Sigil

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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Caesar was no fool. The tiny, subtle glances between father and daughter over the course of cleaning up the Exxon Valdez grade buttsplatter did not go unnoticed by the older man. He didn't say anything about it; after all, if they had family business that they wanted to keep private, that was their concern. Caesar trusted his brother. He trusted his niece, though she was young and sometimes uncertain, looking to her father for guidance. If there was something they needed to say to him, they would do so when they were ready.

After Liam's bath, Benicio brought the little guy back into Thalia's bedroom. She was getting her own shower on the quick, and Caesar began to feel like an intruder. "Hey, let me see my grandson." he spoke in his usual gravelly voice. Wordlessly, his brother strolled over to him with little Liam and carefully held him out to Caesar. He accepted the baby with the gentle experience of a veteran father, taking great care to cradle the head. Caesar spend a good, long moment looking down at Liam. "A blue eyed Gonzalez." He laughed dryly. "What do you think Papi would have said?"

"He probably would have asked Alicia if the big guy had a sister for him."

The two of them had a quiet chuckle over that one, agreeing that indeed, that would be something he was likely to say. Personal entertainment aside, his views on mixed bloodlines ran a touch more to the conservative. Caesar was like that himself, in his younger years. Likely his father's influence. But looking down at the dark hair and bright blue eyes of his grandson, the little piece of Alicia that would live on, he wondered why he ever thought something so blatantly wrong. Thalia had parentage similar to Liam. Sometimes, Caesar even found it difficult to see the Mexican in her, such was the tumbling of the genetic dice. Her dark hair and hazel eyes were really the only things she had gotten from the Gonzalez line, the rest was in the details. But now Caesar wouldn't have it any other way.

Benicio held out his arms, offering to take Liam back from Caesar. Sighing, the elder Gonzalez relented, passing the baby back to his brother. "Is everything good?" A not-too-subtle inquiry. Benicio knew his brother, and knew that he suspected something. "Yeah, we're good. Just have to talk to M'hija about something. You get back downstairs, we will join you after a little bit." Caesar gave his brother a sideways look, holding it for a second or two before nodding, giving a quick "Gracias" and exiting the room.

From the bathroom came the polite inquiry, "Hey Dad, is Caesar still out there?"

Still holding the baby, Benicio answered, "No. He just left."

Thalia's casual voice faded into something much more businesslike as she responded, "Alright, let's do this." Stepping out of the bathroom in fresh clothes, she snatched up the flash drive and made for her performance laptop. "I wish I had an isolator kit for this... guess I'll just have to make due." Without further adieu, she plugged the drive into her machine while Benicio hit the locks on the doors.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum
Skills: N/A

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Josephine's mind wasn't the only one that was taking an unscheduled hiatus at that moment. Yes, the venerable and influential Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone had a mild "senior moment" as he froze where he stood, mind all a-fuddled by the task that was set before him. Ordinarily a very simple task: Find the crate with this catalogue code, look for something specific inside. Indeed, he had even volunteered to go after a specific lot number. But much in the way that one might know precisely what one wants for supper, then stands, walks to the fridge and completely forgets what they were going to do in the first place, despite the fact that they are physically hungry and should be able to figure it out themselves instantaneously.

He had even mentally given it a miss as he struggled to figure out what he had just asked the Starlet. Luckily, she had responded with precisely the number of the crate/lot/section of the archives that he was going for in the first place. There was a mildly satisfied smile of approval that lasted for just a second or two before he realized that something wasn't quite right with the response. The problem was, he wasn't exactly sure what it could possibly be. They were looking for something, right?

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive)

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As strange as it might seem, The Great Bazhooli was beginning to understand the cut of this man's gibberish. Oh, he was crazy. No doubt about that. But he did reveal a few things about himself that provided otherwise inaccessible insight. This "Ludwig" character was a protector once. If not protector, then someone to translate the world to him and his antics to the rest of the world. This is what a man looked like when he was alone in a foreign land with the barest knowledge of the local language. Metaphorically, or course. He seemed to have a more or less fluent grasp of English; probably better than Vladimir did himself.

