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Name: George F. Walsh

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Appearance: George stands at 173cm (5'8") tall with a stocky, broad build. He is not fat, but has little in the way of visible muscle. He is gaunt faced, looking older than he really is in the way that the skin is drawn over his face. His features are fixed in an ever neutral stare, equal parts the result of corporate life and a naturally bored personality. He is fair skinned, under normal circumstances pale, but is typically burnt in patches of agitated red skin. His small, squinting eyes are a pale, mottled shade of blue. Topping his head are the remains of a once beautifully combed head of brown hair, now shaggy and running longer than he'd ever let it stay in the real world. It begins to curl only a tiny amount, and much like the rest of him is in true need of civilization and its amenities before they could return to being presentable.

He wears the tattered remains of a three piece suit. His jacket and tie are long gone and the rest of it is marred by grime and even a little blood. The vest has kept the best of any of his garments, a dark gray close fitting piece with a flat lapel. His shirt was previously white, but borders closer to a gray at this point. Its sleeves have been tattered or torn below the elbows. It has more than justified its cost in keeping together. His pants are black, and have stayed that way. They are neatly maintained and obviously expensive. Not the things he would have liked to stay the apocalypse in but the things on his back when he got there. He also wears a set of circular, wire-frame glasses to correct his mildly poor vision. They are dust-marked and one of the lenses got a little cracked along the way but he values them more than any of his other possessions.

Weapons: Sometime after he got out on the roads, George found a baseball bat. It's brand new, yanked from some nameless store in some nameless town, and made of arguably good quality wood. It is unused, and he sometimes doubts if he would have it in him to use it, but it was better than walking unarmed.

Personality: George was a cool headed, calculating man with little concern or regard for the people around him. He wanted to go his own way in life and find his own happiness wherever it lay. A week and a half in the Oklahoman sun, running from walkers and watching civilization go to waste in short order has brought him unhinged. On the exterior he's still the same man, cool headed and determined to keep himself under the radar, but he's begun to suspect that this is all some kind of purgatory. Indifference towards others has begun to shift towards paranoia. He does what he must to fit in and coexist in the new world, the same way he lived in the offices of old, but every day he questions why more and more.

