"Yes, thank you, quite." mused the Lord Major, igniting one of Mahendra's torches and clapping his lighter back shut. It was a much better alternative than the smallish flame put out by the converted shell casing. With more adequate illumination allowing the more scholarly of their number to assess the tiles in front of them, Reginald focused his attention there. Not to imagine in any way that he could be of any greater assistance than the minds already on the task; though he did have specific training in codes and cyphers, he did not read the pictographs of the ancient Egyptians except for the odd symbol or two that might have been pointed out by someone else. No, the proper heads were put to the task, such that they had available.
The clicking came as serious surprise to Reginald who, by sheer programming of a life of gentlemanly expectations, reached out in the midst of this to receive his flask back from Bella with a proper, "My pleasure," just prior to her vanishing down a mechanically opened aperture beneath her feet. When the events seemed to catch back up to his ability to process at a decent rate, the Lord Major was aghast. Her man, J.C., had not returned as of yet and he had pledged his service to the younger woman as escort. This was a pledge that others might have taken lightly, but when The Lord Major Reginald Illiam Keystone sets to the task, it is done to the utmost of his ability, even unto notable, glorious departure from this, our mortal coil!
Reginald unbuckled his sword and whipped off his dusty grey officer's coat and cap, presenting them to Lauren, along with the answer to her question: "We shall continue with the mission, dear girl." The words had all the noble bearing he could muster. "Make sure my Man gets these if I do not return, and tell him 'thank you' for his service - he now takes my role in the Fellowship. God help Vera and I pray she forgives me..." He plopped down at the side of the recently opened hole with his feet dangling inside, and with a deep breath (and oddly satisfied grin), called a rousing, "Tally ho!" before entering the darkness after Bella.
Character current location: Athribis, Underground Characters attempted actions: Following Bella Any and all skills being used: Umm... Fortitude? Dexterity? Britishness? Not 100% sure. Why each skill is being called: Jumping headlong into the unknown Desired location of the character: Anyplace but the afterlife. Yeah, down the hole.
Well, if nothing else, the lack of decent security aboard this vessel would have to be addressed. Why, they didn't even leave guards in front of the doors, and here there was such a fuss earlier over people staying aboard! Reddish figured that the story would be much, much different in the good fighting men of His Royal Majesty's Armed Forces were involved, yes indeed! No more of this mysterious missing ticket hooey, nor the random ransacking of their rooms for reasons as yet undisclosed, known, or suspected. No more magically disappearing items that were safely under lock and key just moments before, no sir! It was as if no one could ever be able to sleep soundly ever again! Not even if presented with the opportunity.
Well, all for the best, he supposed, that he never got the opportunity to work on his gifts of moving quietly nor making trained investigation of the immediate area. He would have been forced to change tactic anyway, due to the calls for help inside of the room - calls from the adoptive niece of the Lord Major himself! Such a thing would not do. As Reddish made ready to pull his service revolver and blow the lock out of the door, he was gently moved aside by Josephine. Stunned by the action, he watched as she proceeded to assault the door with a straight kick (and in stylish shoes, no less!), knocking it open like a ripe melon. She then entered the stateroom and began to handle the situation like a seasoned professional.
Stepping inside, Reddish's inquisitive nature got the better of him, as he began to scrutinize details of the room as best he could given the circumstances. As he looked, he remarked, "Sweet Fanny Adams, Miss Clarke! You just booted the bloody door to shambles, you did! Twixt that and the witchy-powers, if you'll excuse the expression, I'd feel safer if you'd be my escort, and not the other way about." He turned back around and gave Josephine an impressed look, all the while taking stock of their surroundings.
Character current location: Boat, Cabin Characters attempted actions: Taking stock of surroundings Any and all skills being used: Investigation/Espionage Why each skill is being called: Something seems fishy about the situation Desired location of the character: N/A
Well, Ash did expect comments. It would be kind of hard not to when you leave looking forlorn but mostly intact, then return hours later smiling but leaving the distinct impression that you were dragged from the back of a truck. He gave Tatiana only the slightest of nods when she made comment about his emotional status, but still said nothing. It was by design. Simple observance led him to believe that there were a couple of people, Tati included, that were decent at looking a man over. His own group, such as it was, wasn't too bad at putting two and two together. Saying anything out loud might have allowed a detail to slip that would make him involuntarily break his promise to keep a lid on certain things; things that have occurred already and certain things that were yet to come, depending on vantage. Likewise, there were probably things that he was not made privy to. Any such spillage might very well color the remainder of their time and lead to unneeded expectations. Being quiet was best.
Time passed in relative quiet, the occasional whispers aside that he could only assume was aimed at him mixing with the general conversation of the room. Ash didn't mind too much, he was processing a lot of stuff at the moment. Much of it was hopeful. Some of it provoked concern. He spent his time in a review of sorts, going over the past year and a half. For once, he wasn't scrutinizing mistakes he had made, but rather looking at what he had learned over their ordeal. It was a dark time for them all. It was also pointless unless he could take the lessons of it all and apply them going forward.
It was another couple of hours later - just less than his own interview took - that things came to light. The pair of them entering the Conference Room in Quarantine did not look like it came as a surprise to Ash, who stood immediately upon their arrival. He briefly toyed with the idea of calling the room to attention, a playful action at best considering the lack of former military personnel within their groups, made even more dubious by the fact that the lady in question was in the Navy, not the Army. Why, it would simply be inappropriate!
Giving several nanoseconds of consideration, Ash decided to go for it anyway. He was beginning t0 feel a little like his old self, and damnit, this was a cause for celebration. He opened his mouth to speak, when he was cut off by Tatiana, endearingly calling him an ass in Russian. He just shrugged, a smirk forming across his face that, while he fought valiantly to suppress, showed itself anyway. It was followed in rapid succession by Wayne proclaiming (loudly) to have his suspicions of Ash's success in exhaustive, mid-coital pursuits.
Well, to hell with it. "In for a penny", as the saying went. Attention was already directed, and it was a matter of two seconds or less until the initial shock of her presence wore off enough to allow for a reaction from the others. In the tradition of Thana's naval courtesies, Ash stood at Parade Rest and issued a confident, "Officer on deck."
Simultaneously, Ash extended his middle finger skyward, facing in the general direction of Wayne. The look on his face was smug and shameless, peering at the man in a way that screamed, "Yes, yes I did. Huzzah." Refocusing on Thana, Ash thought he knew what she was trying to convey with the look and the nod in the direction of the remainder of what used to be Team Eden. They needed their own moment. Ash was not going to interrupt.
The thing about Thalia was, despite the tendency to keep others at arms' length, once someone got inside they found a woman of channeled loyalty. Surely enough that it could handle a few days of distance, even if that distance was from someone sitting in the same room. Things had been tense with everyone lately, and it was fully expected that situations may change once the four of them weren't clinging to each other for survival. This was that time.
"Yeah, you are a bitch," said Thalia flatly. She gave a small, holdout smile and continued, "It's why I like ya. We're good, girl." Thalia knew that neither of them were the touchy-feely type, so she left it with a statement: "I gaht reasons to be here for a while. I hope you stick around, too. Figure the other stuff out later, 'k?" With an only slightly sarcastic whisper, she added, "If you want to hug, we'll do it away from people." Nodding slowly, failed to hide a growing smile. Of course Beatrice was a bitch. Luckily, so was Thalia. It was intrinsic to their collective charm, sort of.
The day came to a new, sweeping crescendo when the doors opened again to admit two more people into Quarantine. One was a big, dark-skinned guy who obviously bought into the old "Got Milk" commercials. The other was hiding behind him. Female. Military garb, more or less. When she finally stepped out and said a word or two, Thalia's train of thought jumped its tracks and plowed into an orphanage.
Thalia took a step or two in the direction of Thana, slightly dazed, waiting for the last pieces of the puzzle to click in her conscious thought. She waited until the blonde called "Checkbook" stepped away from the lady and made her move. Approaching cautiously at first, Thalia took in as much detail about her as possible. There was still a lingering bit of disbelief. After all, she had been missing for a long time. Thalia honestly thought that she was dead. It was the only reason she could think of that Thana wouldn't have returned to them. Confusion and negativity flashed through her for a second, but that quickly changed into pity and relief, looking at her full-on. Ok, she wasn't dead. It looked like she'd been through some shit, though. The kind of shit that would explain a four month delay.
