Sigil

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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

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Gilbert acknowledged Andromeda's concern before continuing with the rest of the discussion at hand. "You are much stronger now. Never forget this." Otherwise, he grew silent as the conversation progressed. Gil knew a thing or two about having to make hard decisions, the kind that people had to live with for the rest of their lives. For someone like an Emendator, that was literally an indeterminate span of time. You made peace with it somehow and moved on, or you let it consume you. He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like for one of his fellow immortals, or even himself, to succumb to something related to the darkness he had caused before he fully realized what kind of responsibility his abilities gave him. And he had caused a LOT of darkness. In one of his eras, he was even referred to as a demon.

The young man had traded one life for another, and now the lady knew it for certain. Gilbert knew nothing about the nature of the trade, although he hoped that the guy at least deserved it, so far as his ability to judge such things went. Gil did decide to respond to Ben's question to him, affirming what he had just said to the Paradoxes in the room. "It is part of being who we are. Like a tradeoff. Potential life for present life." The world had a funny sort of symmetry to it, if one gave it thought. Much of the time these things didn't make any sense unless viewed through the glass of hindsight, but eventually light was always shed into the darker places.

However, it seemed like the opposite of that was happening outside. The sudden onset of dusk was problematic, obviously. If this was a true coming of night; the manipulation of time or the like, then that meant they had guests coming for which they were not yet prepared. If this phenomenon was limited to the boundaries of the Time Loop, that was a different matter entirely. Then again, this utter manipulation of reality was a trifle unnecessary in Gilbert's eyes. Waiting was never the problem for him. He had waited for years, even centuries for certain things to come to pass. A few hours was nothing to him, but apparently it was for the leader of the Carnivale. Gilbert had things he wanted to accomplish that day.

Well, there was always tomorrow. In this place, tomorrow was both eternal and nonexistent. He wouldn't mind in the least extending the Paradoxes' leisure time for another day to account for this sudden departure from the plan for them. The other departure of the moment was that of Ben's, moving immediately to respond to the drastic alteration of their environment. Remaining upbeat, or appearing to at any rate, he spoke after Ben, "By all means, lead the way," and strode to follow.

His biggest regret in the moment was that the water for his tea hadn't come near to a boil yet.

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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 said that the manners the American South was so famous for was taught to them by the British. James didn't really think that was so, considering his own family history with persons of European descent was a little sketchy. He didn't blame the generation of them present at the time of his birth, though, and certainly not the generation present at his death. There were a ton of assholes to go around, rather than lump all of them into one specific group of people with which he and his historically had difficulty. And being fair, James was rarely burdened with an overabundance of formal manners. He tried. Really he did. But he failed a lot, too. So when The Watch made comment about his oversight that could have been easily remedied by a hand towel, he didn't take it personally. "Ah shit. Sorry, Boss." he said quietly so as to not interrupt the conversation in progress. It probably didn't hurt matters that Giosue seemed particularly British to him, like someone he'd seen who looked a lot like him in a sci-fi program somewhere along the line. So okay, James would listen to his advice on manners.

His initial difficulty could be handled by drying his face off. They had plenty of things that might be useful in that regard, but he chose a nearby apron, hanging on the wall. The other issue was one of basic sandwichry. As it so happened, he had access to a basic sandwich, which he wasted no more time in placing upon a plate and sliding it over to Andromeda. It wasn't anything special, just something that put solidity into one's stomach and was perfectly palatable, if uninteresting. Regarding the lone item on the plate, James shook his head. "Naw, Miss Andy..." he shuffled together another sandwich and placed it next to the first on his fellow Paradox's plate, followed up by another quiet intonation of, Gonna be a long day, and you been pushin' y'self. Hmm?"

Of course, the light of day decided to recede, instantly making a liar of him. "Really? Really? Guess I'm wrong again." There was a touch of sarcasm to his voice, birthed of making light of yet another unprecedented showing of power. In a more serious tone, "Might ought put somethin' on your stomach anyway. Might just have us a long night, now." He glanced out of the window, half expecting the sun to re-emerge like some celestial practical joke. On the inside, though, he was worried. Very worried.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Port Annan (Docks -> Inn)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Life comes at people in strange and interesting ways. While most people attempted to weather this change in their own ways, the people of the Circus tended to move right along with that change, while still maintaining their individuality and panache. That last part was important, panache. Vital to their existence as a people. But that was not the pressing issue of the hour; Vladimir had panache and to spare. The issue was the sudden alteration of the script, by means of Ludwig. That would be the example of life coming at him in a way that was strange and/or interesting.

The thing was, Ludwig was their guide. Though he didn't make any sense to anyone else half of the time, he seemed to make perfect sense to himself. When it came down to it, that was really all that Vladimir needed him to do. The esteemed Master Zimmer was less of a guide and more of a divining rod. Whichever way the stick pointed him, he was going to go. There really wasn't a choice in the matter. The Great Bazhooli tread in the direction indicated. To do otherwise was counterproductive. And considering that Vlad was the one who had mentioned food, it was at least half his fault that they were going in the direction of the tavern at the outskirts of town. Well, decision made.

