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Fyror’s auburn brows furrowed with concern as he took in Millicent’s current state. He looked her over to take a mental inventory of any visible injuries on her person. Upon closer inspection, he noted the gashes on her arms and the laceration on her exposed thigh. It was hard to tell how deep any of the wounds were as blood flowed freely from them in streams of red, distorting one’s view of the individual wounds. He stopped his inspection to meet her gaze when she spoke up. He found that this was not the same woman who he had seen boldly come to his defense when Mrs. Wyndham had slighted him. This was not the same woman who he had held in his strong arms as a smile graced her delicate features. This was not even the same sullen woman who he had seen on Lord Rutherford’s arm. For the first time, he was quite possibly seeing Millicent in her most vulnerable state, and his heart ached for her. Her voice was lackluster as she spoke, and her eyes held a glossy appearance to them. It was hard to tell exactly what she was thinking or feeling, but one thing was certain, none of it was positive.

She denied that she was hurt, but he would beg to differ. The bruise he had seen earlier today could now be seen in all its horrific glory as the sweat on her face washed off her makeup. It was a large, dark, and bloodied bruise surrounding an imprint of a ring that had split her skin. Whoever had hit her had marred her beautiful face and could have easily cracked her cheekbone in the process. Why would she claim that she was not hurt when she clearly was? She was in shocked, surely, and who could blame her. Fyror glanced over at the severed head nearby, cringing inwardly, before returning his worried gaze to Millicent. He reached out to help keep her from falling down as she slowly rose to her feet. Once on her feet, she stared blankly at something behind him. He followed her gaze to find a man dressed head to toe in black standing over the decapitated body nearby with a sword held in his hand. Perhaps he was the one who had killed it?

Thalken was looking down at his craftmanship, his successful beheading of the Ryne Catherine. The Ryne that had caused so much pain and devastation in such a short amount of time. He looked up as he felt eyes boring into him, and he turned his head to meet the emotionless gaze of Millicent. She was the complete stranger he had just saved from the Ryne, a fact that had yet to fully sink in. However, as the woman blankly stared at him, he vaguely wondered if he had done more harm than good. His gaze held that same intensity to it, and it was not swayed, even when the British infantry officer Fyror met his gaze. The man’s scarred face, strong build, and higher ranking did not deter Thalken, for he had witnessed more disturbing things in his lifetime. The decapitated body at his feet was proof of that. He held Fyror’s gaze until the man finally turned his attention back to Millicent and the other injured women.

Fyror’s gaze snapped over to Mrs. Wyndham as she screamed out in pain. He was honestly surprised that the woman was still alive given that she was impaled by an iron rod. Without a word, he followed behind Millicent over to her stepmother and stepsister, moving carefully on the blood covered concrete floor. He stopped beside her and watched as she worked out what to do. Unfortunately, he did not think much could be done for Mrs. Wyndham, as trying to move her could very well prove detrimental. However, he also felt that it would be cruel to just leave her there to suffer. Perhaps removing the iron rod would be the most humane thing to do. So, when Millicent asked him to lift her stepmother off of the table leg, he obliged. He got closer and bent down at the knees before grabbing underneath Mrs. Wyndham’s arms as Millicent took the woman’s feet. He carefully tried to lift her off of the table leg, but all the blood made him lose his grip.

Thalken turned his attention to his surroundings, surveying the area with a shrewd gaze and honing his skill in intelligence gathering. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Ryne he had killed was not the only Soulless present at Almack’s. His suspicion was confirmed as his keen eyes picked out a Ryne and Hraew entering the ballroom at the other end of the balcony. His grip tightened on the hilt of his Dao sabre as he watched them disappear into the chaos inside. It was troubling to see two types of Soulless together as they typically did not associate with one another but rather preferred to keep to themselves. Something was certainly not right here, and he was unfortunately caught in the middle of this debacle. Thalken continued to survey his surroundings, looking for any more potential threats, particularly any in close proximity to him. He noted that the woman who had got caught on the blade of his sabre earlier was still fainted on the ground. What little empathy he had did not readily include someone stupid enough to walk between a raised sabre and a vicious Ryne. Perhaps the Soulless will view this fainted woman as being already dead, or she may just become their next snack. Whatever the case, it did not concern him at the moment as he felt a vague prickling sensation on the back of his neck. There was a distant static in the air, not necessarily close enough as of yet to be a huge concern, but nevertheless it sent a chill through him. Cargast are here.

"Oh god!" Emma screamed as her mother was basically dropped on the ground. Mrs. Wyndham screeching out in pain. The only reason the woman was still alive was because the rod of steel hadn't hit any vital organs. Spearing her through the soft flesh mostly. Millicent grunted as she shifted her hold, grabbing her step mother under her hips instead and letting Elizabeth's legs fall on either side of her. Looking back over towards Fyror, her expression filled with determination at this point. She was pushing down everything at that point to get the job done. Duty to her family came first, mourning would have to come later. She couldn't afford the weeping frenzy she so wanted to collapse in at that point. "Shall we try that again?" she said calmly as her grip tightened on her step mother. "On three... 1...2...3. Lift," she said as she she began t lift Elizabeth once again and prayed that it would work this time.

A grimace crossed Fyror’s face as he lost his grip on Mrs. Wyndham, unintentionally dropping the woman harshly back onto the iron table leg, further impaling her. Unlike Thalken, Fyror could feel empathy for even those who have wronged him. Mrs. Elizabeth Wyndham had made it clear on more than one occasion that she did not like him even for the pettiest of reasons, such as his marred appearance and being in the presence of Ms. Crane and Lady Crypt. However, he felt that no one truly deserved this agonizing pain. He glanced over at Millicent and nodded his head in response. He secured his grip this time before lifting on the count of three. This time they successfully lifted Mrs. Wyndham off of the table leg and carefully set her down on the ground beside it.

Thalken ran a hand over his face as he let out a disgruntled sigh. The presence of all three types of Soulless, Ryne, Hraew, and Cargast, in one confined area was a sure sign that the night was going to get a lot darker and a lot bloodier. His dark gaze swept back over the bloody massacre that had been left in the wake of the presently decapitated Ryne Catherine. One life had been lost. Jane’s limp body lied in a growing pool of her own crimson red blood. The life of Mrs. Wyndham likely hung in the balance as she lifted off of the iron rod she had been impaled upon. And the lives of Millicent and Emma were forever changed, having witnessed the traumatizing massacre and having to deal with the subsequent bloody aftermath. Thalken vaguely wondered how many more lives would be lost before each and every Soulless could be killed. His gaze landed on his throwing knife that laid roughly ten feet away from Millicent and Fyror in the midst of the blood. He stalked over to it, unfazed by the carnage he had to step over and around to get to it. He bent down to pick it up, and as he straightened back up his gaze landed on Millicent and Fyror for a moment. He deftly spun the throwing knife in his free hand before sheathing it and returning his attention to his surroundings. Whatever danger lurked in the shadows, he would be ready for it.

Elizabeth screamed in pain as she was set down on the cold ground, blood flowing freely from the open wound that pierced her from back to front. Emma fell to her knees in hysterics, the body of her sister laid spent on the ground near her and her mother lay dying in her eyes. Millicent however looked as cold as the stone balcony in which they stood. Reaching over and grabbing the torn slip, wrapping it quickly around her step mother despite the screams. Pulling it tight as she could muster and then even tighter still. Elizabeth gasping and passing out from the pain, her body going limp. "No!" Emma wailed, thinking her mother had too passed away. Yet Millicent could still feel the warmth in her mothers skin and see the beat of her heart against her throat.