When Thalia got to her, she didn't ask any questions. She just wrapped her in a surprisingly strong embrace and said through joyous tears, "It's so good to see you, Navy. You look like shit." before backing off a little. She wanted to get a good look at her, if only to prove again that this was really her, and alive.
In contrast to a lot of the people in the room, Hank had no real emotions invested in everything tha was going down right then. The Captain guy made a pretty good showing of not making a showing, as it were, essentially shutting down any means of meaningful communication. Not so much as a verbal smoke signal as to what happened during his interview. There were a lot of emotions running high and so much discussion, and for once Hank was happy that he wasn't in the middle of this. It didn't stop him from making observations about these people, though. Part of any survival plan with other people had to include their interpersonal relationships and what they thought of each other. Really know where you stood.
For his benefit, Hand would rather stand next to a steak and a beer while the emotions flapped around him. But back to business, Hank stayed uncharacteristically subdued after Ash came back, feeling a sense of foreboding like something was about to happen. It certainly seemed like it might, like the air around them was tensing for some other shoe to drop. For now, observe. Whatever it was would reveal itself in its own time.
When it finally did, Hank couldn't help but give a good-natured chuckle. Wayne was right, it appeared. His ability to "detect" from back in his cop days was coming in handy, and finally even he realized that this woman coming in the Quarantine (armed, he might add) was the daughter of the guy who interviewed him. Ah, the joys of simple, social mathematics. But if she was in here... Well, it was just more questions that would be revealed in time.
As odd as it may have sounded in hindsight, the two men in the somewhat out-of-place SUV came to this place for the purpose of locating and tracking down a person presumed to be dead, while simultaneously hoping to stumble upon some ancient artifact (or two, if lucky) for which the Big Bad of their era was also searching. Naturally, there was jack and shit for a lead, except that the man for whom they were searching came from this town. So far as the dice were concerned, whatever lead fell in their lap would have to suffice. One thing at a time, until something solid came up.
Along the way into town proper, Caesar unexpectedly jerked his head to the side, apparently seeing something of extreme interest by the side of the road. Between that and the (probably) unnecessary jerking of the vehicle's steering wheel in the direction the older man was staring, Keystone was jolted out of whatever mind-blanking thought and/or meditative practice he was currently ensconced, up to and including considering the benefits of nodding off for a moment or two. "Fongin' 'ell you doing, y'old bast- um, Boss?"
Ignoring the dangerous skirting into disrespect, Caesar answered with a guttural growl of, "Phone booth," and pulled into the adjacent parking lot. He jumped out of the SUV and jogged with determination over to the booth in question.
Keystone felt a little confused. He brought the window down a bit, giving thought to yelling after his boss (and grandfather to his baby son) from his seat. In the end, he decided to give him the respect of his sarcasm from a standing position. He huge man opened the door and set his feet on the ground, only then addressing his employer with the jab of, "Huh? 'Phone booth'? Tryin' for a place to put on y'bloody superhero costume, are ya?" The extension of Caesar's middle finger without actually looking back at the man was answer enough.
Maybe it was possible that, living his formative years in a major metropolitan area and being decades younger than the grizzled Mexican, Keystone didn't get the concept of the phone booth. Not the booth itself, but what lay inside of it; traditionally there was a paper and ink phone directory listing the names of all people with telephone numbers and their addresses. Keystone spent a lot of time in Central Asia as well, where, like this town, technology didn't always keep up with the rest of the world. There might have been an opportunity for him to put two and two together for the phone book idea, but that moment passed when he saw the older man lay his hands on the now antiquated directory and crack it open. "Aaaaaah..."
In a very average act of personal technological updating, Caesar input the data from the phonebook into his sat phone and sent the info to his associate's, then returned to the company vehicle. Keystone scanned the message, climbed back in, and looked to his employer. "Tinder place? Might as well. Got any questions for the fam' lined up?"
"I'll make them up when I get there." And why not? Out of the two of them, he was the investigator. As the SUV pulled back onto the road, Caesar set to locating a means to find the address from the directory he just left, which mostly meant having Keystone do it while he drove. Before bothering with small matters like setting up a staging point and reestablishing proper communications with the home office, let alone informing local law enforcement of their presence in town, Caesar jumped right into his investigation of a man who he now believed to be alive, that he wanted to see dead anyway, and in the most painful, humiliating way possible.
Next stop - Hopefully the childhood home of Marc Tinder.
Location: Gretna Green Skills:Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English
With much in the way of cost in terms of life and some personal hardship besides, the representatives of the Russian Imperial Circus entered the edge of Gretna Green, their fine horses slowed to a more cautious walk. Vladimir let out a dramatic sigh. "Ve have arrived, Constantin. Last vay of Ludvig, German finder-of-paths has been traveled to conclusion." He nodded with a feeling of grim yet nostalgic certainty. The man had passed, but his last piece of work had been fulfilled. "Ve have arrived," he repeated, though now it felt less like the end of something and more like the beginning of the real labors. "Constantin Firevalker, ve may yet find holy place for Master Zimmer. But living, living must be first." Granted, the plan that involved the living had them arriving in Gretna Green and crashing a wedding, thusly fulfilling the quest of the Grand Duchess, Lady Crypt, and the Scary Catholic Girl, which might or might not actually involve finding a holy place anyway. Vladimir mulled this thought over for a second or two, then shrugged. Da, okays. Church maybe first."
Naturally, he was paying little attention to the throng of people escaping from the center of town. Unless they were screaming about Soulless, Vlad was content to allow whatever disturbance was going on to wait for a moment or two. He was having a mildly dramatic moment. Add to this the movement of people perpendicular to the general path of the townsfolk, which he immediately snapped his head toward.
Vladimir's eyebrows began an epic climb, ascending his forehead with the speed and desperation of an escaping convict. At first, he thought that his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He wasn't as young as he once was, and this could be an example of wishful thinking playing with failing eyesight or early senility. It wasn't until he heard a Russian accent calling their names that he allowed the exuberance of the situation to claim him. "HA!" he wordlessly exclaimed into the heavy Scottish air. "I am saying again, vith manyfolded happys: HA!" Vladimir looked to his traveling companion, the joy evident upon his face, "Constantin! Vill you not join me in grand and ear-breaking HAing?" He shook his head vigorously, pointing in the direction of the approaching women, "Vill demonstrate again!" He indeed did. HA!"
The generation's incarnation of The Great Bazhooli located his fine, tall hat from among his belongings purely for the purpose of setting it on his head, whipping it off in a grandiose fashion, and waving it toward Elizaveta and company. But first, he lifted himself out of his saddle, planted his feet where he was sitting, and stood tall atop his great, ebon stallion. One hand waved his hat about, while the other lofted a large and sharp item from his person, as if to confirm from a distance that yes, he was indeed The Great Bazhooli, Russian Knife Guy Extraordinaire.
Plopping back down in his saddle, Vlad turned his horse, Tolstoy(!), in the general direction of the two women and directed it thusly. Looking back to Constantin, "Object of qvest is here! Master Ludvig has succeeded. Now is our turn."
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎ Location: Shadowell Manor: State Dining Room (3F) Skills: Intelligence Hit Points: 2 ≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
It was an interesting series of differing of psychologies that Swamp witnessed from those around the dining room. Apathy, hysteria, classic narcissism, not to mention a boatload of histrionics, manifest in basic attention-seeking. Or the additional fun of what appeared to be total obliviousness to that which was going on around them. It might actually be an impossibility to get this gaggle of misfits to agree upon a course of action in common, even something as basic to survival as exiting a burning building. Well, at least Swamp could attempt something useful to the situation, though it got him shot the last time.
The first person to address him directly on the matter received his attention. It was Jasper. "Indeed, sir. Whatever charming aliases were applied to all of us, the person who sent the invitation did at least get my title correct." He did not quite wish to impart more personal information than he absolutely had to, owing to the observed nature of most of those around him.
