Thriller Blood Moon: Rise of the Lycans (A werewolf RPG)

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori- 25 December, 2065
Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral


Zeeza grinned at her reply about her name. "You can call me Katia. Let the others figure it out." Zee had given her a small laugh, and nodded in response. When Katia went in to take her bath, she could hear all types of equipment being taken off. Zeeza sat on her bench. "This is gonna take a while..." she stated softly to herself, as she leaned against the wall.

After a while, Zeeza could hear sounds of water sloshing about. With a grin, she dived into her backpack. She had not had a chance to unload anything yet. She took out a small knife, and took off a think sliver of chocolate, and slowly let it melt into her mouth. She slid down into the seat. 'Oh GOSH!!' that was sooo good. It seemed like forever since she had held a taste of chocolate. But she didnt take another piece. The kids were really going to love that! And the spam. Meat was hard to come buy, when they coudlnt catch any game. She needed to set up some traps on the roof for birds, again. She didnt find any tea for the father, but she had managed to find insense. Hopefully, later on, she would get a chance to give it to him. Zeeza turned back into her backpack, and this time picked through the books and magazines she had managed to find. The medical one. That one they might be able to use. She had a tiny notepad and pencil, she wrote names of stuff, chemicals and the like that the good father was always on the look out for. A few magazines. Fashion stuff mostly, thought she did have one on crafts. She liked to crochet, when she found the time. Funny enough, yarn was plentiful. She had made plenty of hats and mittens and scarves, when the winters hit. She also had read on other crafts, some of them useful here. She remembered going on the internet so many years ago, and laughing at some of the stuff. Compared to what she knew was true, when she was back in Africa, compared to what many folks thought they knew. Survival. Hunting. It sure was different here. In the city.

Zee sighed, and looked at the next book. Oh yeah, she had ran thru the Fiction area, and had grabbed a large book. Ohh. Science Fiction. She grinned. The 'Ringworld' series of books, by Larry Niven." All bound together in one place. Cool. She had read it ages ago, but had forgotten most of it. This would be worth it. Happy, she leaned back, and began to read the book, humming softly to herself, as she forced herself to read slowly. She was normally a speed reader, but nowadays she forced herself to read stuff slowly. Soon, she started to hear water sloshing around outside. Sounds of scrubbing. Katia should be out soon. Zeeza kept reading.

After a unknown length of time, the door opened, and Zeeza looked up. Katia had come out, and she looked much better now. The parlor of her face had a bit of a healthy glow, even if she was still pale. Zee also noted she had moved her rifle, and that her hand was on the pistol grip.

"Zeeza," Katia called out to her, standing near, but not too close to her. "What are you reading?" Zeeza grinned. "It is a science fiction book, called 'Ringworld.'" Zeeza leaned her head back. "Its a fun storyline. Just like to read something that puts my head someplace else. I used to like reading horror novals. Still do. Just not any with werewolves in them." Zeeza shrugged her shoulders. She then stretched and stood up. "Well, we've been gone a while. I've got some stuff to hand out for Christmas, and some stocks to turn in. Hopefully, Father Minghan will be free soon." And we can all use a good meal. With the door messed up, will probably go out again, once the meal is done, so that we can find something to secure the door, Im guessing. Unless the guys got creative.." Zeeza chuckled softly at that thought. Zeeza then shook her head. "Relax. Unless ya start growling, and turning wolfen on us, yer safe here." See nods her head.

"Common. Let's go back to the main area, and see whats going on.. Delta." With a grin, Zeeza gestured for Katia to follow her back to the main common areas, as she turned and began to head back. "Oh..if anything is still wet, you can put it near the main fireplace. That should dry out anything pretty quick." she added as they walked back toward the others.



TAGS: Heavy Isotope, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

As I wait for either the interrogation to resume or for Father Minghan to return, I reflect on what I have seen and learned so far.

My initial impression was that the interrogator, John had a background in Law Enforcement. Now I'm not so sure. There was absolute chaos during the evacuation - I watched some of it happen on the TV News, until the Military commandeered the newsies' helicopters for their own use and a Guard (what would be termed a 'Screw' in English prison-speak) changed the channel - so nicking an official Police equipment belt, possibly a badge as well, from a casualty wouldn't have been a problem.

Then there's his blatant attempt to muscle-in and override Operational Security; disregarding the fact that no Brass-hat ever lets the potential 'sacrificial goat' on the ground know anything about "The Plan", just in case he's captured and made to talk. Police have similar systems in place, which occasionally lead to red faces all round when two 'Sting' operations collide with each other and cops try to arrest other cops!

But the real cause for doubt was him tucking his pistol into his belt, rather than holstering it safely; which is what holsters are designed for. I'm not at all experienced with firearms, not many Englishmen are unless they're ex-military or firearms-trained police; but I do (did?) know one of the latter from the re-enactment group. He really wanted to join, except that his shift pattern (and being constantly on-call) wouldn't allow him the necessary time; but he did spend quite a bit of time hanging around us, ostensibly to be sure that our weapons were actually safely blunted (they always were), our archers observed all the safety precautions (they always did - not wanting their bows to suffer the same fate as hunting crossbows and all but the bare minimum of privately-owned firearms; that is very heavily restricted or banned outright) and the rest of us weren't going around beating up on the local thugs! Tempting as it sometimes was, and as effective as an armoured gauntlet is against even well-developed and braced stomach muscles, we never did that either.

However, our (late?) friend did instruct us in the basic rules of firearms-safety, and John's action broke the most fundamental of them - namely never point one's own weapon at any part of one's own body, lest a negligent discharge (changed from 'accidental discharge' before I was born) result in the loss of something important!

So, John is either not the genuine article or incredibly, almost criminally, stupid and careless! In any case, his opinion doesn't matter to me. I have a perfect way of getting some time with Father Minghan - not that I need aloneness with him, just that we talk out of range of flapping ears - to brief him on the mission and also (before anybody remembers a fifteen year old murder case and conviction way over in California) on my personal circumstances. All I'll need to do is ask him to grant me the Sacrament of Confession; and I'm not going to hold anything back!

Crossbow-woman (the young lady who initially spoke to me) has taken the presumed-female/presumed-other, new arrival off deeper into the building, but from seeing her wiping some of her quarrels with a blood-stained rag and loading them into her weapon, I assume she got on the scorecard earlier. Impressive!

Father Minghan is really impressing me, though. The "Silly Goose", the cleric who presided over our RE classes at school, turned me right off religion with his failure to actually teach us anything about it and his incessant chalkboard sketches of English Cathedrals, which he then demanded we copy. Why? It wasn't Art class! A brilliant artist he almost certainly was, I saw some of the Cathedrals he'd sketched as I went back and forth to re-enactments and they were (as far as I can trust my memory) perfect renditions - in chalkboard chalks, yet - but a competent and engaging teacher, never! And there was that peculiar smell about him, mouthwash almost overpowering something else on his breath! I only went through Confirmation Classes, and the ceremony itself, to please my parents and have virtually never been in a Church since. I can't help but wonder if my attitude would have been different had someone with Father Minghan's evident devotion to his calling taken those classes instead.


TAG: No One.

 

OOC: I have not heard from spycoder9 in a while so I will move things along for his character to untie anyone waiting on a response. Going to fast forward a bit also.



Katia, Benjamin Eshkol, John Garrett, Kevin O'Brian, Zeeza N'dori, Gustavo Guerrero, Josephus Carter

25 December, 2065 Mid-Morning​

The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral​

​

“The next Harry Potter or Percy Jackson book,” Michaela simply answered Ben when she put her handgun away. The former singer shifted on her feet before turning her attention toward the newcomers and listening in on what was being said. John was questioning Joph about his intentions and what the government could possibly want after all these years of abandoning them. The other newcomer had gone off with Zeeza to get cleaned up while Kevin and Guts barred the bronze doors with one of the shorter, but heavy wooden pews.​

​

It was a temporary solution and probably would not hold up against a serious attack but with the recent demonstration of the Almighty's power, it was unlikely the beasts would make another attempt anytime soon. The fact that they had was worrisome enough. In all the years that the two groups had been stranded together on the island, not once had they ever tried to get into St. Patrick's before. The lycans preferred to simply pick off the humans as they came out of the cathedral to scavenge and scout.​

​

“Only thing is, I don't look, smell or act like easy prey; which is possibly why I wasn't attacked on my way here from FDR Drive."​

​

“You as dumb as you look, Tin Can?” commented Karen as she gave Joph a look that told him she thought him to be an idiot. “The only reason you're alive and not being eaten right now is not because you look all threatening and armored—which they don't care about either by the way—it's 'cause it is daylight and the moon will soon or has already set. They don't go attacking people during the day as much anymore unless they've got the numbers and weapons on them.”​

​

“She's right. Dem wolves like to hunt in packs and at night,” the guard at the information desk added. “I've seen them in the day and they behave much like a person does. Movin' about, talkin', carryin' small arms while they pick the city clean of anything edible or useful. They're in pretty much a bad spot as we are by now. Maybe that's why they attacked the cathedral? Hungry, ye know?”​

​

“Suppose we do look like a buffet waiting to be eaten,” Karen agreed and frowned. “Like Guts I'd be more comfortable if we had a cross bar for the door again.”​

