1. Home
  2. Sigil

Sigil Member

Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 6 yrs ago
Avatar of Sigil

Status

Recent Statuses

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

Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Dr. Swamp
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room
Skills: Constitution
Hit Points: 2
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎


Naturally, Dr. Swamp was a little put off that he was shot, and further that his powers of observation did not allow him to detect the presence of a second barrel on the Professor's weapon. Such a detail might have led him to alter the decision-making process. Lucky for him, it did not work out exactly as planned for his newest adversary. First Plum, now Walnut? Such a story might be unbelievable, were it not to have been corroborated in part by Titian. He blinked, even flinched as the striker clicked home, promising a swift delivery of the barrel's contents into his body, again. But a bang and flash later, and Walnut joined the blooded within the Music Room.

Swamp held his cane before him and braced, pushing himself to his feet while leaning heavily upon the wall. The trail of his blood upon leading upward was testament to the fact that he was not having a stellar evening. He punctuated Jasper's entrance with a sigh of relief - be it that he was not officially an "invited" guest, he held a tiny bit of hope that the staff would at least pretend to maintain the relative peace of the household. The Doctor opened his mouth to answer the man when the door handle opposite of them jiggled, as if someone wished entry. He needed to speak, before more people complicated the situation further. "Sir, if you would?" he began, injury accenting his voice, "I cannot assume the first shot was an accident any longer. This woman... shot me after this man lured me in here and attacked - and tried to again! Were it not for the misfire, I would surely be dead. They should be restrained for everyone's safety." As he spoke, he sought to catch the houseman's gaze, silently attempting to signal in the direction of the prone man. "There is trickery at work here."
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar & Keystone

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


Damn, but Caesar hated coincidence. The maybes of the situation kept piling up and none of them were to his liking. The woman who, according to Keystone, was present at the "Evening of Utter Skullfuckery" at Queensguard. At least the first part of the evening. And now she was going to be attending the funeral of a guy named Marc. It could very well be a coincidence that a highly suspicious person at a site of multiple murders under his company's watch would have a friend who died recently, this friend bearing the name of the person who had killed his daughter - who had also died recently. Supposedly. If the words on the hacked electronics were to be believed, then he most assuredly was not dead.

Their trip into Grimm was supposed to be about building information about this man and locating him, if he was still alive. The "celestial dice" notwithstanding, as Caesar only had the mysterious words to prod him in their direction. Otherwise, they could do this from their living rooms with much less hassle than their sloppy misadventure so far. Didn't even need pants, really. But this sudden and nifty bombshell? If the man was still alive, and they were part of the whole conspiracy, then he'd be an utter moron to pass up this opportunity to attend, or at least observe, the funeral. Hell, he might even catch a glimpse of the guy. This trip could be over quicker than he expected. Caesar looked down to the scrap of paper with Mali's number on it. It was something to start with, he supposed.

Their living family took precedence, however. Keystone looked to Claire responding for Caesar as he appeared lost in thought. Oddly quiet, murderous thought. "Right then. Sounds like a bloody plan, yeah?" No immediate response from the old man prompted a second, "Yeah?", which finally caught his attention. Something definitely seemed to be on his mind. He tried switching topic, if just for a moment, to flip the conversation from a monologue to at least a dialogue. "Your friend there, she's Got Milk, doesn't she then?"

It worked. "Yes. Yes she does." he said flatly. But he did continue, "They are going to the funeral of a man named Marc when they are done here. Yes, Claire. Please get me to the church. Also, please make sure that Associate Director Keystone has a vehicle and surveillance equipment on standby. If at all possible, I would like eyes on that funeral. Handle your family business." This was a bit to flip out the game plan at the last second, but it seemed that they had been doing that a LOT lately. What was one more log on the blaze at that point? So long as he cold get word back to vacate his family from ground zero of a nigh biblical shitstorm while simultaneously coordinating the followup of a lead that just fell in their laps, he and Keystone could attempt a little juggling.

"Well afters you then, Miss." suggested Keystone. It was time that started doing something worthwhile.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


Ash has tarried too much, waiting on others to deal with the doctor first. It was possibly pride on his part, but despite having arrived where they were supposed to after a long time coming, he still felt the desire to leap in before anybody else in his group had to. Ash was not happy when the reins of leadership were forced upon him by the passing of Lt. Colonel Leann McCormick, but he accepted them because someone had to. Ash was always a better Executive than a Commanding Officer. He had done a bit more maturing during that time, however. These were his people, and they were supposed to join with the people in Mexico Beach. Granted, he didn't know it was going to be this well established. From the way Thana spoke about her father, she might not have, either. So what it came down to was a single question: Did Ash trust Thana's people?

