[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) Front Gate -> Main Tent
[color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr]

	There were calls of alarm coming from underneath the canvas and rigging, mainly from the friends and relatives of the boisterous man known to the rest of the world as The Great Bazhooli. Truly, this was a thing which rightfully raised alarm. There was only one hitch: It seemed impossible to him that all of the supporting ropes gave away simultaneously. Something had to be the cause of this mischief. Or some[i]one[/i]. 

	First, his suspicions turned to the very person who had insisted upon meeting the Lady Crypt in the first place. That impudent, disrespectful Englishman who was barely a man in years, despite his insistence at being taken seriously. But no, unless this were some elaborate ruse designed to catch the Circus off guard by burying himself in tent canvas, he probably wasn't the one responsible. Or he wasn't stuck at all, having narrowly escaped by some means unknown to him, putting either James or his big sister Virginia at risk from retaliation by this Talink fellow. Well, last he saw, Lady Crypt was with the Scary Catholic Girl. While very young yet, she seemed capable with her long, pointy weapon. But the little brother was unattended, except for the attentions of that jabbering Ludwig man and the other child; the waif that Mary had saved from a Ryne attack just the day before. 

	Vladimir did not know much about the abilities of the mad German. Perhaps if he did, he would have had more confidence in him to protect the children from potential harm. But as it sat, he did not. He did suddenly hear a smattering of words that made little sense to him, spoken in a notable Teutonic accent. As best as he could tell, it was coming from across the clearer area a bit, underneath the large lump that used to be a table laden with foodstuffs for the consumption of celebrating Circus performers. Now, it made an interesting Table of Random Insanity. Plus the children, he hoped. 

	Discretion being the better part of valor, or a similar sentiment to it, Vlad carefully began picking and stepping his way toward the mass that was the food table. It wasn't a long walk by anyone's standards, nevertheless care had to be taken to avoid stepping on or near any of the wiggling lumps of person and cloth along the way. When finally upon the sought-after lump, The Great Bazhooli debated the necessity of finding a seam to pop open, run to the edge to attempt to pry the whole canvas back, or merely create an opening with his ever-present handful of sharpened steel.  

	Apparently, someone else had the idea to create their own opening, thusly escaping their temporary confinement. Constantin, as it turned out. And he appeared enraged. This was good. Vladimir didn't want to be the only one. [color=firebrick]"Я вижу тебя, Константин!"[/color][sub]1[/sub] he began in his native Russian, [color=firebrick]"Я не знаю, кто несет ответственность, но у меня есть подозрения! Пожалуйста, я выведу детей отсюда, организуете ли вы этих людей, чтобы вернуть холст?"[/color][sub]2[/sub] And then booming in plain and clear English, that his voice might be heard over the clamor and din of the occasion. [color=firebrick]"The rest ov you have orders! Vhen tent peels back, you know vhat to do! You, under table! Back to other side, vill have to cut. Now!"[/color] 

	Vladimir wasted no more time putting a blade into the canvas and drawing it across. This was no opening of a seam. The cloth was thick and strong, and even the sharpest of blades required a bit of muscle to make a passable aperture. [color=firebrick]"Viscount James, Masters Adam and Ludvig."[/color] His voice took a bit of a down note, raspy and quieter now that he had direct line of sight. [color=firebrick]"Ve have to get you out ov here. Come."[/color] he outstretched his hand, ready to help the first person climb out from underneath the table. His other hand found its way underneath the canvas still covering the table and awkwardly pulled out a platter, still mostly laden with meat pies, sausages, and fried sugar beets (on a stick!), proclaiming, [color=firebrick]"Have supper. Ve go now."[/color] If that Talink guy was still underneath the canvas, he would be just fine until Vlad could get these people back to his personal vardo. 


[hider=Translations]
1	=	I see you, Constantin!
2	=	I don't know who is responsible, but I have my suspicions! Please, I will get the children out of here, will you organize these people to get the canvas back?
[/hider]



[hr][hr][center][h1][color=c0c0c0][i][b]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/b][/i][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/474x/82/54/0d/82540d6136ce1f6f809735b7e793127b--redhead-makeup-molly-quinn.jpg[/img]
[sub][color=c0c0c0]"In God's name let us go on bravely." -Joan of Arc[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park), Veta's Tent -> Stable area
[color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Horseback Riding [/center][hr][hr] 

	The idea that they would send word back to London gave Mary a considerable note of relief. A messenger from the next major city up would be ideal. Were she anywhere in Europe but England, it would be the amazingly simple matter of stopping into any Catholic holding and petitioning the clergy present to utilize the Trained skill of [i]Pundanti[/i], sending a message across the distance to St. Etheldreda's who in turn would dispatch someone to the Circus, delayed if necessary to buy them more time. That being barred, a page boy or friar carrying a message on foot would be acceptable. But they were not in a nation that generally accepted the Papacy, thanks to one dissatisfied king in their history who was denied the option to divorce by the Pope, after he had allowed it a few times prior. No, the three of them would likely have to rely on more secular methods, barring a more or less benign Anglican chapel that staffed a person of Vatican Training. 

	Then the thought flashed across Mary's mind that she was the Arch Graveolase, if interim, and could order the action done so long as news of her appointment had reached their holdings. Considering the methods of communication available to them, it was very possible. Next city up. Now, they had to discreetly exit the Circus and head north before they could find that chapel in that city that was a respectable distance away. 

	Sister Mary, or more appropriate to this instance, [i]Dame Commander Hale[/i] clasped Virginia's wrist as she held onto hers, pulling her onto Cassius behind her. She seemed to fit decently between the Apostolic and the full saddlebags, well enough so that Mary was satisfied her friend would not be too uncomfortable and could hold on with minimal effort. Nimble hands guided the reins, silently commanding the dappled grey stallion out of the stable area, out of the discreet exit chosen by Veta and toward northward the edge of The Regent's Park. Mary's eyes were bright and breathing quickened just a little with the excitement of the moment. She was on a mission for the most noble of purposes. She might even have to include this in her next confession, as it bordered upon Pride. 

	Elizaveta's words imparted a sense of responsibility, even faith in her, which Mary took as sincere compliment. Of course, she would know more about the geographical lay England than the Grand Duchess, but in truth, she did not know it extremely well. She actually spent most of her younger years in Scotland, not England, though she did know a little about the major roadways, having traveled them while being shuffled away to her distant family in France. Those roads would be their best bet to get to Gretna Green as efficiently as possible. Mary had been through Gretna before, on her way down from Stirling. It was a traumatic time for a young girl, one that she remembered with uncommon clarity. Mary could indeed show them the way. 

	Mary checked back to make sure Virginia was secure behind her, adding a quiet, [color=c0c0c0]"Hold on, My Lady."[/color] She nudged Cassius forward, past Elizaveta and her great white tiger, Myshka. Until they reached the level, open ground of the main road, Mary dared not push her horse forward with anything faster than a trot. Confidence brimmed in her voice as she addressed Veta, [color=c0c0c0]"Thank you, Your Grace. By your leave."[/color] It was a formality, really. Mary made sure her halberd was secured properly in the horse's tack just prior to reaching paved ground and leaned to whisper something into Cassius's ear. As soon as shod hoof clacked upon hard ground, Mary dug in her heels and prompted the noble animal to rush off with an increasing rush of speed. They were finally underway, leaving the color and wonder of the Circus behind.