​

“Gonna have to wait 'til the storm passes,” the guard replied and scratched at his chin. He gave the bronze doors a side-long glance before looking at Joph again. “You said yer a metalworker? Maybe you can craft us a metal beam this time? No wait, that requires a forge an' the only forge I know is at the university or the steel factories.”​

​

The conversation soon turned to what they could do once the storm passed and where Joph could find a place to rest at night and make his own. There were plenty of pews remaining that could be converted into his own living space. The ones closer to the Sanctuary were taken up by everyone else and those closer to the door were empty. It was rather obvious. The people felt safer further in. There were gaps between the chosen living spaces so as to obtain as much privacy from each other as possible as well as to not feel like they were packed in like sardines. By Joph's estimate there were at least, a little over two hundred people living in the cathedral ranging in varying ages, nationalities and occupations.​

​

The children took to Joph immediately once they caught sight of him in his armor. They asked him a thousand questions, the most prominent being if he was one of King Arthur's knights and if he could show them his sword. They had no qualms of him being in his armor and seemed to find it exciting after the scare they had from the attack. They even thought he had done battle and saved everyone.​

​

Zeeza and Katia returned from the sacristies facilities, leaving some of Katia's wetter clothing by the fire to dry while they returned to the others. She was shown where she could make her own space as well.​

​

The storm soon let up enough that only a light snow fall was coming down upon the city. It was still dreadfully cold out, very reminiscent of the winters from the early 21st Century when the arctic blast kept much of the north frozen like a mini-ice age. Despite the temperatures now was a good time to find a solution to the unbarred doors before the sun could set and to gather things from the city again. To be caught out in the cold while lycans prowled was the last thing they would want.​

​

Father Minghan did not appear again until shortly after, wiping his hands clean of blood and tossing the rag into a bin to be cleaned later. He spoke quietly to a woman and she began to cry. The priest tried to console her to no avail and left her to be tended to by her husband while he stormed across the Nave and stopped near the makeshift common room. He reached down and snatched something from beside an Indian who had been huddled in blankets and half-asleep but quickly woke at the Father's presence.​

​

“I have been tolerant and prayed that God would help you overcome this,” he harshly growled at the man, his voice raised enough to be heard by everyone. “But it seems you need more than just God's help, Rushil! If I catch you with another bottle or drunk, I will cast you out of this place!”​

​

“You can't do that!” The surgeon angrily replied, though he was probably more angry at having his bottle taken from him than being scolded and threatened by a priest.​

​

“I most certainly can toss out anyone who is a threat and hindrance to the rest of us. A good man lost his life because you were too drunk to save it.” The priest then walked over to the fireplace and tossed the item he had taken into the flames. The fire flared upward into the chimney for a few moments before dying down again. “No one is to give him another drop of that foul drink. He will sober up or else.”​

​

With that final proclamation, Minghan wandered away from the common room and started heading for the staircase that led up to the great pipe organs above the Narthax. He would pass the small group on his way his anger and disappointment evident. The cathedral had fallen quiet from the scene. It was unusual for the Father to show his temper, especially on Christmas morning. Then again with recent events no one could really fault the man for being angry. Activities that had been interrupted soon resumed and the quiet buzz of whispered conversations picked up again. Zeeza and Katia would discover that the Christmas breakfast was ready and being served. A rare treat and one everyone that had gone out had pitched-in in trying to acquire the servings.​

​

One group had found wild African pigs in Central Park, no doubt descendants from the Zoo's residence and had managed to catch one of the boars. The roasted swine was being sliced up and portioned out along with canned sliced potatoes that had been fried, a small portion of scrambled eggs that had come from wild chicken nests and dollar sized Bisquick instant pancakes (which, believe it or not, can last for years if the box is properly stored). English Breakfast hot tea and clean, fresh water were to drink.​

​

Although the portions were small in order to feed everyone, every bite was well worth it.​

TAG: @Ktala, Heavy Isotope Tim Battershell HanSolo29 greyjedi125 Saintheart Mitth_Fisto

OOC: The storm has let up. It is mid-morning to noon with breakfast being served. I suggest taking advantage of the calmer weather and daylight while you can.

Saintheart, if you want to go out into the city to pilfer the Library you can. Suggest taking someone with you though. Tim, now is your chance to talk to Minghan.

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I listen carefully to the lady and to the guard at (what probably used to be) the visitors' inquiry desk. It isn't what the scientists told me, but these people have first-hand knowledge of the Beasts behaviour; up close and personal!

"I could fabricate a metal bar for the doors", I tell them, "what I'd need would be a Foundry Crucible - that's a very big, thick, bucket with a ceramic lining; a lot of the special Foundry sand used for casting; wood for a box to keep the sand-mould together; a sufficient quantity of bronze - pieces of a broken Church Bell would do fine; and six to eight gas-powered blowtorches to heat the crucible until the metal turns molten. Trouble is, getting all of that together would probably take rather a long time; we'd need extra time, a day or two, for the casting to cool enough to be safely handled and the result would likely be rather too heavy for convenience; take maybe three or four people to even lift it into or out of the sockets! Those doors may open and shut easily, but they probably each weigh three, maybe as much as five, tons! Thick bronze is heavy! Even Church Bells tip the scales at half a ton apiece, minimum!

Recon you're wrong about my armour's effectiveness, though. The original gave very good to excellent battlefield protection until second or third generation firearms came along; and Mail suits were regularly being used as anti-shark and Animal Control gear right up to the beginning of this war. I added a layer of plate because I don't know what sort of bite-pressure the Beasts' jaws can develop, and I've seen they favour grabbing arms and legs. We also have higher quality metals and greater knowledge of how to use them than the Armour-smiths of centuries ago did. I've built that knowledge in, so while the armour looks authentic, it actually isn't - it's a vastly improved version! Anyway, I've seen what the Beasts can do to modern mil-spec body-armour and, with all due respect, I think I've got a far better chance of surviving their teeth and claws in this!"

I suggest that the small trees in the pavement outside the west end, which look like oak to me, could and should be cut down and possibly brought inside, though it might have to wait for a chainsaw to be scrounged and/or for warmer weather. I tell them that it would give us some timber on-hand for repairs and/or, once it has dried, firewood.

I'm very much in my element with the children; part of our purpose as re-enactors is to educate the public about the past - and if you didn't know much history on joining the group, you pretty soon acquire a bundle of it! Most of their questions are (as one would expect) elementary - some even childish - but some show real insight. I talk them through the visible pieces of my armour (not mentioning my plain, functional and very definitely not exhibitionistic, armoured codpiece - any one/thing who tries kicking or kneeing me there is in for a surprise; not me though, it's very well padded) from the arming jacket outwards, explaining why they were developed and how they evolved. I show them my sword and axe, warning them never to touch either since their edges are so sharp they'll cut flesh with hardly any pressure at all; truthfully adding that I don't really like handling the weapons myself without my gauntlets on. I even let any who ask try on my helmet, visor up and visor down. The only difference from a re-enactment event is that nobody's snapping photos for the family album; nevertheless it brings back pleasant memories.

Father Minghan re-appears. From the reactions of a man and woman further up the nave the casualty has now died. This is confirmed when the Father roundly berates a gentleman camped out on the floor near the North Transept. The Father then heads down the Nave seemingly to climb up to the Organ Gallery; where I, risking an outburst, intercept him. I apologise for my poor choice of timing in approaching him but start in on my story, beginning with what I've been sent here to do, asking him to take charge of the Satellite Radio for safekeeping and giving him the callsigns he'll need to use if anything happens to me. To this, I add what speculations I have made to date, with the warning that I'm probably completely out as to any future Military intentions. Then, asking him to hold this part of our talk under Confessional Seal, I tell him everything about the last sixteen years of my life, my full name, that I'm usually called 'Joph' (but will readily accept 'Sir Gawain' as an alternative) and a potted history of my life in England.

Done, I leave what is now a probably somewhat shell-shocked Father to head up to the breakfast line. I decline anything to eat (asking that it be shared between the children) but happily accept and sip the first pukka English Tea I've had in years. I also hand over the survival rations and water I was issued, to be added to the common stocks.


TAG CmdrMitthrawnuruodo - indirectly, anyone else that takes notice.

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Dec.25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

As usual, Gus did a lot of watching and listening. Being observant has served him well throughout the years, even when he was younger.

Karen. She's almost like one of the guys, though as nails and to the point. Her unapologetic delivery often did make him smile, as it did now. Tin Can, eh? Back in the day, as the saying goes, those would be considered ‘fighting’ words’, but that was way back when folks could afford to indulge childish and immature behavior. No such thing was tolerated today.

For a moment, she seemed to have the Tin Man’s number, but he totally seemed unfazed. The guard at the info desk was quick to co-sign on Karen’s say. Gus gave him a curious look. Hmm….

When she mentioned the cross bar for the door, Guts gave her a big ‘thumbs up’.

The guard at the info desk ( what was his name…can’t recall at the moment), spoke some sense regarding the storm and such. That was a bit of a downer, but to his credit, he also picked up on the fact that Joph ( the man deserved to be called by his proper name…nicknames were often used as masks for rudeness) was a metal worker and could help with security measures…except that they’d need a forge. So much for that idea.

