Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sputnik
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Sputnik Lost in Space

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Location: The Strand (The Glimmeric)



It was a short trek from where the body of Lord Galloway had been found to the Glimmeric. Thalken briskly entered the establishment, and his dark eyed gaze took it all in with a look of distaste. Truth be told, he wasn't so much bothered by the happenings of the brothel as much as he was disgusted by the dealings his father often made here. The place felt grossly defiled by the mere presence of that man, let alone by the deals he made in blood and gold. Wherever he went his father always got under his skin, like an itch that never ceased. Perhaps doing some good for a change, like investigating these strange murders, could relieve some of that burn. Thalken impatiently cleared his throat in hopes of garnering the attention of someone who worked here.

With the rest of the girls busy for the upcoming evening, right as she was about to pass by the door, one of the girls noticed the tall man skulking inside the establishment. The girl, who came by Sarah Ann's room to deliver her tea as per the madam's request, haven't been too aware to recognize him as one of the dangerous men Frances have business dealings with. Or his father at least. Seeing the sight of a good looking man she briskly fixed the curls of her hair, her blouse and unfurled her folding fan she kept on her side, and in her most presentable image she then strutted towards the mysterious man.

"Why hello there." her fan danced close to her jaw, sultrily gazed at him at her attempt to catch his attention. "You seem lost. I'm afraid you have to wait until night fall if you're looking to relax." She held her gaze, whilst curving an inviting smile.

Thalken's eyes widened the slightest bit at the woman's mannerisms. Was she trying to seduce him?! Odd, that never happens. Most people, particularly women, were afraid to approach him and for good reason. His widened gaze quickly narrowed, and a dangerous glint came to his dark eyes. Did she think he was some lord who was here for a night of pleasure? Like hell would he tarnish his reputation more than it already was, not that it really would for a man in this day in age. Regardless, he wasn't here to fraternize. He had a mission. In some ways, you could say it was a mission of redemption. His intense gaze swung to the side as another girl came over.

"Oi there you are! I've been looking all over for you! Look I need help lacing this complicated corset..." The girl's other companion paced towards her friend, barely noticing the man she was conversing with and when she did she finds herself at a loss for further words. "Hush, not now Alice!" she side glanced her friend, annoyed and went back to Thalken, a playful smile returned on her face.

"Georgie, What are you doing!?" Alice exclaimed under "hushed" tones, then moved closer to the other girl's ear "That's one of Ms Frances' business partners!" "What!?" Georgie now leveled with her speaking, blocking their cheeks with the fan she was carrying. "The scary ones who'd sneak in the brothel at early dusks." "Wait those men by the docks?" At this point the two exchange words, momentarily forgetting that the man was just standing within their speaking range. "They only speak to the madame, and you shouldn't!" "Why not?" Alice moved even more closer to her ear, "Because they're vicious, blood lusted men! Doesn't that scare you!?"

Thalken's nostrils flared at hearing the girls' none too concealed words. The words seemed to pierce into him and then dug deeper and deeper into the wound they created. His jaw clenched tightly, and the look in his eyes darkened. Why did people always assume he was as twisted as his father? He wasn't like his father. He was better than that wretched man, or so he tried to be. It wasn't easy to change one's nature, but try he did and yet no one noticed.

Georgie then turned to Thalken, tracing his figure with her eyes and impulsively curved a pleased smile. "I don't think so." Alice deperately pushed her friend aside, and now she took over the conversation with Thalken, trying to keep her ettiquete proper under all her nervousness. "I'm sorry sir. Are you looking for the Madame?"

Thalken about let out a growl, but it wasn't out of pleasure at Georgie's attentions. No, he was just pissed. Were they done bad mouthing him as if he wasn't really there, as if he wasn't even human? He took a deep, hopefully calming breath before trying to speak. He did not want the rising anger and frustration to seep out. No, that would only confirm their suspicions. "No, I do not wish to speak to your Madame. I am here to speak with the woman who found the dead body," he replied. His voice was gruff as he strained to keep it level. The effort made his body tense and his eyes intense. His demeanor and tone of voice wasn't ideal, but it was the best he could manage in the given situation.

When he spoke the girls were still, the other one was rapidly fanning herself as if the room was instantly heating up. Alice and Georgie looked at each other, they weren't sure how to tell him but the madame wouldnt like it if they have someone meet with Sarah at the moment. "Uhm, yes. About that. The madame would like it if you speak to her first, since, well Sarah..."

"She's gone mad. She just stands there by the window frozen ever since that silly dream she had." "Georgie!" "What?" Alice shook her head and went back to Thalken. "We shall ask for the madame in a moment." Both left Thalken hand in hand, Georgie giving him one last playful gaze then was dragged off by Alice.

Thalken stared at them blankly, trying his best to ignore Georgie's flirtations while listening to them banter back and forth. He arched brow at Georgie's comment. It seemed a bit insensitive, even to him. Stumbling upon a dead body just outside where you work had to be rather traumatizing for the poor girl. He doubted it would help when she learned that the lord had been killed by a Ryne in the middle of the day.

He let out a sigh of relief when the girls, particularly Georgie, finally left, and some of his tension washed away in their momentary absence. He could handle Soulless, but he couldn't handle a flirtatious woman. There really had never been the need for him to learn, as his cold demeanor more often than not scared women away. Truth be told, he was fine with that. After all, he did not wish to bring a woman into his messed up, and often dangerous, life for fear that they would meet the same fate as his mother. He did not wish to lose someone he could eventually proclaim to love.

The girls raced up the stairs, and to the madam's quarters and giving soft, erratic knocks at her door. Ruby swung open the door a mixture of irk and confusion drawn in her slightly aging face. "Ma'am a man downstairs is asking for Sarah Ann." One of them exclaimed. Frances stood up from her table, her equipment organized and readied on the surface. "Well, s'about time that constable took notice," Ruby said.

"He's no constable." Georgie corrected, Alice turned towards Frances. "He's one of the Talinks, ma'am." Frances suspected as much, no doubt he was asking in relation to Galloway. She already asked what she can of the girl but if something had came up in their investigation, it might be worth the try. In the condition that she would be allowed to take part, the girl had gone through much trauma.

Frances came down the stairs and saw Thalken standing, distinctly out of place in her brothel. It's the first time she saw him without his father getting under his skin, Beowulf cant seem to leave his boy alone. As she met with Thalken, Frances put on her business face, like she is dealing with his father " Thalken. I hear you would have some questions for Sarah. What have you found with our dearly murdered lord?" Frances was eager to know about their ongoing investigation.

Thalken was glad when Frances came down and went straight to business. He did not like to waste time with small talk. "The man was killed by a Ryne, and his murder is somehow linked to several bodies found on the docks. I am here to figure that out, and the girl may be a key to that," he explained bluntly. He saw no need to gloss over the details.

The madame held a firm gaze, unsurprised by the news. At least now they know of the possible culprit. Frances took a heavy sigh "I thought as much." her words were muttered absently. This only confirmed her initial suspicions, with the events at Almacks she'd bet at the possible connection between that and their current situation.

Finding it reasonable for this situation, the madame finally lead Thalken to Sarah's room, provided that he should watch out for his words, anything that will put her discomfort. She looked seriously at his eyes, to know if he understood the message.

Thalken met Frances' gaze with his own, and at seeing the question in her eyes, he gave a slight, almost reassuring nod of his head. He then followed her to the room the girl Sarah was occupying. They knocked on the door before entering the room calmly and collectively.

Turning her head slowly, Sally Ann glanced over her shoulder towards the door as the two stepped into the room. She eyes Thalken for a minute nervously before looking over towards Francis. "Madame?" she asked quietly as she kept herself over near the window, tightening her shawl around her shoulders a bit. She hadn't figured she would be taking a client this early in the day, especially after everything had happened but if it was what the Madame wanted, she would follow through.

"Sarah Ann" Frances spoke and walked towards the timid girl, her hands gently placing over her shoulders for comfort "This man would like to ask you some questions." she smiled momentarily in assurance, then glanced towards Thalken. Her face now showed some bit of concern when she met Sarah's stare "These are questions regarding the body you have found this morning." she didn't want to press Sarah with questions that would relieve her trauma all over again, but this new information could bring questions that only Sarah can answer. "Anything that you can give will surely help."

Sally Ann glanced from Thalken over to Francis. She really didn't want to talk about what she had seen but having just someone general there instead of a constable was preferable. She nodded slightly, a nervous twitch in her actions as she stood there. "Yes ma'am."

Thalken's usually harsh gaze softened the slightest bit when his gaze landed on Sarah Ann. He tried to be as unimposing as a man of his caliber could manage, and he approached her quietly and cautiously, as if she was a deer that could be easily frightened away. She seemed so vulnerable and fragile in her current state. If he was his father, he would relish in her vulnerability and take advantage of her, but he wasn't his father. The thought of using her weaknesses against her disgusted him. He caught the concern in Frances's eyes, and it only reminded him that he must do this carefully so as not to frighten Sarah Ann anymore than she already was. He tried to outwardly channel the softness and compassion that was there under his many layers of coldness.

"The name's Thalken. I know you are scared, but any information you can give me, even if it seems insignificant, could help prevent further tragedy. First off, can you tell me if you saw anything or anyone peculiar before you stumbled upon the body?" he asked in a level voice. He met Sarah Ann's gaze for a moment before looking slightly off to her side in hopes that would make him seem less intimidating.

Turning from her spot at the window and walked over to the bed. She sat down nervously, clutching her shawl as she did so and letting out a shivering breath. Trying to think back on what had happened. At least she could focus on what had happened before she saw the body right then. "I... was walking, back from the baker. "Erything seemed a'right," she started as she sat there staring at the floor, trying to remember clearly the people that she passed, what few there were. "Uh.. there was a man. One I ain't seen b'fore. A gent, right fine looking. Finery clothing. Didn't think much on him, fi'gure he be one of the clients from last night I just ain't seen but his face, don't remember seeing before."

Thalken turned and followed her while still keeping a comfortable amount of distance between them. He pursed his lips as he pondered what she said and sought to choose his next words carefully. "Would you be able to give a description of the man and what he was doing? Age? Height? Weight? Demeanor? Color of his skin?" he asked. He paused and met her gaze when he asked about the color of the man's skin. He had a hunch the man could be their Ryne murderer, and the color of his skin would confirm or deny that.

Sarah Ann nodded and tried to think on the mans features. "Handsome enough," she started. She went on to describe him as best she could. He was tall, over six feet, seemed to have a medium build. His hair and eyes were brown, eyes were warm, hair had a curl to it. His skin was a close to the same shade as Thalkens. Carried himself as if he was everything the lord of the manor, walked liked most of the high borns. He hadn't said anything so she couldn't comment on his accent. He was dressed well but there was nothing she could remember that would make him stand out more than any other Peer or Gentry. Yet she swore she hadn't seen him before today, so all she could guess was that either he wasn't from the area or that he just wasn't one to frequent their house.

Although the madame herself was mostly intrigued by the new information, which she wished Sarah had mentioned to her from the beginning. This brings new details on what entirely happened. Frances wasn't sure of the man she described, undeniably there are a couple of men of his description that comes and goes in the establishment, an image typical of a regular visitor. If Frances sees the man for herself maybe she could recognize him, and confirm if he indeed was a client at the Glimmeric, otherwise if he was only seen today prior to the attack on Lord Galloway, then it's worthy enough to be suspicious about.

Thalken's brows knitted together slightly in thought as he used her description to create a rough illustration of the nobleman in his mind. It was clear that he was not their Ryne perpetrator; however, that did not mean that the nobleman was completely innocent. Thalken did not believe in mere coincidences. People of noble birth did not just come to these parts of town without a reason, and if the man was not a client of the Glimmeric, than he was up to something likely more nefarious. Whether he had anything to do with the death of Lord Galloway was anyone's guess at this point in time. Regardless, it was time to move the conversation along and to delve a little deeper. The next line of questioning would likely be a more sensitive area, but it had to be done as far as Thalken was concerned. "How did you stumble upon the body? Was there anything about the scene that particularly stuck out to you, I mean, apart from the decaying corpse?" he asked.

Sarah Ann visibly shivered as she looked over towards Thalken. "Didn't stumble, he came out of no where and rolled right to me," she said in a shaky voice remembering. "Heard a loud thud, turned and the body was coming right for me like a carriage thats gots away from the driver. Froze right where I was I did, it stopped at me feet."

"You heard a loud thud, and then it rolled to you? Hmmm," he repeated absentmindedly. His dark eyes took on a pensive look as he was quickly lost in thought. It sounded as if the body had been dumped, perhaps out of a moving carriage, hence the momentum made the body roll downhill towards her. The body had been fresh, but not that fresh. With that said, Lord Galloway had likely been killed elsewhere and then strategically dumped in a specified spot much like those on the docks. Whoever did this sure had a lot of spare time on their hands. Something this well thought out could not have been simply planned over night. No, this likely took months. Were the Soulless smart enough to plan this, or was this the work of a Soulled individual, like that strange nobleman she mentioned? Thalken had gained many pieces to this puzzle thanks to his quick wit and good fortune, and yet it was proving more difficult to put those pieces together. The where and how were relatively easy to figure out. It was the why that concerned him more. It all seemed so symbolic, but symbolic for what? "Were there any carriages nearby, perhaps one that you hadn't seen before?" he asked, waiting a moment for her answers before asking his final question. "Is there any other notable or seemingly out of place details that you can provide me?"

Apparently speaking of the dead body was starting to get to Sarah Ann. After reliving the way the body came into her view and stopped at her feet had sent her spiraling right back into the panic she had first been in. It was obvious she hadn't exactly seen a lot of death in her time, even those that had, a body coming out of now where and coming right for them could shake up a person. Trembling like a leave she grasped at her shawl, her knees buckling even more than they had been and sliding to the floor as she tried not to sob. She had been holding it together as best she could but right then, it wouldn't have taken much to push her over the edge and maybe even cause her to fling herself out the window right down onto the cobblestone...

Frances knew right then that Sarah has reached her limit. The girl was getting a hold of herself all this time and now she suddenly breaks again at Thalken's mere question. If the madame only knew, it was a little harsh to let Sarah talk through her experience alone, eventhough she finds it important for Thalken hear it directly from her. Frances comforted the shivering girl, and lead her to sit on the bed. "That's enough. Frances turned to Sarah, gently patting her shoulders " You did well." she said calmly.

