Sigil

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A

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The calm and rational point made by Nora backed up the observation of another of their intellectuals, and by taking a different route of study. If Reginald were not convinced of the course of action before, hearing it from their resident mathematician. Reginald was a man of learning in his own right, enough so to know that his arena of study wasn't useful to them at this particular hour and deferring to the rest of his Fellowship was the wiser course of action. Recognizing the value in her observation, he lay his finger on the side of his nose and pointed in her direction. He may have even responded with a venturesome remark of approval, but his thought process on the matter was shuffled off to the wayside by the more colorful of their group, Gene.

To his credit, the Lord Major did take the American woman's advice and use shorter sentences. "You shall have to remind me why you are here again, Miss Benaszewski. Take your time, please." Though he meant the remark to be cold and mildly scathing, he had to admit it made him think, despite their little emergency. Circumstances were a bit fuzzy, and as it turned out, so was the air around them, it seemed.

Shifting his attention back to the other question at hand, he replied with a hearty, "Indeed I do, Mr. Zalil! Perhaps we should vacate... my, my, what have we here?" His suggestion was cut short by the recent arrival of yet another American. By this rate, the former colonies might have emptied out before year's end. "I am an authority, sir, and I daresay I shan't have you threatening my associate. Our business is ours. You may 'merry lamb' to your heart's desire." More broadly addressing the area, he continued, "Gentlemen, ladies; let us attend to our affairs."

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: Observation, Investigation/Espionage

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It was all well and good that the place was missing its former resident. The opportunity to do a fast and hard-hitting toss of the place was upon them, and that was all the motivation that Reddish needed to do precisely that. So long as he was the only one in or near the private water closet, he figured that he might as well start there. Good hiding spots could be found in a lavatory for those who needed one, but they were few in number. A person likewise skilled in subterfuge might make short work of such hidey-holes if properly motivated. And say what you will about the Corporal, he always seemed to be motivated.

A brief glance about the usual spots one might secret away a hand-held object bore nothing for the first few seconds. Nothing in the wastepaper basket underneath the bag, nothing rattling inside of a hollow-bottomed soap dish, nothing attached to the back of Le Crappier, though while he was on his knees checking, Reddish's eyes did detect a glint of something reflective underneath the water basin. He couldn't quite get a good view, but a tactile search made it out to be a metallic object secured to the bottom with tape. This must be it! Or if it is not, then it was something worthy of immediate note. Pulling it free, the Corporal confirmed his initial guess and broke into an immediate and disarming grin of accomplishment.

With the tape-covered timepiece in one hand and still upon his knees, the bubbly and eccentric Corporal Haring D. Reddish turned and rose, the beginning of an exclamation upon his lips, "H... !" that never quite got out before he slammed the back of his very dignified noggin into the underside of the wash basin. A thousand stars exploded in Reddish's vision and he bonelessly collapsed onto the floor, a shaky darkness overtaking him.

He would still have considered this a win, were he conscious enough to celebrate it.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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"Arrangements were made to offset these," speaking about costs for an extensive search. It's what struck Ash first. True, nothing comes free in any world, but survivor recovery? Granted, that might apply if they were part of the Mexico Beach community, which they weren't yet officially and definitely weren't while they were being searched for. Thinking logically on it, the only one who might have given any portion of a rat's ass, let alone enough to make arrangements for incurred expenses, was the only one who knew they were out there: Thana. Depending upon how the local economy worked here, had she just indebted herself to her own people on their behalf? He would have to ask her about it later.

The description of Newnan was a little harder to swallow. He was there. He knew what happened. He got one hell of a view of their home collapsing as he navigated around it in his Hordebuster, sweeping for survivors. He got to see the earth open up and swallow everything they had worked so hard for, bled for, that many of them had died for. The collapse. The fires. I his mind's eye, Ash was back there, observing the hell that was made of it all.

Ash didn't know why he was handed pictures of Newnan, post destruction. Upon being told what it was though, he had to look. It was crushing. This was their home. A dream of Leann's that he fully supported, and later took over. It was doing well, too. Crops coming in, people getting back a piece of what they lost, building new lives. He skimmed through the images quickly, but it was burned into his mind like he spent time memorizing them. Why he passed them on for others to view was beyond him. Maybe they needed closure, too. Newnan was dead. On spark of hope that came from it was the recovery of his engineering notes, and James's agricultural ones. Those were to be the blueprints of a secondary site in case they needed to expand. Or help others to rebuild. Those and the other records were part of the proof that they were a decent, ethical people that tried to help humanity thrive under the most adverse of conditions.

