Location: Grimm Indiana (Outside of El Asilo/The Nuthouse!) Skills: N/A Skills: N/A
Fine. Just god damned fine. The plan was simple: Get out, get in SUV, and last but not least: go away. The going away was a fine idea, for whomever suggested it to Caesar and Keystone. Fine idea indeed. But somewhere the wires got crossed and instead of going away, they decided to stay here and wait for the big, scary monster to rise from the bowels of the earth and eat them like so many assorted cheesy crisps. Thinking about it, that wasn't the preferred way for Keystone to die. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but that wasn't it. Caesar didn't overly care. His time on the earth was shorter than the others gathered around him by far, based purely off of age, and he'd done so many questionable things in his lifetime that he probably deserved a horrible, ripping death. He got to see his daughter again, though. It made things worth it.
Keystone had a lot to live for, however. He had a family and a home, good career; most importantly, Keystone had the keys. So the rest of this collection of reprobates and assholes could suck in a lungful of his retreating exhaust, because he was legitimately the fuck out of here. At least in his mind, he was. Flooring it down the road and hopping the first flight back to London with his son and whomever else was supposed to becoming with him. The old man even gave him an order to do exactly that. Sadly, Keystone's conscience wouldn't let him do what he was contemplating. It was going to get him killed someday. Maybe today. He might as well join in on the festivities. "Bloody 'Paradox', oi? Like that cat-'n-the-box what's not alive nor dead?" Not amazingly on the uptake with things, but he did complete the minimum educational requirements in the UK.
The big Brit hoofed it around to the back of the SUV and opened the hatch. He did have the keys, after all. Claire had packed what she called a "grab bag" of MSS standard and specialty gear. Nothing mil-spec, obviously, but many things useful in the industry of asset and personnel protection. Caesar was already loaded to bear for a street to street clash, but just for the hell of it he grabbed two shotguns - one a copy of his personal sidearm from home and another, corporate issue pump-action, slugged out and loaded to bear. Common practice was to utilize them against vehicles; a 12 gauge slug could drop an unshielded engine like a cigarette butt. Ammo replaced and he turned to face whatever was coming after them alongside his daughter. He wasn't about to leave her.
Caesar's London counterpart wasn't as comfortable with a firefight as he was. No, Keystone was more of a brawler, crossed with a Shaolin monk. Up close and personal, he was a beast. Otherwise, he learned enough about how to use a pistol to pass the requirements for every MSS employee. That is to say, passably, but no extreme marksman. Moreover, pickings for him were slim, considering what he already had. He grabbed a spare pistol and a couple of mags, for whatever good that might do him. Lord knew the surveillance equipment in the front wasn't going to he of help.
The two held ground, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen. They had guns, Alicia was doing ...something, and someone they just met reminded them that they were doing bad things in front of law enforcement. "Join the club, hura bonita." rasped Caesar, eyes intent on what might or might not be happening in front of them, "Anyone speak Russian?" That meant someone was in there with that thing. Something had to be done. "Civil dentro del edificio." he called, indicating to Alicia (or other Spanish speakers) that someone was still in the building. Whatever they were doing, she had the plan.
So, just a pinch of salt would suffice. Mental note on that. It was the little things that made life worthwhile, especially in this period of human history. You just couldn't count on the big things anymore. So, when you found simple joys or preferences, you settle back and enjoy them. For Thana, apparently, it was a dash of salt in her coffee. For Ash, it was being next to Thana. Then again, that wasn't a fair comparison. You break into the nearest abandoned diner or shell of a fast food place and you could get a packet of salt. Being with Thana was at the end of a year and a half long knightly quest for love, and to keep a promise. Ash gave that due consideration, especially after what he had consulted on a little bit earlier. He had fulfilled his promise. Now it was time to act upon the best interests of those he cared about and looked after for as long as he did. Part of that might hurt.
It could be said that one of the motivating factors that moved Ash along was a deep desire to avoid losing people he cared about. Loved ones were precious. It was always that way. Loss, as a whole, had a few more shades of nuance in some ways these days, and a few less in others. Still, when inaction resulted in the definite loss of one, action had to occur. Even if that meant he might lose another.
Tatiana could tell that he had something on his mind. She was good at reading people. Especially him, it seemed. Not to say that she was perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. There were many a time that she got him dead wrong but continued to move forward on her assumptions; however she was assuredly reliable enough to tell when something was weighing on him, like she could circumvent the face of stoicism he wore almost constantly. She was good.
