Sigil

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt
Skills: Observation

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It was true, the use of The Hat's abilities would be better spent in the event of an emergency or at a time when replacement had no other alternative. The overuse of an ability like that, even to a man who had been using that ability for the past few thousands of years or so, might have negative consequences. Along a similar note, providing in a more mundane fashion secured the idea of the Paradoxes' reliance in self, which in turn made them stronger overall. Even in an unplanned field operation. I mean, if not now, then when?

Gilbert's own clothing was not too unlike that being work in this era, though the manner in which he wore it and the state of informality might turn heads in a way that would give unneeded attention to their presence. And he was a pretty big, fairly handsome guy. Gil was already going to turn heads and be noticed, unless he utilized his other Emendator ability and changed his form. Perhaps that would work for him overall, if only used for himself; pulling out a wardrobe for everyone from his Hat at once would be a much more taxing affair. Ah, if only they had more time to prepare.

There was one area that he could help with of more immediate, less "special powers" sort of way. Seeing as someone brought up language, which was an area of expertise for him. "Perhaps we should risk my presence among the locals. I know the languages of this region. All of them. The older ones, too. I spent quite a lot of time in this area, many times over the course of its history." Once upon a time, he was even famous here. Or, infamous. Somewhere, if they looked hard enough, they might find hieroglyphics describing him specifically as a demon. Not the best mark to leave upon history, granted. But it was always good to be remembered.

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James Grady

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Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt
Skills: Observation

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Andromeda's mention of alcohol made James look down to the bottle of Alicia's tequila in his hand. "Luck has it there, Miss Andy, I got the hookup on booze." It was funny, he'd been carrying it all this time and just hadn't found reason nor opportunity to put it down anywhere. And now he really couldn't - it was, in this place at this time, an anachronism. A temporal paradox, if you will, very much like himself and everyone else there except for Peter. This was very much his time.

But perhaps there was a way that he could join the search for clothes and gear for the group. A small plan formulated within his head, which he vocalized as the details began to come together "Ya know, Mr. Peter, sir? Overalls've been around since a long time. All y'all need do is fit me with a bigass sack of somethin' to carry, an' I'll walk all hunchbacked an' the like, sayin' all kinds of "era appropriate" shit like, 'Oh, yessir, Mr. Pete sir! Is'm be happier'n a pig in shit, carry this here sack o' y'alls unmentionables down to th' river fo a good washin', Mr. Pete sir! ...aight, nevermind. I think I'd rather keep what dignity I got, just for today." Yeah. Just no. Nope. He wasn't really into that right then. Bad idea.

"Aight, look. I don't know what to do, but Peter done died here once. Twice, if'n you think on it. He ought not go by himself. If the rest the group thinks I ought stay here, I'm good. Wouldn't mind tellin' a story nohow. But I think my man here needs some backup, and just some company, y'get me?"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A

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The apparent lack of compassion from some of his Fellows struck Reginald as being highly unlike them. Yes, there was a mystery on their hands. But must they treat the very possible death of someone who was helping them as something trivial? The Lord Major knew that he was a fairly old-fashioned old chauvinist yet, but the the value of a life of a friend shouldn't be so temporary, in his estimation, even in this modern day and age. Truth be told, he was becoming quite annoyed by it. "Madame," he replied, speaking to Gene, "I suggest that we not callously abandon someone because it is inconvenient. Nor would I suggest card-based divination; I put little stock in it, myself, though if it is a comfort to you I've no objection." It was an attempt at gallantry in a tense situation. Or what should have registered as one in Reginald's humble opinion.

Nora's observation was at least addressing the issue. "I agree, Miss Kingston. The possibility is great." He really didn't know what else to say directly on the matter. The tiniest sliver of hope was raised b their resident Geologist, however. Reginald would take what he could get, especially if there was sound logic behind it. "You are suggesting, Mr. Zalil, that the may be a connection further inward? By Jove sir, that smacks of possibility! Let us press onward, if this truly serves a priority with Miss Bella's rescue or... or recovery, such as it may be." It was true that they were here for their own mission. But he was too much the gentleman to act otherwise. "Come along then. Let us venture." His tone was a bit more somber and serious, as subjects involving death tended to make people.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage

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When Josephine revealed to Reddish her intended course of action were she to truly feel insulted, that being the sudden and swift smack and/or kick upon his person, the Corporal gave a bashful smile. Maybe even a bit of a blush, it was hard to tell in that light, but he did manage to finally utter, "Oh, Miss Clarke... Promises, promises." He gave a coy, mischievous smile and winked, but then immediately set to his work. Unfortunately, his ability to move cleanly, quietly, and undetected by the populace at large took a backseat to less graceful movements; Reddish had accidentally knocked a lamp over ans struggled to right it before it clattered about and made too much noise. Then again, any amount of suspicious noise was too much when you were trying to be sneaky. Maybe it had something to do with the odd haze that seemed to settle over everything, like he was back in his family home in Nottinghamshire and a blanket of mist had settled into the lower laying grounds near and about. That was certainly interesting.

