Gilbert Summers
Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival)
Skills: N/A
Gilbert was not a follower. Even back in his mortal life, which is what he assumed he had once upon a time, he had proven himself a more than capable leader. Bloodthirsty, brutal perhaps, but a progressive leader of men with equal application of the laws that he established for his kingdom. He was first to charge into a battle, first to take risks on behalf of Uruk, and the establisher of the great walls that surrounded his beloved Sumerian city that served to make it a living stronghold against those who would attack it openly. Perhaps then, it was a concession on his part to submit to the situation that lay before him; walking along very familiar ground after a stranger, who was bringing him to an unknown being of obvious power.
He was okay with others like himself. People who shared the same
type of history, if not exact span of eras and regions. His fellow Emendators. They might understand what it was like to be him. A couple of the older Paradoxes might fall into this category as well, such as Belladonna Crypt, who had existed longer than probably any other non-Emendator in the history of humanity. He did enjoy her visits. Truth be told, he was even okay with bending to the experience of The Dice. Evelina had a sense of responsibility about her that he didn't mind so much, and knew that attempting to condescend to him was futile and counterproductive. Even then, he considered her an equal whose judgement he trusted, ergo Gilbert was inclined to do as she asked. This mystery woman who gave no accounting of herself, who acted through intermediaries and did as she pleased? It was
definitely a concession on his part to just go along with it all. But the "up side" of it all was that they were indeed about to receive answers.
Or something horrible would happen. Gilbert shrugged at the idea. It seemed obvious that he was going to be powerless to affect whatever was going to happen next, so there was no sense getting worked up about it. Time to flip that coin and see which side came up.
Gil followed Ben and stood outside of Management's trailer. He made sure to give a healthy amount of space. It occurred to him that this was tactically a poor idea, being in the middle of the Carnival where they could be cut off or surrounded by the people who very much outnumbered them. Being the Eternal Warrior that he was, Gilbert stood a great chance at survival if it came down to that, all things being equal. But the others? No, this was more than just him. Gilbert remained expressionless and serene as Management's entourage flanked the open space and she made her assisted egress. He took in as much of the scene and surrounding area as he could while still paying due attention to the woman before him. He raised an arm to about waist level with his hand outstretched, signalling for the Paradoxes present to stop. If something was about to happen, he wanted to be able to stand between it and them. Or to another point, he didn't want them in his way if actions turned to the violent.
Then she spoke. Gilbert's eyes went wide and his mouth started to fall open. He quickly righted himself, but the initial response was impossible not to note. She was obviously using the long, long dead language to make a point with him. Well congratulations, the point was well received. And that
voice. When he heard it in his mind earlier, he knew that it was familiar. He just could not place it, which was massively uncommon for someone like him, who was a living record of history. His memory was, as the other Emendators, a living reference to the true and accurate accounting of history. It suddenly clicked.
"Siduri." From a time and place before surnames, before many of the credited accomplishments of human history, before titles were even common, the one word summation of a person, as spoken by another in its most condensed form. From before he knew he was
what he was, before he even understood the concept of it all. The name took him back to when he was a disheveled warrior questing for greatness in what he now knew as a young time for civilization.
Gilbert removed the hat from his head and cocked his head to the side, letting his longer hair hang in the gentle breeze of the premature evening. A lazy but broad smile etched itself into his features. Was this genuine, or a socially disarming technique? Not even his words gave it away as he spoke.
"You..." He gave a tiny, breathy laugh and shook his head casually.
This look is different, though your voice does bring memories. It has been... forever, Siduri. If you would please, let us stay with English." He motioned to the others around him.
"I believe it is the only language we have in common." He cleared his throat, continuing,
"Now, what hospitalities do you wish of us younger entities?"
James Grady
Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival)
Skills: N/A
Well, whatever shit that was going to happen was going to happen now, apparently. It was
on. And as much as James wanted to meet this new challenge with bravado in his heart and a bow on his back, neither of these things were so. The best that he could do was to follow along behind those that had been doing their thing for the past few... well, since the dawn of civilized man, with a half-eaten sandwich and a look of outer confidence that felt completely dishonest. The time was upon them, whether he wanted it or not.
James did get just a touch of a distraction, noting the hint of color on Andromeda's face. It was flattering, really. He made a mental note to attempt more well-meaning things for her. The look he might get was reward enough. Provided, of course, that they survived the next hour. That was probably an important caveat to the entire situation. Otherwise, he'd have the mild blush on his mind while whatever force separated each of his atoms from the ones around them, telekinetically eviscerated them all, or just bashed him to death with a piece of random debris. Oddly,
The Ballad of Sir Robin began to play in his head, and for the first time he truly believed that he understood the lyrics and the intent behind them.
Sophia had no problems whatsoever following after Gil. Neither did Andromeda. There was no way in hell that he was going to hestitate any longer than it took to hastily throw together two more sandwiches, one of which was deposited into the front pocket of his overalls, and jog to catch up with his group. In the back of his mind, James began to have an existential line of inquiry: If combat against these people was a foregone conclusion and he had to shift into his Peccary Form, was the sandwich in his pocket going to shift with him? And if it did, would it be held in a sort of stasis until he changed back? What if he was a boar for a long time, like, days or longer? Would it still be fresh then? Could he eat it? I mean, as a boar he definitely could, but as a human his digestive system was a bit more delicate. Could he store other things indefinitely that way? Could he roast a turkey, stick the individual pieces into pockets, and have it still hot and juicy when he shifted back a week later? This demanded more thought. A lot more, and experimentation besides.
Before he got an internal line of thought that satisfied his curiosity, or a plan to make it happen, they were already there. Damn. Here it comes...
And then Management started talking. Gilbert responded. And the conversation became pleasant. This he was not expecting. Tentatively, James took a bite of the sandwich in his hand that, for whatever reason, he had brought with him. He chewed thoughtfully, took another bite, and involuntarily let out a quiet,
"Hmm." When Gil referred to himself and those around him as "younger entities", James stopped his thought short. Still chewing on his ham and cheese, he gave Sophia a little nudge, quietly saying,
"Oh, this here's some soap opera shit." Looking to Andromeda for support on his opinion,
"Right? Wish I brought me some popcorn..."
