Location: Grimm Indiana (Outside of El Asilo/The Nuthouse!) Skills: N/A Skills: N/A
"What in rancid, scrote-stabbin' 'ell is this then?" came the defiantly issued words of the group's resident Londoner. Perhaps it typified the overall feelings of the others around him in such a way that, were they incapable of a more eloquent expression to that effect, could use as a small solace that someone understood their pain and confusion. Or to put it more plainly: It looked like the season had changed, and that was taxing Keystone's ability to process. Luckily, beyond his comprehensive skills, the big man did know how to take an order, even one passed along in a nonverbal manner as simple as shoving keys into his hand. This made sense. Big man takes keys, big man uses keys, big man drives away. But before this, big man questions certain life choices he might have made in his younger years that could have resulted in a flashback. "Rest o' you're seein' this too, yeah?"
Caesar, meanwhile, is doing a more remarkable job of keeping his shit together than his junior counterpart. His brain is taking in the new information and spinning it into a series of "this is happenning" style circumstances, rather than debating with himself the wrongness of it all or succumbing to a horror of something that should not be. Perhaps there was a bit of a sociopath in him. Or perhaps his decades of seeing and causing so much carnage had left him with a psychological callous that allowed him to view spectacularly bad things with objectivity.
"C-4 is in Seattle. Chattanooga. Monterrey. Got small arms and cutters." In her bag, anyway. (To review:) He had placed two Glock 17s pistols, holsters, decent ammo, and a few sharp implements in case she got bored within. The back of the SUV contained the grab bag of standard and specialized equipstuff that Claire McManus had packed up for them, and Keystone still had his company duffel in the vehicle with a mix of martial gear and surveillance equipment. Of course, neither Caesar nor Keystone had any idea that they'd be running out of an abandoned asylum being chased by a giant Lovecraftian horror, or they sure as hell would have packed something a lot heavier. Lord knew Caesar had a collection.
"SUV over here," said Caesar, motioning to the vehicle that he very wisely fishtailed around earlier so it could be pointing in a direction that made getting the hell out a bit easier. Keystone hit the remote doorlock button on his set of keys just as they were reaching the company vehicle, allowing for the speedier entry of persons into said vehicle. How many were coming with them again? Caesar supposed that it was a tiny detail that would, throughout the normal course of the exchange sort itself readily. Such a thought was echoed in the sound of the stairwell door exploding out of the side of the building. Despite it all, the fact that someone was highly concerned in this moment that Alicia might respond in a sarcastic manner was enough to raise an eyebrow in the older man. Did she not know who the hell Alicia was? Or barring that, was she keen on walking? Even Keystone, who up until this point was living very much "in the now" with his desire not to be eviscerated by forces most unnatural, managed to blurt out, "Aw, sounds like someone's wantin' ta 'oof it!"
Inside car, start car, vroom. Time to motor. Leaving the scene.
It was early. Earlier than usual, anyway, when Ash got his wake-up call. The environment was still new enough that he awoke cleanly, like a stick snapping underfoot. His eyes opened to Thana, who was also coming back to the waking world. Ash smiled, carefully looking over to the other bed in the room. It lay there, lonely and unused, still made with tight, fitted sheets. Did they actually expect them to sleep apart? No, it seemed silly. Whomever had to tidy this room was going to have a relatively easy time of it. The older man, Hank? Ash thought he pulled that detail. Still, Ash got to experience waking up next to Thana. It was more than enough to have made the whole trek worthwhile.
The warm and fuzzy feelings were still present, but the growing awareness that waking up brings also reminded him that there were some serious issues that had been discussed, and still needed to be discussed. Tense was the word used in this occasion. Today was going to he a harder day than most. It might even cost him something precious. Still, he understood what had happened and what yet had to. One of those things that was going to happen was actually a higher point in the day. Ash gave Thana a supportive smile, leaned in and readily lifted her into his arms. The less time she spent on that leg the better, and it gave him an excuse to hold her close. He carried the Commander out into the Conference Room under escort (of course) and set her down at the table with Gunny, their paperwork, and a box that he came to find out had familiar documentation within.
Ash wasn't part of these people officially. And there was always the possibility that he wouldn't be, if they didn't like something about his past or about what they saw of him during his stay so far. Being there put him in an odd position. Prior to things getting underway, he quietly and politely asked of Thana, "Please let me know if I can help, or if I need to make myself scarce. Thanks." Otherwise he kept himself nearby and quiet, but not obtrusive, in the event either was necessary. Yeah, things were tense. And they were about to get even more tense.
He hadn't expected to actually be called over to help review some of the papers. Surprise and confusion, albeit mild, struck him. It didn't slow him down as he took a knee next to the table ad began looking over what Thana was just been reviewing. "This's ...damnit," he breathed. Echoing Thana's original spoken thought on it, "Seriously?" Black and white, peer reviewed, and they had no motivation Ash could think of to lie. He breathed out a long lungful of air. Yeah, that became a discussion.
Luck being with them, or a good sense of timing, it was finalized before the others were escorted in. Tension was clearly in the faces of both Ash and Thana, but not enough to prevent a tiny amount of camaraderie as Thana planted a light kiss on Ash's shoulder and made a request of him. "Sure, be right back," he said, making himself useful. He went and grabbed a cup of coffee and grabbed a portion of salt. Not fully aware of her preference on how much to add, he brought it back to observe. On the way back, he noticed Tatiana. He wanted to speak with her immediately about something pressing, but here's where it got fuzzy: Ash was privy to something the others weren't, even if he had no say in anything that went on. It would be a failing of ethic to be seen talking during, or immediately after, until he was told what if anything could be discussed. Instead, he gave a noncommittal smile and nod, a quick, "Mornin', Tati," add returned to Thana's side with her coffee. And salt. Navy thing, she had mentioned. Ash might never understand salted coffee.
Yeah, her and Beatrice were friends. It was hard to define things of that nature without some random jackass putting their own label on things, and Lord knew what Erica thought of them now after a post meridian lock-in involving a lack of modesty and Spanish yodeling, but for Thalia, friend seemed an appropriate enough title. Apparently, one with benefits. And while she felt a sense the weight of built up anxiety and frustration had lightened considerably, and several times, when she entered the Conference Room under armed escort, only to see even more guns in the room, the survival instincts of the young woman were beginning to flare.
Today was the day, wasn't it? The day to see if her attitude was welcome here, to see if her actions hadn't damned her. She probably didn't make the best impression that first day, grabbing a ton of food and retreating to a defensible location like an animal to hunch over and consume it, nursing the stump of a missing paw. Or the fact that air conditioning still made her uncomfortable. Or the threats. Maybe not the sparring session, people seemed to respond favorably. But all of that aside, Thalia was in a weakened position. She needed help, as much as it pained her to admit it.
Thalia would have rather been on her own, a lot of the time out there. Sometimes, it was best. Lately, the concept of a small unit appealed to her, but getting back to the majority of her post-Outbreak life? Alone. The hard lesson she learned was that sooner or later, we all need someone. It was the primary difference to the survival strategies of herself and Beatrice. Twice now, Thalia was laid low because of circumstances. The first time she was lucky enough to have been found by people to brought her back whole and made her stronger. Now, at this second time, she needed the same thing. She needed to become stronger or perish. Beatrice had made a couple of comments about not wanting to stay. Thalia understood, truly more than the others might. She didn't have to like it, though.
Joke as she might, today was going to be huge. She could look at the expression on Navy's face and see that something was up. What exactly was still a mystery, but something. Thana wasn't going anywhere, obviously. So overall, Thalia just hoped that her friend would stay. She gave Beatrice a knowing look, before nodding. She had no idea what was running through the woman's head, but trying to sway her to stick around a place where she wasn't comfortable would lead to resentment. That's not who they were. As for Thalia, maybe one day she'd Robinson Crusoe up a nice, fortified treehouse someplace and spend her autumn years in peace, or maybe she'd eventually make it back to her people in Mexico, but for now she needed to be here. Unless she didn't make the cut. That would definitely make today an interesting day. "C'mon Bea. Let's sit and wait for judgement." With a sly smile, she looked to their mutual roommate, "It's okay. You can come too, Erica. We don't bite." Of course, that wasn't entirely true.
1 = I don't know, Killah Bea. But I bet that our roommate wants to get out of here pretty bad, after last night, huh? 2 = Call me crazy, but I think the old guy is going to get in.
Hank was feeling a little more optimistic than his former detective counterpart. Not that Wayne didn't seem to be in good spirits, but his morale seemed to be rooted in a distinct lack of fuck-giving, while Hank's was more a general feeling that thing were going to work out okay for him. More than him, for them both. So yes, call him an optimist. Yes, he'd been grumbly and yes, he'd been a rude bastard a lot of the time he'd been in Mexico Beach. Hank was like that well before, and would be like that well after. But there was a sense of understanding that he (hoped) he got from his interview. Maybe everything really would be okay. And if it wasn't, then to hell with this place and everyone in it. Him and Wayne had done just fine before, they would do just fine after and be thankful for the week-long vacation.
"Ya know there, Maldonado, if this doesn't work out we can keep to the coast and head south. Fix up a car along the way, like we've been doing. Find us a nice piece of oceanfront property with a view that lasts for days. Hey, hey... what do you think about just taking one of the Florida Keys? You know, smaller one." It was a bit of padding, in case one or both of them were deemed unfit. Hank already decided that wherever goeth Wayne, so went him. So if he got the boot, Hank was packing his shit and following suit. But he caught a glimmer of something in the eyes of his interviewer. Hence, the relative optimism that was usually against his better judgement.
Wayne mentioned the baby again. He really liked that kid. Bonded a little, to look at the two of them together. "Yuh huh, with you there. A few decent people in this gaggle of assholes, and that kid's alright." This was Hank-speak for "I agree, and further wish to say that I like many of these fine people."
Returning to the Conference Room, he saw the beginnings of some shit a'brewing. It didn't take a psychologist to figure that out, though he did make an attempt to scan the room for telltale signs of where the shit might originate, were it to. The presence of many guns caught his attention, too. Or, more guns. He likewise got breakfast and a cup of coffee and joined his friend. Oh, there was going to be a show, all right. Hopefully, it wouldn't involve them.
Character current location: Conference Room Characters attempted actions: Reading the room Any and all skills being used: People Reading, Advanced Psychology Why each skill is being called: To read individuals in the room for warning signs, as well as the overall feel of the place. Further, to interpret possible courses of action based upon those signs and what he might have observed about them over the past week. Desired location of the character: N/A
Location: Gretna Green, Church Skills:Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English
There was awe, and just a hint of an adventurous grin on the face of The Great Bazhooli. He had duty to the Grand Duchess, this was for certain, but there were some moments that he truly lived for, freely and without abandon. This was one such moment. To ply his trade; not that of a performer, but the services he and his people did for the Russian Empire under the guise of mere entertainers. But there was nothing mere about Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, first heir of Baron Alexandrov and this generation's Great Bazhooli. And to ply said trade amid onlookers? Ah, such rapturous, wonderous bliss of blade dancing, flying knives, and an audience.
The thing which grasped his attention, even more than his own histrionics, was the action of the summoned Ostanavlivat'sya. The spiritual force recognized the dark and tendrilly thing in the rafters and bid it as much attention as anyone else in the room. That was interesting beyond generally accepted belief, especially considering the dangerous nature of Veta's summoning. "NO!" boomed his cultured, Russian accented voice, the air of showy assertiveness and Cossack masculinity radiating from him as almost a visible aura. His teeth were bared. Was it a genuine grin, or combative defiance against an enemy? Who was to say? He was The Great Bazhooli. It was all that needed to be known of him, for it spoke tales of generations. "Ve do not run." A person looking on might see the glint of vitality in his eyes that only appeared in a man facing his own mortality with a smile. And it was official, Vladimir was smiling.
He glanced around to the others in the church with him. None of the others were Circus except for Constantin the Firewalker and Veta with her obvious Training, but he could tell they were all able fighters in their own right. "Ve dance... Ve dance the Dance of the Living, embracing it as ve must embrace Oblivion vhen ve are called to her! In face of Death, ve celebrate Life! Elizaveta!" His eyes remained on the thing poised in the rafters. He needed to see something about it with the Trained eyes of a Rusyn warrior, even as a battle loomed like an ambush predator. "Sing for me please a Π’Π°ΡΡΡΠΊΠ°1, Your Grace," he called to his Grand Duchess, effecting a wide-stanced bow with his arms out to his sides. This was his life and breath. "Sing, and let us rejoice," he growled, adopting the dangerous glare of a man capable of great violence.
Let no man say he lived a colorless life, nor that he did not have panache.
1 = Tatushka (Like this helps. Sorry! No direct translation to English!)
Characters current location - Gretna Green, Church Characters attempted actions - Rallying the group, maneuvering into position to best affect inkblot-rafter-thing while keeping his head attached to his torso Any and all skills being used - Mamushka! Why each skill is being called - Because it kicks ass Desired location of the character - N/A
There was one sentiment expressed by the Chanteuse that made Swamp ponder an issue or two. Not putting anything past "those who do not blink at death". It was curious. What might she think of him, then? While no great soldier, nor survivor of any calamity any more than anyone else, his occupation and chosen field of study had him around death quite a bit. Death was a fact of life. Did he fit into that category as well? Looking at it objectively (a thing he was actually good at), Dr. Swamp did just disembowel and alphabetically order the component parts of the Lord of the Manor with amazingly clean incisions and minimal cleanup necessary, while he was still warm from his former status of being alive, direct evidence that he had extensive experience with human anatomy and the disarticulation thereof. And he even hummed along to her music while he did it. Does that mean that he fell into the category that the Chanteuse talked about; one who does not blink at death? Or was the fact that he asked himself this sort of introspective question the very sliver of difference that made him stand apart?
Better yet, why was he worried about it to begin with? It was strange. Luckily, there were more pressing, life-threatening issues at the forefront. To begin, the amount of time they were left alone to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, lest their host return and find himself in a foul mood. Swamp made some quick estimations. "Provided that Mr. Quinton actually performs all of the actions he indicated; speaking with the new authority about our findings and my offer (with discussion about subsequent judgement), fetching your tonic, and navigating the house in the dark, I believe that we have a few minutes more than originally anticipated. I concede to your wisdom in haste, regardless. Better to have more time than not enough." Swamp nodded, "I also applaud your foresight and resourcefulness, securing two exits. Although," he stipulated, putting on a wearied look, "It's not the servants of the house that worry me, quite as much as the guests."
Swamp leaned on his cane and let the lamp in his hand droop in his grasp. It had been a day to remember, that was for sure. And his attempts to penetrate the mystery of their presence seemed to be garnering the ire of others; though why the search for truth was frowned upon by the very people it would have quite literally set free was beyond his intellect to grasp. Well, it would free most of them, anyway. Part of that truth came out just recently, thanks to his ability to do suss it out intelligently, systematically, and scientifically; a thing which might not have been possible without the environment of the Laboratory.
That thought stopped him dead in his tracks. The Laboratory. "This facility..." His words grew hoarser, "Such a place is not generally open to be lent." No, people who had places like this guarded them jealously, certainly not to some outsider who claimed to be a physician. "Whose laboratory, specifically, is this? I do wonder." There was a wiry edge of concern in his words. He needed to know more.
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.
Character's current location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt Character's attempted actions: Figuring Stuff Out Skills Used: History, Observation Why each skill is being called: To light the tunnels, if a skill roll is applicable. Has a functioning cigarette lighter. Desired location of the character: N/A
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?"
Character's current location: Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt Character's attempted actions: Finding stuff en route Skills Used: Observation Why each skill is being called: Looking for anything along the way to the tunnel entrance than can be used as a light source; torch, lantern from previous work, whatever Desired location of the character: 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 βH. 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. βIn 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.
Character's current location: Athribis, Underground Character's attempted actions: Keeping senses as sharp as possible to observe surroundings Any and all skills being used: General Observation Why each skill is being called: To essentially keep watch Desired location of the character: Remaining with group
"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.
Character current location: Boat, Elite Deck Characters attempted actions: Watchdog Any and all skills being used: General Observation Why each skill is being called: Keeping tabs on surroundings Desired location of the character: Following along with Vera and Josephine, hopefully up one deck.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
Characters current location - Gretna Green, Church Characters attempted actions - To check where Constantin indicated (rafters) Any and all skills being used - General Observation Why each skill is being called - To keep watch over the ceremony by observing, generally Desired location of the character - N/A
"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?"
Character current location: The Attic (Laboratory) Characters attempted actions: Observation, Estimation Skills Used: Intelligence Why each skill is being called: Attempt to estimate the time it might take for Quinton to return, then to observe surroundings for anything of note while navigating stairs. Desired location of the character: The Attic (Laboratory Stairs)
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
[list]
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[*] Save Another from LLA Card
[*] Kill Any NPC in LAU Card
[*] Plot Insight Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
[*] Single Day Extension Card
[*]
[/list]
[/hider]
[hider=Death Scenes]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266]Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944]The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657]Malfunctioning Space Toilet[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122]Rube Goldberg Decapitation[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229]Shitter's Full[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115]Dirigible (warning, SAD)[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295]After "The Last Barbecue"[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699]Detoxing Pilot[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239]Girls Stick Together[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807]Oops[/url]
[/hider]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659]"Character Flaw"[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914]Keystone's Daydream[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161]Checking for Mental Intrusion[/url]
[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115]The Power Of Pain Compels You[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484]The Greater Good[/url]
[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610]Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady[/url]
[hider=Signature Images]
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[center][img]https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650[/img][/center]
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[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Lady Absinthia's GM Awards">Lady Absinthia's GM Awards [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><ul class="bb-list" style="white-space: normal;"><li></li><li>Save Another from LLA Card</li><li>Kill Any NPC in LAU Card</li><li>Plot Insight Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li>Single Day Extension Card</li><li></li></ul></div></div><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Death Scenes">Death Scenes [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3622266">Dexter's Death (or Hammertime!)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3837944">The UnBEARable Case of Lawrence Long</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4020657">Malfunctioning Space Toilet</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4557122">Rube Goldberg Decapitation</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4569229">Shitter's Full</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4602115">Dirigible (warning, SAD)</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4538295">After "The Last Barbecue"</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723699">Detoxing Pilot</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4745239">Girls Stick Together</a><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4749807">Oops</a></div></div><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659">"Character Flaw"</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/2968914">Keystone's Daydream</a><br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3040161">Checking for Mental Intrusion</a> <br><br><a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3594115">The Power Of Pain Compels You</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4670484">The Greater Good</a><br><br><a href="https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5134610">Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady</a><br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Signature Images">Signature Images [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650" /></div></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif" /></div></div>
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