The attempt at stealth being shot, Reddish instead drew his pistol and opened the bathroom door at a jolt. Odd, he had expected someone to be in this stateroom. But it lay empty. The haze still bothered him - it set his teeth on edge, really. First there was an unnatural cold the previous evening, now this? It was like unnatural weather seemed to follow them. Or this boat. Hmm... The boat was cursed? That would be odd. But no matter. The room was vacated, and so opportunity might be present. "My Lady, Miss Clarke, I would suggest that we quickly and quietly make a search of this room, just in case we something was missed. Otherwise, it would look very conspicuous of us to be dallying about here while we're trying to find help for the doctor, yes?" Then at a whisper, "Oh unless either of you have a better cover story, I'd be all over it, indeed I would, wot wot." Wit that, he took to giving the place a scan for anything out of place or useful in their investigation.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat (Unnamed Stateroom)
Characters attempted actions: Search Room
Any and all skills being used: Observation, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Both skills to search the room for anything useful
Desired location of the character: N/A

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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The eyebrow arch that expressed on Ash's face was one of the more motivated ones of his life thusfar. This briefing was already a roller coaster of emotion, be they mostly buried behind his trademark stoicism. Admittedly, less than usual; his carefully developed persona of hardened calm and logic had taken several hits as of late. Even the positive ones - the warm, fuzzy glow of love and trust, the joys of being alive and seeing Thana alive as well - were hard to keep back, even though this was supposed to be a professional, cut and dry briefing. Not that he was trying to hold those emotions back. His default kept him fairly unexpressive while he was "on the clock", as it were. But it was on his face. My god, as virtually unheard of as it was, Ashton Jameson Holloway was content. Happy, even. The was hope etched all over him, even if he was sitting at attention.

But back to that eyebrow arch. It was the request by Thana to have three of their number escorted out, to be replaced by the rest of the surviving Newnan group. Something about information and closure. Asking a question now would be pointless as they were all going to find out whatever it was they were going to find out after the others arrived. He had to admit a sense of growing curiosity, though. Patience was usually a thing he had in respectable amounts. Today, amid the swings from heartbreak to bliss, he found that his patience was a little bit wanting. Ash kept it under wraps. They had things to tell him, and while not as epic as Thana's story, he had things he wanted to tell her. Looking to her with pride and determination, Ash elected to respond with a simple, "Thank you, Thana." Then likewise to her father, "And thank you, sir."

This was a momentous occasion. And while there were several things he would likely never puzzle out without a lot of background, Ash gave a trace of thought to a single, mundane detail: What was with the SpaghettiOs?

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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Thalia just realized that that bitch still had the can of Os! She was sitting with it, caressing the can, like she wanted it noticed. Fine. No big. This can be circumvented. Thalia was a frigging mestiza ninja. If anyone was going to be capable of surreptitiously retrieving those blessed rings of pasta and generic red sauce, it was going to be her. Oh yes, those Os would he hers.

Naturally, the thought occurred to her that this particular can of SpaghettiOs had absolutely nothing to do with the original issue last year. Nothing at all. In fact, by all rights they were Beatrice's and Thalia had zero claim to them, by law, spirit, nor expectation. They were found by Thana elsewhere and given to her directly as a gift. But that wasn't the point. Thalia had already decided to do with this settlement as she had with Fairburn; that meaning that she would stay, train, live as one of them and come out of it stronger. Hell, she may even embrace the military lifestyle, and add that concept to her repertoire in addition to her training with Familia, Company, and Vikings.

Strangely, she thought that she remembered a comic book like this, about a person drawing skillsets from different lifetimes, but just couldn't remember the name of it. Well, it'd come to her. The point was, those goddamn Os were a mere focal point around which she would train. After all, how does one train stealth in a closed community? How indeed... It was a lesson for later. Thalia gave Beatrice a warm, supportive smile (kinda) as she was getting up to leave, and she quietly said, "Talk lateh, Bea." Her eyes mischievously darted toward the can once more before she exited the room.

There was one thing that gave her the slightest bit of annoyance. Being referred to by her last name, though you'd think that it was something commonplace for her, often served as a reminder that she had always been an outsider wherever she went. Some of the time it was a good thing. An asset, even. But sometimes it reminded her that she was never given the name of her father, the only family she knew since she was ten. (until she revisited the concept of "family" during the apocalypse, but while true that wasn't germane to the point) Maybe it was a silly thing. She liked her name, it had a touch of class to it. Even sounded a little badass if you said it just right. Still, it was a reminder that, while Gonzalez was expected of her, she was born under different circumstances. Maybe she'd even make that work here. Trivial, but ever so sightly annoying.

Upon returning to the Conference Room, Thalia leaned against the wall and gave a long look at the people from Newnan as they filed past. There was a sense of tactical curiosity as to what they would be made privy to, and what was important enough to warrant a secret pow-wow like the one she had just gotten out of. She didn't think asking directly afterward would be a great idea, and it wasn't her concern really, but the more guarded element of her personality had her questioning a situation that, while she felt better about it, was still fairly fresh to her. That wasn't going to change except with the passage of time.

Thalia crossed her arms in front of her and continued to lean on the wall, her hazel eyes perceptively scanning the room and the people within it. Maybe it wasn't her name. She would always be a little bit of a outsider and it was probably because she made herself that way. Though the name did get the ball rolling in certain circles.

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Hank Wright

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

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Hank's eyes fluttered open. He wasn't in his personal Hell anymore. Just the regular one. That meant that he hadn't died just yet and there was more to do before he got to see his family again. One day at a time. Of course, he wasn't suicidal - and there was no way that he was going to abandon his friend Wayne, even if he was a total nutbar. They'd been through too much and, even if he was a little intense, Hank got the man. He was one of the good guys.

Indistinctly, Hank felt a trickle of movement on the side of his face. He was still a little disconnected from his nap, and didn't realize what was going on until he raised his hand up to wipe his eyes. "...i'mnotcryingyou'recryinggotohell..." he mumbled, rousing himself fully into the waking world. He un-reclined the recliner and looked over to Wayne, who had somehow acquired himself a small child. That was odd. Hank quickly looked around the room, checking to see if the kid's parents were present and okay with this. He knew that Wayne was the kind of guy who could be trusted. But he also knew that not everyone else knew that. Satisfied that everyone was either absent or okay with things, Hank gave baby James a look over. "Well hey there, little man. Big ol' Wayne's not a scary guy, is he?" He gave a half-hearted shrug, as if trying to convince himself of this statement. "Yeah, nevermind. Look kid, these are good people here. Hell, I was a dad once, long time ago. You just say if you ever need help changing an alternator or beating the crap out of someone with a shovel, and Uncle Hank'll come running, okay buddy? Okay."

Hank looked over to Wayne, a contemplative sort of look crossing over his face. "Hey Maldonado," he began, a serious tone to his words, "This isn't just about us fishing off a boat in Florida anymore, is it?" It was the excuse they gave for doing this, but it kind of felt like a piece of pipe dream bullshit that kept them moving in a direction until they eventually died, by whatever multitude of ways this world could kill them these days. Now that they were there, this had to be about something more, or else he really was just the asshole he constantly portrayed to other people.

But yeah, retiring in Florida to fish had to feature heavily. It was the principle of the thing.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Grimm Indiana (En Route To Nuthouse, one way or another)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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The haze clung onto the scenery, obscuring things here and there for the intrepid duo. The source of the haze could have very well been the same woodsmoky issue from earlier, but this seemed to be different somehow. More total in coverage. Than again, they could be wrong; it's not like either of them were extremely familiar with the way smoke settled after ...whateverit was that the saw on their way in. Keystone was raised a city boy, and Caesar, for his faults, wasn't the type to set a forest ablaze unless there was a very compelling reason. Especially recently, as he had gotten into watching birds in his spare time. Kinda. When he got around to it.

But the supernatural-ish cloud over everything didn't seem to unduly phase Caesar. Of all the shit going through his head or out in the horror show that was his life, an unnatural haze ranked right up there with dropping the toast in the morning. So long as it didn't land butter side down, all was forgiven. And even if it did, they could work something out. Caesar's motivation and worried lay in another, much less trivial matter, that being a tossup between his daughter or his sanity. Caesar knew that a man with his skillset and background, if he was to crack, no one around him would be safe. So he drove on, hoping that his mind's eye wasn't steering him wrong but preparing for it if it did.

Keystone noted with some regard that the old man had decided to stop speaking, past the occasional grunt of affirmation when he got a change of direction from his larger compatriot. Considering the way the car was being manhandled, he even considered buckling two seatbelts across himself, were such things possible. Instead, he was bound by the more earthly considerations of decreased visibility, a possible insane man behind the wheel, and his own mortality as it related to these topics. Something about that balloon he saw caught in the tree branched by the side of the road, too. Just downright creepy. And a strange thing to thing about, tough it did sort of pop in there unexpected.

Still, the out-of-place SUV roared down the otherwise sleepy roads of Grimm, Indiana. From what little either of the two man had hared about this place, it was probably a better course of action to nuke it from orbit and pick through the skeleton of its ruins for anything useful later on. A small town without the small town charm; mind you it didn't seem very different than Justice, California in that regard. Just the tiny town equivalent of that fetid and festering sewer of corruption and blood. Who better to navigate it than the two foreign-born representatives of Machete Security Solutions, be they unwilling? Perhaps a clearer answer could be determined after they reached their destination - the Grimm Insane Asylum.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Gretna Green
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English, General Observation

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"Is much sadness in news you share, Lady Crypt." Vladimir's voice was slightly subdued, giving what amounted to appropriate honors for someone not of the blood or bound by the Circus. He placed his finger to his chin thoughtfully, continuing, "I like-ed her. Truly vith the liking. Father took great liking to Scary Catholic Girl - made vith giving of advice for young leader - advising most only for next Barons in line or Bazhoolis hopeful of the Greatness." Vlad bowed his head for a moment, quietly speaking a prayer for fallen Mary. "Strong girl of fiery hair and Godly stabbings! I give many respects. Da. Many."

"Am also vith regretting, lovely Lady Crypt. Man upon my horse is not comrade of Mother Russia. Is vith profoundness, da, and sadness most forthcoming I tell you: Here is earthly leaving of Master Zimmer, Eccentric German Man and ally of Circus. He vas taken from us by dark vind, just outside of Green of Gretna. Am bringing him to holy place that Grand Duchess may purify, in vays of our people. I am having sorry, Lady."

The Great Bazhooli took care not to overload the woman with too much, too fast, yet seeing as she was the one to bring up the subject of Veta first, he might as well lay this out for all to see as well. "Have just come from Grand Duchess. Is for literal just up this road, or vas minutes ago. Also, with the Lady Millicent and untrusted Lord Rudderfarg. Rootherfunt? Runtherfork? Da, the Lord Rublefant. Umm... Asshole. I do not know vhat plan it from here to next, but... I am knowing she vill vant to see you. If you vish to go now, go. If you vish to help and then ve take Tolstoy(!) together, is fine too. Perhaps after ve are doing this, you can help vith the explaining as to vhy whole town is looking hazy in midday and is like, ah... хрустальное стекло, ah... crystally glass. Is trick? Or is thing vhat needs the stabbing, in time honored tradition of Impalement Artisans, eh?" Seemingly from nowhere, knives flourished in his hands. He stood ready to meet a new threat, if indeed this was a threat, or even to (if need be) perish in an explosion of Bazhooli-ness from which everything in their immediate vicinity might be splashed and sodden with drama and panache of proportions most epic.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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After having removed the apparel of the late Lord Bardolf and laying him back upon the table, Swamp, out of what might have actually been a touch of prudent decency, draped a cloth across the man's unmentionable shortcomings. His servant in life was present, as was a lady of polite refinement. The Doctor himself wasn't affected one way or another, it was merely protocol if one was being viewed whilst mid-operation. Swamp procured but did not immediately tie on a simple surgical mask. One never knew what horrors might splurt from an otherwise still corpse, be they humours or merely vapourous. Well, others might not know. Swamp was a professional. An artist, even. Just ask him. Still, it would be necessary when he knew what to look for more invasively.

The Doctor gave a simple visual appraisal of the corpse, occasionally giving a prod with a cadaver probe. He checked the usual places on the exterior first, hands and fingernails, occasionally giving a little push on his abdomen with gloved hands. He checked the exterior and middle ears and even directed what light he could to view into the man's nasal passages and into the back of his throat with a reflective disk. "Hmm..." he pondered aloud, stopping his stride around the body for a second. His lips were moving, as if sussing something out for himself. Slowly at first, he began moving his hands in a manner that indicated discussion, were he to be actually speaking to someone else and trying to diagram something in the air. After a second or two, the movement of his mouth became vocal enough to be heard by any near him, "...evidence for a foreign agent introduced at sup is... mumbleindistinctmumbleagain ...with so many witnesses right there someone must... incoherenceblahblahshuffle ...and then there is, of course, the question of lividity. Hmm. Quite the conundrum."

Swamp's eyebrow arched wildly as a thought came to him. Carefully, he bent over the dead Lord's face, turning it this way and that, before gingerly opening his eyelids with his thumb and middle finger. The index finger twixt the other two prodded and moved the eye a crucially small amount. The Doctor stood suddenly. He held up a finger, pointing it upward and sporting a boyish expression of impending triumph. But he explained nothing. Instead, he picked up a large, crescent-shaped cutting tool and a chisel, setting them next to the body. "Oh, Chanteuse?" he called with spirited demeanor, "I believe that I've this part of the examination handled. If you would please be as kind, however..." A grin split his face. Mischievous, almost. "I should dearly appreciate some Autopsy Music, if you would, please. Yes! Something powerful, that I may engage with my post-mortem operation with vigor. And that I may boast to colleagues on a later day that I had the honor of such a serenade under these conditions from someone as revered as yourself. If you would please indulge me, Amaranthine, I would be in such bliss."

Upon uttering these words, Dr. Swamp donned his mask and began the first cuts into the Lord, moving into his torso to confirm his suspicions. Upon reaching the sernum, he absently lay his hands upon a flat blade and a mallet. Whether anyone else knew it, one suspicion of his had already been confirmed. What would he learn among Lord Bardolf's innards? Oh, he would find out soon enough. Yes, yes indeed.

CRACK CRACK CRACK SNAP

"Excellent."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: The Hat, History

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Gilbert quirked an eyebrow at Giosue, specifically because of his choice of title for him. Naturally, he remembered the conversation with Drem. It was almost a curse, knowledge. Like the other Emendators, he was cursed to know and remember everyhing in human history, but be unable to directly access unless he concentrated on a specific point. Being that this was a thing that happened to him personally, it was an easy recovery. Such was life for an Emendator. Instead of bringing up the obvious, The Hat instead made comment about the name used to describe him. "Now Gio, I have not been a 'Sir' in a very long time. 15th Century France; Sir Guilbert du Casque. His helmet still resides in that plantation house," he informed, motioning his head in the direction of the main house on the grounds of the former Loop. "...along with other things of great antiquity. Likewise, many items of practical use, such as money, clothing, weapons, and the like. Things we will require. The biggest cache of the things we need, regardless of the nature of the upcoming troubles."

But where were his manners? As a sudden break to the point he was making, he spoke to the recently resurrected Paradox. "Peter, I do hope that the cane is satisfactory to your needs. Tell me if you have use for anything else, please."

That being cleared, he returned to his point. "Provided that we are successful in locating one of these ...hidden creatures... the means to defend ourselves in a physical sense is vastly decreased, but not altogether lacking." He motioned to the lever action rifle still in a sheath on his back. He had put the other one away hours ago, but retained the other and had honestly gotten so used to its presence that he slap forgot about it. That and a pocketknife. "Provided that this is jaunt is only to test your theory and that we return here thereafter, I accept."

Gilbert stepped toward the portal and gave a small chuckle as Bart walked through. The guy had some trust, he had to admit. Without giving much away in terms of where and when, Gil answered Sophia's question in a rather cryptic manner, "We go to a place that claimed the life of a Paradox, Sophia. One who now miraculously stands among us. Step discreetly." Gil tipped his hat to the rest of the people around him and, with a mischievous smile, stepped sideways into Gio's shimmering doorway to the Sands.

Roll Request

Character current location: Outside Gate
Characters attempted actions: Looking Around, area past portal
Any and all skills being used: Observation
Why each skill is being called: To take in the sights, paranormal or otherwise
Desired location of the character: Other side of Portal

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Outside Gate)
Skills: N/A

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James's eyes got a little wider and a little wider the more that Andromeda spoke. Yes, they had heroes. Super ones, at that. They had enough to form into teams. Not only that, but epic, world-altering events that came with it. Organizations and counter-organizations, fed through the application of money and politics. Then something about the Devil. And an entire town dying. Suddenly, James felt like a little man in a much, much larger multiverse. "Miss Andy? We get us some breathin' room, you gonna have to tell me some more 'bout where you're from, aight? I still owe you a story 'bout me, too. Somehow, I'm thinkin' yours're a lot more interesting, though." One task at a time. Stories later. Portal to the unknown presently.

The wheels and gears operating inside the stubborn grey matter located within James's skull shifted in unison, one cog pressing against another cog as details from previous conversations pieced together. The dead British Paradox that he officially met for the first time a little bit ago, the circumstances of his initial, quite deceased nature being apparent. Moreover, the cautionary tale that his story became, with the moral being, "You must NEVER go back." James remembered where "back" was for this man. It was a place and time that still wasn't so good for his people, though for slightly different reasons. He wasn't dressed for it, either. Or was he? A different era, perhaps, but overalls and his style of headwear had been timeless for over a century. He could easily be mistaken for a railroad worker. And if the rest of the group hadn't figured it out yet, James spelled it out for them.

"Cairo, muthafuckas, or nearabouts. Egypt. Nineteen and Twenty-Somethin'. Any y'all speak Arabic? I ain't got shit." Issues of language barriers aside, Gilbert brought up an interesting point about being able to defend themselves. James possessed two items that might be useful in that regard; a Bowie knife claimed during training that he ordinarily kept in a tool pocket along his leg, and a hybrid seax (that he won from Gil after slapping him) that he wore openly like a trophy. He had gotten pretty damn good with a short blade, though if they were looking for what he thought they were looking for, they wouldn't be of any use to him at all.

"Miss Andy, we get where we goin', you remember the offer of that hat, ok? My people done evolved to deal with the sun there, and it'll still rip the hide offa me." If he was correct, she'd need more than just that hat, but it was a start. He had another back in his room in the Main House, but concerns for safety kept them from immediately going for it. Why then were they on a monster hunt? The logic there was horribly flawed, he thought. But who was he to question? Shaking it off, James was the next to step through the portal after The Hat. "We better be comin' back for what's ours," he mentioned, just before arriving ...wherever the portal actually led.