The Chanteuse had a bit to say, first to the nurse attending the lady who had an incident with the flatware and then to the woman who has recently shot him, Walnut. He didn't add anything to the conversation as it sat, perfectly content to deal with the puzzle he had at hand. When she took his arm and spoke to him, however, he cold not help but respond to her polite offer of help. "I may actually require assistance, as you mention it, Amaranthine. Thank you." If nothing else, an extra set of eyes while he worked would be extremely useful. Swamp had to admit that she did have a talented touch with a needle applied to skin. It was something particularly useful in his work. The last person who volunteered to assist him didn't work out very well. Swamp was confident that this time would be different. "Yes, let us get out of others' way and attend to the fallen Lord Bardolf."
Approaching the man, Swamp did not see the telltale signs of anything obvious. He pulled out a notepad and began to jot down some observations. "Jasper, yes?" he inquired, more to establish who he was speaking to and not to confirm his name. "I should require something more than a cursory glance to fit this puzzle together. Is there a more suitable place where one may operate?"
Location: Ville au Camp (Backyard Area -> Swamp) Skills: N/A
It was uncommon for an Emendator to walk into a situation with absolutely zero knowledge of what was going on. But if only for today, that seemed to be the norm. In its own way, it was actually quite humbling. To possess abilities far beyond that of common humanity, knowledge beyond the most well appointed libraries on the planet, and yet again Gilbert had no clue what was going on beyond what he could see. So maybe that was the best course of action; getting out there and looking for one's self. His eyes were just as serviceable as any healthy man's of his apparent age. Laying them on the source of the disturbance was likely the only way he was going to figure out a damned thing.
Joined by others, specifically Bart and Faith, Gilbert tarried just long enough to field their concerns, such as he was able. "You have just as much knowledge about this as I, Bartholomew. I would suggest caution. And with my apologies, Faith, let us get more insight before we depart. I do not know what might happen if we are on the other side an open portal that leads back here when the Loop breaks. It is unprecedented." Though his voice was of calm control, he really had no concrete answers for them.
Continuing forward, Gilbert felt his muscles tighten with apprehension of what might be waiting for them. Perhaps this was an partial degradation of the Loop and he would find a ragged hole of temporal nothingness that was growing slowly, their reality pouring into it as it was destroyed by the entropic nature of the nothingness that awaited a metaphysical concept such as their repeating period of time and space. Maybe it was the forced infiltration of something hostile, the concussive waves being the result of the sudden presence displacing their reality.
Of course, he was wrong. It had happened before. Now at the Swamp proper, Gilbert looked to Siduri. She had done something that was expressly mentioned was not supposed to be possible, at least by the younger man, Ben's, abilities. Though by the context of the discussion, he was led to believe that it was a serious no-no anyway. Humility wasn't his strong point, though he had to admit that this was new territory for him, of which he was fully uneducated. He did recognize the object of the formerly forbidden application. It made sense. After all, this was where he was buried.
"Good evening, Peter. You are looking well, all things considered."
James Grady
Location: Ville au Camp (Backyard Area -> Swamp) Skills: N/A
James took another long swig from the bottle of tequila. He couldn't help but remember the first time that Evelina saw he and the other Paradoxes drinking, saying that she would NotTolerateDrunkenness. It was a fair enough concern to raise. And true to form, James had consumed less alcohol here, as a Paradox, than he ever did in his timeline of origin. And back there, it looked like everyone and everything was trying to kill you. Well, except for the guys you were drinking with. For James anyway; he had a pretty damn good group of apocalypse buddies. He was lucky that way. But that was literally another lifetime ago. Also, in his defense, he was toasting a fallen member of his old group, kinda. Same Alicia, different timeline. These things got confusing sometimes. Or all the time. Yeah, all the time.
The backwoods Wereboar gave a friendly nod over in the direction of Bart and Faith, offering a casual, "Sup," though his senses were on his personal equivalent of high alert, what with the localized quake and proclivity of the people here to vanish in a flash of light. Oh, and the news of imminent doom sloshing toward them like an overflowing crapper in a bus station bathroom - that was just one more layer of fun. As a tangent of thought, James wondered if Paradoxes could get stress ulcers. He'd have to ask someone later on, if in fact there was a proper "later on" to have.
When he finally got over to their destination and saw what the others saw, James was a little taken aback. "He the dead'un, ain't he? That's the dead'un. You the dead'un, right? He dead. Like, dead dead? Dead. Dead?" he stumbled verbally, eyes wide as he tried to process the length and breadth of what was transpiring. James had caught a glimpse of the guy as he was brought in from an assignment elsewhere, quite deceased. They had a small ceremony and everything, but here he was, plain as day, with loose soil still dusting off of him. Remembering something that passed for manners, James looked to the recently living-impaired individual with a more cordial, "You awful spry for a dead fella. Tequila?" He offered the bottle in his hand over. James figured that Alicia wouldn't mind, given the unusual circumstances. Besides, if James was pulled out of the ground a couple of minutes ago, he definitely would have wanted that drink.
"Alibi?" questioned the Lord Major, as Mahendra broached the topic of how they were to explain themselves were they caught by whomever spoke as authority in these parts, "Why, I haven't the foggiest, sir. Perchance if something of the nature were to come up, we might somehow feign ignorance, or blame it upon the dreadful Egyptian sun." He offered a couple of possible excuses, but it really wasn't in his heart to be untruthful at the drop of a hat, unless it was to save lives. Reginald was a man of action, once upon a time. Some habits of old fashioned chivalry were hard to break, even if knights had fallen out of favor as of late.
Reginald continued acting as escort to Bella, as it was likely the only overt contribution he could make to the group right at that second. His was a skill set that revolved around a lifetime of military affairs; organizing, tactics, and implementing these things on a battlefield or in the air above one. Archaeological digging, hieroglyphics, and the like were not within his wheelhouse. A thing that was, however, was gentlemanly accord of a situation when it was called for. Even if he wasn't completely certain exactly what was going on. Case in point, the moment that Bella mentioned that a drink sounded marvelous, Reginald's free hand was already locating his very expensive-looking flask, designed to contain a deceptive amount of hard alcohol. As he had refilled it the previous day and had not partaken, it was quite full of decent whisky of his home island. "If it pleases Madame?" he offered simply, holding it out to her. He likewise offered the flask to their remaining scientifically inclined member, Nora, with a charmingly befuddled, "Oh my, well, yes! Of course, if this is to be of medicinal or scholarly use, then by all means, indulge." He might not be the expert in this place, but he certainly would find some way to make himself useful.
The light was fading in their immediate environment. It was to be expected, inconvenience to their range of sight though it was. As he found a moment, the Lord Major fumbled about before producing a lighter, formed from what appeared to be a formidably large gunnery shell casing. "Battlefield souvenir, you see. Better than naught in a pinch of darkness, I'll warrant."
The descent between decks put Reddish onto a sort of casual-looking alert that one might find present in a periodical illustration adventure strip. He took to his task as only a professional soldier might, until the unfortunate occurred and the heel of his boot slipped off of the next lower stair beneath him, sending the poor Corporal into a barely controlled series of very short plummets. His posterior thudded dully from stair to stair, thwumping in rapid succession even as he struggled to maintain his sense of stealth and decorum, both of which were fast falling away from him with each successive thwump. Reddish did find it a shame; he was doing remarkably well up until that time. Well, pencil it in his diary and give it some thought later on as to how he might never make that particular mistake again; it was far too late to shovel the shite back into the horse, as the saying went.
The last smacking of his rump against stair was used to bounce himself back to a standing position, with a little help from gravity and his lanky runner's legs. Back to a standing position, he very unconvincingly confided in Josephine, "Oh, quite alright; it was purely deliberate, yes..." before shaking his head no as a more honest answer, then continuing to move as if to put the whole mess behind him.
Reddish heard the noise too, and while it was not their objective it did fit very snugly into the arena of "extenuating circumstances", which would have been otherwise necessary to break from target. It wasn't far out of their way, really; or at all depending upon how one looked at it. And it was the right thing to do. That part helped. "Oh, why indeed, Miss Clarke. But if you would be as kind? Please do not stand directly in front of the door, just in case something is amiss. I'd not forgive myself if something preventable happened to you. Well, something else, anyhow. Very sorry about that last unpleasantness, of course."
Nearing the door where Vera was allegedly resting, the Corporal eased up along the wall beside it and moved one hand toward his "working tools" on his belt. The other moved up to gently knock on the door, before retreating back. "Housekeeping," he said simply, waiting for a response from inside.
