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[sub][color=c0c0c0]"The tempest comes out from its chamber, the cold from the driving winds."[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)[/center][hr][hr]

	Give the kid a task, he takes it as a sacred mission. Mary had to admit that the child, Adam, took to his duties with extreme gusto. Perhaps even a little more than herself, when she was younger. People had accused her of being too rigid, too formal in her actions; even so much to say that "leisure" was a foreign concept to her. Well, maybe it was. With the threat of Soulless hanging above the collective heads of humanity like the sword Damocles and her people at the vanguard of this peril, there wasn't much motivation to learn more casual social niceties. Another time, another set of global circumstances, maybe. There was no time for it now, and further, she did not have inclination to encourage that in Adam. 

	There was a certain amount of satisfaction in the boy, though. Even though he was just playing at being a knight, he was doing so effectively in someone else's camp, and doing so to persons of importance within said camp. The kid was not easily shaken. This was a good thing. Of course, it probably helped that he was going about it in a manner that was disarmingly adorable. It brought a tiny smile to Mary's face. The smile faded back away when she realized that she gave a large, unbalancing weapon to a small child and told him to stand guard. She dearly hoped that no one would get hurt. 

	When Sister Sophia declared that it was safe for others to enter, Mary was not surprised to see Adam first. She waved him inside, silently bidding that he take his place next to her. As the others entered, she answered the question put before her. [color=c0c0c0]"I am not trained as a physician, Adam. But she is much drier now, thanks to your observations, and has a better chance at recovery. I am certain that these people will do everything in their power for their Grand Duchess."[/color] 

	Indeed they seemed to be doing exactly that, and with haste, if not precisely organization in the strictest sense of the word. Vladimir's own son had long vacated the tent after lighting the stove, for what ends she could not say, but that did not stop the older man himself from barging back in after Adam, clutching several earthenware bottles. The Russians obviously had a plan underway, and so Mary took a step away from the bed to provide them room to work. 


[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's Park)[/center][hr][hr]

	Several things seemed wrong with the day so far. Let us ignore the big, black, tentacled ice monster that tried to murder his little Veta, though that was admittedly the most important event thusfar. No, Vladimir was really more referring to the host of oddballs that somehow made it into his Circus, including those in residence within the canvas structures and wagons of the Tent City. Their Firewalker was one of them, without question. Vlad had come near to pulling out sections of his own hair earlier that day during his moment of desecrating a perfectly good sword. But he did seem so eager to help. It was somewhat redeeming. Then, there was a removed cousin who, for whatever reason, was carrying around a drinking vessel with some manner of reddish-pink, sweetened urine (though he was beginning to suspect it might have been another, more practically explained fluid - although the jury was still deliberating). And lastly, here coming up to Elizaveta's tent, was a small Cockney child butchering his own native language and waving about a weapon much, much taller than himself, with a fierceness that was equal parts maddening and endearing. Or would have been, if the tiny slayer were not between himself and someone he cared about deeply who was in dire need of medicinal attentions. 

	Luckily, the situation was righted almost as quickly as it began. Vladimir waved a cautionary finger at Adam as the scamp disappeared back into the tent. He might have taken a swipe at the back of his head, but his arms were quite full at the moment. The finger wag would have to suffice until he could get at Adam later, if he remembered. Then again, there was [color=firebrick]Пугающая католическая девушка[/color] to consider. Even if the kid didn't know how to use that weapon, he had an idea that [i]she[/i] would prove a sharper challenge. English women were not especially known for their combat prowess, though he had seen a couple that might answer that statement with a grin since he arrived in London. 

	But dipping back to Constantin, their resident firewalker and the only one to join him deep in the fog earlier; the man came bounding up to the tent carrying armloads of ...stuff... All kinds of stuff. Lots and lots and stuff. Vladimir's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, staring under quickly frizzing hair that was drying fast over the heat of his blood boiling, coursing just underneath his scalp and thudding dully in his temples. 

	[color=firebrick]"Боже мой!"[/color] he snapped, face tight and slightly contorted. [color=firebrick]"Constantin! Vhat hell, eh? You did get the..."[/color] No! This was not helping the situation. He shuffled the bottles to one arm as best he could given his predicament, and scrutinized the haul. From among all of the [i]stuff[/i] he had gathered, Vladimir extracted a single brass [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7e/2a/64/7e2a64b47053ba27519f6c348dc507cb--antique-brass--beds.jpg]bed warmer[/url], extended a tense but polite word of gratitude; [color=firebrick]Спасибо, Constantin."[/color] and disappeared into the tent. 

	Vladimir wasted no time in depositing his bottles upon the flat top of the tent stove, hoping it would not be too long before the water inside warmed to a degree sufficient to provide an hour or so of good, solid heat for his little Veta. But to expedite the process, he opened the top of the bed warmer, and with the small iron shovel hanging from the stove deposited a good scoopful of live gledes into the vessel. He gave them a good shake and using as much care as he could, slipped the warmer underneath the thick coverings of the Grand Duchess's bed. [color=firebrick]"It will have to do, until vater heats. Vater!"[/color] The mildly unhinged Russian darted back to the stove and unstoppered each of the bottles. To leave them otherwise would have been to invite haphazard projectiles inside of the tent, that while a [i]thoroughly[/i] amusing prank to pull in the winter months, would have been spectacularly bad that day. [color=firebrick]"Vhen steams little, cork tops. Wrap tight vith cloth and place into bed vith Veta and Kitty. Da? Two at time."[/color] 

	The word "da" seemed to signal that Vladimir was allowing himself to feel the cold to which he had been subjected. He looked unsteady on his feet now that the adrenaline was wearing down, and retreated from the bed, nearer to the stove. Not ordinarily a man to tire so easily, the past hour had been physically and emotionally draining. He could only imagine what Elizaveta must be going through, being in the clutches of that creature directly. Vlad could only hope that their efforts would save her life.