Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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These people certainly seemed organized. The welcoming committee seemed to be equal parts showy and easygoing, probably designed to keep people calm while herding them all in the same direction. Being out in the greater world as he and the rest of them had been, Ash was still a little suspicious. He was supposed to meet someone here, but more and more he began to question that. The one detail that put him on the right track for trust came when the priest asked everyone for names. If something immediately nefarious was going to happen to them, he doubted that the offending parties were going to bother getting too acquainted and then sorting their clothing by whose corpse used to own it.

The moment that they pulled into the settlement proper, Ash felt a pang of emotional pain for his lost home, Newnan. They made that city into something great. Truly great, in a world full of ugliness. These people look to have done the same, except it was less of a make and more of a preserve. To the casual glance, anyway. There was no telling what these people might have engineered in the past five years. A few bright minds and maybe three dozen hard workers turned Newnan into a highly livable place in a lot less time. Mexico Beach? They had numbers and time. If they had the right people with the right education, there was so much that was possible. Of course, this begged the question: Were most of these people behind the walls for all this time, or did they have to fight everyday just to survive?

Regardless, the relative opulence of the town was duly impressive. Ash just couldn't show it on his face right then. It wasn't hard, he was already bracing himself for hard news about Thana. At word of a shower, his resolve almost broke. It wasn't like he didn't try to keep clean out in the world, but hasty cleanups in natural water sources on the extreme quick while someone else stood watch over you just wasn't the same as standing in a tub and letting heated, steamy bliss rain down upon you. But Ash held firm.

When Atticus announced his profession, the Captain instinctively repeated, "Chaplain..." It didn't occur to him that the settlement might cater to the religious, but that was silly. The military has employed Chaplains for as long as there was a military, and they specifically handled these little formalities. It made sense, so long as you stopped thinking like a desperate survivor and started thinking like a community administrator. It was something he used to be, not too long ago, among other things.

As the black-garbed man of God came upon him, Ash straightened and looked him dead in the eye. Habit, as well as a need to establish that he was fully cooperative to both this man and his own people motivated this, though he was no pushover. "Holloway, Ashton." He stopped himself before going into rank and MOS. The Ops Officer already got that, and they had his tags anyway. "If you're good at 'Methodist in Crisis', sir, I might pay a visit later." His tone was flat, but Ash still managed to project a hint of sarcasm. Acquiring his bag, Ash concluded with a succinct, "Thank you, Chaplain." He was cooperating. But he still wanted some quiet time with the rest of his group, regardless.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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A priest. A Catholic Priest in the middle of the Apocalypse. That was interesting. There even ran a not-unheard-of chance that he knew, or at least knew of, her father. He was likewise ordained in the Church. It was an understandable rarity for a priest to have a daughter (okay, to have a daughter and still be a priest), but here she was. It very well might have gotten around in ecclesiastical circles. Thalia gave hard debate in the back of her mind as to whether she should mention something right to the man about it when he came up to her with that bag of bags.

When the gate parted and they rolled into the town proper, Thalia took in a breath. This place was beautiful. Well planned. And the people seemed to be going about their lives like they didn't have to worry things like killing their next meal quietly or lighting a fire in a hole so they didn't draw the attention of Zeds. Or random assholes. On the other hand, three hundred people? She used to pass that many people walking halfway to her favorite bakery, just up from her old office in Boston. Before the Outbreak, of course. More recent years had made Thalia wary of crowds. Anymore, lots of people all in one spot tended to make her nervous. Time and circumstance undeniably changed her.

Mention of fabrication facilities and the acquisition of new, serviceable limbs for herself and Mugsy did give her a feeling of anxious hope. Thalia looked to Alexander and gave him an encouraging nod. They could both use something more sturdy and permanent to replace their missing limbs. She had an idea of what she would need, too. Nothing amazingly elaborate, just a prosthetic that withstood shock well and would allow her to effectively grip her shield or maybe a katar. Hell, a steel gauntlet with a bayonet fitting might suffice. Even look badassed. Thalia let her mind wander with possibilities until the priest came up to her in turn. She gave him a second of quiet study, looking to see if maybe she had seen the guy in any of her or her family's old stomping grounds.

Lacking the memory one way or the other, Thalia decided that there was really no harm in asking, after the task at hand. "Thalia. Um, Thalia Carmichael. Mi Familia always called me 'Angel', though. Did you know a Father Benicio Gonzalez?" Regardless of outcome, Thalia was more than happy to take the bag, though it meant uncovering her partially missing arm. She was still a little self-conscious about it.

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Hank Wright

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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Throughout all of this, the big reveal of the settlement and the news of a shower (okay, that was an awesome thing to look forward to), not to mention a solid meal, the thing that got his attention more than anything else was the fact that Wayne actually said, and out loud, that this place was his 'Hotel California'. But first things first: "Nope. Nope to the nopenope there, Wayne. I'm seeing it, too." That statement could be taken with a grain of salt, seeing as he did have a history of seeing things that weren't there. Nothing this grand in scope, and nothing since the very start of the end of the world, so he was pretty reliable that way. And of course, Hank tended to be significantly more stable than his counterpart, so he was a good first choice at a second opinion on the reality of a situation in front of them.

The mention of the song, "Hotel California", gave Hank a chuckle. One popular interpretation of the old Eagles song put it as an analogy for a State Mental Hospital in SoCal, a point which he jumped on. "You know, that would be damn poetic. No really, it makes sense - seeing as we started this bullshit out in an asylum, it'd be fitting to retire in one now. Good call, man."

