Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"
Location: Ville au Camp (Outside of the Kitchen House)
Skills: N/A
An eyeroll without further comment from Nancy meant that Gilbert had probably crossed a line. He could generally count on her for some manner of pithy insight or verbal poke, but it was possible that referring to her using one of her original names was probably a line cross, considering that she was very likely treated as property at that time. Or worse. What was more telling, to him anyway, was that he was once part of that society, hell,
ruled that entire civilization for a time, and a lot of that was before he awoke as an Emendator. He had been one of the very people with those exact views that seemed so fleeting and juvenile to him now.
It was a cumbersome tongue in comparison to the more modern ones, Sumerian, with words modifying the meanings others instead of the simpler issue of altering a word to suit a more specialized purpose. It was also the first one that both Gilbert and Nancy learned in the history or their existence. Gilbert was a bit of a linguist, as indeed they all had to be, given their massive and varied histories, but he had not spoken his original language in a very long time. So when he began to respond to her in Sumerian, there was the slightest pause until he reawakened the physical memory of it within him. Even so, he kept it short, sweet, and to the point, spoken with hat in hand:
It would have to suffice for the meantime. There were new Paradoxes about that they had to show a united front with, not to mention the locals were in full force, each dressed in their odd little costumes, wide-eyed and curious. Gilbert was fairly positive that the line overstep might be answered in some way later on. Hopefully his more laid back attitude and social philosophy would be enough to avoid any further retributive strikes and end the cycle before it began in earnest. Besides, so far as practical jokes were concerned, he was a rank and file amateur in comparison to the slightly younger Emendator. The closest thing to a prank he could muster on short notice was a nasty trick he picked up in Asia involving a deep hole and sharpened bamboo. Too far. Way too far.
His responses to Sophia were significantly more sedate and sociable, however, consisting of a casual wave-away of her own apology.
"No need, Sophia. No need at all." His smile was really rather infectious.
"Tomorrow. We start the good stuff then - and a lot more explanation about our rules." Gilbert did have the courtesy to return the enthusiastic (one might even be persuaded to say "giddy") wave from Alexandra. The thought suddenly hit him that
she was the one James was referring to back in the Kitchen House, about a girl who wasn't fond of wearing shoes, or some such comment that Gilbert just realized was sarcastic. He thought that... well, nevermind what he thought. Mystery solved, moving on. He might want to have a little talk after a bit, however.
What did give him a genuine bit of delight was the wholly unexpected return of the slender yet still hourglassed lady with the unlikely natural combination of alabaster skin and ebon hair, suggesting a truly exotic background. Then again, so did her manner of speech. Not extremely surprising to a man like him, seeing as his own ethnic group technically didn't even exist anymore. Well, with one other exception, anyway. Still, the eccentricities of the new woman only served to heighten his mood. Her presence in the timelines gave him a sense of hope: She was a woman who, purely because of who she was, affected humanity in ways unexpected and highly exciting. She had begun bloodlines of persons most notable, highly skilled, and thoroughly impassioned in ways that the powerful Emendator had not previously found in himself outside of battle. There was even a twinge of jealousy, if he were honest with himself. If nothing else, he did highly admire the woman.
"I understand that you must have business, but please join me for a drink before you must depart again." Gilbert slipped his hat back upon his head and stuck his hands into his pockets. He casually checked the time on an antique pocketwatch, and looked over to the gathering of children and Paradoxes near the Oak. It was always good to see the young and the living. So much potential. So much unrealized power and tragedy. The future of humanity rested in souls like those crowding around James and their laden cart of sugary delights. It was the reason why he took a hiatus from warring. Ironically, it was now the reason why he fought, and taught others to as well. Sometimes, he wondered what Gilgamesh would have thought about himself, now that he was Gilbert; what kind of a man he had become. He probably wouldn't have liked the man one bit, except for his prowess in combat. But thinking about it, Gilgamesh was referred to in story and later in literature as "The Ultimate Warrior". And the experience he had acquired since then assured him that Gilbert could mop the floor with the guy anyway, so to hell with what Gilgamesh thought. He was a better man now, anyway.
James Grady
Location: Ville au Camp (By the Oak)
Skills: N/A
Meanwhile, James was in (pun intended) hog heaven. He didn't particularly like children before, but it really did his heart good to see these little boys and girls run toward him in a state of utter glee, not worrying about things like keeping quiet so as to not attract the Dead to their location. No worries about a storm wrecking their only means of growing food for the next season, either. Damn, but it felt good.
"Aight y'all! Come one, come all, get you somma this. There we go..." James busied himself distributing the waxed paper cups and ladled out the aromatic punch, occasionally stopping to pop open a soda bottle or give out a napkin. They were good kids, it looked like. Then again, he was the guy passing out sweets at night before sending them back to their families, so maybe in this scenario he was really the bad guy and the young'uns were flocking to him, sensing his minor foray into evil. Or just the goodies. Probably just the goodies.
One thing that had escaped his notice until just then was the nature of the women who now existed in the place, Ville au Camp, with him. Though he was loath to admit it to anyone but himself, he did rather have a pressing appreciation for women who were stark in manner and appearance, particularly as it applied to the macabre. In short, it had been many a year since he had seen a lady that he might have referred to as "Goth", and he remembered that appreciation suddenly. His mind ticked through the women that fit that particular
nom de guerre in his immediate vicinity, and suddenly gathered a greater liking for how he was spending his (almost) afterlife. For starters, there was the Emendator, Nancy. Just a hint of a stretch there, they hadn't really spoken much but he could sense something a little gothy. His Goth-dar, if you would, his Gothy Senses were tingling. But it didn't stop there. There was a charmingly pale lady (that he didn't think he had said a word to directly) that absolutely fit that description and attitude to a T, the pale and tragic Andromeda. He would have to introduce himself and risk an immediate shutdown later on. Such was life. Or death. Or whatever being a Paradox meant. But Paradoxes aside, he could not help but realize that the Dice Lady fit that description as well, if she was a touch more authoritative than he was ordinarily drawn to. And from what he understood, both she and Nancy were a little older than him as well. Like, a few
thousand years older. Perspective was a bitch sometimes.
But no, these were kept internal for the time being. It was just... such an odd thing to think about right then. It seemed that only yesterday he was in the middle of some awful stuff, murdering and dying and whatnot, that now with this fresh start he would be thinking about what kind of women he liked before an apocalypse took out most of humanity. He was just going to content himself with serving drinks to everyone and remember that he was very recently dead. He should try to keep his existence as simple as possible for a while, until he got a better grip on things. Also, he promised the kids a story later, which he intended to keep.
Then his eyes fell upon another newcomer in a slinky black dress that looked like she was taken from a cover of a symphonic metal album, or a Self Help book for women who wanted to be able to stop a city bus with a sustained glare. She seemed to be getting a lot of attention, and he did not want to be
that guy, so he merely did as any self-respecting Southerner would have done at that point in time.
"Hey hey there, Miss Lady! Y'all wantin' a Coke or somethin' else sweet to sip on?" He inquired as politely as his upbringing allowed him, raising a glass bottle full of the fizzy ambrosia into the air and waving an opener in the other. He had to quickly set it back down to handle one of the children's request for a refill on punch, but the offer was out there. It was probably best that he let his thoughts remain thoughts for the time being, anyway. He had to mentally arrange a tale in a little bit.