"For maybes, Constantin Firevalker. Am not believing that ve have given the fishes of England fair chance. But not now, vhen ve must ride hard over land. Is big chance. Great Bazhooli takes advice of Master Zimmer. Stopping into taveren. Taveern? Vhat is... Ta-Vren. Ahshitz, INN. Ve go to Inn. Get bites, be on vay." They were already supplied, thanks to their provisioning from their port of departure. Unfortunately, it was also the last time that Vlad had eaten, and he wound up depositing all of that across the deck of the merchant vessel they had originally booked in an example of Epic Russian Yarkblaffery. So yeah, he was hungry. "You are vith me?"

Vladimir flashed a big smile and nudged his horse in the direction of the tavern indicated by the German. Upon arrival, he handed the reins off to persons responsible for handling such beasts along with a local coin, and strode through the doors of the eatery/house of lodging.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck, Reginald's Cabin -> Sun Deck)
Skills: N/A

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Dressed and ready to meet the challenges of the day, which may or may not include fisticuffing it up with ruffians and/or defending the honor of the Empire, The Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone, pride of the His Majesty's Royal Air Corps, took up the invitation to the Captain and set out to inform any and all of the others in his group of the breakfast above. Many, it was quite possible, had received a like summons. He didn't carry his message of upper-crust breakfasting to the Second Deck, for a couple of reasons: Firstly, propriety stated that those marked as attached professionally to the Elite Deck Ticketholders should be contacted by the persons to whom they were attached. Secondly, and most importantly to his nerves that early in the morning, Reginald did not want to suffer through the obnoxiously loud affirmations of Corporal Reddish. The mere thought of it before his morning constitutionals made him shudder involuntarily.

Reginald was a man who had faced war, turmoil, and loss in his lifetime. He had made massive mistakes and shown himself an apt example of heroism at its finest. Noble birth aside, he had carved a place of respect by the strength of his own actions and character. With this in mind, it said something solid when he shook his head and noped the hell out of that potential meeting. At least, for a while yet. The Corporal wasn't a bad guy. Damned efficient at his job, and attentive to detail. The optimal noncommissioned officer to handle ground work and day-to-day affairs. Reginald just didn't want to deal with him right at that moment. He did make it a point to inform whomever he found on the Elite Deck to pass it along to their Second Deck counterpart.

- Breakfast -

The sun was warming this early in the morning, as the sun in Egypt tended to be. They were dining in the ruffling breeze of the Nile, and though they were technically out-of-doors, Reginald had taken to a point of etiquette that would have been undoubtedly in place were they under a roof, and removed his cap to dine. It was respectful to the Captain as well, showing in some token way deference to his authority on board his boat. Before he sat, the Lord Major extended a cordial and semi-formal, "Good morning, Captain. How do you fare on this fine day, sir?" and waited patiently to officially join the table until he received a nod to do so.

He kept his morning repast simple, not wishing to appear overanxious nor impolite. Eggs and thick toast with marmalade dominated his plate, though he did have his eye on a tidbit or two elsewhere on the table. For the interim of the meal, he kept the subjects of conversation focused on pleasantries as best he could; health and the weather, the way things were versus the way things used to be and some of the ramifications thereof, things of this nature that could be best visualized by the three letter descriptor of "etc." It wasn't until very near to the logical ending point of the meal that Reginald broached a more professional topic. "Well then, Captain. I am grateful to your hospitality on this fine morning, but if I may - How fares the investigation into our little dilemma from last night? Any progress reported from your fine staff?"

There came over the Lord Major a sudden foreboding sense. A glaring, jittery sort of proprioception or extrasensory awareness that he used to get back during The Great War that served as something of a warning just prior to something horrible happening, like a sudden attack or a bomb dropping on their location. It was the awareness of an old soldier, a thing which made him brace for the coming fray.

It came in the form of a whisper in his ear. "Lord Major?"

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Haring Reddish

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Location: The Ferry (Second Deck, Reddish's Cabin -> Sun Deck)
Skills: Stealth, Arabic

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The plan was to give it a wait until his pictures came back from the photographer, then deliver both Josephine's apparel and the images serving as memento to their evening to her stateroom. That plan, in hindsight, seemed to conflict with the need for the Corporal to check in with the Lord Major that morning. As it stood, he was given a good amount of latitude with his being "Off Duty", yet it was still good policy (as well as protocol when off base) for a valet to report to his officer at the start of the day to allow for any changes to his situation or standing orders. It shouldn't be that long of an ordeal, and he could then get back to his appointed task at hand.

Unfortunately, that would require him to venture up and into Elite Deck territory. Such an undertaking might require a touch of skullduggery to accomplish without being noticed. He would have to be especially Reddishy that morning. Now, the actual ascension to the deck above was routine. He had a ticket that allowed him access with the idea that he would be handling the affairs of the Lord Major. Remaining subtle once he was upon the Elite Deck... that was the trick.