Listening to Joph speak about his craft as a metal worker was quite fascinating. He’d already lost Guts before the halfway point, but it sounded impressive just the same. Especially the part when he rebutted all doubts about the efficacy of his armor. It looked like ‘period armor’, but it was far from it, as it enjoyed a plethora of modern upgrades. Good on you Joph!

Once again, motion caught the young watchers attention, and inadvertently, he did a double take. Zeeza was returning with the newcomer...or 'Delta', which had become her given nickname, who actually had a face they could all see. Her expression was stand-offish, as expected. Guts gave them both a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the conversation. Staring was rude, so he would not be the one to do so, no matter his curiosity. There would be enough time for that later.

Guts sighed as the question of the cross beam remained unanswered for the time being. His thoughts were interrupted by Father Minghan’s voice. Their leader did not sound pleased at all as he scolded the ‘never-sober’ doctor. The Father went as far as threatening to throw the man out of the cathedral…their haven. From what he could gather, Chris did die from his grievous wounds, and the doctor had been too drunk to assist. Guts could not recall hearing Father Minghan ever threaten to throw anyone out before. He was the most forgiving person he had ever met in his life, so this came as a bit of a shock. Someone dying on Christmas was evidently very upsetting to him.

“No one is to give him another drop of that foul drink. He will sober up or else!”

Wow! Ole Father Minghan sounded like he meant those words. Would he also exile any facilitators? Gus wondered to himself. Addiction was a horrible inner demon. He recalled how many of the squatters on the lower east side were drug addicts. They lived in squalor, but their drug induced haze duped them into thinking they were in paradise. There was no safe place to squat outside of the church. There was only death outside those bronze doors. The more reason to secure them as soon as possible.

Hmmm…

Guts made a mental note to keep an eye on the doctor, to help facilitate his recovery and spare him the horror of exile. If he found anyone slipping him some liquor….it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Taking advantage of the pause in conversation and Father Minghan’s presence, Joph took his leave of the gathered watchers and followed after their leader and priest, despite the Father’s unusual mood. Guts looked at Kevin, then eyed John to see what he would say or do. Not that it would stop Joph from the look of calm determination in his eyes.

Either way, Guts had time to mull over the different options regarding the main entrance doors and their need to secure them. It seemed the storm had let up as well, if only a bit.

A new sound interrupted his musings anew, this time it was the sound of children. They laughed and sounded cheerful and were actually quite excited as they now surrounded Joph, the Metal Knight. Guts watched from where he stood and smiled at the sight. He almost envied the children. All was well in the world again, their fears now but a passing memory. Yeah…they needed to be protected. That door needed to be properly closed. But how?

A heavy sigh escaped him, but before he could ponder the issue any further, Christmas Breakfast was announced.

“Breakfast. Right….”

He was so used to being hungry, it was just part of living. Maybe that’s why he was so moody all the time. Guts chuckled to himself and shook his head.

“Hey, Kevin….” he called out as he started to move forward, in the direction of the food line. “ You’d better get a move on, or you’ll have to go out an hunt your own breakfast….” the young man joked.

Guts waved at the older man and beckoned him to join in. Eating was a social event and it put folks in a good mood. After the morning’s events, a bit of ‘normalcy’, no matter how brief, was most welcomed.

Despite that, it seemed Ben had other ideas in mind.


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, everyone on the food line.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Day NY-NY

Well, things are what they are. Talk of leaving? He merely shook his head at that one but the guards beat him to the punch line of the winter storm. No reason for any of them to go out into the foul weather just to die because they couldn't see the lycan jumping onto them. After that, well, things are what they are as I mentioned a'fore. . .Father lost his temper, but then one can hardly blame any man from doing so after loosing someone they were trying to save. The drunken doctor was outraged, but the fire blazed an extra warmth that very well might of been the very source of what ire the man could raise. Just because the fella couldn't handle his stout used to be an inconvenience for a village, now it was a mortal sin to know so and still do so.

The warning was there, and for now it was a good question of whether they would need to bind the man to keep from him from the distillery or better lock the distillery to keep the man out. Either way Kevin merely shook his head at the situation. Yet a salve was given quickly in the announcement of Christmas Breakfast. He wondered idly if the Father would return to say the prayer, yet no Father arrived and the food was soon being tucked away by those present. Closing his eyes he began to say the prayer himself, that is until he was intruded upon by Gustavo calling him into the line. Crossing himself he made his way forward to join the line, "Chiselers and their stomachs, you'd probably have us all eaten second breakfasts if ye could." He said with a grin at Gustavo and looking round at the other children. The Metal Joph seemed to be trying to mesh better with them, and the lady Delta was going about unmasked herself.

Life was good and all was calm for the moment as he took his small portion, back home he would of been questioned sick if he had eaten as little at a meal as he did these days. Such times of plenty were long gone now though, and there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn't like he could set up a fishery with lycans about. "After this we best head out if the storm is lifted. Maybe check an auto shop for one or some of them locks to use." he spoke quietly to Gustavo, although still loud enough for any others near by less concerned with their stomach to hear what was taking shape.

TAG: greyjedi125, everyone in the food line

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, 'Breakfast/Brunch' area, St Patrick's Cathedral.

As I slowly sip at my tea, and savour every sip - sixteen years is a long time for a traditional Englishman to go without his tea; something I consider should be deemed "cruel and unnatural punishment" - I overhear the young man who introduced himself as 'Guts' calling over to Kevin from somewhere down the queue.

"Hey, Kevin.... You’d better get a move on, or you’ll have to go out an hunt your own breakfast...."

Now that young man seems a good deal friendlier than some of the others, but I can't bring myself to call him 'Guts'. It may carry a complimentary meaning in American, but not so in King's English - there it's more of a scolding insult, the degree of scolding and insult depending on the tone of voice used to say it.

Kevin, unless I miss my guess, has spent quite a lot of time on my native side of the 'pond', although probably mostly on the large island next-door. Although speech patterns usually come from family, and can be adjusted and adapted (like my Re-enactor's version of 'Courtly Speech'), there's a distinct lack of 'twang' to his accent. He may be taciturn and a bit gruff towards newcomers but I'm not getting any real hostility 'vibe' from him either; nothing like the one from 'Mister Paranoia', for example. I also noted that Kevin's was the first name out of Father Minghan's mouth when the Father left to attend to the casualty.

So I wait until they've been served, then move over to speak to them; nursing my cooling tea. Nothing wrong with cold, or even iced, tea; mind you - but those long-ago folks in Boston, Massachusetts should have realised that brewing it cold with salt-water does nothing to improve the flavour!

"Gentlemen," I say, "it seems that we are in something of a state of siege here. Well, a Medievalist knows a few things about sieges and the weapons and techniques used; there were a lot of them going on back then! You've all done very well to survive for ten years without outside support and reinforcement, but I feel that there's more that can be done to improve the community's situation. Things tend to get forgotten over time - even some old battlefields, namely Hastings and Bosworth Field, have been found to have been not where scholars thought they were, and those are things that should have been well remembered and recorded!

For example, have you thought to build a dovecote, for a fresh meat supply throughout the winter months? Not one of the small garden ornaments, mind you, but one holding hundreds of birds.

Also, have you been collecting and storing acorns? They're not only pig-feed; humans can consume them too, with a greater or lesser degree of preparation.

Then there's the matter of weapons. One reason I chose to go very low-tech is because mine don't consume anything; and, we have to face the fact, sooner or later yours are going to turn into ill-adapted and oddly-shaped clubs - that is unless you're sitting on a small mountain of ammunition! The one consolation is that our enemy could be in the same position, at least according to the lady and gentleman I spoke with earlier.

I'm very willing to contribute my knowledge and skills to our defence, all I ask in return is that you educate me on local conditions - my briefing seems to have been rather inaccurate in some respects - and that any foraging parties keep a lookout for, and bring back, tools and materials I can use to fashion replacement armaments.

What say you, Gentlemen?"


Tag: greyjedi125, Mitth_Fisto - indirectly any who can hear the conversation.

 

Zeeza N'dori - 25 December, 2065 Mid-Morning
The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral


Zeeza game out with Katia just as the meal seemed to be getting ready to be served. Zeeza grinned. The smell that her nose picked up smelled positively wonderful! One of the nice ladies showed Katia' where she could leave her wetter clothing by the fire to dry while they returned to the others. They also showed Katia where she could make her own space as well. Delta would be fine. Zeeza excused herself for a moment. Soon they would eat. Zeeza went over to where the food preps were being done, and whispered to one of the ladies. She pulled out the chocolate bars she had found, and pointed to the kids. The ladies eyes grew wide, as she nodded as Zeeza explained to her to give the kids the candy. Zeeza grinned. They should really get a kick out of that.

Zeeza's thoughts of meal however were interrupted by a loud voice. Father Minghan? Zeeza turned, and followed the voice. Father Minghan had stormed across the Nave and stopped near the makeshift common room. He reached down and snatched something from beside an Indian who had been huddled in blankets. Oh oh. The Fathers body language was not good. Normally, he would be in good spirits this time of year, but right now his irritation could be heard in his voice.