Character current location: Boat, Elite Deck Characters attempted actions: Being Sneaky Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage Why each skill is being called: Stealth - to avoid notice, Investigation/Espionage - to continue the investigation and still slather their presence with believable bullshit Desired location of the character: Elite Deck, Door outside Nora's Room
Day 4: He had to admit it, it did him good to see that baby progress. A new life achieving goals in the world as it was now seemed miraculous. Ash spent a little time playing with his tiny godson until it was time for a feeding.
Room assignments came as an interesting change. Seemingly at first intended to mix them up, the new room order had them with more familiar people, for the most part. Maybe it was because they figured no one was going to kill anyone else and the group was willing to follow their rules. Regardless, he appreciated the change. Some people who needed time for themselves got it, and Ash had few concerns about the motivations of his new roommate.
During one of his less stoic moments, Ash even found it within himself to inquire to Riley about some of the music that their new guard had brought in for herself, "This is some of your earlier stuff, isn't it? You might have fans here." Though he never said anything directly to the younger guard about it. If she didn't already know that there was a pre-apocalypse star in their midst, Ash wasn't going to ruin the surprise if and when she figured it out for herself.
Day 5: Ash was curious to note that, in addition to her grueling sessions with Tatiana, the one-armed Miss Carmichael had decided to join him for his morning calisthenics. She didn't ask permission nor declare any interest beforehand, she just walked up and started hammering out pushups right alongside him. The new hardware she was sporting made it possible, and she threw herself wordlessly into it. Ash considered asking her why or saying that he wanted to keep his sessions private, but something about the drive of the woman prevented him. It was those eyes. He saw Caesar's intensity in the woman. She had something to prove.
The rotation for interviews still didn't include him. While he had no idea what the rhyme or reason was with the order in which they were selected, nor the significance of the varying lengths of them, he had felt more or less okay with the process as a whole. That is, until Tatiana came back from hers. The longest one by far, and she looked distressed upon her return.
When she found some marginal privacy in their bookshelf fortification, Ash quietly approached and sat down beside her. He didn't look directly at her, keeping his vision on the others in the room, collectively, as the line-of-sight of the shelving allowed, simply asking, "You good?" He wasn't fully buying her answer. But it's not like it was something to deck her over. Ash just stayed with her quietly until either she or the situation indicated otherwise.
Day 6: As usual, his task in the a.m. didn't take much in the way of time. Just as soon as he had finished, he was approached by Thalia again, an eager look urging her toward exercise again. This time, when they got to the sets of boxer crunches, she threw in a specific, extra combination with every other rep. Ash had seen that before, as well. His eyes widened as he remembered where he had, and what it must mean about her. Her smile was a chilling confirmation. It seemed that they would always be haunted by ghosts from their past. At least this was a piece of that past they had in common.
It seemed that finally, finally, Ash was called for his interview. They seemed to be cutting it close, too. The next day was their last in Quarantine, and he had a sneaking suspicion that those in charge were intentionally saving his interview for later to confirm or deny things that those formerly under his command were saying. Naturally, that was the point of separate meetings in the first place. Well, no matter what happened, Ash was going to answer as truthfully as he could. Mexico Beach might not be their last chance at life, but it was the best one they had seen in a long, long time.
Two Hours, Ten Minutes later:
It was eerily surreal. Ashton entered the Conference Room walking as a professional soldier might. Spine straight, shoulders broad, posture immaculate. His eyes were sharp and jaw squared. Ash's clothing looked as if it had recently been recently fixed; his shirt tucked tightly enough for his muscle tone to show through. Also, and oddly, his hair was wet. Otherwise, it looked like he was simply retaking his role as a soldier, with two HUGE exceptions: The skin around his eye was darkened, showing the telltale signs of one whopper of a black eye forming. It was about as big as his palm. The second, and significantly more alarming exception - His pant leg was covered with blood. It started high and ran almost fully down to the hem. Whatever happened during Ash's interview time, blood was involved.
He seemed to take no notice of it. There was a faraway look in his eyes and is mouth was clamped shut. He didn't offer explanation to anyone. Not even those closest to him. Instead, Ash found a seat and simply rested himself in it. He wore a very satisfied expression on his face that beamed confidence. Bright, unapologetic eyes showed remarkable clarity.
Ashton Holloway surveyed the people around him, making careful mental notes. Nodding slowly, he blew out a long, slow breath. His face was damaged more than when he went in, and blood stained his clothing - either from himself or someone else. Ash didn't seem to give a rat's ass about either.
Day 4: There were a lot of people who seemed worried about a lot of things. Hank understood that holding onto their individual concerns often gave people a sense of identity; an external locus of control that aided in defining who they were. To that end, they were, in part, identified by what they perceived they were struggling against. For many of them, that was living in general, which in this day and age had merit beyond simple paranoia. Others had more specific points they worried over, which Hank would have been more than happy to help them address if A) it was his job, B) he cared enough to, and/or C) he felt like getting a laugh out of it.
Good news, though! The rooms were being switched around a bit. In the case of his quarters, that just meant that he and Wayne now had the beds to themselves; one each with all the pillows for their reclining and/or fort-building needs. That wasn't so bad at all. Thinking back to Wayne's exclamation from earlier, about having a new fishing buddy, Hank put forward an idea that he'd been giving some thought since his interview ended. "Hey, Maldonado... Think about this okay? We've been talking for, well, shiny-God-in-heaven knows how long about doing the 'old person' thing and retiring in Florida, right? Well, we need to learn how to fish. Not that 'throw a line in the water and drink beer' fishing (but that's not off the table, let's not rule anything out). Like, really fish productively. And boat. Boat and fish. Fish and boat. Therapeutic fishboating. Or boatfishing. Whatever else they have us doing, I want to make that a priority. We could even bring a few of the more tolerable asshats here out with us after we're established. You with me?" If one didn't know an better, one might say that a man making plans for the future and choosing to involve others in them was a highly positive step forward.
Unrelated note, but god damn he wanted a steak. If they'd let him get out and hunt, he'd take care of it himself.
Day 5: The work that they let him do was good and all, but it just wasn't enough. Hank was the kind of guy that needed to do things to keep from going a little nuts. Or just act like an asshole. Not that something to do would fully prevent that from happening, but it did blunt the sarcasm a bit. Hank's time in Quarantine was getting a little boring. There was only so many times one could play cards for legos (that immediately went back into the box anyway) before it got stale. Often, he had given consideration to putting their various chores up for wager, though he thought he remembered someone saying that their assignments couldn't be transferred to anyone else. That was probably a big no-no. If it might have been allowed, Hank saw himself betting high and folding, just to have more productive stuff to do. But, it was what it was.
Now, the observant Mr. Hanktholomew Patrick Wright, after noting the extremely long interview of the Russian mom who Wayne was getting along with so well, likewise noted her return. And the condition that she was in upon that return. He didn't say anything outright, nor out loud. Something happened and he was likely never going to know what it was. She seemed okay and there was no shortage of people supporting her. It was best to keep his nose out of it. Sadly, he could not completely. The one thing he offered to her, and in as few words as possible, was, "Hey, ah, let me know if you need an ear. Seriously. Mean it." Hank backed off.
Day 6: Oh, what fresh and fugly hell was this? No sir! No, no, no, nooooooo. Big, huge, giant red flag just went off. Russian Red's shaky entrance yesterday was one thing, but Captain Ash-hole striding in with all the majestic poise of Captain America, looking like he just came back from a pugilist review and covered in blood, while no one gave a shit was making him a little antsy. Their guards didn't seem too ruffled. The man himself didn't seem to notice at all. The distinct lack of the previously mentioned shit-giving from all parties concerned made him very happy with how his own interview went, and curious as hell as to what happened to him.
Maybe he'd ask. Just not first. Someone else could ask first. That guy might actually be crazy, and Hank was an expert on crazy from behind both sides of the glass. Nope. One more day in Quarantine, then he could retire in Florida like he intended to, more or less. Stay frosty until then.
"Hey there, Cap'n! What the hell happened to you this time?" Shit. He just couldn't stop.
