get inside of something metal now that he was unarmed.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival Setup)
Skills: N/A

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Somehow, Gilbert was not surprised. He did not possess any psychic abilities that would allow him to sense the motivations of others; were he to have such powers, there likely would not be such undercurrents of growing concern about the presence of these carnival people as existed within him then. It did not take mind reading, telepathy, nor the much-envied power of clairvoyance to guess that the person in charge wasn't going to want to speak with him. Fitting, really. He found the entire lack of exchange just another slice from the same wheel of bitter, odoriferous cheese that had been forced upon them from the minute they were allowed on the property.

Gil was fully prepared to turn his attention to whomever would care to listen as he discussed, in the extreme brief, his purpose for that particular knock on the door. It would have been loud, clear of tone and intent, and assertive. Perhaps that was why yet another representative of the carnival that he had not been introduced to as of yet chose that moment to intervene. Perhaps it was merely coincidence. In the end, it didn't really matter to Gilbert. Well, there was no reason to be rude to this lady, regardless of the conversation with entities unseen or imaginary nearby.

Gil removed his hat and addressed the woman with a polite and melodic voice. Even a charming smile. He was a friendly kind of guy, mostly. "Gilbert Summers, madame. Thank you for trying to explain the situation. I am curious to note that whomever is in charge, or whomever else you are speaking with at the moment, appears to be unable to see into the hearts and minds of men. I am here to speak about a different matter."

The prodding to offer an arm was accepted with a wink and a smile. Of course, a walk wouldn't hurt a thing, especially as Management gave absent refusal to speak with him. So long as the lady wished to walk within the confines of their setup, Gilbert was more than willing to stride quietly about the area. "I am concerned." His voice was light, with nary a piece of direct accusation aimed at the lady. "Your Management wishes to speak later tonight. I can respect this. We all have our needs to attend in the meantime. What concerns me are the disruptions to our home, before our chance to meet and have certain things discussed."

But to the point of his discussion, "If Management wishes to do more on our grounds, she may ask permission of her host. If your people need anything of us, likewise they have but to ask. Conversation, take a meal with us, share a drink or two even; I will assure that we are amicable as you are our guests. We are even curious, ourselves. I also understand that your carnival is here by invitation of Evelina Lucas. I was not made aware of this beforehand, and she is notably absent now. Whatever Evelina may have said needs to be explained and verified through me before further liberties are taken. I will continue to honor her wishes as best I can, though we need to come to a better appreciation of one another before a misunderstanding spoils what could be a very edifying friendship. I genuinely hope we have not wasted each other's time. It would be a pity." There was no trace of sarcasm nor pride in his statement. He remained as he generally portrayed himself to the world: open, easygoing, yet assertive.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A

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It was a long shot to ask Andromeda to return to the carnival grounds so soon after leaving. James knew that. He nodded slowly at the pale lady with a look of non-judgemental understanding on his face. "Ain't no thing, Miss Andy. You do you, we got this. I'm sure the Big Guy's gonna understand just fine." He was talking, of course, about Gilbert. It gave James a mote of worry that there was only one Emendator left on the grounds, not to mention only a small group of Paradoxes. Their numbers had been lessened fairly recently, as well. It seemed to the ebon-skinned southern gentleman that this was an added bit of disadvantage, considering the lessons on teamwork that had been drilled into them over the long months of their training. Maybe their natural predisposition toward independent action would be of use that day, rather than the hindrance it was sometimes portrayed as in hindsight. A happy medium, maybe? So long as they were out there, taking care of what needed to be taken care of, James was good either way.

Walking back into the area set aside for the carnival, James found himself drawn to the wreckage of the big Ferris Wheel. He wasn't quite as up close and personal to it as some of his teammates were when it collapsed, and the lure of it was strong. This was where the entity referred to as Management made a public appearance, or as public as one can be on the Plantation grounds, and demonstrated what could only be called power. The altering of reality based upon what appeared to be simple willpower. James let his mind wrap around what had occurred just earlier as he stared at the wreckage.

