[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 guards watching over Thalken gave questioning glances among themselves, in the end shrugging it off. The phrase, "Bite Me", did not fully register as something they understood, except as a tragic piece of English slang. One of them went as far as to make a biting motion with his teeth upon his arm, then jerked his thumb back in Thalken's direction. It was met with a bewildered, slightly comical look and otherwise not given any mind. If this odd Londoner really wanted someone to set teeth to him, then he would have to wait until the reddish tinged lamps of female provocateurs (which may or may not have been part of the Russian Imperial Circus) were lit, well after sundown, with proper discretion. Regardless of the man's preferences in this way, the two guards returned the glare of their charge with seemingly ignorant smiles and nods, then stepped up to follow Thalken at a respectful pace, one each at his rear flanks. As he so went, so did his armed, goofy chaperones. Meanwhile, The Baron was busy hastily assembling his people to him, issuing the order to begin packing up in earnest. They needed to be ready to leave within the hour, and were instructed to not spare the horses, as it were. Those not familiar with the manner in which these people plied their trade, particularly the methods employed in breaking camp and preparing to move in amazingly short order, this was as much of a show as a full-blown circus performance. Acts of strength and dexterity were abound; the more mundane talents of Circus Folk blending seamlessly with the Rusyn Trained skills, leaving one to wonder where one stopped and the other started. Animals of differing corners of the Russian Empire were moving to assist their human companions, all acting as if under the direction of a combined intelligence. Ropes unfurled, tents dropped and were instantly folded to be packed away. The line of supply wagons lumbered to life, forming a line in the order of importance and convenience their cargoes would have to the Circus in transit. Perhaps the most impressive sight of the entire, choreographed movement was the realization that, per capita, the Circus had more Trained people than probably any place in the world. Everyone seemed to be expressing a Trained Skill or two, but barring that, the intense physical and mental conditioning that each one had honed to a hard and sharp edge over years and years of practice, merely to perform their prospective acts, made them formidable indeed. And the level of familial respect given across the board was such that one did not need to express Trained abilities to be counted as equals. They were Circus, with their own ideas of family and hierarchy that often ran contrary to the expectations of outsiders. Noble and gypsy alike, working as one. And soon, they would move in unison to protect a single of their number. [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), Outside of Veta's Tent [color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr] As usual, Vladimir was fond of his stirring speeches and flowery verbiage. But he was also fond getting a straight answer when asking a straight question, even if said straight answer was given amid an explanation as colorful as his own habit for the craft of speech. But this Ludwig guy was leaping bodily upon his last nerve. Hopefully soon, he would come to understand the nature of this man's thought process. It would also help a great deal if they both had a firmer, more intuitive grasp on the English language. That might come with time. The present held a different series of challenges. Not the least of which was a very friendly ferret and a batshit German fellow turning into a fey and bounding off into The Regent's Park as rider and steed, screaming something about getting packed. The practicality of being quite small aside, Vlad really wished that Ludwig would hurry. The Circus would be ready to depart soon, and they needed him. He thought. The crazy man aside, Vladimir did listen intently to what Constantin had to say. His face turned from one of concentration to one of mounting possibility, and finally to one of joyous hope. He settled an arm around Constantin and gave him a powerful sideways hug, exclaiming, [color=firebrick]"This. THIS! This is vhat I am liking! HA!"[/color] Like many in the Circus, Vlad was a proficient hunter, part of that involved stalking prey, and he was very familiar with the scent and tracks of tigers, thanks to his years around them. [color=firebrick]"Da, my iron-footed friend! Is not like tigers run everyday in foggy island. Ve can track... if not track from start, ve can tell if road is right road. Ve know they travel north to Land of Scot. Ve know British girl gets husband."[/color] Vlad adopted a sort of thinker's position, with two fingers on his right hand pressed to the side of his head as he paced back and forth with only mildly exaggerated motions, a feat in and of itself for the man. His left hand absently worked a knife in fluid circles and figure eights, a thing which he obstinately claimed many times helped him think. [color=firebrick]"Vhy?"[/color] he inquired into the air, his feet coming to a halt. [color=firebrick]"Vhy must they travel, and long vay, to get married? They have not churches in London? Big, shiny vones? Scary Catholic Girl has church. Big church. Castle in middle of London-town. Vhy not here?"[/color] This must have been some kind of foreign (to them) politic or cultural oddity that Vlad just couldn't grasp. [color=firebrick]"Ve need talk to Englishman about this. Any vill do..."[/color] In that moment, dawn broke in Vladimir's brain. [color=firebrick]"Ov course."[/color] he whispered. They happened to have one of those in the Tent City under guard. As the tents and wagons were assembled in front of him, readying to depart at a moment's notice (His son Konstantin was supervising the breakdown of The Great Bazhooli's setup), Vladimir set upon his next task: Find the Londoner. [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] N/A [/center][hr][hr] In truth, Mary could not answer Veta's question about travel time. She knew of basic routes across her countries only, and places she had personally been. Exact time spent on the road, or how the season might affect this, were quite beyond her. Perhaps sustaining their original route plan was the best idea, regardless. The goal was to catch up to them at Gretna Green after a hard ride, not to attend to side investigations. And even if they were present at Manchester, they still had to get to The Green to make the wedding happen. Mary was looking forward to their meeting, in the same way that a Knight looks forward to setting himself against a rising challenge. The people fleeing Manchester seemed far more open with Virginia than with her, giving bits and pieces of information that might warrant attention. A woman with a blank face, two guests of the Lord Eagerton headed toward the coast. Mary puzzled over what it might mean, weighing the options before her as carefully as she could, considering a lack of other, clearer knowledge. Perhaps more could be learned later. In the meantime, Mary took to her food with grateful piety, making the sign of the Cross before her and reciting quietly, [color=c0c0c0][i]"Benedíc nos Dómine et haec Túa dóna quae de Túa largitáte súmus sumptúri. Per Chrístum Dóminum nóstrum. Ámen."[/i][/color] Mary ate a modest meal laid before her and, following the example of the Grand Duchess, retired herself to the room she had provided for them. [hider=Translations] 1 = Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen. [/hider]