Day 4: Thalia stepped back into the Conference Room, an uncommon smile on her face as the was slightly proud, and slightly embarrassed of, her new arm. Not arm, really, though it was shaped more or less like one and did perform many of the functions that one might, with the exception being the vast majority of her previous manual dexterity. But damn, could she club a bitch out with it if she needed to. Thalia already knew what she wanted to have done to round her combat ability back out, and it would require the assistance of another fabricator of some kind. Or a decent armorer. But that was a question for tomorrow. Today, she had to begin acclimating to her new hardware.
Pursuing this, Thalia spent a good amount of time testing her flexibility and range with this new prosthetic. The bones of her forearm were obviously vastly compromised, limiting the ability to rotate the device considerably. Quarter turn at most. More work would have to be done with her bicep, shoulder, and elbow to compensate and not leave herself open in a scrap. But this was immensely preferable to the item she had for herself before. And more comfortable, too.
Then there was the news of the room change. Okay, keeping things moving, yay team. Being bunked with Beatrice seemed slightly double-edged. She had been pulling away. Being locked in with her at night might provide opportunity to ask a couple pointed questions about that, though doing exactly that might exacerbate the situation. If she wanted to talk, Thalia would be happy to give her the opportunity. Plus, she was still in a room as a trio, not a couple. There was no sense venting their business in front of someone else. Drama led to more drama, and they had gone through enough for a while.
Day 5: The next morning, Thalia rose, readied herself, and ate as much breakfast as she thought might be appropriate to the level of training she intended to inflict upon herself. That is to say, as much as they let her. Once ready to greet the day, the first thing she did was walk directly up to Ash as he readied for his own workout routine. It was cute, really, in a "I don't want to get soft" sort of way. Thalia had much more that she wanted to do with her time. She was out to sculpt herself into iron. Ash's workout routine would serve to increase her muscle mass by way of using her own body as counterweight, and thusly would compliment what she was already doing with Tatiana. So, she said nothing to the guy at all. She just walked up, confidently bracing for pushups on her knuckles (real and metal alike), and matched the solider push for push. It was a little more difficult than she remembered. Of course, not having an arm to brace on for so long meant that she couldn't actually do some of these exercises for a while.
Ash looked at her like he wanted to say something, a gesture to which she responded by shooting a similar look back. Oh no, he's not going to tell her to piss off. Ash should be happy that someone wanted to have a damn thing to do with his gruff, antisocial ass. And she might be a hypocrite if she let on that she was a whole lot different in that way. With new people, anyway.
Tatiana's interview ran late. Very late. In addition to the calisthenics from the morning, Thalia agreed with Wayne that they should continue their exercises from Tati's metaphorical playbook, and keep them going when she got back. It took a while, though. And when she got back, she looked blank. Absolutely blank. Between that and hiding in her and Ash's bookshelf fort, Thalia was a little worried. She backed off, though. Give the lady some time. They had their workouts in the meantime, which Thalia was taking very seriously. Very seriously. To the point of physical exhaustion seriously.
Day 6: Oh, that sly bastard! Thalia finally understood why the preliminary workouts with Ash felt so familiar: She had done them, exactly, before! Long before, now that her brain was putting a date to it. She had been one hell of a boxer back in the day, for one as young as herself when she got into it. More than that, she had an eye for styles. Her father taught her to box, long ago. He also taught her the difference between boxing in a ring and fighting in the streets. In turn, she took lessons from both and quantified it into a form that she could pass on to others in a more teachable way, turning a family brawling style into a martial art that kept evolving. One of the points that it evolved was when she found herself surrounded by apocalypse survivors wearing metal armor, behind walls of hewn logs. A tall, blonde bitch with her own family history trained with her, fought with her, and had her own routine. Army Captain was using that exact routine. That meant that he likely boxed, too. That meant that Vinters style bitch-hitting was still alive in the world, albeit in the mind of a man with more self control than its previous user. Pity.
The fun part: The routine got a little more complicated the further you went into it. Just for shits and giggles, Thalia stepped it to the next level up, throwing in an extra, alternating punch combination during their crunch sets. He recognized it. The look was priceless. Thalia grinned her ass off and kept exercising. Later on, she might talk to Wayne and Tatiana about it while they did their training. There was no way she was missing training.
As it turned out, Thalia had her interview on this day. She was gone and back in a half hour, and seemed none the worse for wear. Eager to get back to it, maybe, but otherwise unaffected by the Q&A session. On the other hand, when she saw Army Captain get back, she stopped what she was doing and, in a kneejerk reaction to a situation that might get hostile, made herself as least noticeable as possible, so as to take an erupting problem unaware of her next actions. Her eyes took in as much detail as her brain could process, and what she saw confused her to no end.
Ash was back, blood on his clothes and it looked like someone took a sack of doorknobs to the side of his face. What did he do? Why isn't anyone doing anything? Why the hell did Hank have to put his foot in his mouth like that? Was Ash hurt, or was that someone else's blood? Why did he look... content?
Location: Road To Grimm I (Northern Indiana) Skills: N/A Skills: N/A
The position of the sun had changed in the sky, far more than the seemingly misplaced pair of travelers had initially perceived. Apparently, the immense physicality and extensive training of the British Isles import did not translate too horribly well into the great and noble art of tire changing, at least not to the degree that would ever make the man part of a proper Indy Pit Crew. This was mentioned, if exaggerated by Caesar with the snarly comment of, "I'm timing you by sundial and you're still going too slow." Maybe it made sense. But the meaning was clear - move it.
Getting back in the car, Keystone was curious to note that Caesar had climbed into the driver's seat. He looked impatient and surly, or slightly moreso than the usual cut and frame of his attitude. Well, if the old man wanted to drive, so be it. It's not like there was much else to do, and he had been sitting in the passenger's seat for a fairly long time at the mercy of whatever thoughts were plaguing him. He was the brooding and growling type. Keystone knew. He'd been doing that for the past fifty miles or so, and it was getting to be a little creepy. If El Jefe wanted to drive, great. As it turned out, Caesar's impatience translated into a lead foot, hurtling the SUV down a highway blessedly devoid of local law enforcement.
Keystone finally broke down and selected some of his more uplifting tunes, delving into his collection of ...um... Contemporary British Female Vocal R&B/Blue-Eyed Soul genre-ed music. He kept it low at first, but as he became more comfortable with listening to it in front of Caesar, he gradually upped the volume between songs, as if Caesar wouldn't know it. The joke seemed to be on Keystone, as he looked up after a while to notice the grizzled Mexican staring at him from the driver's seat. Perhaps his eyes were better kept on the road, but no, the holes he was boring into Keystone were palpable, and singed around the edges.
It wasn't until Keystone saw something in the distance and pointed that the Caesar let up. The column of white smoke rising from the east definitely stood out. Whatever caused it, it was huge. Natural disaster? Explosion? Building fire? They simply couldn't tell from their current vantage point. But the wisps of smoke and haze it poured over the surrounding area gave it an ominous feel. "Bloody 'ell, Boss. This place looks like Lower Uncton at a distance, eh?"
"Like I know where that is, Keystone. How far out are we?"
"Roundabouts 15 or 16 kilometers, more or less." Despite the insistence of the roadside signs and online directions to use the more American system of miles, the Brit had it in his head to resort to the European standard, if just for that occasion. One of the tiny things he could control in an otherwise uncontrollable situation.
"Good." he said no more in the subject, plowing the vehicle forward while Keystone continued listening to his music.
"It was more than just her," Ash admitted, albeit quietly. He had a good idea that ears were on and/or near him, be it by their chaperones or the more curious of their number contained in Quarantine. "Not to downplay what we had. We were close. There was just a lot of bad shit that I didn't process up to that point. I don't know if I loved Alicia, any more than anyone else we lived with, trusted. But she was a symbol. She was the face I put on it. And I gave her peace with a rifle." His speech was frank, relaying information rather than having a great personal epiphany. It wouldn't have been the first time that Ash had put down someone he knew. Even someone he cared about. It was what you did, if you wanted to survive. "Took me a while to realize that. Thanks for holding me together until I did." She wasn't the only one, though. Ash recalled many a night in the back of his Hordebuster, sipping homemade whiskey and talking with Mr. James Grady. He also helped, but he was gone.
"This feels different, Tati. With Thana - It's actual love, and it's grief, and it feels... clearer, somehow. Less confused, less selfish. Hard to explain. I just know I miss her, and it hurts, and it ain't going away, and I don't want it to. Like it might insult her if it does. Does any of that make any sense?" Ash was a generally stoic person, prone to dealing with his pain, both physically and emotionally, with minimal complaint. A lot of the time, whether he wanted to or not. The openness of him talking about complex feelings was, in a word, uncommon. And it did make him feel a little foolish, speaking like he was.
