Sigil

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: N/A

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Cairo, 1920s, but they sounded American. Russian Empire, and sounded like it; spoke fluent enough English. The ones before were from his time, taken from the American Midwest though it wasn't their origin, most of them. And he didn't want to assume anything about their initial guide, Kyra. She looked like something out of a Hobbit movie, but even more anachronisically, she knew about Keystone. Maybe the big Brit was around here someplace too, and they'd had some favorable association. That was a frightening thought; favorable association with Keystone.

Back to point, all of these different people from different eras and locations, and despite his imposing demeanor no one was making a move on him. They were scared. Confused, like he was. Okay, they were not an immediate threat. Caesar still completed his action of unsheathing one of his machetes, but he made no motion of an otherwise aggressive nature. Caesar made a noise that fell somewhere in the vicinity of both a growl and a sigh, and took a greater eye to his surroundings.

He generally ignored the insistence of the one lady that she didn't want to get shot or stabbed. Who did? Immaterial unless he was intent on doing this to her. And if he did, her wants on the issue were probably going to be secondary to an attacker's desire to make with the stabbing. Likewise, he put no additional attention to the guy trying to get a rise out of the Russian and then turning his back on the guy. Unwise, in his experience. But no one was dead yet. This was a good sign.

So let's try a different approach. "A local girl... pointed me to the Chthonic Groves and someone named Proserpine. Does that mean anything," He paused for a moment to observe the people in his immediate area, wither scurrying about or standing there doing nothing, "to any of you?" His words carried an edge, but were otherwise softer and more inquisitive. It was probably the most polite he had been all day.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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Social situations. Not Ash's thing unless he was in a position of authority. At least not anymore, though there was a time, long ago. He was a good soldier. He was an exceptional Executive Officer. And recent years had made him a fit commander. The things that made him good at these duties were also things that tended to make every other social encounter (that didn't involve drinking) a little difficult. The stoicism in both philosophy and demeanor allowed him to make decisions with critical thinking, not emotion, when the chips were down. He was disciplined and unwavering in pursuit of his goals. Even as a kid, he was a good student and labored unceasingly for his family, which transferred well when he signed his life to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers; Sapper. Then the Apocalypse. Ash was going to have to learn how to be a more well rounded person again.

At first, he was being distant. Now that it was pointed out, he was trying too hard. He was never the type to try too hard to be sociable before. Ash wanted this to work, both with Camp Mexico Beach and with Thana, specifically. He'd been on an epic knightly quest for over a year and a half for her, for crap's sake. And now he was forcing nonchalance. Ash's eyes glazed over and he stared into the distance for a moment as this realization washed over him. Luckily, Thana nudged his shoulder and jostled him out of it. He would have to thank her later. She continued about the possible psychic powers of her father, which he was prone to believe after the past week and the few conversations, both had with the man and observed, such as they could be called conversations.

Then she said something that made him stop mid-bite. The promiscuous one? "Yeah, that is damn unsettling." Ash had apparently forgotten that aspect of the immortal Boomhauer, in all of his animated glory. It did give him a chuckle, though he tried to restrain it. "I meant talking constant and barely understandable, Thana. Nah, that other - scares me a little." He gave a small smile and hugged her around her waist as they sat.

Being as he wasn't one hundred percent sure what she meant by her next statement, he wasn't certain how to react. Did she mean her time coming back here, or when she entered Newnan just prior to its collapse? If she meant here, then definitely. According to the story he'd gotten, she came in mostly dead and had to be put back together by the medical staff here, after which apparently she had to go through whatever rigors one must go through to become an officer in this place, all while still being held together by surgical steel and good intentions. If she meant Newnan, well, that was unfortunate all around, though with some highly specific points that sucked for her. To throw her into the mix like that was less than ideal for her, to say the least.

"Yeah, it was easier for me, getting processed here." Except for the part where he thought Thana was dead. The initial reason for his coming here, prior to learning that Zebulon was destroyed. And the fact that management nor their guards did nothing to correct this belief, knowing the truth. Watching him deal with not only the death of someone he loved, but the collapse of already fragile hope from the past year and a half. Though Ash had braced himself for the very real possibility, it still struck him hard. He had learned that it was for a purpose, and he respected this decision. Purpose and reason over emotion. It was something he might have done, for the good of the people involved and for the community. "Your strength continues to amaze me, Thana." He spoke it plainly and genuinely, his tone stating a fact about how he felt rather than an attempt to butter her up or curry favor. It did amaze him. Ash heavily doubted that he would have been able to survive what she did.