Somehow, hearing the full reason why Newnan fell didn't make him feel much better about it. While learning that there wasn't anything he could have done about it, he didn't assign blame to anyone, including himself. Not for this. What troubled him about it was, for a brief moment, he thought that it might explain away some of the psychological symptoms that he had been afflicted with. The problem was, he wasn't overly sensitive to things like that, and they had been plaguing him for a long while. No, it was still something that would remain with him. The toxic air just exacerbated it for a time. Well, more than ever, Ash knew who he was. Whatever had knocked him off his rocker was tucked firmly away, still part of him but no longer trying to influence. It always was part of him. Realizing that allowed him to overcome it.

The last part was surprisingly relieving to hear, in a bittersweet way. They had recovered and properly interred some of their dead, specifically the ones that had passed outside of Newnan's walls. He had no idea who Lola Holler was, but he knew the others. James. Yeah, when quarantine was over, he was paying his respects. Glancing about the room, Ash note that people were looking at him. Trying to read him still? It didn't matter. He had nothing to hide. His face was, as always, toward the stoic side, though his eyes were red-rimmed and telling of sorrow; not the open grieving of fresh loss, but the memory of a highly cherished what was.

"I would greatly appreciate paying my respects. Thank you." His voice was solid, with weary undertones, like a man placed under the burden of heavy responsibility. Not unlike the officer he once was. "You've done us a great service. I hope that our records can help Camp Mexico Beach thrive. We'll talk about how we can do the same, if you all are willing." Granted, he was still operating under the hope that all of the Newman group was deemed worthy, by whatever litmus test was used to judge them. That was the next hurdle to overcome, and he had a feeling that the results were likewise tucked away in their files already. These people seemed organized. Very.

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Thalia Carmichael

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

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Thalia was still leaning against the wall after the others walked past and had their own session in Briefing. She made a decent enough showing of keeping tabs on the people in the Conference Room, but in reality, he mind was buzzing with what she had learned. There was a lot that went right, a lot that went wrong, and a ton of coincidences that brought them in the position they all were in. Part of her wondered what would have happened if she never got a signal on her old company satellite phone a year and a half ago. She might never have known what happened to her family with any certainty, nor her battle-sisters, and she never wold have met these off people that she had been with for a while now. Though Thalia wasn't the overly expressive type, she did sometimes consider telling them that she regarded them highly, both as friends and as being a vital part to her survival strategy. The last part - not as touching. But it was high praise from a woman who was a confirmed survivalist.

Maybe she wouldn't have lost Lola, though. Maybe she stayed with the eccentric Kiwi in her fortress of iron and they cleared the path all the way back to her family's place in Mexico, breaking through whatever trouble others were warned about. A tank was a hell of a force multiplier, this day and age. That was a hard "what if" to deal with. Things were what they were. This was something different than to which she was accustomed, and it was all a little uncomfortable for her still. But she had friends, even if she kept them at a distance, that she wouldn't have ever known if those thins hadn't come to pass. And more was opening up because of it, too.

In truth, Thalia was also a little nervous. What did she have that any of these people could use? She was basically the outdoor equivalent of an assassin. Her foray into Eden taught her a lot about herself and her willingness to take lives. Not just that, but she could still the righteous fire burning in her from all the way back then, knowing that she was killing people who deserved it. She was getting a taste for it. If felt good. It didn't used to, but in her defense she had come across a group that was downright ambitious in their pursuit of human suffering. She killed their leader with all the moral ambiguity of a lady peeling an orange, and felt great afterward. Even took a couple of bullets in trade. There was something inside of her that was way too much like her uncle Caesar. How would that be of use to a military run community? Would she even be able to find a place among these people? how long before she was pining to be back outside of these walls, fire-hardening a freshly cut spear and cooking a feral dog over a firepit? Yeah, and fuck this air conditioning. It made people weak.

No, she promised that she would give this place a chance. She had motivation to do so now. She wouldn't allow herself to get weak. Thalia would train. Harder and longer than ever, until she got her edge honed back, better than before. She could decide what to do from there. For now, she waited. One more day.

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Hank Wright

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

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"Well hell yeah, we teach the little guy how to fish." That would mean that they learn all about it before. Now, hunting he could do. Fishing, the more relaxing of the manly, food-producing sports? Nothing beyond putting a line in the water and hoping for the best. But hey, that's why they were there, right? Right! That and the other thing. It was a massive other thing that he was just now contemplating in fullness as he expected to be dead long before getting here, but it counted. The whole "hope for humanity" bent aside, Hank was giving specific notice to the attention Wayne was drawing on account of that little baby boy taking a liking to him. Maybe the baby just had good taste. Or was just as crazy as the rest of them. Back in the day, both of them had their own families. That kind of instinct never goes away. Just like Wayne, Hank was marked by the experience of being a father. Anyone who was would have noticed what was going on. What got Hank was the fact that some of these people seemed surprised.

