Sigil

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Port Annan (Inn)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The service was impeccable, of course. The man with the eyebrows and sideburns that could probably fight the forces of evil with or without the man to whom they were attached certainly wasted no time in the acquisition and distribution of the finest of local foodstuffery. It was enough to easily fill the belly and warm the extremities. Vladimir's eyes danced across the wonder of his second attempt at consuming, as he put it so eloquently, The Fishes & Chips. I might be argued that the first such attempt was successful as he indeed did ingest said lunch back in Bristol, but considering that it quickly moved to decorate the main deck of the merchant vessel they had chartered, it could hardly be considered nourishment in the long-term. Such it was that Vlad felt a stirring of gratitude that the odd man, Nigel Ownerand, had graced him with such simple and welcome repast, that he barely mumbled a heartfelt, "Most absolute and vondrous thankings of you, Mr. Proprietor!" before attacking the contents of his plate with gusto. And malt vinegar.

Vlad laid another piece of local currency upon the bartop for the purpose of payment, just in case the first coin he pressed into the man's hand at their meeting was taken as a sort of bribe for preferential service and not payment in advance as he had (mostly) intended it to be. The customs of this strange country of England weren't fully picked up by Vladimir, although the sound of currency hitting flat, polished wood as recognized everywhere he had ever visited as something that could solve many minor difficulties, not unlike bacon. As he ate and ate, the boisterous Russian performer looked back to Constantin and Ludwig, stating, "Is good. Ve go in minutes, have the sveet things for road, and get to Green of Gretna strong. Da? Da. Is good." As he came to the last few morsels of fried potatoes and fish, Vladimir was regretful only that there was not more to be had. But his colleague was correct: they did have a mission to complete.

"A thousand thousand blessings upon establishment of Nigel Ownerand, Proprietor of this Inn. But ve must avay. If this place in vithin path upon return, I pledge to grace your fine floors vith my bootsteps. Spasibo, Mr. Nigel." The Great Bazhooli bowed with the flourish and panache generally reserved for dignitaries or special guests, or just people he wished to impress with his natural ...impressiveness... and gathered up one of the boxes presented to his group that contained the man's wife's handiwork. "This, I vill treasure." Provided that his traveling companions were coming to a likewise state of readiness, Vladimir prepared himself for the road yet again.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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

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Oh, that was just intriguing as all hell. If this woman, Siduri, was both honest and correct about the fate of The Glasses, then it was a touch settling. Also a little disturbing in its own way. The remainder of the explanation meant that the ma was truly lost to them. Not that it was a horrible way to end an existence, even one as ancient and knowledge-wealthy as that of an Emendator. It would be doubly merciful if they were allowed to forget everything which came before it. Gilbert had always had difficulty actually connecting with individuals who weren't as immortal (for lack of a better term) as himself beyond the superficial. It came with having awareness that spanned may times longer than empires had flourished. What might that be like? To live, to age, to die - to see what comes after, if anything at all. It sounded so normal.

Then again, what of his fellows? The other Emendators and Paradoxes? Without Drem, they could not see the danger that threatened them all. No Dice meant no new Paradoxes, thusly making it impossible to restore their numbers. What would they do without another part of the team? Without the Watch to maintain the Loop or allow for their movement? Without him to guide, strategize, and equip? Without Nancy to map the probabilities and... and... and mess with people's heads in new and gruesome ways? They had a purpose together, as well as a common enemy. They were the line between the Destruere and humanity, such as they could help.

Gilbert felt alone with his thoughts, regardless of the number of people around him. It wasn't until a horrifying but oddly believable concept was brought up by Andromeda that he drifted back to the here and now. "If that is correct, then that means we all have the potential to turn. I find that disturbing." It was a measured response, diplomatic in execution and thoughtful in speech. Turning to the lady of the hour (who was holding one of James's sandwiches for some reason, a question for later), he queried, "So where do you advise we go from here?"

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James Grady

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

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James was highly surprised that the extremely Caucasian lady actually took him up on the offer for a sandwich. It wasn't that far of a stretch for him as he was actually carrying three a that time; the half eaten one, his "backup sandwich" in case the first one didn't do it for him, and of course the "auxiliary backup sandwich" that he had stuffed into his overalls. The down to earth nature of her response, even as she was very, very cryptic to everyone else put him at ease. He too was a fan of the PB&J, and strawberry was a damned good choice out of the basic flavors of jelly and/or jam that were readily available for someone of his economic standing from his childhood. He merely nodded an affirmation to the woman. There was more to say on the matter, or at least he had more he wanted to say, but the conversation was already moving away from sandwich talk and into things that seemed to be more important.