"So, what's on the agenda between this and the beach party?" Ash looked to her with admiration, hoping there might be some time to be together, if only to contemplate each other's quiet presence.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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It had always amazed Thalia how, despite her training with weapons in each hand, and the fact that her style of boxing had her switching from righty to southpaw seamlessly, she had such problems doing anything else with her left hand. Ask her to stab, shoot, or hit someone, she was your girl. You want her to sign her name? Bring a snack. It's going to be a while. She wanted to insert food into her mouth and anyone with a camera might be able to win some money from the "America's Funniest" people. It was a little infuriating sometimes, but just as long as she didn't give a shit about what people thought about her, she was going to get that pasta into her facehole one way or another. Still getting used to the tiring concept of eating around people she didn't know, like someone might use the opportunity to launch an attack while her mind was occupied with levering spaghetti in her mouth.

The fresh fruit was a nice touch, though. Except for prying off the peel with one working hand. In the end, force replaced dexterity for the win. While Alexander was trying for manners in an otherwise mannerless world, Thalia was going for the silently impassioned but effective kill. It was amazing how many things required two functioning hands to accomplish. Improvisation was necessary, she reasoned, pinning the precious sphere of citrus down with her metal hand and perforating its thick rind with her thumbnail, over and over, working her way down and around to gouge a series of meridians that she could exploit to get at the juicy, pulpy flesh within.

Thalia held the fruit steady and raised her new steel fist above the condemned source of vitamin C, then sharply brought it down with a thwack. Her face twisted into a gruesome sneer as her artificial appendage made connection, snuffing the very life from the fruit as it contorted ans ripped open. A spurt of tangy juice splattered in a line across Thalia's face like the blood of her enemies, which she didn't bother to wipe away. No, she earned this victory and would wear it like a badge of honor. The fallen citrus didn't split exactly as she wanted it to, but it was well enough to use her left hand to pick through its remains and tear out the good flesh with her teeth.

Messy, but goddamnit, the atrocities she might commit for a grapefruit.

She barely registered the arrival of Manny, for that manner barely noted his absence until he spoke just now. Thalia glared up at him from behind a shard of citrus rind and gave a monosyllabic grunt of, "Nnn..." while motioning her head toward a seat nearby. There was a level of comfort in having the familiar cluster around her, though she had to open up a little, eventually, with some of these people. She'd start with her brother first, then maybe his friends. They were family, after all, and if she didn't know him quite as well after this time, that just meant that they could catch up.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The Gologramma was not supposed to do any of this. Impossible. This thought repeated over and over in Vladimir's mind despite the other, more panache-y things that he continued to exhibit. The fact that they were in another place entirely was exciting. New. Worthy of adventuring people such as themselves. But what happened next have him considerable worry.

*****Snapping*****

One moment, he was making introductions all around with people close to him, a lady of a familiar bloodline, and ... violin guy! The next, something inexplicable and wholly unprecedented occurred in a day full of things already inexplicable and unprecedented. It made him wonder why he went through all of that knowledge based Training if none of it was ultimately going to be of any actual use to him in the here and now, ever. Question dor the ages, but not his primary concern at the moment.

Without warning of any kind, another change. This time it was not location nor reality, nor sudden appearance of Lovecraftian Horror. This time the change was to everyone else. Vladimir remained, but everyone, including Elizaveta whom he viewed as a daughter, was gone. Nut he was not alone. In their stead was a quartet of some of the oddest people he had laid his eyes on. And he lived in a circus. One of them was a woman in pants (imagine that) who seemed a little too nonchalant about this for his liking. Others were strangely dressed but up to now quiet, and another looked like the type who associated in seedy roadside taverns, the kind where there were at least a half score dark corners to brood in before emerging to order something flammable and insist that they leave the bottle like some kopek-storefront hoodlum and/or hired murderer. He already had a gun of some sort on his hand and was drawing something sharp, which he could respect but did not particularly appreciate now, being as he was a stranger. It did not amazingly alarm him. Vladimir had range and two hands filled with sharpened steel that he was fairly certain he could hurl with accuracy. Still, not the most sociable group.

