[hr][hr][center][h1][color=9e0b0f][b]Российский императорский цирк[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=9e0b0f][b](Russian Imperial Circus)[/b][/color][/center]
[center][h3][color=c0c0c0]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/color] & [color=firebrick]The Great Bazhooli[/color][/h3][/center]
[hr][hr]

	Adam's actions seemed remarkably strange. It was not a usual thing for a child - an otherwise uneducated and forsaken child from the lowest social strata who had only known the uncertainty of London's streets was acting in the manner of a person with knowledges beyond their experience. It was near mesmerizing to view the child climbing onto the bed with Elizaveta [i]and her tiger[/i], completely unafraid for his own safety. Mary had never seen someone pray in quite that manner before. Perhaps it was because he was very new to the concept, but for all she knew, Adam was receiving some manner of outside guidance. 

	That thought stopped the young Apostolic in her tracks. She had healed Adam after a Ryne had attacked him. Preventing Soulless infection was a tricky proposition at best; she was not always successful. It was why she insisted upon having her crucifix and one of her short swords, both consecrated items, when she attempted such a feat. Had the child come close enough to true death? Or did Adam's brush with divinity allow him to return with greater insight that he did not quite understand, himself? Her journey over the past couple of days had led her along a path to this boy, the Grand Duchess, and this temporary village out in Regent's Park. It was Providence speaking, the Hand of God urging her along to the cadence of His will. She was supposed to meet these people, quite possibly for the purpose of introducing them to one another. [i]That[/i] thought was a little bittersweet. Mary would have greatly appreciated the opportunity to train him as a Page, perhaps submit him to the Vatican for Training one day if it was his wish. 

	Meanwhile, the next few minutes had Vladimir busying himself with the water bottles he had procured. They were steaming lightly but not quite simmering. Perfect. The normally dramatic Russian stoppered the bottles, wrapped them tightly with chamber linen, and (carefully) placed them in the bed, underneath the upper blankets, near Elizaveta and Myshka. In a rare point of quiet, Vlad placed two more bottles atop the tent stove and spoke with lowered voice, [color=firebrick]"You know vhat to do. Not too hot, da? Don't want to burn."[/color] 

	The tent opening fluttered, revealing two women of venerable age carrying cloth-wrapped bundles. A lingering inquisitive glance was shot in the direction of Vladimir. As the current Great Bazhooli, he was the person of authority in this place, second only to The Baron Alexandrov himself. They said nothing, merely looking to the experienced Impalement Artist with a hopeful, expectant expression. Vlad stared at them for a second or two, looked over to Elizaveta in her bed, and tugged on Mary's robe. [color=firebrick]"Old Mothers, they vill help Veta now. I have tried my [i]Krasnoye[/i], you have done your... eh, vhatever Vatican teaches you for healing. She lives for now. Let us give Mothers room to vork, eh? Old vays, things of and not of Training. Ve go. I show you Circus."[/color] 

	Mary nodded, eyes still fixed on Adam and his dangerously close proximity to Myshka, the great, white tiger. Vladimir seemed to understand her concern, saying, [color=firebrick]"Little boy is safe as any in tent. Myshka vanted to eat, boy vould be eaten. Come now, for please, da?"[/color] 

	[color=c0c0c0]"Adam?"[/color] intoned Mary in a matronly voice, one beyond her seemingly tender years, [color=c0c0c0]"Please stay here. Find me the moment anything changes."[/color] With that, she nodded a quick affirmation to Vladimir, recovered her halberd, and followed him out of the tent. The two older women scurried in after they had vacated, busying themselves with setting up folding tables and various items of the herbalist's and healer's trades. Hopefully there wouldn't be too much of a language barrier among the women and the boy as the young one seemed somewhat attached to the Grand Duchess, likely unwilling to move without considerable explanation or restraint otherwise. 

	The pair of them, Vlad and Mary, had barely taken a few steps away from Elizaveta's tent when a familiar face appeared jogging toward them. A more slender, youthful version of The Great Bazhooli, possessing the odd feature or two that was obviously from his mother, as they were not reflected in Vladimir himself. Out of respect for their guest, he spoke in English. 

	"Ve have recovered your knives, Father." he said, handing over two largish, one handed blades. Vladimir accepted them, smiling broadly. [color=firebrick]"Спасибо[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=firebrick], Коnstantin!"[/color] he half roared, snatching the knives from his son and pulling him into a great bear hug. [color=firebrick]"You are good son, Konstantin! Best kind of son! Finding for things his papa forgets! Ha HA!"[/color] It was true, The Great Bazhooli had quite forgotten about the two blades he had lost during the altercation with that mysterious, flying foe. When he finally let go of his son, the younger man looked to Mary with color in his cheeks and an awkward look on his face. It seemed no matter the culture, parents were going to embarrass their children in public. 

	[color=firebrick]"Vhat? You cannot hug papa in front of pretty red-hair girl? Come come, is ok. Is married to God anyway. Too good for peoples like us. This is Страшная католическая девушка[/color][sub]2[/sub][color=firebrick] I vas telling you about! You already meet her, da?"[/color] 

	Still somewhat red-faced, Konstantin replied, "Da, papa. Is good to seeing you, Sister-Knight Mary. You are not so scary as Father says."

	Mary smiled politely and gave a light curtsy to the young man, probably a couple of years younger than herself. Her polite smile turned to Vladimir, who had obviously just been caught speaking in an ungraceful manner about the Vatican's knightly representation here in London. [color=c0c0c0]"It is a pleasure to speak with you formally, Young Master Konstantin. Do not worry yourself on account of breach of etiquette, sir; if I took vorpal offense to persons discussing my reputation in this part of the world, the bodies would be stacked like cord wood."[/color] 

	[color=firebrick]"You see!"[/color] exclaimed Vladimir, waving his hands in the direction of the young Apostolic and seeming exceedingly pleased with himself. Mary's polite smile remained untouched, the very vision of serenity poised for battle. 

	Vladimir's own smile was broad and genuine, beaming as he tucked the two knives his son had recovered into his boots. He never could have too many in a pinch, especially considering his occupation. When his son continued to address the other reason he was present, he straightened up and took on a more serious aspect. 

	 "Grandfather, um, The Baron desires presence of yourself and Sister Hale in his tent immediately. He knows everything that has happened, and wants to talk. Sent Old Mothers to help heal Elizaveta."

	In the Russian Grand Circus, when The Baron summons you, you come. The urgency with which Vladimir's persona changed told Mary everything she needed to know about the situation and how imperative it was. To this end, she slipped back to her great grey warhorse, Cassius, and relieved him of some of his burden. Specifically, a couple of those strawberry pies which St. Etheldreda's was so known for. One never arrives formally without a token gift. Konstantin was bid to return to Elizaveta's tent and act as translator if necessary, and given the same protocol as Adam: Seek them out if something changes, good or ill. 

	The next couple of minutes saw the unlikely pair gaining entrance to the largest tent in the Sem'ya, alternating with dark and sanguine colors and partially attached to a great, lumbering vardo. It was the tent of the Master of the Russian Empire's Premier Circus, Lord of an ancient (albeit diminished) line of nobility stretching back centuries and commander of the largest single recognized group of individuals of Rusyn Training: [b]Baron Dmitri Alexandrov[/b] 

[center][img]http://yaokino.ru/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/jeff-bridges-by-marco-grob1.jpg[/img][/center]

	Per Vlad's instruction, the two of them waited in the vestibule, a smaller square room of cloth walls serving as an antechamber between the main tent and the outside, allowing themselves to be seen before allowed entrance. The tent itself was moderately lit with oil lamps and strategic skylights, large areas walled off by folds of canvas, silk, and woven tapestry. A commanding, elder voice issued from inside, seated upon a grand chair of masterfully worked and expertly carved wood. [b]"Вы можете подойти."[sub]3[/sub][/b]

	Though initially confused by the request, Vladimir consented to act as translator between the three of them; The Baron, The Great Bazhooli, and Sister Mary. The conversation promised to be long, covering a rage of topics related to Mary's history, their own, the events in London, and the true purpose of the Circus's presence in the British Empire. They were interrupted only as it came to mealtimes, with The Baron promising to ensure that their guests, including the strange orphan boy, would be very well cared for in this regard and that Konstantin would see to it. 

	The Baron spoke Russian the entire time, but seemed to understand more than he let on. Translating between the two of them, Mary and Dmitri, became a little tedious after a while, but Vladimir kept it up admirably. After the initial meal was served and removed, The Baron brought out one of Mary's pies that she had presented him as an offering and divided it for the three of them. It elicited a satisfied grunt from the elder Russian, who actually kept a smile for a minute or two while enjoying it. He too had heard of the strawberries and saffron of St. Etheldreda's, and was very pleased at sampling the former. 

	When the conversation resumed, it was about their plan for the future. Advice from an established ruler to a novice one. Counsel. He was more subdued than his son, the present Great Bazhooli, more intimidating. But he was hospitable. Gracious even, if singularly gruff. He acted in the manner of an avuncularly Ambassador for his people, trying not to insult the intelligence of the less experienced Catholic lady while simultaneously attempting to explain his position and concerns in easily understandable detail. The talk continued for a very long while, each party contributing openly and honestly, until the light outside began to change to the richer hues of early evening. 

	Mary needed to check on Adam. Vladimir needed to check on Veta. No news is good news, of a sort. But they had things to accomplish that evening. Important things that could impact the course of humanity. Mary needed to get to work. 


[hider=Translations]
1	-	Thank you (Spasibo)
2	-	Scary Catholic Girl (Strashnaya Katolicheskaya Devushka)
3	-	You may approach. (Vy mozhete podoyti.)
[/hider]