“I have been tolerant and prayed that God would help you overcome this,” he harshly growled at the man, his voice raised enough to be heard by everyone. “But it seems you need more than just God's help, Rushil! If I catch you with another bottle or drunk, I will cast you out of this place!” Tossed out?! Wow. She cant think of a time that Father Minghan had level that threat...and REALLY sounded like he was willing to actually do it this time. His continued verbal pursuit continued on. “I most certainly can toss out anyone who is a threat and hindrance to the rest of us. A good man lost his life because you were too drunk to save it.” The priest then walked over to the fireplace and tossed the item he had taken into the flames. The fire flared upward into the chimney for a few moments before dying down again. “No one is to give him another drop of that foul drink. He will sober up or else.” With that final proclamation, Minghan wandered away from the common room and started heading for the staircase that led up to the great pipe organs above the Narthax. Zeeza's eyebrows could not go any higher at the outburst.

Zeeza clutched tightly to her bag. She still had Christmas presents to give for him to pass out. And she had found something for him she wanted to give as well. But the timing was so ruined now. But, maybe it would make him feel better. Zeeza moved to catch up with him, to give him the small gift that she had collected. She came around a corner on the second level, and then stopped. The tin man had beaten her to the good Father, was now talking to him. She didnt want to be listening in, so she hung back out of sight, so that she could only hear a murmur. She stood, feeling a bit lost. She squatted, digging out the two items she had found specifically for the church. There was another item she had, that now after hearing the Father's strong words, she decided he should get that as well. She turned, and went the other way around. The Father had been heading for the huge pipe organ of the church. She quietly tiptoed to the organ. It was huge. She liked looking at the thing. The sounds that came from the thing, could sometimes rattle your teeth. Zeeza pulled out her items, and laid them down on the bench. Some candles, and some rare incense she had found. She laid the medical book she had gotten, with a old Christmas card she had found weeks ago. Carefully, she had written both the Father Minghan and Sister Tala. She then carefully sneaked back off, the way she had come, and quickly made her way back down to the main eating area.

Zeeza was thrilled at the dinner. The wild African pigs, made her think of home, and she gave a sad smile at her plate. Sliced potatoes, eggs and wow pancakes! They had more tea, hot and ready, so Zeeza took some of that, and walked to an area near one of the stained glass windows. She heard that the snow was letting up. Probably would have a group go out in order to get something to fix the door. With a sigh, Zeeza leaned back in her chair, and looked at her plate. No, she was going to enjoy this meal. Zeeza stabbed her fork into the ham, and began to eat.



TAG: Heavy Isotope, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, All you all!

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Dec. 25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

The breakfast line moves at an adequate speed as everyone is in a good mood and excited about Christmas Day Breakfast. For the moment, it feels like all the troubles in the world are put on hold as the sounds of merriment and conversation fill the hall. Lycan corpses, broken door beams, dead watchers and drunk doctors do not exist for this moment in time.

By the time he gets his plate and hot tea, Guts is at ease as he chats with Kevin. The young man is seldom seen in such good spirits. The pair approach a table and find a place to sit and set down their steaming plates.

“…what do you think I should do?” Guts inquired of the older man. “It’s my favorite poster and it’s already peeling. The Empire Strikes Back is absolutely my favorite movie. My cubit ( Guts personal euphemism for his small living space) won’t be the same without it….nor will I!”

Guts laughs at how silly he must sound, but his movie poster collection is his pride and joy, even if he doesn’t have that many. It’s hard to find them in good enough condition to display. He’s even donated a few to the church.

“You know…'do or do not, there is no try’ and all that good stuff.”

Another hearty laugh. Those were good times back then. Kevin is a good man. He listens well and allows him to indulge his inner geek on occasion. But perhaps it would be a good idea to let the man eat before his food got cold.

The growing sound of clanging metal draws the young man’s attention. He is still smiling as he turns to look for the source.

“Oh! Hey there…hum... Joph.”

Guts greets the metal knight with an amicable nod and easy smile. He makes sure not to call him ‘Tin Man’.

‘You give respect to get respect.’ That’s how things were done back in his old neighborhood on the lower east side.

“Gentlemen.” The metal knight says in cordial acknowledgement. He looks so out of place with his metal armor, weapons and cup of tea in hand. Almost like something out of a science fiction book. No doubt that would make for an interesting book. Guts gestures for Joph take a seat next to them and join them.

Another thought enters Guts’ mind. One that he quickly pushes away. Joph seems so open and upfront, but Delta is still a mystery to everyone. Did they not come in at the same time? What if Joph was simply drawing everyone’s attention away from her? And why?

‘Stop. Now you’re starting to think like John.’

Guts blinks and dashed such thoughts. The enemy was outside the door. End of story. Everyone deserved a chance to prove themselves. The same way Farher Minghan did for him.

“ It seems that we are in something of a state of siege here….”

Guts gave the knight his undivided attention and listened objectively to what he had to say. As he continued to listen, he sipped on his own cooling drink and reminded himself to take a bite of his food. Joph may not speak like the rest of them did, but it was clear that he had everyone’s best interest in mind…at least personally. His mentioning of ‘Powers that Be’ automatically generated suspicion and created defensive attitudes. Self-preservation form unknown forces was the first law of survivalists. So, the general reaction was quite natural, given their circumstances.

Guts was not as familiar with history as most assumed, so naming the battle of Hastings and Bosworth Field did little for his imagination, and there was no internet for him to do a quick reference check. Either way, the winter meat racks was an interesting idea, but wouldn’t they need a huge amount of salt or something? Guts mentally shrugged. He’d never had a chance to go to college, but he had learned quite a bit from everyone else in the past ten years.

Eating acorns? Interesting. Could they be popped like popcorn? He’d have to ask and find out.

When Joph mentioned ‘sitting on a small mountain of ammunition’. Guts smiled as he managed to stifle a chuckle. He was reminded of either a movie, anime or video game. Where had he seen a similar visual image before? *Sigh* How he missed his PS6.

“I’m willing to contribute my knowledge and skills to our defense, all I ask in return is that you educate me on local conditions…”

“Deal…” Guts asserted quickly, but without interrupting until Joph had finished speaking.

“What say you, Gentlemen?”

Guts couldn’t help as a small chuckle escaped him. He was in unusually good spirits and he would try to enjoy it while it lasted.

“I can’t speak for Kevin here, but it sounds to me like you’re volunteering to go out and find a new cross beam for our doors.”

Smiling, Guts titled his head in the direction of the entrance to make his point.

“Kevin just mentioned that the storm was letting up and also suggested that we should visit an auto-shop and look for the locks they use. I think it’s worth a shot.”

Guts looked over at Kevin and gave him a thumbs up, then regarded the knight once again.

“Well, Joph. Would you care to join our small expedition? I think you’d be the perfect ‘tank’ for the job.”

Guts smiled as he was pleased with his last clever anecdote. He wasn’t sure if the fantasy role-playing reference would be lost on Joph, but he was certain he’d get the gist of it. Besides, should Joph come along, Guts would have a good chance to ask a few choice questions he was unwilling to voice in ear shot of their more suspicious members. He trusted Kevin with his life, further more, the man was always there to help him get back on track whenever he would stray away from the straight and narrow path.


Tag: @Tim Battershell, @Mitth_Fisto, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, any within ear shot.

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, 'Breakfast/Brunch' area, St Patrick's Cathedral.

The young man gestures an invitation for me to sit down with him and Kevin and so I do. "I can’t speak for Kevin here, but it sounds to me like you’re volunteering to go out and find a new cross beam for our doors...."; he replies with a chuckle when I finish speaking. He smiles and tilts his head in the direction of the problem; "Kevin just mentioned that the storm was letting up and also suggested that we should visit an auto-shop and look for the locks they use. I think it’s worth a shot.... Well, Joph. Would you care to join our small expedition? I think you’d be the perfect ‘tank’ for the job."

I catch the reference. Dear old Dad had assembled an almost complete collection of those books before the new owners started messing about with the continuity; after which action he never purchased another thing from that organisation. It takes me a second or three to dredge up the terminology remembered from my childhood reading, but then I reply in kind.

"A Buckethead I may be, but not a Beskar-wearing Mando'ade, Ner Vod!", I laugh, "Seriously, I've been having thoughts about that myself, and there looks to be a suitably straight, single trunked, tree across the road and a bit to the South. It's shouting 'Oak' to me, they all are, and that's a good strong wood, even when freshly felled. Be an idea to take down as many as we can, while we're about it too, deprive the enemy of cover when they come back into leaf.

Only thing, I'd like to avoid using my Battleaxe for the job, if at all possible. I don't know how the blade would fare on a diet of cold wood instead of the warm flesh, blood and bone it's expecting! Do we have a bow-saw, a felling axe or a hand-axe in storage anywhere?

Also, I need to get rid of my Tassets until I can find a way to muffle them, they're the flaps covering the very tops of my thighs. Right now I sound like a pack-pedlar festooned with pots and pans when I'm moving. No sense in making any more noise than we absolutely need to, but my Gauntlets are too clumsy to undo the buckles, and they take an effort to get off, on and comfortable! Mayhap you could act as my Esquire, Young Sir, and loose the buckles for me, this one time?"


Tag: greyjedi125, - indirectly Mitth_Fisto and any who can hear the conversation.

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Day: Breakfast

Listening to the lad talk about his posters Kevin had to shake his head a half turn as he grinned at the thought of it. No matter the world was ended as they had known it for ten years, lads would be lads. Although the boy liking such a classic was a surprise to him, he never really got into the whole 'fantasy world' thing, but as it mattered to the lad he was willing to give it a better thought than just to brush it off. The kid was worth more than that, humans were worth more than that.