Hank took a glance back at the other two in their survival party, Nigel and Erica. They hadn't spoken a whole lot since Quarantine began, ad that was easy to figure out. The same stubborn, mildly insane qualities that kept them alive out there were hardly endearing. Now that they didn't have to huddle close to keep from being found and eaten by Assholes, both dead and living, there was little reason to tolerate each other. They weren't going to just evaporate, though. They would be behind the same walls for a while, accident barring an unfortunate death. Might as well extend an olive branch. "Hey there ...ah, Sportacus! Apocalypse Barbie! Why don't you c'mon over here and join us, huh? Can you really say NO to an adorable baby and a Mel Brooks movie? Bring it on in, guys."

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Grimm Indiana (El Asilo/The Nuthouse!)
Skills: Observation, Tracking
Skills: Observation, Security Procedures

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Keystone was coming to grips with the fact that his child's maternal grandfather was probably having a psychotic break of some sort. Now, the problem with this was, when a normal person has a shortcircuit of this nature, a couple of imposing gentlemen in crisp, white, shortsleeve overshirts would politely but firmly stuff them into a self-hugging coat and pump them so full of Thorazine that they turn into a mumbling, oozing mess, suitable for stamping and filing away with everyone else whose cheese has slipped off of their cracker; whereas Caesar was a legend in his own time, setting the standard for unrelenting violence spanning decades of horrifying albeit creatively handled, epic rendings of flesh. True, now that he was in his later years, a stretch of relative peace and legitimacy of his business might have earned him accusations of losing a step, but he was not a man with whom to fuck. It would take several men in crisp, white, shirtsleeve overshirts to take this man down, even if they caught him drunk and asleep. And if that was an exaggeration in the slightest, it was hard and fast fact that Keystone himself, who had trained his body into a powerful, living weapon, did not want to pit himself against the man in a fair fight unless he absolutely had to, size difference be damned. Hulk vs. Thor, except that the old Mexican would be channeling Quetzalcoatl instead of that oddly speaking hammerguy.

Or to put it simply, if Caesar went berserk, there would be no stopping him without massive collateral damage.

Now that he was hearing voices, specifically the voice of his recently deceased daughter, while tearing through a sleepy little town in Indiana behind the wheel of a security company SUV chock full of surveillance gear, weapons, ammo, and various sundries of professional badassery, Keystone was pretty sure that, unless he was going through some serious Twilight Zone shit, he was going to be on the wrong side of a police shootout. If, IF they got caught. He was going to follow this man exactly as he promised that he would, take care of his family, and ensure everyone's safety to the best of his ability. And if he possibly could, have another binge session of iZombie with the coroner chick. The show had grown on him.

On the other hand, Caesar had his brain full of interesting if somewhat vague ideas about what he was going to to do any unlucky fuckstick who got in his way, up to and including pulling their hearts out, barehanded, through their ass. It would involve removing his ballistic jacket, granted, but he hadn't gotten into the habit of wearing one of those until fairly recently anyway. Those things tended to get in the way of more delicate, agility-minded activities. Like pulling someone's heart out through their ass. Okay, so maybe that was a little extreme, but it did serve to illustrate the mindset that he was getting into at the time - Driven, volatile, protective, brutal. Beyond reason or comprehension, his daughter was leading him to this place. Yes, it was nuts. It was supposed to be nuts. There was a trailing thread of thought that he had finally lost his shit entirely and this was not going to end well. But to hell with this. If he was going out, he was going out like he probably should have years and years ago; snarling defiantly and covered in someone else's blood. M'hija deserved no less than his brutal and screaming best.

The SUV pulled up to the Asylum's entrance, fishtailing slightly as Caesar slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the side. In case they had to leave in a hurry, he didn't want to have to worry about that whole "turning around" bullshit. Without saying a word, he mechanically opened the door and slid out, feet setting roughly on the ground amid the hazy, smoky environment. He immediately went to the hatchback door and opened it, picking through the basic tools of his occupation plus a few of his personal favorites. Keystone came back around to join him, concern notably on his face as he saw his boss and personal mentor gearing up for urban warfare. Caesar could sense the man's hesitation. "You have my back, Keystone. I know. This could all be bullshit, I know. Not that far gone. You see me going full off the deep end, do something bad? Like, really bad, not the other shit - you end me. ¿Me entiendes? No shame. Doing me a favor, si? Put a bullet in me and aim real good with it."

Keystone nodded his head, acquiescing to the man's request. He might could do that, if it meant saving other lives that needed saving. When offered anything additional from the trunk full of goodies, Keystone responded, "Nah, Caesar. I ain't as good with hardware as you, y'understand. Take me a torch, now," pointing at an LED flashlight. "This place don't look like it's been kept up since slicin' bread caught on, if ya get me."

