Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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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Ash let his had fall to his side, straightening back up to his full height. Victor hadn't traveled as far as he had because of a general desire to be reunited with the people of Newnan. Or maybe he did, it wasn't like Ash was a mind reader. The older man's sights seemed to be only for Tatiana, Jack, and little Jamie. And he couldn't blame him in the least. With a smile birthed of contentment for the four of them all, Ash stepped back and let them have their moment without trying to intrude further. It's not like he was going to try anything while they were hugging, kneeling there on the floor.

But someone did. Stunned almost beyond the capacity for facial expression, Ashton just stood there as his eyebrows raised to proportions virtually unheard of outside of the harrowing (but thankfully now defunct) world of "plastic surgery disaster" themed reality television. He raised his hand, motioning toward the unfolding scene as Riley went for it, mouth opened slightly as if considering his options. He still didn't speak. Yet. Ultimately, he gave it a wait until she was finished expressing her satisfaction to see Victor before venturing to address the situation.

When he did, the rural sarcasm common to the culture of Ash's upbringing sounded as surely as the Old Dominion color of his voice; sometimes lilting with the tiniest tinge of amusement, and sometimes rasping with an annoyance that was more avuncular in nature than condescending: "Now, Miss Ridgeway... I know you look up to me - I'd look up to me, too. I'm just a hell of a guy, ask anybody." He shook his head slightly, continuing, "But if the aim is to get your very own imprint of Tatiana's wedding ring on the side of your face just like me, then you are on your way, little lady." Quieter, he summarized, "That's a moment they're not getting back. I'd chalk it up to a sudden rush of blood sugar and let it slide, but I'm not rooming with the Russian firecracker. Best of luck."

Ash gave it the slightest piece of hope that the verbal discourse would be noted and accepted as enough of a dressing down for the meantime. There was a touching moment to get back to, damnit, and whomever was in charge of this place was about to show up. The last thing they needed was to be at each other's throats. Again. If the last hour or so of their lives was any indicator, this might be too much to hope for. They appeared to be losing their sense of discipline, washed away by alternating emotion and apathy. Ash could only cross his fingers and wait to see if all of them, including himself, would even out after the initial shock of change had abated.

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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Yeah, of course the loudmouth that kept swatting at some imaginary bug would have to say something that made Thalia feel a twinge of awful. At least it wasn't intentional. How could it be? He didn't know her from ignorant, apple-picking Eve and even if the guy knew about her family, she was always the odd one out, or the one that didn't get counted among the rest because her last name never got changed to match her father's. Thalia had to admit though, sometimes it was a blessing. Her features made her what was commonly referred to among the community to which they belonged a "Stealth Latina", meaning that despite her mixed heritage, she could easily pass for Caucasian. In her case, particularly Italian/Sicilian with extreme ease. Naturally, being trained as she was, the term could be used to mean something a little more literal. She was a very stealthy Latina.

Back to it, the guy went and used the phrase "cross cultural familia". That stung a little. Not that it reminded her of someone she had lost, but that in her epic quest to maintain a lowered profile, Thalia had neglected to get back to something she was supposed to speak to the priest about. Now that Father Pearson had entered the room, she had immediately taken interest in what was on the television instead of dealing with family matters. Thalia had asked the man earlier if he had heard of a Father Benicio Gonzalez, hoping that another man of the cloth might know something. As a side note, being who she was already didn't make for the smoothest of childhoods; the fact that her dad was a Catholic priest wasn't a great help with that, either.

It seemed that Thalia had been trying like hell to get into one or another purportedly important conversations with one or another person since this day began. Strike that, she began the day by trying unsuccessfully to remove a duct tape boobytrapped rubber duckie. Following that moment, she had been trying to get into one or another conversation about things which may or may not involve her family; alive, dead, or fates unknown. Well, to hell with trying not to get noticed. She was already uncomfortable in this new and unknown place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, with unnaturally cool air blown across her body. It would be difficult to make her feel more uncomfortable than she was, short of something really unexpected flying at her.

Still, no need to be rude. Any more than she had been today, anyway. Some had slipped out before her brain could tell her it was a bad idea. Maybe apologies later. For now, she addressed the guy who waved her to a specific seat. The older guy had called him something, but that was contradicted by the man himself. "Yah thanks, Spo- Nigel." She noted the one woman of the group repeating her name after the grumpy man's sparse introductions. "Yeah. Thalia." She seemed a little distracted. "MmmNigel, can you save that seat for me? Gaht something." Crossing her arms so as to partly hide the fact that she was missing part of one, Thalia started moving toward Atticus. She stopped when she heard that the head man of this place would be arriving very soon. Damn it. That Padre had something to tell her about her familia, maybe her father. Or he was jerking her around. Either way, Thalia wanted to know.

