---

---

---

---

Mary listened intently to what the Bishop had to say. It was not much, but it did point out the aggressor as a Cargast. It was perhaps enough, so much as it mattered from a standpoint of what Mary could do for the woman. Be that as it may, she would have preferred to hear everything from the visiting gentleman rather than Bishop Mansfield. More than mere information, she could have read inflection, possibly gotten a gleam of detail that was missing from earlier telling. It was the investigator in her. Mary had been under the tutelage of Priests and other Knights since leaving the Vatican years ago, veterans in the war against the Soulless. The experience had sculpted her habits when dealing with cases like this. Mary had preferences.

Not that it really mattered in this case. For whatever reason, a Cargast was an entity that Mary had little ability to influence through her training in Rome. It was funny that way; the skills of one region tended to compliment the skills of another, as if signaling that Humanity needed to band together fully, regardless of political or religious affiliation, to properly combat the Soulless en masse. It had been a long held belief of Mary's that there would be an eventual, massive uprising against the living. Obsession, almost. Minding her limitations in this regard, she deferred to Elizaveta's knowledge in the area.

The young Dame could feel the taint of Soulless upon the victim's remains. She suspected it was not in the same way that her new Russian friend could. Mary also had a healthy curiosity about her abilities, especially if they were able to be taught to outsiders. "I bear no objection, my Lady. Please do as you will to save this woman's immortal soul."

Unaware as to whether the budding Cargast would fight back, Mary unbuttoned her sporran containing ampules of holy water, and shifted her halberd slightly forward. She gave an encouraging nod toward Gerard, then returned her gaze to the deceased lady and Cossack noblewoman.

---

---

---

---

The arrival of Colonel Theodore and the other officers from Colchester Garrison was a great relief to Fyror. When greetings and moving them into their respective suites was all said and done, Fyror wasted little time to inform them of the Soulless attack. He hated to put a downer on what was supposed to be a vacation of sorts for the men, but nevertheless, they needed to know. Father like son, Colonel Theodore quickly took on a note of seriousness in his demeanor as he listened. He wrote down everything and then asked Fyror to show them where the Cargast attack occurred.

Along the way to Hyde Park, they gathered new information, from people staying at the inn, about another Soulless attack that had occurred in London. After Fyror showed the others where the Cargast attack occurred, the group of infantry officers took the initiative to spread out and see what information they could glean from people about the other Soulless attack. There were a lot of inconsistencies with people’s accounts of the attack, making it harder to differentiate between facts and fiction. When they finally met back up and conveyed their findings with one another, they had but a few definite facts. The attack for sure occurred around the same time as the Cargast attack in Hyde Park. It seemed to involve a Ryne. The victim was a little boy and was taken by two clergymen. In the end, two Soulless attacks in one day was certainly not a good sign.

An hour or so had passed before they went back to their rooms in the inn to prepare for the event at Almack’s tonight. And one thing was certain, they would all be going fully armed.

"I thank you for your hospitality and your understanding. I knov it is not my place to step in such situations the way I have but time s of the essence," Elizaveta said in a calm voice as she stood there looking over towards Mary. As her guard came back with a small embroidered bag she took it in her hands gingerly and uttered something in Russian that could have been a thank you from the nod she was given in return.

Turning she waited for her guard to pulled the heavy formal robe off her shoulders, gathering the folds of her skirt in one hand she knelt down beside the body and released the tie on her bag. Pulling from it an egg that was rather large for what it was but it was no ordinary egg. It was made of golden and silver, gems and craftsmanship beyond compare. Unbeknownst to Elizaveta, these eggs would become the height of gifting fashion by the end of the century but for now, she handled it like a holy relic. Careful and with a deep amount of respect.

Her guard laid the robe he had removed form her shoulders over the dearly departed and formed a small dip in the fabric for Elizaveta to rest the egg in, cradling it securely there on the deceased. Taking a long breath Elizaveta looked up to those standing within the under-croft. "This vill take some time, and perhaps may not be something you have vitnessed before. Please trust in the process and do not interfere. The Ostanavlivat'sya is unforgiving and it can mistake you as the soul." Her voice was as calm and even as always but there was an inflection of dire warning in her tone. Like one would have with a child warning them not to touch the hot stove.

Then she began, chanting something in Russian it seemed. Simple enough to begin, like a prayer it seemed the way she kept her head lowered and her hand resting on relic of sorts. The longer she prayers, the more still she became, as if she was turning to stone as she spoke. As the minutes ticked away it seemed like nothing was going to happen until suddenly from beneath her fingers the egg sprouted open and what looked like a holy white light manifestation of death with a scythe erupted it from. It looked with darkness as eyes towards the Bishop who barely was able to keep his feet rooted in place. It's eyes turned to each person in turn, looking at them before a banshee like screech came from the wispy lighted figure as he flew up and roamed around the room as if searching, like a blood hound on the trail.

A darkness started to form in the corner of the under-croft, looking like a shadowy figure of the woman that lay before them, a long rope like shadow connecting the two. Swooping in the Ostanavlivat'sya charged the rope which tried to wrap itself around the Ostanavlivat'sya but it was quicker and within minutes of carefully executed movements another wail came but this time from the body of the dead woman as the rope was cut. The shadow freezing in place before its darkness turned to light and then it vanished. The Ostanavlivat'sya swept the room again before flying back into the egg which still had Elizaveta's hand over it, her voice still praying as it did. It was not until the light was gone and the egg closed again did Elizaveta stop and look up, a long breath escaping her lips.