Caesar did indeed get him, though purely by context. The first part being whatever the hell a "torch" was, the way he meant it. He passed over a smallish LED light with a jacket clip, standard issue item since the heavy, old-school MagLites were phased out. Also one for himself, just in case. Additionally, he picked up a couple more sharp things to make himself feel better. Tiny consideration came in when he hefted two of his trademark machetes. They were the ones he had at his baby girl's funeral; he had just kept them nearby. These he strapped onto his back, over his coat. It was silly of him, probably, but he grabbed a light pack and threw a few things into it; two company issue 9mm pistols, and a few clips, holsters, and a couple more knives. Though he didn't say it, if this really was his baby girl, and she was in trouble, and he really wasn't totally nuts, she was going to feel better with something to kill someone else with. If he had a bottle of hot sauce, that would be better. Can't have everything.

The two of them exploded into the lobby of the Asylum, guns in hand. The adrenaline of the hour coursing through the both of them, they didn't quite notice anything resembling a map or directions, signs, or even those colored lines on the floor that pointed you toward places in various medical facilities. Nary a one. Now, if there was someone that needed to get shot and/or eviscerated, they were right on top of that. Okay, running in blind. Caesar took point. He heard voices coming from somewhere very nearby, and held up a hand so that his lumbering Cockney bodyguard would hold back and shut up. Yeah, those were voices. One voice that he knew he had heard before, bitching about an elevator, of all things. "Hura," he absently growled. Stepping into view, he called in a clear voice, "STAIRS?" because to hell with that "Oh, you're here? What an amazing coincidence!" cliche of a conversation. Yes they were there. No, it probably wasn't a coincidence. And he more or less trusted that these people wouldn't immediately shoot them. Either they could help or they could get out of the way. Part One of help, if that was their option, was the location of the stairs.

In an almost boyish fashion, Keystone waved his free hand, cheerfully giving a salutation of, "Oi there, Miss Cecily!", causing Caesar to glance back at him like he was nuts. Keystone followed up with, "Yeah, stairs. We're in an 'urry."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Gretna Green
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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It was a sad, sad reminder that day. Vladimir looked around to the suddenly hazy, lightly obscured environment, and realized that there were perhaps some problems that could not be solved by the liberal application of stabbing. That being barred, he could not be insistent nor attempt to be charismatic and have the issue get resolved, nor could he take to a rousing speech in heavily inflected English. This simply was, whatever it was, and that was that. The problem was that there had been a couple of atmospheric disturbances lately that has signaled something awful was about to occur; the fog that blanketed The Regent's Park, the freak storm with red lightning on the water, the wind that had just taken Ludwig, and this haze just seemed very suspicious. Vladimir was not happy about this, but nothing from his repertoire of Bazhooli-ness could do anything about it. Hence, he could only continue with the mission. With only the slightest amount of regret, Vlad put his knives away.

"Da. Vill dearly me missed. Good man. Good, strange man. Much loss today." He gestured his arms out to his sides, as if contemplating a hug but thinking the wiser of it. The open and often physical expression of emotion from the Circus was simply not the custom here. "Am thanking you for help, Lady Crypt. For please, get rope on that end and push. I get exprire-ed man on shoulders. Then if you vould, please go ahead of me and make nice vith church people. Vould not do for tall, powerful foreign man to enter house of God vith body making reqvests. You are having Britishness! Are speaking langvige! I might offend." Naturally, as the only requirement he was given was to get him to holy ground, Vlad was tempted to hurl his corpse on the other side of the fence and hope no one noticed until they could retrieve the Grand Duchess. But... that might be a tiny bit disrespectful. So no dice.

While walking around to the side of his noble stallion, Tolstoy(!), Vladimir quietly asked of Virginia, "Psst... Who is friend?" jerking his head back in the direction of the as of yet silent man accompanying her.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
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Swamp paused for a second or two, his gloved hands in position to separate an exposed ribcage as Amaranthine began to play. It was very different than the music that she had performed earlier. Forceful, almost frenzied in its execution, but balanced with sweeping sections of powerful melody. It was invigorating. The Doctor gave a smile of approval that, thanks to his surgical mask, could only be seen in his eyes. Realizing this, he bowed his head in the direction of the Chanteuse, then continued at his task with renewed gusto. "Autopsy Music, indeed..." he crooned, taking a pair of heavy-bladed shears to the more stubborn of ribs. A few unsavory popping sounds later (obscured but not quite negated by the music) and Swamp had removed the front of the man's chestplate altogether. He set it aside, picked up a smallish, sharp blade, and dove in. He barely seemed to notice the lights flickering off, though he did mumble a quiet thanks as the oil lamps were lit.

One might see the slight sway of the Doctor as he moved, directed not only by his instinct and experience, but by the music floating as an almost tangible thing around him. As he switched from one tool to another, one might observe a slight flourish to his movements; in a couple of instances he stopped working altogether to gesture his gloved, bloodstreaked hands in time to the melody. The Doctor operated with speed, skill, and surety, occasionally collecting fluids from within the cadaver.

