[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=B22222]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=B22222][b]Location:[/b][/color] Bristol Ship 
[color=B22222][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English, [i]Krasnoye[/i] [/center][hr]

	Sitting bodily upon the deck with blood freely moving from his now mildly misshapen (but still epically Bazhooli-eque) nose, Vladimir was not particularly satisfied with the events of recent hours. Come to think of it, pretty much everything since he had booked passage upon the boat was darkened by a shadow of ill fortune or unknown factors. Such was the nature of life, he supposed. Every moment of every day a new and shiny piece of adventure, every unfortunate turn of fate a new obstacle to overcome. But the most insidious, the most diabolical, nay, the most dastardly [i]evil[/i] obstacle that existed within the present hour was that damnedable [i]mast[/i]. 

	Instead of venting his fury upon the stalwart sail-holding former tree, Vlad remained seated to view the approach of Constantin. His lack of action betrayed his comrade, as it allowed ample time for the mast to strike again. And strike it did. There was only one logical course of action to be taken at this time. 

	[color=B22222]"Damn you!"[/color] he roared at the offending mast, blood and spittle flinging distastefully from his face in his empassioned rage. [color=B22222]"Damn you, mast! Damn you to Hell of Many Lovehungry Bear! You have dropped gauntlet, and insult [i]vill be answered[/i]! ...but first, must see to friend."[/color] He looked to Constantin, who bore injury identical to his own. A last glance at the mast concluded his monologue to the inanimate object with a snap of, [color=B22222]"Are lucky for now!"[/color] 

	To his fellow Circus performer, he spoke from a more lighthearted position. [color=B22222]"Costantin! Did not know you show Great Bazhooli such favor, as to break own face to appear more like him! It flatters, da? Of course. But ve must fix, Constantin Firevalker. Dot in distance makes us vait for while longer, unless boat makes magic trip again. Come! Come."[/color] Vladimir took a long look at Constantin's nose and moved to straighten it with his thumbs. As he did so, he felt his mind fall into the rhythmic thrum that often accompanied his personal application of [i]Krasnoye[/i], or the Rusyn Training Skill of healing physical trauma. 

	The touch was not with him as much as he would have liked. His own discomfort, the shakiness of his legs after the massive vomiting session, who knew? But Constantin's pain had subsided, if the injury itself was not fully knitted. It was an okay start. [color=B22222]"For sorry, Constantin. Ve try again, little later, eh?"[/color]