[hr][hr][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/6db984d3-4c29-457c-84f7-fd720c6f3470.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2014-11/16/18/enhanced/webdr02/grid-cell-1156-1416180408-2.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] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park) [/center][hr][hr]

	[color=firebrick]"GAAAAAH!"[/color] 

	The bellow could be heard across the here and yon of the Tent City, a wordless exclamation shouted in pronounced Russian accent. It was the noise birthed of a violent and unexpected waking, this from the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya as he exploded from his gentle slumber with the force of a barely restrained gale. Bedclothes flew into the air, propelled away from a central point by a force greater than mere telekinesis. Nay, twas concentrated, refined [i]awesomeness[/i] that collapsed upon itself and was sent exploding back into creation like the birth of a new star. 

	The tangle of muscled, contoured limbs extended, slinging the Noble Artist of Hurled Impalement out of his fine bed and into the waking world. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but something was horribly wrong upon this day. The nature of his dreams were fading in detail, replaced with a very real and waking concern. He barely remembered the sound of a child screaming, but it was present in his thoughts - not quite pushed out by the audible goings on of the Circus, just coming to life. 

	The Great Bazhooli felt that something was intrinsically darker on this morning. Couldn't quite out a finger on it, but it seemed dire, if his dreams were any indication something was [i]off[/i]. Coming from a people that were trained to receive and interpret visions, possessing histories of omen reading and various voyances of differing executions, he did not take this lightly. Heart still pounding from his unconscious visions, he grabbed his very tall hat and a selection of knives, then threw open the flaps of his tent to bound out into the day. 

	There was fog here, thick and white like atomized ivory, putting a slightly more ominous note to the London morning. He could make out the silhouette of Sister Sophia as she darted to and fro, apparently visiting as many tents as she could, frantically searching for something or someone. His nerves were already tuned to a fight (or a flight, whatever the day called for) as he set his hat upon his head and stepped out into the translucent morning air. A step or two brought him onto the grass of Regent Park, he noticed underneath his bare feet, where could better hear the words of Sophia. Slowly at first, the concept implied by the Sister's words of "Elizaveta" and "Missing" gelled, and his own piece of frantic took hold of him. 

	Vladimir could barely see Constantin approaching his tent, but when he could make out the young Firewalker's features, he shouted to him, loudly enough for [i]everyone[/i] in the vicinity to hear, [color=firebrick]"Constantin! Veta missing! Get everyone - look, look!"[/color] He broadened his address to include everyone within earshot, [color=firebrick]"Everybody, off of asses, now!"[/color] Noting a distinct lack dress of his part, Vladimir paused only enough to throw on pants, boots, and one of his red vests before sprinting back outside. Figuring that the tents were probably a bit of a long shot, he instead opted to look for Myshka - barring his lack of presence inside of the camp, he worked with the intent of searching along the exterior of the campground, hoping to pick up a trail utilizing his more mundane skills as a hunter. Every so often, he paused to call Veta's name in his search.  

	 

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[sub][color=c0c0c0]"Now the earth was corrupt in the sight of God, and the earth was filled with violence."[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] St. Etheldreda's [/center][hr][hider=St. Etheldreda's Church/Ely House][center][img]http://cdn.ltstatic.com/2009/March/NL277860_942long.jpg[/img][/center][/hider][hr][hr]

	Per usual, Mary awoke early in the day. It was not quite as early as she would have liked, but to her credit it was a very eventful evening. Lucky for her, the earliest confirmed demand on her time was a lunch with Elizaveta at the Circus, not that she really knew what that would entail given the circumstances. If a Grand Duchess invites you for a light meal, however, you go to it. Plus, she was becoming a good friend, even if she had only known her for a day. There was a certain feeling of kinship there, despite Mary's own vastly lower status in comparison to her. 

	Oddly, even having risen early, Mary felt compelled to take her morning exercise in her rooms. She couldn't quite explain why; it just felt that leaving her quarters was the absolute wrong thing to do just then. She had no direct duties to the Church, persay, so she would not be missed, so she spent an extra amount of time pushing herself physically, then freshening up afterwards with a basin of cool water. Then the clocks rang ten, and oddly, the compulsion to stay in her room was replaced with her usual desire to hit her day with vigor and industry. Dressed, armed, and ever prepared, Mary began her day. 

	Foremost on her mind was getting back in touch with Bishop Mansfield. She had sent very important messages out the previous evening, and should have gotten a response, considering the important nature of her communication. However, she had a child to check on first. Moving opposite the direction necessary to reach the Bishop, Mary strode quickly to the area of the Infirmary. Along the way, she chanced a look outside of an interior window, to see an odd sight: Her charge, the little boy - standing in the gardens, unmoving and unspeaking, looking blankly ahead. She changed direction immediately. 

	Two minutes, less maybe, had Mary in the gardens with the child. She approached carefully, keeping her eyes on the boy, intent on figuring out what was wrong. [color=c0c0c0]"Child? Child, you are a guest of St. Etheldreda's Church. You were brought here following a Ryne attack; you are out of danger from the Ryne, I assure you. This is a safe place."[/color] She eyed the boy with caution. [color=c0c0c0]"My name is Mary. What is you name, child?"[/color]