The Doctor located and spread out a series of metal bowls upon the table next to the ex-person and began to relieve him of his internals in a meticulous, very orderly fashion. This was no mere butchery, this was the proficient work of a steady hand and keen mind, led by rare and recorded experience. Every organ from the man's torso with only essential tissues eventually found their way into the bowls, one at a time, still warm-ish and colored with the tint of a recently vacated vitality. "...on the one hand," he mumbled, "I should want to have drained the ichors from the late Lord's remains... Hmm. Though I shan't fear a little extra splatter for the sake of expedience." Though he mentioned splatter, there was little if anything at all in the way of arterial blood decorating his coat. It was uncertain if he was speaking to himself or to someone in the room, but he at least seemed to be enjoying the moment. Once the song ended, he addressed Amaranthine with a polite clap and an intonation of, "Glorious."

Wishing to confirm his suspicions from the external examination first, Swamp opened Lord Bardolf's heart. It took precious little time before he excitedly clapped his tools to the table and gave an enthusiastic, "Ah-HA!" He pulled his mask down and called over their chaperone for the occasion, "Quinton! Quinton, my good man..." Whether he moved to join him or not, Swamp was excitedly explaining what he had uncovered. "Now, if you observe this about his hands - and pay attention to the fingertips here, this is important and I shall explain why in a moment - and look at the discoloration in his sclera," Swamp pulled back an eyelid to allow view, "But this, sir," he said, motioning to the externalized heart, "Observe. Do you see what I see? Quinton, dear sir, the cause of your Master's death..." He leaned in close, whispering the answer to the larger man with a sense of solemn quiet. The Doctor straightened back up, eyes locked with Quinton as he gave a slow, serious, affirming nod. "I am certain of it."

He swiftly turned to Amaranthine, "Thank you, Chanteuse, so much for your assistance. It was invaluable. Inspired. Madame?" he gave a quick glance around and leaned in, relating the cause of death to her as well. Perhaps he was being paranoid with his secrecy. Or perhaps he was just being cautious. This kind of thing, if it were to be believed, could have a lasting impression on the remainder of their stay.

"If I could, Mr. Quinton? I would like to see what else I may determine, if anything."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt
Skills: Observation

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It was true, the use of The Hat's abilities would be better spent in the event of an emergency or at a time when replacement had no other alternative. The overuse of an ability like that, even to a man who had been using that ability for the past few thousands of years or so, might have negative consequences. Along a similar note, providing in a more mundane fashion secured the idea of the Paradoxes' reliance in self, which in turn made them stronger overall. Even in an unplanned field operation. I mean, if not now, then when?

Gilbert's own clothing was not too unlike that being work in this era, though the manner in which he wore it and the state of informality might turn heads in a way that would give unneeded attention to their presence. And he was a pretty big, fairly handsome guy. Gil was already going to turn heads and be noticed, unless he utilized his other Emendator ability and changed his form. Perhaps that would work for him overall, if only used for himself; pulling out a wardrobe for everyone from his Hat at once would be a much more taxing affair. Ah, if only they had more time to prepare.

There was one area that he could help with of more immediate, less "special powers" sort of way. Seeing as someone brought up language, which was an area of expertise for him. "Perhaps we should risk my presence among the locals. I know the languages of this region. All of them. The older ones, too. I spent quite a lot of time in this area, many times over the course of its history." Once upon a time, he was even famous here. Or, infamous. Somewhere, if they looked hard enough, they might find hieroglyphics describing him specifically as a demon. Not the best mark to leave upon history, granted. But it was always good to be remembered.

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James Grady

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Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt
Skills: Observation

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Andromeda's mention of alcohol made James look down to the bottle of Alicia's tequila in his hand. "Luck has it there, Miss Andy, I got the hookup on booze." It was funny, he'd been carrying it all this time and just hadn't found reason nor opportunity to put it down anywhere. And now he really couldn't - it was, in this place at this time, an anachronism. A temporal paradox, if you will, very much like himself and everyone else there except for Peter. This was very much his time.

But perhaps there was a way that he could join the search for clothes and gear for the group. A small plan formulated within his head, which he vocalized as the details began to come together "Ya know, Mr. Peter, sir? Overalls've been around since a long time. All y'all need do is fit me with a bigass sack of somethin' to carry, an' I'll walk all hunchbacked an' the like, sayin' all kinds of "era appropriate" shit like, 'Oh, yessir, Mr. Pete sir! Is'm be happier'n a pig in shit, carry this here sack o' y'alls unmentionables down to th' river fo a good washin', Mr. Pete sir! ...aight, nevermind. I think I'd rather keep what dignity I got, just for today." Yeah. Just no. Nope. He wasn't really into that right then. Bad idea.