Luckily, and very thankfully, the subject seemed to change with the arrival of the youngest of their party. The very youngest; the still crawling, still in diapers, still babbling baby Jamie. Ash watched the little guy stand with the help of his mother's foot as a handhold. It wasn't a rare occurrence, but the next bit was wholly unprecedented. Wobbly and unsure of motion, little Jamie took his first steps ever and stumbled in the general direction of Tatiana. It brought the start of a smile to the Captain's face. He was witness to the first steps of his godson. Little moments like this were the reason Ash kept going, even if he couldn't properly express how he felt the vast majority of the time.
Then swiftly, a look of momentary shock slammed into him as he realized that the little guy wasn't making for his mother. Little Jamie planted his tush directly onto his leg and moved in for a cuddle. "Oh my God," he said quietly, wide-eyed and looking to Tatiana for something, anything to break the joyous anxiety that manifested into the air around them. His first steps were to Ash. "Um..." he began, before coming to the conclusion that regardless of any uncomfortable social factors that might be involved, he wasn't going to deny the child affection, such as he could provide. Ash's face softened just a touch as he moved his hands to support the boy and cradle his yet uncertain head-bobble. "Hey there, guy. I've got you." he said softly, his accent shading his words with something more homespun.
Oh, Hank noticed the changing of the guards, and he didn't mean in front of Buckingham Palace. Mostly, the younger woman caught his attention, if she was even old enough to be called a woman at that point. He seemed to freeze for a second, the generally sarcastic yet self-assured smirk erased from his expression and replaced with something highly serious and very contemplative. Yeah, this girl looked like she might be the same age as his daughter, if she had survived to now. Even looked a little bit like her, or that is to say, she looked a little like a much younger version of his wife, likewise deceased. Life was still possible for the younger ones when all this went down; the teens and preteens who didn't have a whole lot of life experience to draw from to keep their asses alive. Distantly, Hank wondered if there was the mildest possibility that, were his family to have lived long enough to see the dead walk, could they have made it this far? Would his daughter have been able to, like this kid that just walked in? Would Hank still have become the antisocial, bitter shell of the man he used to be? Ironically, did that which broke him actually make him a survivor?
No, it didn't matter. Hank's face stayed serious for a long moment as the conversation continued around him. His eyes darted away from the girl that had just arrived and he tried to push those thoughts out of his brain, with marginal success. A few days living easy wasn't going to make him soft yet. Hank had already fractured and healed from his personal Hell. The world now was nothing compared to that. But it left scars. Even he could self-diagnose.
Wait, what was he doing? The past was the past and goddamnit, there was a card game at stake. Even if they were only betting legos. The girl was a harsh reminder of where he came from, no doubt. And at least his family was spared the horror of he world turning inside-out and quite possibly a more horrifying death than they got. The present was NOW. And presently, they were playing poker. Panama was a out of sight, what with the guards changing, so someone who knew how to handle a deck should probably do just that. "Yeah yeah, keep your hijab on, there. Okay..." Hank picked up the deck, gave it a quick, supplementary shuffle, and started to deal. "Simple fivecard, no wilds or any of that frou-frou shit, 2X4 bricks or better to open. Everyone ante in?"
Hank took a quick look at his cards, satisfied that this was going to be a highly average game of poker. After a little while, he was called back for his interview. "Guess I fold," he remarked, setting his cards on the table facedown. "Keep my seat open. This shouldn't take long." I mean, what was there to grill him about? Hank was an open book.
Almost two hours later, Hank returned to the Conference Room, scratching the back of his head. It was hard to read his face. "Hey Maldonado? Might just have ourselves a fishing buddy! How about that, huh?" He shrugged, and looked around to see if the card game was still going on.
Once Thalia was in the room, Atticus shut the door so they could have some privacy. He was figuring it would take anywhere between half an hour to an hour for them to be done with Alexander, that gave them time. He had promised to talk to Thalia the day she had arrived but a lot of shit had to be taken care of and this was the first time he had been able to get her alone so she didn't have to be in front of everyone during their conversation. Sitting down, he motioned to a chair near him and leaned back. "Alright girl, let's talk."
A hint of suspicion flashed in Thalia's eyes for a second. She glanced around to note the presence or absence of any other entrances to the room before sitting down. She didn't want any surprises and making sure it was difficult to be snuck up on was just habit by now. She did sit, legs still tensed in case she needed to stand quickly, and leaned forward. "Okay. Good. I asked if you knew a Father Benicio Gonzalez. He's my father - actual biological father." The woman raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Atticus nodded. "Yeah, he was my mentor when I was in Seminary," he said as he leaned back in his chair thinking back on it. A grin came to his face. "I don't know whether the church paired us up because I had a slight obsession back then of blowing things up and they thought his background might get me focused, or they were hoping I would get him to calm down. If it was either of those reasons, they didn't get the goddamn results they wanted," he chuckled. "Two people who take the subject of Thou Shalt Not Kill in a vague sense aren't exactly the type that should be paired together."
Thalia gave a derisive giggle. She wasn't the giggling type, but just sometimes the duality of holy men, especially ones she was related to, gave her something to giggle about. "Spanish translation of La Sagrada Biblia gives more color." She eyed the man for a moment, as if in contemplation. "What was he like?" She knew he man well, but a different perspective from inside the Church might be illuminating.
"Tough." Atticus grinned a bit. "But he could be fun, granted, after the shit Joaquin and I used to pull as kids, I'm surprised he was willing to even be my mentor," Atticus said. Rubbing the back of his neck. "I kind of blew up his shed when I was younger, burned Joaquin's god damn eye brows off," he added laughing as he spoke, trying not to but failing miserably.
This was getting interesting. Thalia didn't spend her youngest years with her father's people, leaving much of that time recounted only as the occasional story from extended family or older friends. The Gonzalez Family stretched a ways, especially by way of reputation in certain circles. Even so, after a world-breaking apocalypse like this it was a huge coincidence for a friend of the family to appear randomly in her travels. "You knew Joaquin?" There was disbelief. But it wasn't like he got Thalia's name and did a background check. He knew the right names, and to whom they belonged. Thalia decided to go with it. "Preacher, that's the kind of shit mi familia looks for. They had me passable with a knife and a pistol when I was still watching My Little Pony." She marveled at the coincidence for a second. "You must have left just before they took me in." It was a little sad. Like family that she never knew she had, this must have been a trace of what her father felt about her.
"Yeah, I was with Foster homes," Atticus explained. "I turned 17 and ran away," he admitted. Shrugging he leaned back in his seat and rubbed the his hands together. "When I went into Seminary years later, Joaquin and I got back in touch. By that time he was working in Texas as a Ranger. I became his priest," he chuckled. "That was interesting. It was how I met the Martins. His partner started dating Gunny's daughter. That tape that was on? I had the flu that night, I played the fiddle in it." Looking over at Thalia he sighed a bit. "How I decided to come to Mexico Beach when shit hit the fan, well after the burn.." his words trailed off.
It was a small world. "Gavin Comfort." It was a stand alone statement. She barely remembered the man's name; it had been a long time ago and she only shared the man's company for a couple of hours. Thalia did get to see the man die. That did make him stand out. Between this and the home movie in Quarantine, a lot was coming back. "I met him. He helped us assault a fortification a year and a half back. He was frontal. I was with the breach team - quiet, sneak attack. Una plétora de corte. We met in the middle when the shit hit the fan." She shook her head, "Didn't make it. I'm sorry, Padre. He died well. Wish I could toast the fellah." This talk about fallen comrades and things-that-once-were hardened her features. What was she going to learn Thalia's face turned more toward the imperative, looking the man steadily with unblinking eyes, "I'm sorry, please continue. You were saying something about burning."