Hank was very forthcoming when Atticus asked his name. "Hank Wright. That's Wright with a 'W', yeah that's the one..." He leaned forward, presumably to make sure that the man was spelling his last name correctly. Instead, he motioned downward with his head twice, and lowered the volume of his voice significantly. He spoke clearly but quietly, necessity being that he made his point with haste. _{"You see that guy over there? No, there, with the... that guy."} Hank made small movements with his hand, pointing out the person specific to his intent. _{"His name is Nigel, but I will owe you a small favor if you pencil him in there as Sportacus. No, really. That's Sport, followed by a-c-u-s. Sportacus. You're a pal there, Man In Black. Won't forget this."} Hank received his bag, after which he clered his throat loudly and finished off with, "Ah, yes sir! I in fact am a Johnny Cash fan, too. We'll talk later!"

He gave the man a thumbs-up while clicking his tongue twice, then settled back in his seat fully. "Yeah Wayne, I might just like it here."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Chicago (Outside of Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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The discussion between the two security professionals outside of the highly specialized bookstore was the very picture of film noir drama, complete with accents not overly common to the Greater Chicago Area and long coats worn by the men exchanging the dialogue. If the world were suddenly deprived of the fuller spectrum of light and color, reducing visibility to mere greyscale, it would have made for a fine piece of classic cinema. Perhaps it one of them puffed on a lit cigarette and the wind carried a thin line of smoke that could be followed as a segue to the next supporting scene... but neither of them did. Caesar, once upon a time, but gave up the habit years and years ago. Still, the overall tone of their conversation was at contrast to the men and women elsewhere upon the street, simply carrying on their business and, quite possibly, trying to avoid eye contact.

Once the decision was made upon where the older Mexican wanted to hit next, there came an awkward couple seconds of silence as the two of them, Keystone and Caesar, could have sworn that they had forgotten something, though for the life of them it was beyond their scope to process except for the realization that there was a detail unaddressed. Thankfully, the answer came bounding out of the door to Grimaldi books immediately afterward. She even looked like she had positive news. Keystone looked at the woman with an amount of incredulity before piping up, "Wow, someone fished a tansy cake out o' the crapper, then didn't they, eh?"

Caesar gave his own perplexed look to his junior partner on this little expedition, curious as to whether this was a common British idiom or if the man made it up himself. Giving it consideration, he'd voiced several such oddities over the course of the time that Caesar had known the man, each equally as confusing as it was colorfully descriptive. For all he knew, Keystone stayed up late at night just figuring out new things to say in the hopes that someone would finally put him out of his misery. The older man did admittedly have a sudden urge to strangle him. He made a mental note to ask Keystone what a tansy cake was later on. His first action, however, was to recover his satphone and place a quick phone call to the MSS Chicago office. "Payroll. Gonzalez. Si." He tapped the toe of his engineer boot on the sidewalk four or five times before speaking again, "Yes. Standard salary increase in addition to the annual, to be applied immediately. Claire McManus. Cite for her file. Email to confirm. Gracias." He placed his phone back into his pocket and turned to the somewhat animated woman, "Message me with the account information and I'll wire the money immediately. Thank you."

Keystone casually slipped a business card in Claire's direction. They would apparently have to be in touch, and he wanted to take the initiative before channels had to be referenced or, heaven forbid, they had to go through the local office. "Ya know, you're bloody alright for a Beantown Mick, lemme tellya. Cheers then, Miss." He nudged Caesar with his elbow, following up with, "Was there somethin' else, Boss?"

"Yeah." said Caesar, albeit distantly. When all of this settled down, if he was still alive, he was going to institute mandatory annual psychiatric evaluations and CAT scans for all Special Projects agents in his company, starting with Keystone. "Is there a church nearby, that you know of? Catholic, I mean."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: La Canela Ship (Captain's Cabin)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive)

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Ah, such a eyebrow perk was earned by the Captain, courtesy of The Great Bazhooli. It was intriguing. Captivating of his attention, as most things of immediate curiosity tended to be, most particularly from the sort of man who embraced the diversities and experiences that life stretched before him, as a hungry yet open-minded man might while attending a great celebration feast of a foreign land. He was enraptured by the coming turn to the conversation, and did not wish to wait for intermediary nor intermission to continue. "Капитан Монтойя, я действительно проконсультируюсь с ученым, мистер Людвиг Циммер, по поводу истории вашего народа. Но давайте не будем заниматься ненужной рутинной работой, необходимой для того, чтобы покинуть свою каюту, найти человека и задать ему точно такой же вопрос, который вы только что вызвались объяснить. Такие разговорные скитания происходят под такими людьми, как мы, которые ожидают самого лучшего от тех, кто находится под нашей властью, и не уступают нам самим. Я бродил по Империи своего рождения из одного угла в другой всю свою жизнь. И части за ее пределами. Я видел вещи, которые замораживают кровь и разрушают души хороших людей. Более того, я совершил действия, которые многие сочли бы предосудительными в обществах как вежливых, так и варварских, во имя Причины и Семьи, не говоря уже о безопасности тех, кто находится под моей защитой. Vladimir maintained a respectful, if aloof smile, hiding what might be considered a burning desire to hear The Story, such as it might be.

In reference to his own people's somewhat greyish background, Vladimir continued with the tones of a man of experience, both worldly and as a point of recorded history. The education of the Russian Circus Folk, especially that of the ruling families therein, was of importance to them as a culture. "Наша собственная история крайне сомнительна, капитан. Я не верю, что все, что вы мне сейчас скажете, о ваших людях или о себе, заставит меня передумать искать вас как союзника и объединить наши дома против общего врага всех людей. Пожалуйста, позвольте нам обойтись без формальностей. Расскажи мне историю твоей "Ла Канелы". У меня есть только одна просьба заранее?" Indeed, be it righteous or ignoble, one must never attempt to cover one's history. But so long as dialogue was continued among peers (and not Peers, mind you), tiny concessions might be requested.