Ash looked to Thana as she sat and drank her coffee, doing her paperwork. She really was lovely. A goddamn vision. So far as he was concerned, the scars couldn't mar that. Ash was lost in her for just a moment when he heard a line spoken to him in Russian. His grasp on the language was tenuous at best, but she used simple words and simple phrasing, then backed it up with the use of hend gestures. He looked to Thana again and nodded with an understanding look, as if to indicate that something predetermined was about to happen. He knew what he could and could not discuss. Besides, what he could discuss was going to be matter enough for the day, without having to look into the rest of the events lined up.
Cautiously, Ash stood and followed the petite ballerina to a quieter part of the Conference Room. They had done so many times over the course of their stay in CMB's quarantine, running off to hide like siblings sharing a secret. It wasn't so far from the truth, either. She was very much like a sister to him. That was why the next few moments were going to be stressful. Away from the rest of the group, And lowered his voice and began to talk to Tatiana. He was very careful to make sure he was not overheard, and braced for what was to follow.
Thalia took a moment's break chuckling with Beatrice to notice that Alexander was coming up to them. They hadn't spoken a lot since getting into Quarantine. Everyone seemed to have paired off, otherwise insulating themselves from one another, with her being no exception. If Thalia wasn't alone, which was a lot of that time, she was training. Admittedly, that took up the majority of her time, period. But she had paired off with Beatrice at the end, there. Something about a fistfight that got the blood moving. But back to the point, she hadn't associated with Alexander for a while, which was kind of silly in hindsight. "Yah, sure Mugsy. Grab you a piece of table." She kept it lighthearted. Though they had a rocky beginning, Thalia genuinely liked the old soldier. It was also possible that this was the last day they'd see each other. And they were amputee buddies.
Following that, she reacted to Beatrice's touch of smartassery, if indeed it actually was that. "Aw, quizΓ‘s la prΓ³xima vez, Abeja1." Truth was, she might have gone along with it just to make her happy, but for her to actually want to be involved physically with another woman, there had to be something there. Romantic, relationship building courtship, no. Wasn't her. But there had to be some quality present. It was hard for her to explain. Maybe the fact that either of them wanted that, but still remained friends, and both were emotionally isolated with tendencies toward violence. Whatever. Thalia doubted that their roommate fit any of those qualifications, even if he fully knew what they were, herself. "Es su perdida2. Maybe one of us should ask, huh?" She didn't actually expect a follow-up, last day of Quarantine and all that meant, coming up soon.
The sudden change in topic struck Thalia as being a little off. Like it was a setup for something. "Huh?" Not the most eloquent of responses. Well, nothing to be lost for answering. "Arrested? Um, yeah, when I was a kid. Fighting. Nothing ever came of it." Being a mixed-race American kid in Mexico back in the day had its share of social repercussions, and so did getting involved in not-quite-legal boxing matches because of your own emotional hangups, including a pretty big chip on her shoulder. Released without so much as a court date, which was probably out of respect to her family. She spent a small amount of time in holding before being released. Not the "hardened criminal" story that most people wanted to hear about when that question was asked; sadly in the adventure that was Thalia's life, disputes with the local authority and subsequent incarceration was not part of it in any substantial way.
Thalia was almost relieved when the question was put to Erica. It gave her a chance to attack her breakfast. Left-handed, of course.
1 = Aw, maybe next time, Bee(Bea). 2 = It's her loss.
Hank Wright
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room) Skills: People Reading, Advanced Psychology
Hank gave a little chuckle at his hetero lifemate, going through his best GQ poses that were obviously tinged with a lack of fuckgiving about what his address was going to be tomorrow. "Yeah, yeah. You're a great looking guy there, Maldonado. Real handsome man. Tell you though - I'm not worried either. Here's why:" Hank sat up a little in his seat and leaned over to Wayne, dropping his voice a little as he spoke. "I've been watching these people. Picked up on some patterns. Check this out...
Nodding his head over in the direction of various people in turn, around the Conference Room, he began to make character observations. "Okay, those two have had their heads stuck so far up peach other's asses that they have virtually zero idea what's really going on. Long as they're up there, they should really scan for polyps on the quick. Now... Captain America there looks like he's in the middle of some serious drama, but he's handling himself and a few of the muckety-mucks are taking note of that. Navy Girl, too. All professional but the affection she's showing isn't the affection she wants to show. Now, happy couple over there are going to need counseling soon, but it's nothing that's going to cause an uproar. They'll probably be fine, by the way."
Observations getting back to the point, Hank continued, "As unpleasant as we can be, most of the locals with guns are ignoring us entirely, like they don't consider us a threat any more than most of the people in this room. See what they're doing, though? Eyes regularly go to the big man over there like they're waiting on a signal, but look at where his eyes go when he's in thought." Hank gave him a moment to see before nodding, and whispering, "That's where the problem is going to come from. You and me? Only people give a crap about us are the guys we all came in with, and their votes don't count." Hank glossed over the details of a few more of them, just observations like, "Those two got laid last night. Oh! So did they. Lucky bastards. Everyone's seeing action but me. Hmm... He kind of liked this game. Maybe he should play it more often. He was probably good for now, having assessed the people he felt he needed to with the growing tension in the room.
Hank leaned back in his seat. "Wait, one more. The kid over there? Right now, he couldn't recognize a good thing if it was sitting on his face. Seriously. Oh, I've got a million of 'em."
It was the tone of her voice that mostly motivated Dr. Swamp. It was one thing to simply say that one needed to see something, it was quite another to inflect it as profoundly as she just did. Okay, he was game. Swamp raised his lamp a bit and carefully made his way over to the doorway that the Chanteuse had pointed out, and then entered. The tap of his cane upon the floor could be barely made out as he stepped a little livelier, curiosity burning in that brain of his like the snatch of a song that just refused to leave. He needed to sate this. Of course, he had no idea what to expect. When he entered the room, Swamp could not help but stifle a surprised gasp at what was before him. It was glorious.
Books upon books all around him. A treasure trove of what he valued in the world: Knowledge. Carefully, the Doctor tucked his cane beneath his arm and accepted the text that was being held out to him. He was delicate, as only a surgeon might be, looking over the ancient-looking volume with rare reverence. "This, heh..." He wasn't speechless, but it did take a quick inhale of air to collect his thoughts. "...this is a remarkable discovery, Chanteuse. Remarkable." If one wondered what Swamp sounded like when he was impressed, that was it. Quickly, he recovered himself and looked over the book he was now holding, trying simply to understand the nature of the text before him. He could look at the others in a moment. Thinking about it, he could look at the others for years and still remain interested. Provided this winter did not result in their deaths, Swamp had the impression that much of the hassle and pain would be worth it, provided he had access to this for the foreseeable future.
"This tome, madame, discusses medical procedures," he explained. "Though it differs vastly from my own research, or that which I have studied in other places of academia." The Doctor nodded, smiling at the thought of what he held in his hands. "It discusses the removal of certain internal organs from a live subject, without killing the subject. This is quite extraordinary, though I do wonder what the purpose of it might be..." Of course, sometimes the purpose of knowledge was simply to have that knowledge. Future ideas and advancements might make the obscure and misunderstood suddenly take a new and valuable clarity. Who was he to judge such a thing? "I wonder what else is in this place?" he whispered aloud, truly intellectually piqued.
The man named Vladimir Alexandrov at birth had spent more decades upon the living world than the others in the church in that moment. It showed in small ways; lines around his eyes that he occasionally penciled black, his chestnut hair had a streak of grey every now and again, and some mornings he needed a little longer than others to really get himself started. He was not a young soldier in the war against the Soulless anymore. However, he had tuned his body through rigorous training to demand more from himself than most. He had maturity, yes. It was a weapon he grasped with pride, one of many. Not a liability.
More simply put, he was The Great Bazhooli.
If one did not know what that meant, it was nothing. A flashy title for a circus performer. If one did know, truly know the meaning of this, it was the world.
The darkest moment in many people's lives stood in front of The Great Bazhooli, casting a shadow of fear by its mere presence, the impassioned Russian gazed upon it; upon the draining shade of Death itself, and smiled. He snapped his fingers in front of himself and set one hand upon the brim of his very tall and dignified hat, the other on the lapel of his great coat. He tilted his head to the side slightly, eyes gleaming with joyous anticipation, began to move into a low stance, and uttered a single word in English:
"Begin."
The first notes of Veta's song surged through him like the gift of pure, undiluted life itself, filling him with the essence of his people going back past the beginning of his line or his title. There was only one appropriate way to utilize the awesome power filling every inch and particle of him - he must dance. The dance worthy of a Great Bazhooli in the face of cold expiration could only be, as scholars of the lore and those of the extended bloodline might attest, a Mamushka. A dance commemorating life that, ironically, if practiced in its most unblemished way caused the death of those who would stand against him. One cannot have one without the other, and both were worthy of celebration.
The Great Bazhooli's flung his hands upward even as he spun into the first steps of the Mamushka, his coat and hat lending neatly (the coat damn near folded properly and the hat perched atop) on the church pew next to him. He placed a hand upon the back of the next pew up and vaulted over it, spinning once in the air and landing almost in a kneeling position. Though they were not there when he started the leap, the telltale glint of sharpened steel extended from either hand, taken from among the many, many blades upon his person that his coat had concealed from view.
The golden, soulful music carried him forward, its volume and speed seeming to increase with the rate of his heart, like they were connected in glorious harmony. He was about to enter into combat, armed with knives, against a demon. Life was amazing. The Great Bazhooli leapt, he flipped, he spun; he took to acrobatics both ground based and aerial with the vigor of a man much younger - more than a man much younger. And as the steps to the dance became more complicated, he became faster and faster. More accurate of step. Fatigue seemed to leave him the more he gave himself to the music of the Grand Duchess and danced the Mamushka. He embodied the physical manifestation of the union of flesh and spirit - He was agility. He was accuracy. He was stamina and speed personified. Vladimir was truly the fullest expression of The Great Bazhooli he had ever been at that moment; the most in tune with the forces that made them all who they were, back to the beginning.
He was OVER NINE THOUSAND.
The dance was obviously a thing adapted for glorious and flashy combat, which he threw himself into wholeheartedly. Yet the object was not to kill this loathsome thing immediately, no. It was to read it, as a sculptor reads a block of stone or lump of clay, that they may see what lurked within, waiting to be revealed by taking it apart piece by piece. What he knew already, or at least suspected, was that despite the whispy, shadow-like appearance, it was capable of putting weight upon the beam enough to make it crack and groan. And it landed on the floor of the church, after affecting a leap. These were the qualities of a corporeal, tactile being. But now was time to learn more. The Great Bazhooli leapt impossibly high into an aerial cartwheel across the front of the creature, locking his eyes onto it while he was fully upside down. The fraction of a second that he was able to make mental connection with the beast was all he needed.
Profound surprise slammed into him. His Mamushka was reinforced by the Grand Duchess, and he had an amazing inner reserve of Bazhooli-ness, otherwise he might have lost his step. Still dancing, still twirling his blades and whipping his body about like a dervish possessed, he spoke directly to the thing in front of them. It was boisterous. It was powerful. It was Great. "YOU ...have a Soul." The way he said it heavily implied that there was much more to say on the matter. Soul or not, if this was a thing that wished to destroy them, he would not kneel. No, Vlad would not submit. He would conquer. He would rise. His name was Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, and he had seen Evil. He had seen Horror. He had seen the Unholy Maggots which feasted in the dark recesses of the human soul. He had seen all this, but until today, Vlad had never seen THAT.
Gilbert returned to the spot where he had uncovered the origin on the tunnel on the Babylon Fortress side, and reactivated it. Surely the ancient Egyptians had excellent minds for engineering and an eye toward the future; the panel swung back open and the way was revealed. There was another sense of accomplishment about this, a sort of pride that he once belonged to this culture, and others around it, that was capable of building something that still functioned millennia later. He looked to the others as they gathered around, and put some thought into their next series of movements. It had been a while since he had been down here, and it was so easy to lose your sense of direction underground if you weren't accustomed to it.
A couple of moments later, Gilbert took the first steps into the tunnel system that any living man likely had in a very long time. The light source provided by Peter was adequate for the meantime, though it did mean that they would have to huddle a little closer than he was extremely comfortable with them being, owing to safety issues. But if they wanted to see... therein lay the tradeoff. "I remember that the ancients had a system for lighting. Reserves of oils, staggered and pooled along the sides of walls. They might not still be functional as it has been a great while, but keep your perception aware for something like this." In the meantime, Gil concentrated on finding the path to the section leading under the Qasr El Nil Barracks armory. Something told him that, despite the concerns of some of their number, there would be more than enough to go around. Whether it was in types they were familiar with wielding, however, was a different issue.
Character's current location: (Tunnel leading away from) Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt Character's attempted actions: Figuring Stuff Out, Keeping Alert Skills Used: History, Observation Why each skill is being called: To keep ready for anything hostile and/or unexpected, and to properly navigate to where they need to go. Desired location of the character: N/A
Follow the leader, follow the leader. Or leaders, plural. Then again, now that they were somewhat diminished by circumatance, a thing which was brought up briefly earlier, were they still the undisputed rulers of the Paradoxes? I mean, all they had over them now was thousands of years' experience, coupled with greater fine control over their powers and the deep, native knowledge of the culture they were all stuck inside of for a while, not to mention linguistic skills that allowed them to blend in like a pro. Ok, nevermind. Following the leaders.
James took Sophia's question and gave it a fairly logical, albeit simple answer. "Now, I ain't a man known fo' his high intellectual-ness, Miss Sophia, but I'd 'magine after we get them weapons, we arm ourselves." He nodded. It wasn't what she probably wanted to hear, but when the answer was likely something long the lines of acting as human bait and trying to kill something that nobody in time nor space has ever been able to kill, it was best not to dwell on things.
"Now now, Miss Andy," he continued, looking to the pale woman, Powers or not, I'd rather have two guns than one gun damn near anyday, an' that's the truth on it." Metaphorically, of course. James's new abilities lay with knives, escaping holds, and a good bow. He already had knives, though he was sure he might find more when they got there. The rest? Well, it'd be a rare thing, James imagined, for the British Army to still utilize bows and arrows. Still, stranger things had happened. Jame shuffled the foodstuffs and waterskins he had picked up along the way to one arm. Lunches from people restoring? something else not to swell on, lest he be reminded of a Mr. Shaggy an a Mr. Scoobert, finding a sandwich on the floor of a haunted house and digging in. What was the worst that could happen, right?
Character's current location: (Tunnel leading away from) Babylon Fortress, Cairo, Egypt Character's attempted actions: Keeping Alert Skills Used: Observation Why each skill is being called: To keep ready for anything hostile and/or unexpected. Desired location of the character: N/A
Location: Athribis (Underground) Skills: General Observation
To say that there was a sincere and unbiased belief in the psychic powers of Gene Benaszewski within Reginald would be an act of folly. More specifically, as much as he wasn't going to allow himself to buy into it, there had been much that had happened in a very short time that might make him listen to, if not exactly unquestionably heed the words of, the argumentative lady suggesting that the all flee. Well, all flee except for the two of them, now. Briefly, his brain pondered over the implications. First, move or everyone dies. Now, move or everyone dies, but you should stay, Reggie. It arched an eyebrow in the old man, certainly. Even elicited a quiet chuckle. Well, he was still game. Stiff upper lip and whatnot, pip pip; valley of death, and so forth.
It was then that he noticed the glowing of their presently chiefmost intellectual, having claimed the title in the interim from Lady Munn by virtue of her presence and the fact that her fine brain has been monumentally helpful as of late. But yes, glowing. Unperturbed by the whole thing (yet remarkably curious), Reginald shared his observation that, "Glass half full, it should make seeing the stonework a shave easier, quite."
Perturbed or not, there was some serious supernatural stuff going on down here in the haze and uncertain light of their situation. Reginald himself was becoming drawn into it. Though his gaze remained steely and his hands prepared to engage in combat by blade, bullet, or fisticuffs, the memories of his dreams kept forcing themselves forward in his thoughts. The screamed message in local Arabic, the udjat ring, and more recently, the images of armies of inhuman creatures swarming and bounding toward each other in a cacophony of snarls and cries; the slamming of weapon upon weapon and weapon upon bodies, rendered intert by the actions of their fellows. And of course, the tall, jackal-headed creature who removed his heart from afar. The Lord Major could even see all of this in the haze around him; the Udjat, his own, fleshy heart floating as a dandelion fluff upon a slow wind toward who he supposed the mastermind of all of this carnage was. He recalled discussing it, though the name of the fellow almost escaped him. One might hear him whisper, "...a nudist, here? How very improbable..." He might have gotten the name wrong. It'd come back to him.
Then Mahendra said something that broke him away from his descent into hazy dreamland. Something about orders. Reginald was ever the eternal soldier, be he a bit rounder and more silvered of crown. His sense were still sharp, as were his faculties (for the most part). And while he had no official authority over the younger geologist, he also did not wish anyone else to get hurt. "Mr. Zalil, if you would please, have everyone who does not need to be here retreat a distance back up the corridor and make ready to move quickly. Miss Kingston, if you would please, do everything you require to open this great stone portcullis except for the very last movement. Then please, please join the others. We cannot bear to lose you and upon my honor, I cannot abandon our guide unless options are exhausted." He was still glancing into the haze around him, and occasionally back to Nora's hand. "If everything is perfectly safe and canny, I shall let you know. If it is not, I've a notion everyone shall know anyhow."
Haring Reddish
Location: Benha (Elite Deck -> Sun Deck) Skills: General Observation
The small talk of things both silvered and screened allowed Reddish to maintain his woefully cheery disposition while continuing to be active in the observation of the scene around him with meticulous care. He smiled and nodded at Vera's aid in finding the stairs, unnecessary though it was, making a big enough deal out of her pointing her finger in the appropriate direction as to make one think he might have been kicked in the head by a shod-hoofed beast of burden and sold to circus folk with a tenuous grasp on public speaking. That is to say, he was gracious, overly masticating his words as they exited his face, and was being extremely, massively, ponderously British about the whole thing.
Considering the nature of the Corporal's presence with the group, nothing else is really happening to and/or with him directly. Apart from a vague but (he insisted) pressing feeling that he belonged here, in this place and with these people, Reddish had never been party to the dreams, nor the branding, nor the handling of artifacts that would have impacted their mission in any significant way. He sees the haze, and apart from the mundane difficulties with distance vision because of it, has no further complaints.
But the movie discussion, of course. Cover aside, it was a thing which fascinated him. "Why Miss Clarke! If you would allow me to speak in a manner most grim? Do please pardon, but ah... I handled that paperwork and know quite what was on it; further I've been in the service of the Lord Major for a bit of time in Cairo, and know many of the people with whom he shows favor. If memory serves, he asked you to sign those in an effort to preserve the life of Miss Tarek, a longtime friend of the Lord Major." He gave a slightly embarrassed shrug, "She is, ah... now deceased. No fault of anyone's; God rest her soul, of course, and I mean no disrespect to the lady nor to the Lord Major, understand me. But I've no idea why he would uphold the contract any longer. I might even speak with him about it were I you, Miss Clarke." He smiled gently, looking over Josephine's choice in clothing today. The thought passed his mind that, were he her (as he mentioned just before) then he would have full access to all of her choice wardrobe. Ah, one of many of life's Grails, but no. Not now. There was a job to do.
But not before adding, "Oh and yes, you simply must play yourself. It just wouldn't be appropriate otherwise. Nary a spoken line of it."
The Corporal was about to comment more, when he too heard the big thump from just above. He risked jogging the last few steps up to inspect their surroundings before Vera and Josephine got there, ensuring safety and whatnot, only to see the ship's doctor yet again horizontal and without his ability to remain alert. Reddish jumped upon the circumstance with a few well-chosen words to smooth things over. "Splendid news here, ladies. Just splendid - I've gone and found the Doctor! Poor blighter's chronically incapable of remaining upright, I'm afraid, but by God can that man forcibly occupy a floor. Marvelous sir, bloody marvelous! He began clapping lightly and nodding, then looked back down at Josephine with a rather taken aback expression rapidly shifting to something more knowing and accepting. "Ah, Miss Clarke? Bit of something on your hand, there..."
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.
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
[list]
[*]
[*] 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]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/xT0GqpswuzhOqHP6gM/giphy-downsized-large.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://media.giphy.com/media/iMnyx7HWjZgPu/giphy.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/wUTjLTf.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K04tQV9pRE8/UCFQiE8aoVI/AAAAAAAATJk/hIK7mzvvYpk/s430/99.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/rigeWJc.gif[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/throughthedoor.gif?w=650[/img][/center]
[/hider]
[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>
wanderingwolf
Pirouette
Arty Fox
Festive
Lewascan2
Shoe Thief
Natsu
Morose
