[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=B22222]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://i.pinimg.com/236x/b6/8f/92/b68f92c7f2fcb47b426eccc66b35438c--moulin-rouge-costumes-moulin-rouge-men.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] La Canela Ship -> Bristol Ship -> Back Again
[color=B22222][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English, Acrobatics, [i]Gologramma[/i] [/center][hr]

	As the bones of his nose melded seamlessly back together, [i]again[/i], a smile of genuinely agreeable joy spread across his features. Briefly, he considered the possibility of trying it out to see exactly how spiffy it had healed, though what constituted "trying out" a nose might just be very unseemly in mixed company. Later, then. When he had some time to himself, Vladimir vowed that he would test the boundaries of his newly healed nose. For the moment, he took in a deep breath, enjoying the full function of either nostril for their individual merit, and exhaled with a word or two of gratitude. [color=B22222]"Ahhhhh, DA! Constantin Firevalker, you have the gift! [i]Krasnoye[/i] is strong and fuzzy vith you, like vinter beets lasting until springtime! Ha! I vill make certain to appreciate my nose after time was passed."[/color] He leaned into Constantin, eyes taking on an excited sparkle. His voice issued forth from his expressive mouth as a growling whisper, punctuating the last thing he said with the intonation of, [color=B22222]"[i]Vigorously...[/i]"[/color] What he could have possibly meant by that was a thing perhaps best left undwelt upon. 

	He wiped the last of the blood from his face and turned to Captain Montoya. It had been offered (and automatically decided upon, apparently) that the three of them should switch ships and take passage with La Canela. And from The Great Bazhooli's point of view, why the hell not? This was but a new chapter in the great adventure they were all upon. Meeting new people! Doing new things! Doing new things with and/or [i]to new people[/i]! The last thought was admittedly directed toward the Captain. They had to pay for their passage somehow, and Vladimir was, by specific training: Tougher, Stronger, and more Russian. With a bow and a flourish, he responded to her offer in a more official capacity with dramatic undertones. [color=B22222]"Kapitan Montoya of La Canela-s, speaking for peoples of Bazhooli Sem'ya and new Alliance of Trained Peoples (despite presence of but three of us), ve accept kind and generous offer; offering made the sveeter vith the coming from powerful voman of shipbound grace and beauty unparalleled, vith eyes as sea after storm. Is honor, Kapitan, to share space and breathe free air of ship of La Canela. Am having the gratitudes. Many, many of the gratitudes."[/color] 

	If his bowing and supplication got any more intense, one might fear for his health and/or stability. Luck was with them all, as he had come to the end of his speech. [color=B22222]"Please excuse. Vill make ready for hasty departing."[/color] His eyebrows, even his entire face radiated the emotive power of [i]The Great Bazhooli[/i], marking him as belonging to that title for anyone even vaguely familiar with the concept of a Bazhooli, let alone a Great one. A devious smile spread across his face that seemed to scream the intent to do mischief. He stretched his toned, skillful arms out beside himself and stepped backwards until he stood a couple of feet from the ship's railing. With a calculated flex, Vladimir vaulted himself into the air, one hand moving to steady his tall black hat upon his very dignified head. He turned over but once, flipping before his feet connected with the railing. In that second, The Great Bazhooli reached into his repertoire of Rusyn Training and mentally summoned the teachings of [i]Gologramma[/i], an illusion that was not quite an illusion. 

	Vladimir seemed to step away from himself, leaving a one version of the Impalement Artist hatless with his arms crossed, balanced upon the railing, and another holding onto his hat still, facing away from the people on board the La Canela vessel. Both versions turned to look at the other, each mirroring the same devious smile. They bowed to one another in the fashion of showmen, and the one with the tall hat tossed it into the air. As eyes followed the black item of headwear, he sprung off of the railing, tumbling and flipping down to the commercial vessel below. Before he even touched the deck, the remaining Vlad snatched his(?) hat from the air and placed it upon his own head. This one looked back at those upon the ship, still smiling yet ever silent.  

	The other Vladimir hit the deck of the smaller vessel and broke his fall with a well executed shoulder roll, rising to sprint to the cabin left for his use. He returned in short order, carrying a bag or two, some of the belongings of himself and his traveling companions. One at a time, he quickly but carefully tossed them to his twin above, who skillfully eased them to the deck as they soared past. It was but two trips that he made, seeing as they had opted to travel lightly as speed was the priority over provisioning. One by one their personal effects and tools of the trade, packed neatly away in boxes, bags, or wrapped in cloth, made their way up to the La Canela ship, guided to an easy landing by the silent Vladimir above. The last item was an earthenware growler bottle, one of a few he had packed for purposes of trade, if necessary. This one was caught and held, not set upon the deck below. 

	The voice of the Vlad aboard Bristol Ship could be heard faintly, telling the Captain of that vessel to please keep the money already given for passage aboard their fine vessel, and giving words of thanks for their hospitality. Without warning, he appeared back upon the rail of the larger ship, effecting an impressive handstand. Vladimir delicately set one boot upon the rail, then the other, and stood tall and strong alongside his oddly quiet twin. The twin bowed to him and handed over the bottle which was accepted with a flourish. He then removed his(?) tall black hat, placed it upon the head of the other Vladimir, and adjusted it to a rakish angle. With a nod and a smile, the silent Vlad faded away into the wind. It was as if he had never been there in the first place. 

	The Great Bazhooli, beaming confidence and clarity, stepped carefully from the railing and strode toward the Captain. [color=B22222]"My Lady, Qveen of Seas, and Mistress of Ships, I am thanking you also for hospitalities. Ve may have things to be discussing, I am thinking. Vould consider another honor to share drink of homeland; a nectar of place in and beyond Carpathian Mountains and into Steppes and forests of Empire. Vhen horses and provisions are secure, ov course, and duties othervise are handled. I am at service of Kapitan Montoya, da?"[/color] When he laid it on, it was as monumentally thick as only a Bazhooli might. A Great one.