As questions and observations were raised from other Paradoxes and the Emendators present, he turned to Sophia and whispered to her, "That coded message? Ash an' 'em got where they needed to go, I think. There's a lot more, but I ain't thinkin' that I'm supposed to know all the details. Life what we left behind, an' stuff. Don't know if it's allowed." Not that he didn't actually want to know more. The news also had a lot to do with the nature of his death; what happened just before, and the reason he was outside of Newnan's walls. He still hadn't divulged the nature of his passing like he had indicated he would earlier. Something just always seemed to come up the second that James was ready to talk. In the grand scheme of things, fate conspired to prevent his tale from being told, if only for right then.

Then James heard the word "Destruere" from both Siduri and Andromeda, and found within himself massive, inner reserves of Shutting The Hell Up that he knew he could harness, if only he had proper motivation to do so.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Breakfast Room -> Grand Vestibule
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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The expression on Dr. Swamp's face could be read with equal amounts of relief and irritation. Perhaps it was the ongoing gnawing feeling of having an uncomfortable chunk of ammunition resting just below his skin. It certainly was a factor. He was a little outside of him comfort zone besides that, having been de-masked in a house full of people who, however unlikely, might actually know who he was. It did remove a ton of that anonymity that everyone had strived so hard to maintain. Then again, the chances that anyone present knew his identity was slim, with the exception of the blackmailer. The mask did not stop whomever that was, anyway.

Dr. Swamp regarded the young Chanteuse as they moved forward again, passing through the Breakfast Room and into the Grand Vestibule. She looked like she wanted spme sort of answer to the accusation from Walnut. The good Doctor felt obligated to deliver. "Naturally, Chanteuse." he began with clear sarcasm, "Despite the cries of myself as the incident commenced, the report of witnesses present (namely her man, Titian), and the judgement of the housemen coming upon the scene, not to mention the fact that the Professor fired upon me again as I lay upon the floor, already having been shot once and unable to defend myself; yes despite all this, Walnut is the real victim here." He cleared his throat and shifted about so as to provide Amaranthine less of a burden to assist. "Let us never forget."

As a point of subject change, he continued with, "Thank you, by the way, if I have not said so yet. A woman of your talent and stature should not have to play the role of a nursemaid. I appreciate you." As he spoke, Swamp's mind wandered back to the initial conversation they all had in the vestibule when they entered the manor, if it can be called a conversation. "Whomever rid me of one more mouth to feed this evening, you have my gratitude," from the Lord of the Manor. As it was, technically Swamp did just that, and by all accepted accounts in self defense. He wondered how that might play out, if anything came of it at all.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Benha (Docks -> exiting to Trains)
Skills: N/A

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Reginald gave a polite nod and accepted the lady's hand. "Madame, it is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am pleasantly surprised that the two of you are likewise acquainted with my dear late nephew." He paused for a second or two, allowing himself to feel the painful brush against what was still a raw memory for him. There had been so much death recently. So much. While he had grieved for Peter's passing long ago, his brief presence followed by his being snatched away yet again had left a hollow within his soul. Reginald was able to remove himself from the abyss of his welling emotion and back into the present. "Hmm, yes. It does seem like the world has gotten smaller as of late. Ah, but it does give a sense of adventure, now doesn't it? I shall be succinct, Miss Bella: We are on a mission of great personal and academic value. Our expedition leader and primary scholar, a Lady Vera Munn, is at this very moment indisposed due to illness that we do pray is very temporary. If you've the inclination, I believe that we were about to pay a visit to the local tiles, though I daresay that I've no knowledge on the subject."

Reginald released the woman's hand and turned slightly to J.C., "And might I say that your companion is a lady of timeless beauty and old world charm; you are a lucky man, sir."

Giving an eye up the road, the Lord Major noted the shrinking form of Mosi toward the distance. He wasn't sure what she was doing, nor what advantage she might get from touring the roses of this fine city, but he hoped that is was worth the expenditure of what time they had in town, before the riverboat set off yet again. More than that, "I hope that young lady will have something to show to the lady footing the bill for her expenses, or to myself for arranging her 'vacation', as it were." He sighed a little. Maybe she did have some hunch that could be followed up by a visit to the flowers. He might keep his fingers crossed that she caught something that the rest of the group might have missed, were he the ardent finger-crossing type. All he knew was that there was a mission afoot and he hoped that all parties in their Fellowship remembered this, contributing in their own unique ways.

