Millicent Wyndham
Location: Conservatory, Heaton Hall, Heaton Park, Manchester, England
Skills: Sketching
Millicent was glad that Colette was willing to post for her. To Millicent it gave the perfect excuse for them to duck away from the rest of those at this little get together and be alone hopefully enough to be able to speak a bit. Yet Millicent wondered if she would have the gumption to tell Colette anything. The woman was living two of her worst fears right then and now that she was in the conservatory and things had calmed down she found her mind focusing on just that. It was not a pleasant feeling that went through her and in fact it was so cold suddenly that she felt herself shivering and causing herself to wrap her arms around her herself.
What were Millicents fears? One was to marry without affection and that was a destination she could see on the horizon. If they covered the same amount of distance they had this day they could be in Scotland as early as tomorrow night. That was a horrible thought. To be married to one as wretched as she felt Richard was, to be chained for the rest of her life to one that had... The thought went away and she had to push it off her like she had him. It was pressing, suffocating and it showed on her features. It was not something one could easily hide and Millicent had never been one to hide her emotions well. She wore her heart on her shoulder even if she shouldered it well.
Another fear was being out in situations that were like this. Unpredictable, out in the open, exposed. Millicent surely felt exposed just then. Like a raw nerve from a cut that was being rubbed with salt. It burned, it stung, it caused one to want to rip their skin off and crawl into the darkness. Yes, the bluestocking spinster could be bold and witty but what was the point when one had seen the first level of hell and then shown the door to the second? She missed home, she even missed her mother. At least her mouth was nothing but a mouth and the tongue it held within, while a dagger, was dull and tarnished. It could do no more harm than you let it.
Cold, it was so cold. Why was it so cold? Looking around Millicent had not even heard Colette come in and speak and it took her back a bit to see the woman there. Colette must have entered while she was in thought.
"Yes, very beautiful," she said trying to drag herself out of the abyss. Standing up she walked over to Colette.
"May I?" she asked as she reached out, wanting to turn Colettes head just a tad and position it so she could sketch her better. If she was allowed she would, if not she would just instruct her how to turn. It was usually easier to pose a model she had found in the past.
Turning she sat back down and picked up her sketch pad and charcoals.
"Have you enjoyed yourself in England so far? The company?" she asked as she began to draw. She found herself shiver a bit which was odd, it still felt cold even in the heat of the summer. Was it actually hot anymore or was it just her mind? If the condensation forming on the glass of the windows, the temperature was actually dropping and quickly. Yet that was not completely unheard of in England this time of the year.
Elizaveta Romanova
Location: Regent Park, London, England
Skills: English, Zverey, Agility
Elizaveta watched for Mary's movement and as the nun road off with her passenger the Grand Duchess nudged Myshka forward and they were off. Thankfully the stables were at the northern back most area of the circus and with the tent partially collapsing all the guards were hurrying towards the direction of the main tent. It was a small bit of luck, but it was enough for them to be able to exit the circus without being noticed. God was with them right then, Elizaveta was sure of it as they were quickly making their way through Regent Park proper. It was going to be a dangerous journey and they would be hunted down once the Circus was made aware of their exit but God was granting them a head start and she knew they had to make the most of it. Riding was not her strong suit but Myshka knew what to do and Elizaveta was agile enough to hold on.
Yet was a head start enough? Only if they could put as much distance between them as possible. Maybe, just maybe they would be lucky enough to get an hour but a direct route would make it easier for the circus to find them. Yet a less direct route would put Millicent in even more danger. Yet how much of a head start did this Rutherford have on them already. She knew not the time they left but she pressed on anyways, letting Mary pick the path. Had she known Master Ludwig knew travel routes of Europe she might have tried to take him along but he was far behind them right then and they had to keep it that way.
"Thou vho vast terrifying both in strength and in countenance, for thy Creator's sake thou didst surrender thyself villingly to them that sought thee; for thou didst persuade both them and the vomen that sought to arouse in thee the fire of lust, and they folloved thee in the path of martyrdom. And in torments thou didst prove to be courageous. Vherefore, ve have gained thee as our great protector, O great Christopher," Elizaveta recited. It was from the Kontakion in the Fourth Tone, a hymn, for Saint Christopher said by her church and others of Eastern Orothodox following. It wasn't a widely accepted thing within the Catholic Church at that time. He had only recently been accepted, some three hundred years earlier but within the church that wasn't that long ago.
Taking a breath Elizaveta noted they were on the edge of Regents park now and would soon cross over into London itself. Thing was, now they had two choices. To east and then south to the gate or west and south to the gate. They had to go the long way around for if they went straight south it would take them right back into the circus. They had to go the long way around before cutting through the city further east or west to go south. God help them.
Ludwig Zimmer
Location: (Under) Food Table, Main Tent, Russian Tent City, Regent Park, London, England, Europe, Northern Hemisphere, Planet Earth
Skills: English, Observation, Mental Stamina, Unacknowledged Soulless/Countries, Kielkropf, Raips
In the shadows, lights cast on the canvas, silhouettes being shown and dark, moving like dark fireflies, stopping the light. On the candle masks and gaslights, which tumble as well. Smoke and fear embraces. Should I be worried? No, even as the smoke creeps in there is laughter, much laughter. So much, yes, laughter. He is not mad, he is glad. Mr. Talk laughs. Oh yes he laughs and I flutter. I flutter no more though for fluttering wings burn bright in the evening light and so unflutter, unbind and there he was. Large as life had birthed him to be, sitting with a grin on his lips as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and his legs crossed.
"Does she return? Oh no, the dark one does not for this is too light, and it smells. Not rotten, not happy, this is winter smells, the burn, the logs, crackle crackle." While a little off his rocker even though he rocked so well, it could be seen, a dropped tent cloth was heavy and while the rope had been burned to cut it free, it had plummeted on several. The canvas, thick and heavy catching fire.
"Nope, nope, nope, nope," he said as he dug into his pocket.
"Beans beans the magical fruit, the more you eat the more you freeze if you eat my beans. Cold as ice and hearts of gold, see, stop the burn, smells are mad and I am not mad but glad," he said in all seriousness as he tossed a bean here and there.
It striking the cloth and freeze both canvas and lamps. Three of them to stop the burn, three, the magical three. Thrice he was denied, thrice is crowed, thrice to the rice. Yummy grains of white and some dark with sun hues of burning fire. Yet the cloth was now cold and froze and frosty like snowmen with silk hats and coal eyes. ANd heavier, winter always made things heavier. So much heavier. Roofs and souls, black and dark in the night but sit there still and grin he did for once again his beans were everything. Such magical beans. He wished for all to see but sadly one would not for the heft was perhaps too much or was it the potato in his veins? Either way Mr Talk could laugh no more, you see, drunkenness had taken caused Nevermore, to Neverland and there in dreams he would dance on lilies and find sweeten breath, strawblonde hair, stuck somewhere between love and abuse.
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