Sherlock Holmes, once assessing the jungle-like environment that they are now apparently stuck in, and the ensuing chaos realized something had to be done
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"All things considered, I'm understandably angry, at the moment." Altalita replies, voice cool, but having a vaguely dangerous tone that only a woman scorned has, "I can't leave." To anyone, anyone who knows what she is, that damn well means something.
"We know he's keeping us here, some powerful enchantment or teleportation blocker. If we do something about it, there should be a way out." She's theorizing.
She doesn't like this 'not knowing' bullshit, by the way.
"That much is obvious, however - there is the problem of getting to him," He nods in agreement to her theories, since he has no magical abilities, he would refer to others in this manner.
And naturally, Holmes hates not having any of the pieces to this puzzle.
Gabriel stays off toward the edge of the group, listening. In another part of his brain, he's planning on how to survive this mess. In yet another part of his brain, he's watching this survival bit with awe and wondering just how in hell he's learned all of this. Who am I, McGuyver or something?
He is wary of the group, almost by default. He'll stick around long enough to figure out if anyone else might have a good plan or any other ideas. If not, he'll take off.
Talking doesn't seem to be solving anything, at least with this group. While Holmes turns his attention elsewhere, Gabriel slips out of sight to go exploring.
Phoenix is currently over here with a blond man. He seems to be generally under control, though there's something to his body language that suggests he'd rather be anywhere than with that guy. When he hears Holmes, he goes over to him; he could use some extra companionship, frankly, since he trusts Kristoph about as far as he can throw him.
"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears," he mutters, not happy in the slightest.
He spotted Phoenix, and noted the way he's moving quickly from the blond man, and filed it away for later use.
"I know there are those who came with more then enough weapons for themselves. If they are willing, we should distributed them amongst them who have no current means of fighting off the dangers." Holmes declared out loud. He knew this wasn't perfect, no everyone here would be trustworthy with a weapon - but he had little to go on, and had to work fast to gain some semblance of organization before someone has the bright idea of turning on their fellow Nexusians.
"Wright," He started. "It's not going to be easy." Well, that was obvious. "However, I'm afraid we do have to find a means to get out, despite our grievances." Holmes turned to look, the booth again make a protesting noise under him.
Luc, tired and sweaty, his tunic stained with a little dire bear blood, is looking up at Holmes, hand currently clutching his 'special' butcher knife.
"Good in principle, sir. But having just been...compelled, I don't now how much anyone is interested in the more instructions-oriented part of organization. I know I'm far from in the mood to do what unauthorized people tell me to right now."
"I am not trying to lead, just trying to get things so this crazy lunatic would not be picking us off one by one, or whatever other scheme he has in mind." He wiped the sweat from his own brow.
Luc's still scowling, but nods his head like a good little fascist at the safety-in-numbers part.
"Doesn't seem to be any pattern in who got stuck here. Some civilians, many with preternatural abilities of varying degrees. No way of telling what he wants from that, anyway."
"Not yet, but I intend to change that." He balanced on the rock that he had moved to after the both he was perched upon made too much noise for his comfort. "But the first thing we must focus on is surviving and getting out of here."
Having valiantly retreated from the great Battle of the Bear, Ziggy's currently sitting perched on one of the bits of ruins left behind by the stalls and stages of the ex-party. Right now, he looks like the Abbe from Quills, decked out in a cassock. He's still wearing an amulet hung around his neck, which reads "ZIGGY" on the outward-facing side.
He's smiling to himself, and has undone a few buttons near the waist of his cassock, the better to stick his handgun there (rather the way Napolean sticks his hand between the buttons of his coat).
All in all, he looks a little abstract and...unhinged. Amusement isn't the right reaction to the situation, is it?
"Trusting him doesn't enter into the picture, does it? He has the power to stop everyone here from leaving. If he can do that..." Shrug. "We'll be playing his game whether we believe in it or not."
"It doesn't mean we will have to play by this rules." Holmes countered as he folded his arms across his chest. "I am sure he wants us to scatter and not trust each other."
"Because that's not human nature to do so when people are in a state of panic, as it seems to be intent by how he announce this sick little game of his." The young man answered, as he tried to swallow the urge to choke this stranger.
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"None of us can leave - right now. And I doubt we can leave until come up with a plan of action."
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She doesn't like this 'not knowing' bullshit, by the way.
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And naturally, Holmes hates not having any of the pieces to this puzzle.
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He is wary of the group, almost by default. He'll stick around long enough to figure out if anyone else might have a good plan or any other ideas. If not, he'll take off.
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Oh, well.
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"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears," he mutters, not happy in the slightest.
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"I know there are those who came with more then enough weapons for themselves. If they are willing, we should distributed them amongst them who have no current means of fighting off the dangers." Holmes declared out loud. He knew this wasn't perfect, no everyone here would be trustworthy with a weapon - but he had little to go on, and had to work fast to gain some semblance of organization before someone has the bright idea of turning on their fellow Nexusians.
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He was gonna die here, he just knew it.
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"Good in principle, sir. But having just been...compelled, I don't now how much anyone is interested in the more instructions-oriented part of organization. I know I'm far from in the mood to do what unauthorized people tell me to right now."
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"Doesn't seem to be any pattern in who got stuck here. Some civilians, many with preternatural abilities of varying degrees. No way of telling what he wants from that, anyway."
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He's smiling to himself, and has undone a few buttons near the waist of his cassock, the better to stick his handgun there (rather the way Napolean sticks his hand between the buttons of his coat).
All in all, he looks a little abstract and...unhinged. Amusement isn't the right reaction to the situation, is it?
"Trusting him doesn't enter into the picture, does it? He has the power to stop everyone here from leaving. If he can do that..." Shrug. "We'll be playing his game whether we believe in it or not."
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Still half-smiling. Playing devil's advocate, in a life-and-death situation, that's smart.
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