Vladimir's smile broadened and he made a dramatic, sweeping gesture toward the goblet upon the desk in front of him. His head was bowed, and he spoke with grandeur ordinarily reserved for addressing an unfamiliar member of the Russian Royal Family; one of the many lesser Dukes or Duchesses, or someone to whom he owed a debt of striking gratitude. "Еще один бокал вина, если я могу продолжать навязывать ваше гостеприимство? Разговор и слушание - оба жаждущие работы. Если мы когда-нибудь найдем бутылку, которую я принесла на борт, я буду фантастически рад возвращению услуги." He peeked an eye up toward Captain Montoya, the playful expression of a boy attempting to impress a girl with a barely appropriate sense of jocularity.

Translations

Kapitan Montoyya, ya deystvitel'no prokonsul'tiruyus' s uchenym, mister Lyudvig Tsimmer, po povodu istorii vashego naroda. No davayte ne budem zanimat'sya nenuzhnoy rutinnoy rabotoy, neobkhodimoy dlya togo, chtoby pokinut' svoyu kayutu, nayti cheloveka i zadat' yemu tochno takoy zhe vopros, kotoryy vy tol'ko chto vyzvalis' ob"yasnit'. Takiye razgovornyye skitaniya proiskhodyat pod takimi lyud'mi, kak my, kotoryye ozhidayut samogo luchshego ot tekh, kto nakhoditsya pod nashey vlast'yu, i ne ustupayut nam samim. YA brodil po Imperii svoyego rozhdeniya iz odnogo ugla v drugoy vsyu svoyu zhizn'. I chasti za yeye predelami. YA videl veshchi, kotoryye zamorazhivayut krov' i razrushayut dushi khoroshikh lyudey. Boleye togo, ya sovershil deystviya, kotoryye mnogiye sochli by predosuditel'nymi v obshchestvakh kak vezhlivykh, tak i varvarskikh, vo imya Prichiny i Sem'i, ne govorya uzhe o bezopasnosti tekh, kto nakhoditsya pod moyey zashchitoy.

Nasha sobstvennaya istoriya krayne somnitel'na, kapitan. YA ne veryu, chto vse, chto vy mne seychas skazhete, o vashikh lyudyakh ili o sebe, zastavit menya peredumat' iskat' vas kak soyuznika i ob"yedinit' nashi doma protiv obshchego vraga vsekh lyudey. Pozhaluysta, pozvol'te nam oboytis' bez formal'nostey. Rasskazhi mne istoriyu tvoyey La Kanely. U menya yest' tol'ko odna pros'ba zaraneye?

Yeshche odin bokal vina, yesli ya mogu prodolzhat' navyazyvat' vashe gostepriimstvo? Razgovor i slushaniye - oba zhazhdushchiye raboty. Yesli my kogda-nibud' naydem butylku, kotoruyu ya prinesla na bort, ya budu fantasticheski rad vozvrashcheniyu uslugi.

No no, seriously, PMed you the translations, Lady A.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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Observing people was generally a good first step in feeling out a new situation, if it was feasible to do so. Seeing as he didn't have but the one person from Mexico Beach in the bus with them, Ash primarily looked to the rest of those who were searched and directed into the conveyance along with him. In addition to mainly pairing off, they mostly all seemed to keep their snatches of conversation to themselves. Ash would catch the occasional spoken thought from around the bus, file it away in the back of his brain, and keep at it. Personal insecurities seemed to be the order of the day, and he couldn't blame them in the least. This was a huge change for everyone, in a world when uncertainty was far more common than hope.

Most everyone looked tired. He must look the same way, he figured, or worse. Distantly, he tried to remember the last time he gave himself a shave that didn't involve a field knife. The thought carried as he saw the walls of what looked to be a massive settlement (or what was considered massive these days) ahead of them, growing larger as they approached. If he was very lucky, he might find Thana in there. He would return her tags, find out where things stood between them, and be a decent goddamned human being no matter what the situation was. What he wanted was secondary, at best, to what was best for his people. Though the question burned inside of him: Why wasn't she with the Eden group? Considering the mixed company on the bus, he hesitated to get into a discussion about her. Or at all, for that matter.

His question was partially answered by Beatrice. She was someone else with whom he was unsure of where he stood, but in very different context. She was close to being one of those "lone wolf" types that he wasn't overly fond of, yet here Beatrice was, seemingly calling the shots in a small group. Time and necessity did change people. Maybe there was something of a leader in there yet. "Thank you." he said, nodding thoughtfully at her. His Virginian accent, though slight, was making an appearance. It was an indicator that he must be tired. Or strained. Or both. Ash appealed to Beatrice's sense of solidarity, such as it was, "Been a while. We should keep our people together, as much as they'll let us. Things to catch up on. With me?" Intelligent eyes looked over the others in her group. The mystery girl of course, and two older men, one of which he couldn't place at all.

Ash went over the numbers in his head, curious as to how readily his mind wrapped around these concepts so readily. July 15th, 2012, 0915 hours. Community of 300. Five and a half years. 95% acceptance rate. Quantifying as much as possible gave the impression that things were orderly and could be navigated if handled properly. Maybe it was an illusion and maybe it wasn't, but this settlement was their best bet at surviving. This was how his people kept living for now. As the gate closed behind them, it settled upon Ash that this was their reality. Mexico Beach. For better or worse, they had arrived. If they had to leave, Ash didn't have a backup plan worked out just yet. They would have to wait and see.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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Thalia dug her shoulder into Beatrice's side at the twat-punching comment, though she couldn't help but smile. Heavy lids closed over hazel eyes and stayed they way for the majority of the bus ride in. Though she rested, actual sleep was beyond her. Maybe a survival instinct that kept her at least partially alert in the midst of an unfamiliar situation, or alternately it could have been a leftover piece of training from her earlier days. Reasons aside, she found that her eyes opened slightly every time somebody within earshot spoke. Oddly, the less they tried to keep quiet, the less she gave it attention. But every so often her lids would part and eyes would point in the appropriate direction, mentally cataloguing details about whomever was speaking if she were within line-of-sight.