Thalken's eyes widened at her reaction, and he suddenly held up his open palms, like he was showing he meant no harm. He glanced over at Francis, arching a brow, before looking back at Sarah Ann. He slowly lowered his hands as he watched the poor girl. By the looks of it, she seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. Great, I broke her, he thought with a grimace. He honestly felt bad that he had caused her such distress, as it hadn't been his intention. "That should be sufficient information," he stated uncomfortably. "Uh, you did good. Thanks." He honestly had no clue how to handle this type of situation, and he certainly did not think his brooding presence would bring the girl any sort of comfort. He looked over at Francis again, but this time he had an almost desperate look that said 'your problem now' before he made his hasty retreat.

Frances sat beside Sarah for some time until she came back together, it wasn't easy for anyone to relieve such a terrible event in their life, and truthfully there was bravery in her part for going through that again. It was not especially easy being lined with blunt questions, still Thalken's own bluntness had given them enough information on the current investigation. And hopefully enough to get them a step closer to answers. She met Thalken's gaze before he abruptly left the room, she was not about to blame him for breaking Sarah. She could see he was trying to watch his words. Two of the girls got into the room and overtook the madam, she wanted to catch up with Thalken before he can even leave the Glimmeric.

"Wait." she strode down the stairs before Thalken could retreat towards the door. Folding her arms, she looked up at Thalken, her serious expression, faint creases showed on her bare face. One could easily blame her profession, responsibilities and the stress that comes with it which, to her, makes her age faster.

She thought for a moment, and let out a sigh. "Thalken, what do you make of all this?" Frances herself has her own conjectures, the more she sees it's probability, the more it drives her to dig deeper. Yet mere curiosity alone is not her driving influence. A man died within their grounds, a massacre occurred just not far from their home. As far as she's concerned, this problem has already been dropped on her lap the moment Sarah discovered the body. Frances has the choice to stay idle, inside the safety of the house and have this problem die down with time, yet how long would it be until one of them would be the next to lie dead on the street. Internally this feared her, if it became one of her girls. Aside from risking the business, which in Frances' book is not an option needed to go through with unless the problem could be remedied.

Thalken was already halfway to the door when he heard Frances call out to him. He stopped in his tracks with an annoyed huff. Could she not tell that he was trying to make a quick escape? His eyes were dark and brooding as he tensely turned around to face her. His brows furrowed slightly at her inquiry. She wanted his honest opinion? He crossed his arms over his chest, and his eyes took on a distant look as he thought long and hard on the question. His lips thinned as his mind reflected on some of the suspicious, and quite frankly alarming, things he had seen since last night at Almack's. Soulless running rampant in London. Soulless working together to coordinate an attack. A map made of dead of bodies. He looked over Frances. Could she handle the cold hard truth? Something about her said she had seen and experienced far worse. He uncrossed his arms with a sigh. "We are at war, the Soulless versus the Soulled," he stated bluntly.

With what Sarah Ann had described, and the nature of the body found on the streets, was within a spot populated enough to be seen by people. It raised some questions on the killers true motives. And the man, with Sarah's general description who could be the possible suspect, could also be a soulless himself. "This is purely presumption on my part but, I can't help but think if he want us to see his handywork." her gaze focused elsewhere, as she tried to congregate her ideas. " If he wished to do his bidding discreetly, I believe he's enough of a fool to leave such an obvious trail in the broad of day don't you think?" her dark eyes returned to Thalken, her brows creased just a little at her final thought "And if this man Sarah had seen was indeed the perpetrator." Why would he stay there? Did he want to see the outcome of his work? Or was he looking at somebody in particular? Could he be connected to the massacre at the docks? Such questions go through her mind.

Thalken's demeanor revealed that he was mildly surprised by how perceptive Frances was. "The perpetrator, or perpetrators, most certainly wanted their work to be seen. The bodies on the docks were laid out in the shape of a map of London. The makeshift map led me here, and if the constables are smart it will lead them here as well," he explained. The fact that he spoke so openly was a good sign that he felt comfortable with his surroundings and more specifically with her. Perhaps she had his trust and loyalty.

Her expression was firm and after a short silence she returned to Thalken "I would like to ask you a favor. Don't worry, it's nothing too stressing." she said laxly. Her tone was once again serious "If you will allow me to help, I would be glad. I have... skills that would prove useful on our current problem. Skills that focuses on soulless." The first time she revealed about it, out loud as she was never really blatant about it. " And I believe I am much a part of this now ever since one of my girls were affected. I had enough of sitting idly by." Frances remained her composure as she made the offer, although it felt more like a demand than otherwise.

Thalken's jaw clenched and some of his previous tension seemed to return at her suggestion. Was it that he didn't want her help, or was it something else? "I don't do the partner thing well," he stated gruffly, a lame excuse really. He looked her over from head to toe, as if to assess her. "I make no promises, and I certainly hope you know the gravity of your suggestion." he added. I don't want anyone else's blood on my hands were his unspoken words, before he turned around and walked out of the Glimmeric as the sun was setting.

She fairly expected such a response, from a man who's a recluse even to his own pack. She raised a brow at his excuse, which seemed a bit shallow therefore, was not enough to convince the madame. "I am not just your classic brothel owner, sir Thalken. A way to figure out these murders are of much more importance. The faster we get it done, the earlier we put this terror behind us. " Frances remained stern, she wasnt sure of the reason why'd he rather let her stay out of it is because she's a woman, or that her fleecy garment, tended appearance and delicate standing would give them a sorely wrong impression. After a while the madame decided to ease her serious air, and let out a soft sigh. "Regardless, If you decided to seek aid, I will be right here." at the very least Frances had let him know that he has another option for help before she lets him go. The evening drew close, despite the earlier incident, the Glimmeric went to business as usual. The place was abuzz in preparation for the evening, yet the tension and worry from the Galloway's murder still remained in most of them, that means the brothel will be having some limits, whist they keep an eye for anything out of the ordinary. They hope nothing would go wrong tonight.




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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigil
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Sigil Literary Hatchetman

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli





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 and her tiger, 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. That 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, "You know vhat to do. Not too hot, da? Don't want to burn."

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. "Old Mothers, they vill help Veta now. I have tried my Krasnoye, 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."

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, "Little boy is safe as any in tent. Myshka vanted to eat, boy vould be eaten. Come now, for please, da?"

"Adam?" intoned Mary in a matronly voice, one beyond her seemingly tender years, "Please stay here. Find me the moment anything changes." 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. "Спасибо1, Коnstantin!" he half roared, snatching the knives from his son and pulling him into a great bear hug. "You are good son, Konstantin! Best kind of son! Finding for things his papa forgets! Ha HA!" 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.

"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 девушка2 I vas telling you about! You already meet her, da?"

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. "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."

"You see!" 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: Baron Dmitri Alexandrov



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. "Вы можете подойти."3

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.



Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Morose
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Location: Dressmakers', Annan


As she entered the shop, Maeve couldn't help but think of how much her sister would adore this place. They had grown up in poverty and were still, arguably, poor. While the gang provided a roof over Maeve's head and work, it didn't elevate them to a high class status. It wasn't too strange, however. They were the sort of people that Clan Cummings would hire to come and spy on Clan Kirkpatrick. They weren't nobles--they were the muscle, the thieves, the schemers. The ones that got their hands dirty. It didn't show on Maeve's face, but she felt extremely out of place in the store.

She wasn't even sure where to begin. Thankfully, one of the poor terrified attendants seemed to be trying their best to avoid any sort of negative reaction from Lady Kirkpatrick. That meant that after a terrified speech that could only be construed as word vomit, they were pretty much ready to begin. Maeve understood the following from the word vomit:

"Guid efternuin, guid efternuin! Ah am glad tae see 'at ye ur daein' weel, quine kirkpatrick an' miss...? we hae th' proper materials oan hain fur anythin' 'at ye main need: dresses, sheen, undergarments, ridicules, robes, overcoats, stockings, nightwaur, an' sae much mair," the attendant rambled. The attendant's accent seemed particularly thick to Maeve, though to a Scot, it likely wasn't nearly so bad. Her mind exaggerated it to a degree. Maeve didn't even get a chance to give the man her name before he threw more information at her, sounding (to her) something like this:

"We've got jist abit everythin' yoo'll be needin'. thaur ur some things we hae oan hain 'at ye can use fur day tae day wear. there's some fabric if yoo're inclined tae sew fur yerself. tak' a swatch aroond if yoo'd loch, but ance yoo're ready, we'll need tae start takin' measurements."

Maeve had barely even nodded in acceptance before the man went into action. A few others in the shop came over to assist him and throughout what felt like a five hour process, Maeve was certain that she had been pricked with no less than five different needles in at least ten different places. It could have just been a half hour process, but to Maeve, it seemed to be far longer than that. It wasn't simply one outfit they were fitting her for -- it was several. What seemed to be a million different pieces of fabric were shown to her, all in different combinations and styles, with even elegant formal dresses on the table. Lady Kirkpatrick had insisted that she was fitted for several of those.

"Aye, de blue wan, a bit too loose, naw, aye, either's gran'," Maeve said throughout the hours, as she was asked a million questions and she began to forget what decisions she had already made. At one point, she must have offended an attendant by calling one piece of fabric purple and not lavender. The colors and the fabrics were beginning to blend together and as she caught occasional glances outside of the window, it was nearly dusk. When they asked if she wanted fabrics to sew, Maeve was so mentally exhausted that it took her a moment to remember if she even could sew.

Finally, what seemed like an eternity and fifty one little jabs with a needle later...

"'at should about do it, Miss O'Connor," the attendant said. Throughout the hours, his accent seemed less and less obnoxious to Maeve. He was practically understandable now. She couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It probably wasn't the wisest choice in terms of winning Lady Kirkpatrick's favor, but she was entirely worn out from all of the fittings. She didn't understand how the wealthy did this so often. No wonder they tended to be a bit lazy.




Location: Mournweald Estate (London)




Virginia was impressed that Mosi's father appeared to have some strength to him, but it was strength that came too late. Mourning rituals may have been for the dead, yet they could not undo what had happened in life. They did not change the way Mosi's family treated her, how they forced her to hide her true self, or at least, they attempted to do so. She turned her head towards Ernest, knowing that the cremation process would take some time. She was not entirely sure as to what state Mosi's body would be in.

"Very well. Lead the way, then," Virginia said.

"For the time, we've placed her in her room." Ernest explained as he led Virginia and co towards Mosi's room which was on the second floor. Also the reason why she often climbed out the window whenever Mosi and her mother were having huge fights and didn't want to meet each other.

There in the room, Mosi was placed upon her bed, dressed in the buckrobe, her hair was cleaned up and could be seen, but on her face was placed a piece of silk cloth to cover the currently destroyed visage that was once rather charming. The marks of the soulless were still there, no way to close them up. The rest of the room was rather ordinary when you take out the numberous bows and sets of axes laying around. Ernest moved over an pulled wooden case with a pipe on top of it, before returning to Virginia." This's the set of feathers and the pipe she stated to give to you, Lady Crypt." He explained." I will bring the axes in a little while as they were left downstairs when we brought her home."

Virginia nodded. She smiled softly down at the feathers and pipe, accepting them from Ernest. She paused for a moment before handing them over to the care of Alfred. The cremation process was lengthy and would need to begin immediately if the burial were to finish on this day. She then glanced over at Ernest. "It'll be a gruesome sight. We will not be able to burn her remains completely. Large pieces of bone, I imagine, will still be present. Where would you like to begin the process?"

Ernest made a rather confused expression for a brief moment, before he did some thinking and nodded." In the estate's back yard. We can use the firewood and coal stock in the storeroom there." He stated." I will go and take a few servants an father to make the pyre." He added." We've... already said our farewells." Ernest added, meaning that it would be a nice chance for Virginia to do so too alone without Mosi's family around in the room. With a polite bow he moved away from Mosi's room.

"We'll take our leave as well, my lady," Alfred added, as he swept a whining James out of the room and shut the door softly. Virginia chuckled softly. Alfred knew her too well. Virginia approached the bed and knelt beside it, before gently removing the silk cloth from Mosi's face. She took in the now grotesque features, but she was still smiling. "In my family, we believe you only have one true love in your lifetime," Virginia whispered. "We do not limit love to being only sexual--it can be romantic, it can be pure, it can be innocent, it can be for a friend or for a family member. You would be pleased to know, dear Mosi, that we do not limit it by gender as well."

Virginia then took the cloth and placed it over the bottom half of Mosi's face, allowing the dead woman's eyes to be seen. "My one true love is my brother, James. I suspect that you knew that, that I would do anything for him...Yet I cannot deny that some affection could have developed between us. Let me complement the sweet kiss of death," Virginia then finished, her voice inaudible to all. She placed a delicate kiss on Mosi's lips through the cloth before she rose to her feet, removing the cloth entirely. Mosi never was one to hide from the world.

It was time to cremate her.

While Virginia was taking her final moments with Mosi, Ernest, William and 2 servants were busy forming up a funeral Pyre in the back yard, to the most intensely huge disagreement from Mosi's mother and her other sister.

"Stop this!" Mosi's mother called in panic." It's one thing to pull out the official funeral ceremonies I was organazing in the last moment, but this!"

"Just keep quiet already." William growled." It's happening. If you don't want to see, just go inside." He added, gesturing to Ernest to follow as teh pyre was being finished." In addition, Ernest and Bridgitte will be leaving for the colonies as soon as the next arrangements are made." He added, addining another nail into the already hammered coffin that was his wife's dreams for normal funeral and future.

"Lady Crypt?" William called as he knocked on the door of Mosi's room." We're ready outside."

Virginia glanced over at the sound of the knock. William's timing was impeccable. She opened the door and joined the others outside, noticing the curious glance Alfred gave her. She imagined the pair of them would have words to exchange later. He had known her for her entire life and he knew her better than anyone else, better than even James did. "Excellent. The cremation process itself will take hours, so now would be an appropriate time for you to share words and speak of the dead."