"I am Master Vladimir Dimitrievich Aledandrov," he said with a slight bow, holding his blade-bearing hands to his sides, "known to all vith familiarity of Russian Imperial Circus as The Great Bazhooli, Artist of Impalements." He gave the k ives in his hands a twirl and tipped his very fine hat, continuing in his thick but slightly muddled Russian accent, "And I too have questions. Persons very dear to Great Bazhooli have been replaced. ...by you... and this is outside influencimg realm of my very considerable abilities. QVESTIONS! Am having them, too." The look of the man was less in the way of smiles and more in the manner of showmanly intensity, not quite hiding a sense of dark urgency. This situation simply would not do.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: PE Fade Between <~SNAP~> Plains Between River & Cave
Skills: Locate (Emendator)

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Being put into this place, with new and interesting concepts knocking around his skull, did pique Gilbert's more intellectual and philosophical interests. Comparatively few people had referred to him as a philosopher (though he was), and even fewer had ever accused him of being an intellectual (it was understandable). These facets of his personality were real, however, and did make up the complicated fellow that was Gilbert Summers. Or whatever he called himself these days. Mostly though, in this moment, Gil's dominant traits centered around one of the oldest of humanity's professions, the one to which he had dedicated countless lifetimes.

Soldier, not prostitute. Minds out of the gutter, people.

(ahem) Anyway, with their very surroundings altering from the pastoral to the hellish, Gilbert's concerns moved away from the existential implications of an afterlife, final judgement, punishment vs peace, and centered more on the extreme here and now. There were Paradoxes with them that, while talented enough, had not received the full measure of training that he would have preferred them to have had before sending them into something completely unknown like this. Hence, Gilbert was already shifting his thoughts to defensive measures they might take, ideas on maximizing effectiveness their marching order, such as the had one, and the fluid nature of anything that resembled planning, when the very lands around them was subject to alteration.

The question that came from Andromeda didn't exactly give him pause. It was something that he had contemplated himself, many times over. Of course, the circumstances of his coming into consciousness as an Emendator was a little different than the others, though that could have just been a matter of timing lining up coincidentally. He would probably never know. And so much was he agreed with Gio's assessment that more important things were afoot, he did believe that some light conversation that might lead to an educational experience wasn't such a bad idea. If nothing else, it gave something to occupy the more logical portions of their thought, lest it turn to panic. Nobody needed that.

One more scan of the horizon before he turned to Andromeda, intent on giving her the short, short version of his coming to consciousness as an Emendator.

*****Snapping*****

Gilbert saw Andromeda there still, and yet she was the only thing that was immediately familiar about what used to be around him vs. what actually was. Silently, instantly, Gil was in another place, as if someone had neatly incised away a portion of cellulose film and seamlessly rejoined it, else he was simply removed to this new spot without so much as a ruffle of wind to indicate that a change was taking place.

His arrival was heralded by a very random seeming man stating the obviousness of his and Andromeda's height disparity. He eyes the man curiously for a moment, almost (almost) cracking a smile at the "piggy back" comment. The recent memory of James shapeshifting into his Boar Form to give Andromeda a ride in hopes of giving her a breather and something else to focus on was touching. It seemed like a James thing to do. But the uncertainty of his situation - living, dead, or other - kept Gil from fully accepting the speech from the strange man and taking any levity from it.

All in all, it was very confusing at first. But the strange man and Andromeda aside, there was a young lady in garb of an era and location that Gilbert had lived. London, 19th century. He couldn't tell offhand if it was during the Georgian period, the Regency, or the Victorian; but he did recall the basic cut and styles, and remembered that he had stopped killing lots and lots of people for a little while to become a teacher, and a well respected one, adopting the name Gray Hawkins. His professorial lectures and private tutelage about world history always took on a stirring narrative form and his descriptions of battles both ancient and contemporary were regarded as brutal, emotional, and highly detailed; as if he had, impossibly, been physically present for them.

There was another that he personally knew here. And a huge, white tiger that seemed to be responding to the odd fellow's ramblings; he was going to come back to this in a bit. No one seemed hostile, so he took a second to focus his concentration onto the location of the other Emendators. Quietly, he smiled and whispered, "_...Nancy..." casually looking in the direction he felt the pull (and letting Andromeda see him do it). While Gilbert took cautious note of the others, it was Faith that he addressed in an inquisitive, wearied tone: "How were things in New York, Faith?" as if he already had an idea of what might have happened.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: DTB Fade Between <~SNAP~> Soulless Fade Between
Skills: N/A

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So, that was what she meant earlier when she said that he smelled like a Pugilist. Or when she spoke for the wolf. Whatever. It had nothing to do with him, exactly, but the company he kept. Yes, it could be said that the large man with whom he had set off on his leg of their little adventure was a Pugilist, though he wouldn't go so far as to purely describe him like that. A few years ago, sure... But then the thought leapt rather unbidden to Caesar; how many strange women did Keystone have trailing him in his history up until he unknowingly impregnated Alicia? Even so far as to know one one in Purgatory? He didn't think the guy was that much of a charmer in the first place.

Given circumstances, that was a beating for another day. Today, he was given a name, a place, and a general direction to travel. It might not sound like much, but it was more than he had five minutes prior. Four days walk? Okay, he had better get started. Keystone's name seemed to open a door with the woman. He might as well take advantage of it. "Proserpine. Chthonic Groves. Four days that way," he repeated, just to make sure he got it down properly. He even pointed. "Thank you."

Caesar hefted his shotgun, letting the strap dangle underneath as he walked, the first of what promised to be many steps into the world they found themselves thrust into. That name bothered him. That and many questions would be answered. Four days.

*****Snapping*****

Disorienting didn't begin to describe it. At least with the initial push to this place, whatever it was, there was a transition. Had Kyra tried to say something before this? Did she know something? Did it matter? Not really, because now, the change of scenery came with a full change of cast, that change including their reluctant guide - Kyra was nowhere to be seen.

What he did see was the inside of a ruined church, a handful of people in older styled clothing, and one asshole covered with knives who looked like he belonged in a cartoon. Wary, confused, Caesar gripped his primary shotgun at ready and began slowly sliding one of the machetes on his back out of its sheath. In a calm, low growl, he posed a very simple query: "Which one of you has answers?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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It took Ash a moment to realize that Thana was operating with the understanding that he had asked her to only introduce her to the one person. Perhaps it was something in his delivery that as off. So much as it might be a thing worth note to discuss the wondrous art of turning various recipes containing simple carbohydrates into that glorious, glorious C₂H₅OH within a liquid matrix by means of the appropriate applications of time, heat, and basic engineering, he already knew as much as anyone did anymore. Hell, he was born into the trade. It never left him. But so much as that, were it to get into the realm of a conversation of any depth, might be fulfilling in a professional sense, it wasn't really what he meant.

"Mmm-mm," he grunted in an manner to express a misunderstanding discovered, then swallowing a bite to continue, "Meant all of them; Edna, Rosie, Eda." he motioned vaguely with his fork as he spoke each name, thought with a sense of subtlety. "Eventually." The last thing he wanted as the new guy was to start calling out the established personnel, especially while they were sitting down to supper. Scratch that, the last thing he wanted to do as the new guy was make Thana think he only wanted to speak to the younger woman with whom he had something in common. That was a ugly thought, and patently untrue.

Ash let his arm trail down a bit and slowly wrap around Thana's waist. It was a fairly subtle move, considering that they were already leaning against each others' shoulders. He was giving himself a second or two to phrase and answer Thana's question about anyone ever telling him that he talked too much. Obvious sarcasm. Taken literally, that would be preposterous. Not a man of extremely few words, it could be easily said by many who knew him that he was a little frugal with his verbiage. "I apologize, Thana. Processing a lot of stuff. Still just soaking up being here with you, besides. I'm being rude." He gave a touch of thought to what she was saying earlier, one point of which stood out in his mind. "Sorry, were you saying 'King of the Hill'? Like that 'Beavis and Butthead' guy, 'King of the Hill'? Love that show." He gave a quick assessment of the seating around the older people, clustered over that way. "Your, ah... your father doesn't seem like much of a talker, either. I didn't know any better, I'd say they were all actually telepathic." He nodded his head in the general direction of the group again, "Question for you: Which one do you think is Boomhauer?" Probably Wayne. Even odds, maybe.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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The way Thalia blasted through a meal, you'd think that she was starving. Not that it would matter if she was; experience taught one who might be studying the eating habits of the semi-feral pixie-crested Mestiza that, when lacking in abundant or reliable sources of food, one of this genus and species actually had slight tendency to eat slower, thus maximizing the sating effect of said nourishment. Such actions could never be taken as definitive, however, as more often than not any food set in front of her for personal consumption would become a belch and an afterthought in a matter of short, frothing seconds. In any case, Thalia was not starving. She had eaten better in the last week than she had in the past year, one or two instances of finding a relatively untouched convenience store or previously unlooted house aside. Even then things had to be rationed. So yeah, most reliable food in a long time, she still attacked her plate like it owed her money.

Yet, despite her struggling to hold a fork properly with her left hand and throw the food into her mouth, Alexander looked like he wanted to get something off his chest. Maybe just get a few words out. Hey, no problem. She could sit and listen. Relating was a different story. Thalia was never a soldier. Not like he was. Or like Army Captain was, or Navy, or seemingly half the people that ran things in this place. Still, a single serving size packet of reassurance might not hurt. "I think we're all a little broken now. Just a question of how much. I'm definitely not what I used to be." She shrugged. It was true enough. Maybe the next generation, the one that grew up with this, would be more reasonably well adjusted. Alexander would be right in his assumption that this was not the kind of talk she was used to. Given the status of the world, maybe she should start trying to get used to it. The world had a lot of people like her and Alexander - scarred inside and damaged outside.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Not a man lost for words often, or at all, really, Vladimir's initial silence in the face of the sudden slide between realities was birthed of introspection. His Gologramma was never intended for anything like this. At all. Ever. The development, as passed down from generation to generation, refined from one practitioner to another, was purely for the purpose of combating a specific type of Soulless native to the Russian Empire on even(ish) footing. The fact that it made for a fine tool in his arsenal as an entertainer just meant that he got to practice it more. And he was decent enough at it. This shift wasn't just unexpected. It should have been impossible. Drawing upon astral energies to made a copy that exists in the physical and astral simultaneously should have nothing to do with actually going anywhere. It was impossible. Yet, here they were.

"Elsevhere..." mused Vladimir, "Elsevhere is good a name as any." He tapped the flat of his exposed blade on the brim of his hat, then twirled it between his fingers with practiced nonchalance. He took the opportunity to look around him, seeing who all came along on this joyride into oblivion. More importantly, their physical status after the fight and the sudden ...travel. They seemed intact, luckily no extremities were left behind. Wait, was that a possibility? An imperfect transport that left an arm or a foot behind, if they were just barely too far away from some undetermined radius? Was that why Elizaveta insisted on them holding hands? And if there was a radius for this newfound application of his Gologramma, did that make Constantin and the guy with the violin case very lucky, or determined by fate to accompany them? Such might be very lucky indeed. Or merely a setup for their eventual evisceration by hands unknown to them all.

His assessment of the people around him (because after all, that's what matters most) complete, Vladimir turned his attention back to his own sense of dramatic purpose. "Ve are alive. And ve are Elsevhere. It is for maybes that ve are vones being seek-ed." That was a sobering thought. "Or perhaps, as ve are all here, ve vere supposed to find ...each other..." His face darkened beneath the brim of his tall hat. He smiled, and continued, "For ve are vith the coming together; Great Bazhooli, Grand Duchess, Lady Crypt, Constantin Firevalker, and," Vladimir looked over to the fifth of their number, forgetting whether or not the man had introduced himself nor whether Vlad himself had the presence of manners to ask. Still, he was hip-deep in his speech and couldn't just stop midspeech. "...and eh, Violin Guy! Da, force to be reckoned vith, all ov us, together. NOW," He paused, flicking out a second blade to twirl with the first, a bright smile forming, "Here for purpose, da? Ve stay here for vaiting, ve go looking, or... does Great Bazhooli attempt vorld jumping Gologramma vonce more? Maybe this time, ve try the same trick ...ON FIRE?" Clearly, he was having too much fun with this.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: PE Fade Between
Skills: N/A

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Gilbert gave the most quizzical of looks to his fellow not-really-dead-but-not-truly-mortal companions. He understood that swift and complete changes in environment coupled with a total lack of applicable knowledge could have devastating effects on the human psyche, even to the point of speaking with the same level of randomness that one might attribute to a lack of fitful sleep. Perhaps that was why, despite the seriousness of their situation, he looked at Evelina's latest crop of Paradoxes with an eyebrow so raised that it looked like it was trying to escape his face and make a break for the afterlife. Not so much from Bartholomew's question, as it was valid if a little vague, but in Sophia's attempt at explanation. Especially considering that he was standing right there.