"Maybe a xerox or school shop would have press laminates ye could use?" He hopefully helpfully suggested. Still as they finally took a seat he took a forkful and glossed over some of the boys insecurities. Puberty was hard enough if his memory served without having to deal with life or death situations every day. Although truth be told fully, that quote and whatever came out of the kids mouth was about all he knew about that movie from the Disney franchise. Smiling softly he hoped his words would help.

At least he did before the museum piece decided to join them. Well, so long as the boy and the antique were talking he focused more on his meal than whatever they were saying. Paying just enough to get the cliff-notes version, as some here said, he was getting enough to not be surprised by sudden changes in the conversation. The antique mentioned a few old battles but as he remembered from his days in school neither battle had been a true siege situation but more of running battles. Letting that slide as he couldn't remember much more than that, and the involvement of Norway and King Edward respectively seemed like the best choice. That and he didn't really care for cold ham.

The kid also seemed far too eager to agree to the man's terms. Still he let them both say their peace a bit more before he butted his own head into the mix. After all they seemed to stop speaking English of any form for a moment. That he took as his sign to edge in before he no longer could do so.

"Joph was it? There is little time in the day, fellin' any trees is going to have to wait. Asides, a wee bit of cover hasn't hurt us in ten years I doubt we'll all die tomorrow if we let it sit fer now. As for battles, you could at least mention the siege and famine of Samaria from 2 Kings or some such. For though the country side lie round about us as it twer there is no going for aid, I doubt the power's that be would say or do much fer us unless the radio has been off it's mark of the rest of the faring world."

Taking a sip of his tea he nodded and took a calming breath, though he wasn't raising his voice or saying his words harshly he could feel the undercurrent egging such a path to open easily in the conversation. "Now if ye be coming with us, just make sure to keep your tin from rattling. As fer yer stuff I would not be holdin' breath. Some of what ye say would take too many lads to carry back and we cannot be sparrin' any gas for car that'll just invite attack when we have to keep warmth and light. Just the same, another eye and ear are welcome on the forage, just don't go getting any wrong recollections about us hurrying to get whatever ye want." with a sharp nod he considered the sentiment settled and began taking a hearty bite of his Christmas fried potato. It brought with it memories of his own ma frying up some thick slices on one side of the stove top and char on the other. Once more there would be no more Christmas char, not for him nor any here, just as there was no more Ma.

Feeling his eyes begin to glisten he set the plate upon his lap as he stopped chewing for a moment. Swallowing he sighed once more before spearing a piece of scrambled egg, no memories there at least.

TAG: Tim Battershell, greyjedi125, Any others

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Dec. 25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

“Wait…you want me to do what?”

Guts uttered a bit taken aback by the request.

“Well…uhm…I don’t know if I can do that…..err…….”

Against his will, the young watcher looked embarrassed and even looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Guts was not in the habit of taking anything off anyone, other than himself. Granted, no one was going around dressed in a full suit of armor either, and to his credit, Joph did explain that it would take quite long to undo his gauntlets just to take off his noisy…what did he call them…yeah, Tassets. And if the metal knight was to join them in their outing, it would be best for him to cause the least amount of noise as possible. In Guts’ mind, being an ‘Esquire’ was either an old magazine, or something youths did in books of fantasy and fiction. But such duties were once considered respectable in the real world…for reasons he could hardly imagine.

On the other hand, Guts did invite the metal knight to join him and Kevin, and waiting around was not on the agenda, not to mention they would need to maximize travel time. UGH! guess there wasn’t much choice in the matter. Besides, the man knew what beskar was.

“Well….just this once, for expediency’s sake…”

Guts shook his head, not really believing what he was about to do. He trully hoped no one was looking.

“So, how do I unlatch this thing?”

That’s when Kevin finally chimed in.

“Joph was it?”

Guts listened as Kevin addressed Joph’s words, almost line by line. So, he had been listening after all, and what’s more, he wasn’t buying a lot of what was said. Seems he knew something about history as well. More importantly, Kevin dictated the conditions of their outing. Things were bound to get interesting from the sound of it.

“Ok, I think…I’ve got it.” Guts announced as he undid the latches, which were a lot easier to undo than he’d imagined. The armor just happened to ‘look ancient’, however, the bindings were quite modern and easy to manage, which meant the whole enterprise was completed in a short space of time. Much to the young watcher’s relief.

“There.” Hew said, presenting the tassets to its owner. They were a lot lighter than they looked.

“I’m afraid that’s the end of my medieval career.” The expression of relief Guts wore was quite apparent and in many ways, amusing. “Glad to help.”

With the deed done, he returned to finish the rest of his food.

“About the trees… I’m mostly in agreement with what Kevin said, but you’d have to double check with Father Minghan anyway. He usually has the final words when it comes to those things.”

For a moment, the table grew silent as they finished their morning meal. Guts was silently mulling over what Kevin had said regarding their situation. He felt there was something he missed in his commentary.

With a final gulp of his tea mug, Guts washed down the last of his meal. He now looked quite pleased and satisfied.

“Ah…that was quite tasty, I must say.”

At that he looked around. The happy faces all around them confirmed that their meal was indeed quite good. The cooks had outdone themselves.

“So, its just the three of us so far.” Guts spoke up as he looked to each of the men at the table and offered a nod. “Kevin, do you think we should add one more person to our party and make it an even four?”


Tag: @Mitth_Fisto, @Tim Battershell, @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, any one nearby

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, 'Breakfast/Brunch' area, St Patrick's Cathedral.

Kevin finishes speaking and the young man, despite looking very embarrassed and reluctant, removes my Tassets and hands them back to me. Well, I think, that's something that won't be clanking! Just as well I have a layer of Mail, or a layer and a half if I count the harbegeon's 'skirt', under there. I nod a "Thank you" to the young man, who seems surprised at how light those plates actually are.

"I know nothing of a siege of Samaria, Kevin, the events in the Books of Kings are well outside my Period; but I doubt it was much harsher than some of the sieges I am familiar with; ones where they had to eat rats or even grass to get by - and sometimes had plague to contend with as well.

As for the radio, that's been heavily controlled from almost the beginning; no surprises there since the enemy can listen to it just as easily as you can. The Powers That Be might even be putting out false reports, just to mislead the enemy; have you considered that?

While I don't know anything of their plans, or even if there are any plans - 'Expendables' never do, in case of capture - I was brought a considerable distance before being dropped off here; and no one I saw or spoke with on the way showed any sign of panic. I did get the impression, though, that they'd only recently received information about you and what they did have was very vague; little more than rumour. Not enough to justify risking military personnel - or maybe they had sent other people and lost them; I wouldn't have been told about that either; slightly off-putting, wouldn't you say?

In any case, I wouldn't have thought that wood chisels, carpenter's saws or other small, light, stuff like that would strain the capabilities of your foragers; not if the island's been picked as clean as the lady and gentleman suggested it might have been."

Turning to the helpful young man, I say, in words this time, "Thank you! Now I'd better see how much of an improvement that makes, and quickly cover my armour up a bit now visibility has improved. I don't mind my weapons being seen, but I'd like to keep my armour as a little surprise for as long as possible!

With that, I rise and bow to them; then make my way quickly to my selected pew, one fairly near the entrance. There is a major reduction in noise output, thank goodness; I am also very pleased that I whipped the metal handle of my Battleaxe with braided black nylon cord; not only does it eliminate noise, but it also improves grip. Once there, I put the Tassets down and delve into my backpack. It's much emptier, now I've handed over the radio to Father Minghan and the survival rations and water to the commissariat people. The remaining contents are; my Arrow Bag (also holding my take-apart bow), a hooded cloak (which I suspect will see most service as a pillow, unless there's a real Arctic blast), a reversible waterproof poncho (more of a Kagoule, really, which I remove) and a few small items.

Unbuckling my swordbelt is easy, even while wearing Gauntlets, the buckle being of the much later 'Scout Belt Buckle' type that twists open from what appears to be a flat plate. I check the position of my Cap Comforter, pull the Arming Cap hood over the top of it and re-don my helm. Then I pull the poncho/Kagoule on over the top of everything (it falls to just below my knees, and is white-side outwards at present) followed by my swordbelt. The Misericorde I tuck into the back of my belt this time round, out of sight from the front. Pushing my visor up, I pull the hood of the poncho over both helm and visor and I'm ready to set off.


Tag: greyjedi125, Mitth_Fisto - indirectly any who can hear the conversation.

 

IC: Katia
St Patrick's Cathedral

Katia chose to ignore the father's outburst. Zeeza followed after him as Katia finish setting up her living area, it didn't make her comfortable to leave her gear unprotected, but given the state of society; no one would think to abduct or study it. As far as she thought, for the moment. She still needed to clean her rifle. Keeping her dry gear, which was all except her trousers and jacket, she donned her LBV and filed in line to get food. Ignoring the looks of others as she held her rifle close. Yes, letting her balaclava down was a mistake.... She thought, a feeling of disdain growing towards the others around her. Katia felt a little relieved as Zeeza returned to the line, she looked a bit happy about something she must have done.