Speaking of which, "Ah, but where are my manners. Mr. Zalil? I appreciate your sense of imperial patriotism, my good man. However, I must remind that, even in the absence of the Lady Munn, neither the Crown nor myself can rightly claim ownership of this little mission. You would serve not the interests of His Majesty, but those of modern Academia, sir! A task to which, I am certain, your scholastic achievements can be better set against than my own, you see. Consider me but your humble organizer and quartermaster, pitching in where I can. The only man who may claim service to myself is the Corporal. To be quite frank, I desire his day-to-day service less as time passes, though I cannot admit that he is a motivated fellow."

Reginald began to walk in the direction of the trains. "Miss Bella, J.C., Mr. Zalil, and the remainder of the Fellowship not wandering toward the Bazaar: Let us be off! Our new friends might guide in the temporary hiatus that our dear Vera takes now, if they are willing. Come along, then!"

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Docks -> moving toward Bazaar)
Skills: N/A

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"Why ma'am," declared Corporal Reddish, smiling in a manner that seemed rehearsed yet with a tiny veneer of being shocked, "shopping is precisely the sport I'm after! Taking a look at the mercantile flotsam and jetsam of the city of Benha is definitely in order, most especially if we must locate that which we are after. It would look frighteningly suspicious if we merely harass the local hawkers for a single suspect object which they likely know is recently illegally acquired, if you'll follow my line of reasoning, Miss Clarke. Why, it'd be downright incompetent of us otherwise." He offered the young starlet his arm as he began his trek toward the Bazaar, careful not to seem too eager. The truth of the matter was that Reddish was overjoyed to see Josephine out and about that morning. He had a memorable evening with her the previous evening, and barring any mishap that came with the territory of being him, he hoped to have another such hour or two with the young lady while hopefully getting something useful accomplished.

"I should add, and candidly, Miss Clarke; the photography has not yet been delivered to my stateroom. I fear that the bow-to-stern search that the staff is undertaking might very well delay that for a little while. I had hoped to return your clothing as a concurrent gesture, of course." He spoke apologetically, brimming with a goofy sort of confidence of action. Like a man who had everything planned out in some series of steps that, while delayed, still had the expectation of clockwork action following the break of activity. He began to lead them toward the sights ad sounds of the Bazaar, discreetly moving his wallet from his more convenient carrying place to the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. It made the attempt of lifting it from him a less worthwhile, more noticeable endeavor. Call it a holdover from a less innocent time of his youth, plus a healthy respect of a location that probably had its own cutpurses on standby to work the tourists. "Oh, ma'am? Keep a clutch on your personals. Places like this are bloody notorious. And Miss Clarke? Please let me know if anything catches your fancy whilst we are about. I've a mind to get some of that local honey for afternoon tea, m'self." He gave a reassuring smile, "If it's about, we'll find it." The change in intonation indicated that he was not talking about the honey with his last statement.

"Right! Now, try to look like a sun-addled tourist, ma'am." He had almost halfway accomplished that very thing already.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Chicago (Church)
Skills: N/A

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Caesar listened intently when Father Pearson began to speak of how he might repay the favor. He even leaned forward in his seat, so intent on hearing how he may settle up with the effort the man was making on behalf of his family's safety. Apparently, the return favor required a touch of explanation. Well, no problems whatsoever. There was the slightest bit of confusion as the monologue from the good Padre went into the history of the Catholic Church; roots in preexisting belief, accounts of details added or changed for ease of conversion, et cetera. These were things that he knew about in a vague sense, nonspecific except for one of the cultures of his own heritage. But it made sense. The Church was an organization as old as almost any other in existence, with a ton of influence both social and financial.

The intro to the favor he was about to ask actually reminded him of a dream he had, just a couple of weeks ago. He was standing in the middle of a moonless night atop a Mesoamerican pyramid in the driving rain, lit only by the epicly frequent blasts of rolling lightning which outlined a great hawk-like figure behind the cloud cover. He was bleeding and armed with two of his trademark machetes, dealing death with both hands as an army of things recognizable as once being human (but clearly were not, be it the influence of science or that of the infernal). It was to be his death, but it would cost them dearly. But all this was something that he had dealt with and processed for himself. The reminder of the Church's earlier influences during its earlier days was amazingly similar to its actions during the Colonial period, when much of his ancestry was converted. Well, the Aztecs and those who followed left their scars of the Church as well. Caesar knew that as well as anybody.

