[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=B22222]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/8c1433c6-083d-4a24-bdfa-033741139aa8.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][hr][center][color=B22222][b]Location:[/b][/color] Gretna Green, Church
[color=B22222][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr]

	There was awe, and just a hint of an adventurous grin on the face of The Great Bazhooli. He had duty to the Grand Duchess, this was for certain, but there were some moments that he truly lived for, freely and without abandon. This was one such moment. To ply his trade; not that of a performer, but the services he and his people did for the Russian Empire under the guise of mere entertainers. But there was nothing [i]mere[/i] about Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov, first heir of Baron Alexandrov and this generation's [i]Great Bazhooli[/i]. And to ply said trade amid onlookers? Ah, such rapturous, wonderous bliss of blade dancing, flying knives, and an audience. 

	The thing which grasped his attention, even more than his own histrionics, was the action of the summoned [i]Ostanavlivat'sya[/i]. The spiritual force recognized the dark and tendrilly thing in the rafters and bid it as much attention as anyone else in the room. [i]That[/i] was interesting beyond generally accepted belief, especially considering the dangerous nature of Veta's summoning. [color=B22222]"NO!"[/color] boomed his cultured, Russian accented voice, the air of showy assertiveness and Cossack masculinity radiating from him as almost a visible aura. His teeth were bared. Was it a genuine grin, or combative defiance against an enemy? Who was to say? He was [u]The Great Bazhooli[/u]. It was all that needed to be known of him, for it spoke tales of generations. [color=B22222]"Ve do [i]not run[/i]."[/color] A person looking on might see the glint of vitality in his eyes that only appeared in a man facing his own mortality with a smile. And it was official, Vladimir was smiling. 

	He glanced around to the others in the church with him. None of the others were Circus except for Constantin the Firewalker and Veta with her obvious Training, but he could tell they were all able fighters in their own right. [color=B22222]"Ve [i]dance[/i]... Ve dance the Dance of the Living, [i]embracing[/i] it as ve must embrace Oblivion vhen ve are called to her! In face of Death, ve celebrate Life! Elizaveta!"[/color] His eyes remained on the thing poised in the rafters. He needed to see something about it with the Trained eyes of a Rusyn warrior, even as a battle loomed like an ambush predator. [color=B22222]"Sing for me please a [i][b]Татушка[/b][/i][/color][sub]1[/sub][color=B22222], Your Grace,"[/color] he called to his Grand Duchess, effecting a wide-stanced bow with his arms out to his sides. This was his life and breath. [color=B22222]"[i]Sing, and let us rejoice,[/i]"[/color] he growled, adopting the dangerous glare of a man capable of great violence. 

	Let no man say he lived a colorless life, nor that he did not have panache. 

[hider=Translations]
1	=	Tatushka (Like this helps. Sorry! No direct translation to English!)
[/hider]

[hider=Roll Request]
Characters current location - [i]Gretna Green, Church[/i]
Characters attempted actions - [i]Rallying the group, maneuvering into position to best affect inkblot-rafter-thing while keeping his head attached to his torso[/i]
Any and all skills being used - [i]Mamushka![/i]
Why each skill is being called - [i]Because it kicks ass[/i]
Desired location of the character - [i]N/A[/i]
[/hider]