"Aight, look. I don't know what to do, but Peter done died here once. Twice, if'n you think on it. He ought not go by himself. If the rest the group thinks I ought stay here, I'm good. Wouldn't mind tellin' a story nohow. But I think my man here needs some backup, and just some company, y'get me?"

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

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A

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The apparent lack of compassion from some of his Fellows struck Reginald as being highly unlike them. Yes, there was a mystery on their hands. But must they treat the very possible death of someone who was helping them as something trivial? The Lord Major knew that he was a fairly old-fashioned old chauvinist yet, but the the value of a life of a friend shouldn't be so temporary, in his estimation, even in this modern day and age. Truth be told, he was becoming quite annoyed by it. "Madame," he replied, speaking to Gene, "I suggest that we not callously abandon someone because it is inconvenient. Nor would I suggest card-based divination; I put little stock in it, myself, though if it is a comfort to you I've no objection." It was an attempt at gallantry in a tense situation. Or what should have registered as one in Reginald's humble opinion.

Nora's observation was at least addressing the issue. "I agree, Miss Kingston. The possibility is great." He really didn't know what else to say directly on the matter. The tiniest sliver of hope was raised b their resident Geologist, however. Reginald would take what he could get, especially if there was sound logic behind it. "You are suggesting, Mr. Zalil, that the may be a connection further inward? By Jove sir, that smacks of possibility! Let us press onward, if this truly serves a priority with Miss Bella's rescue or... or recovery, such as it may be." It was true that they were here for their own mission. But he was too much the gentleman to act otherwise. "Come along then. Let us venture." His tone was a bit more somber and serious, as subjects involving death tended to make people.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage

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When Josephine revealed to Reddish her intended course of action were she to truly feel insulted, that being the sudden and swift smack and/or kick upon his person, the Corporal gave a bashful smile. Maybe even a bit of a blush, it was hard to tell in that light, but he did manage to finally utter, "Oh, Miss Clarke... Promises, promises." He gave a coy, mischievous smile and winked, but then immediately set to his work. Unfortunately, his ability to move cleanly, quietly, and undetected by the populace at large took a backseat to less graceful movements; Reddish had accidentally knocked a lamp over ans struggled to right it before it clattered about and made too much noise. Then again, any amount of suspicious noise was too much when you were trying to be sneaky. Maybe it had something to do with the odd haze that seemed to settle over everything, like he was back in his family home in Nottinghamshire and a blanket of mist had settled into the lower laying grounds near and about. That was certainly interesting.

The attempt at stealth being shot, Reddish instead drew his pistol and opened the bathroom door at a jolt. Odd, he had expected someone to be in this stateroom. But it lay empty. The haze still bothered him - it set his teeth on edge, really. First there was an unnatural cold the previous evening, now this? It was like unnatural weather seemed to follow them. Or this boat. Hmm... The boat was cursed? That would be odd. But no matter. The room was vacated, and so opportunity might be present. "My Lady, Miss Clarke, I would suggest that we quickly and quietly make a search of this room, just in case we something was missed. Otherwise, it would look very conspicuous of us to be dallying about here while we're trying to find help for the doctor, yes?" Then at a whisper, "Oh unless either of you have a better cover story, I'd be all over it, indeed I would, wot wot." Wit that, he took to giving the place a scan for anything out of place or useful in their investigation.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat (Unnamed Stateroom)
Characters attempted actions: Search Room
Any and all skills being used: Observation, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Both skills to search the room for anything useful
Desired location of the character: N/A

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing)
Skills: N/A

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The eyebrow arch that expressed on Ash's face was one of the more motivated ones of his life thusfar. This briefing was already a roller coaster of emotion, be they mostly buried behind his trademark stoicism. Admittedly, less than usual; his carefully developed persona of hardened calm and logic had taken several hits as of late. Even the positive ones - the warm, fuzzy glow of love and trust, the joys of being alive and seeing Thana alive as well - were hard to keep back, even though this was supposed to be a professional, cut and dry briefing. Not that he was trying to hold those emotions back. His default kept him fairly unexpressive while he was "on the clock", as it were. But it was on his face. My god, as virtually unheard of as it was, Ashton Jameson Holloway was content. Happy, even. The was hope etched all over him, even if he was sitting at attention.

But back to that eyebrow arch. It was the request by Thana to have three of their number escorted out, to be replaced by the rest of the surviving Newnan group. Something about information and closure. Asking a question now would be pointless as they were all going to find out whatever it was they were going to find out after the others arrived. He had to admit a sense of growing curiosity, though. Patience was usually a thing he had in respectable amounts. Today, amid the swings from heartbreak to bliss, he found that his patience was a little bit wanting. Ash kept it under wraps. They had things to tell him, and while not as epic as Thana's story, he had things he wanted to tell her. Looking to her with pride and determination, Ash elected to respond with a simple, "Thank you, Thana." Then likewise to her father, "And thank you, sir."

