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Literary Hatchetman

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





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: M5 (N) O.B. 2G -> Back to Tram
Skills: N/A


"Pier?" he said, phrasing a single word into a question. Then it hit him, "Yes, you have your duties." It was a comfort in some ways, and a little daunting in others. Ash would be getting his own assigned job for the interim, however long that would be. Collecting trash or some such, from the sound of things. He'd done worse, and with the solid motivation he had to acquiesce to the wishes of the community, this was a no brainer. (Mental note: Using the phrase "no brainer" during an undead uprising might mean more than one thing.)

He accepted the quick kiss like a schoolboy might, giving a little blush behind an uncommon smile. Uncommon for him generally, though the most recent of circumstances had put him expressing an emotion that he had come to know as "hap-pi-ness". Not being accustomed to expressing much anymore, it was a little strange remembering that it was alright to feel this way. Yeah, he'd get it back. At mention that they had to get back to the tram, he gave a solid nod. "Yeah, locking up," he called down the hallway to her retreating form, pausing for a moment while he got his key out of his pocket. As the saying went; he hated to see her go, but he loved to watch her leave. Not that he would actually say that in public. Being fair to him, he was riding an endorphin high. Such tiny slips of thought that betrayed his ordinarily grim exterior were to be expected. Okay, maybe not expected, but understandable. Moving on!

Ash gave a quick jog to catch back up to Thana as they returned to the tram. He offered an arm wherever she might need it, either as a handhold or about her waist for support, etc., but they did eventually return to their conveyance where Thana mentioned again, this time to their local Chaplain/Tour Bus Driver that she was only going as far as the pier. Ash looked to those already back, taking note of the older men in particular. Was it discriminatory thought to wonder how they survived this long in a world where the elder and infirm were a liability? Then again, the last generation produced a number of tough old bastards. And from the looks of things, they understood the value of sticking together. It took him a second to notice the piercing eyes of the lady sitting behind them, the one with the metal arm. She was staring into him, like she wanted something and was willing to tear it out of his skin. How very disconcerting.

Climbing back into the tram next to Thana, Ash looked to her and offered, "When the tour's done, would you mind if I came out to the pier and gave you a hand with whatever you're doing? If it's allowed, I mean. Anxious to get back to work." And to be nearer to Thana, if he was going to be completely honest about it. But whatever came of it, the tour portion of the day was important. It made sense to get to know his new surroundings.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: H6 (In Front of W) -> M6 (Parking Lot For X -> Condo 17B -> Back to Tram)
Skills: N/A


Most times Thalia would wind up getting ignored in social situations. It wasn't always this way. She used to be quite the little urbanite. Pretty good hand with makeup and did her own hairstyling most of the time; of course it helped that she had natural beauty and low maintenance hair. Liked to hit events, liked to throw down in the parking lot after events, etc. Nothing but a Boston girl doing Boston girl things, except that she spent most her formative years in Mexico with an honorable but borderline sociopath family. She liked fresh baked goods and stabbing implements. You know, Boston girl stuff. But after ...everything... and the utter retraining of her outlook and skill set, she was very happy to live a more obscure life, not being noticed by people. Especially now that she had something to be pissed about.

Her eyes were still hard when Thana climbed back aboard and gave her a little smile. That was nice of her. It had been a while since they could sit down and talk, though Thalia would have preferred that talk around a firepit while roasting squirrel on a stick next to a bottle of scavenged schnapps. Maybe they could figure out a time to speak on a matter close to her. Yeah, barring her brother, speaking to her would be best. Even if just to talk to her. She'd been so far up Army Captain's ass since getting back that the opportunity had not leapt at her as readily as she would have liked. At the party tonight then, she would approach Thana.

She supposed it wasn't too bad also, getting a greeting from Alexander. He'd been palling around with Manny pretty religiously, though conversation with anyone can get a little stale, given enough time. Even to Thalia's mind, conversation with no one always seemed fresh and spiffy. But he did engage with the discussion most nonchalantly. Ok, no problem. "I'm still having problems with air conditioning." Let alone having a room to one's self. She could handle being alone. It was everything else that got to her. She was blatantly ignoring the puffy, red eyes. If Alexander wanted to have a good cry off by himself, that was his own fucking business. Plenty to weep about these days, and anyone who said they didn't was a liar or a psychopath.

So far as working on some gizmo was concerned, she was pretty direct. "I'll give you a hand fixing something up if you want, Mugsy." But just the one hand. Ok, too soon. "You pick up a working radio station, and you can color me impressed." There was a sense of futility patching up an electronic device designed for a communications network that no longer existed. But hey, they had plenty of time these days to restore lost tech, kinda. Once upon a time she was really good at taking things apart and putting them back together. Electronics were her thing. Even went to college for it. Lately, that meant next to nothing. Not when stabbing things well was a more marketable skill. Then surviving became "her thing". Still, not that she was trying to darken the guy's spirits further, "Maybe you can convince them to lend you some broadcast equipment. That and a okay tower, you'd make a hell of a DJ, Mugs." That would be a find, and a tricky as hell setup, and that was provided they didn't already have something like that here. They seemed to have everything else. If the old soldier could bring back public radio, that would be something noteworthy. "Probably worth the ask."

She shrugged. Not the most pressing thing on her mind, it was a pleasant journey into the hypotheticals of Mexico Beach. And it would be funny for Alexander to have a stint as a DJ. But overall, her mind was someplace else.

In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


Though the Dance of Cossack Impalement was performed as only one of the blood can, it was not overly of use to Vladimir in this instance. The situation had become something of a combative free-for-all rather than a structured assault or defensive measure, lacking in the organization that commonly came with the people of the Circus. Oh sure, it all looks like fun and games from the outside, but what many forgot about this odd collection of noble gypsy-folk was that they came by their abilities, both the Rusyn Trained abilities and the more mundane but equally impressive skills of their performing arts, through years of hard, repetitive practice. The acts themselves that required a troupe to perform required timing, coordination, and each member playing their own supporting role to ensure the safety of their people and success of the show.

So it was when the Circus came together to take care of a Soulless threat in the Russian Empire, they did so in action similar to a performance; as a group, with the utmost of coordination between individuals, playing to their strengths and abilities. While effective, this looked more like a swarm of bees massing over a dangerous opponent. Whatever worked, though. Vladimir could not deny that the petticoated brawlers were being effective. Also, the only ones with whom he would have been able to have that level of coordination were Constantin and Elizaveta. Vlad had no idea of the abilities of most of these people.

Perhaps it was with this mind that he merely gave a shrug when the lady with the French accent came screaming by him with an ornate candlestick to use against the thing. This had to be one of the stranger battles that he'd ever been party to in his lifetime. As the melee progressed, Vladimir let fly another blade from his wide assortment of pointy things with the intent of skewering the beast's tentacle-thingy which was holding up Millicent. Apparently, a last second movement from the creature denied him his mark, though by grace of Providence, it struck heavily into the main, shadowy body, entering and thudding soundly into the altar below. Physical creature or not, this thing could be damaged. Sort of.

That's when the idea came to him. These people were attacking a thing of both substance and shadow, but they were only doing so physically. Perhaps a touch of the illusory or ethereal would prove to assist in ways more effective than merely the physically substantial could. A snap of the fingers and a little prestidigitation brought more knives to his strong and dexterous hands, yet this was not his intent of action. A dark and foreboding grin split the face of the flamboyant Russian. He had another move to make in the unyielding chessmatch of brutality before them.

It was time for the creature to prepare for a vigorous Bazhooli-ing.

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) -> ?
Skills: N/A


Curiosity on their situation still burned within Gilbert, even though their situation was painfully dire. Seeing Peter begin to dissolve was unexpected. Shocking even. He was vanishing in the same manner of their surroundings, though on a slightly different timetable. Maybe this was part of what Siduri was explaining earlier, in the way that she really ever explained anything. Peter's presence was temporary. Maybe this was the inevitability of his existence, to fade out again. It might be a mercy as compared to the last way that he died. Check that, the last two ways that he died. That must be rough. In his own history, Gilbert only remembered dying once. But did he really? So many questions. Here was one: Being as the Emendators were unique in the timelines, were they immune to this phenomenon? Or was their presence more directly involved with it?

His fascination with new experiences was usually centered around Humanity, its changing faces and capacity for both amazing acts of cruelty and decency. Their spirit of innovation. Their capacity to survive. It was extremely admirable to the ancient Emendator, as was their ability to give the whole of their short, precious lives to a single concept, even if it was given all at once. But more to the point, this new experience and the observations that he took from it, if happening everywhere and at every time, meant the abrupt and dramatic abbreviation of that which he appreciated most of all in creation. Or even more to the point, he couldn't sit back and do nothing about it.

Once upon a time, before Gilbert was a mentor to fledgling Paradoxes, before he was a history professor, he was a warrior. The eternal soldier, first and last warrior-king of his people. He looked down to the old Winchester rifle in his hands and slowly placed it into the case on his back as the others said their goodbyes to Peter and James. Gilbert locked eyes with Peter as he faded to nothingness, giving him an expression that only one soldier would recognize in another. It expressed that he wasn't done yet. Mission is not over. This continues, the circumstances be damned. To James, who was never technically a soldier but who had lived in the company of them, surviving where so many of them had failed only to die from sheer, dumb luck, he gave what encouragement he could. "You are a good and decent man, James. I cannot claim to know what is happening to you. Perhaps your disappearance means you are the one being spared whatever affects the rest of us. I promise, I will do what I can from my vantage to repair this." He glanced down at the knife at James's side, "I made that myself. I was going to keep it as my personal tool, but it looks better with you. Good luck, James Mandingo Grady. Our paths will cross again."

Gilbert stepped toward the portal, bracing for whatever was on the other side of it. He adjusted the fedora on his head, took a breath and stepped forward. The last thing Gilbert said as he stepped through the portal was a nonchalant, "I still owe you for that slap."

James Grady
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924) - ?
Skills: N/A


Well, today was not ending like he figured it was going to. Hindsight was a total bitch sometimes. Not like he had much of a choice in the matter. I mean, a full-grown apocalypse taking the form of time and space swirling together like someone crammed the entire, big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff into a Cuisinart and kept hitting Frappe every now and again, while they sat tenuously on a big chunk of carrot or something that hadn't quite been sucked down into the blades as of yet (though with the knowledge that it was going down like a drunken prom date really goddamn soon) was most assuredly not something that he could of predicted, nor done anything about if he could have. Yeah, like he was going to use all of his Major Piggy Power to deflect the obliteration of the popular concept of reality. James was an optimist most of the time. Not a moron.

Still, the pretty pale lady gave him a kiss. As silly and as minuscule an event as that seemed in the grand scheme of things, that little gesture meant a great deal to him. It was actually comforting in the face of his possible, very likely erasure from existence. If nothing else, it sure as hell was a good feeling to go out on. Then she apologized to him. For what? For leaving him there? No, it'd be stupid not to. The last thing he wanted was for Andromeda to stick around out of some sense of camaraderie or loyalty or friendship, or whatever it was that motivated her to show him the first piece of tactile kindness that anyone had in a long, long while, and get caught up in what was happening. He'd shove her through the portal first. "Naw girl, don't you be sorry 'bout nothin'. You get on outta here 'fore it gets worse on e'body." He smiled sadly as more of him became vanished from perception. "Thank you, Miss Andy." His voice was distant but heartfelt.

To Sophia, he gave a firm nod and responded, "Whatever's goin' down ain't just about me. Y'all need to work on that first. Might even help me out if you do. Bye now, Miss Sophia. You get a move on."

So it came to pass that the last of their group was either taken by the same force that was fracturing their world, or had gone through the portal that The Watch had opened. He regarded the portal, and remembered the words of encouragement from Gilbert, who had introduced a new idea into the mix - What if the ones who were being left in this crumbing world were the victims, and those disappearing were being spared? Or was Gilbert just saying this to give him hope in his last moments? James pondered this, looking at the glowy, uncertain portal.

Then it came to him - If he sat here and did nothing, he was going to disappear. If he did something and failed, then he was going to disappear. Still, if he tried something, there was a chance, however tiny, that something good would happen. Stupid as it was, probably with a worse chance of hitting a state lottery three times in a row, it was still better odds than meekly accepting it. James was a lot of things. Meek was not one of them. "Aw, HELL naw," he exclaimed, crouching to spring into action even as more of him was blown away by an unseen force. Maybe if he got away from the environment he was dissipating into, he could avoid this. Maybe he could help out his friends. He might even survive. That was it. James took a sprint at the portal with a roaring, blackneck battle-cry of, "Here I come, muthafuckas!" It was truly an epic sight of Samuel L. Jackson-ian proportions.

The last of him evaporated into the ether of the universe when he was mere inches from the portal. It remained unknown whether or it would have saved him, obliterated him, or done nothing at all. Not even his signature cowboy's stetson remained to show that he was ever there at all.

In 🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: N/A


Somehow, inner reserves of rage welled up within the aging form of Caesar Gonzalez, taking the metaphysical form of righteous indignation at the fact that, despite winning the battle (didn't they?), something had befallen those he cared about. Again. Where his daughter had gone off to this time was beyond him, and his ...associate? Kinda son-in-something? Ah! Cockney father to his grandchild. Yes, that might suffice for the time being. Well he was gone too, as if God had taken an eraser to them both. And when he had just gotten Alicia back, as well. These acts of divinity were prone to stabbing it in and breaking it off recently. But something told him that there was so much more going on. Perhaps this is all some sort of point-of-view problem. Or perhaps this huge chunk of masonry and car door was pissing him off and must therefore die. That was at least a problem he could solve. And how.

Caesar reached deep, growling obscenities in a shocking lower register, as if supplicating old world deities named Mierda and Chingados, drawing explosive power from the utterance of their WORD and force of intent. Mortared stone, concrete, reinforcing bars, and a single, errant car door leapt away from him as he sprung fully into a standing position, shotgun in one hand and hair blowing in a breeze that only seemed to touch him, his eyes alight with an ancient and terrifying aspect. His growl was the stuff that gave nightmares nightmares. He was Primal Caesar; force of nature. And tacos.

But whatever power he wielded was nothing against the tide of change around him. The world in which he stood became as a sandy, rocky, hazy Purgatory, and the people around him shifted, some fading out as others faded in. But as it was, they were known to him. He had seen them recently. Two of them he even shared a street with, blockmates or some such title invoking that sense of familiarity. Caesar had come geared to the nines for a fight. A battle, even. Lord knew he was dressed for it and carried enough sharp implements and munitions, but this was not a battle he appeared amidst. This was nothingness, with people he knew only by acquaintance. No loved ones, no trusted advisers, no able Lieutenants.

Perhaps only because he expected to be dead right now, did he accept the surroundings provided him. Maybe it was shock that would wear off, leaving him shaken to his core. But for right now, he looked at the people around him, and thought on regarding their names.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: H6 (In Front of W) -> M6 (Parking Lot For X) -> M5 (N) O.B. 2G
Skills: N/A


Maybe it was presumptuous of Ash, but he had kind of assumed that he and Thana would be bunked together, or very near to one another. Thinking about it, it really was a granted assumption. In many ways, this was still a new relationship. In others, an epic quest wherein they got each other as their prize at the end, such as they were both willing in that regard. Especially after the content of his interview, he just figured that they would be put together without the need to ask if it was alright with him. So when the question came up about stopping the request, Ash cocked his head to the side like a highly confused, floppy dog. "You bite your tongue, Commander," he said with a growing smile. "If you stop that request I might shed some tears." He was only partly kidding.

So Ash was the Significant Other of an officer. Maybe one day not too far from then, Ash could pick something like his career back up and they could just be two officers sharing a flat, among other things. Goals to work toward, and he had been provided the ladder to climb to achieve this if he so desired. Not a big deal. Right now, just being with her was more than plenty. Across the street, up the stairs, and into 2G, Ash had a feeling of something akin to normalcy, like a new couple was seeing their latest apartment for the first time. Well, he was seeing their new apartment for the first time. He wasn't thinking about the place he used to live, after the Apocalypse and before Newnan fell. It was nice. Maybe too big for one person, and maybe even partly a status symbol that went along with being the guy in charge. Yeah, it was nice. But simple lodging with Thana was nicer, to him.

He listened to her almost apologize for the living situation, even though it sounded like a tiny slice of heaven. "Yes. That's one hell of a perk and I'm grateful. If you ever need your space, just let me know, okay? But yeah, just the two of us... perk." He looked around a little before his eyes settled on something familiar to him. It was brown, leather, and had fuzzy tan trim. They mentioned that they would return articles of clothing to them, and so they did. It was Leann's old flight jacket that he appropriated, following her death. Not really a reminder of his old life, but a reminder of sorts. He checked the pocket, noting the rank insignias still present within. Both his old bars and a set of oak leaves. This was where he came from. His past. Ash looked to Thana. This is where he was, and who he wanted to be with. "Everything looks perfect, Thana, just perfect. Thank you." He moved closer and took her hands, staring into her eyes, "It's a shame we have to get back to the tram so soon," he said with some regret. But duty stops for no one, and those already part of the community had their jobs to do. They would have time to be together later, in a place where they could actually plan for a later. Maybe then, he could help address the concept of her having a debt to pay off, and how he could help with that. For now, Ash was satisfied taking a quiet moment to gaze upon Thana, away from everyone else.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: H6 (In Front of W) -> M6 (Parking Lot For X -> Condo 17B -> Back to Tram)
Skills: N/A


After having been with a tight group of people for the last year and a half, it felt a little empty with her sitting by herself while everyone else around her was making little snatches of conversation with each other. Alone she could handle, too. She had spent a whole lot of time alone. It was part of her survival strategy for a long time. Of course, the wisdom of community was solid. If she hurt herself or fell on desperate times, having people to help pick you back up was a good thing, and she had no issues doing the same for others she might have trusted. But now that she was essentially alone in a small crowd of people, her mindset of isolation grew a little from earlier that morning.

That, and condo? Bedroom? Thalia would have felt more comfortable with a shack and a burn barrel on the roof, or a tent someplace secluded. Nah, they wouldn't let her have that. Probably not even if she'd been around for a while and held some soldierly position or got made responsible for something, which they sure as hell wouldn't do with a stray cat like Thalia. Not ungrateful for what was handed to her, mind you. Just uncomfortable. That was the continuing status of her presence in this place, it seemed. It started with that first blast of air conditioning, and carried on to this very moment. She began to question the reasons why she had decided to stay now. The obvious and immediate answer was the same one that she kept telling herself - she needed to get stronger, she needed to train under these people. Okay, she would do so my being deprived of her worldly goods and picking up trash off of the ground and/or doing other people's laundry for a undisclosed period time? No, not undisclosed. When a job opening presented itself. Thalia suddenly felt very foolish.

So, she stopped by the room her sibling put aside for her. Basic amenities, roof, walls. Great. Everything she needed in basic handed to her. Curiously, none of her personal effects that she came in with. Ok, she got it the concept - no knife, no gun. They were new here. Armed was not acceptable. Most all of the rest of her stuff was odds and ends, a firestarter that she wouldn't need here, etc., but one point struck her like a hammer: Where was her shield? That was very personal to her. An irreplaceable item, made by someone she cared about who was now deceased. That was a problem.

Her key worked. Yay. Time to rejoin the others. She had something to discuss with her dear brother later.

Hank Wright
Location: H6 (In Front of W) -> M6 (Parking Lot For X -> Condo 16B -> Back to Tram)
Skills: N/A


So, it wasn't a boat. Yet. A boat sounded like the kind of thing that had to come in an installment plan anyway, unless they wanted to carve one themselves out of driftwood. But this? This was nice. Can't always get everything you want exactly the way you want it handed to you on a platter, and to be truthful, having something to work toward gave him a goal to accomplish. Now, if he could conceivably accomplish it while he still had enough years to enjoy the fruits of his labor, that would be great. And if it didn't work out here, well, there was a lot of coastline along the Gulf of Mexico to explore for just that purpose.

But all things considered, Hank really didn't see it not working out here. He was open to the experience and this place beat the absolute hell out of the Amish community they gave a shot a while back. Not to mention all the other crap he and Wayne experienced and survived over the past five years. This place was great and as far as he was concerned, he earned a little easier living. Not that this place owed him a damn thing, but he owed it to himself to really make a go of it here. Really immerse. Leave the New Hampshire Sheriff behind and become the modern, post-apocalyptic Floridian that was going to survive to be an older, greyer, even more surly yet grateful bastard than he was. Maybe with a tan. Who knew?

Plus, Hank wasn't going to start nitpicking here and now. He had a full belly and a roof over his head, a measure of privacy if he wanted it, and apparently a row of recliners to choose from. But hold up, these were here before they got there. It seemed that a point of courtesy was in order. "Uh huh, hey... that guy Dusty, straight shooter type, right? I think maybe calling dibs on a place to rest my ass (a preferred spot anyway) is gonna have to wait till we all say hi later today. If he's got a favorite recliner out of the bunch, I'm keeping away from it." He appeared to weigh the options of some moral conundrum or another, "Seems only sporting there, ya know?"

Let it never be said that Hank wasn't a sporting man. To Wayne's insistence that their roommate, Dusty, knew what was important, Hank agreed, "Priorities, my good man. Priorities. He's got 'em. Seems an alright kind of guy." Hank caught sight of something left on his bed. Not something of his from before, but left there like a gift. It was a hat. A billed cap, like the type truckers wore. A little something to cover his eyes and keep the blazing sun off of his shaved bald head. Not his style, really, but to hell with style. He wasn't trying to impress anybody. Fitting the thing to his head, he looked to Wayne, "mmmYeah, let's get this tour out of the way and get settled in. I think this place is going to agree with me, Maldonado." As cynical and disagreeable as Hank was, he couldn't help but feel a sense of true optimism. This was a home that he could be a part of.
In 🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


Perhaps in the darkest hours of our lives, the most desperate of times, nay, the very pinnacle of all things horror-inspiring, suitable to dampen one's pantaloons with the fury and force of a breaching Dutch levee; yes, just these times might be the occasion when a thing which appears to be a failure in fact becomes the situational setup necessary to perform acts of greatness. Greatness! Such acts are not out of place for the wondrous abilities of The Great Bazhooli! Indeed, this lack of his usual foot-fleetness has given him a vantage that, while not directly within the spotlight (a place he naturally preferred to be), it did allow him to assist those who were. Vladimir was a performer, after all.

Likewise, he was not always The Great Bazhooli. Nobody could properly "Bazhooli" from birth, no. It was a thing which had to be both earned and inherited. One must be worthy. And while an immense amount of pride was helpful in this endeavor, humility has its place as well. Now, Vlad did not possess an overabundance of the virtue, Humility. Contrary to belief that spread across Europe, there actually was a word for Humility in the Russian language. Admittedly, Vlad didn't use it very often. But I digress. He was fully capable of providing support to the performer who had the most important role on the stage. Right now, regrettably, that was not him. But the fight, like the show, must go on.

As Vlad went to make his move, still dancing his steps of mortal combat, he heard above the usual din and clatter of battle (oh, but he did so enjoy hearing the din and clatter of battle) yet another scream that he could have sworn started with the accent of one of those Islanders he'd heard stories about. Islanders? Irelanders. Irelanders? Whatever. Immaterial to his present issue. Vladimir gave a tiny moment of pause as the scream started to subside to smile at the Irelander woman in a manner that dashingly mischievous, tipping his head slightly as if to effect a bow. Rather it would have been a bow were they not in the situation of fighting with the most demonic thing that Vlad had seen in is life. Quietly, as his dance continued and blades caught elements of firelight in their polished, reflective surfaces, he mused to himself, "Life is nothing vithout passion. Nothing." He did appreciate a fiery haired woman with lungpower. Though his interests were differently related. He would have to leave a card later. But first! Yes, first: The killing.

Vladimir's dance hopefully served to set him in alignment and provide inertia for a decent hurl of something sharp. Luck being with him, he did in fact happen to have something sharp with him. Whoever would have thought it? He knew where to put it, too: The demonic, inky thing had an appendage clutching the lady of their search by the throat, lifted high above the ability of her legs to reach all the way to the floor. Such a position was perilous to anyone who had need of respiration, as Vladimir assumed Millicent did. Now was the time to play a supportive role. His knives seemed to agree, eagerly twinkling in the church's candlelight.

In 🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: Tunnels (Cairo, Egypt: October 6th, 1924)
Skills: N/A


Gilbert breathed a heavy sigh. They seemed to be going in circles. The haze was the first big environment change, and the thing which prompted them to utilize one of Gio's portals at the outset of this latest adventure. Alright, the universe puts them in places that they need to be. Why the universe didn't put him in this place at this time when he experienced it originally was beyond him, time travel coupled with an extremely long life being what it was. Maybe in the grand scheme of universal events, there was some lesson that he needed to learn before being placed in this position. Or maybe, during this time, the temporally local version of himself was looking out of a window with a profoundly confused but utterly amused look on his face. It wasn't that long ago for an Emendator, really. Come to think of it, it wasn't the mist. It was time speeding up in the Destrehan Plantation Loop.

Looking around at the people with him and noting the voices floating around, he could have facepalmed. Of course, it was the collection of Paradoxes. That was the great "X Factor" in the equation. He needed to make sure that these people were ready for whatever was coming up, these people specifically. Or this was just a huge, random jumble of people, places, and things, all thrown into a soup that they just had to make the best of. While that was probably the long and short of it (and he knew it), Gilbert preferred to look at this as a series of specific events put together as something almost literary in nature. Destiny and free will clashing with just the right pieces of the puzzle coming together, outcome highly uncertain.

This was a very different outlook from the one he had as a young man. It was less sophisticated, certainly, less exposed to the ideas that came with humanity evolving along. Funny how the lessons of humanity seemed to reflect in him, personally.

Well, the situation was overly screwed up, and though going through a portal seemed to exacerbate things in the first place, it was highly logical that it was a good option now. Their goal was gone. Literally gone, along with the city above them. The haze remained. All they accomplished, really, was to get people in one place at one time. Oh, that was an ugly thought. Trap, anyone? Well voices or no, there were the Paradoxes present to think about. "Excellent idea, Giosue," he said tersely, an element of watchfulness in his features. "Time is something we have both too much and not enough of. We might attempt this again later, or try for a different event." Hesitation only made for delay. Delay was costly.

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


James nodded at Andromeda's words. He could tell that his involuntarily(?) inappropriate words were giving her a bit of a blush, which for someone who was as fair complected as her came out with the subtlety of the elevator scene from The Shining. Far be it for him to try to make anyone feel uncomfortable, despite his many successes over the years. "In my world, dead folks got up an' started eatin' the livin' ones without a warnin' sign at all. Best as I can figure, Apocalypse's a damn relative thang." Perhaps if he engaged her in moderately relevant dialogue, it would help bring the pale back in her cheeks.

That was a thought James never figured he'd have. Oh well, context.

Minor observances in the underground corridor, if indeed this counted as underground anymore, led James to agree with the ongoing consensus of opinion about portaling the hell out of there. If it was possible to get back to the Plantation, he'd be up for it. (And concerning his ethnicity and their history in his timeline, that was also a thought he never figured he'd have. It must be a day for it.) "Yeah, we definitely gots to R-U-N-N-O-F-T," he said, nodding in agreement. He might even have forked over a shiny new nickel for anyone who got that movie reference, provided that he had a shiny new nickel to begin with. Wait, didn't Peter have the money?

Looking at Peter, James voiced openly, "Yeah, we gotta move, some of us more than others. Like, now-ish, get me? C'mon."

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


Location: Athribis (Underground) -> ?
Skills: N/A


So much as the ceiling's imminent departure weighed heavily upon the mind of the Lord Major, it was not so much as the sudden lapse that he had into self-doubt. Perhaps he was getting too old to do these kinds of things anymore; the running about and adventuring, shooting, driving fast, hopping into his aeroplane from the War and buzzing the outlying regions of Cairo whilst scaring the hell out of various livestockery - truly a sadistic joy he had gotten every so often watching herbs of goats stiffen up and fall over as he drunkenly gunned his engines earthward over a drove of the horned beasties. Not that he bore the goats any malice (they were excellent roasted or prepared with curry and a carrot souffle, he found), Reginald just had a boyish sense of humor sometimes that came out in ways occasionally inappropriate. Perhaps a defense mechanism from his decades of constant war on behalf of his Empire. Well, hindsight being what it was, it wasn't the most dignified thing for a man of his stature to do with his free time.

But he digressed. Retirement was not his lot, regardless of the his temporary dip into doubt. This was merely a step into a greater adventure, one with dangers and puzzles the likes of which he had not previous experience. This made it even more the adventurous task set before him, as it required preemptive thought and actual study of a situation, not the application of some lesson learned from an incident that happened to him some odd number or decades past that might partially apply in this case. This was truly living, even in his autumn years, and there was the very real possibility that Reginald would not have the answers. He already didn't have very many of them as it stood, Perhaps this would even lead him to a death worthy of the old horned-helmed Vikings of lore, one deserving of a spot in the Halls of Valhalla, even though he didn't believe a word of it, himself. The concept did make for a charmingly romantic story, however.

No, he was not going senile. This was just another obstacle in his great journey with his Fellows (be they technically led by a Fellow-ette, or Lady-Fellow, or whatever the gynocentric equivalent of this was as the word escaped the Lord Major at just that moment, intent as he was upon being polite even in his own mind and even as it showed his more old fashioned and chauvinistic upbringing), one that he would meet with the headstrong certainty and puzzle their way around. Yes, the moment of uncertainty was behind him, ad this newly revitalized spirit of derring-do, the old man would stand and face this new challenge with spirit equal to the stories that still clung to his name.

But this was not to happen. Reginald could feel a change coming over him, and could see as his extremities were coming away like sand in a desert wind, parting from him effortlessly as a gradual lightening of his earthly form filled his senses. There was understandable alarm at first - but only at first. No. It wasn't fair. He had been ready for death for a long time now, if only there was one worthy of himself. Something not just for his vanity or because he was in love with his own legend, but for the honor of giving his life for a greater purpose; God, country, or king. Friendship would have worked, as well. To sacrifice himself for the mission. To save the life of one younger, stronger, with the potential to do real good for the world. His death had to mean something, if just to atone for the mistakes he made in every other aspect of his life. He had upheld the honor of the Keystone line, surely, but he had let down his own family. Wife and children both. Be it that he married out of obligation, he stepped into that obligation willingly and failed them through his lack of presence and his extramarital indiscretions. He had failed his mistress, too. Giving her a child out of wedlock and failing to publicly recognize her despite financial support, like she was a dirty secret. He had sired a whole other Keystone line, unrecognized commoners that now would never know the truth of themselves and be doomed to poverty and hardship, rejected by the classes altogether.

He might have fixed all of it. The dust that was his corporeal form continued to blow away in a windless environment. If he could do certain things over, he would have, without question. But there was no fixing it now. This was not the end that he wanted, but it was probably the one that he deserved, once-hero or not. His only saving grace was that he had another Will drawn up back in his Cairo office that might help his illegitimate offspring somewhere down the line. He just needed his batman, Corporal Reddish, to access it, if only he knew to look for it.

So much left undone. Tears formed and evaporated instantaneously, spirited away the same force that blew away the details of his exterior, painlessly showing bone and blood that never touched the ground. "No," his fading form intoned quietly, "I do not die like this." He had lived his like unafraid of death. It would be wholly unseemly to lament or cringe now that the Great Unknown summoned him. Reginald drew his sword, little more than a hilt and a handsbreadth of solid steel, and raised it in salute. Death claimed him, and he would stand unafraid, challenging the inevitable. Summoning the last strength his evaporating body allowed, he stood tall behind his sword and stated flatly, "Have at you, sir." His brow quirked and eyes changed direction of focus at the last possible half-second, as if he recognized something.

It was at that moment the nothingness took him.

Haring Reddish


Location: Benha (Sun Deck) -> ?
Skills: Pistol


This... what the hell was going on here? And why was that one woman so calm throughout it all? This wasn't the calm of a person who was dealing with sudden and dramatic change, like he was seeing from Josephine. This seemed different. Speaking with a note of authority on issues supernatural, never so much as flinching at the sudden and dramatic change to their environment, things that were otherwise impossible without either himself succumbing to madness or intervention of things most infernal. Madness, he might understand. Reddish had seen and done a lot more than decent, brave men he had served with; soldiers who had lost themselves to the brutality of war. It might just be his turn. Some of the things he had done, Reddish figured he might even deserve it. Seeing as others bore witness to the world's abrupt change and disappearance of the entire crew, it was likely that Reddish hadn't gone mad yet. But if he did not, and this was the world around them all, then everyone else had problems much larger than going a little nuts.

But that woman. Reddish was present for everything that had gone down with the formation of the Fellowship. He had seen the deaths that suddenly started to pile up. The older lady, Neema, by spontaneous bloody combustion the moment that Priscilla showed up at the Museum. Neema's nephew. The writer, Haakon, down in Archives. Even the couple who just wanted to get away and start a new life for themselves, Sergeant Harry and Miss Tarek, good friend to the Lord Major. Death my misadventure, all within hours of this woman appearing on scene, talking about matters occult and the like. She had no tie to the rest of the group, supposedly bound only by the common strands of some dream or scarification, none of which appeared to weigh upon her in the least.

No, no something was off here. The way they spoke started this train of thought off in Reddish; the calm if circular conversation on the question of whether they should arm and equip themselves more properly, a thought that he assumed would be a foregone conclusion of logic but which apparently merited talking more. And speaking about the shadowy figures with what he thought was supposition. Or was it? Could it not be direct knowledge, its origin nefarious int he fact that it was not explained? Did she in fact know more than she was letting on?

Not directly related - what was she doing while Nora's group went to Athribis to look for more information and Josephine accompanied him on a lead for the thieves that had been plaguing them? The last he saw of Priscilla, she was smiling and headed to the rose gardens, far away from anything helpful to their expedition. Like this was a vacation somehow. Oh, things were piling up. Highly suspicious things.

But the last straw was right then. The thing which mortared the bricks of his suspicions as he began to fade into oblivion: She looked him straight in the face as his mortality was coming to collect, and gave him the smug one-liner of "So much for that plan of yours." He was vanishing. Vera was vanishing, both of them into the ether of nothingness, and Priscilla was taunting them. Reddish was speechless. Reflexively, he went to Vera, wanting to protect her from the very thing that he could not protect himself from. Vera passed her journal to Josephine, just before she fully disappeared, leaving Reddish to see his own fate in a few short seconds. Mouth agape, he looked to the starlet.

A thousand words lingered on his expression, none of which he would have time to say. If this was the end, he probably shouldn't waste words on inconsequential things like his admiration for the woman, or that the previous night was one of the most memorable of his life and he wouldn't have changed a thing about it. A man less enamored might not notice that the Egyptian sun made her platinum hair glow an angelic white. He might not notice the way that she tucked her hair behind her ears when she was lost in thought, or might not notice that she indeed had an active and agile mind suited to the adventures she commonly portrayed on the silver screen. His look might say that if he were anybody of note in the world, Reddish could have told her so. But he was who he was, and she was who she was, and none of it mattered because he was mere seconds from fading completely away.

As Reddish became increasingly more transparent and fuzzy, and Vera had poofed away completely, he heard further taunt from the woman who went by Mosi: "Good luck, got any words before you vanish as well?" What was she, some dime-novel villain?

The Corporal drew his service revolver and pointed it directly between Mosi's eyes. "What have you done?" he asked pointedly, a trace of whisper leaning toward a supplication, "Make it bloody stop, please." Perhaps if he had the strength to pull the trigger before it was too late, he could put a halt to the horrible things befalling these people, who had done nothing to her in their lives. "Save yourself, Miss Clarke!" he said, tone to the imperative. There were weapons enough for soldiering in his room, and cargo held much besides. If Reddish failed here, Josephine still had options. Or for all he knew, they were all already dead. But he had to try. Even if this was just madness coloring his outlook, Reddish couldn't just do nothing.

His finger depressed the trigger of his Webley revolver, a gun which once belonged to his personal hero. His aim was true and the weapon functional, if fading into nothingness along with its owner. The sound of the weapon discharging seemed echoed and far away, much quieter than it should have been and seemingly without source. The bullet itself streaked out of the barrel, unerringly striking Mosi in her forehead the very instant that Reddish faded out of reality entirely.

The force of the bullet slammed into Mosi like a bareknuckle boxer flooring someone with a devastating overhand right. It, like the gun it came from and the man who pulled the trigger, disappeared before any lasting damage could be done. Mosi could talk about gathering Reddish's supplies while she was picking herself up off the ground.
In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar & Keystone

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


Some things were best left ignored, lest they escalate beyond a level of response appropriate to a greater issue. Retributive as he could be, somehow the budding argument seemed far less important to Caesar than the giant, shadowy monster ripping the building apart from the inside trying to kill them all, his daughter coming back from the dead, and the massive improvised explosive that may or may not inflict even more damage to their immediate surroundings (and the insistence that it was the only thing capable of destroying the giant, shadowy monster). Did I mention a giant shadowy monster? Totally a giant, shadowy monster, doing giant, monstrous things. Oh, and the ancient international organization that may or may not be behind everything that had made his life suck as of recently. Yeah. Deal with the insult later, if at all. More important things at the moment.

He didn't notice any more voices, or anyone dusting away into nothingness. Most of what happened was cleared away by the sound of an unstable stack of dirty and highly impure chemicals in the proper proportions doing what they do best, in the form of a very impressive exothermic reaction. It was a beauty, too.

Meanwhile, Keystone was gearing up to feel like a dick. Not so much because of what he did, pulling his boss down behind cover. It was the right thing to do. But the fact that even though he did do the right thing, it didn't stop a shaggy piece of random construction material from nigh bisecting the vehicle they were hiding behind. It left Keystone pretty much unscathed, but ripped the backdoor fully away and dragged Caesar along with it. "Boss!" yelled Keystone after him, basically powerless to do anything to help him. He couldn't even hold on. One thing he prided himself on was his punishing physical prowess, yet he could not keep a grip on the older Mexican.

Caesar wasn't sure on the total amount of detail going on just then. Again, more pressing issues. This particular issue had to do with a chunk of the asylum laying on top of a car door, which was partially laying on him, pinning him to the ground. Yet, as the dust swirled about his horizontal, pain-stricken form, all he could do was laugh. It was a little unsettling, really. But he was laughing a hoarse, guttural series of chortles and guffaws. This, this was something. Caesar had gone up against cartels, third-world dictators, criminal kinpins, government agencies, and corrupt law enforcement officers; yet now it looked like the person most responsible for the closest he'd been to death (and the jury was still out on whether he'd get out of it this time) was a 140 lb. twenty-something slip of a girl with a head for science, unintentionally at that. And that, to Caesar, was goddamned hilarious.

Keystone, however... he saw what was happening to him. He had no idea what it was, but in that moment he wasn't thinking about himself. The large Brit looked to Alicia, who was likewise fading away. He still had a job to do. He was given that job by the old man who just got knocked silly and pinned under a piece of a building. See to Caesar's family. Now Keystone's family, and one by blood. No, this sure as hell wasn't fair. They had survived too much shit to get turned to supernatural dust for no reason whatsoever here and now.

If what Caesar said was true, a representative from the Catholic Church would be getting in contact with the young woman taking care of little Liam. She would know where to go, she would know who to speak to. But nothing was certain. Especially now as the family patriarch was pinned under rubble and both of the little guy's parents were blowing away in the wind, other known, reliable family half a continent away and strangers in their midst... Keystone reached a disintegrating hand out in Alicia's direction. His last thoughts weren't on his fate, nor hers. Just before he dispersed completely, he uttered, "Our son..." as if he had more to say. But he was gone.

Underneath the car door and slab of former wall, Caesar lay silent.
In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room) -> H6 (In Front of W)
Skills: N/A


Victor was gone. Beatrice was gone. If you looked at it, a lot more than those were gone, starting over a year ago and shoving onward. But those two? They were still alive, but they were gone. One of them left by choice, or did both of them? Victor might have tried to at least pretend to be stable, or at least recognize his difficulty and ask for help. Maybe he knew all too well about his darkness, and on some level voluntarily removed himself from exposing people he knew and cared about to it. Of course, that could all be idle bullshit that Ash was feeding himself to feel better about the fact that a man he trusted implicitly had changed so much as to be dangerous and unrecognizable. And for Beatrice? Ash really had no idea. Looking over at the group to which she had said her goodbyes, the once Captain could not help but see that she was leaving behind friends. Close ones. It made Ash curious.

Somehow, now that quarantine was done and they were actually getting welcomed into the community, things became very real. This was no longer conceptual. He, along with others, had made their decision to try for a life here. In Ash's case, he had one hell of a reason to stick it out. Ash looked to Thana and gave a smile. Yup, that would be her. The lady had what appeared to be snatches of conversation with others of CMB, whether that was personal or business was hard to say, but owing to the newness of his presence in the community, Ash didn't press the issue. He wasn't sure if she was still "on the clock", or if the friendlier actions taken with Beatrice during the farewell signified her relative freedom, so to speak.

His question had been answered when Thana entwined her fingers in his and led him over to the Tram, where they both climbed aboard and got ready to take the tour. As he settled into the seat. Ash set his other hand on top of hers and leaned in, speaking quietly, "I was hoping to get a dance in tonight, unless duties call you away. If Doc insists you need more rest for that leg, I have no problem lifting you up and just swaying." There was a smile on his face, a rare thing to view for some. Yes, Ash had teeth. Imagine that. He also had a chance at a life. Imagine that, too.

Thalia Carmichael
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room) -> H6 (In Front of W)
Skills: N/A


Thalia had a lot to think about. She dotted the dampness away from her eyes, put there from the recent departure of Bea. Yes, she was a tough bitch, but it wasn't like she didn't emote. She was known for being a person of deep feelings. It just rarely showed beyond an outward fraction, and surely did not stop her from doing drastic things when called upon to do so. That Army Captain that Navy was interested in liked to keep things close. That was his way, it seemed. Being emotionally enigmatic probably helped him be a better soldier, but Thalia? She liked to let people know where they stood with her before the stabbing commenced. Most of the time. Or in this case, letting Beatrice know that she would be missed.

She didn't know how to feel about that, either. Thalia wished her well and obviously neither of them were the relationship type, but there was a tiny, hollow feeling of being abandoned. It was new for her. She didn't know quite how to deal with it. While trying to define and process, she felt a presence approaching her. Before she realized that it was her half-sibling, Joaquin, she had already tensed up reflexively. The aftereffects of being out in the world weren't going to go away overnight. To a degree, she hope they wouldn't completely go away, period. Those honed instincts kept her alive. That tension relaxed away to a dumbfounded expression of "wuzzafuck?" as Joaquin began to speak to her. Translating from Hermano to English as quickly as her brain allowed, she responded, "Verily, dear Brother, thou art a goober." he spoke in level, mostly uninflected tones, though a hint of Boston crept in. "I'll take you up on that agave though, Joaquin. Thanks." Not as heavy a drinker as she was back Before, she did miss it sometimes. As they walked out to the Tram, Thalia took an appraising look at her brother, marveling over the sheer fact of his presence. "Dama Muerte, what are the odds, huh?" This place was going to be home for a while.

The last place that she called home, semi-temporary though it was, was a smaller place than this surrounded mainly by a wall of pointed logs and open-air structures. Cook fires dotting regular sections where they roasted whole deer for hours. Steel, stone, wood. A place of new beginnings and old methods of survival. She missed it. Maybe one day, she would be allowed to start up something like that of her own. Today though, she was climbing aboard a tour vehicle, ready to see more of her new home. On board, Thalia chose an unused bench seat for herself and slid to one side. She was also oddly happy to be back out of air conditioning.

Hank Wright
Location: Quarantine (Conference Room) -> H6 (In Front of W)
Skills: N/A


Ordinarily, Hank would be right there along with Wayne, guffawing alongside his companion of many years now. The idea that he use his powers of personal observation and interpersonal awareness to accurately gauge the mental traits, immediate intent, and longstanding potential issues within the people of Mexico Beach and/or apply it to newcomers was almost a laughable thing, until he realized that his own sudden thoughts on the matter reinforced the concept. He could have audibly facepalmed, instead taking the sarcastic musings of his good friend with a wry and derisive chuckle. "...alright, fine there, Maldonado. But it's got to be a sign of the Apocalypse that people are going to look to me for a shining example of mental health. Humanity must be desperate."

Why not, though? Maybe he could mold upcoming psyches in this brave, new world to enjoy the little things in life, because really, that's all they had left. Soon, there would be an army of recliner-sitting, plaid shirt wearing smartasses with a penchant for domestic beer, red meat, and condensing complex feelings into simple, monosyllabic grunts. The world might be a better place for it. He gave it a shrug, boarded the tram alongside Wayne, and laced his fingers behind his head in an attempt to look faux casual. "Wellllp, this has been a hell of a day so far. What's next?" Though there was an amount of sarcasm present in his voice, it accented his honest desire to get himself situated in the community and put out his shingle doing whatever it was he was eventually going to do. That and fishing.
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