"Vater please," she said in a quiet rough voice as she started to stand, her guard rushing over to her and the other rushing to place the egg back into the egg. It had taken longer than she had wished, nearly two hours of prayer but it was done and the woman's soul was safe. There would be no soulless from this woman.

Over at Almack's during the time Elizaveta spent in prayer much happened. Mosi arrived at Almack's and was able to determine that at least three of the Presence Guards were down or destroyed. How and why one could not even begin to fathom but she had the skill and training to fix these desperately needed totems.

Surrounding Almack's on stone pillars were what looked to the untrained eye just torches but on closer look one could see what were Native carvings like a totem pole on each, woven with various bird feathers. The ones that were broken broke the circle that surrounded left Almack's more vulnerable. Not completely but without a full set for the area it would be easier for something to breach the perimeter. It would take Mosi a good hour or two to complete them. To carve from materials provided and housed at Almack's but it could be done. She would be able to finish up shortly before the first guest arrived.

---

---

"Millicent Grey Wyndham, you mustn't dally. We will be late," Mrs. Wyndham bellowed as she ushered her other two daughters into the carriage. "Where is that no good stable hand?" she snapped as Millicent stepped into the carriage and took her seat.

"He was helping Darcy with the poor departed woman, I suspect the travel to the Tower of London took longer than expected mother. Do not fret, we are in excellent hands," Millicent assured her mother, the young boy from earlier who had driven the hackney for the others taking his place on the Wyndham's carriage.

"I'll get ya there quicker than a jackrabbit m'lady," the boy said in a happy voice. Mrs. Wyndham just scoffed and went on and on about this and that. About how her girls should behave, belittling Millicent constantly, warning her who to stay away from - which was every decent man in the city from the looks at of - and telling her she better had make amends to Lord Ratherford for her unspeakable behavior earlier in the day.

Millicent just sat stoic as she took the verbal battery and took a deep breath as they made their way towards Almacks. Her cheek was bruised but covered with heavy powder. It still hurt but she would deal. She always did. By the time they arrived many of the guests were pouring out of their respective carriages and Millicent looked around as she helped her mother out of the carriage. Her mother was dressed with the most up to date of the time clothing, as were her sisters. In the right pale colors to attract a suitor. Millicent had chosen a dark blue, with black lace overlays. It made her look as much the spinster as she was but she did not care. She looked lovely in the color and it complimented her dark hair and eyes well.

---

---

The ride to the Almacks was rather pleasant and uneventful considering the general situaiton that was London right now and the whole deal with soullesses stalking the streets. The whole thing smelled of a rather big and bad joke in a way, but it also had another side that Mosi couldn't help but feel danger from. The dreams, the appearance of the creatures just now... It was too much to be a coincidence for her logic. One person with nightmare was a bad night, two ehh could be a chance, but more than that and her mind automatically switches to something fishy's going on here.

When she arrived at Almack's something felt off right away. After getting to inspecting every presence guard that the place had, her worst fears came to life. The wards were tempered with! Some were cut off power and some were straight off destroyed! This was very bad!” This place's been sabotaged!” She exclaimed in anger, throwing angry looks about the place.” Bring me the following materials... fast! I need..." She quickly started listing things to be brought to her with utmost haste and started to repair and reactive the wards. She didn't have too much time, but if things went as well as they were currently, she'd be done just about when the guests were to arrive.” Someone do a search of the place! We can't be sure what may already be inside!” She stated, returning her focus on the presence guards.

The unknowingness of what is to come discreetly agitated the ruggedly out of place man in the close quartered undercroft. The room seemed to grow a little colder than it did for Gerard. With Elizaveta's soothing voice hinted an ominous warning, impulsively, Gerard prepared himself of whatever danger they might face. Despite the coolness of the interior he was sweating profusely. Being a seadog all his life he had travelled parts of the world and thought he had seen everything that could ever faze him. Alas not all of it it seemed. And indeed so far he had not encountered anything like this before, but Gerard is by no means unknowledgeable of the worst case scenarios. As a child his mentors, his own mother and uncles, taught him well of these soulless creatures. They would voice their warnings in the same direful tone as Elizaveta did. Whatever is inside that woman is not going to be gentle, and the last thing he wants is to become it's woeful victim. Swallowing the ball in his throat, recalling all that his mentors had thought him, he braced himself.

And they waited, as Elizaveta held out a peculiar looking egg, and for quite awhile she muttered in a foreign language Gerard have not heard of. When, without warning, there was a flash of brightness. His heart stopped and instinctively covered his eyes at the blinding light. As he adjusted to the light, staggering back a little he watched Elizaveta unmoved, petrified like a statue. And then the light, Gerard froze and with a stunned look, " Mo Dhia, " his eyes widened at what he he thought he can make out, a figure which looks to be in the shape of a reaper.

He watched as the light, it's screeching pierced the irishman's eardrums, whistling through the room and Gerard barely held his ears when the light found it's target, a dark mist almost connected to the woman. As he watched in both shock and alarm, there was another screeching but this time it came from the woman. He saw the dark mist vanished , the light returned to it's shell and just like that it was all over. His heart havnt calmed down yet at what he just saw, sweating and still frozen in place for a few seconds as he tried to process everything. He slowly calmed, his eyes glance to the dead body who looked more at peace than it was before, and to everyone else inside the room.

