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[img]https://s30.postimg.org/8uoso7135/virginia.gif[/img][hr][color=9999ff]Location:[/color] Almack's[/center][hr][hr]	Bazhooli was perhaps as agile as he was charming, from what Virginia could perceive. The interested raise of his eyebrow, the low bow, the delicate kiss on the back of her hand, and the verbose declaration of her unique beauty all caught Virginia's attention. In many ways, Vladimir reminded her of a Crypt man--enchanting and skilled with knives. Taking his card, Virginia smiled kindly at him, her eyes scanning it before she placed it carefully inside of her reticule, in order to not lose it. Vladimir certainly was more welcome company than any member of the Ton that she had met that evening. 

	[color=9999ff]"You are far too kind, Great Bazhooli,"[/color] Virginia replied. No man outside of her own family had ever given her quite so grand a compliment. Most of the Ton, when it came to commenting on her appearance, either prescribed a month in France near the water or informed a member of the clergy that they were certain she was a ryne. Even Vladimir's warm and mischievous grin kept a slight smile on Virginia's face, distracting her from her grief over dear Mosi. 

	Of course, it was not that Virginia fancied him--she more so found him decidedly pleasant and agreeable, an individual whose company was not irksome. She had sworn off suitors until her parents returned from their voyage at sea, though for her to be candid, she had no intention of ever entering courtship with any person. None of the men in London interested her and she was quite certain that no woman would risk social exile for her. She was in the closet, so to speak, for a quite good reason. 

	Virginia was almost disappointed to hear that there were no more soulless in Almack's that evening. Destroying more of those who had brought such great peril to dear Mosi would have been a welcome activity, yet she also supposed it was for the best. She had more friends to protect than just the one she had failed, after all. She listened as the Grand Duchess spoke to the Great Bazhooli in another tongue, appearing to try to ease the anger from the knife wielding man. But of course, she too felt someone's eyes boring into her back. 

	Turning around, Virginia stared back at the culprit, the man whose fingers seemed to be eager to draw a blade. She recalled the way he had snorted contemptuously at the Grand Duchess and could not help but find the man irritating, to say the very least. Who was he to act as if he knew better than the creature's owner? His harsh stare and narrowed eyes hardly helped his case. 

	She could not help but feel that this man was one of the reasons she never wished to entertain suitors. Turning around and fully intent on ignoring the man, she let out a slight sigh as she knew that it would be time to tend to Mosi shortly. But with the Grand Duchess announcing Mary as the interim Arch Graveolase, she smiled sadly, happy for her friend to have achieved such a position. 

	[color=9999ff]"I should perhaps go and fetch dear Mosi's corpse,"[/color] Virginia said quietly. If there were no more threats to be found in Almack's, the least she could do for her fallen friend would be to ensure the safety of her mortal shell. 
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[img]https://s12.postimg.org/v4ysdqh4d/Regency_Chloe_13.gif[/img][hr][color=ff6600]Location:[/color] Teriny Inn[/center][hr][hr]	Maeve had already disrobed and settled into the tub, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the peaceful environment of the room. Little petals floated across the edge of the water, tickling her nose as the Irish woman attempted to stay absolutely still. At home, it was incredibly rare for her to get moments of peace like these. The gang always needed something and her daughter always needed something. Why, even the drunks at the bar were always demanding something. It sometimes surprised her that she didn't have a perpetual headache. 

	Of course, the illusion was shattered once more by both a sneeze on Maeve's part and another thud from downstairs. She chuckled a bit, imagining the parson flailing about the office and continually falling, always missing the bed he was attempting to climb ever so gracefully into. She couldn't help but snort as she imagined him as an elderly man, attempting to use a cane to aid with his walk. To be quite frank, she thought giving the parson a cane now, in his young age, would be an excellent move. 

	[color=ff6600]"Oh, fuddle,"[/color] Maeve whispered to herself with a giggle, attempting to lace on a Scottish accent. It was such a ridiculous phrase and she found that it suited the parson quite well. Her mind was replaying some of his more ingenious trips and falls for a good ten minutes, and she had to wipe away a tear from her eye. It was too funny a subject to think on.