Each day that ticks by is like the one before it in this time of the lull. Soulless do not roam the streets openly taking what they once did, as they have been driven back by the strength of the Soulled and the faith of the Devout. At least that is what we keep telling each other. That we the Soulled are stronger than ones without. Assured in our own superiority we walk the streets but even now when we believe in the notion that we have prevailed we avoid the darkness after sunset. Childhood fears of the shadows are not so easy to drive away in the stillness of the night. Darkness awakens within us a primal fear that is hard to ignore. The slightest flickering of light casts long silhouettes of black and that silence that accompanies only makes each whisper of sound echo through us like the scream of a banshee.

We lock out the warnings coming to our ears. The rumors spread from one to another like a plague. Idle hands are the devils workshop and so are idle tongues. Arrogance of superiority abounds, the simple maiden walking down the streets making no mind of the silence surrounding her in the still night air. The sound of scraping gravel catching her attention all too late. The scream blanketing the dark but you cannot hear her cries for you are lost in your own pain and dreams. Your own fears plaguing you during this night, deafening you to the world beyond the walls which hold your bed chambers around you. This night the world hears no evil...



Yet, we are foolish creatures are we not? Coming back within Jericho's Walls, letting down our presences guards. Not all of us but most. A sighting of the Soulless is as common these days as a blue moon. Yet with all things of horror that have passed during the time of humanity a mark is left behind, you can never cleanse all the blood stain from your hands can you? Try as you might a ting of what was remains and so you refuse to look anymore, telling yourself it is just the trick of the light. There is nothing to fear these days outside or within Jericho's Wall. The season is in full swing now and dancing on waves of perfume and silk the parties continue. Self congratulations for a lull well earned. You cannot see it can you? See passed the end of your own powdered nose. Is the world gathered for a final feast? Drink your fill and toast your blindness.

The carvings are on the wall, deep trenches where her nails dug into the brick and mortar, and yet we cannot see them for tonight is a night without awakening. Held within yourself you will refuse to see what is set before you. Delusional to what is about to begin. Remove your eyes and you would see with more clarity than the Fates of old but you will not will you? Comforted by the illusion of the times and the peace in the streets. Tossing and turning do nothing to rise you from your nightmarish slumber. Was there a light? No, empty blackness is there in your mind; hiding in it the moving shadows of what will emerge. This night the world sees no evil...



Have you truly forgotten your training? You cannot hear the screams, you cannot see the warnings. There are those out there desperately trying to get you to listen, to get us to listen but it is as if their breath has been cut short. Tongues tied and voices lost to the winds to be ignored by those with the strongest of voices. Is it too late? I beg of you to hear and to see but if you cannot, how can you help? How can you speak the truths which should be dripping like soured honey to your palette? You speak, I know you do but you no longer speak for the dead or the living. You speak to hear your own voice while refusing to hear the voice of others.

Oaths pledged to your masters, deals struck behind closed doors, gossip mongering to gain power and position. Your tongue longing for a taste of succulent meats and perhaps even the taste of another's lips while hiding in the shadows of the garden. Is this what will be happening when the world awakens to something that should have been stopped long before it began. You had your chance and yet you still do not wake. Too lost in your own minds desires to part your lips to truth. Then everything is gone and you still have not spoken. This the world speaks no evil...



I hear your breath, even as your chest rises and falls. To me it is like a cry out in the night. Like the scream cutting through the silence coming from my voice. You did not hear my screams but I hear your breath. Mine was cut short, will yours be? Why should your breaths be allowed to be drawn when my screams fall on deafened ears? What truth and justice lays with that? There is none. The innocent are never heard.

Why did you not see me? I was there! So small and fragile. To young to be trained, to old to be defended. Where were you when I needed you? Empty were your eyes! You saw nothing beyond what you wished to see and as I struggled you still could not see me! Refusing to look beyond what was foremost in your mind. I reached for you but your eyes looked straight past me. I was his child and yet you still let me be taken. You never even knew I was gone.

How can you help me now? You heard nothing, you saw nothing, can you speak anything? Into the silence and the darkness I was taken. Call for me... Call for me damn it! Do you even know my name? To much to hope for, is it too late? No, I can still hear your breath, I can still see your face, I can still speak your name. It must not be too late. Help me!!!



And into the darkness you go, for now is the time. What lull had been taking over is at an end. The time of the rising as begun and one child, lost, is the key to a salvation even the most heathen pray for in the dark hours of the night. Do not be fooled my children, it will not be as easy as you might think and as you look at the path before you remember that dangers lurk behind each and every corner. The path is clean and clear, white as a newly fallen snow, but as you reach the end it will be stained in the blood of the Soulless and your own. Some of you will fall, some of you will wish you had. For now though, wake... It is the dawning of a new day and London is calling.



@Morose - "Virginia!!!!" The scream cuts through the stillness, willowy trees surrounding you and the evenings fog is rolling in. A cold mist coming up and clamping in around her ankles like tendrils from hell. So cold it feels like it is burning through your stockings and flesh. What is this? "Virginia!!" the scream cuts again and as your head turns you see it. The fog is wrapping like a spiders web around poor little James. Holding him fast. Fight, fight with all that is within you but it matters not how much you struggle, how quickly you cut the fog holding you in place. You cannot get to him in time for it is already too late. You finally see it, he is the fog... He is the Cargast.

@Rivaan - The smell is over powering and you cough, falling to your knees as you try to gasp for breath. Smoke is billowing in from under the door and in the grey you can see the light of flames under the crack in the floor. The heat is building up and the floor gives way, melting into the fires below as she claw and grasp for anything to hold onto as your body hangs below you. The fire is licking at your bare feet and your fingers are slipping from the searing beam you try desperately to hold onto. It is all for not. Your scream is cut short as you fall through the smoke and into the fire.

@mnkee - It was a wonderful day for a duel. The night was ripe and the foe deserved to be punished for the unspeakable crimes. What were they again? You cannot remember but your sword is drawn and you thrust towards your faceless opponent. Such skill and yet it is not enough. The other blade cuts through your one good eye, mimicking the the blind one and sight is no more. A rage fills, a hopelessness and you continue to fight even though you cannot see. Air is all you catch until you feel the steel pierce soft flesh. Victory and revenge is yours but what have you done? A voice rings out to your perfect ears... "Brother..." is the last gasp that comes from the voice of dear Guinevere.

@Sigil - Papal Basilica of St. Peter. The holiest of places the devoted can ever hope to lay eyes on besides the gates of heaven itself. Yet all is silent. The streets are clear and the guards are no where to be seen. Through the courtyard you wander, up the steps, and through the doors. Like a graveyard the once holy place lays quiet as death itself. There is no voice, there is nothing calling you. Not even within. The further you step the less you feel yet you cannot turn back. The faith, the light that called to you is fading and you now rush through the halls seeking out what you once knew with such certainty. You call for God but he does not answer. Into the catacombs you go and in the distance a light shines. Holy Spirit save you, but as you approach and you see into the light... You see the throne of God and it is empty. Nothing but a burned crown of thorns remain. There is nothing left to have faith in, God is gone.

@Sputnik - The smell of salt is in the air and you stand on the bow of a ship, your hands running along the fine grained wood as you look out at the calm seas. A voice rings in through the night and you turn. There, with a bundled infant in her hands is Marianne. She looks brimming with joy as she cuddles your child close to her breast and comes to you. Yet as you step towards her, the world seems to turn upside down as if Cthulhu was just birthed in the waters. The ship tosses in the deep rough seas as the foam billows up. Waves crash on the deck and there is nothing you can do, no matter what you try you cannot stop it, as the mouth of spray comes in and swallows up everything you love. As soon as it comes, it is gone. Nothing remains on deck but you and the seas are calm once again; sated by your sacrifice.

@Lauder - "Your lies brought you to this," is all you can hear. Echoing over and over again in your ears as you stand in an open field of withered vines and broken tombstones. Desolation surrounds you as you look at each tombstone in turn. Each holding a name you know so well. Sheep in your flock, each and every one of them. Each name scratched through. Each tombstone holding one of the seven deadly sins etched into it. You know what it means. None of your flock made it to the gates of heaven. Each is now in the dark ones hands. And so the darkness envelops you for what is worse for a man of god than to never see the light again? Nothing. And nothing is all you can see.

@Pundii - In the halls of literature you sit, at a desk of cherry with fresh blossoms there. Surrounded by all the knowledge you could ever wish to have and all that you have already learned. A single lantern flickers on your table that is crowded with books ages old. Sitting up, you open a book and the words you know you should know make no sense. You cannot string them together. Push it aside and another you open. The same. Each boo you push through the lettering gets more and more faded until the pages are blank and turning to dust in your mind. Turning you rush to the shelves, more books. Knowledge abounds but you know none of it. How to speak is lost to you, your legs refusing to move anymore as you have forgotten how to walk. To the ground you tumble on a pile of dust and parchment, face buried against once ink printed pages as you forget even how to breathe.



Dreams are such horrid things are they not? For only your own mind knows your darkest terrors. It makes you relive them time and time again. Digging its talons deep into your psyche and pulling forth things you wish would stay long buried never to think of or fear again. And so this night has been worse than most. Trapped in nightmares that you cannot escape. Feeling as if they were as real in sight and feel and sound as anything you have ever beheld during your waking hours. It feels never ending but nothing lasts forever and so you wake. You are where you laid your head the night before, you know this place and all seems well but can you shake the feeling that what you dreamed was true?

Some of you will fly from your bed to check on loved one to see if they still hold breath, to a window you may go to see if the sun is truly rising in the east. It is. You are in London, the streets are coming to life and your day has begun as it does each day. Or is it as it always was? Yes, of course it is. It is nothing a spot of tea or fresh air cannot fix, right? Yeah, keep telling yourself that.