William nodded and moments later Ernest also appeared to carry Mosi's body all the way to the pyre outside. It was the final bit of honor her father could give her. He regretted few things in life, but she was not one of them. What he hated was his inability to protect her. Now placed so peacefully on the big pyre, it made him feel a grim pain he never felt before.

"Hmmm..." William made a sound, throwing a look at Virginia." I'm in a way suspecting she's actually not the type to want us to let ourselves grieve. I remember she once told me that when she dies, she'd be finally free to join the spirits. I have no idea what spirits she was talking about though." He added trying to keep calmer, while his sister by the side was openly sobbing and his father was just siletnly watching the pyre that had yet to be lit. How he regretted not speaking with her more now.

"Do you wish the right to start the pyre, Lady Crypt?" Ernest finally asked, after taking silently his last moments and thoughts with his daugther's mortal vessel. One of the servants had brought a rather quickly made torch of sorts that was already lit.

"I believe it should be her family to perform that rite," Virginia said, after a moment of hesitation.





Location: Talink Estate --> Crypt Manor (London)




One cannot deny that life has a sense of irony, and this tale is certainly not devoid of such. While Thalken is attempting to redeem himself by doing something for the greater good, his father is in the trenches of depravity digging a grave for his son's hopes and dreams. If Thalken knew of his father's scheme, perhaps he could have put a stop to it, or perhaps it was just a hopeless case. There are so many possibilities in life but often not enough time to truly entertain them. For now is the time for the present, and we can only pray that the future will be more pleasant than one's current hell.

At the Talink Estate, Thalcona entered the carriage in behind her father Beowulf. They were off to the Crypt Manor post haste to negotiate the terms of a business transaction regarding the immediate protection of the Viscount Wenwynith. Beowulf's letter announcing their arrival was already several leagues ahead of them, and it would seem that it would arrive at its destination well before they did. They had barely made it pass the nearby docks when the carriage came to a abrupt halt. "Why the hell are we stopping?!" Beowulf proclaimed his utter annoyance. Thalcona peeked her head out the carriage window to see what was going on. After a few moments, she pulled her head back in and turned slowly to face her father. The look on her face was indiscernible.

"It's the constables. What did you do?" she stated with an edge to her grim voice.

"Nothing. Yet." Beowulf growled through gritted teeth. A look of exasperation crossed Thalcona's features, and she held her temple between her two fingers. This was great, just great. At least Thalken wasn't here to make this experience even more unbearable. Beowulf and Thalken in a confined space was never fun. It was more testosterone and gruffness than Thalcona could hardly take. She let out a sigh, and her gaze went to the window as one of the constables came over. They were immediately told to step out of the carriage. She could practically taste the tension in the air as they did what was required of them. It was well known that the Talinks were not friends of the law, and as far as she saw it, it was only a matter of time before one of them was either imprisoned or shot dead. Maybe even shot dead while in prison.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Beowulf exclaimed. Thalcona inwardly cringed at his harsh tone. He was never one for making a good first impression, and it only made matters worse that he was pissed about having a business transaction put on hold.

"Where were you--" and so the seemingly endless barrage of questions began. It took some time before they even knew what they were being accused of. Go figure it was for murder. Apparently several bodies had been found at the docks this morning. Thalcona vaguely wondered if Thalken ran across them, as he often liked to walk down the pier in the early hours of the morning. She was glad that he wasn't wrapped up in this mess, hopefully. The questioning went on and on with little to no positive progress on either side. They certainly weren't buying anything Beowulf said. They had a decent alibi given they were at Almack's last night and stayed in all morning. However, it wasn't lost on the law enforcement that they had enough connections in the criminal world to easily hire people to commit the murders. Needless to say, Beowulf was getting them nowhere. Thalcona eventually shot him a look that said stop talking and then she took a crack at it. He grudgingly obliged, and soon enough she was working some minor miracles. No, the constables did not believe that they had nothing to do with the murders, but she was at least able to appease them enough to let the two of them go. That was miracle in and of itself.

After being interrogated for more than enough time, Beowulf and Thalcona were once more on the road to the Crypt Manor. Fortunately, they faced no additional hiccups along the way, and soon enough their carriage pulled to a stop in front of the manor. Beowulf quickly exited the carriage as irritable as ever with Thalcona close behind him.

Within Crypt Manor, most of the servants were attending to their duties. Rumors had quickly flown across the manor as to what had occurred, with a fair deal of the staff looking towards Peter and Miss Evers for information. Of course, Alfred had left specific instructions--he would inform them all once it was pertinent. He ran the household staff and had left Miss Evers in a position of authority in his absence.

"Is that a carriage?" Miss Evers mused as she moved towards the door. She was still wearing her maid's dress, but it was heavily stained with blood at this point. She had Virginia's gown draped over her shoulder, as she had been attempting to remove the stains. And knowing the situation of this household, Miss Evers carried a knife in her left hand, just in case it might be of use. Opening the door, Miss Evers peered out and smiled cheerfully as she spotted the Talinks.

Of course Miss Evers wasn't met with the same level of cheerfulness she bestowed. No, the woman was more or less met with the dark intensity that was characteristic of a Talink. One could say Thalcona was less standoffish and a bit more open than her male counterparts, but depending on the situation, it likely was not by much. "We are here to do business with the Lady Virginia Crypt," Beowulf bit out gruffly. As far as he saw it, there was no need for formalities, particularly towards a mere servant. Meanwhile, Thalcona eyed the woman, immediately taking note of the knife, blood stains, and gown. If Beowulf had noticed the same peculiarities that she did, he certainly did not show it.

"She's out," Miss Evers said simply. She tapped the knife against the door gently, as if it was a signal for Beowulf and Thalcona to be on their way. "Funeral for her friend. Lovely girl. Lots of blood," Miss Evers explained. Mosi's funeral had been announced in the papers. Given how few people were trained in this day and age, perhaps Mr. Talink knew of Virginia's connection to Mosi. That in itself would be enough to let him know to --

"Try the Mournweald Estate," Miss Evers then added, before shutting the door.

Beowulf's visage darkened dangerously. This was supposed to be a relatively simple negotiation, which he had been given the impression was of the utmost importance to the Lady Crypt. And yet, he was hitting roadblock after roadblock. Granted, being stopped by the police had not been the Crypts' fault, but it certainly did little to help his already unsavory mood. He let out what was a mixture of a huff and a growl before spinning on his heels and trudging back to the carriage. Thalcona let out a sigh and followed her father. They then quickly set off to the Mournweald Estate as directed, and fortunately for them no further problems arose.


The Talink's carriage came to a stop in front of the Mournweald Estate. Beowulf and Thalcona wasted little time before stepping out of the carriage out into the smoke filled air. Beowulf's nose scrunched up slightly at the smell, and his dark eyed gaze took in the place with a look of clear distaste. Unlike her father's, it was harder to read Thalcona's expression. One could say she was more or less indifferent. One thing was certain, the two were an interesting and unfortunately rather intimidating sight to behold.

It's been some time since the pyre was set ablaze at the Mournweald estate. In the end William did it himself when Virginia expressed the opinion it was the duty of the family to do it. Afterwards he had stood outside, looking at the pyre for a good while before finally leaving to attend to other duties. Mosi's siblings who were on the closer side of things stood outside without leaving though. Her sister quietly weeping on the side while Ernest standing there before jumping in the building quick, returning with a bundle of soft cloth that revealed quite hte weight to it." Those are her exes, Lady Crypt. As per her will, they are now yours too."

Virginia took the cloth and nodded. Gently undoing the bundle, she looked at the axes that Mosi had used to defend her. Had she not been injured, perhaps she could have defended her friend as well. Yet Mosi had died an honorable death, a warrior's death. Not everyone was as lucky as to die in the defense of those they cared deeply for. Virginia ran her hand along the blade, her index finger opening and weeping blood. She let the blood fall onto the axes before bundling them up with the cloth once more.

James was surprisingly well behaved. Alfred had taken him a fair distance away from the others, in an effort to rein in his hyper nature. James' eyes were wide with excitement as he saw the fire, always begging and begging Alfred to allow him to get a closer look. Alfred had to take a cloth to cover his mouth and nose with, just in order to breathe. James, despite coughing a bit from the smoke, didn't mind. He was enthralled with it.

Out in front of the estate, middle aged man in butler attire noticed the new arrivals and quickly proceeded to go greet them an inquire about their purpose. After all the whole Estate was currently in a little bit of a chaos frankly and whatever semblence of ordinarity existed was currently absend." Welcome to the Mournweald Estate, honored guests. May I inquire about the purpose of your visit?"

James Crypt appeared in a flash out in front of the estate, giggling all the while. A few paces back, a tired and exhausted Alfred chased after him. James loved the fire, but he was a young boy and had a bit too much energy. He had broken off into a run and by coincidence, he found his way to where the Talinks were. Alfred caught up to James a second later, his lips pursed a bit with displeasure. He didn't approve of the Talinks by any means.

"Are you here to see the body burn too?" James asked.

Beowulf's dark eyed gaze held such an intensity and predatory like quality to it as he took in the people who trickled out to meet him. The man was much like his son Thalken in both appearance and mannerisms. The only difference was that there was a good and decent man below Thalken's cold exterior, but there was only an endless chasm of darkness inside Beowulf. He would ultimately devour everything and everyone he came into contact with, and yet it would never be enough for him. One would do well to fear the Talink name because of him. "We are here to negotiate with the Lady Virginia Crypt, per her request," he stated gruffly as a sly smirk came to his features.

"I understand, please follow me. Lady Crypt's in the back yard." The butler from the estate replied politely gesturing for them to follow. The house was already in chaos and Ernest had warned him to send away any and all funeral visitors from other families. That said these people were visiting Virginia and the butler didn't like the sight of the man too much, not that he would let it show on his face.

"Lady Crypt, these have come to meet you. It appeared important so, I took the liberty to guide them." The butler explained when they reached the back yard. Then he quickly moved over to Ernest's side whispering something to him before excusing himself. He had to report to William as well.

Virginia was not confused nor surprised to see a Talink here so quickly. If anything, she was a bit surprised if had taken them this long to come. There was blood in the water, so to speak, and those who made their living off of blood hardly hesitated to run to it. Yet she also found it tacky to go to a funeral for a business conversation. It was not often that one got to enjoy all that mourning had to offer, to dance a mamushka and to remember fondly those who went on to the next sweet adventure this world had to offer.

"Very well," Virginia said curtly. "To business then, it appears," Virginia said, not moving. She did not leave the side of the funeral pyre. Mosi's body was almost at the point where no more cremation would be possible. Darkness threatened to fall, yet the flames and embers provided decent light. "What is your price, then?" Virginia asked. There was no reason to beat around the bush.

Beowulf's smirk grew a bit at Virginia's quickness to get straight to business. Finally, the right circumstances had come about that would allow him to enact his master scheme and to see to fruition what was possibly his greatest ambition. Ultimately she couldn't refuse his terms as to do so would likely mean the death of her brother James, the Viscount Wenwynith. He had backed her up into a corner, and she didn't even realize it. One could say the wickedly evil man felt like a kid in a candy store right now, but of course that didn't show outwardly. "I am afraid that gold will not suffice this time, Lady Crypt. No, I have a greater, more personal, price in mind. I will see to the protection of the Viscount Wenwynith on one condition. You must marry my son, Thalken," he replied.

William had arrived just moments later after being informed by their butler about Virginia's guests and their meeting. He did manage to hear about their demand for price though. Ernest by the side looked rather not pleased with the situation." Please excuse my lack of manners and my innability to welcome you earlier. My name's William Crane. We weren't expecting guests right now, but I do see you've got important discussion to make." He stated." Should I requests of the servants to prepare a room where you could talk in private?" Though despite saying that he was having some reservations. Maybe his innability to protect Mosi was making him want to help Virginia instead now. He was halfway through asking if she'd wish for her brother to accompany his children to the colonies, but managed to stop himself from butting in their problems.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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Location: St. Albans (Stage Coach Post)



As soon as the carriage came to a stop in front of a Stage Coach Post in St. Alban's, Fyror, followed by Gerard, promptly exited the carriage. They needed a change of horses before they could continue on with their journey. Fyror broke away from Gerard to talk to their carriage driver, who happened to be one of Colchester Garrison's carriage drivers and a soldier in his own right. "Good sir, we have a change of route in mind for us. If we break away from the Great North Road and take this Stage Coach Route headed straight for Manchester, we should buy ourselves some precious time. The quicker we get to Gretna Green the better," he explained to the driver, pulling out his map and pointing to the route.

Gerard was thankful enough to be able to stretch his body once they arrived at their stop over. He wasn't that much used to sitting, being cooped up in a small coach, as usually he was the one who drives them. It won't be long to have the horses changed, which after that they'd continue on with their journey. He hopes that with their newly planned route, they'd be able to have a much bigger chance in getting there on time to save Millie.

While he there, his eyes darted towards a familiar sight, and only then realizing that the broken down coach farther across him, was the exact same one that took Millie the night before. Seeing it the way it made his heart tense. What could have happened? There was no mistaking it. He absently paced towards it and just some steps away. "This is it. " he gestured Fryor, "This was the same coach that took Miss Millie away that evening." Gerard then approached one of the people, a worker at the post, who the both of them will definitely get some answers from regarding the coach.

Fyror finished up discussing the change of routes with their carriage driver before starting to help change out the horses to speed up the process. Before he could do much, Gerard called out to him. His gaze swung over the stable hand, and his brows furrowed at the man's words. "Are you certain?" he asked. Regardless of his question, he stopped what he was doing and followed Gerard over to the broken down carriage.

One of the workers who was working on the broken down carriage caught sight of the approaching men, when they came face to face Gerard asked him questions immediately. "Did you see the owner of this coach? Where are they?" His eyes burned with intensity as he looked at him, in an almost demanding nature yet the other one seemed to be less affected by it.

His eyes switched to Gerard, and to Fryor, shrugging as he went back to his work "Can't say I have. With ol them noble types that come and go here. I might've, if one of yous help me remember." he side glances Gerard, and then he understood what he was trying to mean.