The minor missteps of language were an important part of character for him, though. It made him seem more worldly, more exotic to almost everyone outside of the Russian Empire, and even a good number of more urban types within. Vladimir's foreign accent and diction, paired with his regal bearing and mannerisms established his background, as eclectic as it was: Carpathian Rusyn, Cossack, Gypsy, Noble... Warrior. Performer. Protector. A character. An assortment of personality traits and gimmicks, backed by hurled steel. Ah, perhaps he really could speak foreign languages better than he let on. Speaking flatly was entirely without panache.

Luckily, the German fellow found cause to leave his immediate environs. Vladimir set his mind black on the task of returning to his people and getting the show underway for the Graveolase. He had been away for too long. With determined strides, he marched in the same general direction as Ludwig, but took a wider path and quickly found himself at the back of the tent. There were members of the Bazhooli Sem'ya; his cousins, nieces and nephews, and a couple of people close to them who were willing to shore up their numbers for the proper execution of the Grand Mamushka. The dance had not been seen outside of the clan for a long while. Vlad wanted to make sure his people were comfortable, relaxed, and confident. They had practiced their exact routine for the two months it took to travel the overland route from Moldova to England, and performed it many times even before that.

Vladimir located his Sem'ya exactly where they were supposed to be, behind the main tent near a performer's entrance, waiting with nervous tension in the air. They had several things with them for the show, as well. Oil and torches in stands, ready to light things ablaze at the first instance of The Great Bazhooli uttering his performing catchphrase of "Now, let us try the same trick... ON FIRE!!!", racks full of blades of various shapes and sizes, and targets, targets, targets, among a plethora of other things. His son, Konstantin, walked reverently up to the older man with a great mass of fur and a wrapped bundle. The pile of folded, fuzzy hide was one of Vladimir's favorite performance pieces - a great, grey-brown coat made of thick and lustrous bear fur. He pulled it around himself, selected a gentleman's cane and a sabre for a good entrance, and adjusted his tall hat upon his head.

"I am seeing that you are very nervous, da? Vell, do not be. I am proud of each and every one ov us all; I vill alvays be proud of us. No matter vhat happens tonight, ve vill still Mamushka. Ve vill still fight, still defend our peoples from the Soulless. Ve are Bazhooli, every and each one ov us! Do not submit! Ve shall conquer! Ve shall rise!" Vladimir stepped upon a conveniently placed box to continue addressing his people. He took off his hat and held both it, and the cane out to his sides. "I am Great Bazhooli! And I have seen evil. I have seen horror. I have seen unholy maggots, vhich feast upon dark recess of human soul!" Unfortunately, Vlad took the opportunity to deviate from the speech to better suit his audience: "Ve all have. Ve know vhat bumps in night; and ve bump back. Hard. No matter vhat happens tonight, this vill not change. You are family. I am so proud ov you. Ve know vhat must be done. Let us go in, heads held high, and show these Graveolase that ve deserve same respect. Deserve voice at table."

"Just go in. Be fierce, be talented. Be yourselves. Everything, everything, vork out as should."

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers, "The Hat"

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Sitting Room)
Skills: Alter Form

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A variety of reactions greeted the elder Emendator, from humor to surprise to seeming apathy. It was a relief, having the generally expected range of emotions present themselves. Even shock or wide-eyed terror might have been acceptable, so long as it didn't turn to violence. That had happened before, more than once. Sometimes the human psyche refused to accept what it was being bombarded with and responded with more a primitive instinct designed around survival. He didn't blame these people when they did, either. Nobody asked for this. And they were given a lot to swallow all at once.

"It's not like I do this all the time, either." he stated, again in a voice slightly altered by his new jaw and nasal structure, not to mention a trace of Scandinavian accent. Leaning forward in his seat, Gilbert's features rippled again as the new form smoothed and bulged away, reverting the tall man back to the original visage of The Hat. "This is the face I wore first, a long time ago. I have been a lot of different people over the millennia. A lot. Some for decades at a time. I'll tell you though, I always liked this one best, even if some of the others were prettier." He flashed a big, disarming grin, continuing with, "You just can't beat a classic, right?"

Gilbert cleared his throat and adopted a more serious expression. "Miss Lucas is correct. Now is an excellent time to tour the house and grounds. I think the house will become the most familiar to you first. Most of you will be spending the brunt of your time in here, if the habits of prior Paradoxes are any indication. Anyway: house. I'll give you the nickel tour and then we can move on to the grounds. You all take a moment to process. When you're ready, I will be just outside."