Saving those thoughts for later, Katia smelled food, actual food. Not the canned junk she was used to eating. Or the preserved, air tight, bagged, can-barely-pass-for-sustenance her organization would drop for her from time to time. Even a small portion was as if it was a feast to her, she ate rather ravenously next to Zeeza, drawing some glances from the mothers, fathers, and children. Katia didn't care though, opinions of others mattered next to nothing to her. The tea was at least plentiful, and equally delicious as the pork and potatoes.

The other defenders of the cathedral ate with her, Katia listened to the conversations around her. Much of the talk was of going out again... If she were to leave this place she'd only trust Zeeza, as she was the only one she knew, perhaps this... 'Guts,' and Ben. Joph would draw too much attention and the other two watchmen were (in her own eyes), unremarkable. Katia sighed and sipped tea next to Zeeza. "If you are thinking of something, let's go as together... " She offered to Zee.

TAGS: Ktala, greyjedi125, and Cmdr

OOC: Sorry if my post seems a bit glib, I am very tired from work and can't process too much. :< If you want some help writing me into your posts or references please PM me As for now Katia is eating with Zeeza.

 

OOC: Since so much had happened since last update before I could respond, some of this update is simply to show what had transpired rather than needing a response. This is also not the entire update. I had lost half of it due to a crash caused by the browser and OO hadn't auto-saved in time. *sigh* I'll get the rest of the update posted later tonight or tomorrow morning for Kevin, Gustavo, John, and Josephus once I rewrite it. So hold up on posting until I do guys.

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Josephus Carter, Zeeza N'dori

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning ​

The Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Father Minghan had paused under the Gallery Organ, clearly angry and upset over what had transpired, but gathered himself enough to be pleasant to the armored man. He listened carefully to what the man had to discuss and moved their conversation to inside the gift shop when it grew more serious.​

​

“You were sent to make contact with us?” the priest confirmed thoughtfully. “What else?”​

​

“Also to determine your situation and recon the lycans on the island,” Joph answered before handing over the satellite radio to the holy man. “I think it is best that you keep this.”​

​

Minghan looked at it as if it were a holy relic. One could think that it was just as sacred considering they haven't had any outside contact for nearly a decade. Their only source for news was from the old fashioned radio. “Won't the military want you to contact them?”​

​

Joph shrugged a little. “I doubt they expected me to live past a day, sir.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment as if considering something very important before speaking again. “There is something else you need to know... about me..”​

​

Minghan sensed the seriousness of the man's tone and held up a hand to stop the Englishman from saying anything further. “Although I would normally listen, however, if I am not mistaken this is something you would rather discuss in private and where the ears of eavesdroppers cannot listen. The Confessionals would be the ideal place and everyone here keeps a respectable distance where the Sacrament of Confession is concerned. I think later this evening when you've settled in or returned from an outing with the others will do.”​

​

The knight nodded and then handed the priest the rations and supplies he had been given by the military before walking away to partake in the Christmas breakfast. Minghan handed the items over to one of the defenders outside the gift shop before he headed up the staircase to the Gallery. He paused at the door and narrowed his eyes as he realized someone had been up there, before opening it and stepping out.​

​

There on the bench to the console were items he had not been expecting. Quietly he went through them each and glanced across the Nave at Zeeza before opening the card and reading that it was indeed from her to him and Tala. He had come to the Gallery with the intention to sit and think but Joph's news and Zeeza's gift had lightened his mood enough that he felt like playing.​

TAG: @Tim Battershell Ktala and others

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Katia, Zeeza N'dori

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning ​

North Transept Common Room, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

The morning Christmas breakfast was given out and Sister Tala had joined to give the prayers and apologizing for Father Minghan's outburst earlier and absence. She had briefly explained that he was upset and would join them soon. Despite of the events earlier that morning and the passing of Chris, the mood was light and cheerful at the sight of a good meal on Christmas Day.​

​

Sister Tala came over to sit by Zeeza and Katia and introduced herself to the young girl. “It is good to see a new face on this day. We had almost given up hope that there were more survivors and not lycans pretending to be humans.” She gestured around at those gathered in the common room and into the Nave of the cathedral. People were clustered in small groups eating their meals and talking quietly that a white noise of voices filled the air. “What you see consists of all that is left of humanity on this dreadful island. At least those who have chosen to seek shelter here. Those that haven't, we do not know if they still live or are gone. To see you and the man in armor is a blessing.”​

​

Abruptly and without warning the sounds of organ music began to fill the cathedral and the nun looked in the direction of the Narthex to see the Father at the organ. A soft Christmas hymn rose from the zinc finished pipes to add to the mood of those below. It wasn't the first time the Father played the organs in the last decade. Although he did not get the chance often with the duties he had to perform as the sole priest; when he did the music that came out was well worth the wait in between.​

​

“He seems to be in a better mood if he's playing,” the Sister commented before returning her attention to the two women. “I suppose you have some questions you would like to ask... and where did you get those?” The latter was directed to Zeeza and the crucifixes she had taken from the information desk.​

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TAG: @Ktala Heavy Isotope

 

OOC: And here is the second half that I had to rewrite. Fortunately I remembered much of the wording. Yeah for good memory!

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Kevin O'Brian, Gustavo Guerrero

​

25 December, 2065 - Mid-Morning​

The Nave near North Transept, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Over by the men, Angela, a young woman in her late teens or early twenties, set her plate down and sat next to Gustavo as the music began to fill the cathedral and after Joph had left. It did make it a little harder to have a conversation since the organs were rather loud. It wasn't just the Gallery Organ above the Narthex that was playing. The Chancel Organ was also emitting notes in-sync with the other, linked long ago by fiber-optics so that they could be played simultaneously from either console.​

​

“He seems rather surprised that we've managed to survive this long,” she commented after overhearing their conversation before the music made it harder to eavesdrop. “Course we've got regular wood axes. How else does he think we get firewood for that?” She pointed at the large fireplace that filled the North Transept entryway. “Shop at Walmart? The British are always the same, you know. They act like we live backwards or somethin' cause we pronounce words like ah-loo-men-um instead of al-u-men-ee-um or leave out the 'u' in others and drive on the wrong side of the road.”​

​

She glanced back and forth between Guts and Kevin before taking a bite of her breakfast. Despite her upbringing in the cathedral, her table manners were not to be desired as she spoke with a mouthful. “So... you guys gonna go out and fix the door? Can I come?” She gave them a hopeful grin.​

TAG: @Mitth_Fisto greyjedi125

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John Garrett

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Sanctuary, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Another police officer, who John was familiar with and friends with since the Battle of Manhattan, a one Anthony 'Tony' Salvetti and a New York born and raised Italian that looked more like he should be a mobster rather than an NYPD street cop, came to stand next to him with a plate of the morning breakfast in one hand. He looked down at the Philadelphia cop and frowned at what he was eating and what he was staring at.​

​

“What ya eatin' that **** for? Let me get you a plate... no wait, here take mine,” he said before switching the can of spam and candy bar with his plate before John could say or do anything about it. He made off with the offending food in the direction of the kitchen and explained the problem with the ladies passing out the food. Tony soon came back with a plate of his own and minus the spam and candy.​

​

The NYPD cop sat down next to John and didn't give the man a chance to protest. “Mama always said never ta turn down good food when it's given to ya. You never know when ya might get another one. Always said she was wise, even if she was a bit kooky.”​

​

He took a couple bites before nodding in Katia and Zeeza's direction. “Nice lookin' ain't she? Too bad she's got that look in her eye, the one that makes her a killer. Seen it once before, ya know, in one of them Army boys right around when Manhattan fell. I think he lost someone to the lycans. Same look though. What do ya think?”​

TAG: @HanSolo29

​

Josephus Carter

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Nave near Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

The music was loud in the cathedral but perhaps no more louder than it was the closer one was to the instrument producing it. From Joph's vantage point, Father Minghan could be seen up in the Gallery, playing the organ without the help of an aide to turn the sheet music. In fact there was no sheet music and he seemed to be playing it from memory, an extraordinary feat considering how difficult it was to play the pipe organ to begin with.​

​

Karen came over to where the armored Englishman made his space near the entrance of the cathedral. She leaned against a pew and watched him cover himself up with a poncho before speaking loud enough to be heard by him. “You know, we've might've gotten on the wrong foot earlier and well... since you're probably gonna go out and look for a way to lock those doors, might as well make sure you come back in one piece, right?”​

​

She looked down at the marble floor for a moment, “There is an old construction site on West 46th Street. They were building a new skyrise there before all Hell broke loose in this city. Dunno what you could find, but there might be something there sturdier than wood. Just be sure to tell him,” she pointed upward at Minghan, “where you, and anyone you take with you, are going. He's a good man, but he does like to fret over us.”​

TAG: @Tim Battershell

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Dec.25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

The organ music started, which caught Guts a bit by surprise. He was used to sudden sounds, but nothing that loud - at least not initially. Who could be playing the organ now? Was it Sister Tala or Father Minghan?

Just as he turned to visually search who the organist could be, he spotted a female survivor come to sit next to him and Kevin. He smiled amicably at her as he tried to recall her name. Angie, Angel…wait, was it Angela?

“He seems rather surprised that we’ve managed to survive this long…” she commented off-hand. Guts nodded, not in agreement, but in sudden realization that she was speaking about Joph. The organ music made it hard to hear what she was saying, so he had to scoot a bit closer to hear her speak. It also helped that she was easy on the eyes, all things considered.

“Course we’ve got regular wood axes. How else does he think we get firewood for that? Shop at Walmart?”

Guts chuckled at that. Humor was always welcomed at his table, as long as it was clean.

“The British are always the same, you know….” she went one to share her point of view. Guts couldn’t agree or disagree. He hadn’t met that many brits to make that assessment, and they few he did know had been kinda of witty and cool all at once. Angela’s aluminum versus alumeenium joke had been quite funny. He couldn’t help but laugh at it. Perhaps Angela didn’t realize she might like british humor herself.

“He means well…” Guts found himself saying in Joph’s defense, which was a surprise to him as well, once he’d uttered the words. “He just needs to get familiar with how we do things around here. I had to go through something similar myself.”

The organ music continued. Despite its loud volume, it was quite melodic. Guts was now pretty certain it was Father Minghan playing. Sister Tala was not quite as… fluid when she played.

For the moment, he listened and glanced around him. Joph had excused himself, not too far away, Zeeza and Delta ate together. When he saw Sister Tala come sit next to them, he smiled at being right about who was playing the organ. John was eating by himself again. Guts knew the man meant well, but he was stuck in his ways. It wasn’t a bad thing, but John sometimes didn’t know when to turn it off. Guts could understand. You didn’t simply turn off the very thing that helped you stay alive.

That’s when he noticed Slavetti nearing John. Guts eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the way the guy acted or talked to other people. He just gave him a really bad ‘vibe’, but Father Minghan took in all kinds, as long a you were human and helped in the church. This guy did both. Guts couldn’t bring himself to trust him still, not to mention he had the word ‘slave’ in his last name. That was enough to make him suspicious, at least in his opinion.

“So…you guys gonna go out and fix the door? Can I come?”

Guts attention was returned to his own table, where he now observed the young woman. They hadn’t interacted that much in the past, but she seemed friendly and genuine, despite her lack of table manners.

“Maybe you can…” Guts replied with a nod and a smile. “But answer this first, be honest and specific…” He instructed.

It wasn’t everyday you got volunteers to go out on foraging expeditions. That was commendable, but there was also the question of being suitable for the job, instead of being a liability. When he’d asked Kevin a moment ago for a fourth member, he was thinking more in the lines of Zee…or even ‘Delta’, since both were proven survivors.

“You’re in central park, you’re in a party of three, and you spot a lycan who was not too far away. You notice him sniffing the air not far from where you’d come from. What do you do?”

Guts gave Angela a meaningful look. The question was an important one, and in truth, it would determine his answer to her. Hopefully Kevin was listening too, since this concerned him as well.


Tag: @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Kevin O'Brian
Narthex, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Christmas Breakfast

Taking his last bite of eggs he saw the woman come and sit next to them as the organ music began. True it was loud, but at the same time it always made him relax, taking him out of the time and place he was in. It was a way into serenity, something he always thanked the Father for after hearing him play even if it always ended too soon, or his experience intruded upon by others. As it was now.

The girl, Ang something, began chatting them up and he could not help but grin at her words and nod in agreement to most. The 'bloody English' as his Father used to call them, and if ever a fool was foolish enough to ask why they got a history of Irish and English relations from the time of the Romans to the present. It wasn't a pretty picture, and it always made his heart rend hearing about what had happened to his ancestors, and to think they were the lucky family line because they had never changed their sky and survived. The English were good for many things, once you showed them how to be more open, as his Ma' would denote by pointing out the Saints of Ireland, and being in St. Patrick's Cathedral he could never very well note the one without the other.

With memories already welling up he went ahead and ate the rest of his fried potato's with a melancholy smile as Gustavo continued the conversation with the girl, even defending Joph to a point. Which was like sour vinegar to his tongue, something they sometimes made on purpose with the poitine as they needed some type of cleaners for the church as well as to keep the prep area for the still clean. Still the lad was due his opinions, and he bid his tongue be still as he let the lad have his way.

The boy all but promised the girl a spot if she answered his question of survival properly, something that made Kevin look at the Cathedrals ornate ceiling. Saying a small prayer quietly in his head to God he asked why the lad had to come into his adoption and attraction stage now of all times. He knew the answer, but he didn't like it. Life goes on, families are made, babies are born, and the cycle repeats, not even a possible situation of being killed and hunted stopped such things. If anything it seemed to make some cling to those hopes ever dearer, as the resident kiddos younger than the massacre bore testament.

TAG: greyjedi125, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Nave, near Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

I'm listening to Father Minghan's impromptu Organ Recital - he's a very good Organist, and I'm very fond of well played Organ Music - while completing my preparations for the excursion, when the lady I spoke to earlier addresses me.

"You know, we've might've gotten on the wrong foot earlier and well... since you're probably gonna go out and look for a way to lock those doors, might as well make sure you come back in one piece, right?.... There is an old construction site on West 46th Street. They were building a new skyrise there before all Hell broke loose in this city. Dunno what you could find, but there might be something there sturdier than wood. Just be sure to tell him," here she points at Father Minghan, "where you, and anyone you take with you, are going. He's a good man, but he does like to fret over us."

I thank her for the information but say that Kevin will be in command of our foraging party. However, I do assure her that I will tell him about her suggestion. Not being familiar with Manhattan, I've no real idea about the distance involved, how long a trip to the construction site will take in the current conditions and when the Beasts will be out and about again. I've already decided that this trip, probably the next few as well, will simply be for orientation, experience and mentally noting likely prospects for my own expeditions. Mainly, I'll be on the lookout for 'Junk' shops - one never knows what those may contain - and the Beasts' foraging parties may have dismissed them as not having anything useful inside. All of that will be for the future, though.

However, visiting an auto-shop might also be productive from my point of view, if Kevin sticks to his plan. Auto-shops sold all kinds of useful things before the Beasts turned the world upside down; including a certain plastic/vinyl/rubber compound which would be ideal for eliminating the last minor metal-on-metal sounds from my armour, as well as for coating my Tassets. As I recall, the compound was sold both in large cans for dipping items and in pressurised spray-cans; I also cannot see what use the Beasts would have for either. I just hope that I don't have to become 'The Bright Red Knight' or 'The Day-Glo Yellow Knight' to get my armour whisper-quiet! Black, that I can happily live with!

I debate about assembling my bow and taking it with me, but dismiss the thought. Truth is, I'm not that good a shot with it even under ideal circumstances (although I'd back myself to hit a charging Beast at twenty paces, if it was heading right at me) and I've never heard of Archers shooting their bows while wearing armoured Gauntlets - although my left vembrace would indeed remove any need for a 'bracer'. No, I'm a close-quarters warrior, first and foremost, trained to the sword and axe!


TAG CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Katia
St Patrick's Cathedral, Dining Tables

Katia tried to slow down her eating. She felt she was in good, safe, company but habits die hard. Though, hiding her emotions was easy enough, although her unchanging expression might lead these people to think she is always angry or uncomfortable. Sister Tala came over to sit by her and Zeeza, introducing herself. “It is good to see a new face on this day. We had almost given up hope that there were more survivors and not lycans pretending to be humans.” She gestured around at those gathered in the common room and into the Nave of the cathedral. People were clustered in small groups eating their meals and talking quietly that a white noise of voices filled the air. “What you see consists of all that is left of humanity on this dreadful island. At least those who have chosen to seek shelter here. Those that haven't, we do not know if they still live or are gone. To see you and the man in armor is a blessing.”

Ignoring the blessing comment Katia gave an explanation, "There are some survivors, though very few," she said, recalling the times she had come across some desperate and scared humans, "they travel and hide in small groups. The largest I've seen have only been three or four. Usually they are just wolves," She noticed the survivors she had previously met cast glances at her and her weapon, the muzzle facing the floor and held by her sling with the barrel loosely held between her knees. "Out in the city you can't trust them, even in the rarest circumstance that they are humans; a few have been foolish enough to attack me out of whatever desperation, or insanity, they possess." Katia paused upon seeing the Sister's face, she always spoke bluntly, but the look in her eyes caused her to leave out the fact that (though only happening rarely) she would kill any creature that noticed her presence. "Most humans I come across are just wolves in sheep's clothing, you can tell by the look in their eyes..."

The organ began to play, cutting off her train of thought, it was unlike anything she had heard since childhood; bringing back memories of being forced to attend mass at the orphanage, memories bringing intense dislike of the institution. With whatever memories Katia had, after losing contact with Dusan months prior to her arrival at the Cathedral she wondered if they were indeed her own memories. The recent surfacing of a memory with her crawling for her life, the unknown voice speaking the word Delta. Her mind had never before been such a flurry of activity, all of her actions and judgements seemed instinctual and were executed without a thought. The necessity of her mission, combat, survival, and evasion was hard wired into Katia's very being. Her head began to ache intensely with these thoughts, shutting her eyes she tried to clear her mind.

“He seems to be in a better mood if he's playing,” the Sister commented, Katia opened her eyes. “I suppose you have some questions you would like to ask... and where did you get those?” The latter was directed to Zeeza and the crucifixes she had taken from the information desk.

