[hr][hr][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/b4c8d8bb-ce6c-4f28-ae48-5db57c8bd072.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/4b/8b/f9/4b8bf9bf56e16949792ee05fe7b3e8c5.jpg[/img]
[sub][color=c0c0c0]"Go forward bravely. Fear nothing. Trust in God; all will be well." - Joan of Arc[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Almack's [/center][hr][hr]

	Elizaveta's polite refusal of Mary's flask of holy water was mildly surprising, but the reason as to why confirmed something to the young Apostolic that she had suspected for most of the evening so far: Veta was a fighter. Mary said nothing in response to this; she was already focusing her mind and emotion into "work mode", a state in which she maintained an inwardly disciplined demeanor and extremely serene outer face. She did respond to the Grand Duchess by graciously accepting back the flask with a shallow curtsy and calming smile. Slipping it into her cloak, Mary turned her attention to the front of Almack's Assembly Rooms, and those gathered ahead. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"As it pleases Your Grace."[/color] she said with a coy smile. Mary almost wished there was some manner of disturbance, just to see the extent of her new friend's abilities and fight alongside her. But these were desires of Pride. Putting innocents in danger purely for the sake of testing one's abilities and those of new companions was foolhardy and selfish. She tucked away such thoughts and mentally returned to the task at hand. When Elizaveta corrected the older man as to Mary's working title (and the portly fellow responded positively to her imperative thusly), Mary gave a quick curtsy, holding her halberd perfectly perpendicular to the ground all the while. It was [i]not[/i] Pride to accept the spoken title she had earned from the Church, nor the rank granted personally by the Grand Cross of her Knightly order, so long as she acted in a manner befitting her appointment. 

	 [color=c0c0c0]"An honor, Arch Graveolase Buckingham."[/color] she spoke in civil, dulcet tones. [color=c0c0c0]"Humbly, my Lord, the respectful address of this regal woman is Your Imperial Majesty, or Your Grace. It is her birthright as the daughter of the House of Romanova."[/color] She curtsied again, keeping her face neutral. [color=c0c0c0]"And you are quite correct, my Lord. There is much work to do."[/color] 

	As if to punctuate her words, a distressed looking Fyror exited the establishment. Elizaveta's keen gaze peered into the depths of the man's eyes, as Mary had witnessed earlier, and the noblewoman's single word appraisal of the situation filled Mary with a sense of curiosity, mixed with partial understanding. [color=c0c0c0]"This man is as we are, Your Grace?"[/color]