As expected, the initial ascent was standard. Reddish showed his ticket and made his way solidly toward Reginald's stateroom. A moment of disappointment struck him as he came to learn that his superior had already left his quarters, making his simple task a tad more complicated. The old man had not passed him on the stairs, and the only general reason that Reddish could think of as to why he might be down there would be to check on Cargo. Well, he had people for that. Namely, Corporal Reddish. So if he was not on the Elite Deck and he was not likely to be below, it stood to reason that he would be on the Sun Deck. It was breakfast time, right? Okay, there was his excuse to be on a deck to which he had not received invitation, just in case he was found out.

Reddish needed cover. So along the way, he stopped by the kitchen and began confidently explaining in passable Arabic, "Marhaba? Marhaba! Nem, 'ana malhiq shakhsiun Bialluward Majur Kistun, 'ana huna liaistiqbal qahwat alsabah." He tapped his foot and put on the appearance of impatience. "Qahw! Nem, qhw! Alquhwat alddamiat Lilwarad Majur! Ladayk khidmatan qahwatan , nem? Arjwk bsre!" His face brightened for a moment, "Lishakhsayn, min fadlika. Shukraan jazilana."

A smallish serving platter containing two demitasse and a stylized, silvery coffeepot was hastily but deftly appropriated by the Corporal which he used to obscure his face from casual glance, and a decanting towel laid over his opposing forearm, at least partially hiding the armament at his belt. This was his stock and trade, and Reddish was damned good at it. The very image of his face turned toward the jovial and he gave a parting, "Thank you ever so much once more, sirs! I shall inform the Captain and the Lord Major of your amazing service!" He bowed stiffly at the waist and strode out of the kitchen, gunning for the Sun Deck.

- Breakfast -

He came out of nowhere. Seemingly, literally nowhere. There was no warning, he did not appear to walk up from anywhere. He just appeared. Quickly, he bowed his head down to ear level with Reginald, and rasped out a quick announcement of his presence.

"Lord Major?"

Reginald knew that something was coming, but it didn't matter. Shock slapped him like a wet steak, flailed in a fit of hysteria."Dwaaaah!" he screamed, involuntarily flinging his cup of tea into the walkway nearby. "Blast it all, man! What the devil is wrong with you? We were just having a pleasant breakfast and you -"

"Oh, I should just love to join you, Sir! Absolutely, but first..." Reddish lay the towel over Reginald's shoulder and poured the older soldier a cup of stiff, black coffee to replace the tea that he had just lost, followed y a quick pat down to eliminate and errant drops of the steamy beverage that may have sullied his uniform. "There you are sir, good as new. I've come to see if the Lord Major requires anything of me this morning, or if the "Off Duty" status remains, if you'll follow me Sir. But as you've been as gentlemanly as to allow for my presence among my betters (that being yourself and your associates present, of course), I am frankly honored to accept. How ever could I not? Thank you, Sir. A thousand thankyous. Please, enjoy your coffee."

The Corporal plopped down in an empty seat and poured his own cup. He then, rather abruptly, fetched two slices of bread and a couple of poached eggs, a bit of crumbled cheese, and what appeared to be some form of spiced hummus. He stacked it all into the form of a rather irreverent sandwich and took a massive bite, the entire time making various grunts and affirmations of its deliciousness. "Mmm. Oh, this is just heavenly sirs! Lord Major, Captain, just heavenly. This must be how the other half eats in the small hours. Mmm. Simply delightful." Half of the sandwich was gone in an instant, after which he casually inquired, "Plans for the day that include me, Sirs?" His food was likewise almost done in extremely short order, as was his demitasse of Egyptian coffee. He flashed a smile that could have been interpreted as either smug genius or overt ignorance. It was hard to tell with him.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Chicago (Church)
Skills: N/A

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Father Pearson seemed heavily accommodating. Moreso than he had seen from anyone else for a long while. Caesar was tempted to cast the entire exchange with a heavy spoonful of suspicion, were it not for the fact that this was his idea in the first place. It was the massive coincidence of it all that irked him. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was breaking in his direction. It would be a fairly recent development, considering what utter hell had befallen himself and his family since coming to California.

The older man shook his head at the offer to speak with his brother personally. "Gracias, but no. No direct contact to start. If you could ask one of the local churches in Monterrey to personally deliver something, that would be best. He will be in touch with me after, and he will handle the rest. Probably the same way I am now, and probably through his daughter." The problem that he saw as of yet, this being the embryo stage of a full plan, was that he didn't quite have a place for his family to land. Perhaps Keystone could assist with that, Caesar understood that he did have a real estate holding in London, proper, that wasn't well known about.

Unfortunately, he couldn't volunteer something that wasn't his, and they needed a staging point in the interim. "When they are off-site and have alternate communication, they will make contact. Standard protocol if someone is listening. Padre, I was hoping to hire the Church to help with that - alternate communication. No one in history is as organized or reaching as La Iglesia Católica. Except maybe the Romans." He shrugged. There was argument that the Church was what remained of the Roman Empire, following its deconstruction. They survived where empires fell, kept what knowledge they could alive and they prospered, though many of their early techniques were questionable. Their history was also steeped in blood. So was Casear's. So was his brother's. They fit together well. Come to think of it, if Caesar could enlist the aid of the Church, it might even the odds against an infiltrating and history-writing group like Juno. Power of Christ compels you, indeed.

