Sigil

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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"Agreed," remarked Ash, trying to blink away the thought of Wayne approximating Boomhauer. Except in his mind, somehow he was also wild-haired, smoking a cigar, and calling people "Bub". Dang ol' Bub... Well, that was weird. The thought of the older men of Camp Mexico Beach lined up in an alleyway, sipping cans of domestic from a cooler, and Wayne living the free-and-breezy life as a strange amalgamation of Wolverine and Boomhauer was a little off, even if it was just a product of an active imagination. What was worse - he was a trained Engineer, whose brain was wired to see an problem or obstacle and immediately begin calculating a fix. This resulted in him thinking what materials they had on standby which he might have seen during the tour for the creation of an alley framed with backyard privacy fencing, preferably someplace beer adjacent. Barring that, a location that upheld the overall spirit of am assortment of middle aged guys standing about at leisure. Perhaps fishing. But no, speaking with her about it was a big no-no. He could feel part of that cringe. It was real.

It also didn't surprise him when she moved to bus her tray after fighting to keep her food down at the image of Waynehauer doing his thing. Ash had experienced combat before the word went to hell, same as her. It still didn't prepare you for horrors like that. But Ash quickly finished his plate, or near enough, and moved to follow Thana toward the exit. By the time that Thana had looked back to see what the score was with him Ash was definitely ready to 1) follow her, and already crouching a little so that she could 2) get a lift. "My pleasure, of course. Hop on up. Point and I'm going that way." Ash had a good idea where she wanted to go. Still, it was good to get that confirmation before carrying away the indigenous personnel. "...shower..." he softly said aloud, unaware that he had done so until it was already out there. Yes, he was a disciplined man of action, a credit to the Army he once served, and a sharply intelligent person. But he also had a lot of time to make up for, and some of the ideas along those lines leaked out into the verbal with minimal prompting. Ash was sure that he'd have a better handle on himself in that regard shortly, but for now, he was going to piggyback the object of his deep affection someplace where a lather might be worked up. Priorities.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall) -> L5 (Just Outside Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia set her ferrous right hand down upon her napkin and scraped it off of her tray, then slid it over in front of herself. There was a little more in the way of citrus juice on the table, and even if Thalia was a person lacking in the recent application of table manners, she wasn't inherently a slob. Even among the trees and hills, within which she had she had become more comfortable than air conditioning and new sheets, one could not afford to be overly messy. It attracted the wrong kind of attention. And she still technically felt like a guest, even if she was supposed to be one of the locals now. It was best to make an effort.

Most of that effort was geared toward the shards of fruit in front of her. As light discussion was made, be it more backtracking than anything else because it wasn't anyone's business what they were talking about other than the two of them. Personal stuff, and the like. It was rare that Thalia had an unguarded moment, and holding a short personal conversation while her eyes scanned the room for potential threats was the closest thing to an unguarded moment that she could hope for. Thalia's contribution to the conversation was another monosyllabic, "Nnn," in Alexander's direction, a kind of muted attempt at a "what he said" phrase wrapped up in the least amount of verbalization necessary, and only this after ripping the last bit of pulpy fruit from the rind and depositing the whole mess onto her tray. She gave Alexander a light bump on his shoulder with her right hand (at least she thought it was light, she was still getting used to the prosthetic) and moved to bus her tray.

It was probably a good time to let herself be seen by people here. Yeah, there was the whole beach party that they were doing, but that was something that sounded like it might last into the night. For now, broad daylight was best, she thought. As soon as she stepped outside, Thalia noticed the kid named Hunter and their younger guard, the blonde one who she might have been able to babysit for back in the day, if that was her thing. _{Spoiler Alert: It wasn't.} Nikki, that was her name. She said something rather unflattering about the guy with the cart. No problem.

"Oye, Morales!" she began, calling to The Goat in perfectly accented Nuevo Leon Spanish, "Esta chica dice algo sobre ti en un ...'Espeedo'. ¿Quizás meterse con ella en la fiesta de esta noche, si tienes una?₁"

Translations

1 = This girl is saying something about you in a Speedo. Maybe mess with her at the party, if you got one?

