(a few hours into the Jaunt, open broadcast)

[protect_and_serve]

[Joscelin's voice, sent across the network, is warm, dry, composed - instilled with enough confidence, he hopes, to reassure the new and uncertain.]

A calm beginning makes for a welcome change. We should still start sharing what we know. Who's with us, and who is missing? Who is infiltrating? What do we know about this world?

If this is your first Jaunt - and there were many new faces in Liminal Space - ask for assistance, and we'll give it.

I'll begin. This is Joscelin Verreuil. We're on the coast of an island, somewhere between Alba and Terre D'Ange- England and France, I think, locally. Magic of some sort appears to be open and commonplace. I can't make sense of their calendar, but we're in or just after the Twentieth Century, as.... Christians... reckon time. This is a port where foreigners are common and unremarked. I have clothes that fit the era, and in my pockets were ten five-pound notes. The Trumps don't mean for us to be spotted immediately, or starve, but I can't guess more than that.

Comments

[howexciting]

Even if I am making mass from nothing, I would still be sick if I tried to eat it. Thankfully, my one stint as an omnivore was short-lived.

[Even his mobster self had been a vegetarian. Thank you Trumps??]

... I am no one of importance.

[highsteaks]

Oh. Okay? [Maybe he was one of those really obscure trick questions.]

I guess that makes sense? About the mean, I mean. Too bad, though. You're really missing out. Uh, what do you want me to call you? Western names can be tricky.

[howexciting]

[Yes. Just a trick question. Nothing you Inaba kids need to ask Naomi about.]

I do not think of it as missing out. And you may call me Leonardo... or sensei, should you find that too informal.

[highsteaks]

Okay, Leonardo-sensei. Thanks in advance for supper?

[howexciting]

I... you're welcome?

[Seriously, how the hell do you respond to that?]

do you want to turn this into an action thread?

[highsteaks]

I'll see you after dark!

Psychic -> Perma-action

[howexciting]

[Leonardo is waiting on the street corner when she arrives, trying to disguise himself and probably failing miserably. This is still fashionable, right...?

Either way, he's doing a pretty good job of looking inconspicuous, drawing away on a giant sketchpad with some art pencils.]

Re: Psychic -> Perma-action

[highsteaks]

[Chie blinks. This is probably the guy--he's drawing and Chie vaguely remembers from school that Leonardo da Vinci was an art guy--but wow, she thought he was from a lot further in the past than his clothing would indicate.

(That he might have just bought new clothing here doesn't occur to her. It's really not fashionable. Like any time in the 21st century fashionable.)

She's just going to lean over a little and see if she can get a glimpse at the sketchpad.]

Leonardo-sensei? I'm Chie.

[She's dressed in her normal summer outfit, green tank and all.]

[howexciting]

[Excuse u it was fashionable >:c In the 70's, maybe]

[He appears to be drawing a few figures when she takes a peek, one of them beginning to take on familiar features.]

Hm? Ah...

[He glances up at the teenager, before giving a polite bow of the head, and standing up to his full six-foot-two and putting his things away.]

Are you ready?

[highsteaks]

Hey, that's Sansa's dad! The one that's always lecturing everyone.

[oh crap this guy is tall]

I mean. Yeah, I'm ready.

[howexciting]

... I can assure you he is not Sansa's father. That privilege belongs to Eddard Stark.

[Though he's tall, he's rather mousy, his presence never that overbearing.]

This way. [He heads into the building he is standing beside, and up several flights of stairs. To the roof, maybe?]

[highsteaks]

Well, I mean, her Roman dad? I guess this Ed guy is the one who made her sept thing for her mom.

[She will follow you, tackily dressed art man.]

[howexciting]

[EXCUSE YOU THIS ISN'T TACKY, HE SAW IT IN A MAGAZINE >:C ]

Malik was infiltrated as her father, I believe, yes. Eddard Stark is her true father, however.

[Once on the roof, he opens a portal for her.]

[highsteaks]

[Was it a clown magazine?]

Oh. But he's not here, right?

[howexciting]

[NO IT WAS MEN'S FASHION MAGAZINE also shut up]

He is not. I... do wish he was. I would much like to meet him.

[And he knows that death follows the Starks. Though it is not ideal, Liminal Space is perhaps a better afterlife...]

After you, Madonna.

[highsteaks]

... I'm not Madonna. She's, uh, way older. And American.