Atticus nodded. "Yeah, Comfort was one of a kind. Larger than life, figured he survive this end of the world shit. You know, the type to kill one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, and then ride his horse out of the fuckery like the Lone Ranger," he said with a half hearted chuckle. Sitting up, he looked at Thalia and blew air out from between his lips. "The burning, the church. It was right after the break out started. Joaquin and I were trying to keep order. He came to help me. It was a safe place, at least as safe as it could be when you didn't know what the fuck was going on. Thugs, people scared, tried to break in and take over. The place turned to a hellstorm. And a fire broke out. We were getting people out and the damn cross fell. I got pinned beneath it," he said as he stood up and pulled his shirt out from the waist line. Turning he lifted enough to show some of the scars, his back was covered. "Joaquin got me out," he said as he turned back around and tucked his shirt back in. "Owed him my life."
Thalia remembered the beginning of this new age of humankind. Like most abrupt but massive changes, no one knew it had come, at first. She saw her first Zed while making an early morning run to a nearby bakery. It seemed strange at first, but nothing too amazingly out of place for downtown Boston. Then literally overnight, society imploded. "The start of this gave everybody scars," she began. "Not downplaying yours, Padre. You earned your right to be here. Just... I didn't get to know Joaquin as well as I wanted to," she admitted. Thalia was being awfully open with this man, moreso than she ordinarily was with people. Maybe because he was a priest, like her father. He was also very familiar with her family, which was rare. Suspicion and curiosity warred within Thalia. "How did you repay him?" The question was obviously loaded. He said that he owed Joaquin. Owed, past tense. That meant one of two things to her: The debt had been payed, or he was dead.
"Never really thought I did," he admitted. "I figured I would end up owing him more than my life when he mentioned going to Mexico to the Casa but last contact we had, it wasn't looking good. It was broken but all he got when he said we were coming was no," he said as he finished tucking in his shirt. "We started heading this way, out of everyone I knew, I figured the Martin's, if anyone outside of the Gonzales's, had their shit together I should try. Thought maybe if I could get Joaquin here, alive, that would repay the debt but in the end I was wrong."
There were some people, some families even, that others gravitated toward when things got really bad. Her people were obviously examples of this. Apparently, so were the Martins. Thalia understood this. But the rest of it? It seemed choppy, as if the man was dancing around saying something which might or might not be uncomfortable to hear. Or to say. Was her family's compound in Mexico still there? Is that what Joaquin meant? And that bit about getting him to this place - was he actually here, or was Thalia completely missing something? This felt like pulling teeth to get a straight answer, but she didn't want what was a roundabout yet informative conversation to suddenly feel like an interrogation. Once upon a time, Thalia worked in a big building where speaking to people in certain sociable ways yielded positive results. She wasn't that woman anymore, granted. And she was the new girl here. It was still worth a shot. Thalia tried a more understanding voice, "Not sure if I get you, Padre. How were you wrong? What... happened out there?"
Looking over towards Thalia, Atticus knew he needed to explain more. "What always happens out there, shit goes down," he said quietly. "And then you realize there is no repaying someone when they save your life anymore. You just have each others backs as long as you can." He looked away slightly and sighed. "And for me, I tried to keep my faith. Hard though, even before the outbreak but now, it's rare when you get to see those little things that make you go God is still out there." Shrugged he walked over to a side door and opened it. "But when you get a chance, you fucking seize it."
Pushing the door opened, there was the sound of boots clicking on the floor. A man stepped into the room, dressed in black boots and a vest that was fitted and had a very ornate and bright design on it. His black hair was greased and his face clean shaven save for a soul patch. "Hola Angel," he said in a raspy voice with a crooked grin.
Thalia stood, spinning around as she rose. The chair she had been sitting in clattered heavily upon the floor beneath it. There was an unmistakable fire in the young woman's eyes. She took a single, faltering step in the direction of the man before uttering a single word that began quietly enough, but raised into something resembling a battle-cry. "Joa-QUIIIIN!!!" It was accented with perfect Northern Mexican, which (for her) was to say it vaguely sounded like she was about to leap from the top turnbuckle in a manner most unsubtle and destroy that which was set against her. She darted the coupe of steps over to him and, with arms outstretched, wrapped him in 3/4 of a hug (missing forearm). With tears mottling her vision, she looked up at her Gonzalez half-brother and gave him a traditional greeting, for a loved one who had been missing for so long:
"What the FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, JOAQUIN? Four days! Four god damn días en los que pudiste haber traído tu culo grasiento para decirme que estabas vivo, ¡GILIPOLLAS!"1 The look on her face had gone from stable and coolly suspicious to inflamed and direct, her inner Bridgette flaring in a manner that required subtitles. "Me estoy preparando para a fucking hook-hand y has estado aquí todo el tiempo peinando esos cunt hairs you call a soul patch sin siquiera enviarme un mensaje!2Dipshit! Asshole! ¡Ve a follar a una cabra y cómetelo!"3 She was crying openly now, but buried her face in Joaquin's shoulder. Muffled but still audible, she relented, "It's good to see you again, hermano." She sighed. "You still owe me five bucks." It was difficult to tell if she was being serious. But the hug stayed.
Joaquin's arms wrapped around his little sister and he grinned his crooked grin, brightly as he held her tight, cupping the back of her head and running his hand through her hair. As she laid into him he just let her get it out. Chuckling as she ranted. Yeah, it didn't matter her last name was not Gonzalez she had all the fire of one. "And there it is, behold, thy inner Taco Belle emerges," he laughed. Granted if she had fully been, he would have been decked. Shaking his head, he just let her stay in his arms and held her close. "Do you think me truly that heartless? Had I known my blood were here, I would have slain any foe to reach you. Nay, I have been beyond to the east. I did just return to these walls. Upon hearing that mi ángel had arrived I did so threaten the padre that if he not arrange me to look on your face with speed he would meet his savior this eve," he explained as he picked her up in the hug. Lifting her feet off the ground and carrying her back over to the chairs, letting her feet dangle. Setting her down he leaned her head back and took her features in. "Nay, the world could not stop me being there for mi hermana."
"And there it is, Shakespeare in the god damn park..." Atticus muttered.
Thalia gave Atticus a glare, followed by a turnaround to eyeball Joaquin again. "You're an asshole. Shakespeare, really? You'd have thought an apocalypse would have got ya kicking that habit..." Her sudden foray into her second native language seemed to have receded as cooler Boston notes prevailed. "Okay, okay. You gotta understand that I did 'slay any foe' to get here, and I didn't think I'd find anyone I knew. It's been some shit out theah, Joaquin. Some 'I gotta ask help to open ketchup bottles' kinds of shit." She took a step back from her brother, mentally getting back to the mention of her cousin. "I have some news - family news - it's naht good, neither. If you haven't heard yet, sit down, okay?" Thalia motioned to the knocked over chair that she had just vacated. She took a deep breath, ready to spill hard news.
Atticus and Joaquin looked at each other, Joaquin biting his thumb at Atticus before turning his attention back towards Thalia. "You would deny me my one true love? Say it is not so. For now, more than days that fell before do we so need the flowers and the tongue of such. In a world of death, let my voice be a beacon of what once was and what shall be again," he said expressively with a swooping bow. He was always the theatrical one. Shaking his head he stepped closer to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Nay, on this day we will not dwell on such things that would bring darkness. I shall revel in the light that is mi hermana's face. So not cast shadows on such things that would disrupt my joyous tidings. I pray thee would not that to my brittle heart," he said with a smile. "Mi ángel, and who should you try to fool? I am no jester of court. I know thee. Even as thee is with one hand in the grave thou art stronger than most and the only true thing you miss is double clicking thy own mouse," he teased her with a wink and braced himself for any oncoming onslaught from her.
A hollow, blank stare was all that Joaquin initially got from Thalia. A serious discussion, derailed by the flamboyance of a man who was, quite possibly, her last remaining living blood relative. If her uncle Caesar could see them now, well... there might be stabbing involved. Hell, there might still be stabbing involved anyway, if she wasn't actually glad to see the man. "Joaquin?" she began quietly, with cold syllables. "The moment I get that shiny metal arm, I'm cramming it up your ass." She gave him a slow, solemn nod. "I thought you should know." Attempting a different tactic, she inquired with forced calm, "Do you know anything about Monterrey? About dad?"