A lot could have changed in the time that she had been back to this place. But her family was still in charge. Plus, they were being treated fairly so far. Well, in fact. As long as they were not being fattened up for the slaughter, literally or metaphorically, this appeared to be on the level. And being out in the world, losing all that they had lost, had made him a little more suspicious than the situation fully warranted. This is what he told himself.

Okay, he wasn't first. Nor second. But he was next. Fixing a mindset of protocol for a physical exam when being established to a new command, Ash stepped forward and behind the screen. He nodded to the Doc and acquiesced to the examination with full, detached compliance. Blood draw, check. Hair, face, teeth, skin. Heart rate, blood pressure, hernia. Standard stuff. The last year or so had been brutal, exacting a psychological and physical toll on them all, but at the end of the exam, Ash was apparently none the worse for wear, at least as could be gathered from an initial examination.

"Thanks, Doc." he intoned rather stoically, and accepted his lime green wristband. "Trade war stories sometime." He returned to the main group with a steady gait, taking note of those that were being separated from the rest. Amelia was one of them. Yellow wristband. From what the doctor had said, they were trying to keep parasites out of their settlement. There were a few that could be found out readily from an exam like that. He couldn't think of any that were outright fatal. Ash took a moment to lock eyes with the woman and give her a reassuring nod. They were going to be okay. One way or another.

As he was moving to his seat, Ash saw the hazel-eyed girl getting up to take the next spot. They both stopped, looking at each other for a second before continuing to their respective destinations; Ash to sit, and Thalia behind the screen. To Ash, it really looked like she wanted to say something.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


"Sold." Thalia spoke dryly but quietly in response to Beatrice's mildly sarcastic counteroffer. Continuing with a matter-of-fact tone, she continued, "We'll talk later." And why not? Access to a shower opened up options.

When Beatrice came back from her examination, Thalia noted that she had a green wristband which apparently meant that she could rejoin the rest of the group, unlike a select few of the others. Whatever they had, it wasn't enough to put them behind sealed plastic or booted out of Mexico Beach, so she figured it probably wasn't so bad. But she still wanted one of those green tags. To hell with whatever those people had wrong with them. She started to rise, eager to get it over with, but leaned back in her seat as she noticed that the Army Captain had moved just a little faster than she did. Luckily, his visit wasn't very long. Before someone else got the big idea to go next, Thalia made her move.

Army Captain took a little longer getting back to his seat than she expected. She managed to lock eyes with the man, just for a moment. She had questions. This was the only person still alive that she knew of that personally knew and associated with four people she had genuinely cared about; her cousin Alicia, uncle Caesar, Shieldbitch Bridgette, and teacher Astrid. Fine, talk later. Exam now. Thalia continued to the medical staff and kicked things off with a good, old-fashioned blood draw. After the physical punishment she had endured over her lifetime, and especially in recent years, a jab with a needle didn't even register. She then stripped down and allowed the doctor to give her a look.

Thalia wasn't really a self-conscious woman. Not usually. There had been a bit of a hit taken to her confidence since losing a hand and half of her forearm, granted, but she knew that there was going to be an adjustment period. In the world today, concepts like "an adjustment period" had a nasty way of getting one killed. So it was a problem. Mostly, it was the amount of damage that her body had taken - the same reason that she was a little hesitant to fully disrobe in front of new people (at first) in the shower room. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, poorly stitched cuts, all of which left scars. Some much older than the apocalypse, some more recent. From the look of the woman, she had lived a horrifying life. Add to that the missing limb, and one might mistake her for a victim.

Or just maybe, a doctor with military experience might see her scars and recognize the particulars of each and every one of them. They were from fighting. Many times, fighting for her life. The fact that she was still alive meant that she was a killer. She might be trouble, to someone else's observations. If she had to put a preference on it, Thalia would rather be thought of as "trouble" than "victim". All the same, she practically stared down the doctor as he did his fast and thorough examination of her. One mention of her scarring in a negative light, or a condescending one, and she was ready to do... something. Blow up at the man, uppercut him, she had no idea. Thalia was a bright-eyed, coiled spring for a moment there, almost daring him to say something. She was a damn good boxer, once upon a time. Used to train others in the Familia Gonzalez method of giving someone a beating. It was a pressure style and she was a switch-hitter, so her left would still be devastating.