Thalia would still have opportunity later, she reasoned. There was a Sunday coming up in these seven days of quarantine and she knew that at least one of their number was Catholic. If not before then, she was going to ambush the fucker at confession. But for now, the devious woman stalked back to the reserved chair by the television and took a seat. Timing. All about timing. She needed to bide hers for answers. From this priest, the Army Captain, San Antonio, or Monterrey, she was going to get those answers. But first, The Princess Bride. She really did like that movie.

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Hank Wright

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

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Erica's quip about movie selection earned her a loud, nigh obnoxious, nasally log-sawing sound that very much mimicked a cartoon character snoring into a tin can. Just before it went too far into monotonous repetition, his nonverbal retort was interrupted by a sudden change to a sharper note, followed by Hank fluttering his eyelids as if rousing himself from a deep, zero-fucks-given sleep. An obviously fake yawn followed, then the steely-cynical man made a show of stretching his arms and popping his neck. "Ah, sorry there, Barbs. Must've nodded off there for a sec. I miss anything important?"

Replacing his hands behind his head, Hank settled back into a glorious repose as the TV continued to glow and tell its story. It wouldn't be long now until whoever ran this circus graced them with an appearance, so he should probably get as much screen time in as he could. Precious seconds, all of them, for a person who had not feasted his eyes upon what used to be the modern conveniences of entertainment. Especially considering that it was a hobby wherein one might sit and tune out the rest of the people around him. Well, except for his Apocalypse Buddy, Wayne. "That's right there, Maldonado. You go use that line on the blonde bus driver, eh... name escapes me. Daytona! There ya go." He appeared to mull over some consideration or another before resuming, "Know what, that might not be a bad idea, actually. Go for it, Wayne." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his last words, rather a masculine air of approval. Hank was pretty sure that everyone alive Before had seen the movie, and definitely everyone living in this settlement post-apocalypse had to have seen it, VHS being something of a rarer commodity these days and entertainment of any type harder to come by. And for crap's sake, good on the guy. Reaching out to other people, if he did indeed intend to and he wasn't just using the idea of the line for conversational fodder. It was something that Hank himself wasn't sure he wanted to do yet. If he was serious, then really, good on him.

Naturally, just to keep the conversation around the ol' TV from getting too fuzzy or emotional, Hank turned his attention back to Erica, who for reasons unknown to him (kindasorta) felt the need to turn the television down. "Hey, make sure to pick out one of those Valerie Bert'n'Ernie movies, huh? You know she starred in half of those damn things for Lifetime, and the plots are all exactly the same. Better than chasing a couple Xanax with some green NyQuil to get that beauty sleep, eh? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about." He gave an exaggerated wink and copped a cheesy smile, just for the occasion.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Scotland, north of Port Annan (Ludwig's Path)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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As their dutiful guide had not given them a change of direction in some time, Vladimir continued to push forward. It was a movement of great haste, but not that of stupidity; even a perfectly trained Brivaldi horse like Tolstoy(!) needed to slow as conditions called for it. Even so, the progress was pleasing to The Great Bazhooli. Or it might have been, had he full awareness of how far their destination was from them, taking the standard trade roads. He didn't let his sense of personal optimism be slowed in the least by nagging things like being unaware of the facts, however. They knew where they were going and at least one of them knew how to get there. The rest of it was the journey. He was good at journey.

Likewise, it seemed like there was progress on Ludwig's end, too. Not the discovery of whatever the thing which attacked Veta and the Circus, but the man was finally able to give a portion of a straight answer in regards to a direct question asked of him. Vlad felt a little proud of himself. The Pointy Shoes Man had a name. It was Ulrich. It wasn't exactly a full answer, but it was something. He counted it as a win and continued with the rigor of his travel. "Da. Da! Good, Ludvig. You make vith the study of enemy. Ve go thatvay. Just you tell vhen to turn." Indeed, this was the very spirit of adventure that Vladimir sought on a near constant basis. He only wished that more of his beloved Circus could be involved.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 (Sitting Room))
Skills: N/A

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The speaking in riddles was beginning to make Gilbert's head throb. Not that he was the type that ordinarily got headaches (except for that last one earlier that was due to overly straining powers he had been cultivating for... well, forever), so maybe this one was purely psychosomatic. It was distinctly possible that Gilbert came from the culture that invented the ancient concept of riddlemaking, and it was still a thing which, in this day and age and most especially now that there was the possibility of universe-ending shenanigans in the mix, he did not wish to be a part of. This was not a thing where one has an introspective moment in which the jagged edges of realizations come clicking together to form a perfect whole, thereby helping him gain enlightenment. To his opinion, this was far less of an ideal time for guesswork and more for solid assignments and action. This is what needed to be done and this is how we were going to accomplish it. Definitely some discussion on the best route to take to accomplish the objective.

"Of course you know, Siduri. I have always done what I thought was best for my tribe, whatever form it took. If these people need closure to focus, then they should have it. They must have the full extent of their minds and bodies dedicated to the work that must be done." Truth being an option, he could use some closure, too. Gilbert was very fond of Evelina. Their constant bouts of "boardless chess" were something that he would also miss. It wasn't like there was anyone else in any creation that knew the game in quite the same way that they did. "Respectfully, Siduri, if there is a more logical course of action, I am always open to new intelligence."

She was absolutely right about one thing, which Gilbert agreed with wholeheartedly: There concept of Humanity was high with these people. It was with him as well. Gil had grown to appreciate damn near every facet of what mankind had to offer, the good and the bad; cultures and concepts that spawned philosophies which influenced ways of life unique from each other, as a fingerprint might be. Over his eons as either hero or villain, Gilbert had developed an unmistakable bond with people and their living world.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 (Sitting Room))
Skills: N/A

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Ok, seriously? The talk about killing dragons was starting to make his eye twitch. The only dragons that James remembered seeing came on The Learning Channel, way back before that round bitch and her almost equally corpulent tyke got involved, turning it into the very shortened "TLC", as if they weren't even trying to hide the fact that nobody was learning shit off of that waste of airwaves anymore. Except (and this was a pretty big exception) maybe that the basest level of entertainment still held sway over enough people to keep it around. Like dogfighting. Or Jerry Springer. But back to point, dragons? Not in the classical sense, just those huge lizards on those islands that Darwin wrote about. He didn't sign up for it. Come to think about it, he didn't sign up for anything here. James just didn't didn't opt out.

Wait, or was he thinking about Animal Planet? Hmm...

"Yeah, no worries, girl. I gotcha," he said back to Andromeda, shifting his attention back to the lady of the hour when his very pale fellow Paradox did the same. James also heard the name Miss Babylon, and after a moment came to think that he had heard it before. If not that exact name, then one of the others that Siduri had used to refer to her over the course of the conversation. That was all in reference to the same person, right? James thought it was. More than that, he could have sworn that there had been a mission, training or otherwise, to New York recently. Has they already been in this mystery woman's stomping grounds? "They" meaning the Ville au Camp group, Emendators and Paradoxes collectively. And so long as they were on the topic of outside help to specifically train the new batch of ...them, who were they going to have to locate for him? How many Wereboars were around? That being barred, shapeshifters of any kind? James had so many questions, but really wanted to wait for a solid Q&A session to really vent. But one question pecked at the inside of his head a little harder than the others:

"So, um... Dragons? Like actual dragons, right? They really a thing?"

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Sewing Room (2F)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 2
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Dr. Swamp gave a surprised expression, hearing that Amaranthine was the type willing to get her hands bloody, even if was just in the name of the Healers' Arts. Perhaps his mind shouldn't have really taken that sort of turn, even to the point of assuming anything remotely dark about the Chanteuse. Maybe it was true and maybe it was not, but so far she had been nothing but cordial to him. Even defensive as the occasion called for it. She was, in his opinion, worth extending similar courtesy. Hopefully not to the extent of having to ply his trade upon her; it would be a fair shame if she also got shot during their stay. Anyway, if she was good with putting a suture to skin in addition to her obvious musical qualities, then she was most definitely worth keeping alive and sound for more than just her unparalleled contributions to culture - the thing without which we were all mere animals.

"Thank you, but no. I am still capable," he said in as stately a manner as possible, considering his still seeping side wound. Was the bullet still in there? Did it fall out somehow over the course of the last few minutes? No, he couldn't be that lucky. Through his own cursory self-examinations, Swamp could tell the basic nature of his injury. Dealing with it was another matter. Moreover, looking at the wound was so much different than knowing its severity. If Amaranthine was okay dealing with the blood and inflammation that was already forming, then great. But he was not going to request more assistance from the woman than was necessary.

With a grunt, Swamp pulled his vest from one shoulder and let gravity take care of most of the rest. He carefully placed it down next to him and began to work the buttons of his now absolutely ruined, formerly fine, black shirt. The Doctor's build was slender, even stork-like, depending upon how favorably one saw him. Lithe features spattered with blood, the ragged hole open to view. "That is quite the shame. I fear that I shall have nothing to wear to the Lord's excellent supper party. Pity." His side (and injury) now exposed to the Chanteuse, he suggested, "A semicircle needle is best, if they have it. Otherwise a fishhook needle for suturing. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Let us get this over with, madame. I am in your hands."