By the time that Father Pearson got to the twelve sided die, Caesar could feel his heart drop. The intent look was replaced by a feeling of apprehension, bordering on dread. Dice? Really? Was there any escaping this? Was he being led - HIM, LED, by something greater than himself? Was he put on some path for some specific reason that would not be revealed to him until it was thoroughly trod upon? Well, fine. Down a winding trip into the darker aspects of his psyche, Caesar had performed the occasional clandestine wetwork (read: assassination). He preferred to know what his target was before engaging. Intelligence saved lives and made for a smoother job, in Security as well as... other things. In this House of the Lord, he could take a few things on faith.

But the second that the guy said "Juno", Caesar's eyes went glassy and bloodshot, and his hand made connection with his forehead in a manner most unseemly in polite society. It was quickly joined by the other and followed by by a sound that contained elements of both a growl and a sigh. It was not flattering. It was not pretty. The moment was horribly out of place for the situation, or any situation for that matter, without proper context. Caesar let that word run through his head a few more times. Juno. Juno. Juno. Juno. God damn JUNO.

His head slammed down on the desk. Twice. Caesar contemplated a third time, but instead raised his finger, pointing to the sky. "¿Esto es lo que quieres de mí, Dios? De Verdad?"₁ This time, the growl had no trace of exasperation. He raised his head and looked to the priest. "Okay. I'm okay. It has been a very trying time since moving to California. If I knew exactly where to lay the blade this wouldn't be as big a problem." Caesar cleared his throat. "Yeah. Lunillud Aleae. Celestial Dice. Juno. Goddess and secret girls' organization. There is no escaping this." He exhaled a long breath. "You are helping to keep mi familia safe. What can I do to help you?"

Translations

1 = This is what you want from me, God? Really?

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J. Keystone

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Location: Chicago (MSS Chicago)
Skills: N/A

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Keystone wasn't much of a knife guy. He kept one with him, though it was more of a utility item than it was a hard and fast weapon. When Claire mentioned that blades would be handy, the large Brit just shrugged. "Well, I ain't got a cross on standby, and holy water's not in our standards, yeah? But I do love me some Buffy. The series what followed, eh, not so much." He paused for a moment as he stuffed all of his goodies into a duffel. Just for the hell of it, he did take the keystroke recorder. Not like it could hurt anything. He did give a little nod toward the idea of getting himself blessed. Unfortunately, he wasn't the one of their group in a church at that point in time. That would be El Jefe. Of the two of them, oddly enough, Caesar was the one who was more in tune with the more Godly elements of society. The realization actually made him stop for a second. Keystone didn't know whether to laugh or stand there in confusion.

He did accept the St. Christopher's medal though. In fact, he was a little touched at the gesture. "That's a lot of 'eavy, Miss McManus. Many thanks, really. Truth on it, if I was anything at all, it'd be Anglican... yeah, but I'm like, 98% sure it's the same God. Naw really, thanks. Mean that." He actually smiled a little. Fine, she was the daughter of Irish immigrants (distantly, first gen, he didn't know) from Boston, and he was a steadfast East Ender Cockney from London - traditionally, their peoples were not the best of friends. This was America, though. Things were different here, apparently. And she used to associate with Adele, which was also awesome. And fought competitively as he did, though in India. He'd be lying to say that he wasn't impressed by the woman somewhat. "Look, you got my contact info, yeah? Lemme know if I can give you an 'and after you've got yours squared away. Or if you need a good sparring partner." He slung his pack full of acquisitions over his shoulder and began to follow Claire out of the armory. "Y'know, might be an idea gettin' me clearance for this office on our way out. Me an' Bossman might 'have to come back through this way, afters."

Moving down the hall, Keystone took the time to respond to Cecily's text:

Roberts Sec - Big Heavy of security biz in Europe. Based in England. Took over Wentworth contract for Justice Memorial same time MSS took over Queensguard RnD. Want me to look into it?

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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The words of the elder Martin were a bucket of frigid water on his skin. He said nothing outright. Nothing at all that could be taken as a direct, meaningful answer. He had said enough. Ash braced for the high possibility of never seeing Thana again. It was a almost a mantra, every day reminding himself that life promised nothing, he was not due anything from it, and bad things happen everyday. They all knew that by now. It never hurt to remind one's self of that horrifying fact. The only promises that meant a damn thing were the ones that he made, himself. In the case of Thana, that meant Zebulon, then Mexico Beach. Return the woman's tags. Whatever happened after that, happened. Even if it meant that she was with that tall Texan with whom she had history. Ash could deal with that if it mean that she was safe. And after a year and a half? No blame. None. It was his problem, not hers. But even that was the best case scenario.