He stood, made a token attempt to smooth his shirt, and set his fedora back onto his dignified head, and made for the door. Just before he exited, he left the group with a parting thought: "I don't know what abilities you have been gifted with, but I'll tell you - some of them make what I just did look like a parlor trick." He tipped his hat to the group and walked out, taking the door opposite the one from which they had all entered, leading to the front porch.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp - Main House (Sitting Room)
Skills: N/A

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This was a LOT to press into his brain all at once. I mean, it was a good piece of news that the perils of getting older would no longer be an issue, seeing as he was into his forties already and, while still able to do most of the things he could twenty years ago, well... He paid for it. And for a longer time, too. It would have been nice to have just a few years of hardship shaved off of his physical body, really, and he guessed that beggars couldn't be choosers. Also, the promise of superpowers was pretty cool, too. Or it would be, except for one concept that hung around his neck like a stone:

A world that has superheroes, by its very nature, is a world that desperately needs superheroes.

What the hell did he just fall into? No, no... The devil you know was starting to sound a hell of a lot better right now, even if the devil that James knew was a world ravaged by an uprising of the Dead. He had people he cared about there. He had a purpose. Hell, prior to his untimely death, he was on his way to make sure that his loved ones would be safe. It involved killing a lot of people, granted, but it was a very noble example of killing a lot of people. The were massive, massive asshats anyway. The kind that deserved to be executed by the rectal application of a cheese grater. Not that he wanted to be the guy nicking off parts of ass interior with a manual kitchen implement, mind you. He would have been equally satisfied to use a firearm or his woodaxe.

Basically, James was living the embodiment of "Too Much, Too Fast". When Gilbert left the room, he spoke up. "Yeah, look... I don't know 'bout y'all, but I'm givin' some serious thought at throwin' up right now. I could use one of them recesses that Dice Lady was talkin' 'bout, an' I'm hopeful they got a good hard drink to settle some nerves, ya get me?"

Nonetheless, he stood. A little shaky at first, but over the next seconds he became more sure of the next steps he would take. Looking at Sophia, he extended a hand to help her up if needed. "Hot dayum, this one wacky game show. Let's get this done, huh?"

🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed)

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Foy Coiffeur

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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It seemed that Foy was quite the conversational centerpiece. Ordinarily, he much preferred it that way. He was a Gentleman of Standing and Professional Endeavors, educated and highly trained in his fields of expertise. It was only natural that others look to him as an example. And if not, well, the anthill always needed worker drones to keep the necessary but untidy odds and ends running smoothly. Philistines, yes, but necessary. This occasion was beginning to differ from most, however. The mention of his dear, sweet, innocent sister was offputting, mostly as her good name was being besmirched by the present holder of his contract for the foreseeable. Tact might be necessary, and not only because he had failed to bring his sixguns with him.

"My dearest Captain, I have the fullest comprehension of your agitation and unrest, given that there are some persons who have suffered a wrongful situation to which she was party. I must pose a query, after which I shall make you an offer: Was she not with her husband at the time; a Mr. Maverick? Understand, I know their family well and respect their lineage. Despite breeding and resources, Mr. Maverick is a cad of the highest order, having been disowned by his people for... well, for reasons they may disclose were one to ask them. Suffice it to say, he utilized my brilliant yet impressionable sister's head for mathematics for his own nefarious ends. Your quarrel is with him, I should imagine. One does not blame the knife for the pain in one's back, madame. One blames the ruffian who impaled it thusly."

Foy straightened his tie with a practiced motion and beamed a gracious smile, one reserved for the purposes of settling the nerves of amateur businesspeople before he got down to it. "However, I would be pleased to discuss representative mediation at a later point. The evening is about recreation, is it not? Let us set a moratorium on business." Hopefully, the matter would be shelved for a while. If the issue was deemed important enough to continue the conversation by the Captain, then perhaps Foy's greater repertoire of skills and resources should be brought to bear. Again, without the use of sixguns. One must maintain an element of civilized discourse among the uncivilized, where it was ever so much more important.

