[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=a187be]Elizaveta Romanova[/color][/i][/b][/h1][/center][center][h1] & [/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/b4c8d8bb-ce6c-4f28-ae48-5db57c8bd072.png[/img][/center][hr][center][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Almack's [/center][hr][hr]

	An unnatural scream blasted across the Assembly Rooms, signaling the sudden explosion of malevolent activity. This seemed too much like the stories of [i]bean sīdhe[/i] from Mary's upbringing, "banshee" by more Anglican pronunciation. When she witnessed the numbers of Soulless emerging onto the upper balcony, one detail from the Banshee myth seemed particularly accurate: Hearing its wail meant that someone was destined to die that night. From the looks of things, some several. [color=c0c0c0]"Angels and ministers of Grace, defend us."[/color] 

	[color=a187be]"The Lord need not protect us my friend, he has given us all ve need to protect ourselves,"[/color] Elizaveta commented as her wrist turned, spinning the blade in her grasp as her eyes darted across the room. Mary tightened her grip on her halberd, watching the light reflect from its spearpoint and crescent blade. [color=c0c0c0]"Indeed He has."[/color] 

	Their position was far less than ideal. Mary and any others nearby were caught out in the open, in a crowd full of people that were likely to start shoving and panicking. The Soulless had the high ground, and without any barrier but open air between them, the people below were sitting ducks. Mary needed to find someplace defensible to fortify or a means of safe egress, but that wasn't happening right at that moment. Besides, she wasn't very keen on being [i]herded[/i] with the rest of the British aristocracy. Luckily, Mary was not defenseless. She drew upon her Audist training, adopting a ready stance with her Swiss halberd set before her. Her chain rosary swung from her left wrist, halfway up the reinforced hardwood of her polearm. Fierce eyes gleamed from underneath a tussle of fiery red hair as she set her back to the Grand Duchess Romanova, holding a defensive posture. [color=c0c0c0]"This is dying ground, Your Grace!"[/color] she called behind her. [color=c0c0c0]"We cannot stay here!"[/color] But neither could they leave, until the moment was right. 

	[color=a187be]"Dat it is my friend,"[/color] the grand duchess commented calmly as things took a turn for the worse. Not far from them Virginia tried to calm the crowd and for a split second it seemed like some were listening. That was until ton turned against ton. A man being run through from back to front with another's blade and nearly cutting into the Lady Crypt. Yet God seemed to be smiling on her as the sharpened steel did not meet with pale flesh. A blood bath ensued but in the midst of the fray the red seas of blood parted. Virginia and Mosi making a break for it. 

	[color=a187be]"This vay, make haste before our vindov closes,"[/color] Elizaveta said to her new friend as she gathered the folds of her gown in her free hand. Moving quickly and praying they path remained clear towards the Musicians Galley just a few moments longer. Mary took off after Elizaveta at dead run, taking wide steps at first to catch up to the withdrawing Royal. She then slipped in front of Elizaveta, turning her halberd to bear in front of her with the same determined discipline as her teachers, the Audist masters of the Pontifical Swiss Guard. Elizaveta was the more important person of the two of them, and in Mary's heart she was a Knight, even if this city refused to recognize it. She would make sure that Veta reached her destination. It was her duty. 

	Mary continued onward, rotating her weapon into a reversed grip and letting the steel endcap of her polearm lead the way, threading through the human flotsam and jetsam, keeping the path open for her new friend. Once they reached their destination, the aperture leading to the Musicians Gallery, Mary stepped to one side to allow Elizaveta unblocked entrance to the area, away from the stampede of coattailed jackets and fashionable dresses. She entered the room alongside the Grand Duchess to witness yet another Rube Goldberg of tragic events. 

	Elizaveta kept her eyes forward as they sped through the now murderous crowd, only finally stopping in her tracks as Mary stepped aside for her. The sight of the flautist being impaled on the music stand caused the slightest of grimaces to come to her features. The place was turning itself inside out and upside down. People panicking never turned out well, the addition of the Soulless were not helping. Yet the Soulless had not managed to make it to the main floor as of yet. Still either on different floors or outside. Yet it was only a matter of time. People tripping over each other made for a crowded door that it seemed Mosi and Virginia had only just managed to get through. Turning her head she spotted the other door and made a break for it. 

	[color=a187be]"Path of least resistance,"[/color] she said as she moved passed Mary and through the Musician's Galley. The route was difficult, having to side step over even step over people. Her gown getting caught up for a moment under someone's foot but Elizaveta was not halting her progress and kept moving. The sound of the seam ripping couldn't be heard but it wasn't enough damage to cause a fuss over nor enough to be noticed by the naked eye. Stepping into the hallway Elizaveta looked around. The corridor was not full yet, people running towards the front door trying to get out. Others coming into the corridor from across the way. 

	Veta's path of least resistance held some concern for Mary. She had given earlier consideration to the possibility of being herded along with the rest of the crowd at Almack's into a situation far worse than the one they were in at the moment. This felt more like a trap than an assault. 

	Her quarter second of thought was intruded upon by one of the less ethical gentry, a rabidly excited man in white-on-white with a tailed, black coat. Apparently, he believed that he could make more sporting work with Mary's halberd than herself. Fear does strange things to people. This one's fear had him attempting to mug a lady of the Church. He planted his hands upon the haft of the blessed weapon, fueled by adrenaline if not common sense, in an attempt to wrest it from her hands. Mary tried to jerk it from his grasp, but the gentleman's fervor to obtain the tool of battle was such that a simple pull would not suffice. Instead, Mary had to resort to her training. 

	Initiating a counterclockwise rotation of the halberd, Mary waited the heartbeat of time necessary for the man to instinctively try to move it the opposite direction. She immediately reversed her spin, using the poor bastard's force against him. It gave her purchase enough to plant a heel solidly on the floor behind his leg, and leverage him backwards. The last thing he heard before flying into the throng of people massing behind them (excepting the impaled flautist, of course) was a dangerous feminine Scottish accent hissing the words of Exodus: [color=c0c0c0][i][b]"Thou Shalt Not Steal."[/b][/i][/color] The way now a little clearer for the struggle, the armed Apostolic dashed out into the corridor, rejoining Elizaveta.