So long as he was out and about among the carney folk, he kept an eye peeled for anyone familiar to him from that incident - the short fellow who seemed to run things in the absence of Management, or the younger man who made the climb to help his friend dangling off the side. Hell, or that guy - who was raining blood while hanging on for dear life as his precious wheel collapsed under its own weight. James located a passerby and got out a quick question, "Hey, that fella what was hurt from before, is he okay? Know where I could find him?" Maybe the man could use a cup of coffee. Or someone to vent to who wasn't someone he saw everyday.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Ferry (Just outside Bridge)
Skills: N/A

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A quiet chortle could be head in the vicinity of the Lord Major. It wasn't just because of the "American" joke, because there was a little truth to that statement in his experience (and considering his own past actions he really couldn't judge), but also because he felt a wave of relief to hear that the waterlogged fellow was getting the help he needed. There was nothing like removing a bit of worry to help one express mirth. In the event that the statement was taken as insult, or his own reaction to it, Reginald turned to the nearby lady from Philadelphia, "Apologies, Miss Benaszewski. The brazen fortitude and near insanity of your country's fighting men was crucial in the struggle against the Kaiser during the Great War, quite. I am only too happy to be in Fellowship with your people from the former Colonies, you see." He cleared his throat, unsure as to his conclusion, "Though one must admit the impulsive nature of the culture, while progressive as a people, makes for a myriad of cautionary tales. Blaze of glory, and whatnot..." The last sentence was spoken with a certain wistfulness that was notably absent elsewhere, as if something to be aspired toward.

"...yes, blaze of glory..." He suddenly focused upon the people around him, as if snapped out of a deep and satisfying thought. The one member of his staff in particular, Corporal Reddish. "Corporal, if you would please? As the Captain's men and one brave yet foolhardy American (for whom I shall likely purchase a whisky later) have the situation under control, do take the time to inspect both your and Miss Clarke's staterooms. Report back if anything is amiss, that I may make a full report on the matter with the Captain. Provided nothing else untoward occurs this eve, you may consider your obligations met, Corporal. Dismissed."

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Haring Reddish

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Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck)
Skills: N/A

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Several bits of new information flooded into the recesses of Haring's mind. While he was off having a pleasant, evwn spectacular night out, the rest of hus party was experiencing various hardships and irregularities. Oddly, a part of him wondered if they were cursed in some way. They were, after all, chosen somehow. Or at least that is what they reported in the form of shared dreams and spontaneous physical branding. Possibly he was spared because he didn't really belong to the group, having basically conned his way into it? It was something to consider.

Something not to consider, however, were the Lord Major's orders. He was given a task commensurate with his rank and standing, and that cooresponded with the company he kept presently. Doubling up was a good idea anyway for purposes of safety, particularly if armed. Safety in numbers. Well, relatively speaking. In the manner of Unyielding British Propriety, the unrelenting Corporal Reddish addressed the various members of his group (plus guest) in a manner of shorthand etiquette as a means of temporary farewell. Rapidly.

Starting with Gene, "Miss Benaszewski," he chirped, with a nod of his head.

Turning the nod into a full bow at the waist, Reddish swiveled the few degrees necessary to properly face Vera. The action resembled a clockwork dancer. "M'lady!" he continued.

Continuing his arc of pleasantries, Reddish stood straight and tall, quickly facing the Shipmaster, "Captain!" he called. The intensity of each title increasing as he went on. It was building to something.

"And..." He cast a sideways glance at Josephine, even as he turned to face Reginald. As if he was signalling. Or warning. He snapped his hand into a proper military salute, taking in a lungful of air to propel a final auditory blast that might one day be embellished in the annals of comic book history as a legitimate superpower, "...Lord MAJOR!!!"

Then seamlessly turned to Josephine. He placed a hand upon her lower back, motioned down the length of the ship with his other, and suggested, "Shall we inspect your stateroom first, Miss Clarke?" He wore a helpful look and a warm, accommodating smile.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Gaming Room -> Joyous Corridor
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 4
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Dr. Swamp listened carefully to the words presented to him concerning his soon-to-be patient. It was the other man in beaked mask whom he had noticed earlier. Entertainer of some kind, he would have gathered. Swamp did so like the Arts. Were it not for the appearance of the Chanteuse, he might have gravitated toward the man for conversation. Slightly bemused of voice, the Doctor inquired, "Tell me sir, was the attempt on the bird successful, or does it yet live to flap another day?"