Raising his hand to his noble head, Gilbert tried to manually and forcibly lower the intensity of the eyebrow from Kill to Stun. He was only marginally successful. He kept his voice level and even nonetheless. "When I was born, I was swaddled in rough wool and laid upon a bassinet of ox hide, a common baby of a common family in Sumer. The Hat came later. Long after I waged war on my enemies and drove what few of them were alive shrieking before me, crushed even my kinsmen, and established myself as a ruler of humanity's first great civilization. I was not 'born with a hat', Sophia." There was a distance to his words, as he was beginning to note certain changes in the world around them, aside from the gaping void of absolute nothingness they were walking away from.

"Bartholomew, when I became aware of what I was, I simply knew. The title included, like an archetype of humanity. Maybe one of the first. 'The Hat' is a living metaphor. Considering my arrival with the origins of civilization, I had always assumed I was the first." He sighed, stopped, and actually took a serious look at the running Hellscape around them. Yet, he completed his thought. "...but humanity has existed for far, far longer than civilization, hasn't it? There is much that Emendators do not know."

From the look of what was happening around them all, Gilbert was beginning to believe that the Winchester rifle on his back was going to become either extremely useful, or particularly useless, in short order.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: Tracking

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So as they passed along, Caesar kept his attention to the ground around them. Not one to expect more of his abilities than his actual training allowed, he was content to simply observe the ground as it was and attempt to draw conclusions from it, regarding the area. What he found, apparently, was nothing. No tracks of any kind, no evidence of insects, nothing which could have been used as a game trail. Nothing that looked like precipitation had occurred recently, or heavy winds that might have obscured anything. No holes, small or large in the ground, no broken vegetation or any vegetation for that matter including plant litter, likewise no rough or overturned, depressed or disturbed soil, but again definitely, assuredly, no tracks. There was nothing to base any assumptions on, such as he had the ability to tell, anywhere in the basic direction that they were going. A little creepy, but important to know. Okay, a lot creepy. It demonstrated a pressing and basic difference to the environment they had involuntarily left.

Caesar shrugged as the flask was passed back to him. Fair enough. It was an offer for someone doing them a favor and if it wasn't wanted for the reason stated, he wasn't going to take it as insult or find issue with it. "Yeah, staying sharp," he said, echoing their guide's sentiment for any who requested a swig from his personal stash of booze without invite. He slid it back into his vest without further comment about it. He did give a good listen to what Robert had to say about the books and research being done around it. Nothing that too heavily weighed toward what he and his associate were into, though there were curiosities about Adelaide's situation. Missing book from a vault in a secure building, if he read that statement right. Even if he didn't, it looked like things were tough all over, what with the bullshit being slung across everyone and everything even slightly connected with this case. Or series of cases. Looking at everyone who was around him now, it was obvious that all of their individual ventures were connected. Then Robert brought up the topic that they had come to the bookstore to look into in the first place, or one of them, anyway, referring to their mention by his "British Man". Not a great superhero name, if Caesar had any say in the matter. "Mr. Keystone and I were put on the path for the Lunillud Aleae by parties unknown," he said, answering Robert but looking to the others to see if any had a glimmer or recognition. "Celestial Dice."