Well... Katia thought as the pain subsided, after her talk of werewolves it must raise questions of her own survival. Some questions even she couldn't answer. Setting her fork down she reached into a pouch on her LBV, taking out the small bag of dried wolfsbane from a supply cache she found some months before losing contact. Removing the plant from the bag Katia spoke to Sister Tala; "You'll recognize this," she said and placed it in front of Tala, "it should be enough for you to know that I am human. I won't bring any harm to your people, as long as they do the same to me." Katia doubted they would try to hurt her, but clarity was needed, she did not yet trust them and was sure they didn't trust her. Picking the wolfsbane from the table and replacing it into the bag, stowing it into the pouch, she resumed eating the last of her eggs. Without any questions coming to mind, Katia drank her tea and listened to Zeeza. Remembering to clean her weapon soon.

TAGS: Ktala, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, others at the table who might hear or see Katia.

 

Gustavo Guerrero, Kevin O'Brian

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Nave near North Transept, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

The girl stared at him wide eyed for a second at the possibility of getting to go with them, but her brow furrowed in thought at Guts question. “Is this a trick question?” she rhetorically asked. There was a hint of worry that she might answer wrong and her chance to see the outside world, that didn't consist of being escorted to the Rectories everyday, would be lost.​

​

“Well assuming I'm with the others, I'd quietly warn them what I spotted and get ready to kill the beast before it spotted us,” Angela finally answered while biting her lower lip, looking a little impish. “If the others are too far away to warn without making a noise, um... kill it before it can spot us?”​

​

She looked hopeful at Guts and Kevin.​

TAG: @greyjedi125 Mitth_Fisto

Josephus Carter

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

The Nave near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

The woman cocked her head to the side as she watched the Englishman. “So where are you from? England, obviously by your accent, but what part?” Karen asked of him as she sat down on a nearby pew. Her weapon rested in her lap and her hands on top of it. She gestured at his armor, “Why do you wear that and not something like this?” She patted the kevlar chest piece that was strapped around her torso. It was a full torso piece that protected every vital part inside. On the front and back were faded white NYPD S.W.A.T. letters and a tear that had been sewn back together either suggesting she had taken a hit in the past or its previous owner had.​

TAG: @Tim Battershell

Katia, Zeeza N'dori​

​

25 December, 2065 – Mid-Morning​

North Transept Common Room, St Patrick's Cathedral​

​

Sister Tala listened to the young woman/soldier's experiences with survivors and lycans pretending to be humans. She knew very well about the latter having heard the stories of those who went out to scavenge and cause trouble for the lycans. “Yes,” she began but paused abruptly when Katia placed some of her supply of wolfsbane on the table in front of the Sister. She looked at it a little apprehensively before continuing. “The lycans are insidiously clever and, according to my brother, Father Minghan, after having lived among humans for centuries they know how to blend in well. Wolfsbane is one method to figuring out who is who, but is not necessary within these stone walls. You saw how God smote the beast as it tried to enter. No lycan can set foot on holy ground without suffering the consequences. As long as this ground remains holy, we're all safe from them.”​

TAG: @Ktala Heavy Isotope

 

IC: Josephus 'Joph' Carter
Christmas Day 2065, Mid-morning - Nave, near the Narthex, St Patrick's Cathedral.

"So where are you from? England, obviously by your accent, but what part?", the lady asks as she literally 'takes a pew'; which is the origin of the English euphemism for sitting down; following up with, "Why do you wear that and not something like this?", indicating my armour and hers.

"A little village a few miles away from the Channel Coast, a place called Walberton", I reply, "Which is why I called myself 'William of Walberton' when I was doing re-enactments. As for my armour versus yours, I don't want to worry you but yours was designed to stop bullets penetrating it, not teeth and claws. Once the Beasts get past the outer cover, it's only fibres or foam inside - not all that dissimilar to my quilted 'Arming Jacket', my innermost layer of armouring, as it happens. Over that, I've got Mail - you'd probably call it Chain-Mail, though chains have very little to do with it; it's actually made of interlinked steel rings, each ring linked into four others, what we call four-to-one construction, with each of the linking rings riveted closed. That's what takes the time, and when you could buy it, was what was responsible for much of the cost; nearly two thousand UK pounds per set! Worth it, though, very little can get through four-to-one Mail if it's been well-made from good quality materials - only bullets and Period weapons that were purpose-designed for the job!

Then there's the over-layer of Plate. Steel too, and face-hardened Steel into the bargain! As I said earlier, that's intended to ward off impacts to my torso and prevent the Beasts' jaws from crushing my arms or legs - they like to gnaw on extremities; when they're not tearing out peoples' throats! Anyway, I'm confident of this; made it myself, that used to be my profession! I'm not saying they'll never get me; but they'll have to work really hard at it! My weapons will have something to say before that happens, too!"

I don't tell her what just one of the Beasts did to over a dozen guards in very similar 'armour' that day on the Blocks, how it ripped straight through their modern breastplates in two or three seconds flat. That's why I've taken this particular pew; so if the 'Beast-cooker', whatever it was (and I'm not going to ask around, so I don't give John reason to get even more paranoid than he already is) runs out of juice or otherwise fails to function; then the Beasts will have to deal with me first.


TAG CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

Zeeza 'Zee' N'dori- 25 December, 2065
Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral


Zeeza was happy when Katia had come over towards her, and began to eat the meal with her. Zeeza nodded, gesturing for her to sit down, and enjoy her meal. They were most of the way through their meal, and Zeeza was happily chatting with Katia when Sister Tala came over to sit by Zeeza and Katia. Sister Tala welcomed Katia, and spoke a bit to her. Zeeza agreed with the sentiment. Any soul they could find out there, and bring to the church was a good thing. Katia then talked about herself, and her time on the streets. It sounded rather lonely to her. She never mentioned being with others. Her distaste for the wolvies was profound indeed.

Suddenly, the sounds of organ music began to fill the cathedral and the nun looked in the direction of the Narthex to see the Father at the organ. Zeeza looked up, and grinned happily as she listened to the music. “He seems to be in a better mood if he's playing,” the Sister commented before returning her attention to the two women. Zeeza hoped her gift would help. She did notice Katia suddenly close her eyes, frowning as if she had a bad headache or something. Happy now, she finished off the rest of her meal, while Sister Tala continued speaking with Katia. “I suppose you have some questions you would like to ask... and where did you get those?” The Sister asked Zeeza.

Katia set her fork down she reached into a pouch, pulling out a small bag. She then pulled what looked some dried plant from the bag. Katia spoke to Sister Tala; "You'll recognize this," she said and placed it in front of Tala, "it should be enough for you to know that I am human. I won't bring any harm to your people, as long as they do the same to me." Katia doubted they would try to hurt her, but clarity was needed, she did not yet trust them and was sure they didn't trust her. Picking the wolfsbane from the table and replacing it into the bag, stowing it into the pouch, she resumed eating the last of her eggs. Sister Tala had a strange look on her face, when Katia pulled out the planet. “The lycans are insidiously clever and, according to my brother, Father Minghan, after having lived among humans for centuries they know how to blend in well. Wolfsbane is one method to figuring out who is who, but is not necessary within these stone walls. You saw how God smote the beast as it tried to enter. No lycan can set foot on holy ground without suffering the consequences. As long as this ground remains holy, we're all safe from them.”

Zeeza didnt know what made a ground holy or not, but she hoped, like Sister Tala said, that this ground remained holy. She figured it would take a lot in order to make it unholy. Sounded like wolvies were cursed things then. Something to think about later. Zeeza turned and looked over at Katia. "You dont have to worry, or be alone anymore. Not unless you want to be. We're the closest thing to a family here. We all take care of each other, and we watch each other's back. At least here, you can close your eyes, and not have to worry about your back while you rest." Zeeza then turned towards Sister Tala. Zeeza laid the cross she had on the bench. "They were on the wolvies that tried to get into the church. She told the sister. I was looking at them, trying to see if they looked.. unusual in any way." she told Tala. "Maybe they thought it would help them get into the church?" she added.



TAG: Heavy Isotope, CmdrMitthrawnuruodo

 

IC: Gustavo ‘Guts’ Guerrero
Dec. 25 2065, The Narthex, St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Guts had to admit one thing. Angela’s answer was not terrible at all, as a matter of fact, it was actually good. It showed that she mentally understood the situation and what to do about it. He smiled at her briefly as he regarded her, biting her lower lips and looking impish. She seemed like a nice young lady. But at the moment, he wasn’t seeing what was clearly apparent in the eyes of the new girl, Delta, in Karen or even Zeeza for that matter.

“Alright. That was a pretty good answer, I won’t lie to you.” Guts said in all honesty. He held his passive expression as he moved closer and looked her in the eyes.

“Do you know how to fire a weapon? Have you ever killed a lycan before, or anything else for that matter?”

Guts simply held her gaze as he waited to see how she would react and what she would say. This wasn't a game; it was life or death. He couldn't recall if Angela was ever a part of the watchers or if she'd gone out with any scavenging parties. It could be that her duties were elsewhere, but that didn’t mean it was impossible for her to have the ‘edge’ necessary to go out on a foraging expedition and do what needed to be done without losing one’s composure.

He dared not look away, as he wished to see ‘it’ in her eyes, though he also wished he could see if Kevin approved at all of his impromptu interview or not.

All around them, melodic organ music continued to resound throughout the narthex.


Tag: @CmdrMitthrawnuruodo, @Mitth_Fisto ( Last of Q&A )