The answer to his query being largely immaterial to the situation at hand, Swamp started for the door to the oddly named "Joyous Corridor". He leaned heavily upon his stick at first, but as he came into step the short walk grew more steady, practiced as he was moving with assistance. He noted the Four Men in the corridor with him, but did not seem to pay them any notice beyond a simple head bob. Instead, he spoke again to Tack, "I don't suppose supplies have been fetched? Basin, water for irrigation, horsehair, curved needles? Perhaps something to press and bind the wound, at least? If his bird is still intact, maybe it can be pressed to assist..."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Chicago (Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A

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The obviously flat tone of utilized by the proprietress reeked of a veneer of smugness to Caesar. He would just as soon leave this whole scene behind him, but some unknown entity wished to pull strings and direct him back to this spot, with this woman. Two things bothered the older man in this moment: Firstly, he had difficulty extending trust to many women, especially if they could command influence or had specific value. It wasn't inherently sexism, though Caesar was old fashioned about some things (and had the occasion to be an old chauvinist from time to time). It was the recently acquired knowledge of the existence of Juno and their recruiting policies. Secondly, they were being monitored by Wentworth tech. Not just a competitor, but directly involved in the murders that took place on his company's watch, however set up it might have been.

Nevertheless, like a dog fully expecting to be kicked yet obstinatly holding its ground, Caesar set his sat phone on the counter in front of him. He turned it around to face the lady, pushed it forward a token inch or two, and instructed, "Punch in an account number and relevant information. You will have your payment authorised in a couple minutes." He set a business card down next to the phone, continuing, "Contact me as you find something. I do not want to be present for the search. As I said, there is zero trust for your security provider. Do we have an arrangement?"

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J. Keystone

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Location: Chicago (Outside of Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A

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Of all the things that could be done to improve Keystone's mood, allowing him access to food was probably the best idea yet. It might have even been considered something akin to torturous, having him stand there for a decent length of time while the blessed scent of MSG and stir-fried vegetables wafted about his face. The first box he opened filled him with a sense of profound YAY, and he inhaled deeply of the rich, steamy goodness that issued from within. "Bloody 'ell, is this Crispy Duck an' Savory Plum Sauce? Oh, soon as I get a gulletful, you're on the recievin' end of a bloody hug, you are." He took the opportunity to lean against the vehicle as well, deftly sliding a set of chopsticks from his bag and separating them with the ease of a man trained to do so. Likewise, the big man handled the sticks like a pro, throwing back nifty tidbits of sweet and savory, starch and vegetal in proper order and proportion. It was an interesting thing to witness for one unaccustomed to Keystone's proclivities.

The observation concerning Caesar was likewise noted by the gargantuan Londoner, who shrugged his shoulders and agreed with Claire, after a fashion. "Yeah, on sorts... You, eh, you ain't read up on the old man's background, 'ave ya?" Keystone popped another piece of duck into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He waved his chopsticks around as emphasis, and swallowed his bite before continuing. "What ain't covered over in black marker's a dog's arse horror story, it is. He's done stuff, like... when he's motivated proper and aimed in the right direction, he's a bloody Mexican Juggernaut. Puttin' the torch to a block's just a knock at the bloody door before the real conversation kicks off."

His eyes drifted down for a moment as if remembering a chunk of sordid past. The expression changed to something bittersweet, but only for a moment. Thoughts went to his times with Alicia, moments speaking with her about their histories, and the like. Keystone had managed to learn a couple things about Caesar during this time, many of which were frightening - but a few earned massive respect. He snapped back in about the same amount of time it took to fit his chopsticks with another bite of meat and sauce. "Tell ya though, he don't look it, but he's one of the good guys. Prob'ly the last clean Federale in his department, way back when. What he done, he done for reasons. Same for what he's doin' now. That's gonna be 'ard to do with his family exposed. They need to get gone, by someone he trusts."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (C8 -> C8)
Skills: N/A

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A lot seemed to occur all at once. The first thing that Ash noticed was a remarkable piece of survivor skill use flowing from Tatiana; the sudden change in demeanor and shift to meek, helpless tones from moments before when she was calm and borderline dangerous. He had to hand it to the woman, she was good at this. And scratch borderline, she was someone to watch out for. The barest element of pride flickered in the back of Ash's mind as he considered that she was on their side. Come to think of it, everyone he was with had proven themselves time and time again. As much as he wished that others were still alive and with him, kicking serious ass as only his people could, he knew that these people, his people, were a force of nature given intelligent purpose. He was genuinely proud of these fellow survivors.

The erstwhile Captain turned his head to address his fellow Newnanites (if such a term was even applicable anymore), stating flatly and with clear voice, "This was the objective. One year, four months - couple of days. Find each other, find Mexico Beach. I know it's pure faith right now and it goes against your instincts, but this is where we are. What they're asking of us isn't so different from what we asked other people to do." Ash took two steps forward and set down his pack. His rifle and machete followed. Though he felt a little exposed out in the world without the means to defend himself, Ash understood the necessity of leading by example in this instance. "If it doesn't work out here, we thank them and be on our merry way. There's plenty of Florida to go around. Right, Colonel?" He looked in the direction of the man, hoping for some sort of validation to his statement.

The second that the statement left his lips, Ash was greeted by a sight that was more surreal than anything else. It was a fuzzy orange tomcat, seemingly none the worse for wear, making a beeline for him from behind the chopper. Confusion hit him for a second before he recognized the markings on the animal. "Noooo..." he said in pure disbelief. Kneeling, he allowed the cat to run right up to him and jump into his arms, purring loudly enough to be noticed over the helicopter. Ash let out a genuine laugh, followed by, "Schrody? Holy shit, is that you, Schrödinger?" Obviously, he didn't expect the little guy to answer. He did give a sort of response in the form of an excited sounding, "Meow!", though the interpretation from Cat to English might be met with a barrier. The cat, having re-introduced himself, stepped away from Ash and walked over to Tatiana, perfectly satisfied to rub against her legs.

"I really hope they allow pets." remarked Ash, with the first signs of mirth he'd demonstrated in a long time.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (C5 -> D7)
Skills: Dexterity

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God damn duck. Yes, it was stuck to her foot, and yes, it was making noise that she found so personally irritating right then that she was giving consideration to voluntarily losing another limb just to rid herself of it. The comments didn't help too much, either. Sure, they meant nothing by it. But it just wasn't in their social dynamic to forgive and move along without some sort of clap back. "Oh, ha fucking ha guys. Real laugh riot. You do know I spit in your mouthes while you're asleep, right?" She raised her eyebrows and nodded twice to emphasize, "Right?" Holstering her weapon, Thalia reached down and ripped the tape-covered bath toy from her shoe. She stamped down on the ground hard, glad to note that it didn't quack. Not once. "And no, I don't need your help disarming a rubber duck, thanks." This last bit was to Bea.

As it turned out, so was the following subject change: "This looks like a pickup and we're close to Mexico Beach. I think this is Navy's people. If it's bad, I've got the best shot at leading some of them off and disappearing." On the one hand, Thalia thought enough of Beatrice as their de facto squad leader to let her know directly what she intended. On the other hand, getting a thumbs-up first would have been polite. Equal amounts of uncharacteristic impulsiveness and protective tactic were at play. Beatrice still had full use of all of her limbs, making her more valuable to the others, Alexander had to hobble about on a slab of wood for a leg, and Manny was a guy in the autumn years of his natural life. If the situation was good and shiny, then she'd need to make sure that their ride stuck around long enough for everyone in her group to get there. Thalia seemed the logical choice.

She took off at a run, at least at first. Covering ground was the priority, and maintaining a one way line of sight was another. Thalia kept the sharp end of her homemade prosthesis back behind her, knowing full well that in the event of a stumble, painful things could happen. t didn't occur to her that she still had the duck attached to her hand until she was halfway to her goal, all the while letting loose a torrent of ...mmkwack squeakee... ...mmkwack squeakee.... God Damn Duck, indeed. The concept of stealth pretty much pointless then, Thalia shuffled her shield strap over to her shoulder in case it was needed quickly, and strode forward openly. It bothered her that a piece of rubberized plastic covered with adhesive was the deciding factor in a life or death strategy. As she moved closer, Thalia began to see that there were more people than she could detect from further up the road. About double. Her pace slowed as she came up to the scene. There was no hiding now, running would be difficult. This was not the best idea she ever had.

A sharp voice sounded from one of the groups, in clear, authoritarian voice. "I know you." Thalia's head jerked in the direction of the voice. She saw who it belonged to, and while the guy looked passably familiar, she couldn't place the face. But if one thought about the number of living people still left in the world, that should be enough to promote fight, flight, or friendship. The man didn't seem to be going for any of those options, however. "I know who made that shield, too. She was a friend. How do you have it?" The man's voice sounded familiar, too. Slowly, her mind began to piece things together. A look of clarity hit Thalia, and for a moment, nothing else existed but her and this man's group of people. Not the helicopter, not the group of older men (and one woman), nothing.

"Wait! You'ah Ash Holloway - Navy's Ash?" she exclaimed, pointing with her one whole arm, despite the still present duck. "Those people, they'ah from Newnan? You got them out?" Her Boston was acting up again. It happened.

"You're part of the Eden team?" He sounded hopeful.

Thalia looked behind her and called up the road. "Hey, we're cool!" she exclaimed, waving them down to her. Turning back to Ash, "Yah, we got a lot to talk about." Realizing that they weren't the most influential people on the ground there, she flashed a forced smile in the direction of the helicopter crew and gave them a friendly little wave, duck and all.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Wewahitchka, FL (D8)
Skills: N/A

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This situation was beginning to look very cozy for everyone but THEM. Yet another group was emerging from the surrounding area, and just lo and behold, they seemed to know each other. Or at least acquainted with each other well enough to start something close to civil conversation. And while Hank couldn't speak for anyone else, he didn't have a single clue who any of these people were. It looked like a safe bet that if there wasn't enough room on this magical truck ride, they would be the ones left behind. Well, not the first time. Probably not the last, either.

Hank walked to keep pace with Wayne. Sink or swim, it would be with this guy. And Wayne probably stood a better chance with someone running blocker for his social interactions. "The good news there, buddy," he began, nodding in the direction of the newly arriving girl with the rubber ducky stuck to her, "...you definitely heard a duck. I don't know if its good eating, though. You'd need to ask the girl with the knife for a hand. I swear, kids these days..."

The remainder of Hank's concern was awash in a blur of questions from his group mixed with hands on weapons that, considering the situation, didn't strike him as being overly cautious. "Hey, you know what guys? I could have sworn I heard something about 'medical evaluation' and 'walls'. Not to mention food, which I did have once and would like to try again. Now, if he wants me to fork over my shovel and mow a few lawns, I'm perfectly fine with that. Sooo... I'm going to listen to the nice man with the helicopter, handheld radio, and gunnery mount full-auto 50 cal, and politely put my stuff in a nice, neat pile for Mr. 20/20 here, which was the only reason my good friend Sportacus had his hand on his weapon, too. Right?"

Strangely, Hank's thoughts crept back to a time not too horribly far after the outbreak, when they were still slowly ambling their way down the various states, trying to get a handle on things. He wasn't sure who came up with the idea of doing what every other cop did at the end of their career and retiring to Florida, but it seemed like an okay enough thing to do. Before that, they pursued odder, albeit possibly viable alternatives that just didn't work out. "This reminds me, Wayne, of that Amish community that kicked us out, up in Pennsylvania. If these people want us to join a prayer circle and get rid of everything that has a zipper, it could be a deal breaker. Still, I kind of hope old Yedidiah Planksander and his cadre of barn raisers pulled through okay. His wife made a mean plate of mashed potatoes."