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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 πŸ§šπŸ»β€β™€οΈ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ash Holloway
Location: M6 (Tram) -> Around Town -> M6 (Tram) -> N5 (Street)
Skills: N/A


Ash nodded his head with understanding, listening to Thana. Of course, he wasn't in a position to help. Technically he was part of the community now, if only for less than a day, but had yet to receive assignment or even the basest of clearance. There was less in the way of trust here than there had been in Newnan. Or maybe "trust" was the wrong word; the people of Newnan were decent folk for the most part who needed an opportunity, and whose individual skills were put to almost immediate use in the community. This was a different approach, certainly. This place had more in the way of people and a lot more physical area. Different protocol for different circumstances.

The tour was fairly standard, though Ash couldn't help but think that their tour guide was trying a little hard to be charming. Maybe it was just him. It was hard to just shut off being a soldier, when exactly those instincts to question, assess, and persevere is what he attributed to his being alive still, in equal measure with the trust he placed in others. It seemed that the General felt a similar way (though on the level of communities rather than people), considering the recently acquired knowledge of Camp Mexico Beach's proclivity to help out smaller, starter communities.

That they had a distillery piqued his interest. That would be a task to which he was highly suited, having been raised among it since birth and, though it meant next to nothing now, having his family name emblazoned across a brand of spirits native to the Virginia mountains. Naturally, after hearing that they had safeguards in place to prevent a catastrophic explosion from obliterating the settlement, Ash had to wince. It didn't matter that the ground collapsing was what set off Newnan distillery, Ash was in charge of Newnan, and in specific Engineering and Distilling operations. No, it wasn't his fault. It still didn't feel good to think about. Instead, he mulled over the distilling processes of traditional Tennessee bourbon, a straighter, cleaner flavor in his estimation than other methods common to the American South. Maybe he'd get an opportunity to trade recipes eventually, one liquor producer to another.

He bid Thana a quick farewell when she hopped out at the pier, kissing her back and smiling a little upon her egress. It felt a little strange, being the kind of person who gave someone a kiss before they went off to work. That hadn't been him for so long that it felt almost foreign. This whole "normalcy" thing was something that might require some readjusting. Well, he was prepared to adjust away, because this was his life now, for as long as he could possibly make it last.

The rest of the tour was slightly less interesting to him. He still listened steadfastly, and indeed many things that were mentioned appealed to him as an Engineer. The civil works, in particular. Working a system designed to support a community using only the resources of a smaller section of a once-thriving tourist destination. The Chapel also presented some interest, though more limited than it once might have. He still tried to be a godly man, though the time spent considering such matters or being in supplication of a just and loving God had lessened over the last five years.

As they returned to their starting point of the tour, Ash was pleased to note that Thana was nearby. She was still limping, though she wasn't expected to have a miraculous recovery due to some eldritch force at the pier. "Thanks, Padre. Be seeing you," he called to Atticus, for taking the time to provide them a brief tour of their new surroundings. Likewise, he took the time to bid the rest of the people he had spent the last week locked away with, and in the case of some of them the last couple of years or so with a polite, "Excuse me. Meet up with you at the Mess," before making his way down the street a little to Thana. He gave her a hug, like the had been apart for longer than they actually had, and a quick kiss before leding her a shoulder to lean on. "Hey, Doc says you're supposed to be taking it easy." A mischievous smile took him, and he asked, "Time for that piggyback ride?" He stooped to effect an easier mounting, saying, "Point, and we'll go that way. K?"


Thalia Carmichael
Location: M6 (Tram) -> Around Town -> M6 (Tram Parking Lot)
Skills: N/A


There were a few places of interest within Camp Mexico Beach for Thalia, though she was still preoccupied with the issue concerning her personal effects. Or effect, singular. Still, for a borderline paranoid woman of otherwise practical disposition, it was within her best interests to learn what she could about the place. Housing boarded up around the Distillery, nothing not much else nearby. It might be a place to go if she wanted to be alone, maybe find a quiet rooftop, alcove, or crawlspace to informally claim when not on duty. Whatever "duty" was supposed to be for her.

There was a lot of water around this place. Fitting, considering that it was a seaside community. With her new hardware where the more dexterous part of her arm used to be, swimming was not going to be the easiest task to accomplish. Open area aside, it felt like an extension of the walls. That was something to get used to. Maybe there was a way to adapt to it. That would be something to look forward to. She was here to train, after all. To that end, the concept of enlisted housing gathered her attention, nodding toward the presence of enough people of age and level of fitness to make for a useful standing army. Then the outright mention that they actually did have a military force. Alright, now they were talking. Just as soon as she spend God knew how long gutting fish and tidying up.

Electrical drew her attention, too. Charging batteries and tending solar units, etc. Once upon a time she was a college grad with a possible future in Electronics Engineering. When this whole "end of the world" things started, or about a year in, anyway, she was able to use her technical ability to piece together a functional satellite phone, which oddly put her on the path to this place. It was funny how these things worked out. Oh, and of course the only person with whom she had a phone call of any note since the Grid collapsed got to die shortly thereafter, and right in front of her, too. It might have been her too, if Lola hadn't heaved her ass back at just the right time. Then she died too, that same day. Everyone did. Then why was she still kicking?

That piece of introspection waved bye-bye when she heard a voice continuing to speak to her. She nodded absently at his joke about an arm and a leg, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "Really?" then shook her head in dismissal. Nah, too easy. Definitely an Uncle Joke. Just not her uncle. Her uncle would have growled in annoyance and threatened something awful that he might do anyway out of pure principle. Now, how that man wasn't alive still was fully goddamned beyond her. She couldn't hold a candle to the man.

But back to the tour. She knew he village hotspots, so to speak; some of the places of interest. Generally unused spots where she could train on her own time that were away from people, with very limited chance of Zeds or hostile Living interrupting her. What was that the older guy called living hostiles? Assholes? Maybe that could work. "Assholes and Zeds: All the threats of the Apocalypse from A to Z". Whatever. The tour was coming to a close. She saw Thana limping up, and while she meant to talk with her, Army Captain beat her over there. Fine. They needed more time for the novelty of each other to wear off. Thalia could wait. She was good at waiting. Patient, stalkerish, predatorial waiting. (Okay, so she probably had to re-learn certain social skills.)

Alexander was speaking to her again. She wasn't trying to ignore the guy, really. In fact, the lapse in attention was actually a sign that she trusted him and didn't consider him a threat, a feat as good as any in this world. But to call her a kid? She was almost 30, near as she could tell. Wait, what month was it again? Yeah, 29. Some things were less important, like how many years passed to the day since someone was yanked out of someone else's crotch. But judging by the grey in Alexander's hair and vivid memories of times before her birth, he was old enough to consider her a kid, if a little inaccurate an observation overall. "You're alright, Mugsy," she said as an attempt at reassurance. "Getting emotional's naht something to worry about, 'k? None of us're done crying yet." So that wasn't exactly the reassuring part. In fact, it was kind of dark. "Don't let it control you." That was a little better. A little.

Thalia raised her arm, or rather the metal device replacing her arm, returning, "Thanks for sticking by me, too. ...k, enough gooey shit. I could eat. C'mahn, Mugs. Dinner in 20, right? I can practice glaring at the locals while we wait."
In πŸ¦„ Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Vladimir Alexandrov

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


The art of the Gologramma was an exercise in both subtlety and boldness, its mysteries many and proper application a thing of intense coordination. One simply does not summon a quasi-astral simulacrum of one's self and let it run about all willy-nilly, if you didn't know. It had no animation of its own, merely a tool of the will of its summoner. This is why those adept in the use of a Gologramma often utilize them in their Circus acts; practice there made for ease of use in a mortal struggle. Vladimir was better than most with his Gologramma, experience being a factor. One must be vigilant when dealing with things that draw upon astral energies, however. Unexpected results may happen. It is rare, but conflicting energies can lead to interesting things.

One could see the beginnings of Vladimir's casting manifest. His preferred method had the image stepping away from himself like a mirror image, holding the same quiet facial expression and dark eyes, so as to provide an initial sense of confusion among his enemies. But here is where it went awry:

The expression of his will, created by the manipulation of personal and astral forces, began to split from him in the usual manner of his summoning. Only, it seemed more solid, more part of him, and thusly more difficult to detach. Perhaps he should have just summoned it beside him like most people did it, but no, Vlad was a showman - THE Showman - and he'd be damned if he was going to perform a flashy maneuver half-assed. The problem was compounded by the fact that, when the astral form began to remove itself from him, Vladimir could have sworn that a full change in scenery had occurred. Like the Gologramma, or energies therein, were obscuring something behind the mask of perceivable reality, and he had somehow gotten a glimpse of a hidden but everpresent world, in which he was fully and utterly alone.

Vladimir had but a moment to observe this before his quasi-astral form slammed back into him with enough physical force to slap him off of his feet, across the polished flooring, and into the wall. In the time it took him to pick himself back up from the ground, the foul thing had been dispatched, a brilliant combination of an unholy beatdown and ritual supplication of their Creator; the latter an example of steadfast Russian piety and the former an array of the European women's fiery, martial passions. He bobbed his head with a realization that yes, that was probably how he wanted to die, as well.

The delicate flower of Elizaveta's voice rang out, asking for water following her ordeal. Of course Vladimir would be happy to get it, but someone beat him to the punch, so to speak. Instead, he chose to straighten himself up as best he could and begin the heavy congratulatory portion of the post-battle. "Bravo, ladies! ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π΄Ρ€Π°Π²Π»ΡΡŽ тСбя, da - Congratulating to you all! Bravissimo! Vith the thanking, and the job vell done-ing!" he said, quickly sheathing his showcard knives and clapping loudly. He advanced to the altar, his adulation continuing until he had reached the altar and gathered back his knives, hurled in combat against their dark and tendrilly foe. "But speak not the silliness of Master Zimmer, vith being the monster. No! Power of Grand Duchess's Ostanavlivat'sya is strong. Is very strong. Ve saw it cleanse and free poor Ludvig." He turned from the altar with a flourish. "But excuse! Must get hat." It was true, he did like that hat.

Stepping down, he looked to Constantin and Elizaveta, nodding with a quizzical expression as if to ask if everything was alright with them. The Great Bazhooli had a heart full of warmth and many knives, both of which he might share for several occasions.
In πŸ¦„ Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gilbert Summers
Location: PE Fade Between (walking toward tree)
Skills: N/A


The solid form of The Hat edged into existence on the other side of Giosue's portal, his face altering from the image of nonchalance and reassurance he had given James, to the a more immediate look of assessing their situation. Coming through one of Gio's portals (one of the most invaluable tools they possessed as a group) was always an experience of transition, though the Emendators had a further layer of adjustment than most people as their sense of one another had to reorient, often drastically, with each jump. Gil could think of one other Paradox-At-Large with a similar ability who might relate, though in a more limited fashion. Distant, but wherever and whenever they were, there were others of their kind that made it. It was hopeful.

What was not hopeful was the fairly bleak surroundings into which they had stepped. He looked to Gio, who had asked after those present and responded with a distant, "I am intact, Giosue," followed by a sigh and, "We lost Mr. Keystone and Mr. Grady." He had a hard set to his jaw, stating what he did in the factual manner of a soldier who had seen too much death in his latest tour, and while mostly numb to the cost of human life a sliver of regret and sorrow remained. "Or perhaps we are the ones who are lost." He shook his head. An older version of Gilbert was beginning to emerge; one who had known him for long enough might be able to tell. The signs were subtle, at first.

In its own way, their new surroundings troubled Gilbert more than a disintegrating Cairo. "This place looks like a metaphor," he said. "I believe something is ...off, though I cannot place why." It had been Gilbert's philosophy that, in the midst of unknown elements, a person of decisive action must assess what they can from surroundings and act according to wisdoms both ancient and conventional, as applicable.

"When he has penetrated into hostile territory, but to no great distance, it is facile ground. On facile ground, halt not." he said aloud, quoting a man he called Master in a previous life. "The closest thing that resembles a resource are the two trees to either distance. A branch can make a club, quarterstaff, spear, or a stake, if we are desperate and unarmed. It might possess other resources. Or, for all we know both are same tree and are on a very small piece of reality. I am going to find out." He began walking toward the tree ahead, taking stock of the world around him with caution and opening himself up to the general feel of the pull one Emendator has for their fellows.

In πŸ¦„ Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez
Location: DTB Fade Between
Skills: N/A


The door, masonry, and other bits of building material were off of Caesar without him feeling much the worse for wear. Others had appeared around him, persons with whom he was familiar in varying levels of acquaintanceship. He had struggled to remember names, and slowly they were coming to him.

"Riley Ridgeway," he growled softly. It was the first and easiest to remember. She was famous, he thought he remembered. And lived near to him.

"Mali..." He had heard the name once or twice, and had also seen her around the building he had lived in back in Justice, California. But he couldn't place a last name on her.

"...Robert Adler." The only reason he remembered this one at all was that he very recently had an interesting meeting with someone that he sat in on. Introductions were made.

Caesar hefted his shotgun, a lovely Mossberg tactical piece, and looked at the world around them. "It would be a good time to wake up," he agreed, speaking to Robert. "More likely that we're dead, is the thing. Hmm..." He seemed to weigh that as an option. "Purgatorio?" he questioned quietly to himself. Before he figured out the nature of anything around him or considered what else he would want to say to these people, if anything, he noted the approach of a new person. Not the fading in that he and the others had done, but a physical, environment interacting walk up. With the biggest damn wolf he had ever seen. They stopped some twenty feet out. It was a good distance to see someone's eyes and read the expression on their face so you could determine of you needed to shoot them, yet do so with some range. However, it was also an excellent closing distance for a canine that size if it wanted to eat you.

If things became ugly, he was going to have to shoot the wolf first. If it came at him, anyway. Use it for cover if the lady unslung that bow of hers. Target her if the wolf went for someone else. It would suck for them, but this was the most effective way to take care of the situation if it came to violence. Hit the faster threat first. The tactics of the situation that leapt unbidden to his head as matter of a survival skill took a bit of an abbreviation as the woman spoke. To him directly.

Others had things to say. Maybe it was important to them that they said what they did. Give a sense of control in a situation that none of them had any control over. Caesar himself wasn't happy with the absence of familiarity or footing in the least, either. But nothing he said was going to make it better automatically. Instead, he waited until the others had said their peace, and responded to the strange lady, "Soy un pugilista1." He said this, though he was pretty sure that she meant something else, not quite as obvious, by her statement. The fact that she was speaking on behalf of her wolf was not lost on him.

Seeing as Riley had taken the initiative with asking who she was, Caesar refrained from repeating the question. Instead, he opted for a slightly different approach. He heard her speaking English. Seems everybody did. "I am called Caesar. Caesar Gonzalez." His words were quiet; soft even, with their usual low, growling quality. If he others wanted to introduce themselves, great. The people he cared about personally were nowhere to be seen. They were his priority far more than the people he was here with at the moment.

In πŸ§šπŸ»β€β™€οΈ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 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 πŸ¦„ Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 6 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 πŸ¦„ The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S. → 6 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 πŸ¦„ Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision → 6 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 πŸ§šπŸ»β€β™€οΈ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 6 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 πŸ¦„ Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S. → 6 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.

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