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[sub][color=c0c0c0]Venator est Inanimati;
Soulless Hunter.[/color][/sub]
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[color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Trotting West on Holborn Hill Rd, between St. Etheldreda's and the West End
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	Mary accepted the notice and unfolded it, giving serious study to the document. Curious, one might say, that the benefactors of this gathering chose not to name themselves. Curious still was the fact that Almack's continually requested the aid of blessings and security assistance from a representative of the Catholic Church, when they had a few of their own Anglican clergy trained in Rome to do the very things she was capable of accomplishing. Well, maybe not [i]everything[/i]. Among the few people willing to admit that, despite being a papist and a woman (coin toss as to which was the greater crime), Sister Hale was a vigilant guardian and talented Venator.  

	She sighed. Certainly, Mary would attend. Part of her vows to her Order forbade her from turning down such a request without cause, unless she could secure suitable replacement. She personally knew no one else in London with her skill set, and she could not rely on the massive network that was the Church to assign someone else to the social gathering at Almack's, certainly not with it occurring that evening. One of many downsides to operating out of England. 

	But "blessing the grounds"? If they wanted, she would sprinkle holy water and speak the appropriate supplications to God, but it would be mostly for show. Technically, she could [i]consecrate[/i] the grounds, but that was a thing reserved for lands and structures dedicated to God and the Church. Almack's Assembly Rooms of Westminster, London hardly qualified. Now, acting as additional security? Certainly. It was part and parcel of her duties. Sometimes, her mere presence was enough. Other times, the rigorous years training with the elite Papal Bodyguard was required. Either way, love her or fear her, respect her for her history or downplay her because of her gender, Sister Mary Hale had the gift of Tanter, an extension of her senses that allowed her to detect the presence of Soulless, who like to strike from the dark and oftentimes masqueraded as the living. 

	Mary slipped the notice into her sporran bag and nudged her dappled, grey horse into a trot. It was the better half of a hour before she would make it to the West End market, owing to the presence of various Londoners out and about that day. With clear streets, the dutiful Sister could likely have made it in ten or less without pushing the endurance of her animal. But morning foot traffic would make that perilous to attempt, for the sake of others. She did wish to make good time, though. To the market and back with enough time to prepare for afternoon Tea and the coming event that evening was assured, barring any unfortunate circumstance. But it was still prudent not to dally. 

	Taking a big bite of her apple, Mary made her way down the thoroughfare. She nodded at the occasional familiar passerby, even smiled a little as the fancy to do so took her. She wondered to herself if she would see the Crypt girl at this function. It seemed the kind of thing she to which she might receive invitation, but Mary was unsure if this was the sort of gathering such a lady would wish to attend in the first place. The crunchy sweetness of her apple was quite satisfying. She chewed thoughtfully as she vigilantly rode down the street, resting the endcap of her polearm in her stirrup fitting and the haft against her shoulder. Yes, there was little mistaking who she was in this neighborhood.