The room was dark and the air was thick. Slowly rising from her place on crimson crushed velvet Millicent's dark eyes looked around the faded room. Everything within it seemed to covered in dullness, as if too many years had passed since light had even touched the surroundings. Her slender fingers came to her chest, it felt so tight; as if her corset was cinched several inches to much. Billowing in the back of her throat she felt a cough rising. Wheezing and short of breath it came even though she fought it down. Trying to hold it back but there was nothing to be done.

Each hack, each rough back that climbed from her lungs burned. Her pupils widening in fear as she felt like she was suffocating from the inside. The air was so thick. No, it wasn't the air. It was her. Something deep within her constricting and cutting off her air ways. Stumbling from the couch she crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath she could not draw as sanguine splattered the floor from her lips. Her body trembling as her fingers smeared through the liquid staining the gray tiles.

"Help..." she tried to squeak out but it came out as nothing but a raspy drowning whisper.

Turning from solitary window that had not been there before, a figure looked down at her. Pale and drained of life, blemished skin around the woman's lips. Millicent froze despite the coughing and suffocating. Her mother just stared at her, tilting her head to the side slightly before turning away; ignoring her dying child who attempted feebly to reach for her aide.

Her hand fell to her side, ripping and tearing at the fabric of her gown, trying to pull away anything that touched her, to yank anything away from her skin that could be keeping her from breathing but it did not help. Her bones were growing cold and her joints tensing. Each cough was life lost, each trickle of blood as it consumed her, the way she was told it had her mother. Her deepest fear, drowning in her own blood, unable to draw breath.

Rolling onto her back Millicent stared at the ceiling above her, red trickling down from the corner of her mouth. Her chest rising and falling rapidly as she lay there panting, engulfed in her own wasting away. Beads of sweat on her brow as her face became speckled with another tirade of hacking, splattering her pale skin as she felt the last painful beats of her own heart.



Gasping she shot up, sitting up straight as her hand came to her chest and Millicent looked around her bedroom, the shades covering the windows and preventing any light from entering. Bringing her fingers to her lips she rubbed them frantically and then pulled them away, examining them for any blood. Taking a well earned deep breath she sighed and fell back onto the bed, her head going deep into the down pillow as she stared up to the canopy.

"Was nothing but a dream," she told herself, pushing her tangled curled from her brow and brushing them back. Shaking the heavy feeling away that was still stinging her chest she let her feet fall to the floor, padding into the dense rug which covered her room. Pacing over to the window she drew back the curtains. The first rays of the day were just breaking in the east and much of the city still slept. Few had risen just yet but from those in the street below she could tell that the hour was passed six in the morning. Servants and Maids were out and about, rushing in from the predawn markets carrying fresh meats and vegetables that would feed their masters through out the day.

"Miss Milli, you are up right early this morning you are! Cook is barely fixing the morning scones. Forgive me, I hadn't drawn yer bath yet!" a young girl exclaimed coming in to Millicents room and rushing about to grab Millicents morning gown and rushing it over to her.

"Have breath Abigail. I just woke and far sooner than I had wished this day. Do not fret yourself in such a manner," Milli said in a kind voice as she turned from the window and took her gown from Abigail. Abigail was a new hire in the house, a young girl not more than fifteen years. She was Millicents new Lady's Maid and was working out well in Milli's eyes but the girl seemed to be worried constantly that she would be tossed out on the street if she did not know what Milli wanted even before she knew what she wanted for herself.

"If I may so express it Miss Milli, you look peaked this morn," Abigail said as she stood there, looking at Millicent a tad concerned.

"Was nothing but a dream, now go and fetch the water please," she said, not wanting to go into detail. Abigail gave an untrained curtsy and rushed off without another word. Sighing inwardly Millicent wrapped her arms around herself. She needed her rest but had gotten very little that night thanks to so called dream she had had. Looking over her shoulder at her bed she yearned to crawl back into the cool soft sheets but it was all for not. She was awake now and might as well get started on the day but first she needed to clear her mind.

It wasn't long before Millicent was bathed, dressed, and primped for the day. A cream colored cotton empress waist dress with a dark cornflower blue print on it would do well enough for the day. That even she had enough to worry about, an even down at Almacks. The standard peers and gentry would be expected to be there for another crush on the ton. Millicent dreaded it. Her step mother would be pushing her and her sisters on every titled man in the place. Thankfully right then, the trio were still asleep and most likely would be until nearly the eleven o-clock hour.

Exiting her private bed chambers on the second floor, Millicent made her way quietly down the stairs and around into the kitchen where Cook was busy making the morning breakfast and already elbow deep in preparations for later that day. The place smelled heavenly and Millicent was glad that Cook was on top of things. Having a minimal staff to the house in London was difficult but Cook knew what she was doing.

"Well morning to ya Miss Milli! Watch it, back up, don't ya be dipping yer fingers... You little tart! Shoo, out of me kitchen!" Cook bellowed as Milli took a sweep of fresh sugared cream with her finger and popped it into her mouth as she giggled and dashed out the back door. "Bless that girls heart, can't ever be keeping her fingers out of me cooking," Cook said to herself as she rolled her eyes. Abigail laughed lightly as she got to work helping out in the kitchen, trying to learn all she could from Cook.

Millicent ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the sweet flavor as she walked over towards the stables, pulling a small book out of her dress pocket. Breathing in the cool morning air Millicent smiled to herself. She was already feeling more like herself as she went into the stables to check on Artemus. Not so much to check on him for she knew that Gerard took good care of him but she liked to peek in on him in the morning and palm him a sugar cube she had swiped from the kitchen.

Patting her steed down she pulled up a stool and had a seat, reading always cleared her mind. Plopping down on the stool she straightened her skirt before she opened the pages; Pride and Prejudice. It was not often that she read romance novels but after the last few weeks of dealing with her mother and the horrid men she shoved her to she wanted something to lighten her spirits. The book had been good thus far and she was interested to see where the story went.

Feeling a nudge in her shoulder she chuckled lightly. "Yes yes. Right away," she said to Artemus before she began to read outloud. It was perhaps odd to read to a horse but it was how she unwound. The stables were one of the few places she could hide out in away from the house to clear her head and not worry about being bothered. Her sisters hated the smell and her step mother wouldn't dare muddy up her shoes. As far as Millicent was concerned, it was Eden in her backyard.

~*~ "Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?"

"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united." ~*~

Millicent stopped reading, closing the book slowly as she let out of a breath. "Nor I..." she commented to herself as her fingers ran over the cover of the book.

_{~*~ - Denotes excerpt from Pride And Prejudice by Jane Austin}

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Jacques awoke with a start within his cell, a slight gasp escaping his lips, startling the dog that lay near his bed. The man’s could feel his heart attempting to escape his chest, frightened to the ends of the very earth that God had created. Throwing his feet over the side of the bed, Jacques’s eyes met that of his dog, Pharaoh. Those tombstones seemed to have etched themselves inside of the mind of the priest, the man of god. He took a long look at the color around him, acknowledging the light that came through the window of his cell.

“Bad dream?,” the pharaoh dog inquired, gazing with puppy-like eyes up at the father. Only a nod came to answer the dog.

Getting to his feet, Jacques examined his tow shirt before taking it off as he walked to his wardrobe to pick out a suit so that he may begin his day. ”I am graveled as to why the dream has decided to plague me,” Jacques finally spoke, picking out his standard black suit. It had certainly been awhile since he had last bore a nightmare. The Frenchman, walked to his collection of books before picking out the Holy Bible itself. Turning a few pages, the dog braced himself for hearing another quote from that book that Jacques obsessed over.

”Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”’ John, eight-twelve,” Jacques quoted, shutting the book as he finished. The quote soothed the priest, believing that those he knew would be safe so long as they followed their Lord and Savior. Though some time out of the confines of the church may help ease his mind. ”I'm going out, Pharaoh. Be good.” with that the priest walked out of the cell.

On his way out, he passed some of the nuns, going about their chores as they usually did; cleaning, praying, et cetra. Jacques greeted each one with his normal ”Bonjour,” on his way out.

Upon exiting the church, the Frenchman looked at the environment around him, seeing the light and vibrancy of it all. Jacques strolled around to the graveyard, inspecting some of the tombstones. Nothing suspicious seemed to stand out, no sins etched into them, and certainly no noise came about. It had all been a dream, thankfully. That nightmare had seemed all to real to him, continuing to plague him within the real world as well. Was it a message from God? Couldn't be, Jacques wasn't worthy enough to be spoken to by such divine grace.

With a sigh, he began walking to the marketplace of London, wanting to buy ingredients so that he may cook something for the nuns to thank their hard work. However, that was not the true purpose of his venture, it was to calm himself.

Marketplaces were normally a busy place, but not so in the early morning, even though that was the best time to get the freshest ingredients. Jacques was glad that it was not so hectic, enjoying the slight silence accompanied by light morning chatter.

“Father! Do you wish for me to reserve the finest piece of lamb?” A butcher called out, seeing Jacques as he walked.

”Oui! Please!,” the father responded, a light smile coming to his face. Mayhaps today would be good, no nightmare would get in the way of having a good time nor would it get in the way of cooking!

_{author's note: I will be using the King James Version of the holy bible for my quotes should anyone care.}

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Mary sat bolt upright in her bed, taking in a gasping breath. "A dream." she thought, cursing herself silently. "A silly dream for a silly girl." Of course it was a false vision, probably brought on from overexertion the previous night coupled with that suspect block of havarti. She should have known that it was all some fanciful nightmare; the existence of all things hung upon the simple truth that God exists, his word the creating force behind everything that was and ever will be. His absence would be the undoing of all things. The Basilica would cease to be, she would cease to be. The concept of Heaven and Hell would likewise cease. But that simply could not be. God is infinite. He is "He Who Is Called I Am". No force can supplant that which is infinite.

She felt foolish. Also taken with a sense of vigilance; if she had doubts, even in a dream, there must be some spiritual weakness within her. She needed to pray.

