[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=firebrick]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3068ada6-2525-4e47-b1a8-14d98dfb6177.jpg[/img][h3][color=firebrick][b][i]"[u]The Great Bazhooli[/u]"[/i][/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr][hr][center][color=firebrick][b]Location:[/b][/color] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)
[color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort, Tretiy Glaz[/i] [/center][hr]

	There are days when drama and event seems to stack upon itself. The day did not start well, and that was an understatement. Luckily, so far as anyone could tell, Elizaveta pulled through alright. Still, the ink-black tentacled creature of unknown origin gave him pause. He had no problem facing off against the thing, especially as it meant defending his beloved adoptive daughter Veta (who happened to be the future ruler of the Russian Empire), despite the fact that he had no idea what to do to give it a true death. Then the business with the Scary Catholic Girl. The lack of business from London, when it was supposed to be its busiest period. And the unexpected entry of the Graveolase. And the accidental decapitation. And, and, and. 

	Of course this was on top of the difficulties last night. As he understood, there was an all-out attack upon Almack's Assembly Rooms, occurring at the same time that he was performing at Astley's Theatre. Considering the type of crowd at both locations, it might have just as easily been at his location as Almack's. This was not good. At least now that the Graveolase was present, they had the opportunity to perform for someone. And not just a stock performance, oh no: It was the demonstration of the Grand Mamushka, a dance involving many skilled individuals working in concert, involving knives, fire, acrobatics, music, and singing the likes of which enhanced the moment step for step and blade for blade. If only he could get to his favored Bazhooli Sem'ya to confirm their state of readiness for the performance. But as with everything else today, some new wrinkle just HAD to appear. 

	In this instance, it appeared in the form of a chain of persons calling for him, calling out [b][i]"Великий Бажули!"[/i][/b][sub]1[/sub] and holding an arm in the air, giving Vladimir a path to follow through the gathering of circus folk. It was a path which he followed with great haste and determination, hands still full of sharp and pointy objects, his top of his tall hat bobbing above the heads of the gathered circus folk even as they parted to allow him access to his destination: Constantin, plus a curious looking man carrying a small burrowing mammal. 

	Vladimir stood a short length away from the pair of them, giving just enough room to loose a blade from his grasp with more than reasonable assurance of a successful insertion if the occasion called for it. So much as he wished to bellow in solid Russian, a language which he had a more fluent gift for vocabulary and style, he surmised that English would be the better medium for conversation, given their location and the fact that the extreme majority of Russian speakers in London were accounted for by the Circus's numbers. He addressed the man with much in the way of hand movement and flourishing of his knives, as suited his artistic custom.

	[color=firebrick]"Strange and uninvited man vith veasel! You stand in presence of Great Bazhooli, Impalement Artist and Master of Bazhooli Sem'ya! You vill state name and business, on immediate! Or..."[/color] Vladimir ran the flat of one of his knives across the edge of his hat's brin, bowing his head slightly and taking on a mischievous grin, [color=firebrick]"[i]Or prepare to be Bazhooli'ed.[/i]"[/color]

[hider=Translations]
1	=	Great Bazhooli!
[/hider]