(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

[claudiometer]

There's some talk of Liminal-Manip counterfeiting, but I think that's better off as a last resort. Too much fake money on the market at once will catch someone's attention sooner or later, and we can't count on 'later' being 'late enough that we're actually gone.'

The easier way to handle that would probably be to whip up something decently valuable and take it to a pawn shop.

[someonetocarry]

[Pawn shops, at least galactic ones, Zoe is familiar with.]

Those legal, here, then? Won't get in trouble showin' up at one with somethin' nice?

[claudiometer]

Hit the same place too often and they might think you're fencing stuff, but in general they're not likely to mind.

[someonetocarry]

Run into that before. Only we was fencin' and it was all on the table, so it weren't a problem. This ain't the same, I suppose, and I ain't a known entity 'round this 'verse.

I'll be careful.