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Benha (Train to Athribis)
Skills: Observation

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The lure of the desert pulled at the Lord Major, keeping his eyes moving back to the spans of gold-white sand that were constantly being built up and blown away, redeposited in new, sweeping waves of powdery, granulated earth. He had hoped to get a feel for the area, though they seemed to have traveled far enough away from the Nile that the lush, verdant growth had vanished. It left only the Sahara, and the train tracks cutting through her massive expanse. On the one hand, it made the task of seeing if anyone was following them or moving alongside the train rather easy. On the other hand, it was rather boring. Transfixing though, like staring into a fire or watching the ripples of a stream pass by.

The relaxed haze of Reginald's mind straightened back up as he did see something of human construction around the bend and growing in their horizon. "Aha! Athribis looms just ahead now, ladies and gentlemen! What a smashing eventuality, I must say, though I do regret that Lady Munn cannot be with us." He sighed, shaking his head but having to shake it off; they were there, she was not, and like so many others that could not have joined them, the Fellowship would just have to sally forth without.

Turning back to his group of adventurers and scholars, Reginald noted with a pleasant smile that the cat was still perfectly content to make itself comfortable in J.C.'s lap. Those cats tend to do as they pleased, in his experience. They were also of great help to the lads on the ground, back in the Great War, though the Lord Major spent most of his time in combat (in that particular war, anyway) behind the stick of various aircraft, high above the attentions of cats and their active role in trench warfare. He would have to assume that his batman, Reddish, would likely have more grateful memories about the feline companions. "Constitution, you say? Ah yes! Self-determination and whatnot. Hmm, quite. Realize, as a proper man of standing within the Empire, I cannot give the appearance of support to the ruling ideology of the rebellious Colonial elements. Unofficially, I might say 'Bully for you, good sir!' and have it at that." He lay a finger beside his nose and gave the man a knowing look. "We must all have a code with which to live, you see."

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Bazaar -> Docks)
Skills: Arabic, Observation

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The immediate search for anything resembling a medical facility, or even a local healer or any type, was quickly proven to be a fruitless endeavor. Reddish searched both high and low, dipping into his linguistic skills with single minded purpose, only to have any avenue of possibility closed off to the two of them. It was getting a touch to the frantic, to be quite honest, not that the Corporal was going to let much of anything show outside of the urgency necessary to the situation at hand. And really, that was more than enough. In an attempt to have Josephine focus on something other than her injury directly, he gave a brief answer to her question. "Well no gentleman, that's for bloody sure, Miss Clarke. I tell you, the religion of the region isn't too kind to women, though I'm half sure that it's some kind of dodge, if you ask me. I hadn't figured that it'd be that bad this close to the Nile and Cairo, mind you. British influence isn't quite what it was. No ma'am! Horrid and contemptible barbarian, that man."

As it turned out, they were headed in the direction of the docks anyway, so it came as little surprise when Reddish saw their boat a little ways off. Though the search for a land-bound doctor was fruitless, there just had to be someone on board that might be able to help her, right? And if not, he knew for a fact that there were medical supplies on board. He had them loaded himself. Even gathered a lot of what they had on board personally from the supplies available at the Qasr El Nil Barracks, though that would mean that they would have to gain access to the boat, then the Cargo hold. He would much rather have a professional onboard take care of her. And a little selfishly, with their materials on hand. It would be much faster. If only they could just get on the boat.

"Hoy there! Hoy, wot?" he called to whomever was left to deny people entry. "We're passengers, we are! Miss Clarke's been attacked in the marketplace and needs a doctor!" Perhaps they had some special, nautical way of asking to be let on board - it was a pity that he was and Army man and never joined the Navy, for that reason. In any case, Reddish stood ready to repeat his request in the more local Arabic or spiffy sounding and widely regionally used French, as needed to get the message across.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Chicago (City Streets)
Skills: Security Tech
Skills: General Knowledge

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The good news: Traffic was starting to suck a lot, lot less than it had been for the past ... Ok, so they weren't sure exactly how long. It seemed to close in on them the moment that they decided to leave Chicago, like the city itself had taken on a Mafia mentality. The harder I try to get out, the more they pull me back in. Well, Chicago was known for that, But it's one thing to hear about it, and quite another to get smacked with the wonder and majesty of rush hour as three or four million people decided to use the same road all at once; clogging the roadways of the Jewel of the Midwest like so much human cholesterol through out the arteries of a great, lumbering giant. Yeah. It sucked a bit, but finally it was opening up. That was the good news.