But it never came. Doc didn't say a word until after the tests were over and she was pulling her robe back on. "Alright you can stop giving me the stink eye and get back to your group," Doc says with a light chuckle. Green wristband for her. She felt a little foolish. Unconscious defense mechanisms up for nothing. Thalia returned to her seat and flopped down next to Beatrice. "If this place is legit, chica, I could use a couple days to just sleep. Well, after."

Hank Wright
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


Wayne was usually the type to rush in where angels feared to tread, but the little lady with the accent that Hank usually heard coming out of the bad guys from those Cold War movies he was so fond of took the first go-around with the doctor. Well, good for her, getting her shit handled first and foremost. Then Wayne, who did not go to his exam without comment. Truth be told, Hank was damned curious about the contents of that black box, too. Especially since the platinum blonde lady that his PB was ogling earlier had been the one to bring it in, and it was apparently meant for him, specifically.

Was he getting something from his belongings back, like that younger guy got his dog tags? He couldn't think of anything that was an approximate size and shape to fit in the little black box that could be in his pack. Maybe he was Mexico Beach's One Millionth Customer, or something. Welp, only one way to find out. As soon as a break in the shuffle of people going up there manifested, Hank made his move.

For probably the first time in his life, Hank seemed eager to sit in the chair earmarked for people about to get stabbed by a hypodermic. Like Wayne, he was formerly a resident of a New York Loony Bin Mental Health Facility, so these tests were something that he had just gotten used to. It had been a while, but it seemed like old hat. Like riding a bike, except you don't get anywhere and no one has any fun. Ever. Well, except him, and right at that moment. After his blood is drawn:

Miss Mary picks up the box and hand it to Hank. "Daytona said to hand this to you." It is an old black plastic VHS case, on the spine is a white label that says Lazy Town.

Confusion hit Hank for about three seconds, until he remembered the words spoken by the Padre on board the bus earlier. It was at that moment that the former Sheriff fully understood the concept of the phrase, "Shit-Eating Grin". He bounded over to the doctor, VHS in one hand, the other ripping off his borrowed clothes. Hank was almost behind the screen by the time he had pulled his hospital gown off of himself, raring to go. "Heh... If we could, Doc?" He tried to remain calm and respectful, but the kid in him was begging to see what was on the tape. "Can we, ah, can we floor the pedal on the exam? I just found out I've got shit to do." The grin was still on his face and he was bobbing his head up and down in affirmation like a madman.

It wasn't as fast as he would have liked, of course.

Doc takes a step back. "Oh, that's fun. Been close to that Hadrian fellow?" he asks before sighing. "You got lice, going to need you to go join him and the others for now."

"Woah. Hold up there, Chief. Sportacus gave me head lice and now we're stuck together for a while?" He began to laugh a devious and not well contained laugh. "And it's... not even my birthday. Thanks, Doc!" He accepted his yellow wristband like a badge of honor and made for the separate group of people with like wristbands. On the way, he diverted a couple of meters to grab a wheeled AV cart that contained an older model television and VCR. He looked back over his shoulder, "You guys mind?"

The affirming nod from the Doc was all he needed. He rolled the unit over to the Quarantine Within the Quarantine and pulled a chair up right next to his good buddy Hadrian. Before sitting down, he called over to Wayne, "Head lice! No big, they'll probably just slather us down with mayo. Or shave us bald." Shrugging, Hank popped in his cassette and grabbed the remote. He thunked heavily in the chair and hit PLAY, anxious as a kid on Christmas.

Once the tracking leveled out and those annoying bits of horizontal static cleared away, Hank (and Nigel, and as a matter of consequence Hunter and Amelia) was greeted by the surreal image of the "Lazy Town" opening theme:



At first, the sheer seeming randomness of it all was more than a little confusing. That was, until he heard the line, "And Sportacus saving the day". Hank was shockingly amused, quite possibly beyond the capacity for facial expression for long seconds; point of fact all of them until the intro was over and the episode began. Hank tittered, chortled, scoffed, and or generall laughed in a manner so off, so ugly as to sound like he broke something. He leaned in to Nigel and exclaimed, as if claiming a great victory over life, "Oh. My. GOD. Worth it. Worth it. If Doc had just diagnosed me with Ass Cancer, it would still, totally be worth it there, Sportacus. Sit back and enjoy there, buddy. I think he's about to, ah... yeah, regale us with his oh so famous "Sportacus Move".

Wiping a tear away from his eye, he wistfully declared, "Man, I'm just sad I had to go through an apocalypse to see this. Jesus-Horatio-Zaknafein-Gutierrez-Fucking-Christ, this is awesome." Smiling back to his survival buddy, Hank informed him, "Oh, don't worry. I think there are at least four more episodes on this tape. Are you not entertained?"

Reflecting upon it ethically, Han was pretty sure that, if there was indeed a Hell, he was very likely going there when someone (probably Nigel) killed him. Reflecting upon it logically, he really didn't give a rat's fuzzy hindparts right then.

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival Setup)
Skills: N/A


"I am led to believe," began Gilbert, "that anywhere off of the grounds will suffice." This in response to Giosue's question about relocating Peter's remains. He looked to the carnival medium, Ruthie, "Though I would not assume when we have this young lady in front of us to confirm." If it was a simple matter of removing the Paradox from the Loop and Ruthie was the genuine article, then this could be as easy as rolling the body over a fence and being done with it. It was obviously not the tall Emendator's preferred option; Peter deserved more respect in death than the equivalent of tossing a frisbee over the neighbor's privacy fence.

Gilbert was pleased to note that Andromeda remembered something in the way of manners where he himself did not. He was a rather informal creature unless a more tactical approach was necessary, which occasionally manifested in the form of Gil skipping little acts of etiquette. In this case, it was doubly so because he had taken small measures to try to rule out Ruthie's gift as cold reading or other acts of mischief. "Of course. How rude of me, Andromeda." He turned once more to the carnival lady and bowed his head with a relaxed smile, "Thank you so much, Ruthie. I have forgotten my manners today. Could I interest you in some coffee, or fruit? Perhaps some regionally sourced grain alcohol? Or whatever holds your interest for a repast before we commit ourselves to matters at hand."

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


"Ya know, Miss Sophia, I got no clue what he's thinkin' 'bout being called General Fuzzy." mused James. He glanced back to see if that squirrel was still behind him. James hadn't forgotten about his promise to the furry little guy, they just had a bit of a detour first. "It was just the first thing that come to mind when I was tryin' to pull a fast one on Mr. Hat, while back. Kinda stuck, with that one squirrel. He's aight." It had been alright so far, anyway, though James knew the cardinal rule that a wild animal would generally always have a bit of wild in them. No amount of preternatural communication was going to change that.

James was about to give one of his standard replies of open Southern Hospitality when Sophia beat him to the punch. He nestled his big cowboy hat back upon his head and agreed with his fellow former Newnanite, "Well hells yeah, that there's a fine idea. C'mon with, coffee an' the fixin's is exactly what you're gonna get. Somethin' besides too, if'n it takes your interest. We got plenty today." It was true, today they were in abundance. It was always the case as the day began the literal same as the previous. James arced his path to point himself and the people with him back in the direction of the Kitchen House. It seemed the appropriate place to be.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


What he received was not exactly a straight answer, concerning the prospect of the alliance. Yet it was hopeful. Montoya had promised aid, to him at least, on behalf of her people should he require the swift ships and able crews of La Canela. If that was the extent of her involvement, it was still more than acceptable. Vladimir gave the coin a close look, admiring the handiwork of it, before tucking it away and following the Captain out and onto the main deck.

Vlad did not wish to bother nor interrupt the woman as she gave her people their orders. Such a thing would be disrespectful, just as if someone were to cut him off in the middle of coordinating an event or mounting a proper defense within the Circus. Instead, he waited until she had taken position next to the wheel and approached, careful to avoid the crew as they moved about in completion of their duties.

As it was safe to approach, Vladimir stepped up to a respectful distance from the Captain and retrieved a sizeable, sheathed knife from by his side. It was one of many, owing to his occupation. But it was obviously of Russian make and distinctly Circus in form, amazingly balanced, and multipurpose as it needed to be in his service. He bowed and held it out to Captain Montoya, still sheathed, with both hands. "Is blade of Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, vone of masterful collection of The Great Bazhooli. For please, accept token in return for kindnessing and hospitalities, and know you are having friends in Mother Russia."
In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: The Ferry (Main Deck -> Lower Deck -> Cargo)
Skills: N/A


Still in steady motion for the next flight of stairs, Reginald tried to answer the question posed by the younger Miss Benaszewski as best he could. While the letter of what she was saying seemed tinged with disrespect, he could not blame the thought. It was one he had mulled around in his own brain some many times, himself. The lady was prone to her own brand of peril, and there was no getting around this. "Madame, Lady Munn has her own set of challenges, as do we all. I prefer to concentrate on the pure decency of heart the woman possesses, which stacks neatly alongside her formidable intellect."

The Lord Major had to pause for just a moment as he showed his ticket yet again, allowing him continued access to the deck below. "But to be perfectly honest, yes. All the same, let us maintain propriety. They have both been through a shock." He continued along his way, looking about until he remembered where the descent to Cargo was located. "Aha, here we are..."

He was delighted to see that a fair amount of his Fellowship was already below, waiting upon the wet and worn out persons who had gone for their involuntary swim. But first, "Lady Munn! Mr. Zalil! It is highly, highly fortuitous to see that you both are in good health and spirits! I do not know what I may do to assist; you have but to name. Please, please do not delay seeing to yourselves on my account. I am here to serve."

Turning to the heroes of the occasion, he continued, "Thank you for your efforts, Mr. Benaszewski. Indeed, i should wish to buy you a scotch later. And you..." he stressed, looking to the man who had jumped in to save Mahendra and, as it turned out, assisted Vera as well, "...are as impressively skilled as you are impulsive, sir! My thanks for seeing to the safety of these fine people! But quickly now, before I hear you speak; the Captain and I have a suspicion... You wouldn't by chance be American, now would you sir? There's a drink in it for you either way, of course." Reginald was bubbly with relief, and grateful that his Fellowship hadn't come to more serious harm. It showed in the jovial manner of the occasionally stereotypically old-fashioned British officer.

Haring Reddish


Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck, Josephine's Stateroom)
Skills: N/A


At first, Haring was a little uncomfortable with the situation. He was a man who had been in some of the most harrowing and anxiety-filled years that could be had by a grunt soldier, where it paid to shut down one's ability to emote for fear of the numbing horror and loss moving one to do something foolish. Or worse, detrimental to those around you who were going through the same hell. It was even expected that the greener men would succumb to these emotions at first, and to give them space until they grew a callous over their feelings. It was how you lived to see another day. No shame in it, but it was to be avoided. Things were different now. He was no longer living the life of a front line soldier stuck in a ditch squaring off against the enemy. One might say very accurately that he lived in much more favorable conditions, and now working as the batman to a living legend. Still, the habits of a line soldier were hard to break. Perhaps this was why he was uncomfortable when Josephine began to weep in earnest.

The soldierly matter of propriety was to be taken into consideration, not to mention the fact that his own words had been questionable just earlier. And now he stood in a private stateroom, alone with an unmarried woman with whom he was supposed to be conducting a report. He was a man of duty before everything else. Professional in demeanor. Reddish didn't know what to do here.

A few seconds passed as he stood there in indecision while Josephine expressed her feelings of loss and anger. If he continued to do nothing, he would be considered a cad. Perhaps he even was, but that was not the issue. This was not about him. He could not be a soldier and get involved, and he could not be a gentleman and not. The young lady had been nice to him when she had no reason to be. Accommodating when it wasn't necessary. Reddish made his choice. He quietly shut and slipped closed the lock to the stateroom door.

Holding his long bayonet to the seam of his trousers, Haring carefully sat upon the bed next to Josephine and wrapped his arms around her. "Miss Clarke?" he whispered with lingering uncertainty, "I mean nothing untoward by this. But you take your moment and let it all tumble out. I shall not tell a soul, I promise. If you should like for me to shut my eyes, I will do just that as well."

"The boat does not dock for two more days, Miss Clarke. We've time between now and then for the Captain's men to search this place from bow to stern, top to bottom. And if we find the blackguards that did this before they do, I shall try to arrange it that you have the first run at them. Right now, I've got you. You go ahead and cry. No one else needs to know."
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar & Keystone

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


"Business. Working a case personally." responded Caesar in his usual gravelly tone. "The woman who owns the bookstore is some kind of researcher." Both statements were factually correct, though spoken without the context that would bring them away from the objectivity that he was implying. Never a fan of coincidence, Caesar was a touch suspicious of the presence of these two women, doubly so if Keystone was correct and the lady who had stared at him just earlier was involved with the incident at his Justice site. "I don't want to hold you two up from a funeral. We can do this some other time."

He had his own business to handle right then, anyway. Coincidence or not, the safety of is family (what remained of them) was more important than catching up or chasing a lead right away. "I'm not sticking around Chicago for very long today, but maybe we can figure something else after. With your permission, who died? Anyone else from our neighborhood?" It was probably a little insensitive to say, but with the rampant deaths taking place in or near Boston Heights it was within the realm of believable possibility. Like a very localized curse that made one wonder why the whole block hadn't moved away years ago.

Meanwhile, Keystone was busying himself doing exactly as his boss instructed him to do. He took down the specifics of the truck that the southern belle had exited, including tag number and any identifying features. It was likely a dead end as a rental, though a basic description of the vehicle could be useful in determining a tie-in if it was involved with anything reported later. And a good habit to keep in the industry. As he was finishing this up, he heard Claire call for Caesar. The big man tilted his head in the direction of the bookstore just next to him and took in the sight that his Chicago associate pointed out. "Yeah um, Boss?" he repeated, backing up Claire's vie for attention.

Caesar looked up from his conversation with Mali. He also saw what was going on inside of the building, but made no move toward it. He was given the solid command to leave the premises by the owner, and unless there was an emergency that brought the Chi-Town equivalent of the Good Samaritan Law into play, he was going to sit this one out. The last thing he needed was to be picked up by local cops over something stupid and avoidable when the situation could, at any moment, become life and death. Getting stuck in "The System", such as it was, led to many a premature demise, be it police custody, hospitals, jail, etc. Even his company site was the scene of a few grisly murders all behind the supposed protection of his people. It's not like it was his doing, either, though it was one hell of a fiasco that caused MSS to tighten down hard.

Something clicked in the older Mexican's features, like a realization coming to the surface. Wentworth. The old man's son was murdered, like his daughter. The company held the account at Queensguard, like his did now. Wentworth took a beating for it in the news, just like his people did. Maybe the two incidents on site weren't related, or were in some way that he hadn't considered yet. Caesar looked to Mali and pointed inside of Grimaldi Books, indicating that she take a look. "Your friend might need you."

"We good, Boss?" This from Keystone in his roguish Cockney accent. He wasn't about to go back in either, not without an okay from his employer or the business owner.

"Si. Good." Short and sweet from Caesar. Maybe it was time that he began playing a different angle with this investigation.
In 🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Dr. Swamp
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room
Skills: Constitution, Dexterity, Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎


The loud, flat sound of spark set to powder deafened Swamp, if but for a fraction of a second. He barely registered the commentary made by his all too eager "medical assistant", recalling it in hindsight after a foreign object tore into his side. Such audacity! Such unnecessary and fruitless betrayal! Why she would choose that highly uncertain moment, and him of all people as a target was utterly beyond his superior intellect to fathom. Yet her words left no chance for error in determining intent. Swamp used the fraction of a moment that it took to hit the wall and regroup to assess himself, and the appropriate course of action.

Titian had apparently used the moment to run through the door (note, door, not doorway), shrieking like a debutante in a leper colony. It seemed he had some things to assess for himself, too.

It was a momentary hover against the wall, friction keeping him standing for just a short moment before his inevitable slide down the vertical surface to roughly come to rest, sitting upon the floor. Beneath his mask, eyes darted around his surroundings, taking in the tiniest details that could be brought to bear favorably upon his situation. Despite his position, sitting and bleeding upon the floor, the Doctor began to giggle softly. It was fast turning to the quietly maniacal, as if his vantage had allowed for clarity somehow and he was now the keeper of a tawdry secret. He could clearly hear the words of Titian and Jasper in the next room, but seemingly ignoring them, he addressed the lady who had just shot him. "Indeed it is fun, Professor. But not for the reason you might think." Pain tinged his words as he spoke louder, that others nearby might hear, "You mustn't blame yourself, Professor. It was a honest mistake. Thank you for trying." Dr. Swamp's mask slowly bobbed up and down once as he nodded at the woman, eyes fixed with a mirthful, knowledgeable look.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


It was a provocative question, generally. Even years before the threat of dead people chewing on your midsection, asking if there were any military in the room tended to start one kind of a myriad of conversational possibilities. Ash took in the responses of the people around him, both hosts and recent arrivals. He noted who didn't answer, as well. He nodded to Alexander as the older man made reference to a possible stint from a while back, but didn't say anything to the man. When the others made their commentary or asked their questions, he gave the group a second to make sure more wasn't forthcoming, then tried to address as many as he could at once. Admittedly, he had to crack the barest of smiles at the antics of the big, twitchy guy who claimed membership in a brigade that seemed ...dubious... at best. Between him and Panama with his Sergeant Bilko comment, It did a little to ease his morale. Even color his voice from grim to casual.

"Yeah." This assertion was equally to the man who mentioned ability with swords and the younger, more slender man with National Guard ties. "USACE Sapper. O-3 bars, gold castle." Again, a short burst of words that communicated to those of a military background his active rank and role within the Army, as well as a good estimate of his education and experience. In short, a Captain and Combat Engineer with formal education and respectable field experience. A few were not military, and would not have understood him very well. For them, he followed up with, "Army Captain, Engineer. But we're all kind of soldiers now, aren't we?" It was a fair enough assessment. At least half of the people he had served with would have turned and run for the hills at the first sight of a walking corpse. He'd seen it firsthand when the Outbreak started - Ash was at the equivalent of Ground Zero. If you still pushed air past your teeth past that first year, chances were that you had to fight for the privilege of doing so. But addressing the Atticus, Ash commented lightly, "We might have shared a patch of dirt for a while there, Padre." He shrugged. It wasn't that big of a coincidence, he had been to a lot of military hotspots in his career. Afghanistan was just another series of assignments.

