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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 7 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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9 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
James Grady
Location: Bazaar -> Babylon Fortress (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924)
Skills: Observation


James wasn't 100% sure on the ethical quandary here, effectively traveling across a veritable buttload of time and space to a place where he existed as an anachronism, only to show up in the beginning of a panic and go a'lootin'. It wasn't his best moment. To make matters worse, now that he had gotten a taste of SNATCH & RUN he had to suppress the urge to keep five-fingering a lot of stuff he came across on the way back to the rest of his group. There was another knife around there that he liked. Ooh! And that oil painting of camels playing poker? Classic. It'd look great in his boudoir. Or whatever other goods he imagined might be floating around the Bazaar that practically begged to be nabbed on their way out of town. Or back to the ruins. Whichever was more appropriate to say at the time.

Propriety aside, the little game he was playing to mess with Peter was over and done with, as things were getting hairier out and about in sunny Cairo. They had enough kaftans and thawbs or their like to keep the people in their group passable for more traditional Muslims at a cursory glance. Maybe Westerners who had gone native. Either way, functional outerwear for all. Stolen, functional outerwear. James figured he'd look okay in loose white and/or black cotton. Hell, out of the group, he was the only one who looked like he belonged on the continent in the first place. Wait, there was Gil. Yup, he looked more like a traditional Egyptian. Whatever. Now if he could just wrangle of of those head coverings... Thinking about it, if worse came to worse, James wasn't above looting a corpse. Hell, rolling dead people was an intelligent survival tactic where he came from. Not that he was hoping for fatalities among the populace, just that if, God forbid, someone happened to get trampled or run over by a runaway rickshaw, he'd use the opportunity.

Responding to Peter's advice, James gave a hearty, "Yessir, Mr. Peter, sir. Sounds like fine thinkin'." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his words, and he did as suggested, hugging the walls as they made their way back to the Fort. When back, he addressed those gathered around (and just arriving), "Aight, me an Peter found us some robes an' whatnot, some o' these locals use. Y'all do you, I'mma take this'n here..." he commented, grabbing something appropriate for himself and stepping back as not to crowd anyone else. "No weapons, though. Sorry 'bout that."

Gilbert Summers
Location: Babylon Fortress (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924)
Skills: History, Observation


Memory was a spotty thing sometimes, especially when one lived as long as Gilbert. Bits and pieces of details came back to him concerning the tunnel system, especially as it concerned lighting. That would be an issue, without doubt. They might still have a functioning system for it still, so much as the tunnels were themselves overall functional; that was to say that it might be uncertain. He would prefer to have a backup plan for that, all things considered, that was better than the one small lighter in his pocket. Something to be dealt with soon.

His eyebrow quirked at Bart's comment, though his face kept its easygoing expression. "You have a variable morale, Bartholomew." It was voiced as an objective observation rather than either compliment or insult. "We have seen what we need to for right now, and we shall return to it shortly." He gave a noncommittal thumbs-up.

His smile deepened a little at Andromeda's assessment. "I am aware that my mood can be a little disconcerting to others sometimes. My apologies. I avidly appreciate history and humanity. Though I have seen many things that repeat over the millennia, it is a rare pleasure to see something original from times long forgotten, or something genuinely new and unprecedented, at least to my experiences. Today has given me both." Of course, the implications of the new and unprecedented were troubling, in and of itself. But for Gil, it was the principle of it all. Even if it was a supernatural haze that appeared to follow them through time and distance.

They arrived back to the rest of the group a few seconds after Peter and James did, just in time to hear the report about clothes, but a lack of weapons. Gilbert still had that older model (for the era) Winchester rifle sheathed on his back, and a pocketknife, though that would hardly be enough for everybody in case of an emergency. They needed to get armed, and the sooner the better. Of course, one of the difficulties of being a Paradox was that one never knew exactly what skills one would absorb over training. The use of firearms with these people, even if they were masters of the art in their natural lifetime, could not be assured. Or even bet on, really. "Excellent, thank you," he said, choosing a flowing garment for himself. "I might be able to assist with arming our group. We have rediscovered a tunnel system that used to be quite reaching. I believe that it should bring us under, among other places, an armory for the British military presence in Cairo. Mr. Keystone, I assume you know the location to which I refer? We will need light sources. I will attempt something. It would be best to try to establish backup lighting, if we can. There may be more to acquire if we are very lucky. When you are ready, please follow me." Gilbert moved to return to the secret stairway, to inspect and attempt to relight the path therein.