"She is asleep, the pain was too much. It is good that she rests through it," Millicent uttered in a frozen voice. Though she knew if her mother passed away she would feel no obligation to marry Lord Rutherford. Elizabeth had been cruel to her always but she was the only mother she had left and she would do whatever was needed to see that she lived another day; no matter the pain that it would bring her. Even then, in the middle of everything Millicent could feel the sting of the broken skin on her cheek and everything it meant but she still tightened the silk even more, staving off the blood flow.

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"No!" screamed Mary's mind. Her face did not accurately reflect the sudden surge of confusion and denial that blasted into her conscious thought. Her body still functioned with observance and grace, but it was a horrifyingly detached autopilot. "No, no, no, NO!" It was not merely for the loss of life, though that was part of it. The Arch Graveolase had been killed, seemingly singled out from among the masses in attendance at this grand soiree. The Council that oversaw the Trained was without leader, having been snuffed from the world of the living by a Cargast while fleeing for his life, his last act upon the God's earth a supplication for protection.

But it wasn't. No, the last act of the once proud man was to announce Mary as... No, her mind couldn't quite process this fully. This was unheard of. Mary was a single Venator, a Knight in the service of the Church. She was no politician, she was no leader. She was not even a Knight Commander yet. Mary was a twenty-two year old woman without secular title or noble House, now entrusted with the care and defense of every man, woman, and child that breathed the life of the Soulled. It strangely fit very snugly to her Oath as a Dame of St. Sylvester, but on a massive scale. She would have to work this out later. Right now, she had a job to do, Arch Graveolase or merely Dame. If it be God's Will that she fall that evening, she would not do so as her predecessor did, right in front of her. Time to go to work.

Mary nodded her head gravely in response to Elizaveta's pledge to protect her. It seemed that their roles had changed, at least at face value. Mary still had the Grand Duchess's interests and safety at heart, but her responsibilities just got bigger. She had to change her tactic.

Perhaps it was the sudden rush of emotion that she tried to batter back down, but her Trained sense of Tanter picked up nothing useful whatsoever. There was evidence that Buckingham had been taken by a Cargast right in front of them, but she could not pick out the Soulless from the Soulled in that moment. Hefting her halberd in front of her, the young Apostolic intoned to Elizaveta, "We need to get to the Lady Crypt. She has talents which might help us." In truth, Mary wanted to gather a knot of Trained around them. Enough of different backgrounds would give them a fighting chance to repel what remained of this assault.

Elizaveta stood there, her eyes moved around slowly as she held her position. She stood at the entrance to the Octagon Anti-Chamber. To get back to Mosi and Virginia, or to at least where they saw them last they would have to go back through the Musicians Galley. Which at that time had a mound of bodies trying to get over each other and at least one dead one. Was there another route? She didn't know, this was her first time at Almack's. They needed to move, they needed protection. Elizaveta was still drained from her Ostanavlivat'sya earlier but from the looks of it she would need to perform it once more this evening. Yet there was still more to be done and Elizaveta could only think of one thing. The Vyzov. It was an old skill, a lesson taught in the woods of Russia to protect oneself from not only Soulless but from wolves, bears, and anything else that came your way.

"Ve need help," she said as her eyes locked with Mary. "I provide cover, you find a vay." A soft coo like a dove emanated from her vocal chords, barely over a whisper and hard to hear. Her lips pulsing as the bird like call exited her vocals. It seemed an odd time to practice bird calls. That was until sparrow swooped in through the front door and perched along the crown molding. Then another, and another. Soon they were coming in from the ballroom through the balcony, through the open windows, they seemed to come in from everywhere. Veta held up two fingers pressed against each other as she sped up the call, swirling it in the air. "Shov them the vay. They vill cover you."

Mary marveled at the massive flock of sparrows spiraling and tumbling in their aerial maneuvers above her. This was nothing short of amazing. Her own Training was almost purely, brutally martial; beautifully inspiring in its own right, pragmatic, and pure. But she had command of nothing as wondrous as this host of sparrows, making the air perilous for their enemies. The sight of it almost alleviated the weight set upon her heart just moments earlier. Though she did not smile, Mary's look of positive serenity returned.

With a flourish, the Papal Dame threw off her knightly cloak, letting it settle upon the fallen form of the Arch Graveolase. She could not give him proper protection in life; she could at least give it in a symbolic way now in his passing. She reached into the depths of her Tanter again, probing the rooms and grounds around her for any evidence of hidden Soulless. The infestation of the Inanimati was apparent; obvious even. Tanter would not reveal that which was not in hiding.

With her cloak shed, Mary looked quite the Hunter. Black, high collared cassock, rosaries about her wrist and neck, and armed to the teeth with howdah pistol, brace of short blades, and her more nigh trademarked halberd. She took a single step away from the Arch Graveolase, mentally plotting her movement for the push to come. She was getting to her friend, even if Hell barred the path before her. The fury of the righteous flashed in her eyes, contrasting the quiet grace of her youthful features.

Things at Almack's had gotten quite interesting rather quickly. The Soulless had made their move but just as quickly as they had arrived they started to make a run for it. What had happened to cause the sudden turn around? It was not the blood fest that many were panicking about. In fact the ton had done more damage to itself than the Soulless had done to them. They had only claimed two thus far in the madness that swirled through the event. The high borns had caused at least half a dozen of their own through panic and trampling. Those that had come in from the garden were now sprinting back out onto the balconies and making a break for the gardens. Those on the second floor were rounding their way back up the stairs and into the rooms from which they had come. Why the sudden change?

Elizaveta could not even ponder for where they were in the Octagon Anti-Chamber the only Soulless that had come had claimed it's victim before retreating back into the floor and elsewhere. Her birds swirling overhead and surrounding Mary and herself. Protecting them from whatever else may lurk. Looking over towards Mary she knelt down by the man who had once been in control of the Graveolase, resting her hand over the covering Mary had laid on him. "Go, I shall vatch over him until I can ensure he vill not turn," Elizaveta said in a calm voice as her eyes caught Mary's.

The Hraew that was attacking though refused to run, he was out for blood at this point and perhaps a snack. He did not retreat as the others did. Why? Why was he remaining? Three other Soulless had appeared at the top of the stairs, looking to come down until a sudden chill swept the whole of Almacks. It sent them turning and running back. A chill that Elizaveta felt rooms away and caused her eyes to widen. A chill that nearly buckled Millicent's knees as it cut through the thin silken fabric of her dress. One that would cut through them all.

"Aww lovely, trained ones do taste so much better. You's all takes mighty good care of yerself," the Hraew said looking over towards Mosi before he sprang once again. Not caring that his knife rested on the stairs at this point and within the reach of Virginia. He had hands that could be used to throttle Mosi's slender neck if she did not move quickly.

As Elizabeth lay there unconscious, Millicent finally took a breath. That breath all but did her in as she stood up fully. Looking over towards Fyror who was just a few feet from her. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing it down before she spoke. "Thank you, I am ever in your debt," she said in a weary voice towards Fyror before her eyes looked over towards Thalken. "And you sir." Her voice was cold and trembling at first, it was obvious she was furious but torn and that her heart had shattered that evening. "You did what I could not... I am eternally grateful for you placing my mother to rest," she said before dropping her eyes. "The Wyndham family is at your call should you ever need anything."

Then the cold cut through her, nearly buckling her already knocking knees. Taking a few steps to try to stay standing did nothing for her, all but collapsing against Fyror's strong frame. Her fingers curling against the red fabric of his coat as she gasped out. Then it came, the resolve left her. Her eyes closing tightly as she tried to stop it but it was of no use. She had lost her most cherished sister and her mother for a second time that evening. She didn't even feel the burn of the scratches on her arms, or the cut on her tight. Just the cold and desperation of loss. The tears flowed freely from behind her closed lids as she wept into Fyror's chest as she struggled to remaining standing and not crumble to the ground.