As they shuffled along into the Conference Room, the first thing that Ash did was take a head count of the people with whom he entered Mexico Beach. Jack, Tatiana, little Jamie, Amelia, Riley - then Beatrice and the hazel-eyed girl (he hadn't gotten Thalia's name yet). All appeared safe and well treated, clean and dressed the same as he was. Ash counted Beatrice and Thalia among that number, even though the former had left Newnan of her own accord just prior to its collapse and the latter was known to him for all of two minutes before they separated. They were still part of the group that left with Thana to attack Eden, giving what was left of his people a fighting chance to survive. He still wanted to look out for them, regardless. Ash did not recognize the other two with them, though he did have a snatch of conversation with Alexander just prior. He seemed an okay guy. Picked them up along the way, maybe? Well, all questions would be answered in time. Just for now, they were together again. When they were all processed and he had a better feel of the situation, then he might approach. Once he had established that they were all safe and together, Ash allowed himself to take in the details of the room around him.

The smell of coffee hit him. It was heavenly. Caffeine in all of its may and glorious forms tended to be heavenly, but he had a special spot in his heart for coffee. Sadly, it looked like that was just a cup for one - that one was a lady that the Doc referred to as "Scary Bitch". Still, the smell of that bitter black roasted goodness was alluring.

So the plan was detailed as a quick series of questions and a physical examination. Fine. Fair enough. Back in Newnan, he had new people give over blood to their medical facility and he interviewed each new person individually. This was just their way. While not completely swept away by the comparative luxury of the place, he did appreciate the steps they were taking and their treatment so far. So no problem. Ash grabbed the paperwork and found a flat surface where he could fill it out.



Thalia Carmichael
Location: Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


Thalia had to admit, being squeaky clean was pretty awesome. In her younger days, it would have been "Wicked Pissa Awesome", but she had experienced a lot more than her adolescent years along Cape Cod since then. Her lack of comfort didn't come from taking a shower, for which she was highly grateful, but the uncertain switch from her life out in the wilderness to one where she was experiencing what was now considered luxury, all the while being watched by people with automatic weapons. The other unfamiliar people weren't exactly making this a picnic, either.

A long time ago, Thalia was a devout urbanite who, while a little anti-social, enjoyed the benefits of civilization. She liked the City. That had definitely changed, as anyone who had been near her for more than an hour could attest. All the same, there was a small part of her that wanted to be a part of these people's lives. Or anyone's life, for that matter. Being alone was often safer and she could move faster, but some things about it sucked. The last time a balance of who she was and who she was becoming had been struck, she was living a more primitive live in Fairburn, with the medieval and Viking reenactors who had stuck around and ran with the concept. Hewn log walls, stone firepits, longhouses, hunting, fishing, spears and axes. She missed those people. They were really good to her, and she owed her continued survival to them. Suffice it to say, she wasn't a city girl anymore. Cities usually meant death. Thalia's people revered death, but were not in a hurry to meet her.

Stepping into line with everyone else, Thalia got a tiny amount of reassurance when Beatrice hung close to her. She was a bitch, no doubt. They had a little in common that way. For their constant snark and sarcasm, Thalia was happy to have her near. She took a seat next to Bea and looked over the questionnaire while her face began to twist into an expression that suggested a lack of knowledge as to why this was necessary. If it could be summarized into a single word, said word might be "Wuzzafuq?" Some of these questions made sense for filing or personnel or something else that she didn't find useful (but understood why others might), but some of them just struck into the personal. Or ambiguous. Of course, there was a problem with her filling out a form, particularly one with an essay element. This problem was addressed by Beatrice with all of the tact and grace that she had come to expect from the woman.

Sadly, she had a point. Thalia was right-handed. Or she used to be, before the skillsaw amputation. The whisper and smirk from her friend was met with the very calm and professional response of, "Thank you for your concern, hon. Take a moment, if you could, and go eat a dick." She gave Beatrice a playful nudge with her elbow, and then got to the trying task of attempting to write with her left hand. It was about as promising as a drunken NASCAR event - something was getting wrecked. She tried to keep the writing as basic as possible and push through.