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The heavy and accented eyebrow of Vladimir rose nearer to the brim of his fine hat as the man with the strange clothes and damaged nose made inquiry as to what he should call him. And after an introduction such as that? True, not his absolute best introduction ever, but much could be said for his situation. Snatches of conversation among the others in the ruined church led him to believe that they were in a situation similar to his. The confusion was still apparent on their faces. Perhaps that was why the man who used a strange dialect of English (or one with which he was not overly familiar, in any case) needed to know is name again. Preoccupation. It was okay. The Great Bazhooli was nothing if not gracious, especially with those who were going through their own crises. Though the crack about the Czar dying was irksome. Disrespectful, even. Though if their grand, noble, and farsighted leader of the largest Empire of their age had fallen to forces beyond the control of his velvet gloved iron fist, then the capable and patiently formidable Grand Duchess Elizaveta would ascend to the throne, gripping the reins of power and guiding the Empire toward further greatness. It was all good. And the man did return to apologize for ...something, but hey, it was a positive, right?

It would be more of a positive if he had his people with him. Even Violin Guy, though he kind of snuck in there at the very end. Still, pissing random new people off was counterproductive to whatever they were supposed to be doing, and if he flew into a rage and stabbed each and every one of them to death (too messy for his liking, and highly undignified unless under orders of his Grand Duchess or the type of party had shifted) then no one was getting answers of any kind. Being alone was a bad idea in a strange, new place, especially considering the dangerous entity that they had dispatched just prior to coming here. That was a sobering thought. Perhaps one that these others needed to know about, if they had not done their own dispatching prior to coming here. But first!

"No, no, good and strange sir! Is no needing for apology. Now, as you did not catching name first time," Vladimir motioned in front of him, subtly replacing the knives in their sheathes before flourishing his hands to show their new emptiness. He swept his tall hat from his head and held it in front of him, and filled his lungs with the damp, church air. With measured and level tones, Vlad rolled out baritone, Russian accented words, "I am Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, Master of Bazhooli Sem'ya and Great Bazhooli of generation, first heir to Baron Alexandrov." He bowed his head slightly, seeming to take on the appearance of a man walking someone else through an introductory exchange. "Master Alexandrov, Great Bazhooli, Vladimir; may call me vhat you vill," he leaned forward a bit, his voice lowering to punctuate his words with a serious aspect, "but vith respect. Da? And I vill endeavor to do same."

There was an immediate change in Vladimir's demeanor, returning to a lighter, less intense version of himself. Be it genuine or just for show, he even put a smile on his face. With bright eyes, he responded to the question put to the room. Why a church? Well, "Vhy not church? Church is good place. Church of Elsevhere, for maybe? Hmm..." He gave a moment of consideration, "Church vas vhere ve vere, vhen ve destroyed monster. Cast Gologramma, during and after battle in church. Took us here. Vas not supposed to do this, the Gologramma. Not for travel. Ah, but you should have seen monster! Vith bigness, long ropy testic- tentacles, tentacles; creature of solids and shadows, stink of burning sulphur. Strong vomens in battle, powerful, beat monster to half death vith skills most exquisite, most brutal, hmm, terrifyingly beautiful - but Grand Duchess purified, fell to dust."

The summary of Lauren came with a little head tilt from The Great Bazhooli, acknowledging her words and presence past her words describing the injuries she didn't want to receive. He didn't address it directly, but he did throw in, "Ruins? Egypt, da. So, nothing vith big scary sulphur monster. Is good." He flashed a smile in her direction. Then he looked to the very, very armed man who asked a question, "No! Am not having idea vhatsoevers. Nothing vith Groves, nothing vith Proserpine. But! But, I am liking your comfortableness vith things sharp and pointy. Is also good. Very good. For you, I make deal. Help vith Great Bazhooli's qvest, I help with your grove and local girl, if I am able."

"So! ...vhat is doing first?"

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Plains Between River & Cave
Skills: History

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There was a pause from the tall Emendator as Ludwig rambled off whatever it was he likely intended as passing along information, and/or making observations of the world around him. It was funny, Gilbert probably fluently spoke more languages, modern and ancient, than any single entity that had existed (to the breadth of his experience), yet when this man opened his mouth, complete gibberish seemed to pour forth like a syllabic gargoyle throwing rainwater away from the roof of a cathedral. At least he seemed to know what he was talking about, if no one else did. Probably how his people kept lore safe. There was no better cipher than confusion.

The lady in the Londoner attire, though he did not quite place the exact decade, seemed to know him intimately. Or at least personally, and surprised enough at his presence for them to not have arrived in this place together. Then, at length of the first round of introductory conversation, she introduced herself. "Your name is Crypt? I know of your bloodline well." He turned to Andromeda, who had likewise just finished introducing herself in response. "Recall, please, the stately woman who shared a drink with me. Pale, garbed in black, assisted in your training. The first, Belladonna. She is the progenitor of the Crypt line. This is her descendant." He returned his gaze to young Virginia, "It is a pleasure. I am called Gilbert Summers, The Hat. You might know of me in London as Gray Hawkins, a professor of history and philosophy. I have been called many other interesting things, though I was born to the name Gilgamesh." He scanned the area around him, then looked in the direction he felt Nancy's pull just earlier. "It has been an interesting day."

Faith's summary wasn't, in an odd twist of irony, something that gave him a lot of faith. Though it did point out that Evelina, the one that they knew and not a maybe far altered-by-time version of her was sighted and present up until very recently. It seemed that the explanation was going to be highly abbreviated, so Gilbert decided to open himself up to one of he most useful skills he possessed by pure qualification of being an Emendator to try for more direct and fulfilling answers: His ability to compress and experience human history. He shut his eyes for a moment, as if there were a mental barrier that prevented his instant ease of access, then soon opened them, a look of contemplative clarity beaming across his face. "That... explains so much. And yet does not..." he mused aloud. A single chuckle emanated from The Hat, and he looked to Faith with wonder and amusement. "It is amazing what can be realized with a change in perspective, Faith. You need to consider those words very carefully. For right now, listen to me. I do not know how much time we will have together."

"I looked into the history of this place, and saw nothing. Not blankness, not garbled impressions. Literally nothing. I saw no past, and I saw no chance at a future timeline that had already come to be. My ability to do so has not been compromised; I can still feel the edges of human history as I open myself up to the lines. This place is beyond it all. History is made by those who live and struggle and experience. This is a place where living souls go after they are done experiencing life. We stand, almost all of us, as Paradoxes inside of a Paradox. This is an afterlife, yet we are not dead, you and I."

He removed his hat and motioned toward Faith, continuing, "Evelina left you here. We took her place, is this correct? My arrival, and as such my departure from where I stood last was not voluntary. I would guess the same was true of her. Faith, I believe that there is so much that can be determined in this place. Please, walk me through everything you can remember about your time with The Dice. Exact words she used. Where she went. How she looked. What she did." His words were imperative but kindly, as a teacher might use with a pupil who was on the verge of understanding.

Gilbert turned his head suddenly to look at Ludwig. What he was saying seemed to crystallize in Gil's brain, between his words and what was discerned in the attempt to embrace history here. "And you... know things, do you not?" He seemed to be right about something, and self assured. While waiting on a fuller recap from Faith, Gilbert opened himself up to another Emendator ability in hopes of gathering more direct knowledge for himself. It seemed that this jump might prove very fruitful indeed.

Roll Request

Location: Plains Between River & Cave
Attempted Actions: Find Evelina
Skills: Locate (Emendator)
Reasons for Skills: Specifically, to focus this ability on Evelina
End Location: N/A

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: N/A

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Cairo, 1920s, but they sounded American. Russian Empire, and sounded like it; spoke fluent enough English. The ones before were from his time, taken from the American Midwest though it wasn't their origin, most of them. And he didn't want to assume anything about their initial guide, Kyra. She looked like something out of a Hobbit movie, but even more anachronisically, she knew about Keystone. Maybe the big Brit was around here someplace too, and they'd had some favorable association. That was a frightening thought; favorable association with Keystone.

Back to point, all of these different people from different eras and locations, and despite his imposing demeanor no one was making a move on him. They were scared. Confused, like he was. Okay, they were not an immediate threat. Caesar still completed his action of unsheathing one of his machetes, but he made no motion of an otherwise aggressive nature. Caesar made a noise that fell somewhere in the vicinity of both a growl and a sigh, and took a greater eye to his surroundings.

He generally ignored the insistence of the one lady that she didn't want to get shot or stabbed. Who did? Immaterial unless he was intent on doing this to her. And if he did, her wants on the issue were probably going to be secondary to an attacker's desire to make with the stabbing. Likewise, he put no additional attention to the guy trying to get a rise out of the Russian and then turning his back on the guy. Unwise, in his experience. But no one was dead yet. This was a good sign.

So let's try a different approach. "A local girl... pointed me to the Chthonic Groves and someone named Proserpine. Does that mean anything," He paused for a moment to observe the people in his immediate area, wither scurrying about or standing there doing nothing, "to any of you?" His words carried an edge, but were otherwise softer and more inquisitive. It was probably the most polite he had been all day.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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Social situations. Not Ash's thing unless he was in a position of authority. At least not anymore, though there was a time, long ago. He was a good soldier. He was an exceptional Executive Officer. And recent years had made him a fit commander. The things that made him good at these duties were also things that tended to make every other social encounter (that didn't involve drinking) a little difficult. The stoicism in both philosophy and demeanor allowed him to make decisions with critical thinking, not emotion, when the chips were down. He was disciplined and unwavering in pursuit of his goals. Even as a kid, he was a good student and labored unceasingly for his family, which transferred well when he signed his life to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers; Sapper. Then the Apocalypse. Ash was going to have to learn how to be a more well rounded person again.

At first, he was being distant. Now that it was pointed out, he was trying too hard. He was never the type to try too hard to be sociable before. Ash wanted this to work, both with Camp Mexico Beach and with Thana, specifically. He'd been on an epic knightly quest for over a year and a half for her, for crap's sake. And now he was forcing nonchalance. Ash's eyes glazed over and he stared into the distance for a moment as this realization washed over him. Luckily, Thana nudged his shoulder and jostled him out of it. He would have to thank her later. She continued about the possible psychic powers of her father, which he was prone to believe after the past week and the few conversations, both had with the man and observed, such as they could be called conversations.

Then she said something that made him stop mid-bite. The promiscuous one? "Yeah, that is damn unsettling." Ash had apparently forgotten that aspect of the immortal Boomhauer, in all of his animated glory. It did give him a chuckle, though he tried to restrain it. "I meant talking constant and barely understandable, Thana. Nah, that other - scares me a little." He gave a small smile and hugged her around her waist as they sat.

Being as he wasn't one hundred percent sure what she meant by her next statement, he wasn't certain how to react. Did she mean her time coming back here, or when she entered Newnan just prior to its collapse? If she meant here, then definitely. According to the story he'd gotten, she came in mostly dead and had to be put back together by the medical staff here, after which apparently she had to go through whatever rigors one must go through to become an officer in this place, all while still being held together by surgical steel and good intentions. If she meant Newnan, well, that was unfortunate all around, though with some highly specific points that sucked for her. To throw her into the mix like that was less than ideal for her, to say the least.

"Yeah, it was easier for me, getting processed here." Except for the part where he thought Thana was dead. The initial reason for his coming here, prior to learning that Zebulon was destroyed. And the fact that management nor their guards did nothing to correct this belief, knowing the truth. Watching him deal with not only the death of someone he loved, but the collapse of already fragile hope from the past year and a half. Though Ash had braced himself for the very real possibility, it still struck him hard. He had learned that it was for a purpose, and he respected this decision. Purpose and reason over emotion. It was something he might have done, for the good of the people involved and for the community. "Your strength continues to amaze me, Thana." He spoke it plainly and genuinely, his tone stating a fact about how he felt rather than an attempt to butter her up or curry favor. It did amaze him. Ash heavily doubted that he would have been able to survive what she did.

"So, what's on the agenda between this and the beach party?" Ash looked to her with admiration, hoping there might be some time to be together, if only to contemplate each other's quiet presence.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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It had always amazed Thalia how, despite her training with weapons in each hand, and the fact that her style of boxing had her switching from righty to southpaw seamlessly, she had such problems doing anything else with her left hand. Ask her to stab, shoot, or hit someone, she was your girl. You want her to sign her name? Bring a snack. It's going to be a while. She wanted to insert food into her mouth and anyone with a camera might be able to win some money from the "America's Funniest" people. It was a little infuriating sometimes, but just as long as she didn't give a shit about what people thought about her, she was going to get that pasta into her facehole one way or another. Still getting used to the tiring concept of eating around people she didn't know, like someone might use the opportunity to launch an attack while her mind was occupied with levering spaghetti in her mouth.

The fresh fruit was a nice touch, though. Except for prying off the peel with one working hand. In the end, force replaced dexterity for the win. While Alexander was trying for manners in an otherwise mannerless world, Thalia was going for the silently impassioned but effective kill. It was amazing how many things required two functioning hands to accomplish. Improvisation was necessary, she reasoned, pinning the precious sphere of citrus down with her metal hand and perforating its thick rind with her thumbnail, over and over, working her way down and around to gouge a series of meridians that she could exploit to get at the juicy, pulpy flesh within.

Thalia held the fruit steady and raised her new steel fist above the condemned source of vitamin C, then sharply brought it down with a thwack. Her face twisted into a gruesome sneer as her artificial appendage made connection, snuffing the very life from the fruit as it contorted ans ripped open. A spurt of tangy juice splattered in a line across Thalia's face like the blood of her enemies, which she didn't bother to wipe away. No, she earned this victory and would wear it like a badge of honor. The fallen citrus didn't split exactly as she wanted it to, but it was well enough to use her left hand to pick through its remains and tear out the good flesh with her teeth.

Messy, but goddamnit, the atrocities she might commit for a grapefruit.

She barely registered the arrival of Manny, for that manner barely noted his absence until he spoke just now. Thalia glared up at him from behind a shard of citrus rind and gave a monosyllabic grunt of, "Nnn..." while motioning her head toward a seat nearby. There was a level of comfort in having the familiar cluster around her, though she had to open up a little, eventually, with some of these people. She'd start with her brother first, then maybe his friends. They were family, after all, and if she didn't know him quite as well after this time, that just meant that they could catch up.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The Gologramma was not supposed to do any of this. Impossible. This thought repeated over and over in Vladimir's mind despite the other, more panache-y things that he continued to exhibit. The fact that they were in another place entirely was exciting. New. Worthy of adventuring people such as themselves. But what happened next have him considerable worry.

*****Snapping*****

One moment, he was making introductions all around with people close to him, a lady of a familiar bloodline, and ... violin guy! The next, something inexplicable and wholly unprecedented occurred in a day full of things already inexplicable and unprecedented. It made him wonder why he went through all of that knowledge based Training if none of it was ultimately going to be of any actual use to him in the here and now, ever. Question dor the ages, but not his primary concern at the moment.

Without warning of any kind, another change. This time it was not location nor reality, nor sudden appearance of Lovecraftian Horror. This time the change was to everyone else. Vladimir remained, but everyone, including Elizaveta whom he viewed as a daughter, was gone. Nut he was not alone. In their stead was a quartet of some of the oddest people he had laid his eyes on. And he lived in a circus. One of them was a woman in pants (imagine that) who seemed a little too nonchalant about this for his liking. Others were strangely dressed but up to now quiet, and another looked like the type who associated in seedy roadside taverns, the kind where there were at least a half score dark corners to brood in before emerging to order something flammable and insist that they leave the bottle like some kopek-storefront hoodlum and/or hired murderer. He already had a gun of some sort on his hand and was drawing something sharp, which he could respect but did not particularly appreciate now, being as he was a stranger. It did not amazingly alarm him. Vladimir had range and two hands filled with sharpened steel that he was fairly certain he could hurl with accuracy. Still, not the most sociable group.

"I am Master Vladimir Dimitrievich Aledandrov," he said with a slight bow, holding his blade-bearing hands to his sides, "known to all vith familiarity of Russian Imperial Circus as The Great Bazhooli, Artist of Impalements." He gave the k ives in his hands a twirl and tipped his very fine hat, continuing in his thick but slightly muddled Russian accent, "And I too have questions. Persons very dear to Great Bazhooli have been replaced. ...by you... and this is outside influencimg realm of my very considerable abilities. QVESTIONS! Am having them, too." The look of the man was less in the way of smiles and more in the manner of showmanly intensity, not quite hiding a sense of dark urgency. This situation simply would not do.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: PE Fade Between <~SNAP~> Plains Between River & Cave
Skills: Locate (Emendator)

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Being put into this place, with new and interesting concepts knocking around his skull, did pique Gilbert's more intellectual and philosophical interests. Comparatively few people had referred to him as a philosopher (though he was), and even fewer had ever accused him of being an intellectual (it was understandable). These facets of his personality were real, however, and did make up the complicated fellow that was Gilbert Summers. Or whatever he called himself these days. Mostly though, in this moment, Gil's dominant traits centered around one of the oldest of humanity's professions, the one to which he had dedicated countless lifetimes.

Soldier, not prostitute. Minds out of the gutter, people.

(ahem) Anyway, with their very surroundings altering from the pastoral to the hellish, Gilbert's concerns moved away from the existential implications of an afterlife, final judgement, punishment vs peace, and centered more on the extreme here and now. There were Paradoxes with them that, while talented enough, had not received the full measure of training that he would have preferred them to have had before sending them into something completely unknown like this. Hence, Gilbert was already shifting his thoughts to defensive measures they might take, ideas on maximizing effectiveness their marching order, such as the had one, and the fluid nature of anything that resembled planning, when the very lands around them was subject to alteration.

The question that came from Andromeda didn't exactly give him pause. It was something that he had contemplated himself, many times over. Of course, the circumstances of his coming into consciousness as an Emendator was a little different than the others, though that could have just been a matter of timing lining up coincidentally. He would probably never know. And so much was he agreed with Gio's assessment that more important things were afoot, he did believe that some light conversation that might lead to an educational experience wasn't such a bad idea. If nothing else, it gave something to occupy the more logical portions of their thought, lest it turn to panic. Nobody needed that.

One more scan of the horizon before he turned to Andromeda, intent on giving her the short, short version of his coming to consciousness as an Emendator.

*****Snapping*****

Gilbert saw Andromeda there still, and yet she was the only thing that was immediately familiar about what used to be around him vs. what actually was. Silently, instantly, Gil was in another place, as if someone had neatly incised away a portion of cellulose film and seamlessly rejoined it, else he was simply removed to this new spot without so much as a ruffle of wind to indicate that a change was taking place.

His arrival was heralded by a very random seeming man stating the obviousness of his and Andromeda's height disparity. He eyes the man curiously for a moment, almost (almost) cracking a smile at the "piggy back" comment. The recent memory of James shapeshifting into his Boar Form to give Andromeda a ride in hopes of giving her a breather and something else to focus on was touching. It seemed like a James thing to do. But the uncertainty of his situation - living, dead, or other - kept Gil from fully accepting the speech from the strange man and taking any levity from it.

All in all, it was very confusing at first. But the strange man and Andromeda aside, there was a young lady in garb of an era and location that Gilbert had lived. London, 19th century. He couldn't tell offhand if it was during the Georgian period, the Regency, or the Victorian; but he did recall the basic cut and styles, and remembered that he had stopped killing lots and lots of people for a little while to become a teacher, and a well respected one, adopting the name Gray Hawkins. His professorial lectures and private tutelage about world history always took on a stirring narrative form and his descriptions of battles both ancient and contemporary were regarded as brutal, emotional, and highly detailed; as if he had, impossibly, been physically present for them.

There was another that he personally knew here. And a huge, white tiger that seemed to be responding to the odd fellow's ramblings; he was going to come back to this in a bit. No one seemed hostile, so he took a second to focus his concentration onto the location of the other Emendators. Quietly, he smiled and whispered, "_...Nancy..." casually looking in the direction he felt the pull (and letting Andromeda see him do it). While Gilbert took cautious note of the others, it was Faith that he addressed in an inquisitive, wearied tone: "How were things in New York, Faith?" as if he already had an idea of what might have happened.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: DTB Fade Between <~SNAP~> Soulless Fade Between
Skills: N/A

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So, that was what she meant earlier when she said that he smelled like a Pugilist. Or when she spoke for the wolf. Whatever. It had nothing to do with him, exactly, but the company he kept. Yes, it could be said that the large man with whom he had set off on his leg of their little adventure was a Pugilist, though he wouldn't go so far as to purely describe him like that. A few years ago, sure... But then the thought leapt rather unbidden to Caesar; how many strange women did Keystone have trailing him in his history up until he unknowingly impregnated Alicia? Even so far as to know one one in Purgatory? He didn't think the guy was that much of a charmer in the first place.

Given circumstances, that was a beating for another day. Today, he was given a name, a place, and a general direction to travel. It might not sound like much, but it was more than he had five minutes prior. Four days walk? Okay, he had better get started. Keystone's name seemed to open a door with the woman. He might as well take advantage of it. "Proserpine. Chthonic Groves. Four days that way," he repeated, just to make sure he got it down properly. He even pointed. "Thank you."

Caesar hefted his shotgun, letting the strap dangle underneath as he walked, the first of what promised to be many steps into the world they found themselves thrust into. That name bothered him. That and many questions would be answered. Four days.

*****Snapping*****

Disorienting didn't begin to describe it. At least with the initial push to this place, whatever it was, there was a transition. Had Kyra tried to say something before this? Did she know something? Did it matter? Not really, because now, the change of scenery came with a full change of cast, that change including their reluctant guide - Kyra was nowhere to be seen.

What he did see was the inside of a ruined church, a handful of people in older styled clothing, and one asshole covered with knives who looked like he belonged in a cartoon. Wary, confused, Caesar gripped his primary shotgun at ready and began slowly sliding one of the machetes on his back out of its sheath. In a calm, low growl, he posed a very simple query: "Which one of you has answers?"

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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It took Ash a moment to realize that Thana was operating with the understanding that he had asked her to only introduce her to the one person. Perhaps it was something in his delivery that as off. So much as it might be a thing worth note to discuss the wondrous art of turning various recipes containing simple carbohydrates into that glorious, glorious C₂H₅OH within a liquid matrix by means of the appropriate applications of time, heat, and basic engineering, he already knew as much as anyone did anymore. Hell, he was born into the trade. It never left him. But so much as that, were it to get into the realm of a conversation of any depth, might be fulfilling in a professional sense, it wasn't really what he meant.

"Mmm-mm," he grunted in an manner to express a misunderstanding discovered, then swallowing a bite to continue, "Meant all of them; Edna, Rosie, Eda." he motioned vaguely with his fork as he spoke each name, thought with a sense of subtlety. "Eventually." The last thing he wanted as the new guy was to start calling out the established personnel, especially while they were sitting down to supper. Scratch that, the last thing he wanted to do as the new guy was make Thana think he only wanted to speak to the younger woman with whom he had something in common. That was a ugly thought, and patently untrue.

Ash let his arm trail down a bit and slowly wrap around Thana's waist. It was a fairly subtle move, considering that they were already leaning against each others' shoulders. He was giving himself a second or two to phrase and answer Thana's question about anyone ever telling him that he talked too much. Obvious sarcasm. Taken literally, that would be preposterous. Not a man of extremely few words, it could be easily said by many who knew him that he was a little frugal with his verbiage. "I apologize, Thana. Processing a lot of stuff. Still just soaking up being here with you, besides. I'm being rude." He gave a touch of thought to what she was saying earlier, one point of which stood out in his mind. "Sorry, were you saying 'King of the Hill'? Like that 'Beavis and Butthead' guy, 'King of the Hill'? Love that show." He gave a quick assessment of the seating around the older people, clustered over that way. "Your, ah... your father doesn't seem like much of a talker, either. I didn't know any better, I'd say they were all actually telepathic." He nodded his head in the general direction of the group again, "Question for you: Which one do you think is Boomhauer?" Probably Wayne. Even odds, maybe.

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: L5 (Mess Hall)
Skills: N/A

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The way Thalia blasted through a meal, you'd think that she was starving. Not that it would matter if she was; experience taught one who might be studying the eating habits of the semi-feral pixie-crested Mestiza that, when lacking in abundant or reliable sources of food, one of this genus and species actually had slight tendency to eat slower, thus maximizing the sating effect of said nourishment. Such actions could never be taken as definitive, however, as more often than not any food set in front of her for personal consumption would become a belch and an afterthought in a matter of short, frothing seconds. In any case, Thalia was not starving. She had eaten better in the last week than she had in the past year, one or two instances of finding a relatively untouched convenience store or previously unlooted house aside. Even then things had to be rationed. So yeah, most reliable food in a long time, she still attacked her plate like it owed her money.

Yet, despite her struggling to hold a fork properly with her left hand and throw the food into her mouth, Alexander looked like he wanted to get something off his chest. Maybe just get a few words out. Hey, no problem. She could sit and listen. Relating was a different story. Thalia was never a soldier. Not like he was. Or like Army Captain was, or Navy, or seemingly half the people that ran things in this place. Still, a single serving size packet of reassurance might not hurt. "I think we're all a little broken now. Just a question of how much. I'm definitely not what I used to be." She shrugged. It was true enough. Maybe the next generation, the one that grew up with this, would be more reasonably well adjusted. Alexander would be right in his assumption that this was not the kind of talk she was used to. Given the status of the world, maybe she should start trying to get used to it. The world had a lot of people like her and Alexander - scarred inside and damaged outside.

🦄 Tartarean Strands - Chapter 1: The Collision

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Soulless Fade Between
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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Not a man lost for words often, or at all, really, Vladimir's initial silence in the face of the sudden slide between realities was birthed of introspection. His Gologramma was never intended for anything like this. At all. Ever. The development, as passed down from generation to generation, refined from one practitioner to another, was purely for the purpose of combating a specific type of Soulless native to the Russian Empire on even(ish) footing. The fact that it made for a fine tool in his arsenal as an entertainer just meant that he got to practice it more. And he was decent enough at it. This shift wasn't just unexpected. It should have been impossible. Drawing upon astral energies to made a copy that exists in the physical and astral simultaneously should have nothing to do with actually going anywhere. It was impossible. Yet, here they were.

"Elsevhere..." mused Vladimir, "Elsevhere is good a name as any." He tapped the flat of his exposed blade on the brim of his hat, then twirled it between his fingers with practiced nonchalance. He took the opportunity to look around him, seeing who all came along on this joyride into oblivion. More importantly, their physical status after the fight and the sudden ...travel. They seemed intact, luckily no extremities were left behind. Wait, was that a possibility? An imperfect transport that left an arm or a foot behind, if they were just barely too far away from some undetermined radius? Was that why Elizaveta insisted on them holding hands? And if there was a radius for this newfound application of his Gologramma, did that make Constantin and the guy with the violin case very lucky, or determined by fate to accompany them? Such might be very lucky indeed. Or merely a setup for their eventual evisceration by hands unknown to them all.

His assessment of the people around him (because after all, that's what matters most) complete, Vladimir turned his attention back to his own sense of dramatic purpose. "Ve are alive. And ve are Elsevhere. It is for maybes that ve are vones being seek-ed." That was a sobering thought. "Or perhaps, as ve are all here, ve vere supposed to find ...each other..." His face darkened beneath the brim of his tall hat. He smiled, and continued, "For ve are vith the coming together; Great Bazhooli, Grand Duchess, Lady Crypt, Constantin Firevalker, and," Vladimir looked over to the fifth of their number, forgetting whether or not the man had introduced himself nor whether Vlad himself had the presence of manners to ask. Still, he was hip-deep in his speech and couldn't just stop midspeech. "...and eh, Violin Guy! Da, force to be reckoned vith, all ov us, together. NOW," He paused, flicking out a second blade to twirl with the first, a bright smile forming, "Here for purpose, da? Ve stay here for vaiting, ve go looking, or... does Great Bazhooli attempt vorld jumping Gologramma vonce more? Maybe this time, ve try the same trick ...ON FIRE?" Clearly, he was having too much fun with this.