When Beatrice spoke, she assumed to Ash, Thalia could tell that she was speaking about Thana. She missed that uptight bitch, though if she was alive, well, and nearby? Oh, she had some explaining to do. Surreptitiously, she moved her hand over to Bea's knee (a phrase which she would later use to torment the woman, she vowed) and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. She likely felt the same way about their Navy girl. Thalia noted that Beatrice kept things as vague as possible. Her statement was technically correct, but it provoked a series of other, related questions that thankfully Ash didn't ask right then. He was playing it cool too, else he was trying to save himself some emotional baggage until he could better handle it. Whatever worked for him, she didn't so much care.

It did strike her as curious that he wanted to see if their groups would buddy up when they got inside. Yeah, they should probably exchange information. After all, they were originally supposed to be two parts of the same group, each with a different objective in the same mission. The plan was to meet back up and regroup together after they were done, heading south to exactly this place eventually. Obviously the plan got screwed over somewhere. And it seemed so long ago. Were they still the same group? Sure, Thalia agreed to follow Thana's lead and complete the mission, which they did (at heavy cost, too), but she wasn't part of anything related to Newnan until just that afternoon. Oh, she had plenty of questions for the man, and fully intended to ask them. Maybe that was all he meant. If nothing else, they did need to compare notes and debrief each other. But damn, he reminded her of Navy, right down to her presumption of authority. Good thing she liked Thana.

As the bus entered the staging area, Thalia gave up any pretense at rest. She opened her eyes fully, stretched, and waited for the next part of this transition to manifest.

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Hank Wright

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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"Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Wayne. With three hundred people, at least one of them had got to be a bartender. We're saved. Right there, buddy? Huh?" Hank shook his head, his generally cynical nature getting the better of his earlier assertion, "...knowing our luck, that would be a solid 'Nuh-Uh, fellas' and any beer they recovered is gonna be that fruity Canadian pisswater." he shrugged. Of course, he was speaking in the hopes of engaging Wayne in light, diverting conversation. The whole talk about a 95% acceptance rate got him thinking about Amish Country again. They were asked to leave Amish Country, for crap's sake. What would a military run community think of the pair of them? Okay, let's be honest: What would they think of Wayne? Hank wasn't going to abandon his friend because of some bullshit technicality, nor because he was a man with some difficulties that, while not really his fault in the first place, might deny him a place here in the "Apocalypse Lane Suburban Gated Community", probably complete with some bullshit HOA to tell them they couldn't keep pink, plastic flamingos on their lawns nor build a freestanding doghouse.

To hell with them and their probably totally fictional Home Owners Association. If Wayne was given the heave-ho, Hank was with him all the way. It was Florida, for crap's sake. Nothing said they couldn't find some old fishing boat and hang a line or two off the side to catch supper, like old guys do. But to say something uncharacteristically reassuring to the man, "Don't sweat it, Wayne. They need us. 'Sheriff Wright & Detective Maldonado'. Come on, it sounds great. Comic book title kind of great. And, ah, if they don't, we're going to pack up our gigantic brass balls and leave them in the rearview. Me and you, guy. I mean that."

Once the bus was secure behind a gate, Hank gave a sigh of relief. They got there. First part down. Now they had to see if both of them could stay. "We got this." he whispered to his friend confidently.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival Setup)
Skills: N/A

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The woman, conversing seemingly to herself, was secondary in Gilbert's thoughts as Andromeda spoke. The mention of The Dice drew him fully into the here and now with his student Paradox. He cocked an eyebrow as she poured out her theory about the three Laundry Sirens' song, then nodded in consideration of her words. He remembered what they were singing, though he didn't give it another thought while they were in front of him. He was admittedly more concerned with the fact that they were there, rather than possible ulterior motive for their presence. There were liberties taken by the carnival that bothered him, and that irritation prevented him from viewing certain things objectively. Even if Andromeda was totally wrong with her assessment of the situation, it was a harsh reminder that he was losing precisely that objectivity. Such a mistake has led to the loss of life before; he should have known better. And he was glad that someone was doing what he should have been - thinking and observing.

For this reason, he spoke a quiet but heartfelt, "Thank you, Andromeda." While she might not understand the full reason why, he projected sincerity. Even if these carnival people did have motives that ran to the sinister, Gilbert was being stupid. And impatient. He was better than this. But to the topic at hand, "You believe that the Powers That Be here are trying to send some sort of pre-meeting message? Or that others are attempting to communicate, if I am understanding you." He sighed. For all he knew, she was entirely correct. Gilbert was not about to dismiss any ideas at this time. In a way, it was hopeful. "This could be a good thing. Their people came here hoping to meet with Evelina, or so they have said. They may believe a possibility exists that she will return here. For this reason I hope that you are correct, though something very compelling would have made her think that going after The Glasses was a wise decision. There are lines that even Emendators are loathe to cross. We have good reasons." He reached out and lay a hand on her shoulder, "Keep listening. Come to me if you learn or need anything."

With Giosue gone, they were stuck exactly where and when they were, so searching for Evelina in the timelines was not possible even if they knew exactly when and where she was. All they could do for the present was sit tight, gathering what information they could by the means at their disposal, and wait until nightfall for anything resembling a straight discussion. But in the meantime, a nagging question assailed him, birthed of unaddressed details from just previous. Turning to Ruthie, Gilbert inquired, "Madame? If it isn't improper of me, does this 'Pete' have a last name?"

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Carnival Setup)
Skills: N/A

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James gave Sophia a wide grin and a tip of his stetson before grabbing something heavy and getting to work. Let the grown-ups talk among themselves. In James's experience, one could gather a wealth of information (and from a different perspective) speaking with the grunt workers. It was his within personal history anyway, back in his native timeline and span of his natural life, to work hard for a living. Even when the world turned to a zombie infested wasteland, he was a man who worked the land, hunted, and made sure everyone was fed. Whether these roustabouts knew it or not, he was one of their kind of people. Well, ethnic and cultural differences notwithstanding. There seemed to be perilously few persons of color that he had seen so far, and the lady in charge was easily the whitest person he'd seen up close. Ever.