"Right away then," Nigel said before stepping out from behind the bar counter and heading into the back to take care of it personally. Calum smiled over towards Maeve as he picked up his tea cup and took a sip from it. He seemed to be relaxing a bit now that they were not only in an establishment he felt more comfortable in but the fact he was sitting down didn't hurt.

"They are truly wonderful, and you must have some scones come morning before we set off on our journey. Perfect with a nice pipping hot cup of tea. Though I will admit that Nigel makes a sublime Irish Coffee as well if that is more your style ma'am. Not that I am one to part-take in spirits. Other than the Holy Ghost," he said laughing as his little joke. "But I did mistakenly pick up one when I thought it was a hot cocoa one day. I must say it was more refreshing than I would have imagined. I can see the pull," he added before taking another sip of his tea and setting down the glass.

Turning he picked up his fork and dug into the meal. Savoring for the flavors and the warmth it provided as Nigels wife brought over a couple of blankets and a pillow. "Oh thank you, those will do quite nicely," he said gratefully. He wasn't looking forward to a night in the barn but it would be better than nothing in his mind.

"Nonsense. Nigel told me about the dilemma, you will take the couch in the office for the evening. I shan't be having a man of god sleeping sleeping out with the cows and pigs this evening. What would God say?" she said as she set them down on the bar top next to Calum.

"I would imagine he would say if it was good enough for his son to be birthed in, it is more than adequate for a man of my standing," he said smiling over to her and nodding.

"Well I wouldn't have put Mary there either. Now eat up and come see me when you are ready to turn in," she added before turning towards Maeve. "And I have your room all ready and turned down. Would you like a bath drawn? It looks as if you have had a rough travel."



Constable Smith followed Gerard up the stairs, glancing around as they made their way towards Millicent's room. He wanted to take a look at the study next but thought it best to see the room that hadn't been checked yet as far as he was aware before muddling through somewhere that had already be at least partially searched. Seeing Abigail come towards them he stopped and gave a respectable nod towards her. "Would be most appreciated miss," he said giving her a tip of his hat.

"Right this way, I be abouts to look in there me self I was. Don't want Miss Milli's room turned up sides down when she gets back from Almack's this evenin'. She had a right tough day as it were," Abigail said as she turned the knob and opened the door. "Well I be buggered," she said in surprise as she stepped in. There was nothing wrong with the room from the looks of things at first glance. Abigail stepping fully into the room and walking around, the constable following her in and cocking a brow.

Millicent's room was not as large as her step mothers or either of her sisters but Abigail did well keeping everything spit and polished and organized for her lady. It was obvious that Millicent's tastes were simple and subdued compared to most women her age. The bed was older, soft cottens in cornflower blue, grey and eggshell curtains. Most of the furniture in the room from the bed frame to the vanity and small sitting table were all of dark woods and covered plainly. Unlike the trendy brightly colored rest of the house that Mrs. Wyndham had decorated. Millicent had pt her foot down when it came to her step mother decorating her room. Arguing that no one but her and Abigail ever saw it so it was better left alone. The woman conceeded the point eventually and said in the end that she was glad not to have to redo the walls.

The Walls were almost nothing but shelves upon shelves of books. All were well read and excellently taken care of. Other than that there were her weapons, training gear, and then there was her art. Millicent had taken up sketching while she was in China growing up and become a humble talent in the art. There were portraits of her father and cousins on the wall. Cook hunched over the stove cooking, Everette tending to the garden, Abigail doing the wash, vague images of Catherine that were never completed. An easel sat near her window with a chair in front of it. On the sketch pad was Gerard sitting outside of the barn reading with Wendy curled up at his feet. He looked solemn sitting there; a sadness to his bright eyes but there was a slight smile on his lips as he looked up from the book in the image. As if he had seen something that no one else could right then towards the house.

"Miss Milli do love to draw, she started this one a few days ago. Had me running all abouts the city she did tryin' to find the right shade of blue fer yer eyes she did. Eventually she got alls in a huff and marched out into Jane's room and borrowed her eye colors. I swear, watching Miss Milli when she is sitting there working on her drawin's, now that something someone need to paint. Hardly ever see her so happy," Abigail mused to herself as she looked at the sketch on the easel.

"She does have a talent." Smith said looking at the pictures on the walls. "So nothing seems out of place here?"

"Naw, looks right as rain, minus the spill by the window," Abigail added as she pulled out a linen and dried up the water mark. The constable stepped over and took a closer look at the window. "The latch, it is missing several screws."

Abigail stopped and looked. "Well I'll be hornswaggled. Wasn't like that this mornin', opened that latch meself this mornin'."

"You should repair this, it would make for an easy entrance once again," the constable commented as he looked over at Gerard.

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The Nakai does nothing, between the chill, the smoke, the fight, the Hraew... Everything played against Mosi in that moment. The Hraews fingers tightened, cutting off circulation, nails piercing through the jugular, her neck snapping like kindling. There was nothing that could be done as the life drained from the unique woman and the face of Hraew pulled into a peeling smile as his mouth opened and he started to devour her facial flesh right there; sounds of rapturous enjoyment humming from his vocals as he ate.

Everything happened so fast. Mosi's attempt at Nakai failed and the Hraew was so fast. Before she knew it, it's hands were at her throat, the smoke, chill... everythign seemed to go wrong and against her at that moment. She didn't even have the chance to struggle as the nails pierced into her neck. The world was fading fast. It was cold... yet her neck felt briefly burning.' Sorry...' She could only briefly think as she knew that Virginia would be probably the next victim. There was no time or strenght to utter a single word. A pair of elegantly crafted axes slipped from her hands and let out a loud sound as they impacted into the floor, signifing her death. By the time he started to feed on her flesh, she was already gone.

Without pondering the mysterious chill that had startled her so slightly or as to why the Soulless had retreated at the top of the stairs, Virginia felt a fire ignite in her heart. Her eyes had a frightening intensity for them, as she heard Mosi die, as she heard her dear friend's axes clatter to the floor. She never would be able to voice that unspoken thing to her friend.

Brief images of her time with Mosi in the colonies flashed before her eyes, as she grit her teeth, almost as if she was barring fangs at the Hraew. She glared at the Hraew, as the fire of intensity spread throughout her own body. Adrenaline coursed through her and she was hardly aware of her each and every moment. The Crypt family did not shrink away from the darkness--no, they rode into it and were crowned as the victors.

In her collapsed position on the stairs, she pulled her thigh towards her, as to relax the muscle. With her hip bent, she straightened her knee out slowly, incredibly aware as the hraew continued to devour her friend. It seemed to have forgotten her, as far as she could tell, but her mind was pure rage. She put pressure on her kneecap and it popped back into place. That only freed Virginia to do what the Crypt family did best: murder.

"You must be daft or insane," Virginia warned darkly, rising to her feet. Her dress was torn, her hair was splayed around, and the look in her eyes would have frightened the devil himself. She practically fed off of the macabre, and her hand wrapped tightly around the ebony handle of her axe. She swung her axe at the Hraew's head from behind, not enough to kill him--no, only enough to injure. The Hraew rolled off of Mosi and onto the ground, scrambling for the knife he had dropped from earlier.

"Bah! You think you can be saved?" Virginia asked, her voice filled with venom. She swung her axe again, this time removing the Hraew's arm from its body. In her crouched position, she snatched up one of Mosi's axes, before repeating the favor for the other arm. "Do not beg for mercy, for you shall have none."

The Hraew attempted to scramble to its feet, and Virginia humored him, swinging her axe upwards, as to catch the chest of the Soulless creature. The adrenaline and rage continued to fuel her, and she stared into the eyes of the creature, holding him up through her axe. She still had her other hand "free," containing the other axe, the other instrument of death.