Joaquin a crooked grin and shrugged at her mention of shoving her metal arm up his ass. "Thou knowest that wouldn't be the strangest thing that has occurred to me," he teased her. Then of course it happened. The question of Monterrey and their father. "Though knowest all I do, for the padre here already told you what we last heard. A 'no' when we did last tell them we would travel West to meet them once again. I do wish I could set you at ease but my knowledge is limited and does not extend to such unknowns. Father, pray he is alive but knowest he would not tell me no if it would be a safe haven of us," he said as he stood there. He wished he could tell her more, that he knew their father was alive or even dead, so they both could have closure together. Yet, some things in this world were unknown.
"Yah." she said in a tone that suggested that she wasn't over with the conversation. Oh she was putting it to the side for now, but this wasn't fully done. Their father, Benicio, was the kind of man who had zero problems with risks, so long as he was the one taking them. He would have known that normal overland travel was painful and deadly, now that dead people ate living ones and reliable transportation was damn hard to come by. And it was equally likely in Thalia's mind that he didn't want those he cared about risking their lives unduly to find him - or that their family's compound just outside of Monterrey was lost. It was still something that she needed to see for herself. This wasn't over. But between the presence of her half-sibling, this priest, and her unfortunate physical state, the journey to Mexico was definitely postponed. Thalia looked to Atticus, then back to Joaquin, whispering a repeat of her earlier sentiment, "It's good to see you again, hermano."
"And it brightens my world to know mi ángel is here. A lily among the thorns. We shall speak again, once thou has finished her time in the Quarantine, we shall visit. For now, I do believe that the Padre wishes thou to go with him. Go, receive thy hand and learn to click it," he teased her as he wrapped his arms around her, picking her up and hugging her tight as he spun her. Setting her down he pushed her hair out of ehr face and placed a soft kiss to her brow. "Mi ángel, mi amore, mi hermana," he said brightly before letting her go. Crossing his arms over his chest after giving a sweeping bow he nodded towards Atticus.
Atticus just rolled his eyes. "Come on Thalia, think they are ready for you," he said as he walked back to the door that lead to the shop and opened it. Joaquin smirked and headed out through the door he had come in, with a lightness in his step. More so than usual. Today was a good day for him. Once he was gone, Atticus sighed. "I fucking swear to god, he was sent here to test my god damn patience," he said with a half frustrated chuckle. "He keeps that shit up and your call sign is going to end up being Mouse..."
The young woman looked very much like she could stab her older brother, had she but a pointy implement with which to do so. Why she had allowed the man to sweep her up without so much as a well-intended headbutt to the bridge of his nose was beyond her; call it a gift for a relative she had not seen for long years. Thus was the nature of her family: Loving but potentially violent. Thalia was a hair more guarded than others of her bloodline, colder in the application of violence. But she was still explosive under the right circumstances. Still, it was extremely nice to see familia, and alive, after all this time. They would have to catch up as soon as they could. The priest might be a different story. She'd have to reserve her full opinion for a while. He seemed okay, though. A little like her father. But as for the Padre, Thalia didn't know exactly what he was talking about, but felt compelled to address it anyway. "He keeps that up and he's gonna need his own metal arm, Padre." She sounded serious. Nevertheless, Thalia followed Atticus's lead and exited the room, curious and a little excited at the prospect of a proper prosthetic limb. She added in passing, "Don't know what dad or Joaquin ever told you about me... but I'm nobody's ratón." Damn, but it felt good to be around family.
Atticus chuckled and nodded. "I'd pay to see that," he said before they were fully in the other room. Looking over at Alexander he smiled. "Looking good man," he commented in passing.
"Hell yeah, looking good," she said, an earnestly impressed look on her face, even though her words were subdued. Mayeb it was a little selfish of her, but she was anxious to get to her turn soon. It didn't stop her from passing some parting cheer. Sort of. "Congrats. Your ass is mobile now, Mugs; be square dancing in no time." She flashed a passable grin and turned her attention to the Techie who was supposed to be putting her back together.
Tesla looked over towards Thalia and grinned broadly. "It shouldn't take long for us to get you all set up. Ready to be a two handed girl once again?" he asked with a cheesy grin. He loved being able to do this for people. It was never as good as the real thing but it was an improvement over having a stub. Alexanders had been a success, he hoped Thalia would be as glad when they were done here.
At first, Thalia thought she sensed a touch of condescension in Tesla's choice of words. Maybe she was still lightly annoyed by Joaquin's display of textbook Joaquin-ness. She tried to shake it off. The guy looked genuinely giddy to be there doing his job, which reminded Thalia that she was also a little excited about the fitting. Let it slide. "Let's do this. Where do you want me?"
Volts walked over to the table along the wall and pointed to a stool. "Have a seat," he said as Tesla walked over and picked up something covered in a towel. Pulling the towel away he grinned and held out the arm. "After a talk with some others about your questionnaire we went a little medieval."
Her eyes narrowed, but a slow, devious-looking smile spread across her face. Thalia was contemplating the new abilities and limitations of this new appendage accessory, and how it might fit in and/or alter both her demanding training regimen and her brutal, fluid fighting style. Oh, there would be adjustment. But it had a very workable future. "Shiny," she crooned. "Give me the grand tour, huh? Tell me about it."
"Steel and tempered. It will not rust, is light but has a decent amount of weight to it. You can cause some heavy damage with this on it's own," Volts explained.
"Right, and the fingers articulate," Tesla said as he moved them, it took some effort but there was a click each time he did. "Easier to move to close than to open and that's to make sure if you use them to create a grip during fighting, a fist, or even to hold a weapon, it will hold," Tesla said and smiled as as Volts took it.
Thalia held her tongue, merely observing and listening. Every so often, she nodded as a point was made or feature explained. It was like the first time her father handed her a pistol, explaining the dos and don'ts of its operation. She was ten.
"We implemented a leg stump insert on it. So your stump goes in here, it bends as the elbow so you can use full movement of fighting technicians, with some adjustment of course," Volts said as he reached in it and pulled out a rubber sleeve that was attached. "Stick in, roll up the sleeve to half way up your bicep. It will hold in place."
She had expected a harness or cross-strap system to hold it to her. In a pinch, it looked like one might be implemented, but this looked much, much better. Her eyes brightened and the smile moved more toward the genuinely pleased.
"Oh here," Tesla said handing over another container of baby powder before going over the same pad, rubber, and care instructions they had gone over with Alexander. "So, let's get this baby on!"
Thalia took the care and feeding package from Tesla, partly having to practically juggle the items on account of the single hand trying to accept it all. Hopefully, with a little practice, it should be easier now. She held up her stump, quickly getting herself ready for the initial fitting. "Yeah, let's get it on! Don't know about you, but I'm sure as hell ready."
It would take about twenty minutes to get the prosthetic on and go through the full care and use and to get her comfortable enough with it to be ready to go. "With just some training you should be fighting close to par and with this you can use a shield."
When it was fully assembled and fixed to her body, Thalia stood. The hair on her arms and back of her neck rose, and she felt the most concrete sense of wonder at what had just happened. She started to tear up, looking at Tesla and Volts with pure gratitude. "Thank you," she said warmly, taken by emotion that she hadn't needed to deal with in a long time. She twisted and flexed her arm, testing its full range and balance. Not perfect. Better in some ways, worse in others. An adjustment, but to her it was absolutely beautiful. "I already have plans, Tesla..." she marveled. "And I'm going to do a lot more than some training. Thank you. Thank you both."
"Hey, no problem," Volts said as he dusted off his hands. "We aim to please," he added.
"You're welcome, glad you approve. Let us know once you get out of Quarantine if there are any issues we need to look at," Tesla added.
Atticus smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at them both. "Well you both are looking sharp as hell. Ready to head back and show off you new wears?"
"Yah, I am. Lead the way, Padre." There was a hair more confidence in her voice. Not that she really needed any more, but it was there anyway. Thalia was anxious to get back and pursue additional, differing elements to her training. She'd need something focusing and nigh-obsessive to occupy her until she could get out of Quarantine. Her training would still be focusing and nigh-obsessive afterward, but then she'd also have a chance to catch up with family, no matter how flamboyant or off he might be.
1 = ...days that you could have brought your greasy ass over to tell me that you were alive, YOU DOUCHEBAG! 2 = I'm getting fitted for... (a fucking hook hand) ...and you've been here the whole time styling those... (cunt hairs you call a soul patch) ...without even sending me a message! 3 = Go fuck a goat and eat it!
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[*] Save Another from LLA Card
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[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
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[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
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