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J. Keystone

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Location: Chicago (City Streets -> MSS Chicago, parking deck)
Skills: N/A

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Keystone had to nearly forcibly restrain himself from going on about the legendary performer known to us mere mortals as Adele Adkins. He knew that Claire had worked for the lady, but to be part of her personal security over a massive, world-spanning tour? The socially blunt Londoner would have given a kidney to be a part of that. It was silly, really. He was a grown man with a tendency to fangeek over a singer from his hometown. Or have the desire to. Actually doing so might be damaging to his reputation, and in his industry, rep kept you employed and alive. So instead of giving a girlish squeal and asking a thousand questions, like he really wanted to, Keystone merely mentioned in a casual manner, "Ah really? Would've liked to meet the lady. I'm a fan, y'see." Secretly, Keystone was happy that they were not in his Ramcharger, where his music had already been copied and was probably sitting on autoplay, waiting to strike unawares.

As for her being a ring fighter, well, it might be said that she and Keystone had a few things in common. The big man was a bareknuckle boxing champ before he went away to learn how they did it in China. And after, he was damn near untouchable. It seemed that this one did something similar, but further south into India. And there was something else, too. "Alicia trained you up in London, did she? Bloody 'ell, I'm right surprised we ain't crossed steps till now, right?" It was at that moment that he wished that Claire was a bit closer in weight class to himself. He would have liked to spar with her, see what the teachings of Bodhidharma had become over the spans of time in the ancient monk's country of origin.

But for now, as they entered the grounds and confines of MSS Chicago, Keystone moved his corporate identification to the outside of his coat. He was on company property now, in a place where he was not personally known. Being an Associate Director wouldn't help him all that much, except to ensure that he wouldn't be ordered about while on premises. But private property did give him one advantage: he could replace his louder means of self defense. As Claire located an appropriate parking space, Keystone seemed to remember something unrelated to their present conversation. "If you don't mind, Miss McManus... Who was that friend of your brother's what passed on? Thought something was sounding familiar about the names, is all. And I do hates me a coincidence."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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

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A prayer. It wasn't something that Ash had done himself in a while. He still had a portion of his faith from back before, though to be honest it had taken a hell of a beating in recent years. Some habits were hard to shake. For him, one of them was being a Methodist. It was hard not to, growing up in small-town Virginia. Not the type to slip into agnosticism when things got rough, even an apocalypse, Ash still believed. He had just been very quiet about it, both to and about God. All the same, he couldn't bring himself to do much more than silently acknowledge Alexander with a slight nod and a raise of his coffee cup. Maybe God was listening and maybe He wasn't. Ash just didn't know anymore. He wasn't about to fault the man, though. Even if he was Catholic. Let every man and woman find divinity on their own path.

The mildest of conversation was had with Moralez consisted of, from his end, "One thing I always miss when it's gone, coffee." Ash did have a fondness for caffeine, and coffee was one of his favorite methods of getting it into his bloodstream. He took a sip and regarded the last time he had a casual cup of the bitter black goodness. Then he attempted to forget immediately. It was the last time that he saw Thana, the last day that Newnan existed, the day that most of the people he knew or cared about were lost or killed. He didn't want to think about that right then. It would serve to muddle his wits in a new situation, which neither he nor the people for whom he was responsible needed. Instead, Ash concentrated on how lucky he was to have access to coffee again, and that these people were hospitable enough to feed his Newnan survivors.

Doc returned and wackiness ensued. It was practically set up, based upon overheard conversation from earlier. An old argument, else it was something set up for the entertainment of those in the room. Though he expected it was genuine, given the sudden flare of the situation and the ease with which it was diffused. Not unlike members of a family fighting. Two thoughts reached Ash with that exchange - firstly, with Mae and Moralez leaving the meal would be mostly unattended, and secondly, those pulled aside from the rest of the group should be returning at the present.

Ash took up a position near the table of goodies, sipping his coffee, ready to wave over the rest of his group. Somehow, he didn't think that they would have any problems finding it. On the other hand, as much as he wanted to wait until the rest of the Newanites got something before he partook himself, he didn't want to wait for any longer than he had to. The coffee seemed to aggravate his desire to fill his belly more than it did stave off hunger. Or it could just be the sight and smell of home cooking that overpowered the caffeine. Ash held up a hand as the now bald survivors rejoined them all, indicating the yumminess that was laid out for them.

He made it a point not to mention anything about their hair. There would be time for that after they adjusted some.

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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The fact that soup was involved was the only reason that Thalia bothered using flatware at all. It was an interesting thing to behold; not a lack of manners specifically, though that was most certainly present, but a feeling of devolution. The young woman vaguely resembled a wolf with one paw gnawed away, piercing hazel eyes taking in the details of the room around her even as she systematically obliterated that which she had put upon her plate. She had found a defensible place along a wall, away from the others who had the sense and ingrained social desire to utilize things like "tables" and "chairs", and around other people, no less.