It wasn't so much what Macsen said, as what he did. Ash recognized much of the older man's daughter in him. The reaching stare, and lack of elaboration. The sudden quiet. There was a lot that he wasn't saying. That gaping hole in the conversation was reinforced by Claire, who suggested that he have a seat, claiming that it "ain't really a good time". Ash agreed. No, it was clearly not a good time. In the pit of his mind, Ashton understood the truth; not all of it, but enough. He felt his eyes cloud with moisture which he immediately blinked away, subtly reaching up with his free hand to dot the corner of his eyes. Not now. Sudden emotion might be counterproductive. He had people to think about - living ones. "Ma'am. Sir." he intoned to Claire and Macsen, shifting away from his brush with emotion and settling into his nigh trademark stoicism. The Martins weren't the only ones good at that.

Ash took his "welcome bag" and turned sharply. His only thoughts lay around keeping himself together and waiting it out until he could speak with Gunny more privately. For the meantime, if his inquiry hadn't ruffled the scene too much, he was perfectly content to walk back, sit quietly, and look out for his people, however he could accomplish that. He made promises to them, too. Just because they made it into the quarantine of a supposedly safe zone, he still had his responsibilities. As he traversed the space from GUnny back to his seat from earlier, Ash was stopped by the abrupt presence of Tatiana. English was her second language and Ash was a little distracted right then, so the full motivation behind her words was lost. Was she asking if he wanted to talk because she heard the conversation between himself and Gunny, or did she have another unrelated reason?

"I'm good." he responded flatly. His eyes still betrayed a conflict (if barely), though the rest of him remained solid. "Wait." His voice dropped in volume significantly, "Something I should know?" Better safe than sorry, even now.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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"Thanks, girl." said the one armed mestiza as Beatrice set the bag down next to her. She still couldn't move at all, but did risk the mildest of brow raises at her presence. Something seemed to be off about the woman; she was a little more withdrawn since coming to this place. From what she knew of Bea, it kind of made sense. These were new people that they were around, they were all still sorting this place out, and they were virtually defenseless. This was exactly the kind of time that her friend would keep things close. If she needed a some space, Thalia would give her some space. They weren't attached at the hip, and Thalia's feelings aside, she wasn't about to push herself into her bubble. Neither of them were really big on talking about their feelings while braiding each other's hair while eating bonbons. Except for the bonbons part. Thalia could seriously go for some ice cream bites covered in dark chocolate right now, even with a prodigious and wonderful lunch under her belt. Ooh! Or a beer battered, deep fried banana drizzled in yummy, slightly burnt caramel. Or cake. Cake? Remember cake? A bigass slice of double-decker chocolate cake covered in rich, chocolate buttercream and with bacon oh my god bacon fuck yes chocolate cake with bacon dear sweet jesus baco...

Someone was talking to her. Thalia snapped back to reality with a serious expression and narrow, intelligent eyes that took in her surroundings. What did they call that guy? Tesla. Yeah, he was just answering her question about the new prosthetic. It wasn't like her to zone out like that, but given a second, she was able to recall what the guy had said. Awfully friendly, to hear him. But she was going to reserve her opinion of these people and this place for a little longer yet. "No problem. Thanks." She had been saying that a lot lately; thanks. Like it was a symptom of something infectious. Thalia wasn't accustomed to this at all. She provided for herself - now assisted in providing for a small group using her fairly specialized skills. But as long as she was getting The Royal Treatment, she might as well go with it.

She smiled and leaned in a little, regarding the helpful man for a second. The choice was silver or bronze. "Tesla, yah?" she said with as charming a voice as she could muster, considering the fact that she was her. "You look like you know what you'ah doing. I mean, imagine that you'ah a ninja, and you need to get back in the game. I think your priest might know what I'm talking about. As it pertains to me, I mean." Okay, she was starting to sound like a crazy person. Maybe that wasn't too far off. "I trust you, Tesla. Talk to Padre, do what you do. 'kay?"

The quiet otherwise in the place, aside from the snatches of conversation behind her, allowed the exchange in front of her to be heard. Thalia was trying to keep an eye on the army guy, Ash, anyway. She had questions, and she understood that he had his own questions for her. So she listened. Ash and Gunny's talk didn't last very long, but the impact was massive. She grew expressionless at first, and her mouth slowly started to go agape. The way the talk was hushed by all parties around Ash, she figured it out, too. Thana was her friend. They shared a year together out in the world. They killed a lot of people who deserved it, together, the first day that they met. One in particular. The rest of the year was spent surviving, following her plan to meet up with her Captain. The two were friends, and now her friend was gone.

That Captain was right there, though. He was the mission as much as this place was. They needed to have a dialogue. Thalia stood up and took a step in the man's direction. She stopped when she saw that the little Russian ballerina had beat her over to him. Fine, now was not good. Instead, she retreated back to the chair and picked up the bag, then tried to be small and unassuming, making her way over to the coffee.