Roll Request, DITTO edition

Character current location: Outside Gate
Characters attempted actions: Looking Around, area past portal
Any and all skills being used: Observation
Why each skill is being called: To take in the sights, paranormal or otherwise
Desired location of the character: Other side of Portal

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: Engineering, Codes/Ciphers

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With gluteal crevasse finally free of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, the Lord Major attempted to give the wall markings a decent once-over, confident that his training with the Royal Armed Forces might shed some light upon this mystery, if it mean discovering a pattern that more classically trained eyes might have missed or providing greater insight on the ancient engineering present with these sliding walls and trapdoors. Ah yes, the trapdoors, like the one that claimed Bella. Or did it? There was nothing remaining of the woman, no trace of her passing through at all. No sickening splatting sound and no cries of alarm as she fell. No matter what anyone had ever written in the annals of history nor fiction, there was no such thing as a bottomless pit. He shook his head. No, this will not do. Nor especially would it do that, even after shaking her head, the very stone around them continued shaking, as if his bobble continued despite the now stationary nature of his head. It was quite disconcerting. It also made the appraisal of the tiles pointless, as the mystery had been sussed out by the intellectual of their abbreviated group. All the same, something didn't set right with him.

"Madames and Sirs, if I may?" he said, raising a finger as if he were in a making a point at a dinner party, "I am never averse to venturing into places dark and unknown, as I have regrettably proven to my and others' dismay just recently, but I should think us quite callous, yes, quite callous indeed, to simply abandon the fine lady who led us here up until this point, deceased or no. It's perilously ungentlemanly. Perhaps if we could shed some light on the situation, if only to confirm the worst, before proceeding with the remainder of our epic questworthy undertakings? Must we continue this puzzle immediately at the cost of our humanity?" He felt a bit foolish right at that moment, suggesting the proper course of action when he had just been guilty of extreme foolishness.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Cabin)
Skills: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage

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Oh dear, it sounded to him like somewhere in his nigh incoherent but strangely detailed run-on sentence describing the day's events from the Clarke-Reddish Party point of view, the Corporal had given the young Starlet an insult, or disservice at least. (Wait, Clarke-Reddish? Yes, Reddish-Clarke sounded like a highbrow paint hue set aside for fancy automobiles or debutante themes. Clarke-Reddish sounded much better. He might suggest the other to Josephine later for acquiring copyright, provided that both of them survived the adventure and she still wanted a thing to do with him.) The fine lady deserved an apology. And before they moved a step farther, he was going to give one appropriate to their differences in social stature, no matter what.

Reddish paused in his movements toward the door and swiftly turned around. He held up a finger, nonverbally requesting a moment for himself and beginning a long, arduous intake of air. Like, massive. Significantly moreso than the one required to get out the huge and continuous description of their activities, earlier. It seemed painful at first - one could almost see his brain firing with the sparks of a man about to wax with extreme and unnecessary garrulousness. After he had properly readied, a crazed smile flashed across his face for a second and he began to speak:

"I am quite sorry, Miss Clarke." His voice was cultured, calm, polite, and subdued. "You had mentioned this earlier; my repeating the statement has burdened you with unneeded insult. I shall make it up to you later, should you allow me the opportunity." He dutifully bowed his head in supplication of the lady's favor, again stressing, "My sincerest apologies, madame."

Raising his head again, a very different Reddish opened his eyes and, with hurried confidence, peeked out of the doorway and into the space beyond. He held up his hand, waiting for his moment, before beckoning them onward. "Quick and calm now, m'Lady, Miss Clarke. Remember, we're looking for help for the good doctor." With passable nonchalance, Reddish slyly made his way up the deck, noting the potential break points and possible movements of the staff, seamlessly circumventing the door in such a way that was just as effective (though far less dramatic) than Josephine's impressive doorsplosion from earlier. Ushering the women (should they have chosen to follow at the moment) into the room, he stood ready to react to whatever threat might lurk within.

But the joke was on them, it seemed. The room appeared empty and untouched. Purely in order, he began to wonder whether he had gotten the right room in the first place. No, this is what the paper clearly stated... something was off. Be it the situation or the paper in the infirmary that was misleading, something was off. He carefully closed the door and spoke very quietly, his hand moving behind him as if reaching for something, "Perhaps this requires a search - light touch, if possible." This was the elite deck. These rooms had a private lavatory. His eyes went in that direction first.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat (Unnamed Stateroom)
Characters attempted actions: Arm self and surreptitiously check bathroom
Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Investigation to investigate the area, Stealth to do so without being detected by anyone who might be in a position to detect
Desired location of the character: N/A

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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Ash felt a little tingle as Thana brushed her lips against his. For his sense of professional decorum, he couldn't help but smile wistfully at the woman. He lay a hand on hers as she cupped his cheek, leaning into it and whispering, "And I love you." Following the tender and meaningful exchange, much like his Navy counterpart, Ash straightened back into a seated attention pose and waited for whatever was coming next to happen.

It didn't take a very long time until Gunny entered the room, folder in hand. This was beginning to feel a lot less like an apocalypse scenario and more like a standard briefing; one of many that he would have been a part of prior to new orders or on the outset of a mission. It was lulling, in its own way, for someone who had chosen the Army as their career prior to dead people eating most of the living ones. Ash wouldn't allow himself to be seduced simply by the structure and order presented to him thusfar, nor the relative bounty of supplies they could produce, though these were amazing selling points. Fortune favored the brave; fortune favored the prepared. Take all that away, if Thana was there, this place could be a fortified cave where they would survive on an infrequent diet of mushrooms and lizards, he'd still give it a shot.

Listening carefully to what was being divulged, Ash began to put together a story. Rather, part of one involving the group that assaulted Eden so many months ago. If it was any indication of how the rest of the briefing was going to go, then it wasn't going to be a a very cheerful or sunny one. Ash gave a subtle glance toward Thalia and her new prosthetic. The girl was tough. Considering the family she came from, that might have been expected. But what really began to get to Ash was the description (presented with an amazingly flat and sanitized tone) was the lengths to which Thana had gone to help and protect the people under her care. This was further hammered home by the description of her injuries sustained, the lengths taken to keep her alive, and the pictures... The images were physically haunting. To his credit, Ash remained solid throughout the briefing, his emotion detectable by the details in his face. The eyes expressed more than the rest, but an alternating tightness of lips and the small swallow every now and again, or a tiny, sympathetic movement betrayed that his calm demeanor was being challenged by the news, even though he knew the outcome was eventually positive.

The fact that Gunny seemed to be singling him out for inspection in regular intervals wasn't exceptionally pleasing, either. Ash supposed he had the right, though. She was his daughter, after all, and Ash was the guy her father had never met, but probably heard about.

In the end, Ash merely nodded with an accepting look on his face. This was the way things were, and the decisions made were done for the preservation of human life, directly or indirectly. Even the mild stretching of the truth or misleading by assumption had a purpose. Betrayal was not an issue here - in order to betray there first had to be an understanding, or some element of trust. There was no such provision between the ruling members of the community and Ash, nor anyone else who came in with him. Ignoring the stare that he was getting from Macsen, Ash's eyes went to Thana. He gave her a small smile and a single, slow nod. He held no grudge and gave only his support, and that was only if she needed it.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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"Holy shit, I lost my arm on April Fool's Day? Worst prank ever." Thalia's eyes widened and she looked around with a sudden sense of alarm; for the life of her, she didn't know if she had said that out loud. Not usually the joking type, Thalia had been in elevated spirits in the short amount of time since they had discovered that Thana was alive. That, and just sometimes her inner thoughts became outer thoughts whether she approved the vocalization or not. Ordinarily this wasn't a big issue. This time, under a formal-ish setting in a manner that might show disrespect to both Thana and her father, it was different. Thalia understood the concept of a close family, especially when they favored one another like these Martins obviously did. It kind of made her homesick. If the tables were turned and she was the one sitting in front of this gaggle of misfits she referred to as friends (if only to herself) down in the family's complex in Monterrey, she'd be a little miffed if someone interrupted her father while he was filling in serious gaps in their information.

Lucky for her, she only got as far as a quiet mumble and a glance down at her prosthetic.

Taking out the personal nature of what was being passed along, this greatly reminded Thalia of the briefings that she would have to sit in on, and occasionally speak in front of, where they discussed procedure based upon specific assignment at her uncle's security firm. Nepotism might have played a part in getting her hired, thinking back on it honestly, but it sure as hell didn't affect her professional/threat ratings or occupational certifications nor did it have a damn thing to do with her position. All that was earned the hard way, just like Thana. She was already the woman's friend, but the more she heard about her (now from family), the more she was impressed. The two of them had more in common than she initially thought. Rather than being close despite differences, it looked more like it was because they instinctively saw similarities in one another that they just hadn't discussed in any depth.

Thalia remained respectful and still, if not as rigid as Ash or Thana with their uncanny ability to soldier on command. Every so often, upon listening to what their former group leader had done to help them and had to endure as a result, Thalia would let out a quiet, unobtrusive remark like, "Damn, girl," or the like. This was a bit louder when it was her turn to view the images of her injuries and recovery. She looked again at her partially missing arm, up to Thana, and back down to her arm. The similarities kept coming.

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Hank Wright

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

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A good chunk of Hank's flagging consciousness wanted him to remain awake and see whatever it was that Wayne was putting on television next. Hank wouldn't have claimed to be a huge Mel Brooks fan, though he had seen a lot of his stuff before. It was okay. Of course, a functioning television with actual movies? Hell, Hank might be inclined to sit through some Candace Cameron something-or-another that had something to do about feelings or ... eh, womanly complaints, maybe teach some lesson with strong religious overtones that sounded more like chunky tofu-fueled hypocrisy. Then he remembered that, even the world had gone to shit, he still had his standards. Mel Brooks movies were alright. But the bottom line was, he mentioned that he was going to take a nap, and a nap he was a-taking.

The spurts of random mental flashes began to give way to a more structured thoughtform, lining up and materializing in his visual subconscious. He was a slightly less mature and cranky bastard, coming home from one of the fairly lighter days at work. A quick shower and a change from his uniform to some jeans and a flannel, and Hank had a little time to relax before his dear Mrs. Wright finished preparing supper. Yes, it was idyllic in a sort of 1950's way, if that was your thing. Not something that Hank had planned for, his life just kind of worked out that way. They had a daughter who wasn't quite a woman yet, still convinced that video games were the best way to occupy her time after school (provided that homework was done, of course). She had just gotten into a very retro-looking one based around a short, knightly fellow with a proclivity for beating down villains with a garden spade.

He walked in to see his little girl giving the unholy smackdown to an array of oddly shaped enemies with a shovel. She liked this game. She kept saying, "He's like you, Daddy! He fights the bad guys and keeps everybody safe!" Tears spilled from Hank's face. When he lived through this the first time, he didn't know what would happen a few days later. Recalling it in a dream, he did and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hank would get a call around 4 p.m. while attending a Law Enforcement convention in Michigan, telling him that an undiagnosed heart condition claimed his dear wife while driving their little girl home from school. The resulting crash killed them both.

"You're my Shovel Knight, Daddy!"

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Grimm Indiana (Tinder's Place, exterior front)
Skills: Seek The Guilty, Tracking
Skills: General Observation, Security Procedures

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The skills picked up a solid lifetime ago, back when the elder Mexican was an upstanding (if horribly violent) member of the Mexican Federal Police, were still just as sharp and valid as they ever were. It was old hat, falling back into his manhunting skills even after time had passed with him being a businessman (also, if horribly violent). While little of a specific nature peeks out at him to begin with, in a moment or two Caesar notices marks on the front door. Whatever is and/or was going down here, it wasn't 100% with the owner's best interests in mind. Then who do these vehicles belong to? There lay the question. Cop car or not, something funny was going on. Not "haha" funny, but "some bitch gonna get stabbed" funny. To that end, Caesar palmed a blade and drew his pistol. Something wasn't right here.

Meanwhile, Keystone was getting two amazing pieces of information from the scene: Jack and Shit, with Jack having left town without forwarding address. Wait, maybe not nothing - he did step on the business end of a garden rake, its tines carelessly left pointing UP for some unsuspecting dolt to plant a foot upon, rocketing the wooden deathhandle on a collision course with Keystone's nose and/or teeth. With nigh-telegraphed awesomeness, Keystone's intense physical conditioning halted the progress of the Shaft O' Doom, prompting a victory speech from the gargantuan Brit: "Ha! Me powerful pecs've rendered me bloody immune t'your fuckstickery there, Rake! You can jolly fuckin' well bite it then, can't ya? Yeaaah!"

Briefly, Caesar gave consideration to turning his weapons on Keystone for being such a motard, out in public, while they were on a case. Obviously, stealth was not the big man's priority, as whatever advantage in that regard they may or may not have had was more than likely just obliterated, thanks to his epic victory against yard tools. This man was supposed to take care of his family? Better observation: This man put his genetics into his family's line? The thought was sobering.

Sobering suddenly turned to alarmed, on the older man's face. Not just alarmed, but he looked like he had just seen a ghost. As it turned out, that wasn't a very far assessment of the situation. Caesar sheathed his blade numbly and felt his gaze snap back to Keystone. "GET IN THE CAR!" he bellowed, stomping back to the SUV himself, pained shock painted across his face. He was looking absolutely pale.

"Ah, c'mon Boss, it ain't all that ba..."

"No, we're out, pendejo! GET IN THE FUCKING CAR NOW!"

"Pullin' outta the lead? We just got 'ere!"

Caesar was ready to shoot the man. "CAR. NOW." He was already climbing into the driver's seat. By the time that Keystone was in and closing the door, Caesar was already halfway back out of the driveway.

"Y'mind tellin' me what's what, Caesar?" He remembered to use his first name this time.

"Look, I'm not asking you to believe me or understand, but one of two things just happened: I just heard M'hija and I need to go to the asylum, or I just heard M'hija, and I need to go to the asylum. Okay?" The driving was still faster and he'd have liked, given the circumstances, but it was becoming less erratic as Caesar's calmer, yet somehow more murderous and deliberate impulses took over. "Navigate." The word was chilling, final. Keystone scrambled to locate a map or something useful to his endeavor, finally settling on the onboard GPS of their vehicle and map feature of his satphone. Navigate away.