[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=B22222]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/9c984eba-de1c-408c-9db6-e279ff01a9f6.gif[/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 
[color=B22222][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr]

	With a smile and a flourish, Vladimir removed his tall hat yet again. He was fond of utilizing his hat for the purposes of demonstrating his various acts of manual dexterity, and tended to do so when twirling his fine knives was impractical. Such was it now, speaking with new people aboard their ship in the middle of unfamiliar waters. He did not know how the Captain might react to a strange and colorful man of Rusyn Carpathian Cossack heritage brandishing sharp implements within her zone of comfort, nor did he wish to experiment at first meeting. So, [i]hat[/i]. He twirled it about with one hand and spun it on his fingertips at leisure. 

	While he did so, Vladimir took a moment to consider the words of Captain Montoya, who had so playfully returned his native word of affirmation, "Da", back to him in what he assumed was partially sarcasm. Still smiling, the waterbound Impalement Artist responded with a jovial, [color=B22222]"Da? Da! Am not knowing that you speak the Russian, Kapitan! I am liking, very much."[/color] The next series of words form the woman, inquiries into the Soulless attacks in and about London, he chose to remain close-lipped about until such time as they had some privacy to speak. He even hinted as much, following along behind her when she started toward her cabin, beckoning to him. [color=B22222]"Good, good. Qviet place for qviet talk. Drinks to toast new acquaintence-ing. Ve go!"[/color] 

	Between the sway of the Captain's form as she walked (particularly the place where her lower back joined with her legs, just that whole region there) and the absent twirling of his hat, Vladimir found himself distracted. So distracted, point of fact, that he failed to notice the door to the cabin swing open directly in his path. The edge of the door connected solidly with the center of his entire face, from strong, noble chin all the way up to proud, intelligent forehead. Somewhere in the middle, his highly dignified nose cracked. Again. The tall, black hat of the reigning Great Bazhooli dropped to the floor at first, his now free hand pointing into the air as if about to ask a question and with the most perplexed look upon his face, before gravity asserted itself. 

	Master Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, first heir of The Baron Alexandrov, felt his eyes cross a he flopped bonelessly upon the deck, unconscious next to his fine hat.