In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A


There was a measure of relief that the Lord Major felt, owed to the fact that everyone was moving onward to hopefully help a fallen member of their group. Additional relief that no more Americans were creeping up out of the woodwork, and yet even more than the group was, for the most part, no longer bickering at one another. Well, quite as much. Such things were often unavoidable in eclectic groups of rugged individuals and so long as it did not postpone the work they were trying to accomplish, a measure of latitude could be afforded. Granted, his relief about their continued forward advancement was kept to himself, to the best of his ability to suppress such things from other people. Again, there was a mission in play. Two of them, point of fact, the first being to research what secrets Athribis might have for their expedition, and the second (though not second in priority) being the rescue or recovery of their guide, Bella. The sudden surety of Nora was appreciated, worthy of congratulation even, as they wound their way down the corridors which no man, woman, nor child had set foot in many an age. Perhaps he would do so when they were all back to the ship and they could share experiences with the other groups that were out and about in the city.

One thing that did get his attention was the strange turn of phrase from Gene. The irritable Miss Benaszewski had made some mention that brought confusion to Reginald's features. "Cats, you say?" he mused, curious as to what she meant by that. Again, mention of cats by Mahendra, even pointed out along the wall. "I say, what is the situation with the preponderance of felines these days, hmm? Does this mean we are on the proper course, or that we are being led astray by some mouser cult, set to festoon us for duty as their personal scratching posts and scat-box attendants? Equal chances of either, I should expect with this lot." A touch of humor tinged the older man's voice, as if attempting to defuse a building situation. He did take the opportunity to respond to the newcoming American man who introduced himself as "Barker" with a simple, "Lord Major Keystone, in service of His Majesty King George, sir." He too wished to keep conversation simple for the time being, so long as they were otherwise occupied and he was reasonably certain they did not mean immediate harm.

"Smoke, quite," said Reginald, joining in on the discussion at large but, having little to add kept himself merely adding minimal commentary. To his senses, he likely could, though now came to great debate as to whether it was as the others asserted or holdover from the cigarette displayed in the American fellow's mouth. He did feel the need to mention something more substantial then, though he still knew very little about what was going on. "If I may, provided the cindered vapours aren't from the brash gentleman's cigarette, then perhaps this is ...something of import, I suppose, though I haven't the foggiest what it might be. It gives me concern, quite." It also gave him a polite craving for a fill of his own pipe. Egypt did grow a superior smoking weed, approached from proper channels, of course, though now was not the time to indulge. "Has anyone tried petting the kitty on the wall, then? Perhaps it just needs a bit of attention."

Haring Reddish


Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: Lightbulb!


The wheels and gears of Corporal Reddish's tightly wound brain started the process by which he would insert all of the information gathered thusfar, feed it into one side of the complicated but effective fact-digestion of his rational, logical trains of thought, from which he could render out pieces of truth and open proper doors leading to skillful examples of inductive and deductive reasoning. He could feel the mental coagulation occurring, coming together as the Idea Monkeys got their daily stack of bananas to fuel them onward, powering the springloaded steel trap of his fine brain to provide precisely what was needed to make this situation right again. It was like a lightbulb went off behind his eyes. He pointed his finger into the air and took a deep breath to share his findings in grand fashion. Yes, here it came:

"Yeah, I've got nothin'."

Reddish shook his head while his optimistic expression wilted away. It did come back, and suddenly, as he began to draw that optimism from a different source, "Oh absolutely, Miss Clarke is correct, Lady Munn!" he exclaimed, nodding his head vigorously. "We've only just begun this bit of investigating, and we've much more to go on at the mo' than we had earlier. Now we keep to it, as knowing what they were after might help in getting a'ead of their next gambit, wot. We'll get them back, you wait and see." He smiled. It wasn't overly charming nor reassuring, more the smile of a man plotting something uncomfortable for someone else. "In the mean', I'm with Miss Clarke on getting back. Our cover was finding help for the ship's physician. Best not to dally." He spared a wink and a knowing look, offering his arms to the women present in the fashion of a gentleman of the time, "Lady Munn, Miss Clarke, might I have the honor or escorting you both to the Infirmary? There's a doctor what needs assistance, I'm led to believe."