"I am a Crypt," Virginia explained, before pulling her axe out, causing the Hraew to stumble backwards and fall again on the stairs. "You are nothing--poison us, strangle us, break our bones: we will come back for more!" She threw her axes, one after another, until the Hraew had been all but immobilized.

"Pray that I do not meet you in Hell," Virginia snarled. "Satan's treatment will be far kinder than you deserve," she said finally, before picking up Mosi's other fallen axe, and throwing it at the Hraew's head. It hit its mark, piercing the skull and embedding itself in the brain matter of the Hraew. Virginia then picked up the fallen knife and stared at it for a mere moment, as if it had been a shame that she had not used it to inflict pain upon the Hraew as well.

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Maeve laughed at Calum's joke, amused with his play on words. Catholics and Protestants tended to bicker to an extreme when it came to the Holy Ghost, but she saw no reason to pick a fight with Calum. It would be like entering a sparring match with a baby. He'd flail about and she would feel only a sense of pity for him. In her opinion, her deaf daughter was far more capable of protecting herself and navigating the world of miscreants than Calum was.

"Yer may be a lad av God, Calum, but even God wud not want us ter live withoyt tastin' 'ard tack," Maeve replied curtly, taking another sip of her beer. "It'll do yer gran'," she insisted. She was Irish, after all, a nation practically known for divulging in alcohol at almost every occasion. And when Calum admitted that he saw the pull of spirits, she couldn't help but grin with a bit of pride.

Of course, she figured that no matter what she said, the man would stick to tea. She could lead a horse to water, but she couldn't make him drink. As Calum returned to his meal, so did Maeve. She enjoyed the warmth of it, feeling as it practically spread throughout her body. It was a welcome change from the treatment on the ship from Ireland. Why, even Calum's lodgings in the stable would be an improvement on how they were quartered on that vessel.

Nigel's wife had a good deal of sense to her, as far as Maeve was concerned, when she announced the switch in Calum's lodgings. The man was daft to sleep in the stables, as far as she was aware. The man was awfully frightened just walking through the port town, she could hardly imagine what the night would be like for him. She wouldn't have been shocked if he was deathly afraid of spiders as well.

"A bat' wud be pure failte, t'anks," Maeve replied, smiling gratefully at Nigel's wife.

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Elizaveta chose to remain with the fallen Buckingham. Mary wished that it was not so, that she could enter into glorious battle against the coming tide of Soulless that threatened the people of London. Even though most of the persons patronizing Almack's were less pious and more proud, they were still possessed of a Soul, which meant they deserved the Lord's judgement, not that of the darkness spreading within this place.

So many mistakes were made tonight. Overconfidence and neglect led to this tragedy. Pride led to this. It cometh before a fall, and still served as the chiefest of Cardinal Sin; the one without which the others could not bloom. Pride kept others from allowing people like her to fulfill their obligations to the Soulled, be it because of jealousy, fear, petty politics, or some other unknown motivation. Well, Mary was steadfast in her current prediction that this incident would take gigantic strides in changing that particular social dynamic. It was just a shame that people had to die first. And that is die, if they were lucky. Their bodies would have to be attended before too long. She hoped that she would have the courage to forgive the people in charge of the event tonight, but there would have to be a sincere form of humble atonement.

But Mary could not dwell upon this at the moment. She had somewhere she was needed. The young Venator est Inanimati nodded back to the Grand Duchess, intoning the words, "With your leave, Your Grace." in her dulcet voice, made hard by the role she was stepping into. Stealth was pointless now. She had the cover of several hundred small birds and better training than any career soldier the Empire could field, not to mention the surety of her faith propelling her onward.

Mary took three measured steps toward the right corridor. She strained her neck to either side, issuing audible pops from her vertebrae. She twirled her halberd in her hands as she walked, bringing it to rest in a ready position. With intonation that would have struck terror into even the most hardened criminal, Mary growled, "Let us pray." and took off at a sprint.

The host of sparrows swirling about her, Mary flung herself toward the right corridor. She truly did intend to give supplication to God in that moment, regardless of her sudden onset of righteous indignation; and so with this in mind, kept a prayer on her lips as she ran. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name..." Mary had reached the corridor and surged forward, picking up more speed.

"...thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven..." She made it to the end of the corridor. An open archway separated her from the right stairwell and the doorway to the upper Musician's Gallery for the Card Room, which she blew through without losing appreciable speed.

"...give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us..." The fastest way to the door beyond the middle Musician's Gallery was to use the walkway beneath. Mary slipped down into the walkway and sped across, raising the butt of her halberd to slam open the slightly ajar door between herself, and the room that was the last place she saw Virginia enter. She braced to slam open the door, reciting the last lines of "Our Father", her voice growing in might as she came to the end. "And lead us not into temptation..."

She did not envy whatever godless opposition was on the other side of that door.

As Abigail swung the door open what they saw was far from what they initially expected. Everything seemed to be in order, far from the messy state of the first floor office. Gerard followed Abigail and the constable inside the bedroom. It was the first time he had ever set foot inside Millicent's room, let alone saw it from the inside. It made him slightly nervous, as if he was intruding her own personal space. He tried not to look around too much while he wipes the small beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. It was rather surprising, and almost didn't feel like they were inside a lady's personal bedroom as the interior alone didn't look as such. Everything was so simple and plain, except for the impressive collection of books and weapons and training gear displayed on the sides, for a second Gerard thought they entered the wrong room and instead was inside the bedroom of a studious young man. But then again around every corner, was very much like Millie he thought. It was baffling to think a woman would live in such an unconventional lifestyle but to, Gerard Millie's special that way.

At one corner of the room were Millie's art works. Gerard went over and viewed her works. Millie has always been really good at art, she has the talent and the potential to be recognized. What he likes most is watching her comfortably sat down while she works, immersed at what she does which Gerard never fails to smile at the wonderful sight.

His eyes scanned from one picture to the other, staying longer at the unfinished sketches of her mother. He only knew Chatherine through Millie's own stories and Gerard could tell the yearning in her voice as she reminisces. Gerard relates to that to a degree, never been coming home for years since he left have made him miss his own mother.

His eyes turned to the artwork on the easel, he moved closer never leaving his look at drawing of himself. He didn't exactly remember when she took this, but it was probably the time she had caught him staring, looking up and giving her a smile as he always does. Abigail told what she'd went through just to get the color of his eyes right, Gerard couldn't help but smile softly at the story, but the truth in Abigail's words saddens him. Though he was never that guy who could light up a room, that never stopped him in doing his own way just to make her smile. With how much he cared for Millie he could give more, but in truth he can only do so much.

Gerard had to cut his own deep thoughts when the constable had a discussion with Abigail, to her surprise, of the missing screws of the window's latch. He walked away from the easel, and towards the window. He took a look at it, "That explains how he got it then." Yet why did the perp left the bedroom in it's current, tidy state unlike the office downstairs?

He nodded at the constable's suggestion of repairs. "I'll make sure of it." His hand still cupping the jar, which he sooner just noticed, Gerard walked up to the nearest desk from where he was, and placed the flowers, newly contained and watered.

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Having defeated the Hraew, Virginia's next course of action would have been to examine the area for any further threats. But before she could properly observe the area, her eyes fell upon dear Mosi. The Hraew may have been killed, but that did not remove the effects of its feeding. The entire world around her seemed not to exist anymore, as she looked down at her fallen friend. A moment prior, she had been on the rampage, fearless and fierce in battle.

But then she collapsed to the floor, choking back tears but it was useless. Her body shook like a heathen who had finally seen the light, yet rather than being overcome with the spirit, Virginia was overcome with woe. The sobs were seemingly never ending, the completely natural human reaction that hardly anyone would expect to grace the face of a Crypt. It would perhaps be the most unnerving thing that Virginia had ever done. She could hardly speak, as between the shaking and the crying she was fortunate to be able to draw breath, as short and broken as it was. Her eyes appeared bloodshot. She mumbled some incoherent words and smiled broadly at Mosi, before finding herself caught in the tears once more, as helpless to prevent them as a ship caught in a storm that it could not beat.

Slowly, from the distance, a sound grew louder. It was a tittering, rustling sound, dotted briefly by unclear words spoken in powerful, mellifluous tones. As the source of the noise approached, light footfalls accompanied the growing cacophony, tapping rhythmically, giving a rough and foreboding cadence. A single sparrow hopped into the smoky room through the crack that the slightly ajar door provided. It hopped once more, fluttered its wings, and chirped quietly, audible over the growing din farther behind it. The sparrow; simultaneously a symbol of God's love and a messenger of death - a collector of souls, guide to the hereafter. It was quickly joined by another. Then another. Within seconds, a horde of the tiny songbirds were pushing their way into the room, steadily opening the door in their rush forward. The growing sound of footfall, voice, and rustling reached an apex, for the first time revealing with clarity the words being spoken. It was a prayer.

The door to the Musician's Gallery was ripped from its hinges, giving way to the combined onslaught of avian and Catholic might. It clattered upon the floor to the righteous incantation of "...but deliver us from Evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever." The smartly postured form of Mary Ignatia Hale stepped through the doorway, hundreds of sparrows flooding in around her. Light glinted from the blessed steel of her halberd and illuminated her fiery red hair, giving the appearance of a blood-tinted halo. The steadfast Dame strode confidently into the smoke-darkened room, voice hammering a single word into the air with the finality of a coffin nail: "...Amen."

Virginia's gaze was torn away from her fallen friend's corpse as dozens of sparrows flew into the room. Although she was still crying, she had regained enough control of herself to recognize her surroundings and to see her good friend, Mary Hale, enter the room. Had she been in a better mood, she perhaps would have clapped for an entrance such as that, and remarked that if Mary truly wanted to convert more to Catholicism, those entrances would be enough to persuade a crowd. Instead, tears continued to mar her face, as she regarded Mary, curious as to the birds but still grieving for the loss of Mosi. The breakdown may have faltered, but she still felt entirely morose.

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After carefully setting Mrs. Wyndham down, Fyror straightened back up to his full height and stepped aside to allow Millicent to work unimpeded. From where he stood, he could not see Millicent’s face so he could not fully gauge her thoughts or feelings. However, the obvious tension in her demeanor indicated she was likely under a fair amount of physical and mental strain. She was staying strong, admirably so, but he had a feeling it would not last. He was worried about how she would be when the pain of all she had suffered inevitably came crashing down upon her. Regardless, he would stay here, by her side, letting his presence comfort her and strengthen her.

He watched with sadness in his eyes as Millicent diligently tended to her stepmother’s wound, using the torn slip of her dress as a bandage of sorts to stave off the bleeding. The intense pain ultimately caused Mrs. Wyndham to fall unconscious. His heart hurt as Emma wailed and Millicent reassured her stepsister in an uncharacteristically frozen voice. He took a small step back to give Millicent space as she stood up and turned to him. His soft gaze immediately sought out hers. When she thanked him, he felt that he did not truly deserve such heartfelt gratitude. He still felt guilty for ever leaving her side. If he had stayed with her, perhaps Jane would not be dead, Mrs. Wyndham would not be gravelly injured, and Millicent and Emma would not be hurt and forever traumatized. Who’s to say he could have changed fate? He supposed one could only hope.

Fyror followed Millicent’s gaze to Thalken, the strange man he had seen earlier whom he assumed had beheaded the Ryne. He cannot recall ever seeing the man before today. The man was certainly not someone he could have easily forgotten, with his dark clothes, cold eyes, and overall menacing demeanor. He tensed as Millicent addressed Thalken, and he fought the urge to step closer to her in an unnecessarily protective manner. He was completely taken aback by what she said, his breath hitching slightly in his throat. The Ryne had been her mother?! His gaze immediately went to the beheaded Soulless that was a mere few feet away. His brows furrowed deeply as his attention returned to her. He felt her pain like a stab to the heart, and he wanted more than anything to take her into his arms and comfort her. Perhaps God thought kindly of him as he was granted just that. He barely took note of the coldness that cut through him as his attention was focused on Millicent as she collapsed. He easily caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her slender frame. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re safe now,” he reassured her softly as she began to cry. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms in a comforting manner as he held her against his muscular chest.

The tears continued to fall and more freely once Fyror gave her the needed strength to remain on her feet. Leaning against his strong frame and letting him keep her knees from buckling beneath her. The Soulless seemed to be evacuating the area as quickly as they came in but Millicent didn't notice. All she could feel was the warmth of Fyror's arms and the only thing she could hear was the beating of his heart beneath his chest. She was not used to being this close to a man, much less balling her eyes out. Such things were not typical with Millicent. She would usually keep her distance. Afraid someone might mistake a simple gesture as her doing anything shameful. Never wanting to give the appearance that she would do anything to cause the tons gums to flap. Right then that thought didn't even cross her mind, all she could think of was the image of her mother trying to kill her and the black stare on her mothers face as Catherine's head rolled across the ground to her feet.

Emma was still hysterical but Millicent couldn't even hear that. Nothing was getting through, not even Fyror's words of comfort. It wasn't until she heard a moan from the ground did anything outside of her own despair even register. Her eyes open and she glanced down to see her step mother coming back into consciousnesses. The ton outside was still frantic, inside it was still hell. A round and pudgy man finally fighting his way outside. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on the scene, he looked like he had just stepped out of hell. Then he saw Elizabeth and his look changed. It was as if a light switch had gone off and he rushed to her side, as quickly as he could on portly legs. "I'm Dr. Graham," was all he said as he got to examining her. After a minute he looked around. "We need to get her to Westminster Hospital, this place is not safe," he stated. "You there, give me a hand," he shouted, waving towards a man standing behind Fyror and Millicent, coming around the corner from the southern side of the balcony. It was Rutherford and he was throwing daggers with his eyes as he glared towards Millicent, his vest and coat covered in blood and his sword in his hand.

Fyror could not deny that he liked the feeling of Millicent in his arms, with her cheek pressed against his chest. However, he wished it was under better circumstances. In the moment, he thought not about how he had never been this close to a woman or how this could be deemed inappropriate, particularly given that she was engaged. All he felt was his overwhelming desire to protect and comfort this woman, and for once he let down his guards and gave into the desire wholeheartedly. His hands went from her arms to rub her back comfortingly. His heart ached at seeing her so upset and listening to her cry, her tears dampening his red coat. He wished he could somehow take away her pain and suffering and bear it for her. “I am here for you, always,” he whispered to her, his breath tickling the hairs on her head.

When Mrs. Wyndham moaned, apparently regaining consciousness, he let out a small sigh and turned his head to look at the woman. The sound also seemed to rouse Millicent from her current misery. A man grabbed his attention as he quickly came over to them, stating that he was a doctor. Instead of feeling relief, suspicion weighed on him. Where did this man come from, and how did he so conveniently show up now? When the man began waving someone else over, Fyror’s gaze snapped over to the approaching individual. His blood ran cold at who he saw: Lord Rutherford, Millicent’s fiancé. The realization that he was holding another man’s woman in a seemingly intimate way came crashing down on him. He was just about to jerk away from Millicent as quickly as he could when he remembered that she was still unsteady on her feet. He lessened his contact with her to where it was just enough to keep her upright as he apprehensively watched Lord Rutherford approach them.

Millicent leaned against Fyror, trying to stem the tide of tears but it was of no use. Even while she looked down at Elizabeth she still couldn't stop. Feeling Fyrors arms encircling her she clung to him tighter, hoping it was a nightmare. It was but it was not one that she would awaken from. She took comfort in his embrace but it was short lived. As soon as it was there she could feel it subsiding. Her eyes coming up, gazing up to him through blood shot eyes and damp cheeks. Why was he letting her go right then? Not fully but enough to where she could feel it lessening. Then she heard a throat clear and fear shot through her. "I will take my fiance," Rutherford hissed as he sheathed his blade. Milli's eyes darting over towards her fiance, her head lowering. Suddenly feeling shame for being in another man's arms, or was it shame that she was about to leave those very arms? Arms of a warm caring man for those of a cold tyrant?

At that moment Millicent wondered if she could really go through with this. It seemed her reasons for agreeing to marry Rutherford were waning, as was her resolve. Her dearest sister Jane was dead, her step mother seemed to be on that path. If Elizabeth passed, she could cry off the agreement and keep her honor. Emma would not longer be in danger, would she? No one to force either of them to marry Rutherford. Surly she would be damned for thinking such, that it would be a blessing twice over to lose two mothers in a single night. Shame fully took her then, feeling like a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. No, she had to follow through. No matter what. If only to save her own soul at this point, penance for evening thinking the passing of another would do well to keep her happy. Millicent felt like a monster just then, pushing herself away from Fyror, even if reluctantly. Millicent seemed to turn to stone as Rutherford took her arm and pulled her over to him. "She is mine," Rutherford said in a flat voice as he eyed Fyror.

"Would someone help me move this woman?" the doctor called out.

Fyror’s heart cried out in protest of returning Millicent to the wretched Lord Rutherford, but his honor was too great to keep her from her fiancé. He knew it wasn’t his place to meddle in their affairs; however, that knowledge alone did not settle the storm of emotions brewing within. His jaw clenched as he used all his willpower to remove his grip from Millicent and let Lord Rutherford take her. He averted his gaze from her, instead fully meeting her fiancé’s gaze. There was an intensity in his eyes, almost menacing. He straightened further, his chest broadening and muscles tensing. He took on a demeanor that was as authoritative as his rank of captain in the British infantry would require, and his gaze pierced through Lord Rutherford. “Where were you when her sister was murdered, her stepmother impaled, and she was attacked, all of which was done by a Ryne that used to be her beloved mother? This is the same Ryne that was then beheaded before her eyes. I know she is yours, and I do not intend to take her from you for myself. If you truly do care for Ms. Wyndham, you will treat her with the respect she deserves and her safety will be your number one priority. And I warn you when I say that I will hold you wholly responsible for it,” Fyror states deadly serious, an edge clearly heard in his voice. He held Lord Rutherford’s gaze long enough for his words to sink in before turning to help the doctor move Mrs. Wyndham.

Tightening his grip on Millicent's arm Rutherford looked coldly at Fyror. "Where I was is none of your concern. A Lord does not answer to a lowly such as yourself," he stated brazenly with all the ego of many Lords. Millicent was not sure how to take what Fyror was saying yet she knew exactly how to take the words that came out of Rutherfords lips next. "What ever pain befalls her from this point on, rest assured, it was brought about because of you," he hissed. Millicent felt her stomach knotting. "Come Millicent, we are leaving," he said moving to pull her away.

"No," she stated with ice in her voice. Rutherford gave her a warning look. Her strength wavering. "I must go with my mother," she stammered out. Rutherford eyed Elizabeth and then Emma.

"Your sister is in better shape than you, let her. You have things to tend to." Millicent began to shake her head and tried to stand her ground but a voice, so weak broke into the scene.

"Milli, go, you know what has to be done," Elizabeth said as lay there. The doctor telling her to keep quiet, that she mustn't strain herself. Millicent looked hopelessly towards her step mother but nodded in compliance. Her sister saying she would stay with their mother through the tears. There was nothing left in Millicent to argue, defeated. It was her penance... Rutherford tightened his grip even more before snatching Millicent and dragging her away.

"Remember, the pain you are about to feel is because of him," Rutherford growled into Millicent's ear as they rounded the corner.

If Lord Rutherford’s words were meant to frighten him, they did not have their intended effect. No, the man’s words only angered him. His jaw clenched tightly, and his hands were held in fists at his sides. However, he refused to let the man get on his nerves to the point that he did something foolish. This was a dangerous game he was now playing, and Millicent was in the middle of the line of fire. He did not want her with that wretched man, but he also did not want her to pay the price if he failed. He had to let her go, at least for now. Fyror did not look back at them as they left, knowing it would only break his resolve. He took a deep, calming breath before walking over to Dr. Graham who was by Mrs. Wyndham’s side.

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Thalken remained vigilant, his piercing gaze carefully watching his surroundings and taking in more than his demeanor gave away. His muscles were tensed in anticipation, and his hand flexed and unflexed around the hilt of his sabre. He was like a predator awaiting its prey and that small window of opportunity to go in for the kill. His prey were the Soulless, and he felt that he could relish in this hunt without any regrets. Just then, two Soulless charged out onto the balcony. His eyes darkened and his pulse quickened in response. He spun his sabre in his hand, and he took a few steps forward, ready to take them on. Oddly enough though, the Soulless took no mind of the easy pickings around them but instead continued running away, heading towards the gardens. His head tilted slightly to the side in confusion at this sudden change of events. He also felt an odd pang of disappointment at being denied the opportunity to hunt them. What could have possibly scared them off? Surely, nothing good.

His ever-intense gaze swung back over to Fyror and Millicent. His cold expression remained unchanged as Millicent addressed him, and his demeanor gave no clear indication of his surprise and how speechless he truly felt. He simply blinked after he heard how grateful she was for what he had done. He had gruesomely beheaded the Ryne that had once been her mother, and yet she was thankful? Despite the torn look on her face and the trembling coldness in her voice, she seemed to mean what she said. He could not form any words to respond, so he just stood there for a moment, unabashedly staring at her even after she had since looked away. He was not at all accustomed to being thanked for anything he had done, certainly not for taking a life. Usually he was just handed money and that was thanks enough. He knew in his heart that he should not take Millicent up on her offer as his father would only bring the Wyndham family more pain. And since he did not know what to do or say, he just turned away and walked off.

The cold hit him soon after, and while his mind was not otherwise occupied, a realization dawned on him. His twin sister Thalcona had never followed him out of the ballroom. She is still in there, alive or—No. She cannot be dead. She is too skilled a warrior and too quick on her feet to have been killed. “Dammit,” he muttered. He took off at a jog towards the entrance to the ballroom, his sabre still in his hand. Seeing as the Soulless were rapidly leaving the premise, things inside were beginning to calm down. The operative word is beginning, as fist fights were still brewing. The idiots were acting as if the threat was each other rather than the Soulless. He shook his head. Sometimes he never really understood the ton, let alone had any desire to.

Thalken carefully looked around for his sister, eventually finding her partially hidden underneath the banister that overlooked the ballroom. He jogged over to her, letting out a small whistle to get her attention. Thalcona’s head swung over to look in his direction, and her eyes narrowed when she spotted him. “Where the hell were you?!” she hissed at him as he approached. Despite her harsh tone, he could still see the relief in her eyes at seeing that he was safe.

“Killing a Ryne. That’s what I was doing,” he retorted with a hint of smugness in his normally cold voice.

“Well rub it in, why don’t you?” she remarked sarcastically, as she gave him a halfhearted stink eye. He smirked as he walked up alongside her. He let out a small sigh and leaned against the banister.

While the attack on Almack's had been vicious and there had been deaths it seemed that Lady Luck had smiled on the majority of the ton. the Soulless were fleeing back from whence they came. The people that had been fighting each other trying to flee were slowly coming back to the right mind set. What blood they were trying to shed seemed to freeze and run cold with the scream. they stopped the battle amongst themselves, lowering their weapons and glancing around as if they had come from a daze. Was there something more going on? Or had sanity finally gripped them enough to let them know they were not each others enemies. At least not when it came to this. The fight for brides and grooms was still on.

The panic seemed to be vanishing just as the Soulless were. That was accept for out front. Millicent felt her arm burning from the grip that Rutherford had on her arm. She wanted to cry out at this point. Leaving her mother and sister behind. Leaving another mother and sister dead on the cold ground. It didn't sit right. She wanted to go back. Rutherford's threat only added to the tension, to the fear that was gripping her fiercer than her future husbands claws. "I have to go back," she finally said through trembling lips, digging her heels into the ground as Rutherford tried to wrestler her into the carriage.

"Get in. Now," he said plainly, fire flashing in his eyes. Millicent's widened and she shook her head, jerking her arm away. She had to get back to her family. They needed her didn't they? Rutherford's grip tightened and Millicent's lips split as a whimper of pain escaped. this made a sadistic grin come to his lips. The world seemed to slow as she saw the look in his eyes. His words from earlier ringing in her ears. She had thought he had only meant the pain of his grip in his arm when he had spoken but now looking at those dark pools he called eyes she knew he had meant so much more.

"No... please..." she pleaded as she tried harder and harder to push away from him but she was took weak from the blood loss, from losing her mother and her sister, from her step mothers words that she knew what she had to do. Her words and pulling away only seemed to fuel Rutherford's salacious intent. Why had she left? She had felt safe with Fyror, as if nothing could harm her as long as she was near him. It was the same feeling she had when she was reading with Gerard. The same feeling she missed when her father had been home.

Yet here she was, being manhandled into a carriage as the rest of the ton cared nothing for what was happening. They were all too involved in their own world to see that hers was about to come crashing down. The carriage door swung shut once Rutherford had gotten Millicent inside. The sound of his fist hammering against the roof a few times indicated to his driver to go ahead and leave. The curtains to the carriage dropped, hiding them away from the rest of the world. As the carriage pulled away from Almack's and headed down the street Millicent wished her mother would have finished her off before she was beheaded.

Inside, Elizaveta stayed with the body of the passed Graveolase. She knew she needed to protect his soul, to make sure that he would not turn into a monster of the night. That his years of work to keep more from perishing to these beasts did not dwindle away into nothingness, canceled out by what would happened if he were to change. The young Grand Duchess knew she had time, so she waited. If she would have to fight for souls that evening, she wanted to do it all at once. Not one at a time like she had back in the catacombs. There was only enough strength running her her veins that evening to perform the Ostanavlivat'sya once more.

Keeping her Shashka in hand she gathered the folds of her gown in her free hand and lowered herself to the floor. The thick fabric of her gown billowing out around her as she rested on her knees. Smoothing out the skirt she rested her hand in her lap and sat still, waiting. She did not want to risk leaving his side and the body being taken without her knowledge. If that were to happen there was a chance she wouldn't find him again in time. She wouldn't risk it. How she wished Myshka was there next to her. He would have kept her and many others safe. His bright blue eyes would have given her comfort. His frame and fierceness would have given her strength. Yes, she wished he could have attended with her.

Out on the balcony area, Emma stood up and moved out of the way for Fyror and the doctor. They were going to move her and Emma wasn't sure to do, she wasn't sure she could do anything. She wasn't like Millicent. She wasn't trained, she wasn't strong. Yet if she had know what was happening to Millicent right then she would have been glad she had not caught the eye of Rutherford, or Fyror. "Wha... what about my sister.... and her..." she said pointing over towards Catherine's body.

"We help the living, others will be around to help the dead," Dr. Graham said before taking a gentle hold of Elizabeth and waiting for Fyror to help him hoist her up. "Over there, we can lay her on that glass top and then move the glass to a carriage to get her to the hospital," he said motioning with his chin behind Fyror some ways. "Careful now, we need to move her but we need to keep her as still as possible."

"You, girl, move the items off the table, quickly now," he added. Emma was just staring at the bodies, the doctors voice snapping her out of her daze and quickly rushing over. She wasn't dainty about it, pushing glasses, plates, flowers off the table with no regard to the fact that they broke into hundreds of pieces as they hit the cold floor. Rushing back over, she took personal effects from Janes body and retrieved her mothers reticule. Looking over at Catherine, she had to choke back the gasp as she spotted a locket on the ground next to her. It had been crushed but she could clearly see what it had used to hold. Reaching down carefully she gingerly picked it up, a worn image of Millicent when she was very young was in it. She hadn't known Milli when she was young but she had seen numerous paintings in both the Wyndham households. Tucking it away, she made a vow to make sure that Millicent got this token from her. It was the least she could do.

In the ballroom things were calming down quickly. The ton no longer at each others throats but the place was anything but calm. People were worried, understandably so. Yet it was only about how this would affect the rest of the season. Many were talking about hosting their events outside of London at their country estates. Others were gossiping about those that lay dead on the ground, no one taking responsibility for anyone they had personally killed. It was all blamed on the Soulless and rumors spread like wild fire to why each one of them had been targeted. Certain families were certain to be black listed for the rest of the season, it didn't matter a Soulless hadn't killed them and they had done it to themselves. The ton was fickle and they were glad to use the attack as a cover to be able to blame their hatred for one another on something more tangible.

The hallway where the stairs were was starting to clear out of smoke. The burning body doing little more than smoldering at that point. The other body lay there motionless but as anyone trained knew, they would not remain that way for long. Death was not a true death when it came to these Soulless. Matters had to be dealt with before they would forever rest in the wormy earth. The sparrows swirled around above Mary, looking for direction from her. Though they had been summoned by another they would continue to cover Mary until the connection with Elizaveta was broken. That could come at any time, it was never a set amount of time for them to swarm. Something in the circumstances dictated their loyalty and movements.



Nigel's wife gave a nod of her head and went off, heading up the stairs at the back of the tavern to start fixing the room up. Grabbing one of the girls as she went to inform her to start eating water up for their guest. Calum had gone back to his tea and stew in the meanwhile, enjoying the meal and waiting on the dessert to be brought out. Normally he may have asked for a second bowl. He did so love food. His sin was obviously gluttony but one wouldn't know by his stature. He was tall, lanky, and spindly. He had always been that way, even since he was a young boy. No matter how much he ate he never seemed to be able to gain any weight. It made him very different in yet another way from the rest of the men in his family. All of them broad of shoulder and strong of back. Seemed the only strength that Calum had was an iron stomach and his faith.

Eventually Nigel came out from the back carrying a couple of plates. Each one held a thick puff pastry on it. Delicate pastry braided together and within it held warm strawberry jam and smooth almond butter. A top of it was fresh cream that had been fluffed with sugar. Calum slowly lowered his spoon as he spotted the braids and one could almost hear his mouth beginning to drool. The smell of almonds and butter and strawberries hit the air around them as Nigel stepped behind the bar and set one down in front of each of them.

"Oh heavens, that does look and smell divine Nigel. Your darling wife has truly out done herself. If these taste half as delicious as they appear, and I am sure they do, we are in for a rare treat. God has surely blessed her with a gift," he said excitedly as he reached forward and pulled the small plate close to him. Picking up the delicate work of culinary art he took a slow bite. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he bit through the pastry and pulled the piece away from the rest. grasping the counter of the bar with his free hand it was obvious he was more than enjoying himself. He was in heaven, on cloud nine as the flavors danced over his taste buds.

"One of the reasons our marriage does so well. As long as she keeps cooking she could do anything and I would forgive it. Why I keep such a hefty sized waist," he laughed as he patted his belly. "Martha tells me that me darling wife is putting you up in the office over night. Splendid idea. I should have thought of it myself. Now, is there anything else I can get for you two this evening?" he asked as he picked up a glass from behind the bar and started cleaning it.



"Good man, I am sure the Miss will be very happy about that when she returns," Constable Smith said to Gerard as he said he would fix the window. Turning he took another walk around the room, taking a closer look at the drawings Millicent had done. Stepping over towards her bed, he was trying to get a closer look at one in a frame on her night stand.

"Who is this?" he asked pointing to the older gentleman in the picture.

"Oh him? That be Mr. Wyndham," Abigail said she looked over to Smith.

"And where is he this evening? Out with the family?"

"No sir. I wish he would be. Mr. Wyndham went missin' some times ago. Millicent does miss him terribly. We alls do. He be a right fine man and a very good employer. He always been treatin' all of us right he do. Take cares of us likes we were family. Miss Milli mights gets her looks from her mothers, she gets her heart from her pops she do," Abigail said and then sighed. She wasn't lying. She really did miss Mr. Wyndham, she doubted there was a person in the house that didn't. Even Emma and Jane had taken to him and he had welcomed them with open arms. It was one of the reasons Millicent was so protective of them, Mr. Wyndham was the lynch pin that kept the family together.

Constable Smith nodded and turned to leave the room, wanting Gerard to show him the study now but his foot caught the edge of a book under Millicent's bed. Leaning down he picked it up. it was a worn leather artists journal. Flipping it open he looked through a few pages, his eyes going over to Gerard from time to time and then back to the pages as he glanced over it. Snapping it closed he set it back where he had found it and moved over towards the door. "Could you show me the study now? I think I have seen everything there is here," he said politely to Gerard before turning towards Abigail and tipping his hat to her. "Thank you for your time and help miss."

"Ain't be no problem sir. I's locks up once I turn down Miss Milli's bed for the evening and be's right down in case y'all need anything," she said quickly. Spinning on her heels she went to preparing the room for Millicent when she got home.

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As amusing as Maeve found Calum's utter astonishment with the pastries to be, she could not deny that they looked scrumptious. The aroma of butter, almonds, and strawberries hit her nose, and although she wasn't nearly drooling like Calum, she did look fondly at the pastries. Growing up, she had never had treats such as this, and she still treated sweets as a delicacy.

She glanced at Calum for a moment before trying the pastry herself, noticing the way he gripped the counter as he ate. It brought another chuckle to her lips. The man may not have been wed, but she couldn't help but find him all but engaged to Nigel's wife's cooking. The experience looked practically religious to him. She then took a bite herself, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. It tasted even better than it smelled and looked.

"Aye, God is certainly present in de cookin' 'ere," Maeve agreed. As a Catholic, she believed in transubstantiation during Holy communion, and she couldn't help but feel she had found to Protestant equivalent. Calum couldn't have been more right--God had blessed Nigel's wife with an amazing skill. It certainly seemed to be the secret to a happy marriage for Nigel, and Maeve felt a moment of sadness, remembering her departed husband. They may not have been lovers all too long into the marriage, but she still missed him dearly and prayed for his soul.

As for whether or not they needed anything else, Maeve couldn't help but want a smoke and some drunken singing, but she doubted this inn was the place for that. She also was tired and exhausted from the journey, and couldn't help but look forward to the bath being drawn for her.

"Nothin' comes ter mind, t'anks," Maeve replied, and then she took another bite of the pastry.

A part of him wished he could have been there to accompany Mr. Wyndham the day he went missing. He wondered if he could still be here today if he ever did accompany him. The thought of it upsets him, as he constantly felt that he was partly to blame, it was part of his job to guard him after all. Gerard was loyal to the man, he was Mr Wyndham's right hand man if you will. The man never saw what others see in him, a hopeless mess, when he was at his lowest. Instead he saw something precious, without a second of a doubt, and for that he was graciously thankful, vowing his loyalty to him and his family with his life. He had a kindness that he thought was uncommon, a kindness he saw from nobody else since but with Millie.

The constable motioned Gerard as they were about to move out, when the constable paused and pick up what he assumed to be Millicent's journal. Raising a brow, Gerard could not read the look Constable Smith was showing while he glanced at him from time to time. Whatever it was, his curiosity was piqued. But having something kept under the bed, of all places, was warning enough that it was not meant to be seen by anyone. Except maybe for a constable in the middle of a crucial investigation. Gerard urged himself to leave it be.

Gerard nodded at the constable's request, and went over at Abby before they left the room. " I'll be back to fix the window once I'm done assisting the constable." he smiled gently and followed Constable Smith. He lead him downstairs and to the the office, going in first where he showed to him it's ransacked state.

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Sparrows continued circling overhead, a gift from the Grand Duchess to Mary. Luckily, the cover that they provided did not appear to be necessary to reach the object of her search: Virginia Crypt. When she began this search, it was with the intent of enlisting her help to provide a more balanced defense against the Soulless attacking Almack's. But upon seeing her there, weeping upon the floor by the fallen body of her friend, she realized that God put her upon this path to help, not to request it for herself.

The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by concern. Virginia was a friend of hers, as close as any she had in London. While she did not know this unique woman, Mosi, she could sense the utter sorrow in the eyes of the surviving Lady Crypt. This was not like her, not from what she had seen. She rushed to Virginia and took a knee, setting her halberd down and offering her arms in embrace. "I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm so very sorry. Are you hurt? Can you stand? Please, let me help you." She had to raise her voice somewhat, the flapping of the birds overhead was a constant source of white noise.

"This was not her place," Virginia whispered, gazing at Mosi a moment more. She had never seen the woman any happier than when the pair of them had been in the colonies together to train. She lived the most out of that life, never needing to conceal trousers under a dress or to appease a mother who simply sought marriage for her daughter. Tears continued to slide down her face, as she felt a thousand regrets for her dearest friend. She could not help but feel strongly that this was not the way Mosi's story was supposed to end, and her grief increased as she realized Mosi would likely be laid to rest as Jeanette Crane and not as the woman who was one with the trees.

Virginia could hardly tear her gaze away from Mosi, her heart shattered into more pieces than there were stars in the sky. She knew instinctively the advice that her mother would have given, although her family was never much into religion--you have a black dress, Virginia. Wear it. She took a shuddering breath as she faced Mary, allowing the woman's welcoming embrace. The white noise of the birds was welcome to the Lady Crypt's mind. "She is dead...the Hraew, it..." Virginia finally said, hardly emotionally capable to explain all of the events that had passed. "Do not worry about myself, Dame Hale...It is dear Mosi who merits attention," Virginia finished, her voice catching on her deceased friend's name.

Sorrow was evident in Virginia's voice. Mary was not unaffected. Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill down her pale cheeks but somehow staying put. It was not Mosi for whom she almost wept, but the pain of her friend before her. There would always be casualties in the war against the Soulless, and this was now open war. No more skulking about, keeping numbers low and picking off society's forgotten. This was a blatant and coordinated attack, in full open view, against London's societal elite.

"I did not know your friend, Mosi." started Mary, carefully picking her words with Virginia. "She was a warrior, correct? It was an honorable passing. We have time to ensure her final rest - I will help you to get her out of this place, Lady Crypt. But we need to make sure Almack's is clear. I need your help, Virginia."

Virginia nodded, finding comfort in Mary's words. She would very much like to bury Mosi back in the forests of the colonies, for no other rest felt proper for Mosi. Yet even thinking about laying Mosi to rest brought tears to Virginia's eyes. It was painful to see someone so full of life deprived of it. But of course, Dame Hale was correct, a not uncommon event in Virginia's opinion. The number of those trained in London were low--she did not have time to grieve for her friend, if she wished to ensure the safety of her other dear friends. Mary and Millicent, as far as she knew, still drew breath. They could still be protected from whatever threat remained.

"Of course. Shall I perform Chankoowashtay?" