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[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3068ada6-2525-4e47-b1a8-14d98dfb6177.jpg[/img][/center][hr][center][color=firebrick][b]Passive Skills:[/b][/color] [list][*] [u]Fal'shbort[/u] - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian! [*] [u]Tretiy Glaz[/u] - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.[/list][/center][hr][hr][center][color=firebrick][b]Location:[/b][/color] Almack's Assembly Rooms[/center][hr][hr]

	The Great Bazhooli looked upon the retreating form of his colleague, Constantin, as he moved with determined stride to ensure the safety of Elizaveta's carriage. The exchanged between those two led to no small frequency of amusing incidents. The Circus was like a big family, in some ways closer than one. Even with blood relations, cousins and siblings won't always get along; they didn't always have to. But when it came down to it, they looked after each other against any outside force that would seek to do them harm. The Russian Grand Circus greatly resembled that philosophy, the Sem'ya lived it as a Code. Still, he couldn't help but take some amusement with the whole affair. 

	Keeping a stern face the entire time it took Constantin to exit the building, Vladimir's impatient demeanor suddenly broke as the younger man exited the building. Lively mirth danced in his expressive eyes, and a smile cracked his features. The warmth of his expression seemed to transform his entire stance into something somewhat more jovial and informal. He shook his head, touching the fingers of one hand to his brow. [color=firebrick]"Ah, is good kid, da?"[/color] he mused aloud, shaking his head slightly. Sometimes he did feel like the father of a massive, intensely colorful family. In addition to his own, mostly all grown children. 

	All the same, his thoughts were to the safety of Elizaveta, and the heading off of any difficulties that may arise. This included attempting to prevent her from making a painful display of her Rusyn Trained Skills against those that likely just needed a little direction, plus the self control to refrain from precisely that, himself. Additionally, he was not overly a fan of the level of common speech directed at her. She was royalty of a tier above anything this British Empire could offer, excepting [i]maybe[/i] the King himself. Her appearance at this set of Assembly Rooms had the same level of social disproportion as an Earl of this nation openly frequenting a portside tavern. Perhaps he should expect the people milling about to assume she was merely one of them, but from a different nation. Or maybe they were not fully aware of what a Grand Duchess [i]was[/i]. Vladimir thought to cut off a potential problem, addressing Thalcona directly so that Elizaveta could continue her work in peace. 

	[color=firebrick]"You show big courage vhen you speak to Her Grace vith such familiarity, malyshka."[/color] He removed his leather banded top hat, holding it in front of some of his more obvious knives, and walked slowly between her and Elizaveta. Vladimir smiled warmly yet again, an expression of joy and openness that was excellently cultivated to win crowds and settle nerves. [color=firebrick]"Ne volnuysya, ah.. Don't worry. Is okay. I can maybe forgive. Mistakes are things ve all make, da? But if you must speak vith informal tone, you speak vith me. Am not as important as she; Grand Duchess requires time and quiet. Spiritual vork to do."[/color] 

	The Great Bazhooli took a step or two in Thalcona's direction, continuing with rising passion of speech. [color=firebrick]"Tell Vladimir, little darling, are you satisfied vith station in life? I know, men of country do not like vomen vith opinion or authority. I hear they do not give you same standing as brother here. Is for shame. You are striking lady, vith big, soulful eyes."[/color] He did seem to take interest in the younger woman's eyes, stepping forward another pace or two. [color=firebrick]"Can do vhat brother, fathers can do, da? Perhaps your courage, your beauty, you might become something more. Better than vhat vas thrown at you from birth."[/color] 

	His voice quieted to just above a whisper, most of the distance closed between them, but not as much as to seem overtly disrespectful. [color=firebrick]"In time, maybe can help vith this. But now, I vould take glimpse at vhat you could be, vhat you are."[/color] His face became a visage of smouldering, curious intensity. His own eyes sparkled, hazel green in the mixed light of the chamber as he gave a mischievous half-smile, [color=firebrick]"Vith permission, malyshka... I vould read vhat I can from your soft, chocolate eyes. Is called [b]Chteniye Dushi[/b], a gift others may learn for selves."[/color] He bowed his head slightly in deferred respect, maintaining eye contact the whole while. [color=firebrick]"May I?"[/color] 





