[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]

	There are times in every man's life when they must look upon the world around them and fight the urge to slam their head into the the nearest solid surface, repeatedly, and with wild abandon. Thusly was this day for Vladimir Alexandrov: the Great Bazhooli, head of the world-renowned Bazhooli Sem'ya. The most horrifying clanging sound erupted not too far behind him, prompting him to swiftly pivot, alarmingly searching for the source of the sudden, pseudo-rhythmic cacophany. 

	To his surprise, it was no deadly attack by heretofore unencountered Soulless, nor was it a peasant uprising, come to storm the Circus for its rampant employment of gypsy folk and various immoral activities. No, it was one of his own, doing something that widened Vlad's eyes like nothing had in a very long time, excepting possibly a highly disreputable Fur Bearing Trout Taxidermy Show he caught in Odessa the last time he was in town. [color=firebrick]"Costantin..."[/color] he growled, his face twisted into an incredulous stare as he could not believe what he was seeing, and from a fellow bladesman. 

	The actions of his circus cousin, Constantin, took him into something akin to shock. He tried to speak more, to politely ask the man to regale him the story of his most recent decision, but found he could not make the words come out of his throat. When Vladimir was finally able to say something, it was a scream. [color=firebrick]"Constantin! Что, черт возьми?"[/color] He was truly aghast. Hands found hair, tugging harshly in angered disbelief. He took a knee, mouth agape, staring at Constantin happily banging the flat side of his sword onto a metal cookpot. [color=firebrick]"Vhy for you vould ruin good blade like..."[/color] No, his brain simply would not accept what it was seeing. 

	Vladimir leapt to his feet, jogging the few feet back into the Tent City from the point where he started trying to locate tiger pawprints. [color=firebrick]"Killing me, Constantin! Killing! Ripping warm, still-beating heart from ribs, and stomping on vith thick, muddy boots! Kind vith pointy toes! And ice spikes! I am for [i]the dead[/i] now, Constantin. DEAD."[/color] Admittedly, the thought occurred to him that making noise probably wasn't the worst idea ever, and perhaps the lad's heart was in the right place. [color=firebrick]"Constantin, please. Alvays, everything vith [i]panache[/i]. Ve do not bang good steel on pots ve need later, unless is no other choice."[/color] He strode over to grab a perimeter torch, motioning for one of the nearby workers to replace it quickly. 

	[color=firebrick]"This is Circus! Ve are Performers! Gypsies! Entertainers! Musicians!"[/color] his voice took on a nigh-fevered pitch, the occasional member of the Sem'ya nodding in agreement with the words of their elder. Almost all of them had some form of musical talent or flare for dramatic oration, himself included. Vladimir's eyes darted back to Constantin, [color=firebrick]"Panache, boy. [i]Style[/i]. Ve must make it a thing little Veta vill [i]vant[/i] to come home to."[/color] 

	He twirled his newly acquired torch in the foggy air above his head, vying for the attention of everyone active in the Tent City. [color=firebrick]Everyvon, listen please! Veta is missing, and is not in camp!"[/color] he motioned with the torch to his left, [color=firebrick]"This half of you - get fire, get torch! Ve vill spread out, search Regent Park! Rest ov you..."[/color] he bared a mischievous grin despite the seriousness of the situation, [color=firebrick]"...[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUO0-YvZmVI][i]Korobeiniki[/i][/url]..."[/color] The English translation being [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bflfbR1i1Ds]The Peddler's Legacy[/url], a traditional song of their people going back generations, one that they all would know. He nodded vigorously and began to sing the first words, turning and striding purposefully back out of the Tent City. He motioned to Constantin, breaking his part of the vocalization for a moment, [color=firebrick]"Come, Little Brother. Let us go find our Grand Duchess."[/color]  

	Vladimir palmed a great, sharp knife and hoisted the torch about him, resuming his search. As for him, he chose his path in the most dramatic and adventurous direction possible, befitting his nature: Into the thickest depth of the fog. 




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[sub][color=c0c0c0]"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.."[/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]

	Mary tried to hide the startle from her face as the boy suddenly snapped from whatever trance he was in. Curiously, she wondered if whatever affected him also had something to do with her uncharacteristic reluctance to greet the day any earlier than Decima, ante merīdiem. In any case, the startle was a minor one, marked by only a touch of eye blinking; likely brought about by raw nerves from the previous night (not to mention the peculiar happenings of the morning so far). 

	As the boy fell to his knees, so to did the young Apostolic. Her hands rushed out to steady him, hopefully to prevent a complete drop to the still dewy ground below. It likely would not have caused him any shock. She did not want to frighten the boy any more than he might already have been; this must have been a jangling experience, suddenly coming to consciousness in a place away from where it was lost in the first place, surrounded by strawberries and a militant Scottish nun, of sorts. Ok, maybe it wasn't [i]such[/i] a bad place to suddenly find one's self, but it was likely still a little disconcerting. [color=c0c0c0]"Steady. Steady now, child. I want you to look at me, right in the eyes. Now, do you remember your name? Come on, tell me your name and stand up for me, and we'll go get some breakfast and a nice tea for you, alright?"[/color] Perhaps they could talk in greater detail over eggs, fruit, and scones. 

	He had not quite answered when one of the resident Cloistered approached, informing her that she had messages waiting. [color=c0c0c0]"Do not worry yourself, Sister. There is an ill air this morning; I fear it has muddled us all."[/color] She suddenly remembered her own messages that she had sent last night, to the Papal Court and her Grand Cross. [color=c0c0c0]"Who holds the messages now, Sister?"[/color] She did desperately wish to get word back from them, but as far as she was aware, the well being of the child in front of her was more immediate. News and briefing could wait another minute. Mary needed to see if the boy was upright and cognizant. Then she could collect her messages and treat the boy to a late breakfast after.