Fyror let out a sigh, figuring out pretty quickly what the worker was implying. The man wouldn't speak unless he was paid to do so. Why couldn't people just do things out of the goodness of their hearts? Fyror looked annoyed as he reached into his red jacket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a few coins and handed them over to the man. "Will that be enough for your troubles?" he asked tersely. The man seemed to take a minute to look over the coins and then them before nodding his head. "Good then. Answer my friend's questions. Who owned this carriage, and where did they go?" he inquired, getting straight to business. Fyror looked a bit imposing as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest and looked down at the man with an intensity to his eyes, but perhaps that would be to their benefit for a change.

"Well, I didn't get their names but I got a decent look at them," the man began. He went on to explain that there was a lord fitting Rutherford's description, a young, pale woman with brown hair who was clearly Millicent, two brutish men who were likely guards, and of course their carriage driver. "They didn't stay for long. They paid off a man to take them to Nottingham. This all occurred before sun up this morning." Fyror nodded his head in understanding before glancing over at Gerard.

Gerard felt a tentative relief at what he heard, glancing at Fryor and back to the worker. He did not delay to press him with more questions. Worriedly glancing shortly at the state of the broken down coach, he asked him "Did something happen? "

"See, they all came to the post on horseback, telling us the carriage has broken down a few miles south." the man cracked the joints of his knuckles then shook his head "Seemed like they were pushing too hard in a ride that's meant for light travel and not for long hard distances."

"If they've been pushing that hard as is, when they get to Nottingham they are likely not going to stop for the night. I suggest we don't either when we reach St. Albans if we wish to have any hope of cutting them off in Manchester," Fyror stated grimly to Gerard.

It's been some time since all happened, and it's most likely that Millicent is almost or beyond halfway to Gretna's by now. They can only hope there's still enough time to catch up on them, and with a little more intuition they might. Gerard can handle to push through with their traveling, if it means having a good chance on catching up.

"We should push through, it's the only way we can have a chance to reach them."Gerard turned to Fryor, more determined than usually patient in the tone of his voice. Not even his own tiredness will make him stop for anything, it's not like he can have some proper rest with Millie still out there.

Fyror nodded his head in agreement before spinning on his heels and heading back to their carriage, which at this time had a fresh set of horses. The both of them quickly got aboard the carriage, and then they were off again once more. They would need to make two more stops at stage coach posts along the way if they wished to keep their horses fresh. The more time wasted was the more time Lord Rutherford would have to get ahead of them, and for them to make it to Gretna Green first was not an option. They had to cut them off if they wished to save Millicent's life.

Fyror was anxious to say the least as he sat back in the carriage. He let out a sigh and held his temple between his fingers as he leaned back against the seat. His mind went back to what that man had said in regards to Lord Rutherford's company. "I should have figured that Lord Rutherford would bring guards with him. He is not going to give up Millicent willingly, Mr. Connolly," he stated, looking over at Gerard. His lips thinned, and a deadly serious look came upon his face. "If our confrontation becomes violent, I want you to grab Millicent and go. I will hold them off the best I can." One of his hands fell to the hilt of his sword, while the other patted his musket. And he meant every word he said to a fault. Gain his loyalty and he will be your greatest ally, but hurt an innocent life and he will be your worst nightmare.

Gerard could see his seriousness on his words. There was truly no way of knowing the danger that comes their way. Undoubtedly, it would be a tough encounter. If it were only possible to assist him when things ever turn that way, he would do so. He could not take another death of a companion, with an unspoken pledge to watch each other's back as most partners do. Yet saving Millie was their ultimate goal, and no matter the costs even though possibly trading a life for another should be unnecessary. After some thought, nevertheless Gerard gave Fryor a short nod, as he agrees on the plan at hand.

The daylight streaming into the carriage diminished with every mile they traveled, and yet every second felt like an eternity. For the duration of their travel to St. Albans, Fyror mulled over what information he had again and again in his mind and scoured his maps for any side routes that would buy them some time. He only stopped for the short time it took to change out horses at each stop. Their combined tension permeated around them in the carriage. Soon enough they would reach St. Albans. The sun had set, but it seemed their journey was only just beginning.
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March 23rd, 1823


*Note: We are NOT on cases so your counter is from your last IC post.

The Glimmeric: Inside of the Glimmeric things were abuzz with preparations for the evening was neigh upon them and their usual patrons would be making their way from the docks and their homes to the establishment. Or would they? During the time when afternoon passed to evening the constables had shown up on the street but Michael had stepped in to intervene. He used his good standing and his word to keep them from bothering Francis and the others. From the way Sally Ann had to be escorted back into the building earlier he feared she was in no condition to speak with the law. He had lead them over to the doctors and had the body taken care of; in other words put down so it could not rise again. The body was left with the doctor from that point on to do with as he saw fit. The constables figured that meant a potters field but Michael knew better but he did not wish to think of it.

The streets were all but bare that evening. Only a few locals or other shop owners were out and about and that seemed to be only to check to see if any others had had business that day. It seemed that word was getting around about the murders and much of London's Peers and Gentry were packing up to leave for their homes out in the country as quick as they could. This would mean a massive financial hit to the city itself. Summer was the time for income for all venues. Butchers, dress makers, even brothels. Warmer days, and so forth was when the majority of the money came in for the year. With them leaving and the evening paper stating that Parliament was now canceled until further notice, what would the middle and lower class of London do to survive?

Stage Coach Route Towards Manchester: As the pair reached St. Albans it was clear they were not the only ones leaving London. Many a coach from various families with homes to the north were parked outside the various inns that dotted the small hamlet. They must have left at the break of dawn to get there and travel at normal speeds without pressing their carriages too much. Yet they were not traveling at night. That seemed to be a fools errand. And with the Soulless plaguing London they dare not be out in the moonlight. What horrors were the shadows hiding? No, it was better to have a warm bed, a fully belly, and a crowd around themselves that were armed than to be in a carriage that could break down or flip at a moments notice.

Whether they wanted to stop or not, it didn't matter. They had to. It was time to change the horses again and check the carriage. At the stage coach post, there were fresh horses waiting as per usual and other carriages that were being changed out. It seemed a harsh rain had set in north of them and carriages traveling from London north bound now needed to change out to even sturdier carriages.

"Aye, the roads towards Nottingham are horrid and even further north. I left Nottingham this morning just as it hit. It had come in from Manchester. Three roads are washed out between Manchester and Nottingham now," one bloke stated to another as he hopped off a carriage that had obvious sustained some damage.

"Must just be sitting mate. Roads be wet towards Manchester from here," another chimed in. Turning he stepped over to the carriage that the two heroes were riding in. "What's yer next post m'lords?" he asked so he could know carriage route they would need to be set up on.

A Funeral: As the fire burns around the corpse, the smoke begins to clear but the flames are growing higher. It is becoming alarming at this point for the wood is nearly spent as is the body but the closer things come to being nothing but ash the stronger the fire becomes until it is a blazing white flame and there is no smoke or scent in the air. Yet the heat radiating from it is beyond intense, it will cause anyone within twenty feet of the pyre to rush back to keep from being burned, even within a radius of fifty feet it is nearly intolerable, within a 100 feet is it the hottest of summer days though the sun has set.

This is the stuff of myth's and legends. There had been tale of some, burned after death, that this would occur. Yet there was no proof. Such things were left to superstition even in this day and time with the Soulless roaming about. What exactly was the myth? That a body consumed by fire that burns as white as the stars is the purest of Souls. It is a near anointing by God himself among the church, among other religions something very similar, among the scientific even it was said that the body was clean of any tainting sch as disease. Had such a thing happened within the walls of London? Not one report ever and it had been since before Jericho's Barricade that any had spoken of such an occurrence.

Russian Imperial Tent City: Within the tent Adam stayed near the Grand Duchess, praying until he fell asleep half curled between Elizaveta and Myska, his resting against her arm as he slumbered. Sister Sophia did nothing to move the child, letting him rest. He was causing no harm and seemed to have some sort of attachment to the future Czarina. She remained vigilant, sending everyone else out of the tent. She could handle the fires and water. With just the three of them, and pet, within the tent she sat herself down and returned to her prayer. All was calm within the luxurious tent. Too calm.

Outside however it was not. Many of the circus performers and workers were worried. Crowds normally started gathering by now to see the side shows before the main act. Yet not had arrived as the sun set. Tickets were already sold but food, drink, trinkets, palm readings, and more were a hefty portion of what the circus took in for a day. There was one though. A small plain carriage arrived at the outskirts of the tent city and an old stern looking nun emerged from the carriage. "Saints be praised, that carriage is about a smooth as trying to swallow glass," Sister Lazarus stated to herself as she shut the carriage door roughly. "Hey, someone want to tell me where I can find Sister Mary Hale? Red head, young."


Millicent Wyndham


Location: Nottingham, England



The sounds of the tavern surrounded her as she sat in a dark corner, shrouded in shadows. She had not wanted to enter the establishment, she had not wanted to enter the carriage, she had not wanted to leave London. Yet what choice did she have at this point? None in her mind. So she sat frozen as her fiance left two guards with her. She could see him from where she was seated. His attention was elsewhere and that she was grateful for. The shadows though were not for her they were for him. Battered and bruised to a point now that even a high collared coat and scarf, full gloves, and makeup could not hide. Darkness was the only thing that kept the world for seeing what she had been turned into, reduce to at this point.

A warm trickle of liquid she could feel pooling at the corner of her lips. Why bother even wiping the blood away at this point? How could this have happened? How far things had gotten out of control so quickly. It was all a blur to her. The first time she had fought with everything in her. Then she felt broken. The second time she hadn't even moved. This seemed to anger him even more. No cries, no screams in pain or agony. Just blankness in her eyes no matter what he did. Not a single yelp had even come from her when she was forced to hurry from the carriage into the tavern and shoved into the shadows. Nothing seemed to rise her pride anymore. It was just a vast disconnect and emptiness. Not even solace that she was saving her remaining sister from this fate could be found.

"Milli, come here dear," Benedict called to his daughter. Millicent came into his make shift office and looked over to her father. She did not blink or even seem to move. "Now you must stop this melancholy." His voice was was firm but understanding.

He hadn't had the strength to tell Millicent in person that her mother had died and had sent word via one of the captains of his spice ships to tell her. Yet when he received word back from her trainers months later that Milli had slipped into a deep depression he had set off at once to be by his daughters side. He told none of the staff where he was going, just that he was having to deal with work and would be gone for some months. This was not uncommon due to his position and his business. With Catherine passing away many of the servants thought it was a good idea if he did leave the house and try to put his mind elsewhere.

He set sail the next morning and arrived in China months later. It was worse than he had feared. She was like a ghost of herself and even now being addressed by her father she still said nothing but at least now she was walking about when called, not having to be directed. "I miss her as well little one."

Milli still said nothing. Rising from his seat he lead his daughter over to a chair and sat her down before kneeling in front of her. "And I am mad as hell. At her, at the world. That she would be taken from us. You know what? That's okay." Millicent blinked a bit. Reaching over he placed his hand over hers and gave it a loving squeeze. "But what isn't okay is to lose ourselves because of what we have lost. Child listen to me. Life is loss. No matter what we do, no matter how good we are, no matter how hard we love, we will have loss in our lives. It will hurt but we keep going. For us and for them. What is life without a fight? Without something to fight for we have no purpose. A fight for our home, for love, for our very sanity. The day we stop fighting we might as well die for then we are not living anymore. So fight my child. Fight this emptiness you feel, fight to speak, fight to cry, fight to love. Your mother fought until the end, she would want you fight. Fight for her until you can fight for yourself. And once you can, never let that go. Please Milli, my dearest, fight so when you return home you can put the rest of England to shame," he said in a quivering voice.

Her father had always been loving towards Millicent. Strong and wanting her to build her own strength. He cared not for the ton and their ways. He just wanted his daughter to be happy, whatever that was. Right then he just wanted to see life in her eyes once again. A few rare tears rolled down his cheeks. Seemed he needed to see his daughter as much as she needed to see him. He had to fight for her because he had forgotten how to fight for himself when Catherine was gone. Now he had a purpose, now he needed Millicent to have one as well.

"Okay papa...."


Millicent remembered that day as if it was yesterday. Her fathers words had reached her and she had managed to eek out a simple two word reply. It was months before she was fully recovered and back into her training but once she was she had found herself. Her fire for life again. When she returned to England she had stopped fighting for herself and fought for her sisters. Now one was gone and the other was in London. She needed to fight for herself once again. Reaching up she slowly wiped the blood that trickled down from her lips.


Elizaveta Romanova


Location: Russian Imperial Tent City: Her Tent


"Let me die..." I thought to myself. The pain, it surged through my body as if there was end to it. Every god given inch was inflamed with agony in its truest form. I could see the lake, so close and yet so far away. I could see everything around me. It was as if time stood still. Then there was nothing. Just blackness and emptiness. I can't understand what happened and I wonder if I will when I look back someday or will I even remember this? Is this what it means to cross over to another side? Is this the end? What of a blazing white light? Where is the warmth of god? Where is his gentle reassurance that was like a voice in the back of my mind letting me know if would be alright?

No, this is not nothingness. This is far beyond the abyss. It is something less and more than nothingness. How long has passed? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? An eternity? Wait, I see something. A light! Praise be to God for coming. Yes that much be him. His light cuts through the blackness like Moses cutting the Red Seas. Such divinity. I follow the light. Brighter and brighter it becomes and then the heat from it strikes me.

It is so hot but I have to keep moving even as I feel as if my flesh will burn from my bones. It matters not. This must be what it means to shed ones mortal coil. I have no fear, this does no startle me. Until it passes me and continues on back into the darkness from where I came. What is happening? Was this a test that I did not pass? Was my faith not strong enough? My soul not pure enough? Had that creature tainted my soul so that I may only be burned to ash and not given eternal rest? Am I plagued to be here forever? No, that is not it. Another light. So much softer. I follow to it. It becomes warmer and brighter. It is so familiar. I step into it hopeful that I have finally found where I am to be.


A twitch of the finger came from the pale and still hand. And another until a soft coo like a bird broke weakly from the lips of Elizaveta. Adam shot straight up out of his slumber and looked wide down as the Grand Duchess looked to be awaking. Sister Sophia stood up quickly, her chair toppling over as she rushed to the tent's flap and called out. "She's waking!"