When the initial edge of her hunger (that she didn't really feel until she knew she was getting food) had abated, Thalia risked a more detailed look at everyone around her. There were painfully few people that she actually trusted there. Beatrice certainly, the two older men in her group as well, Alexander and Manny, and she had intended on finding out more about that Ash guy and the people who were with him. So many things unanswered. Just then, however, she had a plate full of food and every man, woman, and child in the place was under quarantine. Nobody was going anywhere. As much as Thalia was not overly fond of being confined, it did have the benefit of allowing her to pick her moment to talk. With a plateful of mashed potatoes and clam chowder in front of her, that time was most assuredly not now.

Then again, she was particularly alone at that point. Bea was well past due for some scathing remark or another at her expense. It was an interesting way to pass the time, out in the world. She could almost set her clock by it. Thalia spotted her at a table, sitting with Alex. Something might be up. It did occur to her that she herself was really the odd one out, hunkering down and eating like a savage. Maybe that was it. Or maybe she just wanted her space. They didn't have to rely on each other to survive right then. Whatever the actual cause, Thalia was oblivious. It wasn't like she had a lot of friends, and her nature didn't usually inspire the loyalty of the masses, nor the trust of strangers. She sighed, shrugged, and returned to her food.

There was the slightest bit of confusion as Thalia realized that her plate was empty. She glanced about for a half-second as if initially expecting to see that its contents had been misplaced a foot or so to the left, before common sense took over and she understood that the fritters, mashed potatoes, and chowdah had magically found their way into her gut without her full, conscious awareness. Autopilot speed comsumption at its finest. What was worse, she could still eat. Resolving to wait for a little bit before truly attempting to gorge herself, Thalia gathered her feet underneath her, moved the plate and such to the designated area for such things, and quietly walked over to where Tatiana and Jack were having their meal. She might want to try some of those recently nonexistent social skills, so long as they were going to be stuck together for a while. As she approached, she crossed her arms, partially out of insecurity over her right forearm.

"Heya, umm... everybody's keeping to their own little circles, yah?" A touch uncertain socially, her Boston was acting up a little. "I thought, um... I thought that I would say hi. I'm Thalia. I was - " She stopped herself from saying that she was with the group that attacked Eden, as there was some uncertainty as to how their hosts might take overhearing it. Instead she changed tactics. "I just wanted to say, I nevah saw something as brave as raising a baby out in ...well, out there. You guys are some next-level shit. If you don't mind talking, what did you two do, like, back Beforah?"

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Hank Wright

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Location: Quarantine (Converted Sauna -> Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Well, first Shears, then some guy he hadn't ever met. It made sense, Hank couldn't help it if he wasn't an optimistic thirtysomething with all of his original parts and a willingness to give a rat's ass about moisturizing. Hell, he was satisfied well enough that he still had the vast majority of his teeth, and definitely that he had all of his showcards in that way. This hair thing was just another bit that would blow over in a month, when his facial hair filled back in fully and he had an inch or two of fuzziness covering his skull. It still didn't stop him from giving the man a derisive laugh and contemplate supplementing it with "The Finger". He held off on that last part though, as logic dictated he was at least one of the people who might be providing them with food. Suffering the extremely mild irritation of a jab about his hair was a minuscule price to pay for a plate full of goodies. And my, they did look like goodies.

He could clearly hear the sounds of joy coming from his survival buddy, Wayne, prompting him to ask a stupidly obvious question (if only to indicate to him that he and the others had returned), "Hey, Maldonado! How's that grub treating you there, huh?" He framed his face and head with two big thumbs up, intentionally drawing attention to the fact that he was a bald as a plucked chicken in front of everybody. If Hank was very, very lucky, he might even get to see Wayne snort mashed potatoes through his nose. Fingers crossed. It was the little things that made life worthwhile.

Speaking to Amelia and Riley, Hank continued acting in a manner that was seemingly uncharacteristic for him. "Alrighty then; Red, Rock Star, I'd be a bigger asshole if I didn't let you go first. Just ahh... hmm... yeah, gonna ask you to leave me a little bit of that chowder. I think that's chowder... Or do you say it ChowDAH? Hmm? ChowDER. ChowDAH. DER. DAH. Yeah, no clue. Just save me some." Turning to the rest of the room, he inquired aloud, "Hey, how do you folks way chowder down here? Asking for a friend."

Well, it wasn't a crab boil, but he sure as hell wasn't going to turn his nose up to it. Oh no, not after slogging through sands and swamps, eating whatever buckshot could take down or scavenging cans of mystery meals, no... And softer food, too! Yes, this would do very nicely. But first, the girls. Hank came very close to speaking out to Amelia concerning her display and subsequent actions taken toward the barber, but opted away from it as Shears had, yet again, put what he was considering saying into the air around them before he could. Like he was psychic. Or like he was a fellow asshat who was just quicker to the punch than he was that day. Either way, whenever his hair grew back in, Hank wanted this guy to cut it. At least the conversation wouldn't be boring.

Hank got into line, regarding Ash nearby with a nod and a quick, "Heya there, That Guy." He then snapped his head back around to Wayne, requesting from across the room a bit, "Save me a seat, huh Maldonado? You know I'm a big fan of sitting. And apparently, Icelandic children's programming... Wow, go figure."

