[hr][hr][center][h1][color=9e0b0f][b]Российский императорский цирк[/b][/color][/h1][/center] [center][color=9e0b0f][b](Russian Imperial Circus)[/b][/color][/center] [hr][hr] The sun rose over a Circus in disarray. The lack of patronage was not the huge issue, though it was a little disappointing considering the fact that it was London [i]during the Season[/i]. They should be making money, tons of it, hand over fist. Instead, they had to rely mainly on the sack of gold Crowns that The Great Bazhooli had negotiated for his performance at Astley's Amphitheatre to float their base expenses. They had existing savings, moreover they had things of value they could part with easily to keep them floating for a decent amount of time. The exchange rate on rubles in this part of the world might smack them as being somewhat unfavorable, but good, silver coin was worth its weight no matter where one traveled. It was a benefit to being Circus Folk. No, the Circus woke in disarray because of the unexplained absence of one of their own, their Imperial charge, the one for whom much of their endeavors were geared toward. The Circus had raised her from an uncertain noble girl into a proud, strong woman; a future Czarina, leader of their nation. The Circus was powerful enough to be entrusted with her safety. In return for this honor, the Czars of Russia agreed to provide supplementary funding necessary to keep them running smoothly, doing their duties and taking care of various difficulties around the Empire. For lack of a better way of phrasing it, [b]they had one job[/b]. On a more self-advancing note, making sure Elizaveta survived to ascend the throne would be rewarded with the Alexandrov patriarch's elevation from Baron to Count, a thing which would not only increase their land holdings immensely, but legitimize the Alexandrovs among other, higher nobility despite their Rusyn Gypsy bloodlines. If Elizaveta got herself killed on some fool's errand while under their care and protection, there would be hell to pay. Part of that hell would come from the Bazhoolis themselves as they had come to truly love and trust their little Veta, now all grown up. But even as he sun rose on a Circus in disarray, it still rose. There was still a Circus, still a Baron over it all, and still a Ringmaster and Great Bazhooli both to lead their people in this uncertain time. But life was not bright and hopeful everywhere in the Tent City, oh no. There is always a dark spot to make one appreciate the light all the more. This particular dark spot was over in the makeshift stables, where the Circus's uninvited guest was set to sleep off his reaction to the distillations of beets and potatoes. Some reactions were better than others, apparently. Upon noting that the Londoner was awake, cleaned, and dressed, one of the guards called to a woman nearby. She responded in Russian with an impatient sounding voice, but seemed to comply nevertheless by bringing a bowl and a two large mugs on a platter over to the stable. The guard muttered something else to the woman, who responded by sharing a gesture that, in her culture, was likely very rude. After a good chuckle over the whole exchange, the guard turned back to Thalken and set the platter inside of the stabling while another held a pistol ready. When it was safely inside and still upright, both men retreated from the stall. The bowl was wide and shallow, holding a half loaf of bread that was likely made the day before, as well as a couple of local pears and some shelled walnuts. One mug was mostly full with goat's milk and the other one with what was most likely beer of some kind. The first guard nodded, intoning with a heavy accent of his homeland, [b]"Dog Hair, da?"[/b] Elsewhere, The Baron Dmitri Alexandrov was livid. Word had reached him of Veta's absence, and he was highly unhappy about it. Highly. [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 (Regent's Park), Veta's Tent [color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr] The note was simple. Very straightforward, saying nothing but speaking volumes. "Do not follow", implying danger or at least complication were she to not leave quietly and alone. Except, she wasn't alone, if Sister Sophia was to be believed. The Grand Duchess left with a tiny entourage of more local persons; the timeless porcelain beauty of the Lady Crypt and Sister Mary, a lady of serene piety painted with flame. Surely with these two, his Veta would have a better chance than not of succeeding, or at least surviving whatever difficulties lay ahead of them. Vladimir knew that Elizaveta could take care of herself. He knew that she was as proficient a warrior as any in the Circus, which was high praise indeed considering their history. She was already so strong, and had not yet reached the peak of her Rusyn skills. But to him, she was not the Grand Duchess, nor was she a soldier in service to her people. This was Veta, a little girl that he and his Izolde (God rest her soul) raised from a young age into womanhood, alongside their own children. As Vlad stared at the note, the worry of a father took him. Maybe this is what Veta was trying to avoid all along. Or maybe it was his next decision. Fully assuming the posture of The Great Bazhooli, his raspy, projected voice boomed across the Circus in a manner that demanded respect and immediate acquiescence. [color=firebrick]"Sem'ya! Pull stakes! Ready horses! Gather provision and sharpen knives!"[/color] Vladimir raised his arms high and wide, turning around to emphasize the fact that he required as much attention paid to his words as possible. By his second turn, Vlad was surprised to see the fuming form of his father, the Baron Alexandrov, standing just out of his arm's reach. With cold but understanding voice, he spoke to his son. [b]"You vill not go galavanting off vith Bazhooli Sem'ya on fruitless mission. Do you understand?"[/b] [color=firebrick]"Father, I..."[/color] [b]"No! You vould run off blindly, taking family vith you. Find out vhat you can. Learn. See. Then come back to me. Ve move whole of Circus at vonce. You understand?"[/b] A smile crept across Vladimir's face. The Circus moves as one. [color=firebrick]"Thank you, my Baron."[/color] and over to Ludwig, of all people, [color=firebrick]"Is only vone vay from city. Hard to miss those three, [i]vith tiger[/i]. You vill help, da?"[/color] He was their new ally. Time to test that. [hr][hr][center][h1][color=c0c0c0][i][b]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/b][/i][/color][/h1][/center] [center][img]http://image.phimmoi.net/profile/356/medium.jpg[/img] [sub][color=c0c0c0]"In that day their strong cities will be like forsaken places in the forest; And the land will be a desolation." -Isaiah 17:9[/color][/sub] [hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Nottingham [color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Horseback Riding [/center][hr][hr] Mary nodded her head at Elizaveta's words. This was not how she handled her affairs, but she was pledged to Veta's preferences in this endeavor. [color=c0c0c0]"Very well. Perhaps it is best."[/color] she relented, continuing to nod as if in thought. [color=c0c0c0]"I know not about tigers, Veta, but my horse will need more than an hour's rest if we are to keep this pace. And I would not mind something hot on my stomach, either."[/color] They were pressed for time, but it would help no one if Cassius went lame in the meantime. Mary approached the stableboy and slid from her horse. She handed over a coin, asking with sweet demeanor, [color=c0c0c0]"Oh, do not be afraid. Would you please take good care of my Cassius? Good oats and water, brush him down please? And if you could, is there a decent place nearby for a meal? I am famished."[/color] She removed her saddlebags and slung them across her shoulder, awaiting a response.