But speaking to the point of what was considered civilized, hearing aloud Mei's assumption about their political and/or military standing gave him quite a bit of mirth. Foy attempted valiantly to suppress a full laugh, instead allowing only an arrogant sounding snort to escape. "Ho hooo, madame. I do not speak for the rest of my associates, though I can attest from personal experience that whilst the Alliance provides opportunities most lucrative, they often lack imagination and frequently become melancholic. To phrase simply, they are boring." He looked to the woman across the table pointing at him, "But as for you..." he began, pulling a dramatically oversized straightrazor from his belt. He made a quiet showing of quietly tending to a manicured thumbnail with the wicked looking blade before looking into Jacqueline's eyes with a smile, stating flatly, "I am the vessel's Barber, madame." His smile and knowing look implied much more.

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William Harper

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Location: Newhope - Lady Luck
Skills: N/A

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Harper gave notice to the goings on at the table, mostly the conflicting bits of personality that made for an interesting source of tension. Were his fate not directly tied to that of his new crew, he might consider this situation entertaining, albeit a little cliched. Still, compared to his last semi-permanent residence, it was actually quite civilized conversation. Subtle, even. Life outside of the Halo could still be very treacherous for that reason, though he doubted that reprisals for actions taken with this bunch would be remotely as personal, nor motivated by survival. Those habits based upon survival were nonetheless difficult to break, such as his own internal sense of a building situation.

Whether or not that situation was happening now, Harper felt the need to break things up a little bit. He was not quite the verbose type that Foy was, preferring to work with a touch more in the way of subtlety. Setting up metaphorical dominoes to tip over later, or taking action indirectly if at all possible. Indirect action was exactly what he had in mind at that moment, preferably in a way that removed himself and another point of dram from the table, hopefully to change the dynamic and allow the conversation to progress naturally to another series of topics that had nothing to do with where he was from, what he was doing with this crew, anyone getting thrown out of an airlock, nor anyone else getting terminated and/or shot.

He studied those present at the table. There was much he didn't know about these people; the ones he knew best he had met only a handful of days ago. He could only use what he had personally observed. The newer people were right out. Not only were they the ones asking most of the questions, he knew nothing of them. Dorothy and Jahosafat had left the table, presumably to make their own noise elsewhere. And then there was Daphne. The girl was a source of attention, despite her unwillingness to initiate or contribute to the ongoing discussion at the table coupled with her seeming indifference to events unfolding around them all. Then there was the Captain. Anisa was definitely drawing attention, most of the reasons for which Harper actually agreed. He wasn't as happy with the methods she used to communicate her displeasure, though her ways were not his. Obviously. He did notice the glance in his direction with accompanying smirk, and decided to take a calculated risk.

"Ma'am? I don't know about you, but my baozi is a little too hot. Would you care for that dance now?" He raised his eyebrows in an attempt to look benign and hopeful. "You might have to lead, if you don't mind. I haven't gone dancing in a very long while."

🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed)

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Keystone

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Location: Deymin's Tower (2F)

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There was the smallest twinge of something as the giant boar in front of Keystone hit the ground. Disappointment? Jealousy, maybe? He really did want to be the one to give the finishing blow - it would be a metaphorical claim of victory over his adversary, but more importantly, the damn thing gave him what would eventually become a very un-pretty new scar across his ribs, provided that he survived the day. Just another mark in a roadmap of healed flesh that he had accumulated over a career of knuckling down people and things, granted, though it was presently fresh and painful; foremost on his mind and demanding an answer in the form of blood and pain. These were things with which he had a lot of personal experience.

Pride, it occurred to him. Wounded pride. Okay, mystery solved. Get over it and step back to the killing.

The last glimpse he saw of some of his group came when they disappeared through the floor. Admittedly, that was kind of a new experience for the otherwise veteran adventurer. Provided that they weren't melded into the wood floor or some other such mortal incarnation of horror that he had come to expect from practitioners of Necromancy, the most logical place to locate their missing people was back downstairs. Now the question hovered in his brain: Was this an example of "Divide and Conquer", or was the separation of the group merely a diversion to allow withdrawal? In the end, it didn't matter. There were no direct threats to his people in that place at that time, and the unknown occurring with their group's healer and the lady who took the reins at the start of this mess. Keystone gave a congratulatory nod toward Nor, Slayer of Gargantuan Hogs, and turned to exit the room as fast as his muscular buttocks could carry him.

The first person he saw upon turning was Sana. It was no secret that he had some protective instincts for the woman, maybe more if he had the capacity to be emotionally introspective just then. Beyond Sana was the group's spellcaster, presently twitching oddly upon the floor. Yeah, they needed someone who was capable of treating the unconstitute fellow. Not to mention as much in the way of sarcastic, overbearing firepower as possible. Keystone barely paused to issue a quick, "Sana! Goin' after our people! Y'with me?" and traversing the space from the fresh pig corpse to the open door.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: In The Truck
Skills: N/A

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Thalia looked at the MRE and knife in her hands. She turned her eyes to Thana, carefully mulling over what she had just said about already getting a meal that day. As it turned out, she had also had a meal that day, too. Not unlike whatever lay inside of this prepackaged, camouflaged, plastic-covered container of textured, non-perishable to semi-perishable foodstuffs. She even got a hot cup of coffee out of the whole deal, be it the dehydrated instant kind. That's just what it was like, living out of a piece of frightening WWII combat machinery with a mildly unstable Kiwi named Lola. Between her knack of hoarding supplies in a more or less secure, mobile fortress, combined with Thalia's abilities as a survivalist and scavenger, they were doing pretty good on the road, just the two of them. Lean but stable times, as reliable of security as could be realistically expected... and a gnawing feeling just hit her that she was never going to see her friend again.

She settled into a more serious look and mechanically fished the book of matches and pack of crackers out of the MRE. The matches found their way into her pocket (different one from the last book of matches she appropriated earlier that morning), and she fished out a packet of peanut butter for herself. The rest she handed back to Alexander with the noncommittal words of "Bon appetit, Mugsy." It wasn't that she wasn't hungry, persay; She was technically always hungry. But like Thana mentioned about herself, Thalia had already had a little something that day, and all of her own supplies were back on that tank. She didn't know what all was in this truck, nor did she know how long this little detour was going to last. So far as she knew, Alexander was the only one who hadn't gotten a bite all day.

The memory of the first time she saw a Zed crept up unbidden. It was back in Boston. She had passed out in her office, again, and had decided to take a jog up to a nearby bakery in hopes of getting that good, fresh stuff early in the morning. Three of them - and this was back before she knew what they were - went after a dog and then a garbage collector. Long story short, stealth and discretion got her back to her office safe with a big box of yummies.

"Damn, I miss that bakery..." she mused aloud, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar Gonzalez

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Location: La Hacienda
Skills: N/A

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Between the domestically skilled hands of the remaining abuelitas and the multitude of harsh cleaning products that Caesar had brought up with him, the group of in-over-their-heads Mexicans began to make something that resembled headway in the mass decontamination of little Illiam Gonzalez. And the ten-foot radius around him. Yes, when that boy decided to wreck a pair of shorts, there was really nothing to be done but duck, cover, and believe in the healing power of prayer. Caesar was duly impressed with the boy's handiwork, though he was just a little sad that this couldn't adversely affect the kid's biological father.

A couple of times during this struggle of Man vs. Brown, Thalia had the idea that she might be up front about the existence of the flash drive and read Caesar in. Her father seemed to know when this feeling crept up, gave her a glare and a single shake of the head, and continued tending to his grandnephew. When it came down to it, she knew the truth of this little gift from Alicia. Proper eyes only, at least at first. It would be worth it. Plus, it was her last request of her Prima; Thalia couldn't just refuse. Caesar had enough on his plate right now anyway. All in good time; maybe she would learn something valuable to the old man. Besides, if what was overheard was correct, his personal guests were leaving very early. So they kept up the mighty battle against the forces of colonic evil, five pair of hands working from the outside going in, armed with the best disinfectants, bleach, and hardware money could buy.

A they neared the end of the great conflict, Thalia took it upon herself to draw a quick bath. Liam first, with a small amount of water in the tub, then definitely herself after. There was still a viewing taking place, and it would not do to look and smell like she fell into the Diaperswamp for the occasion.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: The Museum
Skills: N/A

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This wasn't the first time that Reginald had been in the Museum's formidable Archives section. It was the first time that he was attempting to locate something specific, however. Sure, there had been the occasional escort into the ordered and oft repetitive organizational system that was Archives; however in those instances there were always others who took on the role of Guide or Scholar, ready to identify and locate the object of their perusal.

There was a solidly surprising note for the Lord Major, that being the Starlet, Josephine, volunteering to take the same section as himself. He was under the distinct impression that the young lady of Hollywood was not particularly keen on being in his presence, particularly considering the conversation they had in his office and the friction the previous evening. Perhaps there was something nefarious afoot. Or maybe, just maybe, she understood that his words and actions were an expression of affection and his more protective instincts toward a dear friend. The duty we have to one another in our lifetime.

Hell, that or she was trying to avoid someone else and thought the old man a vaguely inert fuddy-duddy.

The myriad of possibilities for her motivation were moot, of course, so Reginald shook away the thought. They were part of a team. Nay, a Fellowship! And they had a common goal to work toward this day. So without further adieu, the Lord Major began his solid march over to 5VbC. Pausing ever so briefly, he turned to Josephine, "I say, what precisely were we after again?"

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

"The Great Bazhooli"

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Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive)

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The paperwork stated that this man, this Ludwig, was expected by the Graveolase. For the life of him he could not fathom exactly why they wanted to see him; he seemed utterly and incomprehensibly, mind-sharting insane. To believe what few recognizable words he spoke that could be readily translated from Whackadoodle to English to Russian, this man was the representative of an entire group of people with specific Training, dedicated not only to the elimination of Soulless, but to the greater understanding of them. Unless he had books upon books of gibberish. For all Vladimir knew, that might be the case exactly. At the very least, this strange fellow had the mental acuity to understand that he did not do well in front of others. Sadly, he did not seem to know why.

Vladimir did not have time for this. He really didn't. Between an attack of Soulless early in the day (not to mention the attack the previous evening), the state of Elizaveta, the affair with the Sister-Knight, the new business with Lady Crypt and the additional security measures put into place for living and undead threats alike, he had zero time to tend to Sem'ya business, a thing which he greatly needed to confirm with all parties involved. And of course, the reason for the presence of the Circus in London in the first place: The meeting of the Graveolase. Vlad did not expect that they would be meeting so early into the Season, let alone within the boundaries of their wood and canvas homes.

"Mister Ludvig!" he snapped, quickly tucking away his rising irritation at the man as he likely could not control the interesting manner of speech and action any more than Vladimir could stop being The Great Bazhooli. He adjusted his hat upon his head by use of one of his knife handles, tipping the brim back and settling it onto his solid and noble head. "...mister Ludvig. If vould please? Da, ve have many nesting dolls. Intricate and interesting nesting dolls with pictures of little old mothers, or mices, or colorful shapes and designs. Many kinds! Are toys for children, mostly. But nesting dolls vill not help you this night, traveling Prussian man! No!" Vladimir had tucked his knives away over the course of his monologue, and now stood to Ludwig's side, motioning his hand in a graceful arc as if to make the entire landscape an exhibit of the tents reserved for oddities and artwork. Lacking a manner to assist him but understanding that an attempt would be futile, even counterproductive, Vladimir reached into the subtle crazy that he, and all other Great Bazhoolis utilized (to make them truly Great) and decided instead to join him. Perhaps they would find the proper path for him if their emotional languages were a little closer together.

"This is Circus! Russian Imperial Circus, and home of vorld famous Bazhooli Sem'ya! Graveolase meets this very night, under cover of big tent, right there, which vill be announced before is to occur. You vill have little of time to prepare yourself. Have meal! Food is there, pavilion vith cook-fires. Have fine vines; vintages of Motherland and Russian Icevines - but not too much, meeting, da?" He spread his arms wide, rotating in a circle once as if to illuminate everything around them for observation. "Is tiny city, like any in vorld, but run by Barony of Circus, full of life and tradition of Carpathian Rusyn peoples, under structure and support of mighty Russian Empire! The blood and souls of generations, reaching up to us from centuries past! Leading! Guiding! Giving color and strength to iron of our resolve. And you, Mister Ludvig, you get have opportunity to soak all of it in, to record, to make notes, da? Knowledge of a people not seen in London until this day."

Vladimir removed his hat and bowed to the man, giving another, smaller bow to his ferret. "Vith respect to you, and respect to ferret, and respect to new friend of ferret, I invite you to enjoy hospitality of Circus for as long as Graveolase business may last. Place to rest if needed after. But I vill have the questions for you. You are understanding? Vell, you are having my sympathy and my support this night. Respect given for respect. Is vay of Circus. Is vone vay of Circus. Is one we do tonight, anyvay."