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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The shriek was noted and summarily ignored. Were the Doctor less concerned with the uncomfortable hunk of metal embedded in his torso, he might have plugged an ear, winced, and continued with his evening. But he was concerned. And shot. And only found the continuing exchange irritating. "Don't try to sound so surprised. He has been 'playing dead' since the beginning of this social abortion, I suspect by design just prior to you shooting me." Swamp looked distastefully to Plum, "Your puppet has been sitting on the fence this whole time, fully awake, playing for an advantage. Regardless, he still requires medical attention." Probably as much now as Swamp did, himself.

Gathering this little foray into what the houseman, Jasper, had very justly referred to as "fuckery", Swamp would just as soon remove himself from the event altogether. Why he decided to attend in the first place was fast becoming a mystery to him. But so long as he was stuck in this quagmire, he may as well try to see it through. Speaking to Jasper's very tall associate, "Please, I am anxious to be done with this. If I might be candid? I have a leg that requires support, and I have very recently been shot." He gestured to the blood darkening his clothing. I will cooperate with your search (and fully), though I would ask latitude with my limitations." It could be argued that, were he to have a weapon, the Doctor might have used it by now. Nonetheless, he appeared to be very willing to submit to a search.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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

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Gilbert was ever the tactician. Most of what he did was based around the presumption of human reaction surrounding him, or at least the focal point of whatever had his interest. Or because he was bored. Or hungry. It could be a number of reasons, but this time his actions were due to the hope of cause and effect. It turned out that he was, in part, correct. Though the free sharing of what information he had just acquired was not expected. From the look on Ruthie's face, the same held true for her. Very casually, Gilbert brought down a couple of boxes of different teas from the cabinet above as he listened to Ben and Ruthie's conversation. It was some intriguing stuff.

The part that got to him was the sudden wash of realization creeping over Ruthie as she did the math on the situation of her being alive right then. Ben had to have killed someone to bring her back. From what he said, depending upon how long she had been dead and what condition she was in, it might have been someone of some power. Or more than one. It was hard to say what he meant in full by the way that he spoke, it was quietish and left some room for interpretation, but Gilbert most certainly understood the basic premise of the conversation; it was the same as balancing a mathematical equation. To get something, you had to take it from somewhere. Even life. Especially life. It was how life worked. For the first time, Gilbert had a sense of sorrow for the boy. He thought Ben rude, a poor guest certainly, and that he had taken liberties he should not have, but there was a sort of odd kinship to him. He had made decisions that no one should have to make, ever. And he had to live with the repercussions of those decisions.

As for Ruthie, Gilbert quietly popped the stopper from the bottle of Glen and topped off her glass. It was turning into a hell of a day for her, too, knowing that someone was dead for her sake. "Let me know if you will want something to eat with that. I will take care of it."

So Ben wasn't quite a Healer in the truest sense. "We call that Shunting." he said to the guy. Elaborating, "Your version has qualities that are not ordinarily associated with Shunting, as we are aware. You are a catalyst, essentially." As he thought earlier, it was some intriguing stuff. Likewise, Gilbert was interested to see if that patch of grass would be restored with the loop reset at midnight. Considering the series of revelations issued around the kitchen table that day, Gilbert looked to Andromeda, gave a sly glance to Giosue, and favored her with the tiniest of smiles. It was no secret that she was his star pupil out of this group of Paradoxes, and he did think that Gio's use of words concerning a possible lack of interest in the events unfolding. "You have a knack, Andromeda, for being in interesting places at the most interesting of times."

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James Grady

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

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James had already stuffed a sandwich fully into his mouth. It was a mechanical motion more than anything else; his hands and face went into autopilot while he was holding onto the thing, so enraptured was he in the conversation unfolding before him. This was some of the most interesting shit he had the privilege of being witness to in a long, long time. Hell, not since he learned that the recently deceased were standing back up and claiming living victims was he more caught in someone else's conversation. Leaning over to Sophia, mouthful of sandwich, he used the lesser part of his manners to speak around ham and cheese, "If'n I wake up tomorrow with my head stapled to the carpet, Miss Sophie, I still wouldn't be any more surprised. Mmm hmm."

It was at this point that he realized that he hadn't put any sort of condiment on his sandwich and it was sticking mercilessly to the roof of his mouth. He didn't see the coffee that Sophia had made in front of him, so his initial action was to shake the jar of mustard over his agape visage in hopes of dislodging a bit of it and breaking up the monotony with his half-chewed impromptu meal. Well, it dislodged all right. A large glob made in to its intended destination, but another decided that landing in his eye was a better way of going about things. Amid a cluster of chants sounding much like "Ow ow fuck ow damnit fuck ow ow ow mutha ow fuck ow damnit ow muthafuck...", James staggered his way over to the sink and held his face underneath the faucet. A few seconds of water mercifully cascading upon him later and James popped his head back up, flinging droplets about the room that he seemed completely oblivious to, happy with his personal relief of the removal of a vinegar based condiment from his eyeball. "Whooo! That was a little adventure, now wan'nit?"