He wouldn't mind getting a supplementary look at that file, either. Plus, having the arms of both women might provide an effective counterweight against whatever spill or horrifying accident Vera might get into next. Though it would be a first for him to have both a noblewoman and a Hollywood starlet on either arm simultaneously, in truth he was really only had eyes for one of them, as unlikely and out of his league she might be. A more superficial man might have viewed the situation differently. "...oh yes, we're getting those pages back... hmm."
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar & Keystone

Location: Grimm Indiana (El Asilo/The Nuthouse!)
Skills: General Observation
Skills: Body Conditioning, Athletics


The rescue, or whatever this had turned into, was not going exactly as planned. Even saying that this had planning of any kind was a stretch. This was a disorganized jumble that, tactically speaking, just put them all in a horrifyingly bad situation. If Caesar had the notion of killing a handful of people all at once with minimal danger to himself, this is one of the ways he would have done it: Trapping all of them in a neglected stairwell and doing something awful. Come to think of it, this was almost exactly how he offed a group of Cartel members and corrupt Federales in Mexico City back in the early 80s. Or was that a freight elevator? The deaths piled up as to make details jumbled sometimes. Bottom line, that didn't matter. Caesar was in a place, lured by the one thing that he wouldn't have ever walked away from, and here they all were. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop just as much as he was elated to see his little Taco Belle again. Confused, maybe a little concerned, but still elated.

The problem was that, even so close to her as he was, Caesar couldn't help Alicia at all. Just out of reach. Sometimes that statement might be metaphorical but this time? Absolute glaring literal. If it wasn't for the musician snagging her at the last minute, he might have even gotten the chance to see her die this time. Caesar had to remember to get her a car or something. But later. Later. Now, they had to get back out.

Keystone was thoroughly amazed at the ease with which Alicia (that was Alicia, right?) hurled Riley across the gap. He was a big man - seriously, he was known for it - and throwing a whole, conscious person up a set of stairs was a deceptively difficult feat of strength, even for someone as large as himself without a start or counterbalance or something. She just picked the singer up and slung her like a ragdoll. That was something to talk about later.

Caesar reached out and snatched Priya at the end of her turn, being thrown up and across the gap. He had no idea who the hell this person was, and thus gave her a quick once-over. He inhaled sharply through his nose, as if catching a scent like he was part canine, while narrowing his eyes and glaring at her. A half second later he simply growled and nodded his head back up the stairs, indicating for her to continue to the others.

When Alicia made her similarly impressive jump, she didn't quite land as well as the threw the others. Keystone held out an arm for her to grab onto, offering his strength of his bicep and purchase of his ballistic coat to assist in her in staying upright after the leap.

Then things took the opportunity to get ever stranger, if that was possible. It might have been a trick of the uncertain light and shadow cast by the two LED security lights work on the coats of Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Keystone, respectively, but it looked very much like Alicia became genuinely, morbidly afraid of something from below. Not that the two men were unfazed by the sudden growl, coupled with visuals that left all things demonic to the imagination, but they both knew Alicia very well in their own ways. If took a lot to faze her. A lot. Let alone to react in actual, visible horror. Caesar drew his .45 and readied to use it if necessary, though truth be told he was more of a melee aficionado, especially as it came to sharp implements. But as a very wise old greybeard once said, "Swords are of no more use here." The guy probably meant something that shouldn't have been answered by drawing a hand cannon, regardless, given the circumstances you work with what you have. Caesar shrugged. If Gandalf had an UZI, things might have gone differently.

Neither man knew the word that she uttered. They both understood the disadvantaged position they were in, however, and knew that a change of location to regroup was the smartest recourse. Keystone followed Alicia's advice first, picking up the until-recently deceased lady who had borne him a son and hauling ass back up the way they came. He remained ready to give assistance to anyone who might stumble along the way in the most directly effective, strength based manner possible. (Looking at you there, Cecily!)

Caesar took up the tail end of their withdrawal, firearm at the ready should anything uninvited require the speedy insertion of exothermically propelled ammunition anywhere vital. Or just messy. But preferably both. Either way, this was Dodge and they were all getting the hell out of it.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lady Amalthea Just posted our 2000th IC post! Yay!
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


There was a lot going on. Most of the activity was clustered around the television, which was one of the most normal things that Ash had seen in a long time. It was so normal, in fact, that it might have thrown him off like a giant red flag. The truth was that he didn't care about flags right then. Ash had been the guy responsible for everyone else for a while now. After the interviews and the briefings, the shock of all of them both positive and negative, he really didn't care anymore. So much to process. And he would do it soon enough, as befit the more resolute, responsible elements of the man. Maybe he'd even let a thought or two ricochet around in the back of his brain in the interim, but Ash's primary focus remained with Thana. He caught her witticism about being weak and injured, even joining her with a small chuckle. Yeah, she probably had to take it easy for a while. No, he didn't expect that she would because someone told her to. If she wasn't moving, it was because she flat out didn't want to. "So that carrying you around... Is that an official job offer?" he remarked with a smile, holding her gently and close.

