Zman
Shadow Dragon
Not a Sayan
Simply Not Real
Fetzen
Lewascan2
Arty Fox
Lady Absinthia
Archangel89
"Go forward bravely. Fear nothing. Trust in God; all will be well." -Joan of Arc
Location: London Streets -> Regent's Park
Mary brushed the minuscule crumbs of their small but necessary breakfast from hers and Adam's clothing. Granted, there wasn't much. Mary herself was fastidiously kept as it mattered to taking meals, and the boy was obviously hungry enough to not let much escape him. Still, the steady, rhythmic movements of Cassius did tend have the occasion to jostle, and sometimes accidents do happen. It could be said that to take a meal from horseback, even something small, is an act showing an absence of ladylike refinement. However, Mary considered it a greater crime against propriety to allow a child to go hungry, and likewise her formal training had her on horseback for many a year, following other Papal Knights and Venator. Taking a meal thusly was second nature, so long as it was accomplished with expedience and humility.
Their journey down Oxford took them through more marketable locales, sporting row after row of plaster covered brick buildings interspersed between older wood-and-stone structures. Tall windows, many barred at street level, demonstrated the hustle and bustle of London here at the start of the Season as the middle class toured the establishments of gifted neighborhood craftsmen and artists, all looking to make a brisk bit of trade.
It was a glorious example of the enduring power and sociability present in humanity, yet Mary missed the countryside. It had been a very long time since she had been to her childhood home in Stirling, Scotland, if it could even be called that anymore. The elimination of the Hale family, or at least the male heirs of the Ennobled Knightly Hale Clan was such to have their holdings reabsorbed by surrounding estates, their assets impounded by the Crown proper, or granted to other parties for various reasons. She could not say for certain if her family's ancestral Clanhold near the border was still intact, let alone her father's castle in the middle country. Her thoughts drifted toward the trees and fields of Airthrey grounds, the still waters, the abundant nature. It seemed in direct opposition to the busy urban order of London, though living in the city came with several advantages. She would have loved to ride her horse across the countryside and take in the morning air along the loch. But she was not the daughter of a Knight of standing anymore, nor was she a Lady of a prominent House. That was not her life, halcyon as the memories were.
Perhaps the memory of her childhood was what prevented her from noticing the horse and cart barreling down the road. They were to turn right onto Portland Place, another busy road which would lead them straight into Regent's Park, but that plan was unsubtly postponed by oncoming disaster. The situation gave her pause and tested her reflexes as the cart driver, moving at a rate of speed suggesting he was trying to outrun an aggressively amorous demon made of steely, orange-hot, barbed phalluses rode through the intersection of Oxford and Portland without regard to anyone else on the roads. It was all Mary could do to rein Cassius in as he reared up, narrowly avoiding a glancing connection by the heavier vehicle. The haft of her halberd came across, holding Adam fast to her. Mary's skills as an equestrian were demonstrated admirably with the dappled grey stallion moving into a quarter turn while reared on its hind legs, both riders maintaining position atop the magnificent beast. "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come." quoted Mary, settling the horse down and turning onto Portland Place. "Matthew, 24:42. Are you quite alright, Adam?" she inquired, getting back into a respectable trot northward. "Not long now."
The more northerly route appeared to suit the disposition of the horse rather well, as Cassius settled down as only a trained warhorse does, taking up a solid canter after a block or so through a mostly open lane of city street movement. They made excellent time, passing the great public meeting space of Cavendish Square, ringed by several notable shops and townhomes for the wealthy, amid both buildings thick of wall and decorative statues of granite, marble, and semi-precious metals. Even a vast library sprang up from the side of Portland Place, signifying their coming closer to the south entrance of The Regent's Park, an internationally known place of natural respite amid the burroughs of London Metropolitan and grand venue for all manner of attractions, especially now that the Season was upon them.
The southern entrance to Regent's Park was framed by a massive ironwork gate, flung open to receive visitors of all kinds. Even Catholic Lady-Knights under Vatican orders, which was a bold statement considering social factors. Luckily for her, such exceptional access also belonged to Russian Gypsy-folk and lesser Cossack nobility from the same region. And most importantly, a Grand Duchess, one of very few that has ever been in the world, for whom she had come specifically to meet that morning.
Mary crossed the last main intersection leading into Regent's Park, a T-shaped junction of thoroughfares where Portland terminated against Marylebone Road and opened its way into the greener, sloping lands and clusters of trees that made up the Park. Almost large enough to be its own district, the Park ambled and stretched for a long, long way, encompassing an amphitheatre, the Zoological Society, a lake, horticulture nursery, and even some dwellings (though they were Crown property, one may rent or use them with special favor).
It was the goal of the armed and determined Sister Mary to locate the Russian Grand Circus and gain entry to their Tent City, to have an audience with the highest example of nobility she had personally ever been introduced to. Seeing as it was the goal of the Circus to attract people to them, they were not difficult to find. Grand tents of red and purple, muslin and canvas dotted a space not too horribly far away, though strategically placed so as not to interfere with the other locations within the park. Large cargo wagons formed a barrier on one side of the Circus while smaller vardos took up space next to residential tents in orderly rows and circles, forming their own little roads in the grass. This must be the place.
As they approached, Mary noticed that something seemed off. Hurried, possibly, though no Circus she had heard of set up shop that early. Perhaps there was a difficulty. They would likely not know until they got closer. Cassius slowed to a trot, riding into the grounds of the Circus proper with a question of location upon her lips. Now if she could just find someone familiar to her...
Passive Skills:
- Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
- Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: (Outside of) Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)
Sister Sophia was a Nun. Nuns worked for the Church. The Church is known for tending to the sick. Ergo, Sister Sophia must know what she is talking about. At least, that's the thought process that ran through Vladimir's mind. The thumping of Veda's back and Constantin's infernal squeezing had paid off, but according to Sophia, much more was required. She mentioned blankets and torches, and to get her someplace warm. That, he could do.
At first, he gave the slightest of consideration to throwing the Grand Duchess over his shoulder and riding Myshka back into the Tent City like some manner of Rusyn Tiger Cavalry, though giving it even a nanosecond's worth of scrutiny led him to the conclusion that him committing suicide via Siberian tiger wouldn't help Veta, nor would it help himself. Ok, that was right out. Second, and probably a much better idea, would be to lift the thankfully respiring young woman into his arms and haul ass back to his Sem'ya. There was only one part of Sister Sophia's plan that didn't seem to fit:
"No! No torch. Bed varmer!" he looked over to Constantin, "Vith cold gear! Please!" It was a bit of a luxury item, but Viktor, the Ringmaster and Circus Manager was always certain to provide Elizaveta with every comfort he possibly could have, especially if it meant getting more stuff for the Circus. "Talk to Ringmaster... eh, Son!" he switched targets and called for the other Konstantin (though obviously with a "K"), "Please be getting tent stove lit in Grand Duchess's tent, da? Move the ass!"
The younger Bazhooli gave a quick showing of affirmation and began running full tilt back to the Tent City. His mission was absolute, and while he might tell someone about it very soon, it would wait until after he did as his father requested. The Great Bazhooli himself had gathered up Elizaveta into his arms, and was quite busy moving her to her large and luxurious tent back with the Sem'ya. If Sophia wanted torches after this, she could grab them on the way in easily enough.