Her long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings before her lids lifted and she looked around slowly. Her vision was so blurry, it was hard to make out shapes or figures. Yet touch was with her and she felt the warm fur and warm tongue of Myska licking her hand. "Что случилось?" she asked in a weak voice that was rough, sounding as if she had spent far too long singing in under the tent without water to quench the parched desert in her throat.

"Мы думали, что потеряли тебя," Sister Sophia said as she rushed back to her side and knelt down at the side of the make shift bed. Adam looked over towards Sophia confused. She sighed a bit, of course the boy didn't speak Russian. "She was just wondering what happened was all," she assured him.

Reaching up she rubbed her eyes, trying to bring them into focus before finally being able to see. She looked tired but she forced a smile as Adam came into view. "Well hello there little one."


Sally Kirkpatrick


Location: Dress Maker: Annan, Scotland


"Tis about time, I was beginning to wonder if I should be fitted for a coffin whilst I waited." The Lady Kirkpatrick's voice cut through the clamoring and bustling in the shop. Standing up slowly with the aide of her cane she stepped over towards Maeve and gave her a once over. "You lot have sufficiently turned this girl into a pin cushion. She will most likely need a weeks recovery from yer poking and prodding after a fitting such as this." Shaking her head a bit she tapped the tip of her cane on the ground a few times as if to accentuate her point.

"Next fitting I shall call on my personal seamstress to attend to you. Such as it was she was not up for the journey here as she is currently occupied with with the task of fitting my nephews for the Season. She will not prick a single pin into you," the woman added before turning her attention to the staff at hand. There was money to exchange, deliveries to arrange, and items to pack for Maeve before they left town in the morning.

"Yes, the coat she needs now, evening gown and robe for tonight, a change for the morning. Pack thusly and hand to Rory outside at once. No, minus the coat, she might have need of it. That hat and yes, those gloves. Riticule as well. Well don't doddle child, move yer arse," she said sternly before looking back over towards Maeve. "I could use a well done meal at this point, yet I fear we will have to settle with whatever vile is being served at the tavern this evening. Tis only for a night, tomorrow we will make our way home." Stepping over towards the door she stopped in front of it and glanced back over towards Maeve. It was obvious by the clearing of her throat she was waiting on the woman to get the door for her.
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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli





The cost of admission had been paid by many, tickets almost innumerable waiting to be reclaimed by the proprietors of the Russian Grand Circus. Many other points of sale were fired up and ready to be distributed for a modest fee, concessions and souvenirs to delight the people of London, young and old alike. But they simply weren't there. Neither the young, nor the old, nor the able nor infirm, merchant nor mistress, prince nor pauper had arrived to take in the experiences of the Circus - arguably the most prestigious Circus in existence. This was the first impression of Vladimir as he and Mary exited the imposing living quarters of Baron Alexandrov.

The profits from the performance at Astley's Amphitheatre, courtesy of The Great Bazhooli, would keep the troupe fed and their day-to-day repairs met for some time without dipping into savings. This was not the concern, so much. The expenditure necessary to travel the distance they did was supposed to be recouped in the first day or so of full performances, seeing as it was London during the Season. They were like an army moving without clear supply lines; help from home would take a lot of precious time to get there.

Not only was their financial schedule behind, there was a circus full of performers in full regalia with no audience. It was thoroughly infuriating to the talented men and women present. Add to this the uncertainty of the Grand Duchess, and these were not happy people.

"Word concerning the tragedy of Almack's has spread across London, Master Alexandrov. No doubt the incidents from this morning also weigh heavily upon the minds of the people." Mary said, looking around with sharp eyes. She was pulling her hooded, white robe on over her more ecclesiastical garments, covering the signs of her profession. The Swiss halberd would serve to give her away, though, to anybody who knew the origin of the weapon. She accepted the help of the more mature Russian standing beside her, Vladimir arraying the tough cloth over her shoulders so she would not have to set her weapon on the ground.

The young apostolic gave Vladimir a warm smile as a quiet expression of gratitude. The act was not necessary, but it was delivered in a casual, genuinely helpful manner that was lacking in a city full of men preoccupied with the appearance of overly chivalric assistance, given to what they considered the "weaker sex". This was a nudge of help between peers. Mary appreciated it.

It was around this time that the pair of them noticed the strikingly noticeable presence of Sister Lazarus. She did tend to stick out among this crowd, especially as the number of proficient English speakers seemed to be less than elsewhere nearby. Still, the sun never sets on the British Empire, or so they say, and a least parts of the language tended to travel the globe, at least enough for the occasional performer or workman to point in the general direction of Mary, Vladimir, and/or the imposing tent of the Baron Alexandrov.

"This von is scary also. Not as you are scary, Страшная католическая девушка1. Is different. Eh... Maybe is something important?"

"For Sister Lazarus to set foot in a circus, Master Alexandrov, I must assume that you are correct. However understand, when I speak your language with greater proficiency, we shall discuss "Scary", sir."

It was at this moment that the two of them heard the accented voice of Sister Sophia call from Elizaveta's tent, "She's waking!" It was enough to make Mary stop short and turn to the source of the sound, torn between her concern for her friend and her possible obligations to he church as represented by the presence of Sister Lazarus. Sensing an ethical dilemma in the making, Vladimir took on a more commanding aspect to his voice and posture, straightened the tall, leather banded hat upon his head, and proclaimed, "Sister-Knight, you see to Church. I see to Veta and boy. Trust me, da? Come back vhen done. You are still Veta's guest, also now Baron's."

Mary looked to the older man with a hint of apprehension. Should she be offended at being ordered about by him? This was his place, after all. He held authority here, though he did not have it over her, specifically. She eyed the Russian for a second or two before deciding that he was, at least in this instance, fully worthy of her trust. Those she cared about inside of the tent were receiving proper care and attention, and specifically Mary was the object of Sister Lazarus's search. "Thank you, Master Alexandrov. I shall see you again shortly."

The Great Bazhooli immediately returned to Elizaveta's tent, shooing away the unnecessary lookie-loos and returning order to the area in front of tent with well placed shouting and strategic waving of his arms, in the time honored tradition of histrionic, knife-throwing borderline maniacs going back generations. As he entered, he removed his hat with a flourish, bowed to the interesting and unusual sight in the bed, and remarked with gusto, "Is vith humility and pleasure that I, the unvorthy, look upon open eyes of Grand Duchess Romanova! You are sight of beauty unmatched, elegance in any circumstance. And is doing my heart good that you are vell." He took a knee and bowed again, forehead coming close to scraping the ground, seemingly not put off that she was sharing the bed with a 600 lb. tiger and a strange British child that usually followed Mary around. Once he stood, Vladimir noted with more sincere and casual tones, "The Sister Mary is here, but I am thinking you missed the brunching. How do you feel?" There was much to fill in, but first he needed to know that Elizaveta was alright.

Meanwhile, Mary made her way over to Sister Lazarus. It was a rather easy task, what with the pointing and staring at a Nun in full habit in a place other wise without such an occurrence, with the exception of their own Sister Sophia. "Sister! It is an unexpected pleasure to see you out; is everything quite alright?"

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Constantin Kolev


Location: The Tent City.




Yeah it appeared the events of the past night had left the city rather unsettled. If there was one thing people took to when in danger was to lock up in their homes, Constantin full well understood that and for that reason wasn't really surprised the people weren't showing up at the circus. In no way did that make him feel better about it though, to have people not show up like this was rather insulting to everyone who worked so hard on any job and task across the tent city.

He and his family were dressed up, all prepared as they should be. He and his father wore long white shirts and knee long black trousers both decorated with red embroidery. His mother wore just under the knee long white dress decorated with red again. Clothing for their craft wasn't the brightest, but it stood out well on the background of red and dark embers as it was supposed to.

“Mother, Father, there is still quite a little bit of time so I will go check on Vet... *cough* the Grand Duchess's condition.” He quickly explained and excused himself before heading out. He had strapped the saber on his belt, just in case, one never knew when soulless could show up. He really hoped for good news about her condition. He had sworn to himself to give her an earful when she gets better, but only now realized the fact their positions were way too different for him to do that... well... Not that it was going to stop him if Vlad wasn't the one to do it first.
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Location: The Strand (Glimmeric) --> Talink Estate


- Yousuf Karsh




As Thalken left the Glimmeric, the sun was setting and so with it went its warmth and light. The practically barren streets of London were cast into the shadows, giving them a more ominous feel. If the streets were dangerous during the day, they were most certainly treacherous come nightfall. And yet, one could say this was Thalken's domain. After all, he had lived a life in the darkness and was only beginning to relish the light.

He opted to take the same route he had traversed earlier today. His hand rested on the hilt of his Dao as he navigated the dark alleyways through the Strand to the Adelphi area. It wasn't the safest means of travel, but it was certainly quicker, particularly for those like himself who were quite familiar with them. As long as you didn't run into any criminals along the way, the lessened amount of congestion made for swifter travel. However, that factor seemed to matter little tonight, as the streets of London were oddly empty. Fear drove people to their homes out on the countryside, as if that would provide them better protection. No, as far as Thalken saw it, that just made them easier to pick off one by one.

Thalken traveled quickly through the Adelphi area to the nearby docks. He had anticipated to run into someone or to encounter some form of resistance along the way, but he hadn't. One would think that the lack of problems would put him at ease, but it in fact did quite the opposite. It put him on edge the remainder of his travels. Considering all he had seen and experienced yesterday and today, he did not buy for one second that tonight was going to be purely peaceful. Something was a foot. He could feel it in his bones.

He finally passed through the docks, which were surprisingly constable free. He supposed even they did not want to remain outside after dark. He quickly covered the remaining distance home, and soon enough he was stepping foot inside the manor on the Talink Estate. The absence of his sister and father quickly became apparent to him, and it only served to add to his tension. According to the servants they were settling the terms of a business transaction with the Crypts. Thalken did not like that they had left without him. If only he knew the deal the Lady Crypt was making with the devil...







Location: Stage Coach Route towards Manchester




- "Don't Stop" by Nothing More




Fyror and Gerard finally rode into St. Albans as the sun set. It quickly became apparent that the small hamlet was filled to the brim with people. Fyror figured they were most likely leaving, or rather fleeing, London for the so called safety of their homes out on the countryside. His mind was too preoccupied to entertain the thought of whether or not leaving the confines of London was an intelligent decision.

They once more had to stop to change horses and to check the carriage. At this point, Fyror had lost count of how many stops they had made today. All he knew was that with every minute lost was one more minute that Lord Rutherford had on them. They had to get to Millicent before it was too late. Despite the dangers that traveling at night posed, Fyror was even more determined to press on. If they waited until morning to travel, the roads would be heavily congested with all these travelers, and thus they would slow them down tremendously. As far as he saw it, that wasn't an option even if the alternative was a risky one.

While the horses were quickly being changed, he paced outside the carriage to stretch his long legs and to burn off some energy. His face grew grim as he heard the none too comforting conversations around him. Washed out roads was the last thing they needed considering they were already behind as is. He hoped at least that meant Lord Rutherford would have to hunker down in Nottingham for awhile while the storm past. One could only hope and pray in the given circumstances.

Fyror turned as a man approached them. "We are heading for Manchester on urgent business," he addressed the man.
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Gerard Connolly




Location: St.Albans



Gerard did not want to waste time as they are literally racing against it, and although it annoys him of the constant changing of horses every now and again, it has to be done. He stood just a fair distance from his companion, crouching down on the dirt as he take the his time with the pebbles on the ground. Every once in a while he would watch the myriad of people, around the small hamlet, it seemed most of them had the idea of leaving the city as well. Gerard heaved a sigh, he wished the moment he gets Millie to safety, they would all be returning home to the country. THere's no way he would be setting foot back in London, for a very very long time at least.

Gerard turned his attention towards the men who just now approached them, asking them of their next route. He stood up on his feet, as he dusted the dirt from his hands and moved closer to them. Fryor had adressed them of their business and Gerard simply gave them both a sharp nod in agreement. Gerard was serious that he would not be stopping for anything, he can tolerate sleeping in the carriage anyway if he is visited by tiredness and he had packed enough food that could last a few days. It's somewhat, brought the memories of living in a ship. And what stuck with him from that is the feeling of comfort when sleeping in a traveling motion. It was quiet odd and thus so far he'll do okay.




Frances Warwick




Location: The Glimmeric;



Ruby was taking rounds at the tables this time, and the madame was staying inside her quarters for half of the night. She was standing at her large bay window behind her desk, arms crossed. From here she could see the docks from a distance, a rather nice view as the waters faintly illuminated by the street lights and the spectacular moonlight.

So far the night went on as usual, only that everyone was guarded. Benny, the Glimmerics all around protector was standing guard just outside the doors, something that the Madam had never considered before, as it usually scares off the patrons yet this time, she saw it fit to have him stand guard there to keep a close eye on anything that seemed threatening, or at least be around when a somebody decides to pull an Almack's. A capable hand he is, internally Benny is somewhat harmless and would only willingly do what the madam says. THat doesn't mean he looks less intimidating as what people perceive him to be.

Yet tonight, patrons were limited. Only a few of their usual visitors coming in tonight and with a new dreaded concerns coming from their mouths. It seemed the news of the murders has finally had everyone agitated, to put it lightly. And one can only assume that having such terrible events happen on two consecutive days, will eventually have people, especially of the esteemed and well to do status leave the city and into the safety of their homes in the country sides. This bore no good news to every honest business owner and if this goes on for quite a while, surely incomes will plummet, terrible timing in the season of abundant reaping.

The madame's thoughts on the current matter are slightly stressing her. This curse, was becoming hindrance to the business which was now slowly becoming personal. This would mean they have to find a way to adapt, if this goes on and she feels like it would. They would have to make cuts, on pay, on resources. They would have to make others leave, it's the only practical choice she would never allow. Yet all her possible choices were bleak.





