There was this utter treasure trove of knowledge sitting here, just sitting here with no one else who might appreciate it as much as he might, and no one had told him. Not that anyone associated with the house might have, given the nature of their arrival. And, of course, the events which had transpired after said arrival. So no, it was little wonder that the masters of the house wold not sit them down and trot out all of the best finery and key speaking points to the secret valuables of the house. Swamp was still reading the contents of the tome in his hands as Amaranthine spoke. He agreed with her on her first statement, giving a wistful, "Yes, indeed..." when she discussed what might be within the volumes. Then he understood her context, following up with, "Ah, my apologies. I am, ah, drawn to things of knowledge, regardless of source. It is joyous, though now that you mention it surely must have come at ...quite a cost in morality."
It took some effort, but he finally relented. Swamp closed the book that he was reading, but he did so in a manner respectful of the thing which held the fruits of scientific endeavors. He gave the room a long look before stepping back out of it, as if he might be able to simply absorb the contents of the books through sheer force of will alone, set the book back where it was procured, and left with a pang of regret. "You are quite right, of course. This is a dangerous line to walk, especially as we were not intended to gain entry to this room in the first place. In my condition especially, I am in no place to openly challenge any of the housemasters' wishes." He referred to his injuries, of course.
Swamp closed the door to the Library behind him and breathed a heavy sigh. He took a second, seeming to regard an issue, then initiated something wholly unrelated to their most recent minor adventure, "Ah, Chanteuse? If I may, I have a advantage in knowing a bit about you, on account of your more public lifestyle. In an effort toward leveling things," he leaned in closer, and in a clear but quiet whisper intoned his full, given, and proper name to the woman. He paused, looking rather sheepish for a second, and gave an understanding, "Dr. Swamp is perfectly fine in the interim, for obvious reasons. I just thought you should know."
Location: Gretna Green, Church Skills:Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English
As unbelievable as it might seem, this was not Vladimir's first time being thrown halfway across a church. Time seemed to slow down as he hurtled back through the air, courtesy of the telling, sternum-staving blow that propelled him. It gave him time to think. Oh sure, the landing was going to be the least fun part of this while experience, but who gets to see stained glass from the inside hurtle by at 47 miles per hour? Really, it was an experience. Sure, he might die; but today, he was really living. Just before he made epic landfall, the last thing to cross his mind was a question: If he really did die, which of his people would be bestowed the mantle of The Great Bazhooli? It had to be embraced by an Alexandrov, and there were certain requirements besides. His eldest boy had the skills, but honestly (as this was a moment for honesty, if nothing else), did he possess the depth of character? Of intensity? Did he have enough panache to become Vladmir's successor?
The entire line of thought was rendered moot in one shattering nanosecond, as his body impacted with the heavy, wooden church pew. It broke into several pieces, partially burying the valiant Russian underneath its debris as it continued collapsing on top of him. A thin cloud of dust rose, and for too many heartbeats, the destruction lay still.
Suddenly, a great clattering of wooden shrapnel could be heard as pieces exploded up and away from the site of impact. Vladimir kicked himself into a standing position with a great bellow of, "HAAA!" His hands still contained balanced, sharpened steel, and he appeared absolutely uninjured by the crash, as if an invisible shield made of pure intestinal fortitude and refined, weapons-grade histrionics surrounded him, protecting him from harms both supernatural and mundane. Vladimir leaned his head to either side, resulting in audible popping sounds from the bones of his neck, and then reiterated the concept of who he was and what he did with a raspy, accented roar of, "Fal'shbort, bitches! RAAHHH!" Seemingly, absolutely zero the worse for wear, Vladimir strode purposefully toward the inversely soulled creature, kicking the scraps of church pew from his boots in the process.
He paused, reaching a hand up to his forehead. There indeed had been a casualty of the attack upon his person, as a single lock of dark chestnut had pulled free from the rest of his marvellously groomed, oiled pate of thick, luxurious hair. It hung forward, swaying back and forth as he walked just at the top of his vision, until he lifted a finger from the handle of his knife and pushed it back. But it looked like it might fall free again. "You!" he yelled accusingly to the beast, "You disturb follicles (is right, follicles? Da? Da, okay) follicles, of The Great Bazhooli!" He nodded, a building of drama and rage noteworthy in his eyes. "Vill not go unanswered," he promised. Having made his way to the tapestry left unattended and unstrung by the acquisition of the cord as a weapon component, Vladimir tossed one end of it over a wall candelabra and pierced the other end with one of his knives. If all else fails, try burning.
"NOW," he boomed, "let us try the same trick ...ON FIRE!"
Character current location: Gretna Green, Church Characters attempted actions: To hurl a sharp projectile trailing a flaming tapestry into the creature Any and all skills being used: Thrown Weapons Why each skill is being called: Because he isn't saying it with flowers Desired location of the character: N/A
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: Observation
In the midst of the changing levels of light and shadow, James was walking fairly contentedly ad nigh effortlessly. He seemed to have a good handle on himself and his environment, enough so that he was able to give warning and/or assistance to others who were not as momentarily perceptive as himself. Amid his success in this arena, he couldn't help but notice that he would quite possibly have an even easier time of it were he to open himself up to the natural abilities accessible by using his chief Paradox power. That is to say, James was a sort of Wereboar, kinda. Perhaps it was time to have that do some good. Just having those senses available and access to survival instincts of his animal form might be helpful in their situation, too. It might be a good idea.
He was about to voice just that idea to the person nearest him, who happened to he Andromeda, when he noticed a level of alarm on her face. Perhaps not alarm, persay, but a look of personal foreboding. Though it was buried under a stack of other memories, James seemed to recall a mention in passing about her dislike of ...exactly the conditions present for them. Perhaps she needed something to help take her mind off of it. Aside from the threat of imminent demise from a powerful and scary supernatural force, anyway. That might seem to exacerbate the situation. "Hey, Miss Andy? You wanna piggy back ride?" The question seemed out of nowhere. Likewise, the astute and mildly sarcastic observer might surmise that the statement could mean a couple of things, coming from James. "You know, take a load offa your feet, go adventurin' in style. If'n I need ya off, I'll do me a little shimmy. A'ight?" He gave a broad, possibly disarming smile, were it not for the fact that he had a history of mildly inappropriate sarcasm. "K, here we go..."
Characters current location - Tunnels Characters attempted actions - Shift Forms Any and all skills being used - Peccary Form Why each skill is being called - To become one with the Bacon (ahem) - To utilize the abilities and senses of the Great Wereboar to better interact with the environment Desired location of the character - N/A
Gilbert Summers
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) Skills: History, Observation
Another glimpse of the surface from below, another shaft of light, be it obscured by this unnatural haze. Gilbert utilized what he remembered about this network of passages, along with cues from above, to pinpoint their location relative to the building that now stood as the Qasr El Nil barracks. Of course, the problem being that, now that they were making some real headway into the tunnels, their sources of light were getting less and less. The Paradoxes had their own means and suggestions on how to fix that, and while he didn't want to stifle their problem-solving capabilities, Gilbert knew that there was a possibility of existing illumination, if they could just reach it. Their opportunities for light were leaving them.
As the discussion turned toward the construction of torches to combat the dying light, Gilbert raised a hand and bid the group, "Wait, just a moment, please." He stepped toward the wall and laid his hand upon an outcropping, curious to figure out if this was part of what he had been searching for, since coming down here. No, not the armory. The possible light source. Gil was just about to ask Peter to use his Paradoxical gift to assist, but remembered that he did, in fact, have a mundane solution on deck. "Let us save the impromptu torches for a while. I believe we may have something here."
The tall Emendator drew from his experience in using pocket-sized flame producing devices, and let his thumb pass over the striker wheel, applying a bit of specific pressure to ignite the wick thereupon, with the hopes of using this marvel of modern man to kickstart the miracle of ancient man out if its slumber. If this happened to fail, well, there was a charming British fellow who had a knack for lighting things ablaze.
Characters current location - Tunnels Characters attempted actions - Using a cigarette lighter to get the oil system lit Any and all skills being used - N/A Why each skill is being called - Really, it's more of an action declaration that a roll request. But it needed to go somewhere. Desired location of the character - N/A
The supernatural oddities playing about with their environment aside, Reginald was just then giving serious consideration to the possibility that he was suffering through the more colorful parts of senility, or the senseless slaughter to which he was party for the vast majority of his life that was tinted by colorful wrappings of glory and honor had finally caught up with him in the form of a mindbending brain cramp. The only thing that he was able to distinguish for certain from his feelings on the extremely malleable reality in whic he stood was that he was, oddly, ever so slightly disappointed that there wasn't a big scary monster lurking there, ready to devour them. If fact, the initial contribution he gave to the new and exciting setting was a lightly exasperated, "Really?" followed by a heavy, aristocratic sigh and a follow up of, "Quite." On the other hand, this was turning out to be quite the chaotic piece of events.
The explanation that Gene began to give them all did, despite the wonder of the environment refurbishing around them, cause the Lord Major to turn his head with his mouth slightly agape. Truly, he was taking in the flow and nuance of words coming from her mouth, each phrase more incredible than the last as offered explanation. It was capped off by the abrupt drop of assertion that their guide, Bella, was actually a witch. He leaned in a little closer, and in an avuncular, concerned voice, inquired, "Ah, Miss Benaszewki? I'd not arrive at this point of discussion without import assigned thusly, but: Do your dear parents know you're smoking that?"
Yes, very strange things were afoot. The explanations were running even in terms of strangeness with the events, and Reginald was not amused. He looked back at the group, "Perhaps we've all been tending to our vices a bit much lately. I have seen and experienced too much in our past few days, you see. Too many people have died without purpose or meaning, seemingly for the entertainment of some childish celestial entity that looks to us as ants to be dispatched by magnifying glass. I tire of it. All of it, and quite rightly so. Let us continue on the only path that is set before us, for whatever good or ill it shall bestow." He looked to Nora, "At your direction, Miss Kingston." He remained as ready as he could be for whatever trouble was to assail them next, sticking close to the front of the group. Maybe if he was lucky, this would all have been on account of bad booze. He held little hope for this.
Characters current location: Athribis, Underground Characters attempted actions: Remaining alert Any and all skills being used: Observation Why each skill is being called: Dangerous situation, keeping eyes and ears open Desired location: Along for the ride.
Haring Reddish
Location: Benha (Elite Deck -> Sun Deck) Skills: N/A
In truth, Haring did feel a little left out, not being part of the grand high preternatural aspect of this journey thusfar. And also in truth, he still wasn't, any more than anyone else on the boat. First Josephine, then Vera, exhibiting these glowy bits on them, be they scars or jewelry passing off light that they ought not be. Fully on the Sun Deck, the idea of holding to the cover story they were using as an excuse to traipse around the ship fell away right then. A lot seemed to fall away from the Corporal. Sharp eyes scanned the Nile's edge, witnessing the change occurring across the land. He might not have understood that this was what Egypt looked like long, long ago, but he did have the presence of mind to realize that something powerful and unnatural was occurring. As it turned out though, it wasn't happening to the ship, directly. This was good. Well, it was satisfactory, considering.
He spoke up in a slightly more subdued, cultured voice, expressing his earlier thought. "Whatever this is, Lady Munn, Miss Clarke; the riverboat appears largely unaffected. Likewise, we are supplied and provisioned in redundancy for an expedition." Though he said nothing in the meantime about it, Reddish's biggest worry at that time was the well-being of the people ashore. Vera and Josephine were safe on board. Apparently, so was the lady in their group that insisted on going into the flower garden by herself instead of track down one of their leads. But if asked, Reddish would stick to the story provided. If asked. In the absence of further direct order from the Lord Major, his duty lay in seeing to the safety and convenience of the members of the Fellowship, who accepted his presence. "Oh, let us not show the Doctor what's about just yet," mentioned Reddish, his ordinary sense of jocularity returning to his voice. "Fellow might have himself a conniption, hmm?"
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, quizás la próxima 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..."
[hider=Lady Absinthia's GM Awards]
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[/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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<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>
Arty Fox
Natsu
op2024
Festive
wanderingwolf
Pirouette
Lewascan2
Shoe Thief