Suddenly remembering that they were in the middle of a life altering discussion, James tossed his two cents in. "Aight, now I know you gettin' both barrels a'questions, but if'n you'll bear with, it's the 'like all them before me' part you said what makes a man curious, get me?" He held up a finger as if to ask him to hold on for a sec, and turned to Andromeda. "I'm sorry as hell, Miss Andy. I'm forgettin' my manners all kinda ways. Would you like a sandwich too?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Port Annan (Docks)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Vladimir gave a small smile as he noted the Firewalker and Ludwig seemed to be getting along a little better. Maybe something had occurred on the ship while he was unconscious and/or in the Captain's cabin. He had to admit a sense of curiosity as to what it might be, but knowing how fragile things of this nature could be he did not want to address it at that time. Such introspection might damage the growing camaraderie between them. They were a team now. Whatever perception of authority Vlad possessed within the Circus, they were not with their people. Constantin was not part of the Sem'ya and Ludwig was not part of the Circus. When Vladimir's father died, then he would have authority, but for now? No, the signs of growing comfort between everyone was a very welcome sight. They were pieces of a budding alliance, after all.

"For good, Master Zimmer! Ve go... To the bridge!" Vladimir began to direct his fine, ebon Brivaldi horse, Tolstoy(!) in the direction indicated by Ludwig. "Ve see food vendor on the vay, talk this to me, da? I am having the shillings." As the horse made his way to the end of the docks of Port Annan, Vladimir gave a last check to make sure that his belongings were secure to his horse's tack. When they opened up the full capacity of these beasts and the benefit of their specialized training, he didn't want to risk anything coming loose or going awry. He was traveling fairly lightly; it was best to double check these things anyway. "How long," he mused aloud, "think you that it vill take to reach destination? Knowing vhat ve know of Brivaldi horses?"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck, Reginald's Cabin)
Skills: N/A

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It was the first night in quite a while wherein the Lord Major was not wading through a flood of odd imagery and Egyptian Mythology. The mental silence was most welcome. While he did have the odd dream or two, it seemed the common, ordinary sort from which he still arose refreshed and ready to meet the day, at least better than most people of his approximate age and roundness of torso. As his eyes gradually opened, squinting against the morning light streaming into his stateroom, he gave a reflexive look to the walls near his bed and readied his sword arm to spring forth and grab his saber. A bad memory involving a camel spider from a couple of days ago came to mind; as improbable as that exact thing would be to happen again, and on board a boat, it did at least serve to wake him fully. Lucky day, he was alone in his room.

There was one detail that was different and/or unexpected in his surroundings, however. Upon the floor, near the main door to his stateroom, a rectangle of paper lay quietly within the directed glow of the ante meridiem. Reginald set his feet upon the comparatively chilly floor and shuffled over to the piece of paper, which he was fairly convinced was a note of some kind slipped underneath the aperture of his door. The tiniest amount of satisfaction crossed his features as he bent down and picked it up, to realize that he was correct. He held it out a little bit to better read the writing thereupon:

"Please, do join me for breakfast at 8 A.M. on the Sun Deck. Bring your companions if you wish. Sincerely, The Captain."

Ah! Invitation from the Captain to take breakfast at his table. How quaint. It would be horridly ungentlemanly to refuse, as well. Reginald retreated to the nightstand to recover his pocketwatch. Sure enough, it was about two hours prior to the time mentioned, which should be ample time to freshen up and contact the others in his group staying on the Elite Deck. If they wished to involve those attached to them from the Second Deck, that was their decision. Considering the abrupt nature of the Corporal, the man attached to him in that regard, he was unsure as to whether it was the wisest course of action, himself. Conversely, if the Fellowship was otherwise the Fellowship, regardless, and should remain together throughout. Tactic might suggest that, with others on board that were acting against the best interests of their group, putting everyone in one very visible place wasn't the best idea.

Reginald rallied himself against the thought, remembering the simple and direct fact that he was not in charge of this expedition. That honor belonged to Lady Munn. She might be considered foolish not to listen to the advice of the Lord Major as it was given, but nonetheless it was her decision, not his. The only man he could order about was the Corporal. Just to avoid the man's iconic response, he might keep even that to a minimum.

Well, it was a good time to get himself dressed. He wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: The Ferry (Second Deck, Reddish's Cabin)
Skills: N/A

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Corporal Reddish rose with the sun, curious and optimistic about the coming day. Why, he even whistled a short tune that he picked up during his time in the trenches of the Great War, though the piece of music was better performed on a harmonica. Regretfully, he had never taken up an instrument that might have sufficed to properly communicate the nuance of the tune in question, and so whistling was the best that he could offer the situation. Reddish's own internal debate on the propriety of harmonica vs. whistling aside, all anyone who might have happened to be listening at the time would have known was that there was someone whistling a jaunty, wartime tune, quite possibly in a British accent (if such a thing were possible).

There was a brief period wherein he adjusted to the fact that he was indeed upon a boat. Nothing upon the open seas, granted, but a tiny moment to adjust footwork and he was good to go. The first order of business, after washing up for himself, was to neatly fold and stack the now clean and moisture free apparel of Miss Josephine Clarke, Hollywood Starlet. The whistling picked up for a little bit more as he lined up seams as perfectly as a non-commissioned man could when readying for inspection, folded without creasing, and arranged presentably, as if he intended to display them within the front window of a boutique or clothiers' establishment. Once satisfied that they looked as tidy as was humanly possible, he moved to see to his own duds for the day.