The bad news: Caesar, for his curiosity about the equipment in the vehicle, or that of the private plane for that matter, decided to look into the difficulty with his GPS. Difficulty might have been the wrong word, giving it some consideration. It was still functioning admirably as a System that Positioned them Globally to within a meter or so. That was okay. The deal he was curious about was the epic smooth job someone did hacking it. Now, if it was an equipment addition, he might have been able to spot something. But no, it seemed to look fine to him. The problem was, no matter how good Caesar might have been with technology related to security and surveillance, he wasn't a hacker kind of guy. This must have been one hell of a job, too. But he came up with the confounding combination of Jack and Shit in regards to anything that might give him the barest of clues. Back to square one. At least this electronic interloper seemed to want to help them.

More bad news: Keystone, upon doing a quick 'net search in hopes of finding something obvious that connected Grimm, IN and the word and/or name Crypt came up with just about the same amount of success as Caesar had just found for himself. Yeah, there was mention of a graveyard. That seemed like it would be the obvious place, all things being equal. But it just didn't set right with him. Nope, there had to be more than just this going on. Maybe he would try again after they stopped for gas or something, as it was a little dangerous to go poking around on one's sat phone while trying to drive. At least they had that going for them, the opening roads. Naturally, Keystone thought that it was a longshot anyway, being as last report of Grimm had them stuck in the past so far as technology went. Ok, no big. Tried, failed. Try again from a different angle later on. But there was one nagging thought to what little information he found: The graves were unmarked, and by an asylum. That had the makings of a place you probably wanted to visit during the day. And there were worse places to start an investigation. Scenic, maybe.

So the first salvos launched in the investigation didn't appear to turn anything of amazing or obvious value. At least that were on the right road, going in the right direction, with full bellies and a solid tank of gas. Things could be worse. It was a dangerous thought to have, that. More dangerous to say out loud, most especially as they had been tempting fate lately. So Keystone looked to Caesar, Caesar looked to Keystone. They shared a mutual look of "fuck it", shrugged, and focused straight ahead onto the streets of Chicago leading out of town. It was all they could do right then anyway, until one of them got another bright idea.

🧚🏻‍♀️ 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 brief flash of surprise and anger flashed across Ash's features as his head turned sharply to Thalia. His grasp of the Spanish language was actually pretty good. It was his foreign language selection in high school and he continued it as an elective in secondary education. His proficiency continued to improve when he was stationed in South America, and he received one hell of an education in the brutal, conversational aspect of the language because of his involvement with Alicia.

The big cosmic joke on both of them was that Ash really was the kind of guy that her cousin would have follado por deporte. Maybe it started as sport (who's to say?), but they did have an actual relationship. They were genuinely close. But Ash didn't know that Alicia was this woman's cousin any more than she knew that they were an item once upon a time. Then why did it suddenly strike him, even briefly, on an emotional level? Ash glared at the woman, staring right in her eyes - those oddly familiar, hazel eyes. He raised his hand to point a finger in her general direction, a sort of light gesture to indicate that he'd get back to her later. He was busy at the moment.

There was the tiniest lingering thought to Beatrice's last words to him - he was weak - indicating the younger soldier. It seemed to be as much of a warning as it was a descriptor. Ash responded with a barely audible agreement, "Yeah." A person like that made things interesting, and not in a good way. The kind of person who panics at sudden changes or waited until people viewed as enemies (whether they were or not) were unaware or asleep to preemptively attack. The kind of guy that sized up people for a fight before a problem existed. Well, he was given warnings. More than one, from more than one source. What happened past that point was just going to happen.

Ash listened politely to the older man as he spoke, processing new information. A couple of points stood out to him as important. One of which being that the man was a former captive of Eden. He was pretty sure that it checked out, seeing as it was said openly in front of two of his teammates who he knew were part of the raid on Eden. So he was a rescue. "That means you might recognize someone from there if they came knocking. Good to know." His words were dry, bereft of any bias of inflection one way or another except for his mild but everpresent Virginian accent. He did give an approving nod as Manny pointed out the amputation handiwork with two others of his group. "Not bad." Though his words did not say it, he was rather impressed. Two limb removals, both alive, no continuing infection as far as he could tell from casual glance. Manny had brought proof with him that he had saved lives.

As to the highly general question about "his story" so far, Ash could not comment with anything very revealing. "After a while, maybe. That's a lot of ground, and some of it's not so nice." The same could be said of almost anybody these days. If you were alive, chances are you had to do a lot of questionable things to stay that way. Even for a relative Boy Scout like Ash. Or especially for a Boy Scout like Ash, depending on how one looked at it. Besides, the story of his life might read like a Greek Tragedy if someone put it to paper. He had no difficulties whatsoever throwing his two cents in concerning the issue of Hunter, however: "I don't think that talking for an evening is going to put much sense in the boy. He's either dealing with something or legitimately has a malfunction. Either way, hard pass." The Captain was a fan of keeping things like this out in the open. In Ash's mind, it was best that the younger man was in the room with him. If he was a threat, he was foremost a threat to him and not someone he cared about. The situation would sort itself out, one way or another.

For the moment, Ash was realizing what was playing on the television back behind him. It sparked a memory of one of the last conversations that he had with Thana, prior to ...everything. He had half a mind to quietly excuse himself and hurl something at the screen, else mention something scathing to the person who put it on. But either option would hardly be fair, with or without context. And it was a really good movie. Luckily, something occurred to divert his attention elsewhere.

Ash almost snapped to attention when Atticus returned, announcing that the additional guest of the establishment had arrived. He held up his hand to politely request that Manny hold off responding for a moment, as he was interested in getting a look at the latest arrival. In the intervening seconds, Ash maintained a solid, emotionless visage and straightened his posture, as a man expecting to either inspect or be inspected. When he saw the older man walk through the door, however, all of that changed.

"Huh..." It was unclear whether it was a question or a quiet laugh. More followed, quickly solving that mystery. "Heh heh... oh, man. That's just... HA!" He took a confident step or two toward the man, "You don't call," began Ash with humored sarcasm. His accent was a notably bolder. "You don't write," he continued, "And then you just drop by unexpected. Goddamn, Victor; It's good to see y..." He stopped, noting that the man was looking straight past him, over to Jack, Tati, and their baby boy. Ash still held a smile, but it was subdued behind a more dutiful nature. He crossed the distance, careful to stay out of direct line of sight between Victor and those he had been searching for. As he neared the man, Ash extended his hand. "Come on, Froggy," he said clearly and quietly. "Almost there. Let's get you to 'em."

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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Thalia felt like a spectator. Everything that was going on around her seemed to bob to and fro, fro and to, and she was like a random kid at a birthday party in a bowling alley that no one was paying any particular attention to. As long as she pushed the ball down the lane when it was her turn, it didn't look like anyone cared what she was doing. So there she sat, still sideeyeing the Captain with coolly fierce exterior despite the fact that she figured that she had gone too far with the "sport-fucking" comment. Thalia did feel a certain sense of relief that it was met with a literal and figurative finger wag instead of escalating. She had been serious when she had told Alexander that full attention being off of them was preferable for her, given the situation.

Originally, the goal was to open conversation with Ash. She had questions about her family and the Fairburn girls. Barring that, slip into the people from Newnan, though her more recent dip away from social skills was making the possibility of a more or less decent first impression more of a chore that it really should have been. Okay, now wasn't a great time, either. Eventually she was going to get that man alone, but right now just wasn't happening. And Mugsy seemed to be holding himself together better, even dropping into the middle of an ongoing conversation. Hell, he was better at it than she was just then. He was going to be okay.

Thalia gave a light slap to Alexander's knee with her remaining hand and gave him a little nod. "Hey, I'm going to see what's up with the TV, 'k? Gimmie a yell if yah need something." With that, she rose from her seat and began to make her way over to the chairs and recliners around the film at hand, The Princess Bride. Thalia smiled. It wasn't much, but it was real and infectious, and reminded her that once upon a time, far back before the Zeds were eating the living, even before she knew her biological father or what half of her family was, Thalia was a little girl from Massachusetts who liked cute stories like this. Especially this one. It was a classic. And it had everything: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... For that matter, she remembered that she really liked My Little Pony, too.

"Hey guys," she said, keeping her words brief so as not to overextend. Anyone looking in her direction would see her setting a hand on the back of a nearby chair, staring at the scene unfolding on the television. Fine, no problem. If she couldn't immediately get in with the Newnan people, then she would probably have more luck with the crazy ones over here. "Princess Bride... awesome."

Again, attention was shifted heavily away from herself as the new guy was brought in. Wow. Just wow. This place had more rapid-fire emotional ups and downs than a 1980s telenovella. She was sticking with the TV crew for now.

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Hank Wright

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

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"Why the hell should I have any problem with it?" gruffly inquired Hank, propping his hands behind his head in a manner that suggested clear repose. "I'm not the Lord High Commander of the TV, no matter how awesome that job title sounds. Don't worry (and I know that dig was because you're so concerned with my feelings there, Sportacus), if Erica puts on something boring or unmasculine or a little too "Made For TV Lifetime Original Movie" - which definitely counts as both boring and unmasculine, but I digress - then I'll be more than happy to sit alone with my thoughts and give the back of my eyelids a good, hard stare for an hour or two. Just remember: The louder I snore, the more I like the movie." He gave Nigel a quick thumbs-up before replacing his hand back behind his head. "Okay there, buddy? Okay... Now hush, I wanna see if Peter Falk ever gets that kid to shut the hell up and let him read the damn book, already."

But speaking of Erica, Hank caught the air of sympathy for Nigel having to room with he and Wayne for the foreseeable. He gave a derisive smirk in her direction but reserved a continued rant for a later, indeterminate time. So much as they, as a group, didn't have the best of personality meshing and technically didn't have that solid of a beginning, they all had been in each other's company for the past few months now. They had opportunity to go their separate ways a few times, but for whatever reason stuck it out together, all the way here from the Okefenokee Swamp, of all places. Yeah, it was hard living with each other, but he trusted the people around him to cover his back, just as they (hopefully) trusted him to defend them solidly with a garden spade. Ok, he was pretty good with that shovel, being truthful. But still...

As Thalia approached, and immediately thereafter the explosion of movement and happy from elsewhere in the room, Hank took the moment to remain reserved. Let the people have their moment without comment or involvement. It looked like they needed a dose of whatever joy came from the man's presence. Hank was an asshole, as he would tell you, but not a fucking asshole. To Thalia, he just waved at a seat and said, "Yeah, yeah. Sit, don't sit. Damn good movie. You know, for a love story. Eh... Hank, Wayne, Erica, Sportacus." He gave the basest of introductions before turning his attention back to the TV. There was a moment going on behind them all that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Scotland, north of Port Annan (Ludwig's Path)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The lines of inquiry running involving the more academic of their group (that being Ludwig) did not directly involve The Great Bazhooli. He was a man of some learning himself, though not of the more scholarly pursuits to which the odd German fellow had devoteda good portion of his brainpower. His was more of actionable ability, that and language. No sense in working up a crowd with emboldening speeches if they did not understand a word of it. The origin of Soulless seemed to be the topic at hand. While it was indeed a topic most interesting to him, being as his people were often called upon to handle these matters in their home Empire, it was not one that struck him as being important to the moment. Ergo, this generation's incarnation of The Great Bazhooli gave it only passing attention, or what passing attention was possible when tearing up the path behind them whilst in the saddle of a fine Russian Brivaldi horse.

To that end, Vladimir was perched atop his noble Tolstoy(!), riding high in his saddle and making the earth beneath him dangerous for man and borrowing mammal alike. His keen eyes scanned the land before him as his body remained braced for movements either gradual or sudden; the subtle type that shifted weight and allowed the horse to know precisely how and when to change direction. One strong, dexterous hand gripped the reins while the other trailed behind him, acting as both ballast and a sort of wind rudder, giving him a greater sense of solidity and range of movement from the back of a galloping steed.

One piece if he conversation did reach into the maelstrom of his attention. It was the repeated mention by Ludwig of something involving "pointy shoes". Vlad was beginning to unravel some of the Ludwig To Russian (and/or English) translations. There was some meaning behind those word, maybe another piece of the overall, grand puzzle. "Master Zimmer!" he called behind him, "Who is this pointy shoes man?" Or maybe Vladimir had no clue what the hell was going on with the man, and this was just going to be another awkward, incomplete conversation while they rode along the more secret roads of southern Scotland.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 (Sitting Room))
Skills: N/A

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Gilbert was a man of many long centuries, during which he was present to many long conversations of varying levels of importance. The grand scheme of the universe, multiverse, or nigh-infinite timelines existing within them all could be best described in their own histories as a series of important conversations alternating with a series of important battles. As it turned out, Gilbert was an huge fan of both. Especially if the discussion concerned the approach of an important battle. This one seemed to be the klaxon call of a campaign on the outset. He was intrigued.

As the conversation seemed to be centered around the potential application of Faith's gifts as a Paradox, Gil quietly sat with a small smile on his face and allowed the discussion to continue past his own observations, learning as much as he could about their situation at hand. He was well aware of, and acquainted with, the persons of whom Siduri was speaking. Before she decided to meet any of them by herself, she needed a highly in-depth introduction into their world, beyond what Evelina had already shown her. And something to ensure her safety from the more aggressive elements of their culture. The one piece of Siduri's conversation that addressed him could be responded to with a simple reminder of, "My base nature has not changed, only the level of my refinement. Of course I will fight." An ounce of grief passed over him as he remembered that the most vocal person discussing his level of refinement (or lack thereof) was Evelina.