History: Mr. Walsh was an accountant on the east coast. He grew up in, lived in, and was ready to spend the rest of his days in Boston when the retail firm he worked for decided to move one of its offices out west. It was tantamount to a promotion, he'd end up in charge of a section of new-hires rather than one of the drones himself, although it didn't mean much other than warmer weather to him. His flight had been stopped at an airport around Oklahoma city on layover, and shortly put into quarantine. That had only lasted a few days before the city was all but given up to the dead. George escaped with his life, barely, taking more scrapes from the frenzied refugees heading into the countryside than he ever did from the Walkers. Since he got out of the city, he's been avoiding people and making his way along the roads under the oppressive sun, no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He slowly became aware of just how futile his wanderings were, and had the good fortune to fall in with the Last Hearth community. From there, he's made his way pulling his weight and biding his time, the same as the rest.
She was slightly surprised to see Thomas still standing in the room with her. The revelation did not however raise her estimations of the man. In fact, he had gone and made her night much more complicated because he felt entitled to answers. Understandable, commendable probably, if she wasn't still on edge about what was going on outside. She took a seat, surrendering the high ground and letting her interrogator feel at home. Something he would no doubt recognize but she really wasn't about to start going round in circles about who was playing who. Their information excursion had become bothersome quickly, and from where she sat Thomas seemed content to treat it as an interrogation. She didn't suspect that either of them had that kind of time, judging solely by the absence of her colleagues. He had asked for basic intentions. That was doable. She had agreed to speak in transparency in order to go about her business, although until then she thought it wouldn't be honored. "I am going to take into custody a fugitive known to be sheltered in this country. My personal desires are the preservation of life through clandestine resolution of my goals. My actions are illegal, unsanctioned by and untied to any state known to exist." She spoke blandly, reading down the list of appropriate information from some textbook in her mind and slowly looking around the room. Her dull, green eyes slowly settled on Thomas, staring through the man and wondering where either of their breaking points would be and what exactly the man sought to gain.
Lexine took another quick look around the yard as the two emerged from the crowd, looking around to take stock of the situation. The king had arrived, and that put a deep dread in her. They'd been right in assuming the worst and now she was down another man in all probability. She caught herself grinding her teeth in the frustration as she marched along behind Thomas. She was going to miss her chance because of some busybody knight. When they arrived at the door, which was not giving her any positive feelings about their arrangement, she began to disarm after Thomas. She removed her belt, tossing it aside before pulling her shirt untucked to get at the belt worn under it. A sheathe bearing the two tiny, press-forged knives that had shown. After that, she produced another set from within the cuffs of her shirt. Another pair came from belts just above the shin tied around her boots. She tossed away a pair of black gloves and an accompanying roll of black cloth wrap. Last to go was her tie, which clattered suspiciously as it landed. There were a few she wasn't about to undress just to remove, but disarming was really just a gesture at this point. "I'm sure history will appreciate this farce some day, too," she quipped, walking into the interrogation room and immediately contemplating escape while waiting for the knight to lock her in alone. She didn't expect much from him, but it wasn't a reason to start a fight so soon.
His knights wanted to get on with it, apparently. The king's knights took to sorting the gift pile almost as soon as he had found himself seated, and one by one they would be inspected by the first man and presented to him. It all seemed rather stuffy but he was the king now, with all that meant. As each parcel came to him in slow order, he acknowledged the family, house, or nation that had brought such a gift. The Lyoki sword, and the small box seemed to be sitting towards the end of the pile, away from where the knight had begun to process, but seeing as it was only the midnight feast they would be upon those particular gifts rather quickly. In the meantime, the king continued to pass through books and jewelry as more and more guests took their seats or returned to the area of the feast. Things had quieted down some, but only just, as the party very much lived.
"I'm sure the interrogation room is a comfortable place to talk," Lexine said, frowning settling her eyes on Thomas'. She was patient enough waiting for important things, but dealing with an overly curious Thistle Knight was starting to become draining. Worse than that, he wanted to leave the area and close any window she had of actually finding the people she needed to be looking for. Which was, of course, simple desperation following the knowledge that Karl Leid was most certainly no longer within their influence after that initial search effort that morning had failed. In fact, with how much they had done before resorting to combing crowds like idiots, it was absolute certainty in her mind that the Keilauds were the only ones with the facilities to shut them out, or at least the only facilities they respected enough not to break into on a whim. That wasn't quite right either, because she was standing at the king's party armed. She sighed, ignoring the threat of arrest and addressing the man's offer. "It's not safe in there either. Lead on Sir Knight, let's fix your curiosity." She nodded towards the palace.
The dance was underway already, and that was fine by him. It had been a weary day and he didn't relish the thought of speaking as soon as he arrived at his own feast. It was the midnight feast, at least, so the expectations of formality would be significantly lower. Either way, the king had appeared and it was likely that few at the party escaped noticing the small entourage of knights and followers who joined him at the table. It would have put minds at ease if his presence didn't herald only further silence, a poor word for the chaotic din of the party. It may have been the late hour, but the king had begun his day looking tired and he looked considerably worse for wear at this hour. Well groomed as always, but there was only so much cosmetics could accomplish on an unwilling canvas. He looked on at the dancing blankly, seeming more lost in thought than anything else. Despite his lackluster and even inappropriately quiet entrance, a few members of the growing crowd returned to the tables as if waiting for something to be said. In truth, some had simply yet to present their gifts, a prospect full of politics that the king was once again simply not looking forward to.
"It'd be nice if it was that easy, right?" She just smiled faintly and mechanically carried on the motions of the dance for a moment, thinking over what she was about to say to Thomas. It was certainly a precarious situation. One wrong move, and she'd have to spill an awful lot of innocent blood getting away. She didn't want that, she doubted that anyone in the guard wanted that, but their situations were different and they were unlikely to understand why exactly she was there. Being honest with herself, she wouldn't have believed it if she'd been told. "I'm here to protect people, and I am not a bodyguard." She looked down at her wrists, shrugging what she could while held. "I don't plan on going anywhere," She said, even, low, and apparently unfazed by the changing demeanor of her dance partner and their escalating situation. "What do you expect, a confession?" She made a quick series of glances around the crowd, half-sure that she'd see someone approaching them and happy to see they were still alone in the crowd.
She was unaccustomed to being spun, and the maneuver took her by surprise in the kind of way that she almost kicked at Thomas to regain control. She managed to keep up in the turn, but even as it began she knew the turn's purpose. Maybe she should have worn a dress. Visible at her waistline pressing just slightly through the back of her shirt were the handles of two knives, small things. Her frown deepened, she never used the waist holsters but carried them because they made decent spares. Of course the least essential thing she carried would be what gave her away. Well, the secrets were more than likely going to be off that night anyway. By the time she came back around she was wearing a grin to match the seemingly perpetual smirk on her partner's face. "I gave up my right to a place in any court. Being a bodyguard for one of them is a dark enough joke for my life." Her smile was slowly fading back to that disinterested, tired look she was stuck with. "I hoped there wouldn't be any misunderstandings tonight."
Well, that had been an answer she was expecting. There were few explanations for someone like Karl Leid having his own protective detail, but their refuge had not been in the validity of their disguise but in the absurdity of questioning it. Leid had been less than cooperative but deep down he seemed to understand that whatever was happening was beyond him so long as he kept his nose down. That hadn't been enough for him, apparently. Her explanation probably wasn't good enough for the Thistle knight dancing with her either. She wondered what Thomas was getting at, bringing up the question of her supposed employer, but hearing someone supply an explanation was relieving in some tiny way. "I haven't known him to take up whoring, but that would be a happy ending. I can only hope my comrade is with him. For my sake, mostly," She said, finding it quaint that there was someone besides herself wondering where the man had gone. Thomas was right in his assessment that no matter what was happening, Leid was unlikely to be of any import in it. She took the opportunity to redirect while she had it, and wondered aloud, "It's strange for the king to arrive so late, don't you think?"
A dance she'd never practiced or probably heard of, Lexine hardly knew the steps and instead opted to mimic the Thomas' motions, tracing stiff but precise circles over the ground with the tips of her decidedly ungraceful marching boots. Still, it was better than the nightmare that dancing in a dress had been. She attempted to return the near perpetual smile her dancing partner was wearing, but what had been strained outright collapsed with his question. Her hands suddenly felt very uncomfortable bound up in someone else's. "It was on short notice, but Leid decided he needed protection shortly before arriving here. Me and my partner were in-country and were sent to handle things. If I have it right, his reputation in this country isn't that great, so I understand his concern." She spoke distantly, distracted in keeping up with the dance and watching the area around them with quick glances around the room. "Is it uncommon for men in his position to hire retainers?"
Lexine's expression blanked as she eyed the hand offered to her. No, she rather didn't. She had no love for dancing and frankly no interest in what everyone else was doing on the dance floor. The excuse that she was waiting for her charge no longer held water even in her mind, though. No, she should have been gone and looking at that very moment. "I don't know how it would look for Leid's guard to be wasting its time dancing.." She trailed off, stuck on the realization that Leid was unlikely to arrive. All of the internal rhetoric she fed herself about actually enjoying the party when she got the chance was slowly coming back, and in short order, killing worthless time spent waiting seemed like a better idea. Gently, she took Thomas' hand and nodded once. At a touch, she knew immediately the hands of a soldier. She also knew that would cut both ways. Well, she was a bodyguard, perhaps it made sense. With her free hand, she slipped a silver clip from her belt over her tie to hold it in place. "Alright, no sense brooding in corners. Lead on, Sir Morgan."
She listened closely to Thomas' answer, noting the pause her question had given him. At the very least it meant he'd thought about it. There was something satisfying in hearing that life wasn't so bad near her old homeland. The people losing faith in their leadership was something she'd known for a few days, although it still hadn't surprised her then. Keilaudrin was relatively new in its status, but founded on ancient ideals. In line with what Thomas has said, it was easy to ignore the problems of the world from within a palace. Lexine might have found other questions to ask him, but her attentions were as pulled as his when someone started yelling behind them. A girl she recognized as the Lyoki princess disappeared into the crowd, among plenty of others slowly making their way into the dance. "You'd almost think they didn't have the entire day to get it out of their system," she remarked, looking on.
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