[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=556B2F]Thalken Talink[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/xUOxfcNxj9MaoB0rnO/giphy.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=556B2F]They don't know, where we've been
We got that concrete street skin

[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvNUiMjuhVE][color=556B2F]- [I]"State of My Mind" by Shinedown[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=556B2F]Location:[/color][/b] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park) 
[b][color=556B2F]Skills:[/color][/b] None currently
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	Thalken rubbed his head whilst keeping his head low to try to keep some of the sun out of his eyes. He suddenly stopped short in his tracks though when someone stepped in front of him. His gaze slowly came up, squinting slightly as he tried to get a proper look at who it was. It turned out that it was The Great Bazhooli. [I]Great.[/I] He supposed with some inkling of gratitude that at least it wasn't that crazy German fellow. [I]Ludwig, that was his name, right? Yeah. Whatever. Like it really matters.[/I] He grimaced as Vladimir's booming voice egged on his lingering migraine. [i]Could he not like tone down the volume a bit? You know to like something lower than mute.[/i]

	He snorted, rolling his eyes. Did he look alright? [i]Doubtful.[/i] He chose to otherwise ignore the man's first line of questions. They were just pleasantries after all. Not to mention the fact that he highly doubted that the man truly cared how he had been treated. Thalken was essentially an intruder upon their home, so why would he? With the so-called pleasantries brushed aside, Vladimir soon cut to the chase, stating what he truly wanted of the former mercenary. Information, the man wanted information. [i]Interesting.[/i] Thalken crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow at Vlad in a silent invintiation to do continue on with the specifics. His brows furrowed slightly as the man's words washed over him. 

	The Russian man was referring to Gretna Green if he wasn't mistaken. Oh, he knew of the place. [i]Unfortunately.[/i] It shouldn't surprise anyone that his father had done a dealing or two at the place. Any sketchy place would do just fine, after all. The thought occurred to him that if the marriage arrangement between him and the Lady Crypt was still on the table, his father would likely take full advantage of said place. Perhaps his father still would. All it would take was to kidnap Lady Crypt and whisk them away to Gretna Green, and then they would be set. Scotland had less regulations regarding marriage than England did. Less regulations meant less suspicion would fall on them. They could practically do whatever they wanted.

	Thalken's eyes darkened at that notion, and he looked away, his jaw clenching. [color=556B2F]"Gretna Green,"[/color] he finally bit out with seeming distaste. [color=556B2F]"It's just beyond the border. The marriage laws in Scotland aren't as strict. They're practically nonexistent, really. People go their to elope or to just forgo all the time-consuming protocols of England."[/color] He eventually met Vladimir's gaze again, but this time his expression was mostly blank.
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[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=DC143C]Fyror Kildragon[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c08e11f7-3cfd-47ba-8929-88361f1112d2.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=DC143C]Let me die first, or I will die twice.
[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4q2bYTM8LU][color=DC143C]- [I]Atticus[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=DC143C]Location:[/color][/b] Manchester, England ⇢ En route to Preston
[b][color=DC143C]Skills:[/color][/b] Country knowledge (England)
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	Once Miss Fontaine was safely inside the carriage, Fyror followed in behind her. He took the seat across from her, his musket still laying there as it had been for most of the journey. He had a bad feeling that he would be needing it, whether that be for Soulless or for a certain person, he knew not. He nodded to the carriage driver as the man explained that it would be a two hour ride to Preston. He figured that much, but nevertheless, the fact still gnawed on him that by the time they even made it to the port Lord Rutherford and Ms. Wyndham would be several more leagues ahead of them. 

	As the door was shut behind them, he looked out the carriage window. It wasn't hard to tell by the harsh lines of his face and the general tension pervading his demeanor that he was stressed. He glanced back over at Colette at her comment about the carriage. [color=DC143C]"It's not mine. We switched ours out for this one several stops back,"[/color] he replied a bit plainly. He then looked back out the window, letting an awkward silence fall between them. He ran a hand over his face. It was hard to tell exactly what Fyror was thinking in that moment. Whatever it was, it clearly weighed heavily on him. He eventually glanced back over at Colette. He let out a small sigh, realizing he was being rude by ignoring her. He turned to face her once more. [color=DC143C]"So, what brings you here to England?"[/color] he asked, attempting to strike up a conversation.