It appeared that he had inadvertently answered Giosue's question in the discussion with others in the room, but he had no problem reiterating his thoughts. "These children are not ready to fight a dragon yet, Giosue. With proper training, they might be ready to fight a war soon." Continuing, he added, "What I would like to do is strategically place each of them in different combat settings throughout history and let them take experience the hard way, but that would do nothing to develop their gifts. As powerful as we believe we are, we can only guide most of them partway. They must either teach themselves, or locate those who are better versed with their gifts then ourselves. Either way, I believe that we require a period of reflection here in the Loop, after which training should begin again."

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 (Sitting Room))
Skills: N/A

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To James, it looked like most of the people in the room agreed with each other. It was just a matter of having the conviction to move forward. The nature of life and death, whatever it meant to be a Paradox, and the squishy nature of time were all secondary to what was sitting before him. He had come from a timeline that the Bible might have referred to in Revelations. He and others carved a life for themselves in the middle of Hell with blood and sweat and raw determination to survive. Everything that he knew was destroyed and he got to see almost everyone that he cared about die, one by one or en masse, sometimes right in front of him. The only thing that truly mattered anymore was the collection of people that you took to yourself as family. Even the horribly dysfunctional people around him right now. Even if the things they needed to face were different and/or more dangerous than the living dead of his home timeline, one just needed to learn the rules. Or discover the rules. Whatever.

When Andromeda found her way over to him, he kept it very short and fairly quiet. "Hey girl, y'ok now? Get some shit worked out? Aight, nuthin over new from what we was on about befo', right? Just workin' out the hows an' whatnot. Ain't a thing certain. Give ya them tiny details later." He set a hand on her shoulder, nodding supportively. "Gonna be ok, ok? Ok. Welcome back."

Then Gilbert went and said something that made James want to slap him. Again. Drop them off in combat and let the learn the hard way? Oh, what bullshit. James lived a life of elbows and knuckles as a young man, and then all of the living dead shit? Nuh-uh. He'd lived enough time sticking around places of constant warfare and turmoil, waiting patiently for the next huge chink of drama to take more people he cared about away from him. Then he gets resurrected as a neophyte wereboar, forgetting all of the practical skills that he knew before? Sure, he'd trained up a good skill set from these people, but it was a crock of shit that he had to lose who he was to get it. And yes, he did get a piece of it back, coincidence though it might be. He still didn't handle a bow exactly like he did before. Damn good, but different technique and how the ass did his brain download all of this Russian shit? ...oh yeah... Belladonna. He had to learn it from another Paradox, a much, much older one. It just came to him pretty easily.

Giving that thought consideration, maybe the same would be true of is Paradox abilities. They had barely scratched the surface. Okay, stay with his people (because that's what these guys were now) and see this through. Maybe even be a badass real soon. That whole "dying" thing? Already did it once. Old hat. Bring this next shit on.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Sewing Room (2F)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 2
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"As the Chanteuse prefers," conceded Swamp, referring to her decision to remain steadying him rather than prop him upon something in the seemingly endless interim between herding the rest of the guests where the Lord of the Manor wished them. "Thank you." His words had a tinge of fatigue added to the strain present; understandable considering the injury inflicted upon him. He continued his attempts to keep as much of his own weight off of Amaranthine as we could, relying on her only as needed to climb the stairs and follow the direction of the houseman. Luckily, past the steps it was just one room up and one room over, though why he was being taken to a Sewing Room and not a proper location for the treatment of injury was beyond him. The Doctor did have to admit a sense of propriety to it, be it in an odd, vulgar sense. There was some stitching to do, after all.

As they entered the Sewing Room and Swamp caught the name of the young lady attending, his eyes searched for a place to sit. He settled upon a chair that he might be able to perch himself upon the edge of, lest his seepage of blood sully the fine upholstery thereof. "If you would please, unburden yourself of me there. Thank you again." He took note of the position of Professor Walnut and the glint of sarcasm in her words. "That is very gracious of you, Walnut. I applaud your gentility, even in these most uncertain of times."

Looking to the housemaid in the room, "Rhoda, yes? Rhoda." He cleared his throat and drew a shaky breath, expanding his lungs as best he could before exhaling slowly. "If you would please, the Professor's injuries are due to her pistol backfiring and should require but cursory treatment. Please see to her first. I offered my own assistance, but I doubt that she would be willing to accept as my own injuries are likewise due to her pistol." That, and he had zero desire to have her acting as witness to his own appointment with forceps, line, and needle. Such a compromising position, particularly when close attention must be paid to the work at hand, might lead to an opening which might be exploited by hostile parties. "Have you much experience closing skin, young Miss?" he spoke with polite inquiry.