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Location: the Mournweald Estate


Had Virginia heard Beowulf's words, she showed no recognition of it. There were no expressions of fear or panic, nor happiness and certainly not event disgust. It was a perfected mask of indifference. She measured her each and every expression with careful calculation as she mulled over the options presented to her. She had very little choice but to accept Beowulf's offer, otherwise her brother would be in greater danger than was needed. She began to envision a future for her and her brother, one in which they left England behind. They could travel to the colonies in secrecy, perhaps even to Upper Canada. It would be a risky endeavor, yet Virginia needed to be able to see a rough path ahead of her. It was entirely likely that such an escape attempt would be unsuccessful. It may be necessary to fake the deaths of both her and her brother, but if it allowed James to have the life he deserved, then so be it. It would be worth any price, any misery, any judgment that would come to pass.

"No, there will be no need--" Virginia began, only to feel a scorching heat on her person. She made the mistake of looking towards the funeral pyre, staring directly into the blinding light for a precious few seconds. As she averted her gaze and increased the distance between her and the pyre, until it was a little over sixty feet. Even then, it took her willpower not to fall back even further. James was giddy with excitement, attempting to get within fifty feet of the pyre, only for Alfred to pick the lad up and carry him at least one hundred feet out of range.

"How peculiar," Virginia murmured, raising a hand in an attempt to shield her eyes and to then steal another glance at the pyre. While she was familiar with the scientific meaning of a body that burned like starlight, Virginia's mind went to the tales and myths her mother had told her as a child. Those unmarked by the darkness burned like this. While many looked upon it as a marvel, in the Crypt family it was more or less a disappointment. The myth was more of a warning for the young children, in order to entice them to get their hands dirty and live their lives.

To Virginia, then, it was a sign that Mosi had been taken too soon. She may have died a valiant death and gone onto the next adventure, but she had hardly even began her journey on the mortal plane before her demise.



Location: Dressmakers', Annan


Maeve nodded, a bit relieved to hear that she wouldn't be prodded with needles again. It wasn't the most pleasant experience of her life. Somehow, the numerous little pricks hurt more than the (often accidental) blows had during her training. She was currently resisting the urge to rub at her arms, but felt that it was best not to do so. Impressing Lady Kirkpatrick seemed to be a full time job, and the attendants at the shop appeared to be feeling similar about the matter, moving into a frenzy of activity once more to finish each and every command of Lady Kirkpatrick's.

The prospect of eating in a tavern wasn't too troubling to Maeve-- the majority of the food she consumed on a daily basis was tavern food. Such was the life of a bartender, her "official" occupation beyond spy and gang member. Of course, she imagined that peers were used to finer choices of food than what Lady Kirkpatrick had deemed "vile." Maeve went at a bit of a dash and opened the door for Lady Kirkpatrick, just as the frazzled attendant came over to her, with the coat and other items for the moment at the ready. The rest were being packaged and would take another moment.

Throughout the entire process, Maeve had almost forgotten how cross she was with Calum. As she held the door for Lady Kirkpatrick, she couldn't help but wonder if the preacher would be traveling with them from this point on or if his duty was finished.
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Lady Absinthia ⚘ Blossoming ⚘

Member Seen 2 mos ago


March 23rd, 1823


*Remember your skills peeps, ^_~

The Glimmeric: The place was nearly a ghost town in comparison to how it normally was by this time of the evening. Sure there were a few but it was far from what was needed. Yet there was one there that normally was not. Michael came into the establishment slowly, glancing around as he did. He was not one to ever frequent the place at night. He would come by during the day from time to time but that was only ever to speak with them or to make a delivery if the girls were not strong enough to carry in what was needed.

This time he carried a very large thick piece of cloth that seemed to be bound around something that was smoking slightly. It smelt heavenly. "As promised," he said with a warm smile as he walked over towards the bar and gently set down the wrapped package. Undoing the twine he unwrapped it and within held a full side of beef. It looked as if he had been cooking all day and then some. Falling apart on the bone with plenty of fixin's. "I had an order canceled. Twas already paid for. I cannot eat this and why let it go to waste?" He was kind in his words and truthful. He had promised them meat this day but nothing like this. Yet an order had been canceled as one of his customers were fleeing the city. Many were. "Please, enjoy it."

Stage Coach Route Towards Manchester: "Manchester? Good choice. Roads be clearest that route. If ye be riding hard enough, you may reach Stafford by dawn," the man said. "Be it three stops between here and Stafford. Deventry, Rugby, then Tamworth," he explained as he motioned to a different carriage. "This be the one you need to be taking. Yet if you are going for a more relaxed travel, the one you came in may hold out for the journey. It just be depending on how much of a hurry ya be in m'lord."

It would be up to them if they wished to stay in their current carriage or change over to another. Their things could be moved quickly and payment was as it should be. This was good news. Lady Luck seemed to be in their favor. If they could reach Stafford by dawn it would mean they had made up on lost time. Was there a chance they could actually reach Manchester before Lord Rutherford? If so, it would mean they could cut the vile man off before he reached Gretna Green. If not, could they catch him? Even if they did, would Millicent agree not to marry the man? So many questions and so little time.

A Funeral: The fire continued to burn for a few moments longer. Strong and white. A sudden gush of wind picked up and the fire was blown out. Not to any side as one might think but straight down. It was nearly instantaneous and once the smoke cleared the embers were cold and no heat remained. In fact a layer of frost remained even though the ambient air was far above a degree which would cause that. More than that the ashes of the funeral pyre seemed to be divided, into multiple different areas. Or perhaps it was more than that? It nearly seemed as if arrows were stamped into the ashes that remained. One pointed towards the north west, what lay in that direction? And another towards west and just slightly south. Each line in the ash had a length. The first was of decent length. The second actually left the pyre and continued out to the garden wall and perhaps would have gone beyond even that. From the pyre came out parchment and landed at Virginia's feet. Burned but not ash. Yet there was nothing written on the paper, at least not to the naked eye. Perhaps it was time to see more than what people would have her see.

Russian Imperial Tent City: Sister Lazarus let out a grunt as her eyes finally fell on Sister Mary. "I will not even bother asking to why you are in such surroundings." Her voice was terse and short as she spoke, her eyes darting around to those there. "Oh course everything is not fine. I am out of my library, away from the dusting and filing. Such questions." Shaking her head a bit she pulled out from her robes a letter which had been delivered to the abbey and handed it over to her. "From Lady Crypts estate." Handing it over she pulled out another from the other side of her robes. "And one from the Graveolase." Neither of them had the seals broken, they were as they were when they had been delivered. "I was going to wait until you returned to give you the one from the Crypts yet when this one arrived, I felt it was of the utmost importance to deliver it post haste. Sister Alma volunteered to bring it but I did not want her to..." Sister Lazarus began to say but the look on her features as she went silent told everything. Sister Alma wasn't the most dependable when it came to things. With her penchant of forgetting she probably would have ended up at the Strand wondering why she was out of the abbey.


Elizaveta Romanova


Location: Russian Imperial Tent City: Her Tent


The Grand Duchess lay there and smiled slightly as Myska curled closer around her, helping her to sit up slightly in her bed. Adam slipped back some and sat on the edge of the bed. "Hel...hello," the boy said nervously and returned the smile. "I... I was worried..." he said nervously. Elizaveta shook her head and reached out to the small one, resting her hand over his and giving it a slight squeeze.

"Hov caring of you. You needn't vorry so. You are young. Let older more stern faces vorry." Sister Sophia looked over towards Veta and shot her a look which made the future Czarina chuckle. "See, she has face for vorry." This little joke seemed to irk the Sister but it made Adam laugh a bit even if quietly.

As Vlad entered Sister Sophia washed her hands of the situation and felt it was best if she were to slip out with the others and have a moment to breath. Veta was not about tell her to stay. While she respected her tutor, they had never seen eye to eye and she was far more happy to have Vlad with her instead. "And I am glad to see you. Vas frightening situation but I believe I am to be fine. Vhile vorn and tired, I have felt far vorse from other things. In this care hov could I not be as right as rain. Vorry not about brunch, ve can have dinner. I feel as I have not eaten since the last moon."

Outside of the tent Sister Sophia let out a relieved sigh and silently thanked God for returning Elizaveta to them. The girl seemed to enjoy pushing her buttons but even though it vexed her she was glad of it right then. It meant she was feeling more like herself. It was a good sign and they could use those right then. Spotting Constantin walking towards the tent she looked over to him. "She is awake. Go, see her. Careful, her wit was not lost in her sleep," the sister said before excusing herself to go to her private tent for a short moment of reflection that she felt she was needed.



Sally Kirkpatrick


Location: Tavern: Annan, Scotland


Lady Kirkpatrick stepped through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Waiting she rested her cane tip on the ground and held her arm out for Maeve to take it once she was out of the dress shop. "Come now, help an old woman across the street to the tavern. Wouldn't want anyone to believe I am fully capable of walking on me own," she said as she shot Rory a look. He was half way down the carriage to get the door for her but stopped in his tracks. It was obvious she was not going to be using the carriage right then. Grimacing slightly he crawled back to his stoop at the top of the carriage and sat back down. He knew better by now than to press it.

"Has Father Fuddle run off?" she asked towards Rory.

"No m'lady. He be in the tavern trying to make sure that the meal is to your liking," Rory stuttered as he tried not to laugh. He loved how Lady Kirkpatrick referred to the man as Father Fuddle. Not to mention him trying to make sure that food was up to snuff was just hilarious to him. "If there be a kitchen left when ye arrive I will eat me boot."

Shaking her head she groaned a bit, she wanted to wack the man upside the head but it was too much effort right then. Seemed Rory knew it as he sat proudly. "Wipe that look from yer face or I will have my girl wack you with me cane for me," she warned and the smug look on his features melted away. With that she humphed and started across the street and towards the tavern. "Maybe a cane for you would do. I am far to old to chase these down anymore. You are quick enough. Tell me, how well can you handle a shillelagh?" she asked Maeve as she entered the tavern. The doorman opening it for them.

Inside all seemed calm until Callum came out of back of the tavern, running and being hit with a rag by the cook. "Stay out of me kitchen before I boil ya! Facking clumsy oaf! ya about burned me place down. Out wit' ya!"
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigil
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Sigil Literary Hatchetman

Member Seen 2 days ago





Passive Skills:
  • Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
  • Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.


Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)




The mood of the flamboyant Gentleman of the Russian Circus known as "The Great Bazhooli" could barely contain his absolute jubilation at the news that Elizaveta was not just awake and well, but also hungry. Hungry was usually a good sign, which he grasped with both hands in the classic tradition of his people: With flaming overkill.

A sense of sudden energy came about the man as he threw his hat back upon his head, covering over the filigreed, red bandanna holding his prominent, lightly oiled mane of chestnut hair down. Vladimir's face brightened, the first warning as the level of animation his limbs were about to achieve. The explosion of happy was palpable from three tents away. "Yes. Yes! Ve can have the dinner. All of us! A thing for celebration!" He moved in closer to the Grand Duchess and the boy, Adam, who remained in bed, voice gathering as a snowball tumbling down a powdered mountainside. "Grand, massive feast of Russian succulents and savories! Ve show everyvon..." he crept nearer to the Grand Duchess, spasmodically flexing his hands in front of himself to emphasize the fervent nature of his speech, "...Da, everyvon see that spirit of Russian Circus vill not be step-ed flat by attack in dark!"

He raised to his full height, eyes maniacally bright and twitchy. His voice grew powerful, and the light in the room seemed to darken slightly in response to choke hold on the dramatic. "All of the peoples and beasts of the Londons vill see the strength and grace of the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Petrovna Romanova! Feasting! Holding court vith Baron Alexandrov, Great Bazhooli, Roman Catholics, and Arch Graveolase! There vill be music! Dancing! Fires to light up sky, beacon of hope and defiance versus Soulless and monsters alike! Da! VE DO THIS THING TONIGHT!" Vladimir dropped his histrionic mannerisms for just a second or two, just long enough to politely address Elizaveta in quieter, doting tones, "You have good idea, Veta. Excellent plan. You do nothing but sit and enjoy. For before dinner, I send back fresh bread and honey for you and boy. Maybe beet or two. Beet good for him. Good for you, too. You eat. You rest." A smile began to slowly creep across his features as the gleam of utter Bazhooliness returned.

"THEN VE FEAST!"

Vladimir burst out of the tent with such force of personality that people nearby shirked back in unexpected awe. He cleared his throat, prepared to address the Sem'ya, when a realization smacked him. He quickly poked his head back into the tent, intoning hastily, "прости, little Veta. Vill be back in short time." The second explosion from the tent was not as impressive as the first, but his words were taken with the fullness of respect due The Great Bazhooli in his own home. He drew two of his larger knives from among the many on his person, twirling them around himself as he spoke. "Circus closing! Bring music, lights, acts back to Bazhooli Sem'ya Tent City! Tonight, ve celebrate! Grand Duchess is safe and vell! Tonight, circus perform for Circus." From among the people who had gathered, Vladimir pointed to select members of the Sem'ya and called them forward for special instruction.

"You: Am needing extra security peoples on perimeter. Everyvon celebrates, so you are keeping shifts short, rotate often. Guards on Veta's tent, all times. No von drinks until after turn at shift. You: Get cooks moving food for selling into Tent City kitchen instead. Use good stuff. And you: Places of honor at big table in front of assembly. Veta, Baron, Great Bazhooli, eh... Sister-Knight Mary, and usual places. I think Scary Catholic Girl has Nun friend vith her now. All ov you, go now!" He sent them away with a mighty flourish of tailored linens and bright steel.

Among the crowd, he located his son, calling out to him, "Konstantin! Ah, good son, there you are. Veta is awake now, and passionately hungry. For please, get her and boy some of the bread from today, vith pot of honey and jam, da? Oh! And smoked beets. Is good for boy. Thank you, thank you." He was aware that he had been heaping a lot of responsibility on Konstantin as of late, mostly in the form of tasks generally suited to menial laborers or servants. In a way, they all were. In the Circus, everyone who was able to worked, everyone served everyone else. It was a matter of survival in an unsure world. But Konstantin was, potentially, the next Great Bazhooli. He needed to maintain a sense of humble service to his people, and proud standing with everyone else. So far, he was doing very well with both. If only he would start showing the unbridled panache necessary for the job. All in good time, hopefully. "Am proud of you, boy. You do good."