Partially to answer Mali's question, he continued, "Then our story is like hers. No clown. Yes, shadow creature. My dead daughter came back to life, she killed it with explosives. Now I'm here." Caesar shook his head. Overly simple, but amazingly to the point. He looked to the rocks and noted Kyra's comment about them. It wasn't much, but if it was the only landmark it would have to do as a focal point for now. He might venture settling in and building a fire, but the lack of combustible materials was apparent. But should they even stop? Was there a point to it? "Do we have a goal here? Beside getting back, I mean." he finally said aloud. How would they even start about that little task, anyway? Mysteries abound.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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In one way, it was nice to see the former Newnanites getting to know the people of their new community. He could say that now, "their new community", as the selection process was over and they had made the cut. The loss of his once trusted confidant, Victor, was a bit of a blow. But to look at things, he had lost Froggy some time ago. Perhaps time would change things for him. Ash could only hope. It was no longer a thing to dwell upon; he had a new life that required his attention. On mustn't forget the old entirely, hence the visit to the gravesites outside of the walls. But visiting the fallen to pay respects wasn't hanging on to the past. Ash did hope that they didn't completely lose the stamp of identity that marked them as being survivors well acquainted with one another prior to coming to this place. Depending upon each other as a ragtag, extended family should not be a thing so easily brushed away. Dwelling in the past was not healthy. Forgetting it completely was as well.

Ash did enjoy the comforting weight of Thana's shoulder against his. Part of the human condition that he had almost given up on was physical contact with someone he cared about, or in this case, loved. It was so easy to write off, once it wasn't a big part of his life by necessity. Now that it was back, Ash didn't want to take it for granted.

He tried to make mental notes about the people that Thana was pointing out to him. Edna, Rosie, Ada. Rosie and Mizrahi were grease monkeys. Moreover, they could read engineering specs and build using them as a guideline. That was an important distinction. Ash smiled gently and nodded when Thana pointed out the younger lady, Ada. That was the official distilling lady. They might have things to discuss later, one professional to another. "If it's convenient, maybe introduce me later." Maybe at the party, or another time down the road a bit, it was all the same to Ash. Nice and all but he was more interested in the present, and present company.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia gave a quiet grunt and waited for the short conversation around her to flare up and die out of its own volition without offering anything of her own into it. The offer to join was nice and all, but she didn't know any of these people and didn't feel like being the popular kid and sitting down with the earnest intention of making new friends. She said what she came over here to say and that was that. People in groups who were eager to have a conversation with her made her a little wary, regardless of their actual intent. "Yah, maybe next time," she said, already turning to see what they were talking about when they said that she had someone waving her over. Oh yeah, Alexander. Great. He gave a preset excuse to make herself scarce. Otherwise, she might be in for an awkward meal in which one or another party would be struggling to ask questions or get her to talk about herself, and she really didn't feel the need to have that type of conversation.

Instead, there was a different sort of conversation waiting on her elsewhere in the established Mess Hall. Or if not actual conversation persay, the beginning of one that distinctly ambushed her with sentimentality. It took her a moment, as if she was translating Alexander's sentence from a language in which Thalia could only claim competence, not fluency. First off, Judith? Okay, he explained that one. Hell, he was pretty sure he mentioned in conversations prior to now, anyway, at least she thought he did. Wife. She wondered what that was like, having a spouse. Well, probably not for her, ever. Anyway, pretty name, Judith. Moving on. Thalia had no idea why his wife would have liked her. She was a woman socially crippled by her circumstances and now sported a big, metal hand. Maybe Judith liked broken people, back in the day. It even took Thalia a moment to realize that Alexander meant it as a compliment. While she was figuring this out, she eyeballed the older man quizzically. Finally, it was like she had to remind herself that yes, manners were a thing, and she needed to extend at least a sliver of them back to Alexander, or she really was a socially crippled young woman. "Thanks, Mugsy. Wish I could have met her. She sounds like a patient lady." Wait, was that an appropriate response? Should she have said more? No, if she just fucked something up, she shouldn't keep talking and make it worse. She and Alexander had been "survival buddies" for well over a year now. He'd know she didn't mean anything. She thought, anyway.

Thalia offered a kind of lopsided smile and started to eat. It wasn't the most refined sight ever, watching her consume pasta with her left hand while she leaned on her right elbow, the artificial arm below it hovering near her tray. It looked almost prison-ish when one noticed that she kept an eye on the people filling the room as she ate, keeping tabs and instinctively looking for anything that might be considered a threat. Perhaps that was a compliment on her part to Alex, that when she ate now or was in a potentially compromising position, she didn't put her attention on him, like he was accepted as a comrade, excluded from her steely gaze as a potential threat. Her nonchalance to his presence demonstrated trust. It was a hard fought for commodity these days.