Thalia looked down at where her right hand used to be. She was staying here. She had to. Otherwise, what was the point of the last sixteen months? She was at least staying here for as long as it took to get back to her fighting best. Yes, she had her own mission, and it had been five years in the making. She needed to get stronger, like she did in Fairburn. She was carried in half dead and walked out a bigger badass than ever before. This needed to happen here, too. She needed to get started, otherwise it would throw dirt on Thana's memory.

But first - Coffee.

Then the Newnan Team. She was making this work, damnit. One way or another. Only the hand Death herself would stop her.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Any fool could see a ton of drama unfolding in the room all at once. That kid - well he wasn't really a kid but he was younger than Hank - that kid had to say something disturbing to the man in charge at the front of the room. He didn't quite get exactly what was being said, having NOPED away just as it began, but it brought the overall mood of the room to a crashing new low. Hank could see the effects of whatever it was ripple across the room, subtly and not-so-subtly changing the expressions of the Mexico Beach residents. Oh, that uptight military man knew how to kill a buzz, that's for damn sure. However, as Hank didn't know exactly what the score was, he was definitely keeping the hell out of it until he did.

While the wait for the air in the room continued, he made a quick decision about the contents of his bag. There were clothes in there and he was in a frigging hospital gown and robe. The usually grumpy, presently bald, almost zero-fucks-given former Sheriff realized that he didn't have to strip down to his unmentionables to get into a decent pair of pants. Aloud, he voiced his sudden revelation with a good natured, "Aw, hell yeah. Score!" He then stood directly in front of the chair that Wayne had claimed for him and kicked off his hospital slippers, all the while digging through that bag of goodies he got from Auntie Claire. Hank then proceeded to shimmy into a pair of clean blue jeans, hiking up his robe as he went along. It might have looked a little awkward, but it was still within the boundaries of a PG movie (starring Hank, Middle-Aged Man of Action!) and damnit, he wanted to wear pants. To hell with what everyone else was thinking right then.

He continued to dress in full view of everyone. It was tasteful, and by tasteful, he did so with the minimum of exposed anything. "Hey, Wayne!" he called, "These pants are damn near almost my size, too! Whaddayou got in yours?"

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Breakfast Room
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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Swamp's actions earlier in the Gaming Room seemed to be a wholly pointless endeavor. He had used the strength of his personality to engage, to negotiate, to threaten - all in the name of protecting the Chanteuse's identity from being publicly outed. Such as it was, with the news of the bridge being out and everyone essentially made prisoner within the manor, he understood the reasoning behind Amaranthine's decision to do away with her mask. It would get in the way after longer than a few hours and become highly irritating. Yes, that description seemed to fit in with the general mood of the hour: Highly Irritating. The situation had changed. Social dynamic were amazingly fluid that way. It was part and parcel with being around other people. The Doctor did take a slim but expected piece of satisfaction when she removed her mask, however. His powers of reasoning and deduction were correct, as he rightly guessed the identity of the Chanteuse earlier that evening.

"I thought as much. It is a pleasure to meet you officially, Miss..." He hesitated, eyes darting about the room. With surer voice, he finalized his previous utterance. "Miss." There was no reason to fully reveal her unless she wished it. Swamp repressed a sigh when she reached for his mask. Instinct had him pull back at first. A kneejerk reaction to being revealed in an unfamiliar and easily dangerous place. But the Chanteuse had crossed that bridge, knowing that hers was a face seen by many. Dr. Swamp was not remotely as public a figure. Quite the opposite. If anyone knew who he was by his face, he would he highly surprised. "Very well." Swamp took much of his weight from Amaranthine and lowered his head to make it easier for her to remove his mask. "At your pleasure, Chanteuse. Then let us hurry along, please."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Port Annan (Inn)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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THAT WAS IT! Vladimir had finally pinned down the thing which was giving him such utter and near-total revulsion of the man earlier! It was ...the eyebrows. They looked as things which were designed to act independently of the will of the person to whom they were attached, prehensile as the tail of a monkey, waving and flagellating about in a manner most unseemly, as if a ragged breeze were directing them to chaos. The only problem being that they were fully inside of a building, where there was no breeze. The eyes of The Great Bazhooli widened and his head turned to the side, contemplating the hasty use of the door they had just used to enter the establishment of the now thoroughly offputting Nigel Ownerand, when the most blessed of mercies snapped him out of the frightening discomfort of the toadlike man and his monstrous facial accessories. It was Constantin. He was complaining. Vlad was overjoyed to hear the sounds of his dissatisfaction.