Class Bs, it seemed, positively radiated propriety. Standard marching wear, not dissimilar to what he had worn the previous day. If nothing else, it served to allow for the carrying of his more obvious means of defense without persons suspecting anything nefarious. A soldier of the British Empire carrying a revolver and bayonet was part and parcel with the scenery. A random tourist outfitted similarly was not, generally. Questions were potentially asked. With that last thought in mind, Reddish gave a moment of contemplation in the selection of his bayonet for the day. He settled on the same one as the previous, it was functional and could be pressed into immediate service if necessary. Not that it mattered, they all fit the same scabbarding or webbing as needed for the occasion. But it was just nice sometimes to have the option.

Well, first things first: Reddish promised to have Josephine's laundry ready for her by morning. And morning it was. Likewise, he was promised that the photographs taken yesterday would be ready for him by morning. Running up to her quarters twice in a short period might prove to be awkward, so he resolved to kill the proverbial pair of birds with one stone and wait on his delivery before making hers. He couldn't even say for certain if she was going to be awake yet. It made sense.

So, no problem at all! A bit of stretching, maybe a poached egg and toast, and then to business! ...and then to different business.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Chicago (Church)
Skills: N/A

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Word got around, it seemed. It did help that this man knew a Gonzalez personally, but in fairness it wasn't like they were an endangered species. "Familia Gonzalez" was more like a clan, comprised of persons with many last names. Take Caesar's niece - a highly intelligent but potentially unstable young woman with a surname that marked her as Scottish, though she didn't look it in the least. It was when the priest used the name Joaquin that the older man had a glimmer of recognition. It was hammered home when he said that he had trained under Joaquin's father. A fellow priest obviously, though not your standard guider of lost souls, if his tone was an indication. "Benicio... still a big entusiasta de las escopetas. Sorry, 'shotgun enthusiast', Padre."

Caesar respectfully sat down across from Father Pearson in front of his desk. What he had to say was interesting at best, possibly an overstep considering that this was an initial meeting. But he did have something of a timetable, and what he wanted wasn't the biggest of favors. Then again, the Church was an ancient organization that had its own, massive resources, and likely wasn't infiltrated in the same manner that a political or corporate body would be. Again though, he had just met this man. It was best to keep their dealings simple for now. Not that he couldn't impart a piece of his story in the process.

"One of the people responsible is already facing her final judgement. I'm regretful that I could not be a part of it. The other one I hear isn't really dead but his funeral is happening today. I gave my word that I would not handle that myself, if possible. Instead, now I have..." Caesar was getting ahead of himself. The priest had thrown out the right names to give him a measure of credibility, but blind trust was not a smart move these days. "It doesn't matter. The short story, I need to get a message to my brother just outside of Monterrey. I do not want to use personal or company resources. I was hoping the Church could help." He nodded grimly, and went out on a limb with, "Our family isn't safe in Justice. I don't even know who to eliminate to make them safe. There is a lot more, padre, that I won't burden you with now. A lot more people will answer to God - I will arrange the meeting. I need to know my family is out of the way first. His daughter. My grandson. Hell, even Maria."

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J. Keystone

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Location: Chicago (City Streets)
Skills: N/A

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"Downton bloody Abbey? Right, 'less you're talkin' on about purely the work of Dame Maggie Fongin' Smith, the resta them tosspots can gnaw my meaty arse, them an' their aristocratic "pinkies out" bronzecockery. Yeah?" Ah, the wonders of translating English to English in the Great American Urban Midwest. Keystone seemed put off by the idea of being compared to a television program detailing the inner lives of the aristocracy, perhaps a little too much, despite an apparent respect for the cultural contributions of its biggest starring actor. The big guy rubbed his temples, growled a bit, and tried again. "Sorry, Miss; long few days. Thwanged a nerve, is all."

There wasn't really an involved answer with which he could respond, no big story to tell about the events which brought him from London to Justice. She had already gotten a piece of it earlier, thinking about it. Perhaps she wanted Keystone to elaborate. Well, anything to help her keep her relaxed while she repeatedly cheated death on the streets of Chicago. "Far as 'type o' work', we work for the same guy, then don't we? I was just hittin' folks and gettin' the knowing of a lot more ways to hit folks over in Henan Province, China and parts roundabout. Old man took a liking to my reputation, him and his girl trained me up proper once they opened a office in my old 'ometown. Got an offer as an Assistant Director. When the big man asks for you personal, you don't say no. Even if it is California."

Keystone took a moment to make sure that his weapons and gear were still where he left them in the vehicle. Eve gave a little chuckle when he noticed that Caesar left his food from earlier, untouched, inside as well. Keystone gave minor consideration to cramming it down his own gullet. Instead, he contented himself with merely stealing an eggroll. Through a mouthful, he mentioned offhandedly, "Got my own reason, on the now." He swallowed and attempted a subject change, "How's about you then? What's your whys and wherefores on bein' 'ere?"