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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. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Babylon Fortress (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924)
Skills: N/A


"Do not give it another thought, Bartholomew," responded Gilbert in an even voice. He was busy looking for something that would probably only be immediately apparent to him, based upon antiquity of the technology. If it wasn't immediate, which it was very well threatening to be, he would go for whatever assistance could be provided, inexperience notwithstanding. He continued with Bart, confiding, "I am also worried about the haze. Not what it means directly, though I fear that will become a bigger issue soon enough. But as you mentioned, the effect on the people of Cairo. Some of the most horrifying things humanity can do to each other wait for moments of mass panic. This worries me greatly."

Gilbert nodded back to Sophia. Her suggestion was not the best method of handling the problem, granted. If that was all they had, it was better than nothing. Nothing was what they had now. It fell somewhere near the realm of "any port in a storm". He addressed Sophia, not wanting to be rude, "Thank you. I hope it will not be necessary, but thank you." He did regret not having the time to take care of a more suitable replacement for her hand. He had all of the materials he needed to do just that back at the Plantation, but time was ever a fickle master.

Returning to the entrance to the tunnels, Gil took a cursory look around. There had to be a way to fix this little dilemma so they could see properly down there. He knew of a way that went back to the beginning of the Fortress, if only luck was with them all this time. He glanced over to Andromeda, who had a look of readiness on her face for whatever might appear. Good on her. Perhaps he'd feel more confident about things after they were all better equipped. It was still good to see a grim, ready visage in one of their Paradoxes. Now, to try to find that light.



James Grady
Location: Babylon Fortress (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924)
Skills: N/A


"I 'preciate that, Mr. Watch, sir," James responded to the bid of good work from Giosue. He gave a quick look over to Peter, noting that he had been somewhat quiet since returning to the Babylon Fortress. Maybe the seriousness of their task was hitting him. Maybe coming back to the place where he died, again, was getting to him. As James understood it, Paradoxes were tough. Had powers and everything. But they still had the same foibles as every other walking, breathing, living human from a psychological standpoint. Lord knew that James had been dealing with his own issues since Day One, and that was compounded by the loss of his friend from life. Or a version of her. He couldn't even imagine what Peter was going through, or whether he could put it to the side for the sake of the mission. For all he knew, Paradoxes eventually got a stronger psyche in addition to their physical and supernatural enhancements that made resolving these things with intact mental health possible.

The discussion about finding an alternative light source seemed like an okay idea, but they really did have to move. James and Peter had seen what was happening out there firsthand, and this was a thing that could only get worse if it wasn't taken care of, and fast. Cairo might even burn before the day was over. He'd never been here before, but James didn't want that. People would get hurt or killed for no reason whatsoever aside from fear. He restricted his search for possible light sources to what he could glimpse on his way to this secret tunnel that Gil said he uncovered. The thought of traveling underground didn't fully appeal to him, really. The thought of traveling above ground now appealed to him less.

When he go to the entrance, James looked to Andromeda, saying, "Hey there, I'm real sorry I couldn't find nothin' good to keep the sun offa ya. Offer on my hat's still there, Miss Andy, for when we get back under a sky. Lemme know if'n you need, huh?"

In 🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Reginald Keystone


Location: Athribis (Underground)
Skills: N/A


"Limb from ...limb, you say?" responded the Lord Major, a look of anticipatory wonder crossing over his face, "By Jove, how astonishing." It was probably the first time that Gene had said something that motivated him in any sort of positive manner. It was odd that he just glossed over the idea that she was psychic, or that she had experience with the dangerous and supernatural. Much of the time, Reginald lived by an adage penned by ‎H. Rider Haggard about one of his most memorable characters of fiction from the previous century; that he did not believe in ghosts, though he'd seen his share of them. That was to say, he was firmly rooted in the physical world and the laws which govern it, be they civic, social, military, or scientific, and was skeptical of people who claimed connection to the hereafter. At the same time, he was not so much a skeptic as to deny that which he had experienced for himself. Reginald's travels with the military had taken him to many parts of the world, civilized and savage both, and they all seemed to have their own myths that were likely rooted in something preternatural.

Nevertheless, he wasn't drawing from his sense of skepticism in that moment. He heard something about a great monster lurking about in the ruins of this place, possibly even very close to them, that dispatched the un-fleet of foot by barehanded drawing and quartering. A beast of shadow and smoke which stood between them and their guide, whether living or dead, was likely also trapped down here. This sounded positively adventurous. What a splendid way to expire, memorably, and in the service of others.

If the intellectuals die, their mission was over. Period. They were the crux upon which this expedition hung, ironically, the keystone that kept the metaphorical archway from collapsing. An old man dies, it wasn't as bad. He'd already signed the documentation that gave the military's assistance, and he'd quartermastered the journey. His batman was fully capable of handling most arrangements in his name moving forward. An old man, a soldier? There were others who could take his responsibilities and be in a better position to fulfill them. Vera or Nora, their geologist Mahendra, or even the social abilities of Josephine would be harder to replace. So much less expendable than the Lord Major.

Reginald unclipped his sword scabbard from his belt and held it by its throat, as if readying for a quick draw. Likewise, he unclasped the catch on his revolver's holster, removing one of the two stops necessary to retrieve his weapon. ‎In a much more sober tone of voice, he spoke aloud, "Our mission might die here, if we do not uncover that which we require. Should we have to run, protector, see to their safety." Not that he was amazingly confident in a slip of a girl to face down monsters unnamed and the forces most supernatural, but it was spoken to the rest of the group as much as to Gene. Plus, the Lord Major had seen enough in his decades of combat not to fully judge a book by its cover. He said nothing of why he might charge another with the protection of their group, even temporarily or in jest. He did look preoccupied. It was like Reginald was waiting for something.



Haring Reddish


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


"Heavens yes, that's got the ring of crackerjack planning, Lady Munn! Going with strengths and whatnot. Miss Clarke is positively the right one for a bit of interpersonal wool-pulling, if you take my meaning, m'Lady!" He nodded vigorously, adding a knowing wink toward the end of his monologue. "And worry not! I shall continue to display the very image of a boisterously vocal, vacuous dunderhead with the social acceptability of a floppy, well-trained Saint Bernard."

It was time to head back out. Onward and upward, as the saying went, which went fully along with the fact that they had to traverse the deck a ways and ascend a flight of stairs. Reddish did note the look shot to him by Josephine, and tried hard to put on a confused and innocent look that probably came off a little risible. His intentions were honorable, mostly. A tiny, childish part of him did enjoy hobnobbing with the aristocracy, be they ennobled or of the Hollywood elite. After all, at Reddish's heart he was just a kid who from a horse ranch in Middle England. He never expected to do over half the things he did in his life, and this little adventure was quite the experience indeed.

Keeping to the ploy, Reddish sidled up to Josephine and wondered aloud in support, "Oh absolutely! Bloody haze making things perilous. Well, I daresay if we follow the deck 'round the perimeter, we're bound to locate those blasted stairs eventually, Miss Clarke. I do hope everything is alright." In a quieter voice, he asked, "But do tell me, if you would, who do you suppose you'll recommend to play us in the movie? I mean, you simply must turn this into a story, yes?" Despite the Corporal's appearance of being the fool, he was actually keeping tabs on their environment. The last thing they needed was to be taken by surprise by something unexpected, be it the crew, the villains aboard, or something more sinister.


In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar & Keystone

Location: Grimm Indiana (El Asilo/The Nuthouse! -> Outside of El Asilo/The Nuthouse!)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A


Not the most a avid player of video games, Keystone did recall the old-school Metroid franchise from when he was a kid. A little outdated even then, but most of those games had the same kind of ending: Defeat main bad guy, run like hell. The "defeating the bad guy" part was easy enough to comprehend. It's why you got all those missiles and ice beams and stuff. The "run like hell" part occurred because, for whatever reason, the death of the main bad guy (for whatever reason) triggered a self-destruct protocol that would consume the entire planet/complex/ship/biosphere/whatever. Lots of rumbling, lots of random debris falling for no other discernible reason except to build dramatic tension while the timer ran down.

This was exactly like that, except that the bad guy was still coming after them. And technically, one of their number was already dead (awful spry for a dead chick, though). And the debris that was falling could definitely cause them harm. Also, no ice beams. That last part probably got to Keystone the most. He really would have appreciated a good ice beam right then. Upon a nanosecond of reflection, this was nothing like Metroid. So to hell with whatever that thing was below them. They were getting the hell out of there. Except for one of them; the pretty lady with the features that marked her people from the great Subcontinent insisted on asking questions while something demonic was trying to eat them. He addressed this with a simple, "Shut your gob, an' run, woman! Bloody balrog gnawin' on yer arse!"

Keystone let Alicia down as they reached the top of the stairs. Even Caesar managed to pull ahead from his previously claimed space at the rear, covering their escape with his large bore firearm. It was an understandable misstep; between the haze and the shaking building, it was difficult to maintain one's bearings. One moment maneuvering back up a set of shaking stairs, the next moment piling into a now shaking hallway. The wrongness in the air seemed to increase, coloring the very haze around them with rage and blood. As the elder Mexican wasn't going to leave his daughter behind, he paused for just long enough to shuffle the black pack off of his shoulder and grab his keys. Then he was off again. As Alicia ran, so did he. Down the hallway, through the haze, past the discarded bits of random asylum flotsam and jetsam they passed on their way in. Caesar was better on his feet than many, being as earthquakes were nothing new to him, but this was massive. He wondered how that big, lumbering oaf Keystone stayed upright.

The second they burst out of the building, Caesar handed off the keys to his associate. They didn't stop moving, the pair of them headed toward the company SUV. "M'hija!" he called, holding out the storage pack he had brought for her. "Arm yourself." They could deal with questions later, preferably while in the vehicle, leaving this place behind.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A


Ash raised an eyebrow. It seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. In this case, it was about Thana's assessment of her two former traveling companions from the Eden Team. Being a military man, Ash understood the concept of training. It was more than just strength training, it was also one of the best ways to alleviate terminal boredom. More important than a lot of people considered in either a long-term deployment or a survival scenario. Keeping the mind active by keeping the body active. Ash himself trained for the purposes of keeping himself fit, most of the time. The last time he devoted himself to dedicated training was when he was prepping to launch an assault on their enemies in Eden. He understood. But that one girl? She was pushing herself like she was getting ready for all out war, and seemed to enjoying it. He would have put money that something was wrong with her, but when he remembered what her father's surname was, it made perfect sense.

Fighting? That brought everyone together these days. Or blew them apart. Whichever one depended on the circumstances. But that last part threw him for a loop. Of course, the way that Thana was raising her voice like that, intentionally so that they could hear her, made him thing that she might have been kidding. Wait, no, she wasn't. Okay, officially none of his business. Those two did remind him of two other women from a while ago.

The mention of needing to talk was ominous. In his experience, that was generally code for "bad news a'comin' your way", and for the life of him, he didn't have any idea what it might be. Did he commit some hideous sin over the past few hours? Did she, over the time that they had been separated, and now need to confess something? Considering the hovering, growling, protective nature of the tall Middle Easterner, did he have something to do with it? Even that could be worked through. It had been a very long time and they had all been through a lot. Finding comfort in someone else might be understandable, considering things. Especially taking into consideration that they had no idea the other was alive after a year and a half. But even that was blind, paranoid supposition. Whatever it was, Ash was sure they could work through it. It was miraculous that they survived long enough to find each other again after all this time.

So really, this wasn't a huge deal, no matter what it was. Ash did as he was asked with regards to her command to Giddy Up, with a smile and a playful, "Yes, ma'am!" hefting her with careful vigor and carrying her into their room for the evening. Being locked in wasn't exactly a picnic, but Ash couldn't think of a person he'd rather be locked in with than Thana.

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


Usually, when Thalia started working violence on someone, they didn't laugh at her. It wasn't unsettling, but it was a little disarming. If she had the ability to give Beatrice the finger without assistance or without loosening her grip, she might have. But the more that her opponent/friend giggled at her, the more goofy she felt. Okay, Thalia had a nasty habit of taking these things a little seriously. More accurately, she sometimes lost herself in the throes of fighting or other intense physical activity. Then Beatrice had to say something really interesting.

Thalia appeared to consider the proposal for a second. Her eyes lit up and the grip she had on Beatrice's clavicle softened considerably, her thumb absently tracing the line of it on her skin. She looked like she wanted to say yes, because why the hell not? It's not like opportunities like this came up very often, if Bea was even being serious right then. Thalia moistened her lips and opened her mouth to respond, but halted. The thought occurred to her that they didn't exactly have a private room. It was being shared with that former cop lady that came in with the sarcastic older men. She sighed, looking a little disappointed.

"Nah, Bea. Bet was for a hug. I'll let ya know when's a good time. Come on," said Thalia, rising from Beatrice and offering her a hand up (especially generous since she's only got one). Tomorrow was going to see a lot of changes and it was possible that, to grow stronger and adapt, Thalia was probably going to enlist. Or whatever they called it here. They needed to get into their assigned room anyway as the woman everyone called Major was about to impose lockdown. With a heavy and regretful nod, Thalia began to unwind her shirt from her metal prosthetic and filed away to her bedroom.

Thalia was preparing to settle in and get some rest, but first she needed to clean up a bit. Erica had beaten her into the bathroom, so there was a moment or two where she had to stand and wait, which she used mostly to stare at the door. Occasionally, she glanced over at Beatrice. Considered a withdrawn woman by most who knew her, Thalia was really more careful with her feelings. They came out at some of the oddest times, however, and usually in the form of anger or grief, like when they were assaulting the Eden complex and the pent-up frustration of her dead friends and family was visited upon those bastards; Thalia's face was a tear-streaked skull painting for half of it, colored with controlled rage. But somehow, when Erica popped her head out of the bathroom door just to tell them that she was planning on sequestering herself away because she suspected that they were going to start rubbing naughty parts, something clicked in her. Thalia's face got that predatory look again, like when she was sparring just earlier.

When Erica exited the bathroom and hopped into bed, content and happy, Thalia stalked into the bathroom. She freshened up as best she could in the sink, which was actually good as she was already accustomed to a more nomadic lifestyle anyway, and slipped into the shirt she had set aside earlier. Thalia opened the door and leaned in the frame, looking over to Beatrice with a dark smile below mischievous eyes. No one tells her what she isn't going to do, when her decision not to in the first place was to spare her any discomfort. This wasn't Thalia's style, but her hand was forced on this one.

"Yah know Bea, I take back what I said befoah. You're right. We need to get this out of the way or both of us are going to regret it lateh. Friend benefiting friend, zero strings. I say we marathon out a hot, loud, multilingual lesbian experience, and that we defile this bathroom first before we move it back out here." Shame wasn't high on her priorities right then, either. She looked to Beatrice after glancing sidelong at Erica, and said in a more sultry but mildly satiric voice, "My only question is, do you prefer the arm on? Or off?" She smiled wickedly, a light flush coming to her face. Yes, she was serious about the proposition. And yes, she was also doing this partially to mess with Erica. Thalia moved slowly over to Beatrice, taking her by the hand. Up close, it was apparent that regardless of the motivation to initiate, her want was genuine. "Come ahn, we'll figure it out as we go."

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


Hank figured that he might have overstepped something, offering to help with the kid's four-alarm assplosion, by the way that Wayne was going on about it. Not the kind of guy who gave a rat's ass about the social niceties, but dealing with a man's son is different. Nothing made lifelong enemies like overstepping bounds with someone's shiny new kid. When the man responded with an affirmation, Hank could have breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah, don't mind that guy," he said, motioning to Wayne, "He means well. I'm mostly sure he means well. Ok, he means well today. Eh, he's a good guy. Be honest, I don't really keep up with baseball anyway. Now hockey? There's a sport worth getting worked up about."

He related a story or two about hockey, and the legend of the great Bobby Orr, while the diapering was taking place. Not just to get the father to focus his mind on something other than being elbow deep in baby crap, but also so that little Jamie had something to listen to while it all went down. Be it a verbal or a visual distraction, Hank's experience was to keep the kid disoriented while flipping out the huggies, of bad things could happen. "Yeah, anytime there, sport," he quipped, hoping to find scalding hot water to wash his hands with after performing that particular diaper assist.

Bedtime now, another end to the day, hopefully the last day he would spend sitting, mostly. Hank did prefer to keep himself useful with practical labor. The idea of learning to fish properly was also nice, as was formal boat operation. Tomorrow had possibilities. It always seemed to, but this tomorrow was special. Hank lay back and relaxed, letting sleep take him as swiftly as it dared. At least Wayne wasn't farting tonight.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


Everything and nothing. It was strange how, when serious changes were afoot, both of those concepts seemed to be present in abundance. The air hung heavily with a hint of smoke, many people gathered inside of the church, the ceremony of purification was taking place. It was a rare gift even inside of the Rusyn skill set, difficult, and dangerous if done improperly. So it was important to ensure an uninterrupted session. Still, with all of the new faces, old faces, and feelings of foreboding hanging in the air, why did things seem so ...off? Nothing was overtly wrong, but everything seemed to point to the opposite of this. Absently, Vladimir drew two of his many knives and began twirling them between his fingers. This haze wasn't helping, either.

The others seemed interested in their own conversations, giving Vlad a rare opportunity to just stand and observe, rather than impress. He was plenty impressive enough as it was, anyway. Besides, legendary performer or not, his role right then was as a guard. A flashy, blade-hurling guard with impressively groomed facial hair.

What he saw was an unusually serous Constantin giving him a stare. Vladimir arched an eyebrow but kept silent, instead giving him a mildly amused expression. He read the sign on his colleague's face. Vlad just wanted to keep everyone at ease for the time being. Noting the direction in which the Firewalker darted his eyes, he also gave nonchalant and natural observation in that general direction, hopefully to see what he man was looking so grim about. Just his luck, there was a member of the Soulless population or political assassin hiding somewhere nearabouts that was in dire need of a vigorous, knifepoint Bazhooli-ing. Rather that a call to arms, he cast his gaze surreptitiously to see what he could see, ever standing observant watch over his Grand Duchess.

In 🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Dr. Swamp
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
Location: Shadowell Manor: Attic (Laboratory)
Skills: Intelligence
Hit Points: 2
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎


"I apologize, Chanteuse," began the Doctor, a rather upbeat if mild smile on his face. "It was a compliment, of course. A splash of deviousness serves to assist in the face of greater wickedness. Or in this case, our continued survival while we solve these mysteries. The instinct for survival, as you rightly mention, is important." The tone of his voice lowered as he spoke. "As unwelcome as our presence might be among the residents, I do not believe that they wish us immediately dead. Especially if we prove useful to them. They, at least, appear to want answers."

He brought the light over into the now opened door. A staircase behind a locked door, Swamp assumed to a place not as immediately accessible. He looked back into the laboratory proper, to the doors elsewhere in the room. He had wanted to see what was behind all of the doors, to ascertain their options, if you would, before committing to a course of action. Knowledge was a vital part of his own survival plan, such as it was. But a set of stairs proved an interesting conundrum. "Dare we risk the time necessary to descend the steps, Chanteuse? Hmm." Well, fortune favored the bold, though he wasn't sure that he fully believed in such a concept. "Unless you would prefer to check the other rooms first, I believe we have an opportunity here before Mr. Quinton returns with whatever apothecarial tonic he is mixing to settle your stomach. Shall we?"

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 5 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. → 5 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. → 5 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 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lady Amalthea Just posted our 2000th IC post! Yay!
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