This was a momentous occasion. And while there were several things he would likely never puzzle out without a lot of background, Ash gave a trace of thought to a single, mundane detail: What was with the SpaghettiOs?

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Briefing -> Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia just realized that that bitch still had the can of Os! She was sitting with it, caressing the can, like she wanted it noticed. Fine. No big. This can be circumvented. Thalia was a frigging mestiza ninja. If anyone was going to be capable of surreptitiously retrieving those blessed rings of pasta and generic red sauce, it was going to be her. Oh yes, those Os would he hers.

Naturally, the thought occurred to her that this particular can of SpaghettiOs had absolutely nothing to do with the original issue last year. Nothing at all. In fact, by all rights they were Beatrice's and Thalia had zero claim to them, by law, spirit, nor expectation. They were found by Thana elsewhere and given to her directly as a gift. But that wasn't the point. Thalia had already decided to do with this settlement as she had with Fairburn; that meaning that she would stay, train, live as one of them and come out of it stronger. Hell, she may even embrace the military lifestyle, and add that concept to her repertoire in addition to her training with Familia, Company, and Vikings.

Strangely, she thought that she remembered a comic book like this, about a person drawing skillsets from different lifetimes, but just couldn't remember the name of it. Well, it'd come to her. The point was, those goddamn Os were a mere focal point around which she would train. After all, how does one train stealth in a closed community? How indeed... It was a lesson for later. Thalia gave Beatrice a warm, supportive smile (kinda) as she was getting up to leave, and she quietly said, "Talk lateh, Bea." Her eyes mischievously darted toward the can once more before she exited the room.

There was one thing that gave her the slightest bit of annoyance. Being referred to by her last name, though you'd think that it was something commonplace for her, often served as a reminder that she had always been an outsider wherever she went. Some of the time it was a good thing. An asset, even. But sometimes it reminded her that she was never given the name of her father, the only family she knew since she was ten. (until she revisited the concept of "family" during the apocalypse, but while true that wasn't germane to the point) Maybe it was a silly thing. She liked her name, it had a touch of class to it. Even sounded a little badass if you said it just right. Still, it was a reminder that, while Gonzalez was expected of her, she was born under different circumstances. Maybe she'd even make that work here. Trivial, but ever so sightly annoying.

Upon returning to the Conference Room, Thalia leaned against the wall and gave a long look at the people from Newnan as they filed past. There was a sense of tactical curiosity as to what they would be made privy to, and what was important enough to warrant a secret pow-wow like the one she had just gotten out of. She didn't think asking directly afterward would be a great idea, and it wasn't her concern really, but the more guarded element of her personality had her questioning a situation that, while she felt better about it, was still fairly fresh to her. That wasn't going to change except with the passage of time.

Thalia crossed her arms in front of her and continued to lean on the wall, her hazel eyes perceptively scanning the room and the people within it. Maybe it wasn't her name. She would always be a little bit of a outsider and it was probably because she made herself that way. Though the name did get the ball rolling in certain circles.

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Hank Wright

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

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Hank's eyes fluttered open. He wasn't in his personal Hell anymore. Just the regular one. That meant that he hadn't died just yet and there was more to do before he got to see his family again. One day at a time. Of course, he wasn't suicidal - and there was no way that he was going to abandon his friend Wayne, even if he was a total nutbar. They'd been through too much and, even if he was a little intense, Hank got the man. He was one of the good guys.

Indistinctly, Hank felt a trickle of movement on the side of his face. He was still a little disconnected from his nap, and didn't realize what was going on until he raised his hand up to wipe his eyes. "...i'mnotcryingyou'recryinggotohell..." he mumbled, rousing himself fully into the waking world. He un-reclined the recliner and looked over to Wayne, who had somehow acquired himself a small child. That was odd. Hank quickly looked around the room, checking to see if the kid's parents were present and okay with this. He knew that Wayne was the kind of guy who could be trusted. But he also knew that not everyone else knew that. Satisfied that everyone was either absent or okay with things, Hank gave baby James a look over. "Well hey there, little man. Big ol' Wayne's not a scary guy, is he?" He gave a half-hearted shrug, as if trying to convince himself of this statement. "Yeah, nevermind. Look kid, these are good people here. Hell, I was a dad once, long time ago. You just say if you ever need help changing an alternator or beating the crap out of someone with a shovel, and Uncle Hank'll come running, okay buddy? Okay."

Hank looked over to Wayne, a contemplative sort of look crossing over his face. "Hey Maldonado," he began, a serious tone to his words, "This isn't just about us fishing off a boat in Florida anymore, is it?" It was the excuse they gave for doing this, but it kind of felt like a piece of pipe dream bullshit that kept them moving in a direction until they eventually died, by whatever multitude of ways this world could kill them these days. Now that they were there, this had to be about something more, or else he really was just the asshole he constantly portrayed to other people.

But yeah, retiring in Florida to fish had to feature heavily. It was the principle of the thing.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Grimm Indiana (En Route To Nuthouse, one way or another)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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The haze clung onto the scenery, obscuring things here and there for the intrepid duo. The source of the haze could have very well been the same woodsmoky issue from earlier, but this seemed to be different somehow. More total in coverage. Than again, they could be wrong; it's not like either of them were extremely familiar with the way smoke settled after ...whateverit was that the saw on their way in. Keystone was raised a city boy, and Caesar, for his faults, wasn't the type to set a forest ablaze unless there was a very compelling reason. Especially recently, as he had gotten into watching birds in his spare time. Kinda. When he got around to it.

But the supernatural-ish cloud over everything didn't seem to unduly phase Caesar. Of all the shit going through his head or out in the horror show that was his life, an unnatural haze ranked right up there with dropping the toast in the morning. So long as it didn't land butter side down, all was forgiven. And even if it did, they could work something out. Caesar's motivation and worried lay in another, much less trivial matter, that being a tossup between his daughter or his sanity. Caesar knew that a man with his skillset and background, if he was to crack, no one around him would be safe. So he drove on, hoping that his mind's eye wasn't steering him wrong but preparing for it if it did.

Keystone noted with some regard that the old man had decided to stop speaking, past the occasional grunt of affirmation when he got a change of direction from his larger compatriot. Considering the way the car was being manhandled, he even considered buckling two seatbelts across himself, were such things possible. Instead, he was bound by the more earthly considerations of decreased visibility, a possible insane man behind the wheel, and his own mortality as it related to these topics. Something about that balloon he saw caught in the tree branched by the side of the road, too. Just downright creepy. And a strange thing to thing about, tough it did sort of pop in there unexpected.

Still, the out-of-place SUV roared down the otherwise sleepy roads of Grimm, Indiana. From what little either of the two man had hared about this place, it was probably a better course of action to nuke it from orbit and pick through the skeleton of its ruins for anything useful later on. A small town without the small town charm; mind you it didn't seem very different than Justice, California in that regard. Just the tiny town equivalent of that fetid and festering sewer of corruption and blood. Who better to navigate it than the two foreign-born representatives of Machete Security Solutions, be they unwilling? Perhaps a clearer answer could be determined after they reached their destination - the Grimm Insane Asylum.

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Gretna Green
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English, General Observation

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"Is much sadness in news you share, Lady Crypt." Vladimir's voice was slightly subdued, giving what amounted to appropriate honors for someone not of the blood or bound by the Circus. He placed his finger to his chin thoughtfully, continuing, "I like-ed her. Truly vith the liking. Father took great liking to Scary Catholic Girl - made vith giving of advice for young leader - advising most only for next Barons in line or Bazhoolis hopeful of the Greatness." Vlad bowed his head for a moment, quietly speaking a prayer for fallen Mary. "Strong girl of fiery hair and Godly stabbings! I give many respects. Da. Many."

"Am also vith regretting, lovely Lady Crypt. Man upon my horse is not comrade of Mother Russia. Is vith profoundness, da, and sadness most forthcoming I tell you: Here is earthly leaving of Master Zimmer, Eccentric German Man and ally of Circus. He vas taken from us by dark vind, just outside of Green of Gretna. Am bringing him to holy place that Grand Duchess may purify, in vays of our people. I am having sorry, Lady."

The Great Bazhooli took care not to overload the woman with too much, too fast, yet seeing as she was the one to bring up the subject of Veta first, he might as well lay this out for all to see as well. "Have just come from Grand Duchess. Is for literal just up this road, or vas minutes ago. Also, with the Lady Millicent and untrusted Lord Rudderfarg. Rootherfunt? Runtherfork? Da, the Lord Rublefant. Umm... Asshole. I do not know vhat plan it from here to next, but... I am knowing she vill vant to see you. If you vish to go now, go. If you vish to help and then ve take Tolstoy(!) together, is fine too. Perhaps after ve are doing this, you can help vith the explaining as to vhy whole town is looking hazy in midday and is like, ah... хрустальное стекло, ah... crystally glass. Is trick? Or is thing vhat needs the stabbing, in time honored tradition of Impalement Artisans, eh?" Seemingly from nowhere, knives flourished in his hands. He stood ready to meet a new threat, if indeed this was a threat, or even to (if need be) perish in an explosion of Bazhooli-ness from which everything in their immediate vicinity might be splashed and sodden with drama and panache of proportions most epic.