Now, the way Sister Mary Hale prayed differed slightly from that of your average Apostolic Sister. It began simply enough, the young Sister poured herself a glass of water from a bedside pitcher, drank the contents quickly, and produced her long, chain rosary. The Prayer of the Rosary was fairly standard, a simple few minutes starting with the Apostle' Creed and ending with Our Father, moving her strong, dexterous fingers up the links as she counted off the requisite number of repetitions until she felt comfortable enough to rise, and begin her religious constitutionals in earnest. She dressed simply in white breeches and a long, buttoned blouse, grabbed her working bag and halberd, then exited her room for the courtyard. At a run.

Flying down the stairs, she passed by one of the few cloistered caretakers of St. Etheldreda's Church, also up at this early hour with laundry in mind; she appeared to be carrying a load of clothing up to her quarters, prompting Mary to give a quick "Thank you!" in passing. Down one hallway after another, making a circuit around the interior of the Church (minus the chapel proper) with special attention to maintain soundless steps going through the greater living quarters. She was on the ground floor now, with the courtyard in view through numerous outdoor archways.

She kicked off of the wall next to her, instantaneously changing direction while simultaneously keeping her pace at a dead run. She made for the nearest archway just up the hall, and hurled her body through it. She sailed into the grassy, grey-lit exterior with a slight rotation, just enough to press her polearm against herself and hit the ground in a controlled roll. The inertia was utilized in a practiced maneuver, rolling once and springing up. She dropped her bag and weapon, and continued her run around the courtyard, enjoying the changing, less even terrain of cobblestones and grass on her bare feet.

After a punishing while, Mary stopped on the stone walkway, and dropped prone. She pounded her knuckles into the uneven rock beneath her and shoved herself upward, again and again, performing aggressive pushups and counting them off in Latin. When she got up to octoginta (that's LXXX), she paused, set a knee down, and allowed herself a moment of rest. Mary looked to her halberd, now resting peacefully in the soft morning light. She got up, retrieved her weapon, and jogged up to the nearest archway. She hung it up between two tapestry hooks and began a series of pullups, curling her knees to her chest and reciting single lines of The Lord's Prayer with each lift. Rather than take the easy route, Mary alternated lifting her head on either side of the weapon's haft.

Finally, her arms began to show fatigue. She dropped to the ground and took a knee. Mary made the sign of the Cross before her, finished her last recitation of prayer through controlled but ragged breath, and finished with a solid "Amen." Morning observations concluded, Sister Mary made her way back up to her rooms and cleaned up with the basin provided her, then changed into her working garb.

The black cossack, gilded at the cuffs and collar, and various trappings of her profession looked both ecclesiastical and militant. She was a Dame of the Holy Order of Saint Sylvester, but try telling anyone that in jolly old England. Here, the Anglican clergy and lay folk tolerated her presence for the most part because of her role as a Venator est Inanimatum, or Soulless Hunter. Her people still could not hold Mass in this country. It made observing the Sabbath more difficult than it should have been. Still, London was her assignment; until she resigned her station and broke her vows, else was ordered away, this is where she lived.

And as long as she lived here, she was going to make the most of it. Mary buckled on her various weapons; matched, custom shortswords, her chain rosaries, a formidable hand cannon, and of course hefted one of her Swiss Guard halberds. Her status as a Catholic in a Protestant nation could be ascertained from a great distance. Luckily, the people in the surrounding area didn't seem to mind. Most of the time. To be slightly less obtrusive, she donned her familiar and favorite robe; a hooded white one with red accented trim. She pulled the hood up, allowing a tumble of wavy red hair to spill from the front, and departed.

On her way out of the Church proper, she grabbed an apple, content in its fresh simplicity to serve as her breakfast. Within short minutes, Sister Mary Ignatia Hale was mounted atop her dappled grey stallion, riding out of St. Etheldreda's stables in higher spirits, on her way to the West End Market. She had a friend to say hello to, and quite possibly a guest for Tea later. She wanted to procure something special for the event.

The terrible dream had awoken Gerard with a heavy heart. Dreams have haunted him before but not such as vivid that it left him in a state of mild shock, sitting at the foot of his bed for a few seconds to settle his thoughts. Wendy sprung up from her little corner, sensing her master's distress and hopped on the bed next to him, worriedly sniffing her master as if to ask what was wrong.

Gerard smiles trying to get his face away from his companion's constant licking. "Was just a dream, Wendy. Nothing to get worried over." Wendy doesn't buy it, true Gerard had slowly gotten over his nightmares since his brothers deaths. What triggered him to have such a terribly vivid one, he wasnt sure. He though he had long ago made peace with his Marianne's death but his own subconscious tells him otherwise. In times like these Wendy always seemed to know what to do. She hopped down on the bed, and led him to the door as if to ask him out for a walk. Gerard gave a gentle look at his companion. "Aye, that's a dandy plan." He got up, washed himself at the basin and grabbed his coat.

Leaving his home he first checked on the stables and went about his routine, the morning was young and the dimness still enveloped the streets. He gave Artemus a gently pat after he distributed the last bunch of hay, the tapping of footsteps in the estate means the servants just started going about their usual morning duties.

Gerard went with his morning stroll to the nearest markets, stopping by at the shops to get all his necessities. As he walked with Wendy by his side, he observes the streets gradually coming to life. Every store, market stall opens themselves for the day's business, the natural city noise attuned to London's quaintly vibe as the sun had slowly rose from it's slumber. The walk helped him ease from last night's nightmare, a good morning walk always seems to do the trick.

"Mister!" Gerard turned to the attention of a young girl, no more than ten he reckons, eagerly tugging his sleeve while on the other hand she carries a basket of vibrant Marigolds. "Mister, would you be so kind to buy some of my flowers?" The snotty girl wiped her nose with her sleeve "My sisters and I picked them off the gardens this morning." Gerard couldn't help but smile at the urchin, he tugged out his coin purse and gone down on one knee to face the girl. "Of course. Here you go lass." he said nicely, the girl reached him a few pieces of flowers before she happily went running back to her sisters. "Thank you Mister!" The girl yelled back giddily as she went.

Gerard came back to the estate at the first hours of the morning. Usually at these hours the ladies of the estate are still in their chambers, which to his slight surprise when Wendy came rushing excitedly to the stables to greet Milli who was checking in on Artemus.

"Mornin' to you there. You're rather early today." He smiled at the short glimpse before meeting her of what seemed like Milli reading aloud a verse of some fancy book to her horse, which was ,in all fairness was quite a silly sight, Gerard thought. "Ol' Arty seems to be enjoying it." He gave Artemus a gentle patting. Gerard almost failed to notice the flowers on his other hand pausing to think a second and then reached it over to Milli, in the most gentlemanly manner that he can make. "How 'bout some flowers for the lady." He said,"I, eh, ain't much of a Marigold person miself."

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A strangled cry left Fyror’s lips as he woke with a start. Panic constricted his chest, making his breaths come out in short quick breaths, as his eyes darted around frantically. His surroundings were enveloped in darkness, and for a painstaking moment he believed that those images and sounds that had overtaken his mind weren’t simply dreams but memories. He found some relief when his good right eye slowly adjusted to the darkness. He was soon able to make out the shapes of the furniture in his room and could see a sliver of light peeking through his closed curtains. He pushed the tangled mess of sheets off of himself and basically stumbled out of bed. A draft of cool air bit at his sweaty chest as he crossed the room, his eye never leaving that sliver of light. They say when you die you see a light at the end of a dark tunnel. Well, that’s what it felt like to him. That light was either his hope or his demise.

Fyror reached out to draw back the rough material of the curtains. He felt the air whoosh out of him in relief when he could see clearly from his one good eye. It was still early in the morning, as the sun was working its way up into the sky and the garrison was just beginning to stir with life. He rested his head against the cool window pane as his mind drifted back to what he now knew was a nightmare. He had been fully blinded and accidentally killed his dear sister Genevieve. He looked down at his hands, an image of them drenched in her blood flashing through his head. A shiver went down his spine, and it wasn’t at all from the cold.

He pulled himself away from the window and tried to push the torturous images and sounds from his head. He began to get ready for the day, first fixing his bed then washing from the basin. He changed into his infantry uniform: red coat with gold details, white trousers, boots, and hat. He grabbed his belt, which already had his sheathed katana, single shot pistol, and canteen attached to it, off of his bedside table. He pocketed his wallet and pocket watch before exiting his quarters.

The smell of food being cooked wafted from the mess room, and Fyror could hear the stirring of people. There were a few officers already congregating outside the mess room and in the anteroom. “Mornin’ gentlemen,” he greeted them each in turn.

Fyror found a seat by the window where he could drink in the warm sunlight and contemplate what the weekend would bring. He admittedly wasn’t looking forward to the few days it would take to travel down to London to spend time at Almacks. He felt that he had the respect of his fellow soldiers, but the other peers and gentry were much more judgmental. He stood out like a sore thumb thanks to his mangled face. However, despite how he felt, he would go for the sake of his mother and sister and to maintain a positive image of his regiment. Ultimately, he was determined to make this a good day.

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Jeanette's mind was completely consumed by the burning sensation that was engulfing her very being. She clung to the searing beam with her desperate last strength as she could feel the burning wood underneath her fingers, her skin heating up until it starts burning. She was quickly losing her grip as her muscles lost more and more the ability to function. The scent of burning wood and flesh hit her nose as she finally completely slipped and she started falling dawn into the fire. Everything flashed before her eyes. An old realization, a grasping of a knowledge long forgotten, a distant memory flooded her mind as she could see the last of the light, before she entered the dense black smoke.

First she lost her sight as all light was cut off. Then her eyes and skin started burning from the sheer heat. Then just before her eyes were burned away and lost the ability to see she finally saw it again... red burning light as she impacted into the raging fires.

The red blazes swept through her skin, turning the once smooth skin into a charred hide, she could not breath, not scream as her last moments of life slipped away into an unearthly agony. Everything seemed to stretch.... as if eternity of pain in a brief second and then everything went numb before all just vanished. Her life ended, consumed by the raging inferno....



The bedroom was a completely dark as the heavy curtains covered the one window that looked towards the busy streets outside. There weren't much furniture present beside the big double bed placed near one of the walls. There was a table with a single chair, a wardrobe and a dresser. Beside that on the walls were placed a number of plaques displaying a number of axes and bows. Finally on the left of the window were neatly arranged a number of quivers. This was Mosi's nice room that belong to her and no one else.

She was sleeping on the bed, but her sleep was restless as she was having a nightmare. She was turning left and right, breathing heavily and kicking wildly in place. Then she calmed down for just a moment.

Finally she nearly jumped out the bed. She let out a loud scream as her eyes flung wide awake. Her back arched first before she suddenly started rolling and jumping like she was crazed. She was still screaming as she fell out her bed, knocking down the metal pitcher she had placed next to the bed before going to sleep last night. Then she started to once more rolling and jumping until she was finally at the corner of the room, still pushing into it as if trying to escape even further as one of the servants entered her room. It was a woman in her forties, she had a calm demeanor, but her expression had this naturally stern look that made Jeanette feel quite uncomfortable at times.

Before the woman can even ask what was going on, Jeanette was already slowly raising up from sitting in the corner and was pointing back towards the door.” Just leave...” She stated, hands running down her sides and then up as she ran a hand across her face. She needed to reassure herself it was just a dream... a very terrifying and painful dream. She still could almost feel the burning heat across her skin and the phantom pain in her eyes and throat. She was thirsty... so damn thirsty!” Actually wait... please bring over another pitcher of water... cold one...” She stated just before the servant left the room.

Jeanette looked at herself now that she was slowly regaining her composure. What in the spirits was this dream? A vision of sorts? It felt just so real... finally she had took a really deep breath and slowly walked over to the bed again where she sat down. She hated fire... why did it have to be dream about fire!? She wondered, but just by recalling it she felt her whole body shiver.” At least it was not cows... or fire and cows.” She mumbled, trying to make a joke of it. It worked a little as it allowed her to put it behind her back for a moment as the servant returned with the pitcher filled with cold water.

“Do you need anything else, miss Jeanette?” The servant asked as she took a step backwards after placing the pitcher on the table.

“How many times I've told you to call me Mosi?” She asked and sighed, turning to the side and looking towards the window.” Actually... can you draw my bath while your on the subject of tasks?” She finally asked as the servant nodded and retreated from the room without saying much more.

Mosi didn't really get too much with this woman. This one was one of the more trusted servants of her mother so naturally they didn't get along. At least she was very efficient at her job though. Jeanette laid back on the bed and her hand slowly slid off the side and reached just under it. It didn't take her long before she got a hold of the axe she kept under her own bed just in case. She pulled it and rested it on her stomach for a little while before she finally stood up again and walked over to the pitcher to deal with her thirst.

It wasn't too long after the servant returned once more to inform Mosi her bath was ready and a little bit of time after that she had taken her bath, dressed up, dried her hair by one of the fireplaces at the kitchen and was finally ready to cause mischief and other questionable for the other people of good ol' London's inhabitants.

“Hmmm maybe I will go for a stroll after all.” Jeanette stated as she had finished preparing and was finally attaching her axes to their sheaths.” Inform... Clarice that I'm going out for a while, might return around sunset.” She stated to some of the servants before she left her... temporary home. She then quickly headed towards Hyde Park, to get a good old run through 'nature'. She missed the colonies every single day. Maybe she should just take her birth mother's suggestion for her to return there, but her father didn't really want to hear about that.

She walked down the street with fast pace and big smile, uncaring of what the others whispered about her as the black feathers shone under the morning light.

As he awoke, Nathan shot up, gasping deeply and suddenly for air, the feeling which had never truly rest suddenly rushing back to him, the images still vivid in his mind and the feeling of air caught in his throat, his inability to breathe as he struggled on the ground, drowning on dry land. He recovered somewhat quickly, still breathing a little heavily as he reached up, rubbing his neck gently as it settled in that it had all been in fact just a dream, all was as it should have been, regardless of how strange or vivid the dream itself had been. Letting out a quiet sigh, he swung his legs off the bed, moving to stand as he moved toward the door.

As certain as he may have been that the dream was just that, a dream, he felt a nagging need to check on his own books, to ensure that nothing had happened in his sleep to prompt such a, well, prophetic dream. Moving into the library, he moved between the bookcases, taking a book at random and flipping through it, ensuring the words were still there, that he could understand them all, before he returned the book to its spot. He did so for the next few minutes, until he felt comfortable that all was well. He let out another long sigh as he set the last one back, running a hand through his hair.

Letting out a sigh, he returned to his room, shrugging on his Haori as he made his way downstairs and out into the back yard. He moved toward the shrine there, breathing deeply as he looked over the planted cherry blossoms, allowing himself some degree of comfort in their beauty as he moved to the shrine. Reaching up as he reached it, he slowly lit the incense laid there, taking a deep breath as he began to pray quietly. The prayer each morning kept him calm, it was a source of comfort more than anything, relieving some tension, though the rest was usually released by meditation, something he would unfortunately not have time for that day. He had hoped to make his way to London, and the long ride would pre-occupy most of the day, he would simply need to take what meditation he could in the carriage.

As he finished his prayer, he took one last deep breath, leaving the incense to burn as he turned to make his way back inside. While many others in his kind of position would've preferred to employ some regular help to move about the estate and keep it all well maintained, Nathan generally found it humbling to do such work himself. However, he did have some assistants who stopped by from time to time, particularly when he was away, but for now, the estate was his, and his alone. Moving down to the kitchen, He kept quiet to himself as he began to make some tea for the morning, fragrant and fruity, a fantastic morning bouquet as he picked up the cup, slowly tipping it back to take a sip.

The time at home was relaxing, it always was before a long journey, but the reality of his dream was yet to leave Nathan's mind, it lingered on it as he wondered just what had prompted it, and what perhaps it had meant. In his mind, any dream such as that one always carried profound meaning, he couldn't help but feel somewhat naked without a sword as the thought ran through his mind. Moving off yet again, he dressed and equipped himself properly, both of his blades secured tidily to his belt as he moved outside just in time to watch as the Carriage approached, he hoped the journey would be smooth enough that he'd be able to meditate on the dream, he couldn't help but feel the need for answers.

Giving a polite nod to the carriage driver, he stepped up and climbed inside, letting him start to lead the carriage off as Nathan reached to either side of the carriage itself, closing the blinds. If there was one thing he appreciated on such a journey, it was privacy, the time to himself was marvelous.

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Virginia's mother had adored nightmares. Before Freud had begun his exhaustion of the psychoanalysis of dreams, Lady Dywell would ask her children about what phantoms visited them whilst they slept. Dreams were a horrid occurrence--but night terrors? Why, they were entirely welcome. Her father agreed with his wife wholeheartedly, with Alfred, ever present, smiling grimly at the conversation.

Poison us, strangle us, break our bones: we will come back for more! Those were her mother's words, the parting pieces of wisdom that caused Virginia to welcome every misfortune, to relish in the dark and fear the touch of the light. But not all nightmares were pleasant. No, Virginia could not enjoy the sounds of her brother's screams, his desperate pleading. This was not a mere murder attempt--this was destruction. Homicides are all in good fun and good manner, but Cargast was another matter entirely. Virginia would willingly walk into the night and bathe in the forces of destruction.

But her brother? No. Such a fate was not meant for him. Dear James, whilst he may be called the Viscount, was nothing more than a boy, his head filled with fantasies of arson and betrayal. Death must stop for him and wait; and so it should, as he was a Crypt. The news of her parents, lost at sea as they claimed, did not frighten Virginia or send her into despair. They would return one day, once they were ready. Who would she be to prevent their enjoyment of immense suffering?

Yet it could not be that simple. By the peculiar laws of the land, James would be forced to assume the earldom, if her parents did not return within the year. Domesticity and normality, Virginia feared, would crush her brother's spirits. It was perhaps more horrendous than that phantom of a dream, of a terror that did not know its place. She utilized her talents, her training, in order to spy upon her brother. He had already arisen, trapping a spider within a glass jar. Virginia had smiled slightly, spotting a vile in his hand.

His experimental phase would compliment his pyrotechnic proclivities, she was certain.

Dressed in pale lilac, her gloves upon her fingers, Virginia left the sanctity of her room, moving down the stairs of the townhouse, her feet bare. The chill of the floor caused her discomfort, but she minded it not. At the bottom of the staircase, Alfred stood ready, three cups of tea waiting on his tray--one for her, another for James, and one for himself. Virginia insisted upon him joining them for meals.

"What flavor am I enjoying today?" Virginia asked, sniffing at the cup. Almonds. She smiled a bit, before drinking it all the same. "Cyanide, dear Alfred? If you were to make an attempt on my life, I am wounded. This is not nearly extravagant enough."

Alfred shook his head, chuckling slightly. "No, my lady. Roasted almond tea. There are some gentlemen who desire an audience with you. They require more funds for their research."

Virginia nodded. She cared not whom they were--it was a matter of duty for her to meet with them. And besides, the Crypts had continued their fortune through investments. They were a selective group that received funding from the Crypts, and in general, reflected the interest of the current house head. Virginia fiddled with the opal ring on her finger, always owned by the Crypt house head. It would soon belong to James, if her parents failed to return. She led the home as reagent.

"I shall see to them. Alfred, dear, if you would be so kind as to ensure James is ready for the day? The arachnids can have their torment spared for another moment. I wonder whether it it perhaps time we speak to him about performing the tests so as to begin his training...He has nearly attained the proper age."

Did you not hear my screams? Have you not seen what this life has brought onto me and countless others. No, I would suspect not. Tis a pity really but that is neither here nor there at this time. My screams will continue but they fall on ears that cannot hear them. Such is the time. You were plagued in the night were you not? That was how it started for me. I dismissed it, it was nothing but a dream but just every so often our dreams become the reality we try our best to fight again. For some you have already experienced the pain that you were subjected to but you think that is as bad as it can get? I wish I could tell you it was but in the end it is not. There is more pain that can come, it is the folly of being human.

Pain comes with the rising of each dawn, it just will depend on if you will acknowledge it or not. Most do not, not at first. We are humans wish that the pain would leave, we do not want to face it and so we live in denial of what is clearly in front of us. Of course, it could have just been a simple dream could it not? It can wait, just a little dream for a single night. It was nothing. Yes, twas nothing to let yourself be plagued about for there are far more pressing horrors before you. Perhaps in time it will fade to distant memory. Yet just in case, keep your wits about you for what have we learned from the past? That is we are doomed to forget it, we are doomed to repeat it. Tis quite the most unpleasant cycle it is not? Especially when there is little hope to ever break it.

But enough of this, it is a new day. The day has dawned and each of you have a path laid out before you. Shall you follow it or shall you take the road less traveled? If you do, please be careful. Things lurks in the darkness and unknown recesses of the world. Hidden from view until it is too late for someone to hear your screams. I know... No one heard mine. Will they ever? Will you Perhaps it doesn't matter. Now go, the day is here and the night is waiting, always waiting.



@Morose - It seems the world keeps turning for Virginia and for dear little James, what a relief - for now. The bell of the manor rings and when answered there will be a messenger. Almack's is requesting the presence of the Crypt's long before the event that evening. It seems that they wish to procure the Crypt's skills for this evening. They are wanting to see if Virginia can detect anything within the city before the event beings. They are doing everything they can to ensure the event is safe and secure for the night because of a last minute RSVP of high importance. The actual invitation to the event itself came six weeks ago but it was just for the event itself. This is for actual work.

@Rivaan - The sun has basically risen but is still low enough in the sky that the shadows are long and the sky is still lit with oranges and pinks. More people are coming to life from the night before and starting to emerge from their homes. Jeanette is getting the usual looks from passerby but right now Hyde Park is thankfully mostly empty. It will not reach it's height of crowds until closer to brunch. After a time Jeanette is approached by a young lad dressed in finery but it is clear that is a handmedown and is frayed at the edges. He looks at her oddly before holding out a piece of paper folded and sealed with wax. "Was told I might find ya here," he says before pulling on his vest pockets. "And I should await an answer." Seems Almacks is also sending word for you. They are hoping that you might be willing to come over and ensure that their Presence Guards are up to snuff and with it is an actual invitation to the event itself - something you had not be privy to before.

@mnkee - When you arrive in London, you are met at the gates of Jericho and handed a rolled up scroll of paper. It welcomes you to the city and tells of how those hosting the event at Almacks are looking forward to you attending tonight's event. It is the usual drudgery and attitude that comes from them normally when they welcome all out of town guests who are attending, with a hint of aires to it that are both reassuring and demeaning at the same time in regards your limited field of vision and how steps have been taken to try to ensure that you shall not be inconvenienced by low lighting. It may leave you wondering if they are trying to be kind or just making another uncouth stab at you. Either way, it is delivered and you are allowed into the city of London itself. Coming in from the south and having to move North through the city at this time of day should not prove too cumbersome.

@Sigil - Just as Mary is leaving the Abby she is stopped by one of the many nuns there, pulling out a notice from within the folds of her cassock and handing it over to you. "It came late in the night but I had all bu forgotten it, do forgive me and Godspeed my dear," she says before toddling off back into the Abby proper. Almack's is at it again, requesting Mary to come not only to the location before the event to bless the grounds (They have no idea that just isn't possible for a place that is proper only in their eyes) but to also attend the event that evening in hopes of keeping any of the dwindling number of Soulless from getting passed the security. There is also a small note about propriety being upheld. They really must not know who they are dealing with.

@Lauder - The butcher procures you a wonderful piece of lamb and does the usual pleasantries, inquiring if the Father will be attending the large event that evening at Almack's. It seems nearly all of London is a buzz about it and that many of the market folk have been working with Almack's to acquire everything needed - from musicians, to food, to spirits, and more. It is looking to be one of the largest events of the Season. The Father would have received his invitation for the event six weeks prior. A common occurrence for him to receive one to most any event during the Season, whether or not he knows the people attending,being a man of the cloth and single - he is fodder for mothers looking to marry off their older daughters or bluestockings.

@Pundii - You will reach London about the same time as Fyror, being only a few carriages behind him in the line and as with him you will receive a letter on arrival to the gate about the upcoming event. Yours is a tad more kind and less condescending but there it is nonetheless. Roads are pretty much as they were for Fyror as you make your way through the city to your destination. The event will not being until that evening so there is plenty of time to get settled in, bathed, and ready for the evening - as well as time to do whatever else you may wish before then most likely.



Millicent turned her head sharply as she heard Gerard's voice and a soft smile came to her lips as she rose from her place and palmed the book in her hands before her. Curtsying slightly she lowered her head and rose it again to meet his eyes with her own. It was not an uncommon practice when it was Gentry speaking with Gentry or Peers but for a Lady of the House to curtsy and bow her head to someone who was a lower social class than her own was unheard of and frowned upon but it was still something Millicent did each time she greeted Gerard, something to show the respect she had for him despite his class standing. Mr. Connolly, good morning to you," she said in a gentle voice as her fingers curled around her copy of Pride and Prejudice.

"Quite correct, I must ensure that my presentation skills are honed like any other. Who better to listen than one that cannot interrupt my practicing? I would be terribly amiss if I were to stumble over my own words when in tutelage with you Mr. Connolly." Artemus nudged her gently and she laughed with a light air as she pushed his snout back a bit and gave him a bit of a pat with her hand, running her fingers through his mane careful not to snag the long hairs. "I do hope he finds the time together as enjoyable as I."

Seeing Gerard hold out the flowers to her, she felt her lips parting slightly as her jaw threatened to go limp. Tightening up a bit she slipped the book into the pocket of her morning dress and reached out for them, the smile on her lips growing as she took them and let her fingers caress the soft petals. "Such simple beauty and I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude at its fullest Mr. Connolly. After the darkness of my dreams this past night, their color is a welcome burst of color in this world. Thank you so very much." Her voice was clear and tinged with a sweet sorrow as she spoke before she realized that the simple gift of flowers was affecting her more than they should have. The dream coming back to her mind, she sighed inwardly before clearing her throat a bit and looking back up at Gerard and forcing a simple curl of her lips to him.

"Milli!!!" a screeching voice called out from the second story window. It seemed Mrs. Wyndham was awake and already poking her nose into the world. Rolling her eyes, Milli stepped out from the stable and looked up towards her step-mothers window and waved her hand which held the flowers. "Millicent Wyndham, you need to be preparing for this evenings event, not traipsing around the stables as if you were a lowly milk maid. No wonder you cannot turn the head of any man of title. I will not have you riding in the carriage this evening if you smell of steeds and hay."

"Yes mother..." she said as she lowered her hand and held the flowers close to her breast.

"Who was daft enough to send you such paltry petals?" her step mother grumbled from her window and Milli groaned under her breath before plastering a smile on her lips.

"They were a most welcome gift from Mr. Connolly this morning," she said in a fiery tone.

"You mustn't say such things Milli or you will left with no prospects but those of the titleless such as Mr. Connolly. I will not have it."

"You needn't worry mother. Mr. Connolly wouldn't dare try to seek my affections."

"Right you are."

"He would not want to sully his reputation by being tied by marriage to your scandalous lips," Milli spat coldly. It had the wanted outcome, Mrs. Wyndham scoffing loudly before stepping back and slamming her window panes shut. Shaking her head Milly turned around and looked towards Gerard with a sorrowful expression. "Please do forgive my families and my own impertinence Mr Connolly. I am most thankful for the flowers and your tolerance for our impropriety. Excuse me." Sighing Milli turned and began her walk towards the backdoors of the kitchen.

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Father Clerc inspected, bending down slightly, the lamb that the butcher had brought out, nodding slightly in approval of the fine price of meat. He would be glad to cook that, maybe make a stew or roast out of it. Jacques could already smell it when it would be finished, a light smile coming to his face.

“So, Father, if ya’ don't mind me askin’. Will ya’ be goin’ to that the event at Amack’s?,” the butcher asked as the priest inspected the lamb. Allowing some notion of small talk to be had, after all it was only in good manners that he make small talk with his local priest. The butcher was met with the eyes of Jacques who had a less than enthusiastic look on the question, but soon the face turned back to its light smile.

”Oui. I suppose that I shall. No sense losing the opportunity to socialize.” Jacques answered, but his hands behind his back as he straightened his posture. ”Though, I must be shy in trusting those people, after all, not everybody will be going out their generous nature.” the priest informed, cynically. He held his light smile before producing a small flask, uncorking it, and taking a small sip at its contents. Putting the flask back where he produced it, he returned to inspecting the lamb. ”Will you be doing anything special, by the by?”

“No, after I close later today, I will be recruitin’ with my family.” The butcher answer nonchalantly. Giving a much larger smile and a hardy laugh to the priest, he turned his head from side to side for a moment, making sure no one was around. “Not really, I'm goin’ to be helpin’ the misses tonight; if ya know what I mean,” he said in a hushed tone, earning a laugh from Jacques.

”Unfortunately, not all of us have that chance, friend. Relish the time you have with her.” Jacques chuckled, getting out some money and handing it to the butcher. ”If I am not to return before you close, might you be able to bring it to the church for me?” the father inquired, wanting to go and gather more supplies and talk to a few others which may eat up the valuable time.

“As you wish father, have a good day!”

”God bless you, too.” with that, Jacques retired from the butcher and began walking about the marketplace once more. Thoughts raced to his mind, he began to sort through them and soon a smile came to his face. Perhaps this would be his lucky day on finding a lass to settle down with, should she meet his requirements first. Though, it was a large event and no doubt it would be loud. That was but one drawback from attending, not doubt everything would fall into place as God has decided.

As he still had some time, he wondered if he should visit anyone before going to the event. Though he did not wish to be a bother if any of them were going to said event, so he decided against it and instead continued browsing for other ingredients.

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Fyror looked out the carriage window as the massive barricade of Jericho surrounding the city of London came into view. It was certainly an imposing sight to behold after the relatively serene ride through the countryside. He couldn’t help but feel that it made the walls encompassing the Colchester Garrison seem so puny in comparison. Fyror’s attention was drawn away from the window when he heard his sister speaking.

“Finally, we have arrived,” Genevieve remarked, her voice a mixture of relief and excitement. Fyror smiled softly at her, ever glad to see her happy. The images and sounds of his nightmare two nights prior had loosened their hold on him the moment he saw his sister alive and well. Seeing her cheerfulness now and throughout the long journey from Colchester to London had put him that much more at ease.

His gaze moved to his mother. She seemed a bit weary from travel but otherwise reflected a similar eagerness. He admittedly never fully grasped why they so enjoyed going to social events such as those held at Almacks. Perhaps he was just biased due to the demeaning manner in which people often treated him. He was treated as if he was broken and only gained his position in the infantry out of sympathy, or they have this preconceived notion that he is a bad guy that picked a fight with the wrong person. He hoped that in time people would see him in a different light. In the meantime, he would continue to treat them with respect and protect them with his life, whether or not they truly deserved it.

Fyror’s gaze finally drifted to his younger brother Leon. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as their mother and sister did, and Fyror wouldn’t fault him for it. Fyror recalled witnessing firsthand how mothers were quick to shove their daughters in Leon’s direction. His brother seemed to take it all in stride though. In fact, Fyror is convinced that Leon secretly enjoys all of the attention. Fyror, on the other hand, had no such problems with insistent females.

The carriage soon came to a stop, as they had reached the gates of Jericho. Fyror could hear their carriage driver talking with one of the men manning the gates. One of the men then looked into the carriage, quickly doing a once over of the occupants. Unsurprisingly, he eyed Fyror longer than the others before eventually permitting them through the gate. Fyror couldn’t help but think that they probably would have been through the gate quicker if his father was with them. Colonel Theodore would likely arrive later today, along with some of the other officers from Colchester Garrison. He had business to attend to that delayed his departure.

It was a relatively short ride from the gates to the inn in which they had two room reservations for. It was a higher quality, and thus more expensive, inn located near Hyde Park. When the carriage came to a stop, Fyror and Leon exited first. They then lent a hand to help their mother and sister out of the carriage.

“My lord, you received a letter at the gates,” the carriage driver stated as he handed a scroll of paper to Fyror.

“Thank you, sir,” Fyror replied. He put the letter in his pocket for the time being and then started pulling luggage from the carriage.

“My lord, there’s really no need for you to do that! I can handle this for you!” he heard a woman exclaim from behind him before appearing by his side. He quickly realized that she must work for the inn as she scrambled to grab the bags from him. Her eyes widened the slightest when she looked over at him, and wariness quickly filled her persona. He felt a desire to reassure her surge within him.

“It is really no bother, miss. I am happy to be of aid,” Fyror stated politely. A kind smile lit his features, making him appear less intimidating. He helped her pull the luggage from the carriage and carry it inside. After checking in, Leon also came to aid them. Fyror could see the woman’s demeanor slowly change from wariness to surprise and gratitude. The sight of peers aiding a middle class worker certainly garnered strange looks from others, but Leon and Fyror couldn’t care less. It took little time to get the luggage into the two rooms they had reserved, and soon enough Leon and Fyror were relaxing in their room.

“Keep being as chivalrous as you are now and the ladies will be flocking to you in no time,” Leon remarked with a smirk on his face.

“I doubt that,” Fyror replied. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter he had received upon arrival. He opened it up and began reading it as he relaxed back in his chair. It welcomed them to the city and stated that those hosting the event at Almacks were looking forward to their attendance. His brows furrowed as he read further. The letter stated the hosts took into account his limited field of vision and had extra precautions in place to prevent him from being inconvenienced. What did these people think he was, completely incapacitated?!

“What does it say?” Leon asked, walking over to Fyror. Fyror just shook his head in response and started to fold up the letter as he was uninterested in sharing it. To Fyror’s annoyance, his brother reached over and stole the letter from him.

“Leon!” Fyror objected, but his brother just ignored him. Leon’s brows rose as he read through the letter, and by the time he had finished he was laughing. “I am glad you find it funny,” Fyror retorted, scowling at him.

“No, that was most certainly rude. The thing that I find funny is that despite having one less eye to work with, you are still a better fighter than many of the soldiers in our regiment,” Leon replied as he tried to control his laughter. “These people do not know you like I do. They have not seen you in action. One day you will save their lives, and they will have no choice but to think completely different of you.”

“One can only hope,” Fyror muttered.

“Ah, that is quite unlikely.” Gerard smiles at Milli's comment of her being amiss whilst around him, the man intended it as an honest notion rather than mere flattery. With the times they spend together reading, Milli showed great confidence in her stature and not once did her words stumble in front of him and if she ever did, the Irishman never noticed. He doesn’t understand why she’d let her mother govern over her own decisions, where clearly Milli is a strong young woman who’s more than capable of looking after her own. It may not be much coming from him but Gerard thinks highly of Milli's admirable qualities, that Mrs Wyndham, or even Milli herself may not even realise. Such casual thoughts wavered as he watched Artemus affectionately responds to his mistress’s gentle petting.

Gerard knew it wasn't enough to repay the kindness Milli had showed him since he started working for her father, by making her day and giving her simple gifts was the very least he could do. He caught the sorrow in her voice as she spoke of dreams, then he remembered his own that haunted him as well. The Irishman asked concernedly, “Do you wish to talk about it?...” and was shortly cut off by Mrs Wyndham’s screeching call for her step daughter’s name.

Gerard remained quiet at the whole exchange, at this rate it was wise to just let Mrs. Wyndham prattle on as she would not take kindly to opinions of a title-less such as him, though admittedly he was not so much fond of the woman’s attitude to begin with. He's sometimes concerned of Milli having to endure his step mother's scathing words and just wonders how much of it affects her.

The accusation of Mrs Wyndham made him slightly nervous, true enough he would not dare make advances, as such a thing for a lower class man is frowned upon. Even if he could, or want to, how can a fine lady such as Miss Millie notice a mucky ol’ buck of his status. He’s not like those handsome, wealthy, well mannered gentlemen that Mrs. Wyndham keeps favoring for her daughters. Nor would he imagine himself in some fancy dress suit and dapper hat, the thought of it seemed ludicrous to Gerard. Then again his old pals always said he gives himself so little credit.

Gerard smiled at her softly, “You need not apologize, Miss Milli.” He said, “ I’ ‘ave heard worst from my old shipmates back in the day. ” in his attempt to once again lighten the air. “And tis the least I can do for such genuine kindness," Gerard watched her as she excused herself and left, and just shortly he went back again to his duties.

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“Hmmmmhmhhmh~~” Mosi couldn’t help, but quietly whistle a melody as she walked through the park in this fine morning. It was nice and still relatively calm at this early time of the day, which was quite alright with the woman. It’s not that she cared how other people looked at her, but their presence at the later parts of the day when Hyde park got it’s major amount of visitors, made her unable to enjoy the place quite as much. That’s why taking a walk in this early hours of the day was the best, mostly quiet, devoid of most annoyances and just calm surroundings.

“Mmmmmm~?” She made a questioning sound as a well dressed young lad approached her and handed over a folded piece of paper. Mosi found it rather surprising as he began speaking and explained what this was about.” Well… the day already started differently than usual, no reason to assume it will return to normal.” She stated vaguely and reached over to take the folded piece of paper. With nimble fingers she opened it and with eyes slightly narrowed she started to rather slowly read through it. She wasn’t too great with writing and reading, but she could do both given enough time. This time she didn’t have to write so things went slightly faster.

Well this was also a first time she got an invitation for any kind of official event. After all she was not really with the greatest of reputations around London. It was not going to stop her from visiting though. The invitation was a reality and Jeanette didn’t really saw any reason to deny that. If nothing else she was going to see what all these official events were all about. She doubted it will be too interesting for her, but who knew.

“Alright, I will attend and check their wards.” Mosi stated, taking the invitation and putting it away in a pocket of her own vest.” You call tell them I said yes.” She added with a nod and a smile.” Now if you excuse me, I’d like to finish my morning walk!” Jeanette added and continued to walk down the path.

On a side note she realized that she’d have to talk to her parents about this. They were going to try her to get properly dressed for such occasion.” This is going to get annoying to deal with when I get home…*sigh*”

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Location: Trotting West on Holborn Hill Rd, between St. Etheldreda's and the West End

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Mary accepted the notice and unfolded it, giving serious study to the document. Curious, one might say, that the benefactors of this gathering chose not to name themselves. Curious still was the fact that Almack's continually requested the aid of blessings and security assistance from a representative of the Catholic Church, when they had a few of their own Anglican clergy trained in Rome to do the very things she was capable of accomplishing. Well, maybe not everything. Among the few people willing to admit that, despite being a papist and a woman (coin toss as to which was the greater crime), Sister Hale was a vigilant guardian and talented Venator.

She sighed. Certainly, Mary would attend. Part of her vows to her Order forbade her from turning down such a request without cause, unless she could secure suitable replacement. She personally knew no one else in London with her skill set, and she could not rely on the massive network that was the Church to assign someone else to the social gathering at Almack's, certainly not with it occurring that evening. One of many downsides to operating out of England.

But "blessing the grounds"? If they wanted, she would sprinkle holy water and speak the appropriate supplications to God, but it would be mostly for show. Technically, she could consecrate the grounds, but that was a thing reserved for lands and structures dedicated to God and the Church. Almack's Assembly Rooms of Westminster, London hardly qualified. Now, acting as additional security? Certainly. It was part and parcel of her duties. Sometimes, her mere presence was enough. Other times, the rigorous years training with the elite Papal Bodyguard was required. Either way, love her or fear her, respect her for her history or downplay her because of her gender, Sister Mary Hale had the gift of Tanter, an extension of her senses that allowed her to detect the presence of Soulless, who like to strike from the dark and oftentimes masqueraded as the living.

Mary slipped the notice into her sporran bag and nudged her dappled, grey horse into a trot. It was the better half of a hour before she would make it to the West End market, owing to the presence of various Londoners out and about that day. With clear streets, the dutiful Sister could likely have made it in ten or less without pushing the endurance of her animal. But morning foot traffic would make that perilous to attempt, for the sake of others. She did wish to make good time, though. To the market and back with enough time to prepare for afternoon Tea and the coming event that evening was assured, barring any unfortunate circumstance. But it was still prudent not to dally.

Taking a big bite of her apple, Mary made her way down the thoroughfare. She nodded at the occasional familiar passerby, even smiled a little as the fancy to do so took her. She wondered to herself if she would see the Crypt girl at this function. It seemed the kind of thing she to which she might receive invitation, but Mary was unsure if this was the sort of gathering such a lady would wish to attend in the first place. The crunchy sweetness of her apple was quite satisfying. She chewed thoughtfully as she vigilantly rode down the street, resting the endcap of her polearm in her stirrup fitting and the haft against her shoulder. Yes, there was little mistaking who she was in this neighborhood.

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Alfred paused for a moment, only to have the silence broken by the tinkling of the manor bell. Virginia held up a single gloved finger, continuing the silence as she listened intently. It was peculiar for several callers to come upon the Crypts so early in the morn. Investors were to be expected. But pray, who else happened to grace their doorstep on this peculiar March day?

Virginia smiled softly to herself, finishing her cup of tea before making any motion to attend to the caller. "Alfred, wouldst you attend to that, as I speak to the investors? The young viscount has earned himself an extension on his inquisition." She set the cup back down on the platter, and Alfred bowed his head slightly, attending to the affair at the door.

Lady Virginia Crypt, her feet still bare against the floor of the manor, moved into the drawing room. Some chose to entertain their guests in the parlor, but James was often fond of leaving his playthings in the room. Virginia found them to disturb the occasional visitor, and as Alfred oft reminded her, that was not, by any means, the intended goal.

"Gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Virginia said softly, her hand delicately on the handle of one axe, as a smile graced her porcelain features. "I understand you are lacking in funds." Her toes curled slightly, and the gentlemen's eyes darted downwards, their faces revealing shock and surprise.

"We were under the impression we would be meeting with Lord Dywell..." the first man, with an irritatingly chubby face, explained. "Is the gentleman of the house present?"

"Lord Dywell is away, and as of such, I am acting in his place," Virginia explained, her smile vanishing. "Now, speak presently and quickly. I have no time for those caught in the conventions of sex and class." Her toes uncurled, and the gentlemen noticed her hand clasped on the axe, and Virginia smiled at them once more. The trio turned as white as a sheet, before embarking on a frantic explanation of the monetary needs to continue their scientific inquiries, and Virginia nodded her head.

"I shall send word later with the funds, if I determine to continue this investment. Alfred shall see you out." She motioned at them slightly with her gloved hand, rising from her chair as the three practically fled the mansion, Alfred shutting the door on them. She shook her head sadly. Their research had been most illuminating and delightful, yet she could not condone the disrespect.

"Perhaps we should send them a severed limb," Virginia mused. "Could a tongue be procured to send to those gentlemen, dear Alfred?"

The butler chuckled slightly, before bowing his head a tad before changing the course of the conversation. In his brisk and blunt manner, Alfred informed Virginia that Almack's is requesting her presence at an earlier hour, in order to ensure the lack of soulless within the city. It was a slightly preposterous notion. Her mind could only glimpse up to fifty miles from where she lies--she had not studied in divining the future. The invitation to the event was distasteful to her as well, given her dislike of the Season and the parties it entailed.

But she supposed, after the recent massacre, Almack's was simply attempting to perform at their best. It was true--she could glide with her mind, practically, around the city to look for the soulless. Perhaps if she performed this favor for them, she would be freed of any obligation to participate in the dull festivities. Glancing up towards her butler, Virginia was much aware of Alfred's opinion.

"Very well. Do call for a carriage. Whilst I am gone, James should attend to his fencing lessons," Virginia instructed, and Alfred nodded. Alfred had been teaching the young boy in the ways of the sword, as Lord Dywell was to have done before the disastrous voyage. Virginia did not smile, but Alfred, sensing her need, handed the noblewoman her shoes. She always had a tendency to leave her feet bare to the cool ground of the manor.

"Thank you, Alfred. I shan't be gone long."

Madness, they call it madness but yet what is so mad about it? My mind feels many things but anger is not one of them except towards the vile creatures which doth hold me here within these walls of protection as they call them. Is that the madness to which they speak of or it is more? What anger I do find within me is directed towards them. It was thee who came for me in the night, ripped me from the womb of which I knew. How dare they, because they felt they had a right? What right should they possess over my own form that I should not be able to claim as my own, what should they be able to claim over me which I have not permitted them to?

Madness, they call it! If I am mad, then they made me so. Disturbing me and my own thoughts, interrupting which was not their to come in. They think they see but yet they do not. Mad? They have no idea. They believe they know what dwells within the deep recesses of my mind and yet they know not which dwells in the dark folds of gray matter within my skull or in my soul. They know now what they have awoken, what they are bringing forth. It is their folly and it will be their undoing yet they do not see it as of yet. They will, soon, they will see beyond what they believe they know. Their trespasses will be paid in blood and boils, in pain and suffering. It will not be mine, no it will not be mine.

Madness, they call it. Name it if they can but I belong not to them. I belong to no one and I will wander these lands long after their hearts have have ceased to beat and their breath has stilled. Not by my hands will their souls be set free but by their own. They will see it, they will hear it, they will speak of it! No... They will not speak of it, speak of it nevermore. Let it fall on silent tongues which know the language not. A whimper will not be uttered from them as I bathe in their blood. No, Madness it is not but it will be. Let them keep pushing, let them keeping tearing through the veils of a life they should not dare delve into. I have warned them, I have warned you but you do not listen do you? Such will be your undoing! God will show you no sympathy for all the spirits you have lost, not even for you own.



@Morose - Once you leave the manor it will take some time to travel from your home at the Strand to Almack's, roughly a little more than a hour by carriage to make the distance; yet on the way you could always stop by to see Milli - her home is on the way, about half way the distance between the two. Perhaps you would like to stop for a morning calling or to try to see if she would like to attend with you. She had mentioned that she would be going to the event that evening, granted that was a bit of a given considering how her step mother is, never one to pass up an event such as this to thrust her daughters into the arms of some unsuspecting man in hopes to be caught in a compromising position and force a marriage.

@Rivaan - The messenger nods and darts off rather rapidly as to not continue the conversation. More and more are in the park and the day is turning out well enough for no but there is the smell of rain in the air. Granted this is London and closing in on summer, rain is to be expected. The skies are just cloudy enough to let small peeks of sun through still, it should be a wet evening unless the winds change. As you continue your walk people seem to try to avoid you, making sure their path goes out of their way but they are anything but discreet in keeping their eyes from you, it is obvious that they are judging you and their snickering is easy to hear from several gaggles of young women as they point fingers.

@mnkee - The Inn is nice enough, being near Hyde Park one would expect nothing less. You are about a single hours carriage right to Almack's but you still have plenty of time before you need to make your way there. There are a few women that pass with their escorts as they stroll, you can hear comments about how vulgar it is for a woman to be walking around in breeches in the park. One of the women smiles over towards Fyror at first until she sees the scar on his face before her smile fades and it is clear she is disgusted by the sight. Looking away quickly before hurrying off. You have secured the third and top floor of the inn; a room for the parentals, one for your sister, one for your brother, one for yourself - there is a sitting room on the third floor in the center area for you all to use at your leisure.

@Sigil - The streets are as you would expect during this time of the day and Sister Mary is well known enough by sight alone for people to know who she is. Granted she is of the Catholic Church so one has to wonder if they just tolerate her because of her skills instead of accepting her because of her grace. If she accepts going to Almack's to prep for the event for the evening she might want to head there soon. It will be over an hour to get there by horse, and an hour back to her Abby, then an hour back again. Three hours alone between the trips, plus whatever time she would need to spend at Almack's checking the security.

@Lauder - If the Father cares to Visit anyone while out and about before he readies himself for the evening and trip to Almacks (which will take over an hour on horse or by carriage, nearly two hours on foot to get to), he has some choices. There is always the Abby near by where Sister Mary is, or Miss Wyndham who lives near Hyde Park and that is only about twenty minutes on foot. Though out of the corner of your eye you may notice Sister Mary herself as she is trying to make her way to her current destination, she does stick out a bit. Could always see what she is up to. There are other things you could tend to, and there are plenty on the street that perhaps need to hear the word. Down the street you see some paupers who seem to be up to something but as the crowd passes before you and then clear again, they are gone.



Millicent heard Gerard's words and stopped at the steps leading up to the rear door of the kitchen. Turning slightly as she stood there, she held the flowers close to her breast and forced a sorrowful smile to him. "Once again I thank you for your kind words and your tolerance of those within this household Mr. Connolly. I know not what I how I would manage these days without your presence. I do pray that I am blessed enough when I am forced to wed to have a husband who is half a gentleman as yourself," she said in a wistful voice. Curtsying she then turned and made her way into the home, the door closing behind her but it did nothing to stifle the sounds of her step mothers voice and its shrill. Though words could not be heard, it was obvious that the woman was berating Millicent as per usual after she spoke up in such manners.

"You must learn to hold your tongue Millicent or no man should have you. The way you speak so freely is unbecoming of a woman in search of a husband," Elizabeth scolded Milli from the breakfast table, her sisters snickering slightly. It was not that they did not love their step sister but they never understood why Millicent would not at least try to gain a man to wed, if anything to get her the ability to leave the house and live without Elizabeth constantly badgering her. Millicent knew why though, she refused to marry until she was sure her sisters were taken care of and wed to kind men who would not hurt them and would protect them.

"Such a tongue did not stop my mother from capturing a loving man whom adored her," Millicent shot back with venom in her voice. Elizabeth went red in the face and nearly lobbed her morning tea towards Millicent before they were interrupted.

"Lord Ratherford to see Miss Wyndham," their butler announced and the girls squealed in delight, debating which of them he was there to see. Elizabeth's face going from angered to joyous rather quickly.

"Such a Lord in our home? A man of such title and wealth, it will be a good day. And which of my fine daughters does he seek a morning seat with?" Mrs. Wyndham asked. Lord Ratherford, an Earl in his own right even at the young age of five and twenty for his father had passed away during a night when out on an evening constitutional, Soulless claiming him as food some years before. Ratherford had inherited the title but wealth that Millicents step mother spoke of was none. The man's father had left the estate in much debt, borrowing from Millicents father on numerous occasions. Millicent did not want the man in her home, she had heard rumor enough of his escapades to make her toes curl.

"Miss Millicent madam."

The room went hush and Millicent went still as stone. Her step mother rising from her seat and shoving the girl finally. "You go see him to the sun room, Millicent will be along shortly," she said and the butler headed off to do his duty. "Millicent you do as you must, such a title you could never hope to catch if it were left to you. You know what to do and I expect you to be true to your gender and to this house."

Millicent narrowed her eyes towards her step mother but said nothing, storming off and up to her room to "freshen up" for the calling. She nearly threw the flowers against the wall before stopping herself and sighing. Looking down at the bright petals her fingers ran over them softly before she found a vase and filled it with water to place them in. Arranging them she set them on her vanity and pulled back the thin fabric of her window, glancing down at the stables below where Gerard worked and slept most nights. After a moment she let the drapes fall into place as Abigail helped her change into her sitting gown and a pair of silken slippers to wear to meet the Lord.

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Sister Mary Hale as did stick out like a sore thumb, at least in the eyes of one who does not deal with her kind on a daily basis. Jacques did pity what poor men and women had the unfortunate pleasure of worshipping the same lord, yet performing the wrong practice. He shot her a smile as he began walking towards the sister before his eyes wandered towards the crowd.

Paupers, those who have come down with such misfortune, seemed to be conjugating in a small group, discussing something unheard by the father. However, within the passing of another crowd, the paupers disappeared. Confusion wracked Jacques’ face, but he quickly dismissed the thoughts, expecting the poor to simply go off and beg as they would usually do. They would simply go off to satisfy their own greed instead of repenting to the Lord who has caused them such misfortune to teach them a lesson on their own greed, typical.

Jacques’ light smile reappeared as he approached the horse and Sister Mary, stopping at their side for a brief moment. ”Bonjour ma soeur.” the father greeted in French, ”How are you doing this fine morning?” He began fidgeting slightly at the cuffs of his suit, making sure they were on correctly and the likes. Putting his hands behind his back, he attempted to conceal his little fidgeting activity as his eyes wandered up the sister’s very own.

He hoped that there would be little tension in this conversation, but he highly doubted that considering the two having their differing practices. In fact, it was taking a lot of willpower not to instantly give an annoyed look, having a catholic where she didn't belong. Heathens, they always go where they do not belong.

Sitting back in his carriage, Nathan sighed as he passed the time through the trip with meditation, letting the time pass somewhat quickly as he eventually peered out the windows to see the wall of Jericho which stretched around London. As they moved in behind the other carriages, he relaxed, leaning over to the window as the invitation was presented to him, he couldn't help but chuckle softly, something always seemed to be going on when he came to London. For the time being he wasn't entirely sure if he'd stop by, but he knew he'd certainly think it through as the day went on.

For now, he was focused on why he'd come to London in the first place as his carriage finally made its way through the gates and into the city itself. The driver knew where to go, he'd taken Nathan to the Wyndham estate a few times before. It wasn't uncommon for him to stop by, even unannounced, for training or a chat, whenever he came to London, for whatever reason, it was generally one of his first stops. While he may have been less than thrilled with the company of Millicent's mother after all, her sisters were never terrible company and she herself was usually good to chat to.

He decided he would stop elsewhere to rest and redress himself later, for the time being he looked fine enough, and he had no real need for food or drink since he'd brought some in the carriage. He would see Millicent, perhaps involve himself in some brief training or a cup of tea, and once he was done he'd worry about settling down in some lodgings to prepare for the evening's event. He was all too curious how that would go, events with so many invited peoples were usually interesting to say the least, he'd have to ask if Milli herself was going to be in attendance.

The ride didn't take too long, and as they approached he noticed another carriage outside, perhaps there had been another visitor. Regardless, he felt it only police to offer gentle greetings to a friend before he did much else. Letting the driver settle the carriage outside, he opened the door and climbed out, adjusting his Haori somewhat as he moved to the door, reaching up to grasp the knocker, giving the door a gentle three knocks as he clasped his hands behind his back, sucking in a deep breath as he waited for an answer, unknowingly the second visitor.

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After spending two days traveling by carriage from Colchester to London, Fyror and his brother Leon were both restless. Instead of staying inside, they opted to go for a stroll in Hyde Park. They left their rooms on the third floor and briskly descended several flights of stairs down to the ground floor. They tipped their hats in a simple greeting to those they passed by.

It felt a bit muggy when they stepped outside. Slivers of light peeked through the clouds in the sky, and the weather hinted at the possibility of rain. Nevertheless, Fyror happily breathed in the fresh air, feeling more relaxed by it.

Fyror and Leon took in their surroundings as they walked at a leisurely pace from the inn to Hyde Park. The number of people steadily increased the closer they got to their destination. Snippets of conservations could be heard as people passed them by. To Fyror’s displeasure, gossip seemed to be rampant in these parts. He was not fond of such talk and refused to be a part of it as he himself had often been the topic of people’s criticism. He knew how it felt, how it etched away parts of yourself, and he certainly would not wish that upon anyone.

Dressed as they were in their infantry uniforms, Fyror and Leon garnered a fair amount of attention. Several women walking with their escorts glanced in the men’s direction. One woman in particular caught Fyror’s eye as she smiled over at him. Just as he tipped his hat in greeting, he saw her smile quickly fade and a look of disgust cross her delicate features. Fyror quickly looked away and tried his best to mask the hurt from his expression. This was his life as he knew it. Hope would flare up in him just to be quickly dashed. It was easier to just believe that no woman would ever want him and instead focus his attentions on his work.

It did not take long for them to arrive at Hyde Park. As they walked, more gossip and snickering reached Fyror’s well attuned ears. His gaze took in his surroundings and soon found the subject of everyone’s berating, a woman wearing men’s clothes. In the moment, her attire mattered little to him as his protective nature flared up. His jaw clenched angrily as people indiscreetly mocked her. Why did people find enjoyment at the expense of others?!

When Fyror heard his brother Leon snicker the slightest, he quickly shot him a warning glare that told him he better shut up or else. Fyror’s gaze softened when he met the woman’s gaze. “Good day, miss,” he greeted her politely when they crossed paths. He gave her a kind smile, not caring what others thought of him. If he could brighten her day even the slightest, he would be thoroughly pleased.

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The young Apostolic stopped her horse, Cassius, in the middle of the road. A realization had dawned upon her; a sudden movement of mental pins and tumblers unlocking what should have been made immediately obvious when she received the notice from Almack's. Mary simply hadn't the time to travel to the West End Market, not if she intended to fulfill her obligations to her Order. The sudden and obvious illumination caused the young lady mild disappointment. She had looked forward to perusing the wares and fresh produce, maybe stopping in on a merchant contact of hers and getting an earful of the word on the streets these days. But that would have to wait.

Mary had also planned on picking up some niceties for Teatime. She was expecting to have a pleasant hour or so with a friend in London for the Season. That would have to wait, too. It was a pity; making friends in this part of the world was difficult for her, in no small part because of her affiliation with the Catholic Church. Anywhere else in Europe and this would not have been in issue in the slightest, but here in England... A couple hundred years of slanderous propaganda (brought on by a monarch denied divorce by the Pontiff) eventually turned into a national identity. That "identity" made life difficult for people like young Sister Mary to socialize. Of course, another contributing factor was her Scottish and Vatican upbringing, which in all fairness was not precisely Finishing School.

She proficiently turned her horse around and began trotting toward a much closer marketplace, one just nearby St. Paul's. It was an Anglican holding, as was to be expected here in London. Mary generally preferred to take the longer shopping route, as there were mixed reactions coming from the nearby residents at her presence so close to the central seat of the Church of England. The lady herself didn't have it quite so bad as many other Catholics; she was known around London as one of a Hunter, trained by Rome for the purpose of eliminating the threat of the Soulless and attached to the Papal arm of the Knights of St. Sylvester. It came with a measure of respect for her abilities, just not open-armed friendship.

It was for that reason Mary gave a quizzical look to the local Presbyter as he approached her with traditional French greeting. "Bonum mane, Reverend Clerc." she replied with formal, ecclesiastical Latin. Referring to her as Sister gave her a touch of rankle; Mary was not a member of this man's church, as possibly implied. Further, it seemed that everyone in London refused to acknowledge her status as a Papal Dame. Internally, she conceded that it was likely just habit on his part rather than an attempt to be condescending. They were colleagues, after a fashion. Professional courtesy was called for.

Her response drifted back to modern English as she continued, colored with a muddled, Scottish accent. "I do well this morning, Reverend Clerc, with the exception of a sudden change in plans. And persons associated with Almack's are concerned with my sense of propriety for an event later today. I find it offputting when people clamour for my help yet question the manner in which it it provided."

Mary exhaled sharply and shifted her Swiss halberd from one shoulder to the other, placing the endcap back into her stirrup fitting. "Though for Propriety's sake, it is quite unseemly for a helpless young woman to wander without escort. Perhaps you should accompany me through the market? I shall not be long, I expect that fewer people will spit upon my purchases with their Presbyter nearby. But wherever are my manners? How are you doing this fine morning?"