"...sveet merciful heavens, thank you..." he mumbled, free of the spell of horror placed upon his senses. Now a little more himself, Vladimir turned to his fellow of the Circus, "For certain, Constantin. You vorry too much, da? Come, ve take food, ve go. Might be last time for decent meal before getting to the Green of Gretna. If ve are needed - needed? Ve need to be at best. Not veak or vobbly. Strong! Fal'shbort! Steady of arm! Vone does not starve horse before big journey. Vorry not, young Firevalker. Eat fast, ride fast, not choke on rations from horseback vhile tearing down road. Bad vay to have adventure. Come! ...but vith panache." Vlad sauntered to the area at the bar indicated by the proprietor, next to the completely not nuts Ludwig.

Calling through the kitchen door (be it open or not), "And maybe something sveet for road?" He nodded once thoughtfully, "Da. Something sveet for road."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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

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Speaking in riddles. Figures. If this was indeed that same woman who had been pushing or pulling him in some direction or another, off and on, since before he knew what he was, then she probably already has the answers to the questions that she asked. It was meetings like this that built and fed into the ancient story concept of the young hero, questing for immortality, the Grail, the Philosopher's Stone, whatever spiritual ideal or mythical artifact lay within human imagination - and the unknown guide baiting the path or testing their resolve. It might have even started with Gilbert himself, all those thousands of years ago. Or even earlier, for all he knew. Gilbert had considered himself a product of the civilization of humanity as much as anything else. Who knew what lay in the broad expanse of time before concepts of community and trade were established? When wars were small affairs over resources for survival and not structured belief? Before written language, agriculture, or mathematics beyond finger-counting?

Still, it was a momentous event that Siduri would be there. The times that her voice issued through the visages of many a young lady throughout the millennia, it signified change. Or direction. For a moment, Gilbert wondered if some version of Siduri was laying in a pond somewhere in what would become England, distributing swords as a basis of government. It seemed like something that she might do, what with her highly cryptic and indirectly meddlesome nature, not unlike what the Emendators had been training the Paradoxes under their care to accomplish. It would stand to reason that she would appear here, rare as it was, with the absence of the other Emendators.

But speaking of the other Emendators, did she appear to the others in her own way over the span of their lifetimes? Or was it just him, as he might have been the only one who undertook what would become archetyped as a "Hero's Quest"? Ignoring, of course, that he was probably the guy the archetype was based upon, and the fact that as a "hero", he engaged in the slaughter of men by the thousands upon thousands got pushed to the wayside by the colorful retelling of history.

The explanation that she was actually the origin of he and those like him should have struck Gilbert with greater impact than it did. A holdover of doubt, perhaps? It was hard to say. Maybe it was that Gil had made peace with who or whatever he was a long time ago, and the telling of his true origins made little difference to him. Gilbert was who he was. His identity was linked to his thoughts, his feelings, and his actions. Should he give respect to his originator? With certainty. Should he take a knee and worship at her feet? Call her Mother? Gilbert would no sooner have others do that before him as he would prostrate himself before someone else in that manner. Maybe he was prideful. Or he was shamed by his actions of his original lifetime, where he was considered something like a god.

Gilbert waited until she had made her rounds with those who had made comment, and voiced his own observations. "Two of our number are lost to us, as well you know. One is fallen. The other, Elissa - she has asked that we do not try to follow. I do not know that this is a wise course of action. Why I am what I am... my curiosity is secondary. I wish to know more, truly. I wish my brothers and sisters to be whole again moreso." Speaking metaphorically, of course. He stopped to smile, a expression disarmingly at odds with his words just previous, "Although I must admit, that is perhaps the most accurate and colorful description for the formation of the English language to which I have been exposed. Bravo."

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James Grady

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

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Okay, so maybe making a smartassed comment with a mouthful of sandwich in front of the beings of immense power wasn't the smartest thing that James had ever done. Not by a long shot. But hey, it was his first time meeting a deity, he could use a little slack cut his way. Except that it really wasn't the first time he met a deity. Technically, a couple of the Emendators were already worshiped, or at least they were, once upon a time. It wasn't everyday that you woke up and had a light snack with a god. Okay, unless you were him. Depending upon the needs of the day, he could very well have crumpets & tea with Gilgamesh and Loki. Pondering it objectively, that would make for one hell of a soap opera.