Hank Wright
Location: Quarantine (Showers -> Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


No, Hank didn't have any clever witticisms for the peanut gallery, nor anything to add to the conversations going on about his struggle against the pitfalls of soap reclamation. He wasn't military, though he had considered it briefly before going into law enforcement, and if anyone wanted to know directly about it they could ask him directly about it. Hank was busy trying to re-attune himself to things he used to take for granted like clean clothes, hot water, and a fresh shave. Not bad, if he did say so himself. But like all good things, it too had to come to an end. Optimism was not a thing which he wore well, but he tried nevertheless when the patry moved down the hall and into a place that looked suspiciously set up like one of the rec rooms at the mental health hospital he started his little journey from. Complete with a doctor who was trying too hard to be relatable and a scary nurse.

Still better than the outside. That, and it wasn't anything that he wasn't used to, be it over five years ago. Almost like coming home. If they started dispensing pills in those little wax paper cups that might have otherwise contained ketchup, it wouldn't surprise him. And, there was one piece of fortuitous news that came from Wayne: There were recliners. Two of them.

Hank carefully acquired one of the questionnaires, got a pen, and made his way over to the chair next to his buddy. It was a solemn occasion, settling into a good chair. Or a passable one, and this chair would do nicely. Hank did enjoy a good sit. After settling in, he gave the paperwork a good once-over. This looked like pretty basic stuff, except for a couple of those trick questions that were supposed to make you think. Or designed to look like they were there to make you think. Casually, he glanced over to Wayne who appeared to be filling his out with some degree of seriousness. Almost at a whisper, he asked his friend, "Hey, ah... what've you got there, bud?"

Wayne responded by showing Hank his paper so far. The former Sheriff raised his eyebrows in amazement. Wayne was being awfully straight with these people. Not to say that Hank was planning on lying, but if he were then their answers should probably match up. Well, nothing to be gained from it otherwise. With a shrug, he got to the paper. In the meantime, there was a damn comfortable chair that, if he had the time to afterward, he was going to nap in. He might while filling the form out, anyway. You know, keep his options open.

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival Setup)
Skills: N/A


So the lady who referred to herself as Ruthie was either amazingly well informed and a good actor, or she was really mid-communication with one of their dead Paradoxes. Gilbert's little test was not infallible, obviously, but it did push the scale more in favor that the lady was on the up-and-up. Moreover, even were she not, Gilbert saw nothing wrong in moving the still fresh remains of the late Peter Keystone just off of the grounds. Even if all it took was a short span of time for his spirit to part the strings holding it to its earthly husk, it was worth the effort. Gilbert would have been happier if he could know beyond a doubt that she was on the level, all things being equal.

Gilbert nodded seriously in Ruthie's direction, though his words were for Andromeda. "That is the beautiful part of our arrangement. Within this place, tomorrow is an excellent time for most everything. I agree. We will acquiesce to Peter's wishes. "

The feeling of familiarity crept closer to Gilbert, one that he instinctively knew came from another Emendator. It was The Watch, obviously, and he had questions of his own. "Many things happened in your absence, actually. Many I may have misinterpreted as something other than courtesy. I am glad we have that cleared up. Perhaps, Giosue, fresher eyes may lend the situation the gravity it deserves. Case in point, this woman - Ruthie - appears to have the passive talent for speaking with the dead. She reports that Peter insists we move his remains from the property. I see no problem with this, but I am open to hear your opinion."


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


Hopefully, the squirrel wouldn't mind a detour before he got hold of sweet, white, sugary goodness packed between two chocolatey wafers, stacked upon each other and packaged in a reusable tube. It was a good investment in the future, though he wasn't sure if the little fuzzy nutbar would know about any of this when the clock struck midnight. Were the animals on the grounds covered by the loop, or were they swept along when everything was reordered? Temporal reconstruction was a headache inducing thing sometimes, and James had zero formal education in the matter. Then again, it could be argued that he had zero formal education in anything, anymore, except to what the Emendators allowed him access. Well, before more throbbing inside of his skull made life difficult for the thinking of it, James turned his attention elsewhere.

"Why thank you, Miss Sophia. I was gonna grab somethin' for General Fuzzy here, but I'm thinkin' on comin' back to that in a minute..." He changed his direction, veering toward the steps leading up to Management's trailer. The one kid who had been interested in some of their comings and goings and was foremost up that ferris wheel when it decided to dismantle itself; James remembered that his name was Ben. "Hell of a mornin', innit? Y'all need anything, 'fore I'm out?" Far bt it for him to be accused of not demonstrating at least the very appearance of Southern Hospitality.
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet