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Her extension of the invitation had been purposeful to the end. In earlier times, the reception of an invitation by a young would-have-been lover of Henry VIII had resulted in the granting of the earldom to the Crypt family. Having sworn an oath to secrecy and to never disclose the exact gory details, none of the Crypts have ever spoken a word much beyond 'services to the Crown' to explain the title to the ghastly and peculiar family.

And now, with the precarious situation of a scoundrel seeking to court Virginia's dear friend, the invitation to supper at the manor may serve a most utile purpose. Perhaps not to kill or to even seriously maim--but to frighten, to remove the soul from the presence of her good friend. Mosi's words rang true, of course--very few would deny the invitation of the Earl of Dywell's eldest daughter, with the earl himself lost at sea. She glanced over towards her friend, seeing what appeared to be true happiness in the arms of Fyror, and Virginia smiled ever so slightly.

It wasn't the first time someone implied she was of the Soulless due to her pale skin, but to be frank, it was a family trait. Not enough sun, perhaps too much time in the dark? No. It was all too genetic. What was said about her brother, however, struck a nerve. She had no doubt that in his own time, James could become a great earl--but not now. Not at such a young age.

For the most part, Virginia ignored Mrs. Wyndham during the exchange. Nothing could be done about the woman, but suitors instead could be terrified away. Her remarks and scoffs meant very little to Virginia--though, at her comment that the family name was fitting, she took it as a compliment. Why should she care for a boorish name such as Jones or James? Crypt was perfectly fitting and quite suitable.

Frowning ever so slightly as Lord Rutherford admonished her friend, Virginia had an urge to remove Lord Rutherford's head from his body by means of her axe. Yet it would not due to be so public about any sort of execution or murder. A consultation with Alfred prior to the deed would be required, as well as asking the permission of dear Millicent to remove the man from this world. With the lord gone, Virginia followed him with her eyes, seeing the kiss shared between Milli and himself just as Mrs. Wyndham did.

"Perhaps a shotgun wedding," Virginia mused to her friend. "I do wonder what size casket would be appropriate for Lord Rutherford...But I digress--he will likely claim that a far larger casket is required than what is truly needed. His type are always obsessed with size, dear Mosi." She glanced towards Mosi, knowing that Millicent would not care for her to cause a scene. This must have been some sacrifice on her part, in an effort to spare her siblings from the scoundrel's affections. The banns would be one method of protesting the union, of course, but would it take? As long as Lord Rutherford continued to breathe, Millicent would know no peace.

So it must be.

"Mosi, my dear friend, we must avert this wedding by any means," Virginia instructed, thinking for a moment. "If Sir Kildragon would oppose the marriage, and perhaps if Millicent's father could be reached, that would be apt. However, I fear that we may have to take matters into our own hands...if you do quite understand my intentions, dear Mosi."

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They had finally arrived. Elizaveta's ringing endorsement of Mary's knightly title still ringing with a sense of grateful elation, the young Apostolic peered from the carriage window. Almack's Assembly Rooms loomed back at her, the solid social monolith of the age, gateway to high society in the London scene. Not that any of that particularly appealed to Mary, at least not for herself. Being seen there, however, would give additional legitimacy to the Catholic Church with London society. Maybe even make her job easier in the future. No, she wasn't there to be socialize - but it wouldn't hurt to be seen.

It was hoped that she would have arrived early to inspect Soulless defenses and review the staff. Sadly, circumstances did not allow for a preliminary examination of staff and grounds. It looked like her work was cut out for her. Instead of taking the initiative, her work would mostly involve reactionary measures. It was rather like playing at tavern bouncing, if the bouncer came in mid-shift and had to watch for ravenous but subtle creatures passing themselves off as regular patrons.

The moment that Elizaveta's personal guard opened the carriage door and the Grand Duchess stepped out, Mary followed. She retrieved her halberd and a wrapped package from her saddlebags, still within the carriage. "Your Grace?" started Mary cautiously. They were close to public company now, and she was unsure as to who could hear them speaking. She reached into her bundle and offered Elizaveta a flask of holy water. "I do not know the extent of your training, nor the abilities of your people (except for the impressive display in the Undercroft), but every bit helps."

Sister Mary opened her cloak and stashed a few ampules and another flask in her sporran. A quick weapon check necessitated Mary leaning her halberd against the carriage for a moment. She ensured the accessibility of her howdah pistol, quickly drew her shortswords and replaced them after a twirl, and wrapped one of her chain rosaries around her left forearm, the crucifix dangling slightly from the underside of her wrist. "At your pleasure, Your Imperial Majesty." she intoned formally, taking back up her polearm and motioning toward the entrance of the Assembly Rooms. She had much work to do.

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“Not sure who's the more desperate one here.” Mosi stated emptily without reason since Rutherford had his goals to leave as fast as possible and so he did before he can even hear the first word. He had his sights on Millicent and it seemed nothing short of his early demise would stop him.

What he did afterwards it was enough to cause Mosi's fist from clenching a few times. She disliked how Rutherford acted, all high and mighty just because of some empty title he didn't even earn. That was a man who didn't deserve anything he held, what he deserved was to be beaten with a stick, given a simple bow and arrow and sent to hunt for his own meals. That would show him for the pathetic powerless man he was. Still she turned to Millicent's mother as she spoke to her friend.

“What a...” Jeanette started to say as Mrs. Wyndham was moving away, but a certain face stood some distance in front of her. It was her own mother and she was glaring daggers at her to keep quiet. She was about to shout out her pretty direct words of explanation of Mrs. Wyndham's being, but she also saw her father who was giving her a certain very specific begging expression to not get into confrontation with anyone right now. She felt so split inside, divided between doing as her biological father whom she viewed as a friend was asking for and just doing what she wanted to do. Finally the answer came in the form of Virginia who started speaking to her.

Mosi simply stood there for a moment.” He deserves no casket if you ask me.” Was her final reply at the ego statement.” He's a pathetic little bug of a person, not even ant or a bee... those insects are working ones. He's nothing sort of a simple festering maggot... He needs no casket.” She added, eyes narrowed under her veil.

“I do... you can count on me, friend.” Mosi replied, nodding to Virginia.” We should move in haste though, I fear the pathetic little woman miss Millicent calls mother and the worm would rush things as fast as they can.”

Gerard nodded in agreement as Cook asked him to fetch for a constable, it would be wise to get this matter over with lest Mrs. Wyndham find the house in this predicament. Knowing Mrs Wyndham surely everyone of them will be fiercely blamed for this mess.

Wendy gently tugged his trousers, intelligently asking for his attention. Scurrying out the door, Gerard curiously went to follow. She then led him outside the house adjacent to the trellis and to the broken glass on the ground. Only then he noticed the flowers next to it, they werent stolen. He picked it up from the ground, gently dusting the fragile petals with his calloused thumb.

Some part of him wouldn't let the worry ease, there's bound to be some unpleasant intention as to why anyone would do this. His thoughts would stress at the worst possibilities, overthought as they were in his mind. It was only good that Millie was not around at the time of the break in. Setting aside the fact that whoever made the mistake of doing so when she's around would get their sorry behinds mercilessly battered , still the worst case stood out the most to him. It was his fear of losing, failing to protect those he could and those he should, as if in a hopeless instant fate would once again take away the only good thing that's happened to him. The stems of the flowers slightly bent as his grip tightened around them.

His gaze turned up, from the broken trellis leading up to the window of Millie's bedroom. Abigail mentioned before that Millie must have opened the window before she left for Almacks this evening, indicating the possibility that someone might have used it to climb up possibly to Millie's room. He would want to check if he could but felt it wouldn't be appropriate, if not a tad intrusive.

Putting the flowers on his inner coat pocket, Gerard walked to the street, the thoughts still on his mind, with his trusty companion trailing ahead. The evening was quiet, almost in an odd and eerie way even at this hour. He looked around near the estate for a constable, he thought he could catch one making rounds on the streets.

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Fyror looked down at Millicent with a warm smile as he held her petite frame in his arms. “And I too have greatly enjoyed your pleasant company, Miss Wyndham” he responded earnestly. He was honestly a bit disappointed that the dance was coming to end. Perhaps he should ask her for one more dance. Surely, she would not refuse him.

However, her next statement drained all the warmth and happiness from his face, and his arm instinctively tightened around her waist in a protective yet comforting manner. His head whipped to the side, following Millicent’s gaze, to find the cause of her sudden change in demeanor: Lord Rutherford. The tension that over took him was becoming all too familiar these days. His jaw clenched and his face hardened almost imperceptibly as he met the loathsome Earl’s gaze. Fyror’s gaze quickly returned to Millicent as he felt her slip from his grasp. He wanted to cry out in protest, and the look in his eyes pleaded with her to stay.

But of course, Millicent did not stay with Fyror. Lord Rutherford had such a hold over her, something Fyror could not wrap his head around. What did that man have on her that would make her go back to him time and time again? His heart sank into his stomach and he felt sick as he watched them: the woman he felt a fondness for with the man who was destined to disgrace her. There was turmoil within him, a crude mixture of anger, protectiveness, frustration, and heartbreak. His gaze was laced with emotional pain, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Yet for some reason, he found that he could not tear his gaze away from them. Or so he thought…

When Lord Rutherford kissed Millicent, he could watch no longer. He ripped his gaze away and stormed out of the building as a desperate and violent urge to rip the two away from each other threatened to manifest itself. Now was not the time to lose his cool. It would only make things worse for Millicent. He pushed through the front doors and stepped outside, the air biting at his flushed face. The hardness in his demeanor caused some of the people standing just outside the entrance to Almack’s to scatter. He wanted to scream and cry out his frustration. He felt like he had terribly failed Millicent. He could not keep her safe from Lord Rutherford or give her anything more than fleeting happiness.

The truth of the matter was that sometimes he cared so deeply for people that it slowly killed him inside.

Night had fallen over the United Kingdom and while things in London were in a tizzy because of the Soulless and the event happening at Almack's things were as per usual in Port Annan at the Southern End of Scotland. The port was unlike most. It was not the usual port town but server as a place where many a Clippers and other boats were built. A town with a rich history and ties to the Lords Of Annandale from hundreds of years ago.

Though those times were in the past, some things still ring true in the present. Certain clans hate other clans, especially when one prospers and the other falters. Such is what brings us to Port Annan on this evening. One of the few ship carrying passengers has finally docked and is disembarking currently. The ship had departed from Dublin Ireland and its cargo and passengers were being moved off. Time was always of the essence but never more so when men had been at sea and would have an evening of debauchery ahead of them as soon as they finished. If it had been a ship carrying Lords and Lady's things would have been more... Humane... but as it were, those that had booked passage were not getting the kings treatment as it were.

Under the swaying lanterns that provided light along the docks and cobblestone streets stood a man dressed as a parson, Calum Cumming. He looked harmless enough and rather out of place in this area of town where ruffians and pirates were known to gather. He was waiting on someone, a woman that was supposed to disembarking as we speak.

He had instructions to wait for her and escort her elsewhere for services to which she would be paid handsomely if she succeeded. She would be taking the role of House Manager for Clan Kirkpatrick. The older mother of the house had fallen ill and with no daughters or daughters in law as of yet to help pick up the slack someone had to be hired to deal with the season. Now while most Scots could give a damn what happened during the season down in London. Houses of history and nobility did to a certain extent.

Things had to be in order to welcome people if they came knocking and wanting an evenings respite. Parties and dinners were held on estates. Summer was a grand time in the United Kingdom and Scotland was a booming economy right then. So everything had to be in order and matriarch of the Kirkpatrick's was in no condition to do so. It was far simpler to hire someone at this point and Clan Cumming was all but happy to help.



@Sputnik - Cook gave a swift nod as Gerard followed his little friend out of the door and got to work on convincing Everett to go lay down. That was the polite way to put it. Abigail went to straight things up but Everett warned her that the constable would probably think they were trying to hide something if she did before he was able to overlook the scene.

It was in Hyde Park that Gerard would finally be able to locate a constable, and he received three for the price of one. They were near the scene where the woman from earlier in the day had been killed. Along with them was a rather finely dressed family that looked rather distraught. A father and son it seemed. On closer inspection it was neighbors of the Wyndham's: the Ballard's.

They lived four doors down from Wyndham Manor. Mr. Ballard was friends of Mr. Wyndham and business associates. He had two sons, much older than Millicent was who had served in his majesties royal navy. A purchased commission. The boys: Richard and James had recently returned for the season on leave. They had no sisters, but that didn't mean that the woman wasn't family. Just family that the Wyndham's were not close with. (Granted the Ballard's steered clear of the Wyndham's since the new Mrs. Wyndham had shown up.)



Elizaveta smiled towards Mary, and shook her head. Reaching up she placed her hand over a large ornate locket she wore around her neck and gave a slight wink towards the Sister. Leaning in she whispered softly so that Mary would only hear. "You needn't vorry Mary. My guards are mostly for shov. Not that they are not trained but I have seen more battles than they," she said before leaning back and straightening herself.

The door of the carriage was closed and one of her guards drove it off to park along with the other carriages and line of hackney's that were waiting for people when they came out. Looking up and down the building Elizaveta lifted her chin as a pompous looking older man with far more hair over his eyes than he had on his head. Though he tried to hide it with a wig that was twenty years out of date. Waddling down as quickly as he could considering his aged and bulbous frame.

Those who trained would know this man. It was Arch Graveolase Buckingham. He was no longer the fit and trained man he had been five decades ago. Growing fat and bulging at the seams since he was appointed lead of the Council some twenty years before. Sitting down and conversing hardly made for a calorie burning exercise.

"We were not expecting you until tomorrow," he said quickly as he came over to Elizaveta and company. Bowing deeply as he got to them, Veta did not return a curtsy. Rising her brows Elizaveta let a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "So it's true, I had my doubts." Righting himself as he looked her over.

"Yes I drav breath and never doubt the my father or the church," she stated in a dove like voice but it held the cold sting of steel. He gulped slightly before looking over towards Mary.

"Sist..." he began but was cut off with a lift of Elizaveta's slender fingers.

"Dame. You vill address her as Dame Mary Hale." Her voice just as stern as before. Nodding he cleared his throat.

"Dame Mary Hale, I was going to ask what kept you but I can see why. You two should come in now," he said motioning towards the door. This was about the time that Fyror came rushing out. "Um yes, we should go in now."

Holding up a single finger before gathering the length of her gown and robes she began to step over towards Kyror, her feet moving easily over the ground as she approached him. She said nothing at first, simply looking into his eyes. The same way she had the boy and Gerard earlier in the day. "Interesting," was all she said as after a long moment before blinking for the first time since she approached him.

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Millicent could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as Rutherford kissed her. Not a happy warmth that filled her when things were going well. Nor an angry one as when her mother spouted off. This was agony. A tear stinging one of her cheeks as it broke free once he finally broke the kiss. There was a collective gasp from several of the onlookers. Such public displays were not heard of, unless.

Turning Lord Rutherford addressed a few in general. "Now please, I was just overcome with joy with the current moment. I was simply sharing a moment with the future Lady Rutherford," he said proudly. Several gave nodding approvals and claps. Many of the women scowled and gave dagger eyes that could kill towards Millicent. Millicent herself wanted nothing more than to scratch his eyes out and bolt. Looking over the crowd she spotted her mother who never looked happier. Though her sisters were not with her.

She could not find Fyror in the crowd either, for that she was partially grateful for. She doubt she could look him in the eye if she had. She felt ashamed. She had so enjoyed dancing with him but she had no choice in the matter. She had to accept. For her sisters, who were at this time walking out the front door. More like one was running and the other was in hot pursuit.

"Now Emma you hold on one blasted second," Jane said as she caught up.

"What?" Emma growled as Jane caught her arm but Jane yanked it away.

"This isn't right and you know it."

"So what? At least now we are free to chose. She isn't even our real sister," Emma said rolling her eyes.

"She is doing this for us. You really can't be alright with this?"

"Oh please, the rumors aren't true. Just jaded women spouting off because they aren't landing him. I'd marry him but nooooo. Millicent got him. Well that is just dandy, time for my to catch one as well," Emma said before turning on her heels and walking right back inside as she fixed several of her curls. Jane shook her head as she clutched her riticule.

"Bollocks..." she muttered under her breath.

Inside Emma made her way over to her mother with a large smile on her face and the two started whispering to each other. Millicent was doing everything she could to choke down the words and bile bubbling in the back of her throat as Rutherford took her arm and lead her through the crowd. A smirk coming to his features as he passed Virginia and Mosi before looking away. Millicent could only look over towards Virginia for a moment before her eyes darted down in shame as she was walked back over to her mother.

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Virginia raised an eyebrow at Mosi's rage, but she found her friend had reason. Still, it would be a shame. Undertakers could use the bit of business from burying a lord, as the families tended to pay quite a pretty penny. But seeing that her friend was in accord with her, Virginia glanced in the direction of Millicent and her new fiancé, feeling disgusted on Millicent's behalf.

Her gaze then drifted to the scowling and upset women. But her thoughts, before they could even form, were interrupted as she spotted Millicent's sisters. Those two were ultimately all that could be dealt with. If they removed Lord Rutherford from this realm, Millicent would sacrifice for them once more. They would need a more permanent and practical solution than murder.

"We remove Lord Rutherford, yes," Virginia said, her voice quiet enough for only Mosi to hear. "Yet unless Jane and Emma are wed to men of good character, Millicent will not cease her self-sacrifice. It is the way with her." She thought for a moment. Perhaps she could find men of suitable morals and put pressure on them to court the Wyndham sisters. She would reach out to extended cousins, yet she had a feeling that a Crypt was not whom Millicent had in mind for her sisters.

"Inform your parents that you have been invited to the estate this evening," Virginia instructed. "Alfred is likely to be quite helpful in our plans. If we should care to contact outside parties...or perhaps settle this for ourselves. It is a family matter, after all."

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It had been several days since Maeve had left Dublin. She had left the Brennans behind for a moment, her darling Roisin's cheeks stained with tears. Finnian had had to hold her back, with the child screaming and crying at the top of her lungs. Poor thing didn't even known the fuss she was making, as her mother signed to her farewell. Her eldest brother in law, Seamus, merely nodded at her as she left. Needless to say, he didn't approve of it, seeing the task as a dangerous gamble, one liable to get Maeve killed.

But she was doing it for little Roisin. Throughout the exhausting and excruciating trip to Scotland, where she slipped under the cover of a new identity -- Neasa O'Connor -- and left her life behind, it was the thought of her daughter that kept her going. Even if she was killed, little Roisin, her little rose, would be safe. Finnian, Seamus, and Mary-Clare would look after her, ensure that she was raised good and proper. They had given their word to protect the littlest Brennan, especially with the uptick in Soulless in the country.

Pinching her nose slightly to keep a headache at bay, Maeve hardly felt human by the time she descended from the boat. But cheap passage was cheap passage--couldn't expect much more than that. Tucking her overcoat around her a little more, Maeve glanced into the lantern lit streets. Her contact was supposed to be meeting her there, in order to escort her. She hadn't the faintest clue of the streets and workings of Scotland, being an Irish girl born and bred. An escort was quite welcome.

Eventually, Maeve smiled a bit as she spotted a chap who looked a bit out of place. That'd be him then. Calum Cumming. Making her way over to him, Maeve nodded at the apparent parson, a slight bit of nerves flaring up. She'd usually been the front, the look-out, to any Brennan activities. A bit of nerves was good--it'd keep her safe.

"Evenin'," Maeve greeted, her Irish accent coming out.

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Fyror ran his hands across his face and through his hair. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. He really needed to rein in these rampant emotions before they got the best of him. He felt such helplessness and desperation in the moment. Emotional pain laced his expression as his mind tormented him with images of Millicent being ripped from him and defiled by Lord Rutherford. What was he supposed to do? How could he put a stop to Lord Rutherford and repair the damage the man had caused? Was it even possible? Or worth attempting? Why did life always have to be so cruel to a man who cared as much as Fyror did?

Fyror’s thoughts were penetrated by a rustling noise followed by footsteps, alerting him to someone approaching. He let out a small sigh and further repressed some of his emotions before turning to fully face whoever it was. However, he was taken aback to find a foreign woman who was clearly of nobility, if her elaborate dress was any indication. He stood there in shock for a moment, certainly looking a fool, as she approached him and looked deep into his eyes. He quickly snapped out of it and etiquette took over. “Your Grace,” he addressed her and bowed deeply in respect. His eyes gingerly met hers once more as he straightened again. He found that her gaze remained intently on him in an unblinking stare. It was unnerving yet mesmerizing all at the same time. He stiffened a little, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. After a long moment, she finally spoke up, but what she said only confused him, his brows furrowing. What was interesting? Him? He really didn’t know what to think about this whole situation. At least it drew him away from the emotional pain he was in, if only for a moment.

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Elizaveta's polite refusal of Mary's flask of holy water was mildly surprising, but the reason as to why confirmed something to the young Apostolic that she had suspected for most of the evening so far: Veta was a fighter. Mary said nothing in response to this; she was already focusing her mind and emotion into "work mode", a state in which she maintained an inwardly disciplined demeanor and extremely serene outer face. She did respond to the Grand Duchess by graciously accepting back the flask with a shallow curtsy and calming smile. Slipping it into her cloak, Mary turned her attention to the front of Almack's Assembly Rooms, and those gathered ahead.

"As it pleases Your Grace." she said with a coy smile. Mary almost wished there was some manner of disturbance, just to see the extent of her new friend's abilities and fight alongside her. But these were desires of Pride. Putting innocents in danger purely for the sake of testing one's abilities and those of new companions was foolhardy and selfish. She tucked away such thoughts and mentally returned to the task at hand. When Elizaveta corrected the older man as to Mary's working title (and the portly fellow responded positively to her imperative thusly), Mary gave a quick curtsy, holding her halberd perfectly perpendicular to the ground all the while. It was not Pride to accept the spoken title she had earned from the Church, nor the rank granted personally by the Grand Cross of her Knightly order, so long as she acted in a manner befitting her appointment.

"An honor, Arch Graveolase Buckingham." she spoke in civil, dulcet tones. "Humbly, my Lord, the respectful address of this regal woman is Your Imperial Majesty, or Your Grace. It is her birthright as the daughter of the House of Romanova." She curtsied again, keeping her face neutral. "And you are quite correct, my Lord. There is much work to do."

As if to punctuate her words, a distressed looking Fyror exited the establishment. Elizaveta's keen gaze peered into the depths of the man's eyes, as Mary had witnessed earlier, and the noblewoman's single word appraisal of the situation filled Mary with a sense of curiosity, mixed with partial understanding. "This man is as we are, Your Grace?"

Gerard walked farther from the estate until he eventually found a constable in sight, all three of them gathering in a spot at Hyde park. And it was close to the spot where the woman was found earlier that morning. They must have been surveying the scene since the alarming occurrence, going through with the investigation or what not a constable does in these unusual events. They may probably even have questions as to why the woman was snatched from the scene without notice, Gerard took a deep breath knowing how to explain himself if they were ever to ask.

As he walked closer to the small bundle of people, he noticed two civilians engaging with the constables. He recognized Mr. Ballard, with him was a younger gentleman, which could be either of of his two sons, he didn't know which was who. The last time he heard they went off to serve the royal navy, he was not aware of their recent visit. Gerard knew Mr Ballard through Mr Wyndham, both of them were business associates for some time. He had worked frequently with Milli's father back then, enough for Gerard to fairly know him, and perceiving the two gentlemen's friendship.

Gerard waited on the side, chancing the the moment when he can have one of the constable's attention. "Good evenin' " He greeted one at the scene. " Can I have a moment of your time? It's rather important. " Gerard respectfully asked, admittedly it was quite odd engaging with a constable and be not under their suspicion. A refreshing change, but still made him nervous all the same. He turned to the finely dressed man and gave him a slight nod "Mr. Ballard." he greeted reticently. By the looks of Mr Ballard's distraught reaction while discussing with the constables, he may have dearly known the soulless victim. But as far as Gerard knew Mr Ballard had no daughters. Why he was here, he doesn't entirely know.

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In reality Mosi was just on the verge of going right out here and slap Rutherford across the face. Alright 'slap' was a weak word about her desires. She was barely holding from walking over and punch his lights out. Such a weak person... an underhanded, pathetic, rotten, shitty, pig, cockroach of a person! Her tongue was still struggling behind her closed mouth and very angry locked eyebrows under the veil. Still she registered Virginia's words and turned towards her friend again.” I'd recommend Ernest, but not sure he will agree to it... though I'm pretty sure my mother won't object to such a chance...” Mosi added with a sigh.

“Alright, I will inform them about this later, it's not like this will be the first or last time I spend a night out.” Mosi smirked with pleased expression. Her father accepted her free spirit and desire to do what she wanted. To the point he didn't make any problem if she spend the time out doing whatever she was doing, he never asked and she was grateful for that. Her mother was another story though.” We will have to decide on it fast...” She stated, looking about for Fyror.

“It's such a pity this happens to such a fine man, such as Fyror. I told him he's way to easily affected by the opinions of others and that he should consider them less...” She stated with a sigh.” I'd go to talk to him, but it will only frankly make the matters worse for the moment. He needs to sort things out in his head first... Tomorrow is another matter though. I need to allow him to experience the bliss of drinking his worries away. Virginia, if you excuse me for a moment, I need to go to invite Fyror over for a visit to my home tomorrow. I will return in a little.” She explained, nodded with a smile towards her friend and headed towards the direction of the exit where she was saw Fyror heading. She suddenly got the huge urge to smoke. Might as well do that also when she finds Fyror, she had her pipe and tabaco strapped to her right hip under the dress.' I still think a buffalo robe would have done a better job...' She thought in walking.

"Neasa O'Connor?" he asked looking her over from head to toe, she fit the description he had been given. Granted he could have just been told it was a female traveling alone on the ship and that would have sufficed, any other woman coming off the ship was obviously either traveling with someone or had only boarded for "special" circumstances and short term "work."

"I was beginnin' to wonder if the ship would ever dock," he said as he looked her over. "Got anythin' ye need off loaded from the ship?" he asked as he cocked a brow, she didn't seem to have anything with her - not even a bag with a change of clothing. "Well, if ya do, let's be gettin' on with it. I really don't want to be out on these streets once the ship gets fully unloaded, things get... rowdy... around here then," he said as he looked around.

The port town might have been mostly for building ships but that didn't mean it didn't get the downside of many port towns. Debauchery was one of them, especially on nights when ships made dock. Calum pulled at his collar a bit and grimaced. It was obvious he was out of his element. His eyes darted about and his head seemed to snap around at any sound made, even though most sounds were just your typical sounds noise at a dock. People hauling thing, the occasional fight breaking out in a dark alleyway, people calling out here and there, the squeak of the lanterns rocking against the the poles in the wind.

Things on the ship were getting unloaded, there really wasn't any order to it. Shit was unloaded and dropped on the dock. It didn't matter whose it was when it came to luggage. It was just dropped and left there to "fend" for itself. The main cargo was guarded but that was all. People that had been on the ship started gathering things, who knew it if was theirs or not. People that hadn't been on the ship seemed to be doing the same. If one didn't move quickly it would be picked clean without a second thought.



@Sputnik - The constables spotted Gerard and gave him a look over as he asked to speak with Mr. Ballard. "Mr. Connolly? Had not expected to see you out at this late hour," Mr. Ballard said with q distraught quizzical look on his features.

"You know this man?" one of the constables asked.

"Yes, yes, he works for the Wyndham's," Mr Ballard assured them before stepping off and away from the others to speak with Gerard. Running his hand over his head he sighed as he made sure they were out of ear shot before looking over at Gerard. "We are looking for Sarah, she is my wife's niece. She came to visit us and went for a walk this morning. We heard about the attack and we haven't seen her since. We are fraught with worry hearing that someone was killed and my dear wife is just beside herself. Have you heard or seen anything?" Mr. Ballard asked as he looked between the constables with his sons and Gerard.

He went on to explain what Sarah looked like, what she had been wearing when she left the Ballard estate earlier that day, and so forth. Sadly her description matched the woman that Gerard had taken to the church earlier that day and witnessed Elizaveta "pray over". It would be tough news to break to the man, he seemed genuinely concerned.



Elizaveta continued to watch Fyror with some odd interest as she looked into his eyes, giving the slightest nod of her head as he greeted her. It was not until Mary had come over and spoken that she tore her gaze away from the man and looked over towards her newly acquired friend. Her brows furrowed ever so slightly as she nodded.

"In some vays yes, in others no. Such turmoil swims vithin," she said softly before looking back over towards Fyror. "Never before have I seen the same vision subject in the eyes of tvo. Most fascinating," she said before turning towards Mary.

"I fear very dark times are ahead, ve must make haste, blood vill flov this evening." she said as she gathered the folds of her gown and made her way past Fyror and into the building. Arch Graveolase Buckingham following quickly on her heals as he tried to keep up. Elizaveta's guard did not follow, instead standing at post near the doors as he kept a watchful eye out on those around.

"Your grace, you mustn't say such things where you can be heard by all. It could cause worry and this night is important to the ton," he said, protesting Elizaveta's nonchalant way of speaking. Veta paid him no mind as she walked through the hallway towards the main room. He continued on about how important this night was to London Society, and blah blah blah blah.

Stopping at the doorway to the main ballroom she placed her hands in front of her and shot Arch Graveolase Buckingham a look of ice that seemed to chill him to the bone. "Get on vith it," she said coolly as she glanced over her shoulder and waited for Mary to take her place at her side.

"Right... right away," he said shivering but glad she had at least conceded this small point of pomp and circumstance. Stepping to the side of the door, he announced them. "Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova, Imperial Grace of the Russian Empire, and Dame Mary Hale of the Catholic Church," he said, he half wanted to choke on the last part of the introduction but he was not crossing Veta it seemed that evening.

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Rutherfords grip on Millicent's waist caused her to wish to be boiled in bleach to cleanse herself pet she plastered on a look of mild annoyance, it was the best she could do. Her mother and sister Emma were laughing and gossiping between themselves. Both seemed overly thrilled when the newly engaged couple came over to them, though it was obvious that Emma would have much rather Rutherford set his eyes on her instead of her sister.

"Such grand congratulations are in order for the both of you, I could not be more thrilled to see the turn of events. Such plans to make at this moment, so much work but it will be well worth it in the end," Mrs. Wyndham said joyfully. "Your father would be so proud."

Millicent shot a look of shock towards her mother. She knew those words to be a lie. Had her father of been here this would not have been an issue. Jane and Emma would have been matched with well rounded men of good character and Millicent would have been free to pursue her own interests without fear of the outcome for her siblings. How she wished he was here now, she knew he would have refused this match.

Her heart sank as a piece of paper was pulled from Rutherfords coat and handed over to Mrs. Wyndham. The woman took it and looked it over before scribbling her name on the bottom line. "Everything is in order and the engagement contract is ready for your signature Milli," she said as she turned the pen over to her step daughter.

Millicent found her fingers shaking as she took it, she hadn't thought she would be expected to sign so quickly. Such things normally took days to hammer out before anyone signed but it seemed that her mother and her... fiance... had worked things out well in advanced. Taking the paper she had to push down the urge to throw the paper into the nearest candelabra and set it aflame.

"Sign it," Rutherford said in a harsh tone as he tightened his grip on her waist, Milli having to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screeching out in pain. With shaking hand she signed the paper and felt as if she had just signed away her soul in the process. Rutherford took the paper and placed it back within his coat with a satisfied grin on his lips. "Now, it is official."

The announcement came of the two newest guests and Emma scowled as she looked the woman over. "How am I supposed to find a husband now? Every man will be fawning over her!" Emma hissed as her eyes fell on Elizaveta.

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Virginia nodded, though she felt a bit perplexed. Had Millicent and Fyror shared some secret passions between them? All she had witnessed was a dance, and the possibility that Fyror might have true feelings for Millicent caused some discomfort. Not because of Fyror, no--but because Millicent was sacrificing herself needlessly. She found Fyror to be quite charming, to be truthful. His scar served to set him apart from the rest, from the piggish and sluggish members of London society.

And had Mosi given her a moment, perhaps she would have recommended a hallucinogenic to clear Fyror's mind. Her mother had been quite partial to them, and from what Virginia understood, one's worries were quite reduced. But another more thrilling event occurred--or perhaps, thrilling for those who cared for those sort of things. The announcement of the Grand Duchess of the Russian Empire. For a moment, Virginia thought fondly of the mamushka, but she doubted that the Grand Duchess had any affiliations to the cossack cousins of the Crypt family.

With her dearest friend all but wed to Lord Rutherford, and Mosi leaving to attend to Fyror, Virginia felt suddenly quite alone. These events were usually made bearable by their presence. She sighed ever so slightly, wanting nothing more than to leave the establishment, and begin to sort out Millicent's romantic entanglements through the most crafty of means. Yet there was another name announced--Mary Hale, the nun. Virginia's dark mood brightened briefly, recalling that she had meant to see Mary. James was quite fond of the woman, always asking questions about one subject or another--his latest favorite had been the methods used by the Spanish Inquisition.

Making her way over to Mary, Virginia gave her usual smile--which to those who did not know her could be seen as slightly unsettling. She had no intentions of sharing her plans with Mary, on a point of principle. Plots of murder, Virginia figured, would not sit well morally with the nun.

"Your Grace," Virginia greeted the Grand Duchess, before turning her attention to Mary. "Dame Hale? It suits you well, but no title shall truly do you justice." she remarked kindly.

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Had she not been going undercover, Maeve perhaps would have given the man a bit of a tongue lashing. To be truthful, she felt quite at ease in these parts. With the trouble and ruckus, it was a familiar environment, with perhaps only one exception--she was out of Brennan territory. She couldn't use her deceased husband's name to her advantage here. Here, she was Neasa O'Connor.

"That'll be right, name's Neasa O'Connor," Maeve confirmed. The man in the disguise of a parson seemed a tad like a duck out of water, and Maeve couldn't hide the slightest cheeky smile. "I'll go fetch m' things, be right back, 'case things get rowdy." Forcing the smile off of her face, Maeve left Calum behind for a moment, approaching the unceremonious dump of luggage and belongings. The sorts who traveled by that ship and those here to collect them tended not to be the most reputable--it was more or less a free-for-all, letting people go through and take whatever suited their fancy at the moment.

Of course, Maeve hadn't been a Brennan for nothing. Spotting her small bag, a few changes of clothes and the like stored inside of it, she saw a dirty hand reaching for it as well. Holding her shillelagh, she gave the person a menacing glare. "Don't yer go an' be dense," Maeve warned, before snatching her bag and walking off from the mob. She returned to Calum, bag in one hand, shillelagh in the other.

"Seem a bit shook, lad," Maeve commented once she returned. "'M all set. Let's get on wi' it, then."

Gerard avoided the constables eyes when he asked the finer looking gentleman, he could't get over the feeling that he's always under suspicion when come face to face with a man in uniform. Then again this was the first time in quite a long time he'd been in front of a constable. Some habits tend to die hard it seems.

Gerard listened at what Mr Ballard had to say, carefully at the physical descriptions he mention about his wife's missing niece. The description made his own gentle facial expression turned equally distraught. At this point he doesn't quite know how to break him the news, that the woman Gerard personally brought earlier to the cathedral, the poor dead victim was indeed the woman he had just described. He turned his eyes down to his feet for a moment before he uttered the news.

"Mr Ballard am afraid I know what happened to Sarah." Honestly he was not prepared to break such terrible news to someone, specially to someone who was once close to the family. Gerard himself was all too familiar of this scenario, he once had been on the other end it after all. But it was only right to let him know right here, right now. No matter how horrible the details of her death were, the news somehow had to be delivered.

"It..it was her. The woman who was killed." Gerard guiltily avoided his eyes. "She had fallen victim to the soulless and I was the one who brought her to the cathedral to be prayed over earlier today. Am deeply sorry." He bowed his head, showing some genuine sorrow in his words.

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Fyror found that there was something strange about the way in which this noblewoman looked at him. It was different than anything he had ever witnessed or experience. It was like she saw something in his very essence, that no one else, perhaps not even he himself, could see. He certainly wanted to know what she saw.

However, before he could inquire about it, a young Apostolic woman approached, gaining Elizaveta’s attention with a question of her own. Fyror gave slight respectful bow to Mary but remained quiet, allowing them a moment to talk. Being in such close proximity to them, he could readily hear their brief conversation. His brows furrowed at what Elizaveta said and so many questions swam through his head. How could one acquire such a skillset that she spoke of? What vision had she seen in his eyes that she had also seen in the eyes of another?

His blood ran cold at her next statement and a sense of foreboding came back full force. How foolish he was to let the matters of the heart cloud his good judgment regarding the ever-apparent threat of the Soulless. How little did it matter whose arm Ms. Wyndham was on if she did not leave this place alive and unscathed? Fyror was about to speak up in response to Elizaveta’s words but before he could do so she gathered the folds of her gown and headed into the building.

Fyror stood there perplexed for a moment before following in after her. He kept his eyes trained on her, not wanting to lose her in the crowd but also not wanting to be distracted by his emotions at seeing Millicent with Lord Rutherford. As Elizaveta and Mary entered the main ballroom, they were quickly introduced by Arch Graveolase Buckingham. His deduction that Elizaveta was of noble birth was quickly affirmed when she was introduced as Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova, Imperial Grace of the Russian Empire. The other woman with Elizaveta was introduced as Dame Mary Hale of the Catholic Church.

Fyror waited for the introductions to come to a conclusion and for them to fully enter into the ballroom before approaching them. “Your Grace,” he addressed Elizaveta, bowing respectfully to her. “Forgive me for bothering you, but I must inquire of you. What vision did you see that causes you concern? Also, if there is any way I can be of aid, I would be glad to oblige.”

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"I fear very dark times are ahead, we must make haste, blood will flow this evening."

That was precisely what the Grand Duchess had said, in front of Fryor and Buckingham. A tiny flash of adrenaline shot through Mary, sharpening her senses and resolve, both. In the short time she had known the woman, Elizaveta had left an impression on the young Apostolic. She felt she could reliably believe the Russian Imperial Highness's assessment of the situation, and stood ready to perform the duty for which she was specifically trained. She was the Venator representing her Church at this event. If blood was to flow, let the wounds be inflicted by her, and only to those deserving of it. Until then, Sister Mary would stay alert yet seraphic, attending the Grand Duchess as her entourage. She was a Knight, if female and attached to the less influential branch of Christianity in London. Mary would act like one.

Mary bowed her head to Captain Kildragon, remaining silent to him as he was to her. Not that she took any offense to their lack of dialogue, Veta was the more important person of the two of them. It was the natural order for Royalty to speak for their hangers-on in social situations like this, unless directly addressed about something more to their area of expertise. The basics of acknowledging each other's presence concluded, Mary followed Elizaveta and took proper position, barely prior to Buckingham grudgingly announcing her as "Dame Mary Hale of the Catholic Church". It gave her a mote of satisfaction, the Grand Duchess ensuring that her Pontifically appointed title was used, especially in a place where women were not allowed to retain the title of Knight of the Realm. Well, thank God for Knights of the Church. Even if the older man didn't quite get her title with full accuracy, it was a welcome start.

Introductions heralded, their entrance was given notice by one of Mary's few friends in London. Deferring to social protocol for the situation, said friend gave simple introduction to Elizaveta first before addressing the young Apostolic. Mary smiled, and was just about to speak when the gentleman from earlier sought out further discussion with Elizaveta. She noted again a particular lack of acknowledgement of her own presence. Mary silently surmised that the man must be Anglican, an easy guess here in the Land of Angles. She moved the tiniest step to the side, giving symbolic separation from their conversation but still quite ready to engage or assist the Grand Duchess.

Mary looked to her friend and responded to her, maintaining her serene exterior and occasionally moving her eyes to take note of her surroundings (and the people in it). "Lady Crypt! It is a rare pleasure to see you in these environs, I must confess." Mary was good at confessing. "The title is purely because I am here to see to the affairs of my Order this evening, which I fear may be necessary in a less genteel manner if Her Grace is correct. I have no reason to think otherwise." Her face remained the vision of serenity. She had questions of her friend concerning the gathering so far that evening, but a minor bit of social grace wouldn't hurt before she delved firmly into business. "However is your very inquisitive brother, James?"

Small talk aside, Mary had not forgotten the reason for her presence. It was a token of societal nicety. Then again, it was hard to be taken as one of these debutantes while wielding a halberd and cloaked in the manner of a Papal Knight, even with her young face and fiery red hair. Her very manner screamed professionalism, even if the expectations of her gender did not; even as she spoke, Mary extended the trained sense of Tanter to the persons around her, on the chance that something might be revealed.

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Mosi's plans to catch Fyror outside fell to oblivion when he appeared soon after the new grand arrivals at the Almack's.' Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova and Dame Mary Hale, huh.' Mosi thought at their arrival. Now this was a curious sight. She was not grand of geography and political maps, but she knew the bigger countries out there. Russia was quite far all things considering and to have someone from there all the way here was interesting! She appeared different from all other hollow people gathered here! From this moment Mosi decided as a task to talk with Elizaveta tonight. There was also Mary Hale, she was someone who'd be good to have when the inevitable chaos erupted at the event.

She sighed, having her plan to ask Fyror to pay her home a visit tomorrow on peace and quiet outside shattered. She'd have to ask him now, not a big problem, though she suspected her mother may have objections to doing that now. Who cares though. She smiled and walked over to the now gathering of her friends and the new arrivals. She quickly walked over to Virginia and Mary this time around since Fyror seemed to have important talk with Elizaveta right now.

“Sorry about this,Virginia, but it seems my plans were shattered for the moment.” She stated once she was by them and looked at Mary. With a smile she pulled her veil so she can see clearly the Dame.” Nice to meet you, Dame Mary Hale, my name's Jeanette Crane.” She introduced herself.” It's great to have you here, though I think it would have been better if the circumstances were well.. better.” Mosi stated with a sigh.” I expect something to happen before long... Presence guards were damaged when I arrived, thought by the look of things it appears no one is being informed by the organizers. The guards at this place are lacking, terribly much so.”

"Right, well be quick a'bout it. This is not a place for god fearing' folk," Calum said as he looked around, his eyes darting this way and that. God fearing folk? Was this man actually a parson or just playing the part? It didn't seem likely that he was a member of the church, especially considering who his family was but then again the way he looked around he actually looked afraid. As if he would be better suited in the pulpit instead of on the streets.

"Oh my," he said to himself as he watched Neasha grab her bag and threaten someone with the board end of her stick. As she came back over he looked at her a bit stunned. "Seems you not be needin protection, just directions," he said, sounding a bit relieved as he spoke.

"Um, yes, this way. Right, this way," he said as he turned and pointed down the street, taking a single step before he nearly tripped over his own two feet. "Oh fuddle.." he said as he started to fall but caught himself on the edge of a cart.

"Hey watch it preacher!" a man called down from the driver seat.

"Pardon, sorry, yes, very sorry," he said as he righted himself and looked back over towards Neasha. "Right, this way," he said again before walking off quickly. Grasping the lapels of coat on either side he walked down the cobblestone road, his knees bowing out slightly with each step he took.




@Sputnik - Mr. Ballard pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. "I had feared the worse lad, thank you though for taking care of her in her hour of need. I will break the news to my family and we will go there to retrieve her body for a proper god fearing burial. God help us all," he said with a sad voice before putting on a brave face and turning back to his son and the constables. Stepping back over to them.

"Go home to your mother and ready the carriage," he said after explaining. "Do not tell her yet, I will when I return. I shall be along shortly," he said before turning back to Gerard and waving him back over. "Lad, for our troubles," he said pulling out a few coins from is pouch and handing them out for Gerard to take. "We owe you a debt, please take it," he said. It would be offensive not to.

"Lad, what are you doing out here at this time of the evening anyways?" Mr. Ballard inquired.



Elizaveta nodded towards the woman who came over. She did not know her but when she heard Mary say the lady's name her brow rose slightly and a smile came to her lips. "A Crypt? My, God vorks in mysterious vays. I knov one that vill be interested to speak vith you soon," she said once the introductions were complete.

More came over and when Fyror confrtoned her her eyes drifted up to his. A sorrowful look coming to her features. "I fear much pain in the future. A woman of chestnut hair and dark eyes. I have seen her in your eyes and anothers. Turmoil surrounding. Darkness enveloping. Pain. I knov not the cause but with the sight there is not alvays clarity. Stay vigilant and strong. A heart may break but it can be mended," she said in a solemn voice before glancing around the room. "Yet tonight I fear is only the beginning. Yes, help vould be accepted and velcome."

For Mary, the Tanter was triggered. Her sense stretching out and it would cause a tingling in the pit of her stomach. It would be faint, telling her there was a Soulless passing as a human in the vicinity but they were at least fifty feet away from her. That removed any in the room from being a Cargast, Ryne, or a Hraew, yet the sense did not go too far. There was at least one inside of Almack's as they spoke.

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"You needn't worry my dear child, her beauty is hardly matched to yours," Lord Rutherford said as he looked over towards Elizaveta, bringing a bright smile to Emma's lips.

"Here, here, he speaks the truth," Mrs. Wyndham pipped in. "And look at the filth she surround herself with. You needn't be worried my dear."

Millicent looked over and felt a lump in her throat form as she spotted the growing crowd around the Dame and Elizaveta. Fyror was there, conversing freely with the Grand Duchess. Looking away she fiddled with the pearls she wore around her neck that had been her mothers. She felt a tinge of jealously arising but she knew it was for nothing. She was engaged now, it should mean nothing to her that he was speaking to another. Yet she could not forget how she felt dancing with him. Safe and free, able to enjoy herself. Not caged and seething as she did not.

"Well as a representative of the crown I must go introduce myself, come now," Lord Rutherford said towards Millicent. She looked at him aghast but he gave her a look that made her quickly fall into line and let him take her arm. Stepping over he made his way with his new fiance on his arm over towards the group.

"Your imperial highness, such a pleasure to have you here. I am Lord Rutherford, Duke of the realm," he said bowing towards Elizaveta.

The Grand Duchess's eyes drifted over the man but she hardly gave him a second glance before stepping over towards Millicent and looking her over, yet she didn't seem to push to look into the woman's eyes who remained down cast. "And this young voman is?"

"My fiance, Miss Wyndham."

Elizaveta slowly looked over towards Fyror and then back towards Millicent. "And the picture becomes clear."

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Fyror’s heart clenched in his chest as a sorrowful look came to Elizaveta’s features, and he steeled himself for what he was about to hear. His brows furrowed as she spoke about the vision she saw. A woman with chestnut hair and dark eyes surrounded by much turmoil, darkness, and pain. He got the sense that this foreseen woman was to be in grave danger, maybe even become the next victim of the Soulless.

His brows shot up the slightest in surprise at Elizaveta’s perceptiveness regarding his current emotional state. Granted, he was not very good at hiding his emotions, but the fact that she correctly detected that his heart had been broken was shocking nonetheless. He did not even try to deny it. He had truly begun to feel some kind of special connection forming between him and Millicent. A fondness he had never felt for a woman before. And for her to be so easily ripped from him and put into harms way by a man as dishonorable as Lord Rutherford truly broke his heart. He hated not being able to protect someone he cared for, and he took it personally out on himself.

A small strained smile pulled at the corners of his lips at hearing Elizaveta’s acceptance of his aid. His gaze pulled away from hers to look around the room. All seemed calm at the moment, but he knew it would not last long. A couple caught his eye as they made their way over to the group gathered around the Grand Duchess. His heart sank to see that it was Lord Rutherford approaching with Millicent on his arm. Fyror quickly looked away as emotion flashed in his eyes. His jaw clenched as he strained to get his wits about him. After a few moments, he reluctantly looked at them. While Lord Rutherford introduced himself to Elizaveta, Fyror’s gaze bored into Millicent. A question flashed in his eyes: Why? Why did you have to go back to him?

Lord Rutherford’s next words were like a slap in the face, causing Fyror to flinch. Millicent was now Lord Rutherford’s fiancé! He was about to turn away, but Elizaveta’s words kept him in place. No, it couldn’t be? It can’t be?! Millicent was the woman in Elizaveta’s vision! It all began to make sense now. The fact that Elizaveta had seen the vision while looking into his eyes held an aspect of symbolism to it. The vision was of someone seen by the eyes in which the vision had displayed itself. His heart began to race at the thought, and his need to protect surged within him. But as of yet what or who was he supposed to protect her from? His gaze easily gravitated to Lord Rutherford. Perhaps the darkness was right before their eyes.

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Thalken truly hated the social gatherings of the ton, let alone the Season as a whole. The way women batted their eyelashes flirtatiously and swooned over men’s attentions. The way mothers threw their unmarried daughters in the direction of the nearest titled man. And the way it only inflated the egos of men. It was a dance of wits, ultimately with the desire of climbing up the social hierarchy, and yet everyone hid their true intentions behind the guise of civility. It all seemed so sickening and meaningless to Thalken, for outside those walls the world wasn’t so grand. He knew of the true darkness of this world, and he forever lived in its shadow.

Thalken stepped out of the carriage, which was parked just outside Almack’s, and looked around at his surroundings with clear distaste. He hated that his father had to drag him to this blasted establishment for this blasted event. Knowing the man, he was probably hoping to line up some more work tonight. Maybe catch some people in the middle of a family feud and convince one to take a bounty on the other’s head. God knows his father was up to no good, as usual. He let out a small sigh and glanced over at his twin sister Thalcona as she came up alongside him. She shared a knowing look with him but did not try to engage in conversation with him. She knew well enough to leave him alone because he was in no mood to speak. He sent a pointed glare in his father’s direction, making his displeasure of being dragged here clear. He would suck it up and do whatever needed to be done, but he made no promises about doing it happily or civilly.

Thalken headed into Almack’s proper. His attractive facial features were hardened by the ever-present scowl on his face. Couple this with his attire, which was nearly black from head to toe, it gave him a dark air. No one in their right mind would dare cross him, or so he hoped. His long black overcoat billowed behind him as he walked with powerful strides. People seemed to scurry out of his path, and that was probably a good thing because he had no qualms about shoving people who got in his way. Propriety was practically nonexistent with him. I mean, after all, social decorum was not exactly a subject of discussion among bounty hunters. As long as you treated your superiors with a certain amount of respect and undivided loyalty, it mattered not how you treated the rest of society.

‘Great, just great. This place makes hell seem more appealing,’ Thalken thought to himself. He stopped just inside the ballroom, and his dark eyed gaze surveyed the room. He took a mental note of the layout of the room, including potential vantage points as well as where the exits were. One in his particular line of work always took into account the exit routes, in case a quick getaway became necessary. He also took note of the presence of many soldiers, their red coats easily differentiating them from the others in the crowd. His father would have to be more cautious not to raise any alarms or suspicion. Thalken looked over his shoulder at his father and sister and mouthed the word “soldiers” at them, subtly nodding his head in the direction of the nearest one (Fyror). His father and sister nodded their heads in simple acknowledgment. Their father then broke away from them and melded into the shadows at the edges of the room.

Thalken and Thalcona casually walked past the group assembling around the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. As he passed them, a woman with pale, almost Ryne like skin (Virginia) caught his harsh gaze. He quickly looked the woman up and down with a critical, perceptive eye as he passed by her. In his quick assessment, he did not deduce any immediate threat despite her abnormally pale skin, so he just continued on past her like nothing had happened. All the while, his cold expression remained strangely unchanged.

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Virginia noticed the slight smile form on the Grand Duchess' face at the mention of her surname, and she tilted her head ever so slightly. It was not something she expected to see. Why, most in England did not smile when they heard the Crypt name. At best, they were indifferent. At worst, they shared opinions similar to Mrs. Wyndham. However, when Elizaveta mentioned that she knew someone who would want to speak with her, Virginia's heart skipped a beat. There was one individual--or two, rather--that came to mind.

Could her parents, said to be lost at sea, have found their way into Russia? From her memories of geography, there was the prominent port in Saint Petersburg. Perhaps her parents had ended up there by some bizarre stroke of luck, and in order to return to England, fond themselves enthralled with the Russian court. The pair of them were certainly odd by modern standards, it could work....Or another fantasy came to her mind, one of amnesia, with her dear parents lost in Russia, not knowing who they were beyond the surname Crypt.

"How peculiar, I'd be delighted to meet them," Virginia replied, keeping her voice calm and steady. She knew, logically, that her parents likely had already met their demise and were in a wondrous reunion with death. Yet hope was a horrible thing, and with that comment, hope she nearly had relinquished was renewed. For a woman obsessed with pain, death, and the bizarre, it was the most wretched and horrible form of torture she knew--to give someone hope.

As for Mary, Virginia nodded in understanding. She had glimpsed a strange, almost mutated version of the cargast creeping towards the grounds of Almack's. For Mary to be afraid of something to occur at the event was thus no surprise. "Yes, I do believe that death will be well sated tonight...I observed something akin to a cargast nearing Almack's earlier this day." But to be truthful, the prospect of the Soulless threat did not seem to bother Virginia. Her mind was still focused on Elizaveta's words.

"Oh, James..." Virginia smiled, forever proud of her little brother. "He's doing so incredibly well. I am making preparations for him to be tested tomorrow, in order for him to begin his training...He has many questions for you, from what I can recall, in regards to heresy." Fyror, as Virginia observed, seemed to be fixated on the Grand Duchess. Perhaps, Virginia pondered, he was not the solution to Millicent's dilemma. A man worthy of Millicent, Virginia felt, would not be so distracted by title and not so driven by prejudice against the Catholics.

"It is no trouble, dear Mosi," Virginia commented, as another friend approached. At her comment about the damaged presence guards, it seemed to Virginia that perhaps there would be some fun to salvage from the event at Almack's. With her dear friend Milli approaching the Grand Duchess, on the arm of such a vile and hideous man, Virginia felt that a massacre would be perhaps the only highlight of the event. Yet Elizaveta's lack of caring about Lord Rutherford brought a bit of a smile to Virginia's face.

If only the Grand Duchess could help with Millicent's situation....No, there was no need. Once at home, she would discuss the options with Alfred, as to whether to send word to the usual contact for the deed that needed completion or to accomplish the task all on her own. As a necessity, Millicent would not be told. She feared her friend would be too noble as to agree. Of course, she was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice the stern gaze of Thalken.

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Maeve frowned slightly, tilted her head at Calum. Either the lad was a real good actor, or he must not have been playing much of a part. Of course, there were some people who always were a little funny in each family. Still, with the clumsy way that he walked about, nearly getting into trouble as he fuddled about. "Yer new t' this?" Maeve asked, chuckling softly. She wouldn't have been too shocked at this point if the man was an actual parson pretending to be Calum.

However, there wasn't much time to waste, and he seemed to be rather focused on getting to parts he was more familiar with. Following after him, Maeve's almost motherly instincts kicked in, as she kept an eye out for her befuddled companion. From what she'd seen, he needed the protection more than she did. Truthfully, all she needed was a guide. She didn't know her way around Scotland in the slightest.

Noting the way his knees moved as he walked, Maeve shook her head ever so slightly. He really did seem to be a child at heart.