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[sub][color=c0c0c0]"Behold, I send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you."[/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]

	The boy seemed lucid. This was good. Lucid enough to remember his name and spontaneously express interest in something completely off topic. Mary looked at him with a searching gaze, trying to ponder out some detail about the child that would account for his behavior. Whatever compelled her (and others) to remain sequestered indoors for more than half of the morning, perhaps it affected him in some way, too, differently than it did everyone else. Like some pervasive force wanted to get little Adam out by himself, unprotected and with clouded mind. 

	He had mentioned Elizaveta, though not by name. A "pretty woman in a gown" that "looked like a princess" was an excellent physical descriptor for her, however. And as Mary thought of it, maybe his mention of Veta wasn't off topic, even if he wasn't aware of it consciously. The boy had been in some sort of trace. The last time she saw someone likewise entranced, it was in fact the Grand Duchess herself. As it turned out, she had an appointment with the Russian noblewman in just a couple of hours for the midday meal. She might have some insight into the boy that Mary did not. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"It's all right, Adam."[/color] said Mary, as sweetly as she could. Children were not her forte, though she was not completely without experience. She closed her hand over the boy's and looked into his eyes. [color=c0c0c0]"That was the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. She is not here right now. I am meeting her for lunch, Adam, and if you would like you may come with me. Are you hungry?"[/color] It was a polite question more than anything else, but if the boy was joining her at the Circus (a thing which Mary was intently curious about, high royalty traveling with performers), then a full breakfast was not in order. 

	First, she had to collect her messages. Mary looked to Sister Alma, smiling knowingly. [color=c0c0c0]"Of course, Sister. This day seems to be a trifle befuddling for everyone. Thank you very much for informing me; I shall go see Sister Mary Lazarus immediately."[/color] A thought occurred to Mary, [color=c0c0c0]"Sister? If you would, could you please see if we have anything suitable in unclaimed laundry or donations for our little Adam to wear? We are having an outing today."[/color] Hopefully not the same kind of outing that she had yesterday; either of them. The first one resulted in a mob forming at the marketplace, the second an evening of infamy at Almack's. Mary could only hope that the day would be less interesting. [color=c0c0c0]"Oh, and please let me know if I can pick anything up for you while we are out. Thank you, Sister Alma."[/color] If a touch forgetful, she was always kind. A little kindness in return never hurt anybody. 

	Sister Lazarus was St. Etheldreda's archivist, among other things. She could generally be located in Records, one of the rooms behind the Great Hall. It wasn't too far out of their way to the kitchens, and especially for a young boy, a little something to entreat one's appetite before luncheon would be beneficial. Mary stood and addressed her charge. [color=c0c0c0]"Come along, Adam. I'll take care of you."[/color] she said softly, holding out her hand. 

	The next couple of minutes found her at Records, speaking with Sister Mary Lazarus. [color=c0c0c0]"Good morning, Sister Lazarus. I spoke with Sister Alma. She informed me that you have messages for me."[/color] Mary kept her demeanor reserved despite her anxiousness to get word back from her Order and the Vatican. 








[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] (Outside of) Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park) [/center][hr][hr]

	The Great Bazhooli was not a huge fan of fog. As a general rule, fog made it more difficult for others to see him, a thing which he considered a great injustice to the public. After all, he was an internationally known performer, attached to the greatest forum of the performing arts to ever set up tents in Europe or the reach of the Russian Empire. No, he was not a fan of fog. 

	Now, what many did [i]not[/i] know about Vladimir, or the Bazhooli Sem'ya, for that matter, it was that they did more for their people than entertain. As the fog thickened around him, dampening his skin, hair and clothes, unnaturally cutting low the illumination of his torch, his performer's persona quickly fell away. When the torch became saturated enough to become a low, smouldering representation of its former blaze, Vladimir knelt to the ground and thrust it into the soft earth of Regent Park. It freed his hands to do what they did best; handle sharp things with proficiency. 

	There was a lot of moisture in the air. Vlad had heard of London's famous fog, had seen it several times, but this was ludicrous. It was also dangerous. The fog seemed to limit not only sight, but hearing, as if designed to isolate. And his little Veta was out there in it. The music from camp could not reach him at this point. he was out there alone, just him and this perversion of ordinary atmospheric condensation, the only reason he did not turn back now being that his concern for Elizaveta far outweighed his sense of personal safety. So long as he kept a straight path, he reasoned, he could find his way back out and risk another attempt along another angle immediately. 

	Vladimir filled his hands with sharpened, tooled metal and continued at a slower pace, a little lower to the ground, employing the much less flashy (and significantly less expected from him) skill of Stealth. If this fog had malevolent intent backing it or taking advantage of it he most assuredly did not want to present too obvious a target. And he had to find Veta. Senses tuned, he continued forward, a more cautious man.