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[sub][color=c0c0c0]"When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom."[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Almack's [/center][hr][hr][center][sub][color=ed1c24][i][b]Note:[/b] GM's roll on Mary's quickdraw marks it as successful, and occuring before any other declared action.[/i][/color][/sub][/center][hr]

	[color=c0c0c0]"No, Lady Crypt."[/color] began Mary, still addressing her friend with formality. It was a nuance of her work, she was acting in her role as Dame of St. Sylvester. Much as a military man when on duty or under orders must refer to people in a specific manner, so did the knightly Apostolic Sister. She would soften, she would comfort, but later. In the meantime, there was yet work to do. [color=c0c0c0]"You fulfilled your part of the promise. I will not let you do this by yourself unless you ordered me away."[/color] Mary's voice lost some of its formal edge, becoming quiet and kind. [color=c0c0c0]"You don't need to do this alone. I'm here for you."[/color] 

	If there was one thing they had, it was time. With the Soulless gone, it was all the time they needed, and more. It still bothered Mary, and would for some time - the incident felt planned, from the onset to the retreat. All of it bent for a single purpose, she believed, but she could not supply evidence to support this, save for the coincidence that everything began to quiet with the Arch Graveolase was murdered. Not his burdens had become hers. She did not want this, would never had wanted it. But after the display of the more disappointing part of human nature from the Ton, she thought perhaps it was better that she have it than some self-serving buffoon who would wield the power of the office for personal gain. So she might have to secure her position as best she could from those who would attempt to take it from her, at least until a worthy successor to the previous could be established. 

	Those thoughts were shaken away by the presence of a man from earlier, the same man who stood mute, staring daggers at Virginia without notable blink or pause. Mary had no clue as to why he would be here now, his actions seemed to be an attempt at intimidation or something predatory, following the two women into an otherwise quiet section of Almack's while they shared a moment of restrained emotion at the death of a fallen friend. It seemed wholly inappropriate, and what with the strange happenings of the evening, Dame Hale was not set to take any chances with this brooding newcomer. Soulless, murder, the darkness of humanity, blood, death, all with the promise of more to come, and this man decides to insinuate himself into a personal task after staring uncomfortably at Virginia for an extended period of time while others recover from the attack. No. Something was wrong here. 

	The sound of metal clearing leather, dull and muffled, sounded from Mary as she knelt next to Mosi's unmoving legs. In the same instant, the metallic click-click of a firearm hammer coming to a fully cocked position could be heard; both sounds heralded the sudden and unexpected presence of one mother of a personal sidearm in the hands of the Apostolic girl, aimed solidly at the strange man as he moved way too close for her liking and offered to "Get Her". A chain rosary hung from her wrist as she held the massive howdah pistol on the man, giving a surreal image as she rose to her feet. 

	Her slight Scottish accent was readily detectable as she spoke to the man. In stark contrast to the weapon, her voice and face were absolutely seraphic, talking to him in the same manner she would have a child that had wandered into her cathedral, lost and in need of assistance. Her eyes, though; crystal blue and cold, unwavering, intense. She was a Knight of the Catholic Church, presently in a war for the souls of mankind. Her voice spoke courtesy. Her eyes did not. [color=c0c0c0]"Oh, thank you sir, but no. I believe the two of us can handle this without further help. Perhaps someone in the ballroom or out on the grounds could benefit from your unintroduced and presumptuous presence? Mayhap one who has not been given the privilege of your unblinking notice for the past half hour and has no reason to surmise that you have ulterior motive?"[/color] 

	Mary stood to the side, bringing her other hand behind her as if adopting part of a fencer's stance. The rosary continued to swing back and forth, reflecting little pieces of irregular light as a dull, metal pendulum. [color=c0c0c0]"We are well here, sir. Please return the way you came. I have no desire for further violence this night."[/color]