---

---

---

---

Fyror did some last-minute freshening up before departing for Almack’s in the carriage with his family. The rest of the officers that had come to London from Colchester Garrison rode in the carriage behind the Kildragon family’s. Despite the potential threat posed by the Soulless, people’s desire to attend the “festivities” of the Season remained undeterred.

However, Fyror’s stomach was in knots as uneasiness and dread rose within him. He felt that the odds that this night would end without some kind of physical or emotional trauma were slim to none. Truthfully though, it was more than just the threat of the Soulless that caused such anxiety. It was the ever-present fact that his mangled appearance turns the very people he swore to protect against him. Why was it so difficult for people to look past the exterior and instead see the real person lying within? Why couldn’t they see his chivalrous nature or his boundless devotion to the people of this country? Instead they treated him with contempt and distrust. Fyror let out a sigh and silently prayed he would make it through the night and that all would be well.

When they arrived at Almack’s, there was already a line of carriages dropping off guests attending the night’s event. Fyror, Colonel Theodore, and Leon exited the carriage first before helping the women out of the carriage. Fyror noted the way his parents always looked at each other with such love and admiration in their eyes. Sadly, Fyror had little hope of finding love in his lifetime. Instead he would focus on his job as he always had.

In their red and gold coat, the group of infantry officers stood out like a sore thumb in the crowds meandering inside.

---

---

---

---

What began as a a flat sentry's post swiftly became an exercise in trust and nerve. This creature or force, once roused, appeared to be a primal piece of retributive spiritual energy. The warning to not interfere seemed less credible as it began its work. Sister Mary had a little reason to trust this Russian Noblewoman; that trust was barely enough to prevent her from attempting to insert a blessed weapon into the metaphysical form that appeared before them, or the suddenly noticeable budding Cargast in the corner.

Once it began to actually work, Mary had a better grasp on the nature of it. While her grip on her halberd remained, it stood upright at her side instead of partially in front of her in a partial guard stance. She let faith carry her decision to meekly allow the manifestation to complete its work, confidence building in her that she was safe. Oftentimes, the kindest of ministrations can appear cruel or frightening.

Elizaveta's request for water seemed appropriate, considering both the level of effort she had put into this task and the time it required. Sadly, there was not a lot in the way of creature comfort in the chapel undercroft. It was one of the reasons Mary found herself down there of often; an open space with practical isolation, little reason for the living to come down here on ordinary, daily business. Although every once in a while, Mary imagined that with the right lighting, the undercroft would make a compelling location for receptions or other celebratory events. Perhaps it was a bit improper. Suffice it to say, unless one brought water with them, it was not located here. The nearest place water fit for human consumption would be located was back above, in a rectory just off of the Chapel.

"I shall have that for you momentarily, Lady Romanova." Unless waylaid by some circumstance, Sister Mary expected to return in less than two minutes.

---

---

---

---

She had changed into something perhaps a bit more comfortable, enjoying the plainness of dress for a mere moment. Although it was a black dress with white sleeves, it had a certain boyish character that Virginia felt gave it a particular charm. Whenever she trained, she wore this dress. It prevented her from becoming encumbered with lace and frills, allowing the freedom of movement that she so desired. If she could, Virginia would simply attend Almack's in this more natural dress. But that was not to be.

"Are you sure you will be attending the event tonight, my lady?" Alfred asked, as he handed Virginia the various pins and ribbons needed to attend to her hair.

"As sure as I am that Great-Grandfather Crypt was fatally stabbed by an Irishman," Virginia replied, as she quickly braided and put up her hair. It was perhaps a bit fanciful for her taste, but the Season demanded it. And while Crypts were many things, she hated to think that she could be called rude.

"But think of the risks, my lady," Alfred cautioned her, as he selected an ice blue gown from the wardrobe. "An attack is imminent and your will inherit the earldom if you are no longer among the living. Who shall stop the courts from declaring the Lord Dywell dead at sea?"

"You shall see to that, dear Alfred," Virginia replied, rising from her seat.

"And if I am not here to do so, my lady?"

"Then I shall have to try earnestly to remain among the living," Virginia replied. "Though my dear Alfred, do not speak like that. You are not in our employ to die at such a young age. I should be terribly cross with you if I live to see your demise."

Alfred shook his head ever so slightly, and retreated from the room as to give Virginia privacy while she changed. With a bit of solitude, Virginia took a moment to close her eyes, imagining the release of sweet oblivion. Her mother had always explained that there was a certain jump to throw oneself towards destruction--a desire to step off the edge of a cliff and to fall. Did that explain her behavior this evening? To be truthful, Virginia did not fancy the society she lived in. As much as she did not wish ill upon her father, his absence was the only thing that allowed her to continue to rebuke suitors.

She slipped into the soft, ice blue gown and partnered it with fine gloves. Her weapons were attached as always, as she was expecting tragedy that evening, and would have brought them even if she did not. Slipping the family ring onto her finger, Virginia was as ready for the events of that evening as she ever could be. "Arthur, I shall return late," Virginia announced, as she made her way out of her room and down the staircase, headed for the carriage that would whisk her away to Almack's.

"Do come back in one piece, my lady," Alfred replied, nodding at her as he opened the door.

"I would worry myself more with the clueless young men who fancy they can make me their wife, dear Alfred," Virginia replied. "It is perhaps them who will not return to their homes with all of their limbs attached and operational."

The Bishop stood frozen for a time before looking over towards Elizaveta as Mary went to get the water. Elizaveta telling her thank you before she left. Her robe was placed back over her shoulders, the clasp fastened before her guard picked her up in his arms carefully. The other guard having secured the egg back into the velvet bag looked over towards Elizaveta with a blank expression on his face before going back to his position at the entrance to the under croft to stand guard.

"Are you alright?" the Bishop asked nervously.

"Yes, just veak," she replied as she lay cradled in the large man's arms.

"What was that? I mean, I have never seen anything like it," the Bishop added. Now that he was no longer in shock he was full of questions but Elizaveta shook her head slightly and rested her head against the mans chest. She needed to catch her breath and speaking at this time was like trying to gargle with sand. Uncomfortable and taxing. Nodding in some semblance of understanding the bishop looked over towards Gerard and then back to Elizaveta. "Is the woman's soul safe?"

Elizaveta nodded and closed her eyes waiting on the water. The Bishop let out a sigh of relief before turning back to Gerard. "I thank you for bringing her here. I believe we can take it from here though if you wouldn't mind waiting just a little longer, I wish to write down everything that lead up to this and will wanted to double check on the details with you," he said.

---

---

Over at Almack's several nodded and got to work on making a quick run through of the building but it would take time and people were already arriving. Not that anything was going to stop the event from occurring this evening. Society was far more concerned with keeping the norm than admitting there was a problem.

Millicent glanced around as Fryor's entourage arrived and her lips thinned slightly. She wanted to go thank him for what he did earlier that evening, and tell her she was glad to hear that he was able to return to his family without any problems but her mother grabbed her arm and thrust her forward without warning. Shaking her head she looked up from the high shine shoes she was staring at, groaning inwardly when she saw it was Lord Rutherford. He was the last person she wanted to see right then.

The man said nothing at first, simply looking over Millicent in her finery before his eyes fell onto the bruise that was attempting to be hidden beneath the powder that she wore. "Miss Wyndham, dare I ask what happened?" he asked as he tried to caress her cheek. Millicent visibly flinched and pulled back from his touch, pushing his hand away.

"Just some correction," her mother said speaking up, Lord Ratherford grinning approvingly.

"Well, it is better to use the rod than to spoil the child," he laughed. He actually laughed. Millicent's eyes narrowed at his entire being.

"Millicent, don't you have something to say to Lord Ratherford?" her step mother prodded.

Millicent looked over at her mother as if she was crazy but she was jabbed in the ribs by the woman and it caused Millicent to take a deep breath. Calming herself she nodded before turning back and looking back at the lord. Lifting her chin and letting her features go blank before she spoke.

"Yes, I humbly wish to apologize for earlier Lord Rutherford. May god forgive me..." she said before taking a short breath as she saw a look of satisfaction cross his features. "for not knocking you on your ass sooner."

Grabbing her arm Lord Rutherford pulled her in close and whispered against her ear. "Better watch what you say to me or I might place my sights on another prospective wife. Like one of your sisters." His voice like venom in her ear. Millicent leaned back looked struck in terror. He grinned broadly before letting her go, shoving her slightly as he did. Turning he took Mrs. Wyndham's arm and lead her into Almack's proper with Millicent's two sisters following quietly in tow.

Turning away from those walking into Almack's Millicent started looking around and praying to god that she would lay eyes on Virginia. She needed a friend right then.

---

---

She had managed it! Jeanette took a deep breath when she finished restoring the last of the presence guards at the location. The whole situation reeked of some sort of trap waiting to happen, but given how she had managed to restore the presence guards, she'd have thrown a little wrench in the plans of whomever. Now all she needed to do was keep a watch on the wards just in case. They'd need to take down quite a few of them to weaken the barriers enough to allow something to enter, but still never hurt to be careful about it.

As the guests started to arrive and enter the Almack's, Mosi was already there, completely differnet form her usual self. Gone were the wild hairdo, the feathers and the clothing for men. In the rather elegant dress with the veil on, hiding the majority of her face, it was practically impossible to recognize her. Maybe that was her mother's plan, to made it so men didn't recognize her so they'd start the annoying attempts at courting her... or it was her father's plan to hide his beautiful daughter in plain sight... She didn't know, but frankly didn't care.

With great care she watched people arrive, moving around the edges of the crowds that were gathering here now. Until she saw a certain woman she recognized. It was Millicent Wyndham, Virginia's friend! Then there was her family along with... ahhh... She saw the man's face, the man that was holding Mrs. Wyndham's hand... Rutherford , now there was a scum if Mosi ever knew one. Rumors that had reached her ears were countless... shameless...vulgar and each enough to deserve a beating in her opinion. The fact Millicent was near him didn't bode well, not to mention the subtle way the woman was looking about the hall.

Well Rutherford's mere presence here was enough for her to start messing up his possible plans. In reality she'd gladly throw his ass out of the place, but ehhh better not start scenes just yet. Her family had yet to arrive anyways.

Still with her veil on and basically nearly impossible to recognize, Mosi slowly walked over to Millicent, making sure to pass through the fool lord's field of vision.

“Excuse me, miss Wyndham, you seem distressed, do you require help of some kind?” She asked in calm, but sincere voice and a friendly smile. For her smile would be about all that probably could be seen from her face.

---

---

---

---

Never in Virginia's life had she seen such a cesspool of repugnant behavior. As she gazed around her, young women were physically restrained by the most horrid of shades, with their hair twisted into torturous knots. Peels of laughter accented the very air, culminating as one poor soul attempted a confession of great romance. The watchful eyes, the judgmental faces, the bouncing curls, and the extravagant ribbons all reeked of a certain societal decay. Not even the Soulless could come up with such an event so wicked, so damned, so utterly repulsive.

"If I do not return, send James my love," Virginia instructed her driver, as she descended from the carriage, having arrived at one of the many galas of the season. She hardly restrained herself from crinkling her nose, seeing the decadence and travesty surrounding her. There were many activities she wished she could undergo. Perhaps a riveting game of Wake the Dead with dear James, Alfred serving as the scorekeeper. Perhaps an examination into the post mortem state, with the corpse of a newly departed individual brought to her basement for her experimentations.

"Why my lady, 'tis only a party," the carriage driver protested, as he closed the door. "You'll be right as rain, just you see."

"If I gave you a glass of arsenic, you would see it as half full," Virginia observed with a sigh. "It is quite a pity, but I suppose it cannot be helped. Some people see the world in strange ways, I suppose."

Dressed in her icy blue gown, her stare matched its intensity. Other peers attempted to greet her, inquiring after the health of Lord Dywell--when Virginia knew that they only sought to take the Crypt fortune for their own. She rebuked them at each turn, only pausing ever so slightly as she glimpsed Millicent. The woman had likely already faced a fate worse than any torture Virginia could think of, and she briskly made her way over to her friend, nodding at dear Mosi who stood near her.

"This party is so repugnant," Virginia sighed, sounding almost wistful as she added, "if only the murders would begin soon. Then we might have a proper spectacle."

After the whole occurrence Gerard remained agape, and after her remarkable display the woman was drained . She handled the whole situation expertly, all the more made him curious of who she was. He would ask her or the bishop but figured it wasnt any business of his. And it was good to know the woman's soul is finally safe, it is such a cruel punishment to end up being one of the soulless no matter who she was or whatever unforgivable faults she did in her waking life. Even the most evil, vile person he could think of shouldn't be degraded into an abominable husk. "Thank you." was the only thing he could say to the woman who was now resting, he didnt mean to disturb, if the woman even notice him or if it even mattered but Gerard feels he should at least express it. "Nobody deserves to be damned like that." he said sullenly, glancing at the body one last time and to her. The bishop thanked him and after asking him to stay a little longer, Gerard agreed "Yes, of course. I'll help in anyway."

---

---

---

---

“Will you at least try not to scare away prospective suitors?” Genevieve addressed her brother.

“I make no promises,” Fyror replied as a smirk played at the edges of his lips. “If they are unworthy of you or treat you dishonorably, I will not hesitate to remove them from your presence.”

Genevieve let out a halfhearted huff of annoyance, making Fyror’s smirk grow and amusement light up his gaze. It did not surprise him that she would ask him such a thing. He had on more than one occasion purposefully hovered close by, serving as an often-unwanted chaperone of sorts. It was a known fact that the dearer an individual was to him the more protective he became. In the case of his sister, he would not let just anyone take her as a wife if he had any say about it.

Fyror let out a small sigh as his gaze now surveyed the crowds. He vaguely wondered if Ms. Crane had returned home safely and if she was indeed here now. His gaze eventually landed on the Wyndham family. Millicent stood out from the rest of her family, wearing a beautiful dark blue gown with black lace overlays, in stark contrast to her sisters who wore pale colors. It occurred to him that he had never formally thanked her for providing Ms. Crane and him the hackney. He mentally scolded himself for not stopping by the Wyndham estate on the way back to the inn. It was inconsiderate of him.

He broke away from his family to go to her. He suddenly stopped midstride when Millicent was shoved by her mother in the direction of a man unknown to him. Fyror felt he should turn away and try talking to her later when she was not otherwise engaged; however, the odd and slightly tense demeanor between the two caught his attention. He was not close enough to hear the exchange, but he could easily tell that something was not right between the two. When the man roughly grabbed Millicent and then soon after a look of terror flashed across her face, Fyror did not hesitant to stalk over there. His gaze hardened, causing people to more quickly get out of his way.

Unfortunately, by the time Fyror had reached them, the man had already walked off with Millicent’s mother. Fyror basically glared in the man’s direction before he turned to Millicent. His gaze softened, so as not to scare her, and he was about to speak, when a veiled woman in all black interjected. The woman’s voice seemed oddly familiar to him.

---

---

---

---

Luck was with Sister Mary as she traversed the stairs into the Chapel proper and into the nearest side room. It was a study, one of a set behind the pulpit that functioned as an office for parish priest or Church official. Said official would be short a sturdy metal pitcher of cool water and a stout ceramic mug, at least for a little while. Lay workers or cloistered Sisters would provide such creature comforts to the Priests, Dignitaries, and of course the Bishop. Such items were replaced regularly enough. Fresh fruit lay nearby as well, but that was not specifically what Mary was after. Removing some without permission would be a little too close to "coveting thy neighbor's ass" for her liking. Besides, there would likely be some waiting at her rooms later, anyway.

Quickly as she dared (considering she was carrying a pitcher of water) Mary returned to the Undercroft. Her polearm was still leaning where she left it, as was Elizaveta. The young Apostolic hurried to her, extending the mug first and filling it as soon as she was satisfied the young noblewoman had a firm grip upon it. The sound of water rising inside of the container reminded Mary that it had been a while since she had taken a drink, or a meal for that matter. It was expected that she might have found some accommodation at Almack's later on. As a backup plan, she did take some provisioning from the kitchens in preparation for the evening. Then the drama unfolded, postponing those plans.

If the evening continued to go in the direction it was veering towards, she was fairly certain that the pie, water, and wine that she set aside would still be wholesome and fresh come morning. Waste not, want not. And if by some miracle she could make the gathering elsewhere in town to provide her services, having that might prove extremely useful.

But to the present, she turned to the man who had brought the Cargast candidate, effected a terse curtsy, and thanked him genuinely. "Sir, please pardon my earlier impatience and curt speech. It is within my nature to become direct and taciturn when dealing with the Soulless." Mary effected a smile. It was neutral but warm, one birthed of presentable behavior if not quite finishing school etiquette. She offered her hand to the man, the one that wasn't laden with a water pitcher. "I am Sister Mary Ignatia Hale, Dame of the Holy Order of St. Sylvester and resident Knight Venator here at St. Etheldreda's. It was a act of bravery, carrying that woman all the way here. Most men would have been too afraid to touch her. I am at your service, sir."

Mary refilled Elizaveta's mug. "Do you need anything more, Lady Romanova? A place to rest, perhaps?"

Looking over towards Gerard, Elizaveta nodded in response to his thanks. She did not feel it was needed, it was part of what she was here for. To help. Seeing Mary come back with the water she took the ceramic mug in both her hands, holding it steady as it was filled for her. Once it was she tipped it back and drank her fill of the refreshing liquid. Letting it be refilled and finishing the second one off post haste. Once she had both of them down she looked to her guard who gently placed her back on the ground, her feeling much more steady than they had earlier. She still felt weak and would for sometime but that water had done what she had expected.

"Thank you," she was finally able to to Mary as she returned the glass and took a soothing breath. "As much as I would enjoy partaking in a bit of rest there is not time. I am expected this evening at Almack's. I hope to speak vith several of the council there and in light of certain events I feel there is no time to delay. If you have nothing else to do this evening Sister Mary, vould you mind accompanying me?" she asked in a gentle voice.

The Bishop looked over towards Gerard before looking back to Elizaveta, wanting his earlier question answered. "That vas vhat my people call an Ostanavlivat'sya. Vhat your lands may call a Reaper? It severes the disease from the spirit to cleanse it and send it to its rightful resting place," she explained before stepping closer to Gerard, looking at him much the same way she had the boy from earlier that evening. A intense softness to her gaze as she reached out and cupped his cheek softly in the palm of her hand. It was odd, for someone so refined and in a sense regal her fingers were as calloused as Gerards were, she had obviously known hard labor in her life.

After a time of silence she finally spoke. "Hiding will only bring you pain, tell her before it's too late," she said before releasing her hold over him. Turning she looked back over to Mary as if nothing had happened. "Vill you do the honoring of being part of my entourage this evening?"

---

---

Millicent had a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that tonight was going to be one of the worst in her life. Seeing her mother and sisters head into Almack's with Lord Rutherford. She was about to take off after them to make sure her sisters were kept at more than an arm's length from the man when someone she didn't think she knew came up to her and started speaking. The veiled woman seemed concerned and the voice was vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it, her mind was going a thousand miles per hour.

Turning to the woman she tried to compose herself. "I thank you for your concern but I shall prevail, you needn't bother with me... Um, forgive me but do I know you?" she asked but before she could get an answer her dearest of friends came over and Millicents attention was diverted.

"I couldn't agree more Virginia and I believe I have ascertained the very one which would bring a smile to my face should he perish," Millicent stated coldly, still trembling from her earlier encounter with the man who left the taste of bile in the her mouth. Even speaking of him caused it to bubble in the back of her throat, causing her to place her hand upon her chest and turn away.

Her dark eyes lifted and widened slightly with surprise to see Fryor had come into her presence. He looked angered and she wasn't sure if it was because he had spotted her mother walking into Almack's or something else. If it was because of her mother she could not blame him, the woman acted horrifically each time she was around him. Yet his expression softened when he glanced in her direction and it put her at little ease. Perhaps he did not blame her for her mothers actions even though she felt solely responsible for them at this point.

"Sir Kildragon, you honor us with your presence," she said softly, her voice still a bit shaky but she was for lack of a better term, holding it together as best she could. She wished to say more but she felt a gaze burning through her which caused her to turn. Lord Rutherford was standing back in the door way glaring at her, or was he looking past her? She couldn't quite be sure but it made her feel as if all the happiness she had ever felt was drained from her. Standing next to him on his arm was one of her sisters and his words rang through her memory. She couldn't have this. Not them...

"Forgive my impertinence but I must bid you all farewell for now, I pray we can speak again this evening," she said as she excused herself. Mumbling under her breath as she left, "God I hope my dance card fills up quickly..." She was never one who enjoyed these events but the last thing she wanted to do was have Lord Rutherford's arms around her that night on the dance floor.

Reaching the steps she curtsied shallowly before she was manhandled into Almack's by the loathsome man. She let it go and slipped her arm through his, letting him escort her into the building. At least it left her sister in tow and safely out of the mans grasp. Glancing over her shoulder she looked back to the three she had been speaking with, her eyes lingering on Fryor for a moment before disappearing inside. Taking a deep breath she stepped into the dance hall and glanced around, she would have much rather been on Fryors arm that evening but s if a man of his honor would lower himself to escort her anywhere. Feeling the grip tightening she gave into the notion that all she could hope for at this point was that her being on Lord Rutherfords arm would keep her mother from lasing out at her.

---

---

“It's not a bother to provide aid in case it's needed.” Mosi replied to Millicent with a smile. She liked her headstrong will and desire to manage things her way.” Yes, we've...” She was then interrupted when Virginia showed up and talked up Millicent. It was fine actually. Jeanette was glad her friend had arrived, now the only person missing to make her night better was Fyror and sure enough she quickly noticed him nearby moments later.

“Ahh, but it is quite possible those events will start soon enough indeed.” Mosi stated to her friend without removing her veil for now, mostly because she forgot about it. She did notice Virginia's seemingly desire for the carnage and deaths to start sooner than later. It was a side of the other woman that Mosi couldn't exactly understand completely, but it was fine. To each his own, after all. If her friend liked the macabre it was all fine.

The following events Mosi didn't like one bit as she followed Millie's glance to see Rutherford with one of Millicent's sisters. She was obviously unhappy and appeared slightly unnerved by that, judging by the following brief and forced excuse that she had to get going. Seems like the bastard and probably her mother were pressuring her or something. She wouldn't put it past him, the rumors on the streets, the talks of the common people...

“One of these days I really plan to turn that man into an eunuch... That should cut his ego and arrogance down to the ground...” She stated as Millicent was going away. Mosi was going to have to find a way to get him to do a passable cause so she can... retaliate him into submission. She'd love to see him bleed.

“Anyways... that annoyance bug of a man aside, it's great to see you again Fyror.” Jeanette suddenly said, turning towards him, before slightly pulling the veil up for a moment.” Was hoping you'd arrive sooner than later. I don't exactly feel comfortably wearing this... and having you here to chat and keep company with makes this quite manageable and downright pleasant.” Mosi explained with a smile before removing her hands from the veil and it fell once more.

“Also I need to warn you two, there were damaged wards when I arrived here. I repaired and reactivated everything, but there's the distinct possibility that something's already in, so be careful.” She said to Virginia and Fyror, before throwing a glance down at her dress again.” Do you two thing this... looks well? Because I swear, I feel strange...”

---

---

---

---

It took her perhaps a second to recognize the veiled woman as her dear friend. They had trained together in the colonies, and although they did not see each other in London as often as Virginia would care for, her voice was a familiar one to her. The black gown suited dear Mosi, of course, yet Virginia felt that it masked the woman's spirit. It erased her personality, likely a ploy of a family member in order to have Mosi be wed. Perhaps that was a singular advantage of having one's parents missing--they could not be dressed as to seem more appealing, though Virginia doubted her parents ever would attempt to mask her identity for the sake of courtship.

"I must say, I am surprised to hear those words leave your lips, dear Millicent," Virginia remarked. "Yet there are ways to dispose of people, and if this gentleman's death is so required, please do not hesitate to call upon me. We Crypts walk in darkness and it should pose no great difficulty." Her words were not entirely false, so to speak. They had been granted their earldom for services rendered to Henry the Eighth--services that it should not take too much imagination to determine. And although the Soulless had caused the macabre aura of the family to soften, with the Soulless' presence dwindling, it was likely that they would once again be labeled grotesque. But for a Crypt, that was nothing more than a mere compliment.

She watched as her dear friend withdrew, entering the establishment with some lord or the other. Virginia could not help but surmise that the man had set his sights on Millicent's sisters, and that if dear Millicent wanted any man dead, it would be that man in particular. Perhaps there could be some method of aiding her dear friend, yet it would not stop the next loathsome creature from setting his gaze upon the Wyndham sisters.

"Castration is such an interesting form of punishment, and one that I feel could be quite apt," Virginia agreed, smiling slightly as Mosi removed her veil. Yet the news of the damaged wards only brought trouble to Virginia's mind. The Soulless likely had already crossed the threshold, due to the vision she had had earlier during her walk. The event was doomed to ruin and despair--beyond the normal misery of social occasions, of course.

"Then I do believe, dear Mosi and Sir Kildragon, that the Soulless walk among us," Virginia mused. "And while you look divine, dear Mosi, I prefer you to look at ease with yourself." She paused for a moment, before making her way inside of Almack's. If the Soulless were indeed present, she would have two threats to protect her dearest friend from--the gentlemen and the undead creatures.

---

---

---

---

Fyror found that he was once more met with kind words from Ms. Millicent Wyndham, quite the contrast from her ill-mannered mother. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she spoke with sincerity, or if she was simply using flattering words to ease the bruise dealt by Mrs. Wyndham. The answer mattered not at the moment as he was more concerned about the shake in her voice and the man who had put it there. He gave her a slight respectful bow in greeting, and his brows furrowed when he took in the emotion written in her expression. He felt a strong urge to comfort her and make things right. It was in his nature to be protective and to care for others, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He followed Millicent’s gaze when she unexpectedly turned away. What he saw, or better yet whom he saw, greatly displeased him. The man that Ms. Wyndham had been speaking to, the man who had caused her distress, was glaring in their direction as he stood in the doorway to Almack’s. If Fyror was not mistaken, one of the other Wyndham sisters was at the man’s side. Fyror’s expression hardened in response. He made to step in front of Millicent, so as to be the first to engage the man; however, to his dismay, she quickly excused herself and went back to the man! He started to reach out to grab her and pull her back towards him, but he stopped himself, letting his arm fall back to his side. He realized it wouldn’t help matters if he manhandled her.

He barely caught what Millicent said under her breath, and it indicated that she did not want to go back to this man. So why was she going back to him? What threat had he made? He watched her every step as he dully heard the women in black and Virginia speaking behind him. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides as he contemplated what to do. His jaw clenched angrily as the man grabbed her roughly and then escorted her inside once she had relented. When she looked back over at those she had left and her eyes lingered on him, it was about his undoing. He stood there transfixed until she disappeared from his sight.

“Who is that man?” he asked sharply as he spun back around to face Virginia and the woman in black. It took him a moment to realize that the woman in black was Jeanette and a moment longer to realize she was wearing a dress rather than men’s clothes. Seeing her again, safe and sound, was a cooling balm to his anger. A small strained smile appeared on his face, and he was at a loss for words at the moment.

A sense of dread began to creep back when Jeanette told him and Virginia about the damaged wards. Yet he was thrown off when she so quickly changed the subject. Of all the topics she could choose to speak about next, she chose to ask whether or not she looked good in the dress she was wearing. Without thinking he gave her a onceover. A slight flush came to his cheeks when he realized what he had just done. He cleared his throat, poorly playing it off, before speaking. “I think you look beautiful, though—” he started, before pausing to lift the veil away from her face, “I think it is better if one can see your face.” He gave her small almost shy smile.

He glanced over at Virginia when she spoke and then watched as she made her way into Almack’s proper. He then turned to face Jeanette once more. “Shall we, Ms. Crane?” he stated as he offered his arm to her in order to escort her inside.

The sister turned to Gerard who not long ago aired a rather upfront demeanor, with politeness and a warm smile she introduced herself as Sister Mary Hale. He finds it surprising for someone who looks so young, to bear such prestigious titles then again he learned long ago that appearances can only say so little of the real person.

He extended his arm to return her greeting, and feeling like it's proper to introduce himself as well. " My name is Gerard Connolly" he spoke, trying his best to present himself in an equally well mannered way, "Personal coach of the Wyndham Estate. And, ah, the resident gardener as well." . He remained with an earnest demeanor, then Gerard let a meekly smile curve his lips at the Sister Mary's regard "My thanks. I only did what I thought was right. I do admit that reaching here was no walk in the park." he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, honored by the sister's sincerity towards him.

His attention turned to the other woman as she described the strange light earlier, as she talked the irishman was wholly transfixed to her, very much like how an innocuous young lad marvels something utterly wonderful. By the way she spoke, the way she looked and carried herself, she reminded him like in the stories he would read with Millie, of queens and goddesses from far away kingdoms.

His cheeks grew warm at the woman's touch, unexpected them to be rough, yet they were reminiscently gentle, like how his own mother would. Gerard was not sure what the woman's words meant, his pale blue eyes scanned her with a look of slight bewilderment. What did she truly mean by it? His heart skipped at the words that slowly, if not vaguely came to him. "But how would she-" He paused for a moment before shaking his thoughts back at the present matter. Gerard turned to the bishop with his earlier request, "Where would you want it discussed, sir?".

---

---

---

---

It was quite a show. The kind of ability that Mary wouldn't mind learning for herself, if it were allowed by the Vatican and her Order. Very impressive. Judging by the look on Gerard's face, he agreed with Mary's assessment. The Sister's repertoire versus the non-corporeal left something to be desired; even when working under more senior Venatores est Inanimati, they tended to avoid or outsource Cargast. Then again, the Order of St. Sylvester didn't have a lot of people like Mary. And she did have a desire to increase her usefulness to the cause. Perhaps the Bishop knew of the Church's stance on the matter, he was once a Venator himself and was presently her liaison to Rome. That was a question for tomorrow.

Elizaveta's request for Mary to join her entourage to Almack's brought a broad smile to her face. She slipped her hand into her sporran bag and withdrew an envelope, within which was a formal invitation. "This is an amusing turn of events, Lady Romanova. I have business at Almack's at the request of the proprietors. I would already be there if circumstances had not kept me within the walls of Ely. They were quite last minute; I have my horse and provisions fully ready to depart at a moment's notice." She looked to Bishop Mansfield expectantly. Though not one of the cloistered Sisters here at St. Etheldreda's, she was still bound by her Oath of Obedience. In this place, that meant the Bishop's order to stay within the grounds carried until he said otherwise, or directed by a higher authority.

"I was unaware that you had business there as well, my Lady. I had planned to request your company, if you felt up to it this evening. Of course, I should require the Bishop's permission before I commit myself to any action tonight."