Their embrace did shift a little as Atticus entered the room. Room assignments. That made sense, considering that both Thana and Mizrahi had only just arrived officially and, like the rest of them, probably wanted someplace to rest. What raised an eyebrow at first was the news that his things had been moved from his assigned room. Granted, most everything that he possessed at that time was on loan from Mexico Beach, but it was the principle of things. Room 8. When he learned that the room was also assigned to Thana, and not an additional third, his other eyebrow elevated to join the first. Ash's faith in a higher power had been tested with the events of the past year and a half. This was another very recent thing that helped to restore it.

Sadly yes, he remembered the Doctor's Orders. Ash listened to Thana mumble her opinion on the subject of the imperative statements of medical professionals but declined to comment, simply content that she lay her had back on his shoulder. Taking things easy was important sometimes. It seemed like none of them had many opportunities to do that as of late.

When Thana finally relented and politely asked for Ash to get her food, he tried to do so in a way that kept her as close to him as possible. One arm cradled her to him as he leaned forward, carefully grabbing the plate in front of them and returning to repose. He held the plate in front of Thana in such a way that she had to move as minimally as possible to eat, if she so desired. As he kept it steady, Ash casually inquired, "Those two usually that scrappy?" concerning the other women of Team Eden, now engaged in fisticuffs. He shrugged. "Yeah, staying out of that one. You eat up, I'll hold it steady for you." Ash looked at Thana and smiled warmly. Sometimes, life handed you a good day. This was one of them.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: Presión Boxeo


A hint of a grin formed on Thalia's face. It might have turned into something a little more toothy given the opportunity, but Beatrice was fast. Of course, Thalia knew this as well as anyone. It was a solid plan to snatch her up unaware and slam her to the ground, getting a pin in without a prolonged fight; especially considering that the young mestiza had spent a good portion of her energy in training that day. She might have gotten that pin, too, except that something slipped.

Maybe if Beatrice didn't have that one instant of falter, things would have gone differently. Far be it for Thalia to not seize the opportunity presented; be it only a sparring session, her instinct and philosophy was to go for the kill as presented. When the flip began to err, Thalia shifted her body weight to land on her feet. Inertia carried her down to a crouch where she shifted her balance outward. Thalia's steel, prosthetic arm hooked out, connecting solidly with the back of Beatrice's knees, taking her legs out from under her and sending her parallel to the ground before she landed.

Growling in a manner common to her familia, Thalia leapt. She was on top of Beatrice in an instant, sitting on top of her supine form with a predatory glare, as if her mind had switched to a more primal, purer survival mentality. Thalia's fully functional left hand arced its fingers, gripping Beatrice's collarbone while her shirt-wrapped metal hand poised above her as if ready to break larger objects into smaller ones.

The growl was soon replaced with a suggestive smile as Thalia sat atop Beatrice, panting slightly, with a sheen of perspiration from her earlier workout. Her arm remained above, ready to strike. She knew full well that Beatrice would exploit any opportunity available. Even respected her for it. So Thalia wasn't going to move until someone called it. It didn't stop her from giving a little wink to the woman she was straddling, though.



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


So much of loving, touching humanity going on around them, and Hank's big eye-grabber was off to the side of everyone else, attempting to hurl one another to the floor. In sports bras. There wasn't quite as much hair whipping about as those campy 1980's movies led Hank to believe; of course, there never was. But it still drew his eye anyway. It was a sort of battle between the works of Mel Brooks and the chick fight, both vying for Hank's undivided attention. He waved away the sentiment of the moment, torn between his admiration of the film and he desire to see the Apocalypse Edition of Foxy Boxing. Wayne mentioned his pick for the big throwdown, Erica disagreed. Hank was verily poised with a lack of caring as to who came out on top, just so long as it looked good in the meantime.

Suddenly, and out of the blue, a wild card snatched up the breath of the room. It was Wayne - or not specifically Wayne, persay, but the giggling bundle of "Oh dear GOD is that the ankle-biter?"

The ability to concentrate on either of the fun and entertaining things going on in the room was diverted by the shitsplosion from little Jamie. Wayne had no problems handing him back off to his father, and no one could blame him. The whole ordeal reminded Hank of an occasion or two from back when he was a father... which opened up an ugly psychological door for him. There were occasions that the only way out was through, like his dream from earlier. Shovel Knight. Yeah, that was an arrow in his chest. That and the baby. And the girl playing pool that would have been about his daughter's age with that similar hair. And every damn body seemed to be in love anymore. Yeah, he didn't need to be around this right now. He really didn't.

Rising fully from his recliner, Hank made his way over the a goofy but well-meaning guy who the baby would one day begin to look an awful lot like. "Yeah, hey there, um... Jack, right? Okay Sport, once upon a time I was a fairly okay father. Lemme give you a hand with this while the little lady (oh um, Hi there ma'am) cools her heels. I gotta get used to being around ...tiny people... again anyway. Community, right?"
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


When the Grand Duchess speaks, it is he obligation of those in the service to her family to listen, and if appropriate, to fulfill the desires thereof. And so, with a sly smile and the bow of his head, Vladimir sheathed his knives and stepped over to the fallen form of Ludwig, now laying across a wooden pew. "As you are commanding, Grand Duchess," he said with a flourish. Indeed, looking upon the scene it was obvious, especially to an experienced performer. This would not do. Even if he was in an adequate place for the purification of spirit, the scene was set all wrong. There was no presentation value, no panache here. Elizaveta was correct, naturally. So Vlad hauled the the former Ludwig over his shoulder and placed it with as much respect as he could give to a wrapped and bound cadaver onto the altar. Vladimir had seen this before, many times. This was going to be quite the show for those present who had not yet borne witness.

As soon as the body was deposited upon the altar, something clicked in Vlad's brain. Though it was a little out of the prearranged order, he had a gift to give and now seemed like the time for it, as those in the know or just those with a healthy dose of life-sustaining paranoia already felt, there were otherworldly shenanigans afoot. They would all need to be at their best, and best equipped. "For please excusing me, Your Grace. The Arming, you see."

He looked back to the rear of the church, or nearabouts, where he left his great, black Brivaldi horse, Tolstoy(!). There was still something that technically did not belong to him upon the tack, nestled among the lighter travel gear of a hasty departure. It was a large black shawl, covered in bright floral patterns. It was beautiful and glided in the wind just so. But the large, pretty shawl was not the most immediate concern, it was what lay within. Vlad retrieved the package and placed it at the feet of Millicent. "Vas for 'vedding present'. Am thinking you need now, eh?" He rose and began checking his own armament, walking back over to Elizaveta should he be needed. "Vill need scarf back!"
In 🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Dr. Swamp
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎


"You are quite the devious one, aren't you?" both questioned and observed Dr. Swamp. A slow smile spread across his face as he began to regard the Chanteuse in a new light. Metaphorically speaking of course, as the existing light sources were barely adequate for his work in the first place. The dim light, then. And as they both stood in that dimmer illumination of the Laboratory, Swamp raised his hands and began to softly clap in the air in front of him softly, as one might when entertaining polite behavior in an opera. "Bravo, Amaranthine. Bravo," he said earnestly.

The Doctor did not know if poking around the place would be conducive to building or maintaining a strong working relationship with the masters of the House, a thing which seemed to be in a state of flux at the moment but nonetheless a desired status for Swamp. There were certain facts that made staying put potentially undesirable, however. Certain lines of thought that, when carried to their logical conclusion, made staying put a liability. If the mystery of their presence was to be solved by people who actually wished to puzzle it out, keeping vertical became the priority. It was going to be a long winter, and that was only the most favorable of outcomes in this quagmire of a situation. At the very least, knowing other ways to move throughout the building would be of immense service in case maneuvering in the relative darkness became necessary.

Swamp toweled his gloved hands and took up his cane. He regarded the satchel of tools on the worktable for a moment, considering the appropriateness of them, but instead picked up a lamp. It was more practical, things considered. "Very well. I recommend we start here," he looked toward the nearest door, "and work in a clockwise fashion, if that suits you, Chanteuse." He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his coat and folded out the lapels; a practice almost as old as the style of coat itself, signifying that the labor necessary for its use has been suspended for the time being. A quaint custom in his field. He then hoisted the lamp and motioned toward the door. "If it pleases, of course."
In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924
Skills: N/A


"Thank you for joining me; Andromeda, Bartholomew." said The Hat, walking in a determined manner. It had been a long while (even in the life of an Emendator) since he had been to this place, but the memories were coming back into crystalline focus. He passed from one section to another, curious to note what the ravages of time had done to the place yet impressed that it still stood as remarkably as it did. He passed by a mural, glancing at what was left of the faded and cracked image. He sighed audibly. "I liked this picture. It was so vibrant. Hmm." He shrugged, continuing onward.

Addressing the question posed to him by Andromeda, Gilbert said simply, "I do not know that the haze is following The Cards. I know only as much about this as you do, Andromeda." He grinned a little, taking in the fact that there were yet things he had not experienced. "Is that not extraordinary? I do so love the world sometimes. Such a brilliant place." He looked almost giddy, leading the two of them around to an adjacent room. "I wanted you to see this. How it is opened. In case something happens to me, or we are separated." He slid a panel on the wall to one side with a grinding sound, then rested his hand upon an oval cartouche underneath. The wall parted to reveal a simple stone staircase leading downward into a passage. "This is one of a number of tunnels that runs underneath Cairo now. It used to be part of a reaching network, but time... Time changes all things."

Faintly, he could hear the sounds of Cairo turning to the scary and almost riotous. "I can only assume that is not good news." Simultaneously, he could feel another Emendator-ish pull elsewhere, something not originating from Nancy. One thing at a time, though. See to the safety of his charges first. He closed the passage and reset the switch, advising, "Perhaps we should get back to the group."



James Grady
Location: Bazaar, Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924
Skills: Observation


James continued with his role of brain-addled manservant to the far paler and much more Caucasoid of feature Peter Keystone. In a heavily insulting way, it was appropriate for the time period; James a rural born and raised man of rich, mocha-mahogany complexion, his ancestors considered underclass by the ruling body of the era, whereas Peter Keystone was of alabaster tone, descended of persons with interesting surnames that came with title, handed to them by the ruling body of his era. Or more specifically, the exact era they were in right at that moment. But strangely, James was having a bit of fun with it. Even started to hum a little tune that turned into snatches of a song.

"Oooooohoho, day's never finished...
Master's got me working...
Someday master set me free... da-dum-dum dum-dum.

Him having a little fun at the growing discomfort of the elder Paradox notwithstanding, James was still staying to his actual role, that of acting as Peter's escort through the hustle and bustle of Cairo. Maybe even partly take his mind off of issues that had to be working his psyche. He couldn't even comprehend coming back to the site of his second traumatic death and not being rattled a little.

The fact that the haze followed them was admittedly disconcerting. Just because he had seen it before did not mean that he was used to it, nor that he wanted it around. The people of Cairo might have agreed with him at that point and this was all new to them. A little freak-out was natural. Even expected. And it even came with the extra added benefit of vastly reducing the cost of local wares with the applied Rioters' Discount. Still, he had to mess with Peter about it. "You kiddin' me, man? What, 'cause I'm a black man, I'm supposed to start lootin' the place just on account of a little apocalypse? C'mon, man! What, we all carry knives, too? Huh?"

James plastered on a faux offended expression and put his hand on his hips, intentionally brushing the handle of his one visible knife. Then he slapped a sizeable tool pocket along his leg where his other one was kept. "...shit." A big smile parted his face and he finally relented, "Gotcha! Aight, I'll hold the bag. You start shovin' shit in. We ain't got much time."

In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A


Seeing yet another American emerge from the darkness reminded Reginald of some dreadful written work he had read years ago and mostly forgotten the details therein; yet the general plot consisted of some manner of loathsome replicating creature inhabiting the unrighteous or ribald members of the London underclass. In the story, they would slink around in dark places and prey upon the more genteel, educated persons of higher society. It was all a huge work of classist propaganda designed to make the middle and upper classes feel better about themselves and commit to virtuous lives, rather than take to slumming among their lessers. Nonetheless, the scene unfolding here was beginning to seriously tweak the Lord Major's sensibilities.

"St. Swithin's balding armhair! We haven't the time and I haven't the patience for this harlequinade and tomfoolery as we all bandy about pointlessly! All those who prefer lambasting one another with no clear end in sight may stand thusly whilst the remainder of us follow the educated lead of Miss Kingston." This was a time that he really wished their expedition leader, Vera, was present. This was technically a situation within which he had no previously agreed upon right to give orders.

"Miss Ridgeway, thank you for volunteering your service. It would be much appreciated. Do be careful." It was a piece of wisdom to have a representative back at the boat to protect their interests and keep their group traveling in the same direction at the same time, overall. "And as for you lot," he mentioned to the very recently arrived newcomers, "come along then. I shouldn't want you slinking about in the darkness to our rear. It should only serve to get yourselves trampled when we all begin running for our lives later on. Now, if there are any more of you, do have them show themselves. Mr. Zalil, thank you so much for your considered opinion and I am sure it was a misunderstanding. Miss Benaszewski, please continue protecting us as only you can." Reginald cleared his throat, and continued in a more personable tone, "Now... I shall follow the lead of Miss Kingston. Miss Kingston? Please, at your leisure. Let us continue away from this depressing location."

Haring Reddish


Location: Benha (Elite Deck, Thief's(?) Room)
Skills: N/A


A bit of color made Reddish's face ...reddish, after Josephine made the grateful but otherwise generally commonplace gesture of giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. You'd have thought he was a bashful schoolboy by his reaction, which bordered upon the positively shy. The otherwise brash yet stalwart Corporal stuttered through a reaction statement, "I, ah, that is to say I um... Think nothing of it, ah, Miss Clar..." A goofy, satisfied smile was plastered across his face as he stepped backward, his legs apparently having trouble keeping his body upright. Reddish's head swam back and forth ever so slightly and his eyes began to flutter. For all intents and purposes, it looked like that kiss, possibly coupled with his earlier head trauma, was putting his lights right back out.

Reddish slumped back onto the wall behind him, his smile never leaving his face. He began to slowly slide down, content in the entirety with his life in that second, until the sudden cry of Vera seemingly roused him like a spike of adrenaline. The Corporal immediately gumby'ed his body back to a ready, fully standing position, the blush and smile transforming into a steely, clear-eyed vision of aggressive duty. It might not be his task in any official capacity, but Reddish had some Corporaling to do.

"Right-o! Mission continues, then. We've the name of the person occupying this stateroom and the recovery of the watch and book, to things which had to have been taken separately and thusly points to either a conspiracy or a person targeting our group, unless I've missed an option. Lady Munn, if you would please share, what does the missing bit contain? P'raps it may provide a clue as to the intentions of our assailants." The Corporal had a way of altering his observable personality depending upon the situation. It was either a talent or a mental illness, one could hardly tell sometimes.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


"Deal with it", huh? Oh yes, Ash could very much deal with it. There was a nigh epic amount of dealing that he was doing with the situation, starting with wrapping his arms around Thana as she climbed into his lap and settled in. It was a highly satisfying feeling, just holding her after so long a time without her, and more recently being absolutely certain that she was dead. Yeah, this was as good as a miracle, so far as he was concerned. Tiny moments of bliss were few and far between.

Their miracle even lasted for a painfully short time before they were interrupted by the imposing presence of Mizrahi and his insistence that Thana eat something. Curiously though, he spoke to Ash, telling him that it had been days since her last meal. This made him quirk a brow. Was Mizrahi letting him know this to be helpful, perhaps to get someone on his side to also suggest that Thana eat? Was it an attempt to keep them from being so close together? He did seem a little jealous to Ash, or maybe possessive. At the very least, he seemed not to trust Ash. All of that would have to be a later conversation. He could see this becoming a man to man talk sometime down the road. Or possibly a fistfight. He didn't know the guy, and the guy obviously did not know him.

The fact remained that, pushy though he was, Mizrahi made a point. Hopefully, whatever Thana said to him in Arabic was also a point, though he wouldn't have known it. His knowledge of Arabic was limited to his time in the Middle East with the Army, and all he picked up there was how to recognize that it was being spoken, and there was just about where it ended. Ash did know that Thana was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions about how to take care of herself, and if she wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and spend a quiet moment with him instead of eating, that was her call.

"I'm glad you had someone watching your back out there," said Ash softly. It was a true statement, even though the tall man seemed determined to dislike Ash. He continued in a low, gentle voice, "I'm not going anywhere if you feel like eating. Even grab it for you if you don't want to move. I'll hold you like this all day if you let me, Thana." The information dump would have been fresh on his mind, as well as the pictures and reports he saw in Briefing, but her presence allowed him to put it, and potentially the weight of responsibility, in the back of his mind for a little while. But more than that, taking everything else away, Ash just wanted her close.

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


This workout just got a little more interesting. Thalia stopped at the apex of her pushup and slowly gathered a foot underneath her, rising with muscles tensed and predatory gaze as if contemplating lunging at Beatrice immediately. Thalia had a sheen of perspiration on her skin, though her breathing was still even. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth that began to show teeth. She looked positively devious.

Thalia didn't say anything for a while, contemplating the offer. She took in a deep breath and blew it out, reviewing her situation. She was getting stronger. Not exactly her old self as recovery could take a while and, among other traumas, she had lost her dominant hand and almost half her arm. But the looked to Thana as a beacon of inspiration in that regard. The woman had gone through intense trauma, died even, and was back up and kicking in record time. One could aspire. One had to. Hence, the extensive, hard-hitting training she had been subjecting herself to since arrival.

She began to nod, popping the fingers on her left hand individually with her thumb before wrapping her hand around and returning her thumb the favor. It was a tiny concession made for losing a limb. Thalia then held her prosthetic hand in front of her, manually extending each of the digits and then closing them back with soft, metallic clacking sounds. Like the arm itself it was artificial, but an eerily fitting representation of cracking her knuckles. It brought a single chuckle to the already present grin, which soon faded. Okay. Get serious.

Tactically speaking, she was at a disadvantage in the regard that she had always been a manual dexterity monster, and being deprived of one of her "manuals" made that harder. However, she had a spanking new arm to compensate, at least for balance. Any dexterity had to be planned out days in advance. On the other hand, the arm couldn't feel and was essentially a painful blunt weapon mounted on the end of her stump. Also, recent years had given her more options than agile hands. Thalia had always been an improvisational fighter, and the Valkyries taught her combat options that relied more on her physicality. If there was any real problem, it was that if she sparred with Beatrice, she'd be swinging a steel club at her face. Thalia liked Bea's face. It would be a shame to damage it. Okay, choice made.

"Alright, Killah Bea. You're on." She eyed the can of yummy pasta, but shook her head to the negative. "But it's naht gonna be for that. Let's bring the stakes up some." She had intended to decline respectfully. Opening her mouth, the words came out with a lot more spontaneous honesty than she had intended. Thalia loved to spar. She was a fighter, if she was going to learn how to fight with her new, amended body, she needed to start here. Beatrice knew the risks. Holding back with her would just be insulting. They might not be the best of ...whatever they were to each other, but there was always respect there.

"If I win, you have to give me a hug. A good one. In front of people." She had plans for those Os that didn't involve mere acquisition. That would deprive her of her fun. "If you win... hmm. Open to suggestions." Thalia slipped out of her shirt and began wrapping it around her metal hand. It was something, at least. Thalia stood there in jeans and a sports bra, her skin glowing from her warm-up and a determined look in her eyes. "Yah know, I really don't care about stakes. I just want to mix it up." It had been a while. And it would do her good to see Beatrice sweat.

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


Did he miss him? What an odd question. Hank copped a half surprised, half revolted face, as if Nigel had asked him out to the prom. It looked a little like he might be exaggerating it for effect, or just faking it altogether, but that didn't stop the stiff lean away from the man. "Just grab you a seat there, Sportacus, and we will never speak of this again." Hank nodded somberly, "Oooookay?" Quarantine was almost over, and even though he had been antisocial to the extreme for the vast majority of their time in there, he didn't really have any hard feelings for the people in that room. Maybe watching this movie, a crowd favorite if ever he saw one, would be the one thing that he could look back on as something they all did together. Even if it mostly involved sitting and looking in he same direction, commentary optional.

After the Roman fellow took is seat on the floor, Hank gave a quick verbal nudge to get his attention, "Psst... Hey, you're alright, alright? Alright. Movie now." That was about as warm and fuzzy as he really felt like being. Nigel and Erica were their companions on the last leg of their journey down to this place, and while they could have gotten there okay as a duo, it wasn't all bad having extra bodies around. Especially when they made themselves useful.

Touching moment (or reasonable facsimile thereof) aside, Hank caught a snatch of conversation from somewhere off to the side. He turned his head slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself as he, well, tried to eavesdrop. It was the young slip of a woman who put soldierboy on his ass and the one-armed girl with the pixie cut who had been pushing herself like racehorse all week. "Oh thank you, sweet mother of God..." he said at a whisper. "Hey Maldonado? Chick Fight." Hank really wished he had a bag of popcorn right then.

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