The choice of words used to address James was highly unusual. That much was obvious by anyone listening. It even too him a second or two to understand what she was trying to say. He was mostly a straight shooter so far as discussion went, preferring that others likewise shoot straight with him. However, he supposed that just a hint of speaking in code might be necessary considering that it referenced some very personal stuff, including him, well, murdering a guy. The "ivory brother" by water and sand also struck a chord with him, and brought a smile to his face. "O Cap'n, my Cap'n? That's some goodness to hear. Thank you." Remembering something similar in intent to manners but not quite execution, James unapologetically pulled his secondary spare ham and cheese sandwich out of the front pocket of his overalls and offered it to Siduri with a naively hopeful expression. "You want you a sammich, Miss Lady?" he inquired, nodding all the while.

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Benha (Docks)
Skills: N/A

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It was something of a polite nod that Priscilla wholeheartedly agreed with the his suggestion to have the Fellowship meet up for the midday meal, giving them ample time to pursue their own interests in and about the city of Benha otherwise. He smiled a genteel smile, if tinged by just a bit of smugness. Of course it was a good idea! Downright practical, if you asked him. But the following statements given by the younger, adventurous young lady gave Reginald the urge to scratch his head and wonder a bit. Okay, so there might be a cause for further consideration by the rest of the group as well, being as specifics were not really mentioned at any point in the discussion following until Lauren happened to come up with a compromise. "Quite, madame. I suppose that is the best that our group may hope to accomplish, awash in the newness of a fresh location to explore. Let us then plan to gather hereupon the Docks, and select a local eatery at that time. There must be several nearby. Now, on to business!"

Reginald took a look around as if he was forgetting something, when it occurred to him that he really hadn't the slightest notion as to what "business" was, aside from exiting the ship. Well, something drew them all together. The horrifying chunks of death and mayhem aside, whatever that something was it was guiding them along on some purpose or another. But just in case there was something that one of them could do, he asked aloud, "I don't suppose that I am speaking foolishly, but is anyone in our little band qualified to appraise or decipher those tiles that Vera was on about? It should bear some looking into, I would imagine. Mr. Zalil... have you any experience with this?" Sadly, the Lord Major did not. But a good commander (despite his not commanding this expedition) deferred to the knowledge of specialists within his squad. Though he had no bearing whatsoever, someone else might.

And speaking of someone else, a man whom the Lord Major did not see depart the ship, though somehow made his way to them from within the city, appeared before them. The very man who risked life and limb to assist Mahendra and later Vera out of the Nile following their perspective incidents with involuntary diving lessons. "Ah yes, Mr. ... Mr. C, I believe. It is a solid pleasure, sir. I did not know that you were aboard the boat with your, ah, your lass, sir." It was not a word that he had the habit of using, lass. Assumption of any relationship that he and this woman might have could lead to disharmony, which he sought to avoid. "I shall be rather open, you see. Our merry collective of adventurers are heading in our perspective directions to amass what knowledge and experiences as one may in this town whilst things are handled aboard the boat. If you've the inclination to assist, I shan't stop you. But for myself, I would be quite satisfied to go where fate would have me. Where then would you recommend? I've til noon to occupy my time. After you, sir, with whomever else would care to join us."

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Docks)
Skills: N/A

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Reddish stayed toward the periphery of the conversation unfolding among the people with which he had set out from Cairo. They seemed to have a touch of a difficulty with organization. This might be expected; after all, they didn't have the superior planning and task-mindedness so commonly associated with His Majesty's Royal Armed Forces. Moreover, none of them appeared to give a more or less rat's fuzzy hindquarters about what he was doing with himself in their presence, so he didn't feel the need to contribute to a conversation to which he was not party. Besides, he had his own plans for the day. Those plans involved scouting the Bazaar for just the right pocketwatch, provided that he could suss out which one it might be, if indeed it was there. In any rate, the best way to find something is to look, or so his dear old dad would say. Reddish was not the type to be idle for very long.

As the others continued plotting their hours for the day, the Corporal slipped a little farther away from the knot of Fellowship persons, scanning the few trickling off of the boat that security had given the heave-ho, and then the people around them with the intent of locating Josephine and beginning his epic quest with someone who could identify the pilfered item. He was still very clearly in view of the rest of them, merely stepping to more closely read the street signs. The one which caught his attention pointed him toward the very location(s) to which he was hoping one might; Market and Bazaar. Just the place to find hot merchandise procured by vendors of questionable moral outlook. He glanced back to the others, scanning for the American starlet, before taking his first couple of steps toward his intended destination. "Back at noon then, Lord Major! I shall strive to be punctual, worry yourself not, Sir!" He checked his own watch to gauge the hours at his disposal and wound it for good measure. Reddish had somewhere to be.