That which prevails over His wrath, is His mercy.
Location: Marketplace near St. Paul's Cathedral
It was not an ideal turn of events, but Mary had obligations to uphold and the presence of the Anglican minister would assist in this endeavor. She held no illusions that the man
wanted to escort her, but it was the broader point of etiquette. They were in public after all, and hopefully a religious man of the people would be honor bound to accept. The illusion of Propriety. Maybe there was an advantage to the concept amid all of the class-supporting nonsense. And here the people at Almack's were worried that she might do something improprietous. She was learning, after a fashion.
Such was the relationship between the two of these people of the cloth - strained but civil. Mostly. They each had things to offer the other, in the Grand Scheme of Things.
Sister Mary hitched Cassius to the provided rails just outside of the Market and took to the grounds on foot. She grabbed her bags from the horse's tack and set off into the rows of merchants and grocers, happily exchanging greetings with the smaller number of people that approached her. She looked about the stalls and wagons of the market, trying to find a more or less respectable merchant to purchase a decent but not ostentatious tea set, some quality tea of the season, and sundries associated. Now, these things were easy enough to locate, no question. They were in London, a place where such things were commonplace enough to competitively drive down the cost all around. But one thing she intended to locate continued to elude, which she intended to voice to her reluctant escort.
"Reverend Clerc, can you recommend a respected Cutler in this market? Or possibly a talented Armorer elsewhere in the..." Her voice ceased, face taking on a narrowed, more martial aspect. She glanced over to Jacques, noting that he saw the scene unfold, too. Even at this distance, she had an educated idea as to what was transpiring.
"Ryne." It was a simple and flat statement.
The attitude and posture of Mary Hale became less of the Apostolic that was her daily life, and more of the Dame that was her calling. She deftly reversed the grip on her polearm and took off at a run, trailing the blade behind her. In her controlled dash, Mary released her massive bore Howdah gun from her side, opening her flowing white robe in the process. She ran, dead sprint, toward the crowd gathering and gasping at the boy on the ground. Part of her was enraged at the fact that no one was trying to help him; another part understanding their fear. What could they have done, aside from putting the boy out of his misery?
Mary slowed, noting that there was still a flow of blood from the child's wounds. He was still alive. Maybe there was even something she could do for him. The destruction of Soulless was within the main mandate of her Order, but so was protecting those who would be their victims. This boy still drew the breath of the living. The child was not beyond reach yet - there was a chance, however slim.
"Reverend!" she called behind her, holding out her massive pistol to hand it over if required,
"You take the Ryne! I've got the boy!" She knelt next to the unresponsive form of the victim before her, quickly and carefully triaging. Quickly replacing her polearm (which she lay on the ground beside her) with her rosary, she pulled the boy onto her lap and offered emotional supplication. Her voice was powerful, yet colored by the humility of a genuine servant of God, advocating on behalf of the boy in her arms.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I beg you to spare this child!" She pressed the rosary to his forehead and wrapped her hand around the bite on his neck, stemming what flow of blood she could. She opened herself up to the divine gift of the Timyne, continuing to speak mostly to reinforce her own faith in its ability to heal and expunge.
"Remove the corruption and preserve his Soul, if it be Your will, O Lord. Knit his flesh, that he may still serve you on Earth." Her attention focused away from the spiritual and down to the boy. She whispered to ears that might or might not be able to hear her,
"In the name of Christ, boy, open your eyes. You have people who need you. Fight. Please fight. Don't let the Soulless take you. Open your eyes. In nomine Patris, et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti. Open your eyes. The rosary remained on his forehead, but the hand originally holding it crept back, underneath the folds of her robe. It curled around the hilt of one of her shortswords, in case she was wrong. Just in case.
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Archangel89
