[hr][hr][center][h1][color=9e0b0f][b]Российский императорский цирк[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=9e0b0f][b](Russian Imperial Circus)[/b][/color][/center]
[center][h3][color=c0c0c0]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/color] & [color=firebrick]The Great Bazhooli[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][sub][color=c0c0c0]Страшная католическая девушка[/color] & [color=firebrick]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/sub][/center]
[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/43c0c504-a56b-4ed6-93b1-c3714588b144.gif[/img][/center]
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	And so, that one gentle English evening, it was said that the impossible occurred. Maybe not fully, absolutely [i]impossible[/i], but so unlikely as to warrant notation as a truly rare and remarkable event. You see, this fateful evening, as the sun's setting began to make the sky purple in its twilight hour, The Great Bazhooli was rendered speechless. 

	To be clear, that is [u]speechless[/u]. Without speech. Mute. Sans talking. The most garrulous person inside of the Russian Imperial Circus (possibly excepting Viktor, he has his moments) was standing quietly with a look of possible shock on his face. He was staring directly at Constantin, eyes wide, trying to take in the entirety of what he just said. His eyes still on the unruly firewalker, he carefully picked Adam up beneath his arms and backed out of the tent. The moment, the [i]very second[/i] that Constantin exited the tent, Vladimir mysteriously regained his ability to speak. [color=firebrick][b]"салат? [i]салат[/i]!?! Ты серьезен? Вы стоите там, рассказывая мне, что с щедростью замечательных блюд с нашей родины, уже приготовленной, вы хотите САЛАТ? Я беспокоюсь о тебе, Константин. Вы не можете поддерживать [i]Fal'shbort[/i] с листьями и стеблями одуванчика! Кроме того..."[/b][/color][sub]1[/sub] He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, [color=firebrick][b]... что, если бы люди увидели тебя?"[/b][/color][sub]2[/sub]

	The Great Bazhooli took a step back. He still held Adam steadfastly with his swarthy arms, toned by a lifetime of labor, hurling sharp objects, and acrobatic training. He didn't seem to mind, care, and/or notice, even to the point of motioning with the boy for emphasis. [color=firebrick]"Reputation! Reputation, my boy!"[/color] he said, shaking poor Adam at Constantin. [color=firebrick]"Ve cannot have ourselves being seen vith eating of unmanly foodthings! Is for British, da? And for French peoples. You vant salad? I do not even think ve [i]have[/i] the salads here."[/color] He placed Adam over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes, continuing, [color=firebrick]"You vant eat light? I get you eating light things. The potatoes and beets and salmons, all choppy choppy vith pickle and the [i]sourest[/i] of creams and the [i]most grette-ed of vinegars[/i] little island of England has seen, [i]ever[/i]!"[/color] 

	He turned to stride away, toward where the food was being prepared and portioned in a central pavilion. He had to stop, as the a couple of the circus's cooks were headed directly toward Elizaveta's tent, carrying bundles and trays of things that were venting aromatic and toothsome steam from the sides; a telltale detail that his words from a couple of minutes earlier were being heeded. [color=firebrick]"No no! You vait for a minute, for please. The Grand Duchess, she is partly of nakedness and I vill make the stabbing if she is disturbed, da? Da. Is for good."[/color] 

	For the first time since picking the boy up, Vladimir addressed him, lumped over his shoulder as he was. [color=firebrick]"Come, boy!"[/color] as if he had a choice in the matter, [color=firebrick]"Ve get you the steaks and the honeys now, you vould like? Attack vith teeth. Maybe fork. But maybe fork is being too slow. Teeth is ok."[/color] He walked a few more steps before setting the kid back down, coming to the realization that it might be polite to do so. 

	Meanwhile, inside of the tent, Mary was just about to explain the concept and importance of The Green to Elizaveta, but found herself staring at the tent flaps, engrossed in the conversation erupting just outside. She maintained the usual serene look she normally adopted from practice, but her face was turned unerringly to the sound of The Great Bazhooli being dramatic yet again, even as she held her arms out to assist Elizaveta. When the word from outside became a discussion in English concerning the possible state of the Grand Duchess's undress, Mary snapped back to the task at hand. [color=c0c0c0]"I am very sorry, Gran.. Lady Roma.. ah,"[/color] she fumbled, blowing out a sigh. Her kneejerk reaction was formality in most all situations, as a side effect of her disciplined upbringing with the Vatican. This situation had to be different; Mary had promised the Grand Duchess that they would speak plainly while alone, even to the point of referring to her by abbreviated first name. It was unheard of for someone like Mary, even if she still held the social position her family once did in the British Empire, to speak with what could be interpreted as a lack of respect for someone much, much higher in the hierarchy, second only to an Emperor in royal standing. 

	But she promised. As a part of the oath she took upon becoming a Dame, she swore "I will speak the truth at all times, and forever keep my word". Speaking to a Grand Duchess as a friend became part of that, the moment the words left her mouth that she would attempt to go against her training to do so. [color=c0c0c0]"Veta. My apologies, Veta."[/color] Mary beamed an almost childlike smile, as if she had just gotten away with something juvenile like running off with a cookie unnoticed. [color=c0c0c0]"Of course you do not need a lecture, or any other such aggravations right now. I shall act as your aide in the place of Sister Sophia, certainly."[/color] 

	As Mary helped Elizaveta ready herself, she began to discuss the nature of the place she referred to as "The Green". [color=c0c0c0]"Gretna Green. It is a village just on the other side of the border between Scotland and England, where the laws concerning marriage are much, much less restricted. Many have eloped there because lawful marriage may be obtained from almost anyone, without a period of waiting, so long as there are two witnesses to sign the document. Such marriages are recognized as binding by The Crown."[/color] 

	Mary stopped for a moment, putting facts together. She was so intent upon the threat of Soulless at Almack's the night before that a few details had waited until now to congeal in her brain. [color=c0c0c0]"The young woman, Miss Wyndham? That unpleasant fellow she was marrying was Lord Rutherford, yes?"[/color] It was more of a comment than a question. When certain realizations hit her, anger bubbled up a bit beneath her ordinarily calm features. It had been many years since she had remembered any of the names from her Clan's seat, as she spent the majority of her younger years to the north, in Stirling. She did remember two things in that instant, though. [color=c0c0c0]"Rutherford is the name of the ruling family in Roxburghshire, where my people once held seat. And that Lord Rutherford made himself very scarce after I announced that I detected the presence of hidden Soulless. The moment he disappeared from view, the attack began."[/color] It was an observation more than anything else, but her mind was drifting slowly toward accusation. Mary needed to pray, to get her mind in focus on facts. She needed to know if personal emotion was swaying her view on the situation. But first, she needed to get Elizaveta ready to meet the Graveolase. 

	

[hider=Translations]
1	=	Salad? Salad!?! You are serious? You are standing there, telling me that with the bounty of wonderful dishes from our homeland already prepared, you are wanting SALAD? I worry about you, Constantin. You cannot maintain the Fal'shbort with leaves and dandelion stems! Besides... 
2	=	[i]...what if people saw you?[/i]
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