His own sense of pride in his people rising, Vladimir leapt atop a nearby table, arms outstretched (and still holding blades), calling to uplift his people. "Ladies and Gentlemans! Gypsies, Nobles, and all between! Tonight, ve raise voices! Tonight, ve light lights! Dance! Sing! Celebrate! Tonight, ve show all of London-town that ve are strong! That ve are unafraid! That ve are bright light in time of darkness! Ve are Rusyn! Circus! Ve are Sem'ya!" Resulting cheers from the circus folk gathered could likely be heard for miles off. Vladimir was proud of his people, indeed. And since his father, The Baron, hadn't roared various obscenities from inside of his tent, he could only assume that the elder Alexandrov approved.







"I will defend those who cannot defend themselves. I will be faithful in love and loyal in friendship."

Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)




Meanwhile, Sister Mary carefully cracked open the letters, one with the seal of the House Crypt and the other bearing the mark of the Graveolase. She thanked Sister Lazarus again and selected the letter from Virginia first. It was fitting, considering that they had some discussion to get back to, previously interrupted by the carnage at Almack's. The idea had been brought up about meeting sometime that day, although no solid plans had been confirmed. Yesterday afternoon seemed so far away, what with all that had happened. If Mary had forgotten something or missed her somewhere in the shuffle, then she was due a personal apology as soon as possible. Nothing the Graveolase had to say, with few possible exceptions, would be as important to her at that moment. Not far behind her, The Great Bazhooli was in the process of rallying his people together.

Reading the letter from Virginia revealed a far worse circumstance than she had feared. The life of little James Crypt, the Viscount Wenwynith, was being threatened by forces unknown. Mary was touched that Virginia had enough faith in her to request aid in the endeavor to protect her family. Lord knows that with their reputation, there was always the possibility that someone in the British military would be less inclined to put forth their best effort to ensure his safety.

Uncertainty gripped Mary. Even with her elevated position, what could she do? Putting her into the protection of the Church at St. Etheldreda's was only useful if people didn't know that he was there. Even then, it would be a temporary measure. Calling for right of Sanctuary wasn't as absolute as it used to be in this country. Her communications with the Grand Cross of her Order were adamant that no additional Knights nor men-at-arms could be made available, considering the widespread simultaneous series of attacks that had taken place last evening. The other Knights of St. Sylvester had their hands full, seemingly worldwide. Even the Vatican must be tightening their ranks...

The Vatican. Of course.

Realization slammed into Mary like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. Maybe there was something she could do. As the wheels began to turn in her mind, plotting the best method of using whatever resource was at her disposal, a light smile crossed her face. Yes, she could help. Without doubt she could help; and she intended to do just that. The Oath she took to become a Dame demanded this of her, to the best of her ability. Mary took a half step away from her location before she remembered that there was another letter for her, which she opened and read quickly.

When she skimmed the letter, the surprise of it forced her to slow down and read it more slowly, enunciating every word in the fore of her brain. "They are coming here, Sister Lazarus. The Graveolase is coming here to meet with me. Excuse me, but would you please come with me, Sister?" Mary turned and walked through the crowd of people dispersing to busy themselves with the grand party that Vladimir was screaming about moments ago. "Master Alexandrov! Master Alexan..."

Her presence was noted by the flashy performer, responding with a stalwart laugh and good tidings. "Ah! Страшная католическая девушка!" Mary noted with the slightest annoyance that he referred to her as "Scary Catholic Girl" again, but was willing to overlook it for the greater good. "You stay for supper, yes? Big time to have! You, Veta, your friend maybe, guests of honor, da? Music, dancing, food. Good time for talking. Your boy stays too?"

"Yes, of course. I am honored to accept the hospitality of the Russian Imperial Circus, Master Alexandrov. With your leave, please, I have just received word that the Graveolase is planning to meet me here, sir. I know not how many they will number, and it is too late to send word otherwise. I am sorry to inconvenience your people in this way, Master Alexandrov."

"HA!" he roared in a single laugh. "Ve have prepared for evening to expect most of London. Ve have food, ve have wine, ve have vodka. Abundance of all, Sister-Knight. They vill be as welcome as yourself."

"You have my gratitude. If I may call upon you for another favor, please?" she inquired with humility.

"For certain!" Vladimir replied with a flourish, "Your gracious presence breathe life into air around us; The Great Bazhooli is in your debt for mere attendance at Circus, Sister-Knight Mary! You ask, ve vill do vhat ve can."

It seemed a greater compliment than was necessary, given the circumstance, but Mary smiled politely back at him before making her request. "I desperately need to pen a letter to a friend in trouble, and have it delivered as quickly as possible this evening. Someone important to me is in danger."

This revelation seemed to throw a hiccup in Vladimir's overly positive attitude. Just for a moment, however, as if it was covered over immediately by the sheer force of the man's charisma. "You go to my tent. Red and black, over there..." He pointed nearby, across the commons. "You go there, vhat you need is on my desk. Vhen done, ve have best horses and riders in vorld, take message for you. You go now. Tell friend to come here, if vant. Ve make party!"

Mary was already running to the tent as Vlad was finishing his sentence. She shouted a quick "Thank you!" behind her as she left, not stopping until she got into the man's tent. There was an oil lamp lit inside, which Mary turned brighter in her search for the desk in the dim light. Settling behind Vlad's desk, she penned a letter with practiced but flowing script, fully legible despite the haste with which it was written.



Mary sealed the letter in wax and pressed her crucifix into it, giving it as much of an official seal as she could just then. Further, she wrote down the address of the Crypt Townhouse on another, along with easy directions. Considering the nature of the family, it was very possible that they could not miss it. Mary stepped outside and passed the letter off to Vladimir, who was still in the area barking orders. He accepted the paper with a determined smile, flagged down two of his people, and handed it off.

A brief conversation ensued involving the directions, the riders trying to memorize the instructions as much as possible so as not to need to refer to the paper constantly. Vlad reassured Mary, "Everything is right. They are good vith English. Many are that chose to come here for Season. Others come to learn. They are good." He seemed fairly certain about his people.

Mary added, "Thank you. If you need directions, a member of the local Constabulary is duty bound to assist. Otherwise, the Crypts are well known. Further, she might be attending a funeral. I know not where it is being held, however. Please try to locate her as best you can, it is urgently important. Thank you both so much."

"Good!" exclaimed Vladimir, wrapping things up. "You deliver message - put in hand, da? You go. Fast as you can. I go to Veta."

Vlad looked to Mary. Mary looked to Vlad. "Thank you again, Master Alexandrov. I am in your debt now, it seems." she said quietly.

"Nonsense! Come, ve go see Veta now."

"Indeed." Walking alongside the apparently generous Russian, Mary returned to Elizaveta's tent, excited and relieved that she was back in the land of the conscious.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by rivaan
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rivaan

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Constantin Kolev


Location: The Tent City.




“Thank you. I vill be careful.” Constantin replied with a smile to Sister Sophia whole excused herself. She must have been tired a lot, which he understood quite well. Even he was feeling a little tinge of fatigue creep on, but it was easy to ignore, besides he had an spectacle to put on in a little bit of time.

“!!!” Constantin jolted sideways in a dodge as Vlad burst out of the tent like a charging bull! It was a little surprising, but never the less he let the man continue his way without interrupting him and simply entered Veta's tent instead. Seems Vlad was up to something.

“Glad to see you avake and avare, Grand Duchess.” Constantin said with a smile the moment he saw her, but his face was locked in a very friendly and relieved smile. There was a saying that seeing was believing. Luckily he believe anyone in the circus, but that's beside the point. He felt relieve Vata appeared to be faring well.” Sure gave us a grand scare earlier. Please don't do that again.” He added with another smile, before turning to Myshka." As for you, I promise I will find the most tasty and biggest piece of meat I can for bonus and thanks on top of whatever they feed you tonight!"

Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by mnkee
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mnkee *Retired Account

Member Seen 4 yrs ago





Location: Talink Estate (Inside)


- "Wires" by The Neighbourhood




"What the hell is taking them so long?" Thalken growled. He was restless to say the least. He found himself pacing his room while he twirled one of his throwing knives in his hand. He wasn't so much worried about the safety of his father and sister as much as he was about the kind of deal his father was making. As far as he was concerned, criminal or not, the Lady Crypt was just a girl. Surely, his father would take advantage of that. There was a deep frown and prominent worry lines on his face. It was more emotion than he ever showed in public. It was undeniable proof that deep down this rugged man did care. It was truly a shame that he so often felt the need to hide behind a brooding scowl and gruff exterior.

A rumbling bark suddenly permeated through his thoughts, making him pause mid step. His dark eyed gaze swung to the side to land on his English Mastiff Hades who laid at the foot of his bed. The dog let out another deep bark. Apparently Thalken's agitation was infective and the poor pooch had had enough. "What?!" Thalken spat. Hades let out a huff and then rested his massive head on his paws. Perhaps even the dog knew it was pointless to try to talk to Thalken when he was in a mood.

Thalken let out an irritable sigh. He couldn't stay up here pacing all night. No, he would take action into his own hands, and by that he meant he would snoop around his father's study for any clues. He sheathed his knife before stalking out of his room and promptly heading downstairs. Hades let out a grumble before slowly getting up and following after his master.

Thalken checked and double checked to make sure the hall was clear of servants before entering his father's study. The last thing he needed was his father finding out about this. Hades slipped into the room before Thalken quietly closed the door behind them. He went straight to the desk, his perceptive gaze taking in all the parchments laid out messily. His father wasn't exactly the most organized person. His gaze landed on a letter. He picked it up and looked it over. It was the letter from the Lady Virginia Crypt. He shook his head and placed the letter back onto the table after reading it.

He started rummaging through the desk drawers next. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular. He looked up from the contents of the drawers, as if to check to see if anyone had entered the room unnoticed to him. After a moment, his gaze went back down to the desk drawers. He moved some stuff to the side and reached for the secret compartment. Yup, that's right. He had snooped around here before and had previously found the secret compartment. He didn't really expect there to be anything new in there, so he was honestly a bit surprised at what he found. His brows furrowed, and he gingerly pulled out a diamond ring. It looked fairly expensive. His father probably took it off one of his unfortunate victims. But what use did the man have for a diamond ring?

Thalken quickly put the ring back and shut the compartment door followed by the desk drawer. He had been in here long enough. He righted everything and then quietly left the study with Hades in tow.







Location: Stage Coach Route towards Manchester





- "Be Running Up That Hill" by Placebo




Fyror was slightly reassured to hear that the route to Manchester was the clearest. Though considering the other roads were said to be washed out, he cannot help but wonder exactly how clear their route would be. He hoped and prayed that they would get through with relative ease and little time wasted. With the pressing need to rescue Millicent from a painful death, time was of the essence more than ever.

Three stops to Stafford. Deventry, Rugby, then Tamworth. he recited in his head what the man had said, committing it to memory. His gaze then followed the man's to a sturdier looking carriage. Fyror glanced between their carriage and this new one, seemingly in comparing the two. After a moment, he nodded his head, apparently liking what he saw. He glanced over at Gerard before answering the man.

"The faster we can travel the better. We will take the new carriage," Fyror replied. He reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet in order to pay the man.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Morose
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Morose ✨Krakoan Princess✨

Member Seen 10 hrs ago






Location: Mournweald Estate (London)




There was a sly glint to Beowulf's dark eyes as he waited in impatient anticipation for the Lady Crypt's answer. There was an almost predatory like quality to him as his eyes were unflinchingly locked on her. The only outward signs that he had even heard Ernest was the tightening of his muscles and his jaw clenching. No one would stand in his way of getting what he wanted right then and right there. But, of course, life always liked to throw curve balls.

His gaze suddenly snapped up when he felt the scorching heat and saw the blinding light out of the corner of his eye. He let out a growl as he was forced to retreat and right when the Lady Crypt was about to state her decision!

Everything that happened was so sudden and had caught Mosi's family by complete surprise. Her family was also forced to pull away to the edges of the distance that the head was barely possible to stand. This was not something they had heard about and the moment the pyre's fire finally ended the confusion was complete." What the..." Mosi's father uttered, his gaze locked onto the now frost covered former blazing white inferno.

"Are... those arrows?!" Ernest asked, noting the way the ashes had spread out, then took a look at the parchment at Virginia's feet." Did you drop that... Lady Crypt?"

Virginia held up a finger to signal for a moment's pause. She first felt the heat still present in the air. While it was not as painful as it had been before, it was not the chill she expected to produce frost. At this temperature, the water should be in the liquid state. There should be no frost. She frowned deeply, wondering exactly what might have caused such an event. Then there was the matter of the arrows, formed from Mosi's ashes. She took note of each direction they pointed in. It would have been appropriate to have some device with her to measure the precise angle, as well as a sketch pad. Unfortunately, she lacked both at this moment.

"No one is to disturb the ashes," Virginia said. "To examine the paper itself...A mixture of alcohol and glycerin should do. Glycerin itself is found in fats and oils. What sorts do you have on hand?" Virginia asked. She slipped on a pair of gloves before bending and gently picking up the burned paper. She didn't dare risk having it disintegrate before her eyes.

No one from the servants in the Mournweald estate dared to approach the ashes even without Virginia's warning. For all of them what had happened was both incredible, meaningful in ways they didn't really grasp and really fearful.

"We have fish oils and animal fats for cooking and the like. Would those do?" Mosi's father asked.

Unlike the others, Beowulf was not the least bit interested in figuring out what had just happened. No, he was always more focused on his own selfish interests. "Who cares about that peculiarity? Surely, the safety of the Viscount Wenwynith is more important at the moment. Now, what is your answer Lady Crypt?" he basically demanded.

Virginia kept her finger held up, as if that was a suitable answer to Beowulf. For Alfred, however, it was anything but. He was holding the young Viscount at the moment, in an attempt to keep him away from being scorched by the flames. Yet even now with the fire extinguished, he still hadn't let go of the young boy. He frowned at Beowulf's remarks. He hadn't been in earshot initially when Beowulf gave his terms, but he realized that there was one thing the man likely wanted more than money.

"You do not have to do this, Virginia," Alfred said sternly, calling her by her first name. Despite having practically raised her, he had always called her Lady Crypt or Lady Virginia. Master James was a staple, though when James was older, it was likely that his title would change in Alfred's mind as well. "Whatever danger Master James is in, it can be overcome without dealings with men like the Talinks."

"Ginny? What's going on?" James asked, looking at his sister with confusion. He didn't understand the terms of the deal that his sister had been given. He was too young to grasp what motivated people and influenced the choices they made. Virginia looked at James with a sad smile. There had been no word yet from Dame Hale and with each minute, she felt the danger growing.

"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc," Virginia said to her brother. As much as she wished to believe Alfred that they could surmount the danger without aid, she knew it was not the case. If she had to become a black widow for the sake of her brother, then so be it. She had long been fascinated with unnatural deaths and enjoyed studying them in the basement laboratory. She would be able to find a way out of the marriage with the Talink boy, one way or another. "Do not fret, dear James. Mr. Crane, those oils should do nicely. Please do fetch them." She paused, yet she did not turn to face Beowulf. "I accept those terms."

"Of course, Lady Crypt." Ernest replied and witheld his frowns at the Talinks. Frankly he was sure his daugther would have already jumped them if she had heard this demand. She was probably going to be throwing her axes or firing arrows at the man until he's gone from her sight. It just made him feel bad about Mosi again. He regretted not being able to do his fatherly duty and protect her.

A devilish smirk of satisfaction and ill intent came to Beowulf's features. Finally, his evil scheme was set into motion, and the rewards of this marriage between the Talinks and the Crypts would be fruitful. Or would it? He was too pleased with himself right now for any form of doubt to cross his mind. As far as he saw it, no one would dare try to undermine his plan, and even if they did, he would easily take them down with a bullet to the head or a knife to the gut. But what if the person who saw to his demise was his own flesh and blood? There were so many questions, but he had no desire to entertain them. No, he wanted to relish in this moment of victory.

"Excellent choice, m'lady," Beowulf replied smugly. He then spun on his heels and began to walk away without another word in typical Talink fashion. Unbeknownst to him, Thalcona didn't budge. She was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the "negotiations." Truth be told, she was in shock, but as the shock wore off, it was replaced by a gnawing feeling of guilt. She should have put a stop to this, but what was she to say? Her father wouldn't have listened. She didn't like any of this. She felt bad for both parties, the Crypts and Thalken. Oh god, Thalken was going to lose it.

Thalcona let out a shuttering breath, glancing over at the young viscount and then at her father who was departing. "Father, I can take first shift to protect the viscount until Thalken can come and take over," she exclaimed. Her voice was oddly monotone as she restrained her emotions. Beowulf stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. He pursed his lips then gave a curt nod in agreement before leaving.

"Have fun with Thalken!" Thalcona called out, disdain leaking into her voice. She then promptly faced the Crypts. Her eyes were dark and brooding but not entirely uninviting.

Some minutes later Ernest returned with the oils. He could have asked the servants, but he felt like doing it himself. He couldn't do anything else anymore for Mosi beside gather her ashes which he was going to do personally again. It was his little girl after all." I brought the oils." He said as he returned to Virginia.



Location: Dressmakers' ---> Tavern, Annan


Once outside of the shop, Maeve took Lady Kirkpatrick's arm. She was beginning to see less and less why Lady Kirkpatrick needed anyone to help her. She was as stubborn and tough as they came. She noted the look Lady Kirkpatrick gave Rory and felt even more confident in her assumption. This job was mostly for show. As soon as she could, Maeve figured, Lady Kirkpatrick would be rid of her. Why have help if you didn't need it, after all? She couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until that happened - hopefully, it'd be enough time to get her job done to the Cummings satisfaction.

"I can 'andle them quite well," Maeve said. She had trained in the usage of a shillelagh and had one among her belongings. She never left home without it. She didn't elaborate much on it, figuring that if Lady Kirkpatrick wanted to know the details of her fake past, then she'd ask. Only lies had details anyways. She held back a sigh as she saw Calum getting chased by one of the cooks, all of her irritation with him coming back. She might have been poked and prodded for hours, but that didn't mean she still wasn't bothered by the earlier situation.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Lady Absinthia
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Lady Absinthia ⚘ Blossoming ⚘

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March 23rd, 1823


*I am transitioning to PM's for updates slowly (On the forum or on discord) - It's more fun to keep things under wraps until people post :P


Elizaveta Romanova


Location: Russian Imperial Tent City: Her Tent


Sister Lazarus kept up with Sister Mary. She didn't like being out like this and the look was evident on her face. Watching the men leave the circus with the message she grunted slightly. "I could have done that," she said in a gravely tone; more to herself than anyone else. The messengers were out of the circus post haste and on their way. They had been chosen for a reason. They held the skill of Brivaldi. They were trick horse riders. They could push harder, move faster, this was their mastery.

Looking over towards the entrance to her tent, Veta smiled slightly as she spotted Constantin enter what was more or less her home. "Did you worry that I would not be around to tell you what to do anymore?" she said in her bird like voice, the corner of her mouth pulling into a gracefully sly smile. She was taunting him. She must have been feeling like herself just then. Myska looked up at Constantin, the animal seemed to freeze for a second before he sneezed and tiger phlegm sprayed out from his mouth and nose right onto Constantin. Veta turned her attention quickly to bonded friend. "Myska, are you getting ill?" she asked concerned but there was a lilt in her voice as she tried not to laugh.

Adam on the other hand could not refrain from it. The young lad laughing as he covered his mouth before going stark silent as Vlad and Mary entered the tent. Clearing his throat a bit and trying to hold it in. Reaching behind him he snatched a handkerchief from the Grand Duchess's vanity before holding it out to Constantin. "Here..." he said biting on his bottom lip and trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He was failing miserably.

"Mary! How vonderful to see you are here. Please forgive me. I had not remembered time had passed so much. Vill you be staying vith us this evening? Oh my! The meeting. I must ready, Vlad, I must attend," she said suddenly remembering that she had to meet with the council to plead her case that the Russian trained should be admitted into the fold and a member of the trained be placed within the Graveolase as a representative.

"похоронный?"

"да."

"Газета?"

"да."

A quick stop during the ride, a coin exchanged, and mounted on horses the two messengers sat there opening the paper and looking at it. They spoke English, they didn't read it. That didn't work out the way they wanted. Looking at the man at the news stand they handed the paper back. "You read?"

"Yeah, bes hard to sell if I didn't," he said looking at the Russians oddly.

"Funerals, any funerals listed?"

The man looked at them with even an odder expression. "Ve pay," the other said to him before holding out another coin. The man reached out for it but it was snatched back. "Read."
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by rivaan
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rivaan

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Constantin Kolev


Location: The Tent City.




“More like I vorried I vould have missed my little chances to point out something or correct something you missed...” Constantin replied with a smile, enjoying the apparent eagerness on his friend's side to taunt him right now. Yes it appeared Veta had indeed entered the road to recovery. He was about to comment on something else when...

“Myshka... there goes this set of performance clothing...” He growled as he was sprayed with tiger phlegm. He moved his right and and wiped some that had sprayed on his face.” This just cost you half of the bonus reward and I'm replacing it with vegetables...” The fire dancer smirked as the Adam moved to hand him a handkerchief.” You acting needs practice...” He said to Adam with a half frown half smile. He was in a good mood though and he did notice that Vlad and Mary had returned.

“Good even....” He was just about to greet them when he turned quiet. Something... his mind felt clouded for a moment before the flashes started. Tretiy Glaz made it's presence known as images and sensations flooded his mind. There was pain, incredibly strong pain that made him grind his teeth. He was unable to breath for a moment as he felt himself feel dazed. He closed his eyes to try to numb his current overwhelmed senses. Good thing this didn't happen during performance, it could have turned catastrophic.

“Ahhhhh...” He tried to take a deep breath, the images burnt now into his mind. Visions of Lace, boomsticks and thistle... What the hell did that mean!?
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Sigil
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Sigil Literary Hatchetman

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Российский императорский цирк

(Russian Imperial Circus)

Sister Mary Ignatia Hale & The Great Bazhooli

Страшная католическая девушка & Vladimir Alexandrov





Vladimir and Mary stepped into the tent of the Grand Duchess to what appeared to be the middle of a chain of very strange events unfolding. The present incarnation of The Great Bazhooli really, really wanted to say something about the overabundance of what he desperately hoped was tiger snot. Were it anything other, it would open them up to a host of questions that Vlad was unwilling to ask, which may have prompted answers that he was highly uncomfortable hearing anyway. The expression on his face seemed to communicate all of these things at once; his mouth was agape and hands were gesturing in a futile attempt to ask and yet not ask simultaneously, mind measuring the weight of his curiosity against the awful conversation which may ensue were he incorrect. And in front of Nuns, too.

More pressing issues were at the fore, anyway. There was a celebration afoot; a combined affair of a good handful of things of great importance. Well, great importance to the Circus, at any rate. And of course, the Graveolase. Mary cut through the strained stares and aghast, horribly confused looks of Vladimir by addressing Elizaveta directly, responding to her wish to attend the meeting tonight. "There is yet time, Grand Duchess." Mary held out the message from the Graveolase for Veta to view. "It would appear that they are changing the venue to the Russian Imperial Circus. I am, at least for the moment, acting with the authority of the Arch Graveolase. They are bringing the meeting to us this evening."

Vlad could not contain himself any longer. There was a point to be made, and if he could not discuss the unfortunate predicament of his fellow showman, he would most definitely alter his train of thought to the present discussion. "Da! And they vill arrive to grand celebration of lights and sound! Dancing and singing to put tventy Almack's to shame, vith vodka, vine, and eatable delights to tantalize their reserv-ed tastes!" His eyes were wide, as were his arms, gesturing with grand waves and swoops to punctuate his words, grabbing fistfuls of air. "Tonight, Mamushkas are for us." He whipped off his tall top hat, finally wrapping up his speech and bowing as if playing to a crowd. A flourish brought it back to his very dignified head. "If you are up for it, of course, little Veta. If you still need rest, ve vill speak to Graveolase - I or Baron, maybe Viktor... No, no Viktor..."

He trailed off, losing himself in a fast approaching thought. "I vill need to get out target vheel... and you, Costantin! You have been making the good jobs today. Tonight ve feast and perform. You have hard day. Do not have to perform, if don't vant to. Good? Good."

Mary couldn't help but look at Vlad as he cavorted and spun the tale of his vision for the evening's festivities. To her credit, she kept her face serene the entire time. Underneath the surface, she had to give Elizaveta credit for the fortitude necessary to be in this man's presence constantly. He was an experience. But then, she was brought up in this society. Mary wondered briefly if there was a little Bazhooli lurking deep within the Grand Duchess somewhere. "Oh, but I must apologize for my lack of manners. If you have not already met at the church, this is Sister Lazarus of St. Etheldreda's. Sister Lazarus, I have the honor of presenting the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. Additionally, this is Master Vladimir Alexandrov, heir to Baron Alexandrov and master of the, um..." She paused briefly, intent on pronouncing the next words correctly, "Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya. Master Alexandrov, Sister Lazarus."

Courtesy suggested that she give this moment over to brief pleasantries, if they wished to continue. Vladimir jumped uppn the opportunity. "Ov course, is pleasure to meet! You are velcome, Sister Nun Lazarus, to stay and partake in feast and merrymaking ov Russian Imperial Circus! Experience vonders and dancing from far corners ov Empire, da? And ov course, have seat ov honor near Sister-Knight Mary during receiving Graveolase, if thing is called for in meeting... Vhatever you are vanting, The Great Bazhooli is at immediate service." He dipped into a bow, one hand holding his hat in place while the other flourished dramatically. "Vill you be staying vith us?"

Meanwhile, Mary beamed a small smile in the direction of Adam, who had obviously ingratiated himself with Veta and her big tiger. Truly a remarkable child, especially considering his very recent history.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Morose
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Morose ✨Krakoan Princess✨

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Location: the Mournweald Estate


Virginia felt the heavy weight on her heart as she took the oils and spirits from Ernest. She headed inside the estate, knowing that while Alfred was attempting to speak to her, his words fell on deaf ears. It was a decision driven by emotions and not logic, that she knew. The type of danger her brother was in could be solved by the Talinks, yet she had also requested aid from Mary. Perhaps it was a lack of faith that had driven her to it, not in Mary but in herself. Could she truthfully protect her brother without aid? Is that what had driven her to commit to a loveless life with a man who she was certain would be monstrous yet lack passion?

Those thoughts weighed on her as she prepared the mixture. Once she finished creating the alcohol and glycerine mixture, she carefully applied it to the paper, hesitant to break with it. While she worked diligently, Alfred stood outside of the room, with a confused James clinging to his leg. The young boy was questioning Alfred more and more about what was happening - why his sister made a deal with Beowulf, why the girl was staying behind to watch him, and why Virginia was taking some solitude for the moment. No matter what answer Alfred gave him, James was not satisfied.

"Why are you here?" James asked Thalcona finally, seeing that Alfred would not tell him the entire truth.

Back within the room, Virginia gasped slightly as she saw the writing on the paper. Her eyes were wide and soon filled with tears. She blinked rapidly, in order to avoid staining the page with them. The language on the paper was not known to those without training in the New World. That in itself would have been simply interesting, not necessarily distressing. No, it was the penmanship that startled Virginia.

"My father's hand," Virginia whispered, before she translated the message. Direct translations were often challenging in her trained tongue, since it was a tongue meant to be understood by all and not really one specific language of its own. However, she understood the message all the same. "Seek Life Elsewhere." She blinked back tears as a smile graced her face in understanding.

The Crypts had many legends, yet this had been one of her favorites as a young girl and even now. A young Crypt with ebony hair sold her soul to dark forces. As the years passed, this Crypt emerged in different locations around the world, with some of her large family even claiming to have met her. There were few questions that she would answer, aside from how she survived - "I seek life elsewhere."

Virginia then looked once more at the page. There was the outline of a flower - nightshade. Virginia recognized it, although it rarely grew in the New World, it was in a wild bloom during her training times. She recalled its other name - atropa belladonna. She then carefully took up the piece of paper and left the room, much to Alfred's surprise. There were tears on her face.

"Miss Talink, I am afraid your services are no longer required. Lord Dywell is returning imminently." Of course, it was a half truth. She did no longer feel that they needed the Talink's to survive. Her father's simple message had great meaning for her. As for the second half...Well, he had made contact with her. She doubted it would be understood in any other manner unless she said those words.
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