That mental observation down, he thought to Andromeda. She was having some difficulties with the presence of the carney troupe, and for understandable reasons as fr as it was explained to him. The following thought almost made him slap himself: He had promised to spill the circumstances around his death in an attempt at levity, designed to make her feel a little more at ease. James hadn't quite gotten around to it. He promised himself that he'd do just that the next time they had a quiet moment, whenever that might be.

As James put himself to labor, he was surprised to note that he was able to move heavy objects with greater ease relative to his memory of previous ability. It seemed like the past year training with the Emendators was paying off. His work in his previous life was rigorous as well but he had to admit that his nutritional needs were better met and a lot more regular in Ville au Camp than they were in Newnan, Georgia. Additionally, he was rather taken aback at the ungracious way that the Plantation grounds were being described by at least one of the rousties. As he worked, he offered words of encouragement. "Hey, this here's our home y'all're on about. Never you worry though, this place'll surprise ya. Why, I bet they workin' it out 'tween Bossman and Management, or gonna later on." James made a mental note to talk to Gilbert about throwing something their way. Favorable view from the working class was is always a good thing. "So what kinda spots y'all usually hit? When you ain't cruisin' shitholes like this, anyhow?" He had a good-natured smile as he spoke. Working folks had a way of ragging on one another, he was just fitting in as best he could.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Ferry (Sun Deck)
Skills: N/A

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Insomuch as Reginald did not like being corrected by an enlisted man, he was forced to consider that the man was correct. Vera was in better hands with a polished crew than with his present improvisational planning, let alone the execution of said planning by the lanky Corporal. At least, that's what he thought until the Captain's men dropped a lifeboat onto Vera's current location. The immediate back-and-forth between himself and the startlingly inappropriate Miss Benaszewski took a rapid backseat to this new piece of fresh drama unfolding before his eyes, stopping anything he may have said before it ever began. Point of fact, his face was pointed at Gene, mouth slightly agape as the words best describing his assessment of the young lady's behavior were at the threshold of utterance when he heard the rope part with itself. He froze. Directly in place, nary a muscle twitch until he turned his entire body back toward the scene. His finger was in premium wagging position, and his face still held the very chiseled detail of just the appropriate amount of indignation, but both were as still as if Medusa herself exerted her granite influence upon the man.

"Oh, my." he uttered. While the words did not seem up to the task of describing his dread in that second, the tomb-like way in which it was voiced certainly did. Tabasco-wrapped horror emanated from him in that moment, and remained clinging to his bowels with spicy teeth until he heard from the lady herself, waving from below. "By Jove and stone the bloody crows... Vera! Thank heavens you're intact! You'll be the death of us both, young lady!" Reginald took a moment to allow his aging heart to slow some before deciding what he should do next. It might involve scotch. Better to wait until he saw that the Lady Munn was pulled upon the vessel with his own eyes, though, before he did anything at all. And pray that Haring was detained elsewhere until at least Vera was settled in, following her ordeal.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck)
Skills: N/A

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When someone who outranks you as utterly as the Lord Major gives you the one word summary of "Dismissed", it's time to go away. Add to this that the lady whom Reddish still couldn't believe actually wished to remain in his company took him by his arm (even after his temporary shift back into his professional demeanor), lead him in the direction of her stateroom. Granted, he was still under orders to inspect and had his own to visit as well, but it was still a highlight in the proper context. Regardless of the circumstances from a fully objective standpoint, he allowed himself to study the bright eyes and charming smile of the woman with him, using the image to blot out some of the horror to which he had just inadvertently been party.

"Oh indeed, Miss Clarke. Indeed, quite the evening! Well-described as a hayride through a minefield, this. I'll tell you, possible watery death aside, this has been the most stellar evening I've had since coming to Egypt, if you don't mind my waxing on a bit. Absolutely brilliant. Except, again, well... Lady Munn." His face fell somewhat. He spoke again with quieter, more introspective syllables, "It's probably best if I keep to my deck for a while unless acting officially. Or at least stay out of sight for a while, if you take my meaning. Hmm..." He shook his head. "We'll see how things are after she's on board and dried off, then. For right now, you and I..."

The Corporal's voice trailed off as he nonverbally insisted upon entering the room first. They were there to inspect a possible break in, not for social purposes, and he was the guy in uniform. Propriety spoke to his entering before the lady, just in case something was amiss. The sudden winding down of Reddish's speech turned to sharp silence as the door prematurely swung open, the key only halfway into the lock. Whatever emotion lay within his features before, be it worry over Vera or the warm feeling he drew from Josephine, or even the respectful obedience he showed Reginald, all evaporated within that instant. It was replaced with a quiet, cold readiness birthed of trench experience.

Reddish raised one hand to ward Josephine back and drew his service revolver with the other. Everything looked fine inside of the room at first glance. That was what bothered him.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 4
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The Doctor felt more than a touch of annoyance as the vast majority of the persons in the Music Room initially decided that staying put was preferable to giving he and the patient some space and privacy. He sighed, curious as to whether he could put this entire scene behind him and return to the petite musician with whom he was conversing just earlier. He cracked the barest of smiles underneath his mask as the boisterous Mr. Titian decided to assist in the clearing of the room of those nonessential to the examination and potential treatment. His first impression of the man was not favorable, admittedly, though this exchange did erase an ounce or two of reservation. Additionally, he seemed attached to the young lady who had offered her service to him. Likely a package deal, those two.

No matter. As the good Doctor waited with declining patience for the room to become less inhabited, he gave the surroundings a cursory inspection. Knowing what one was dealing with, and what they had in the immediate vicinity was paramount were the situation to fall to further emergency. His eyes settled upon two things - the bird on the other side of the room, and the fireplace, both of which he regarded intently. When the voice of Professor Walnut drew his attention, Dr. Swamp responded with cool, controlled inflection as he leaned heavily upon his stout stick, "Indeed, Professor. I should hope to inspect his general physiology for anything which may cause secondary effects prior to treating the wound itself, in case other treatment is necessary before it is knit. We shall begin the moment we have the room secure. And Plum?" he added, focusing his attention to the afflicted, "Satisfied doctors make for satisfied patients. The bird, sir."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Chicago (Grimaldi Books -> Outside of Grimaldi Books)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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Caesar didn't react immediately as the paperwork he was holding was snatched out of his hand and shoved underneath the counter in front of him. He stuck the hand that once held said papers into his jacket pocket, and tilted his head slightly to the side. The proprietress apparently had a bit to say, following the nonverbal refusal of service. While it easily could have been a predictable monologue, there lay the remote possibility that she might say something useful, even in hindsight, and so Caesar continued his lack of reaction until the magic words were spoken: Get Out. Thus ended the legalities of his presence. The letter and spirit of a law that he disagreed with on a personal level was something he didn't overly care one whit about. This sort of scenario, if illegalities were pressed, stood to profit him nothing.

He spent the next half second in contemplative thought, followed by a simple, "Hmm." It wasn't an objection nor a flat refusal to Adelaide's demand for his removal of self from premises, nor was it a question in monosyllabic grunting form. It didn't particularly seem to be an acknowledgement that he heard and understood the intent behind the words, either, nor the wordless expression that he might have an idea forming in the interim. While such things were not beyond the man, it simply wasn't foremost at the moment. When Caesar did react, it was to pick up his phone and clear the open bank transfer application, as it would not be seeing use. "I'm sorry, ma'am." he said flatly. "Disfruta el resto de tu dia."₁ He held no illusion that the woman didn't speak Spanish as well as other languages. Many people seemed to these days.

When the older Mexican turned to leave the building, Keystone immediately moved to the door, himself. He held it open for Caesar and, just prior to exiting behind him, cast a slightly confused look, coupled with a shrug, back at Adelaide. She had apparently moved onto other business, so he simply called out in a voice that seemed friendlier than the conversation so far that day, "Thanks again f'that coffee, Miss!" He let the door close behind him.

Back on the streets of Chicago, the big man wondered how much closer they would be to the actual site they were supposed to be investigating were it not for this detour. Naturally, he wasn't very trusting of the magic letters that popped up on a closed electronic system over a pre-recorded movie of obscure origin that urged them to look for ...something... that cost more money than a decent sized house just to learn about. He began to understand Caesar's earlier hesitance, and the reason why he had made an attempt to alter details of the deal as it went on. Considering all that had gone on in recent weeks, this looked so, so very much like a setup of some kind.

It was extremely possible that the events of the party at Queensguard R&D were making him a little paranoid. The memory of it was still very fresh in his mind of how he followed protocol and beyond, put so many safeguards and as much personnel into play for that last-minute gathering, and set the best technical minds he could acquire on the job. Then he remembered that nothing helped in the least. About how, despite personal communications being online still, no one would report nor give him answers to direct questions. No one was stationed at their appointed areas after he put them there himself. Bad things kept happening and nothing even slowed them down. Even this last bit about the motor pool being robbed, after even more precautions were taken. Was it paranoia after that? And was it too much to think that this could be one huge trap? Another one? Keystone kept those thoughts to himself. What he did voice was another security concern.

"Been puttin' some graymatter to it, Boss. May'ap I ought not go back on the now, yeah? Things bein' arseways as they are, maybe we ought not split up. Can just as easy float a message on one of our secure services..."

"We don't have secure services, Keystone." growled Caesar, interrupting his subordinate. He just glared at the larger man, giving an expression of frustration and anger. "Everything has been compromised. Everything. You know this. My home. Building. Business. Tech. The plane. All compromised. No communication is safe. It has to be handled in person, quietly."

"Well lookit, El Jefe, it needs doin' in a timely bloody fashion, and me on a plane ain't timely. Get me? You an' me's gonna have to think of somethin' else to do, on the sodding now. Got anything indirect you can send what's faster than air travel?"

Caesar thought for a moment. "Maybe." Their new Tech Lead was his niece. Her father, Caesar's brother, was a priest. If nothing else, the Catholics were a highly organized bunch. He might be able to convince a local Church to send a message to his brother Benecio, who in turn may send one up to his daughter. Personal courier sent through channels completely unrelated to any of MSS's holdings in that part of the world.

Keystone could see the wheels turning in Caesar's mind. "Right! Maybe's better'n fuck-all. Got someplace we need to be in town?" he asked, the two of them making their way to the company vehicle. It sounded almost hopeful.

"Yeah. Need to go pray first."

That was NOT the answer Keystone was expecting.

Translations

1 = "Enjoy the rest of your day."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: La Canela Ship (Captain's Cabin)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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It was quite accurate to say that Vladimir spoke and understood the language of the British Isles a little better than he let on. The accent was quite real, though the inexpert sentences rolled out in his deep stage voice tended to give him an air of foreign mystery when involved in shows away from the heart of the Russian Empire. Likewise, if someone thought to use his apparent lack of linguistic skill to ply for an advantage, they would be sorely mistaken. It was his curse sometimes to be histrionic when uncalled for, and this was one of those times.

As it turned out, Captain Montoya happened to speak his native language, and proficiently. While he still spoke dramatically in Russian, it was decidedly more understandable. "Very sorry. Vill speak in brief. Or as brief as can, ov course. Os and Ks, maybe not so brief. I begin:" Vladimir cleared his throat and allowed the Slavic syllables to roll from his mouth with the fluid ease of one born among the mighty forests and steppes of the Empire. Вы очень похожи на Склеп, если вы знакомы с семьей. У нас общий предок. Но это не обязательная деталь к обсуждаемой теме. He shook his hand dismissively.

"Я говорил, что мы оба лидеры людей, возможно, немного замкнуты и ксенофобны по сравнению со многими. He shrugged his shoulders with what appeared to be grudging objectivity, "Мой народ - потомки обоих дворян, чья милость восходит к временам Ивана Грозного и цыган Карпатских гор. Излишне говорить, что наш социальный статус в лучшем случае интересен, в зависимости от того, с кем вы говорите. Мы исполнители, живущие и работающие в мобильной вотчина. Но если мы не развлекаем толпы и не делаем служение Императору, мы почти полностью держимся за себя."

Vladimir knew that he was being a touch long winded. The importance of every syllable he uttered was more eloquently nuanced in his native tongue, and could not be abbreviated without trimming the urgency of their need. He adopted a less prideful, more serious countenance, and began to speak with more of a businesslike manner. "Вот в чем проблема: я не знаю, как обстоят дела на море, но на суше бездушные нападают на живых с организованной, и я повторюсь, организованной тактикой. Это как если бы ими руководил единый признанный разум. Все они действуют согласованно, и это приводит к изменению нашей собственной тактики выживания. Те из нас, у кого есть Русин Тренинг, могут продержаться дольше, но это только вопрос времени, когда мы тоже погибнем.

But to respond to the return volley of his question? It was a little more complicated than a simple Yea or Nay. Things had transpired which altered the balance of power as of late. "Мое мнение о Graveolase? Я согласен, что они устарели. Я добавлю себя корыстным и что они заинтересованы в сохранении своей собственной власти. Новый лидер был назначен среди них; молодая девушка из Ватикана с огненными волосами, которая, кажется, не испорчена их политикой." Indeed, much had changed with that one happenstance rebalancing of authority. "Она может быть пугающей, но по-настоящему хорошим и этичным человеком. Большая часть Graveolase сопротивляется ее представлениям об изменениях. Их дом разделен и спорит между собой, когда перед ними стоит истинный путь, поэтому наша Великая Княгиня приняла беспрецедентное решение о создании нашего собственного союза. Мы собираемся вместе или мы умираем друг от друга. Это так просто. Бездушные ведут открытую войну с живыми сейчас. Нигде действительно безопасно. Хотя наши люди были отделены от мира в течение некоторого времени, мы не можем оставаться таковыми. Мы готовы открыть наши двери и учиться у других. Учите других нашим путям. В противном случае у нас нет будущего.

But to the final point of his request for a private conversation with the Captain, the crux of the plea, if you will, "Немцы согласились присоединиться к нам в лице господина Циммера. Я бы попросил вас обдумать мои слова, проконсультироваться с Людвигом и поговорить позже. Ох, а это вино? Великолепный. Еще раз спасибо за ваше гостеприимство. У вас есть вопросы? Vladimir finished the remainder of the wine in his goblet and set it upon the desk in front of him. His eyes were grim and affirming. It was, admittedly, a lot to take in at once. One hell of a speech; one that very few would believe was off the cuff, as much a battlecry as assertion of unity. He even went as far as to wipe away a single tear of nostalgic pride, his mind awash with the emotions his words stirred within him. There was hope, fear, and the promise of one day facing the sun rising over a world safe for his children and theirs, all within the breadth of his immaculate showman's musings.

Translations

Vy ochen' pokhozhi na Sklep, yesli vy znakomy s sem'yey. U nas obshchiy predok. No eto ne obyazatel'naya detal' k obsuzhdayemoy teme.

YA govoril, chto my oba lidery lyudey, vozmozhno, nemnogo zamknuty i ksenofobny po sravneniyu so mnogimi. Moy narod - potomki oboikh dvoryan, ch'ya milost' voskhodit k vremenam Ivana Groznogo i tsygan Karpatskikh gor. Izlishne govorit', chto nash sotsial'nyy status v luchshem sluchaye interesen, v zavisimosti ot togo, s kem vy govorite. My ispolniteli, zhivushchiye i rabotayushchiye v mobil'noy Barony. No yesli my ne razvlekayem tolpy i ne delayem sluzheniye Imperatoru, my pochti polnost'yu derzhimsya za sebya.

Vot v chem problema: ya ne znayu, kak obstoyat dela na more, no na sushe bezdushnyye napadayut na zhivykh s organizovannoy, i ya povtoryus', organizovannoy taktikoy. Eto kak yesli by imi rukovodil yedinyy priznannyy razum. Vse oni deystvuyut soglasovanno, i eto privodit k izmeneniyu nashey sobstvennoy taktiki vyzhivaniya. Te iz nas, u kogo yest' Rusin Trening, mogut proderzhat'sya dol'she, no eto tol'ko vopros vremeni, kogda my tozhe pogibnem.

Moye mneniye o Graveolase? YA soglasen, chto oni ustareli. YA dobavlyu sebya korystnym i chto oni zainteresovany v sokhranenii svoyey sobstvennoy vlasti. Novyy lider byl naznachen sredi nikh; molodaya devushka iz Vatikana s ognennymi volosami, kotoraya, kazhetsya, ne isporchena ikh politikoy. Ona mozhet byt' pugayushchey, no po-nastoyashchemu khoroshim i etichnym chelovekom. Bol'shaya chast' Graveolase soprotivlyayetsya yeye predstavleniyam ob izmeneniyakh. Ikh dom razdelen i sporit mezhdu soboy, kogda pered nimi stoit istinnyy put', poetomu nasha Velikaya Knyaginya prinyala bespretsedentnoye resheniye o sozdanii nashego sobstvennogo soyuza. My sobirayemsya vmeste ili my umirayem drug ot druga. Eto tak prosto. Bezdushnyye vedut otkrytuyu voynu s zhivymi seychas. Nigde deystvitel'no bezopasno. Khotya nashi lyudi byli otdeleny ot mira v techeniye nekotorogo vremeni, my ne mozhem ostavat'sya takovymi. My gotovy otkryt' nashi dveri i uchit'sya u drugikh. Uchite drugikh nashim putyam. V protivnom sluchaye u nas net budushchego.

Nemtsy soglasilis' prisoyedinit'sya k nam v litse gospodina Tsimmera. YA by poprosil vas obdumat' moi slova, prokonsul'tirovat'sya s Lyudvigom i pogovorit' pozzhe. Okh, a eto vino? Velikolepnyy. Yeshche raz spasibo za vashe gostepriimstvo. U vas yest' voprosy?

HA! Lady A, will PM the actual translations.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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Air conditioning. Just damn. It was an incidental luxury, something that would have been utterly taken for granted a few years ago. Even complained about in the summertime, if it wasn't performing up to snuff, or worse - broken. No, that simply wouldn't do. But he had been raised as a sort of outdoorsy type. Rural-ish, at least. There were many a time that he spent warm nights in front of the lake after a swim, or counted fireflies from his front porch with his father and brothers, all without the use of freon enhanced atmosphere. He got spoiled in his late teens, though. If Ash hopped in his truck and couldn't get it to spit frigid air at him, he was pissed. The Army cured him of that, and in a hurry. Getting stationed in some godawful unstable portion of América del Sur made him extremely grateful for any occasion for life's little luxuries. The first time on site he got his hands on a Coke, you'd have thought he had discovered gold. This moment was the first since the untimely death of his Hordebuster that he had access to the bounty of a functioning AC unit, and it was appreciated. A lot.

After the initial bout of thankfulness for the rarity of climate control, not to mention the anxiety of being out in the open abated, Ash took a look around the interior of the bus at everyone present. A second of doubt plagued him, but only a second. He was taking a lot on faith here, and betting the lives of people he had come to regard as family (be it fairly dysfunctional) in the bargain. But they were safe now. Their situation likely wouldn't change for another hour, and he was seeing this through. So he took a little time to just observe these men and women who, despite all of the differences among them, had at least one thing in common: They were alive. After the last five years, that counted for much.

One of his observations was that most of these people had paired off, in a manner of speaking. Almost everyone had somebody they were close to in one way or another. Jack and Tati had each other (and their baby), Amelia and Riley, Beatrice and the hazel-eyed woman; even the two older men had a hetero-lifemate vibe going on. Both pair of them. The younger man didn't seem to have anyone, but memory had him as protective of a dog that was with him earlier. Human nature, he supposed. Not that Ash was a psychologist or sociologist, nor anything of the sort. But it did make him a little self conscious of the fact that he was supposed to be meeting up with someone. He had a promise to keep. Rather than tip his hand by starting a conversation right then, Ash continued to merely observe, both the people inside the bus and the area outside of it, just in case.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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For his general agreement that they had a lot to talk about, and his insistence that they do so on the bus, the Army Captain didn't pursue conversation with Thalia nor Beatrice right away. Instead, he seemed to be watching people. That was either smart of him or downright creepy, and because she didn't really know the man, Thalia pegged it as equal chances at both. She had her own agenda for wanting to talk to him; that was going to wait until stuff was settled on her end a little and she could tell if he was stable. Some people weren't meant to be outside of walls for very long anymore.

Instead, she followed a piece of his example and setted in with Beatrice. It was best to keep to her own and figure stuff out for a minute before making a social event of it. And there were a lot of people on that bus. More than she had seen in one place in a while, and it made her a little uncomfortable. Large crowds weren't Thalia's thing. This was hardly large, but it was still a little irksome.

Thalia responded to the air conditioning with a mix of reactions. Awe was in there, but simultaneously she instinctively tried to huddle up a little, shielding herself as best she could against the abrupt temperature change. She had been outside for a long while now. This would take adjustment. Thalia focused on listening to Beatrice as she made her rounds describing the people of Newnan. While she had asked for an introduction proper, she conceded that these baby steps were probably a good idea. "Tatiana, Jack." she repeated quietly, making mental notes. "Ash," she already knew his name, but it didn't hurt to cement it. "Riley, Amelia. ...thanks." These were the people who were supposed to be their allies when they got to where they were going. A lot can change in a year or so, though. She knew the four of her group had each others' backs, and would find out soon enough if the Newnan people were solid.

Right then, she was going to take advantage of the relative safety, even if it was short-lived. Thalia settled up against Beatrice and crossed her left arm over the stump of her missing right, murmuring, "Hey bitch, gimmie a nudge if one of them comes our way." Thalia closed her eyes, content to take respite and conserve her strength while she could.

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Hank Wright

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Location: The Bus
Skills: N/A

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When he stepped into the bus and got over the fact that it was a comfortable temperature, the first thing he noticed was that there were more older people like him onboard. A couple of them might even be able to call him 'sonny' or 'sport' or 'champ', if they could get away with it and not get their dentures forcefed to them. Well, one. The point was, he and Wayne weren't the oldest people in the room anymore, and that was surprising. They must be tough old bastards, else these younger, more "Thunderdome-y" people were looking out fir them. Or both, hell, it could easily be both. Either way, the presence of these men, and alive, was a damn good indicator of the character of the people on the bus.

Now he could start ignoring them.

Of course, it wasn't entirely true that he noticed them first. The platinum blonde lady driving the bus diverted hus attention for a little bit. He gave her a silly smirk and continued inside to find a seat next to Wayne, because hell, they had set off together an epic quest to retire in Florida like men in their fifties were supposed to epically quest for, and goddamnit, they were going to arrive together. "Hey there, Maldonado, bus ride in, huh? If there's a crab boil and a beer waiting, I'm completely sold. You?" He'd play the whole "getting to know you" game with the others later. Hank wanted to arrive there first.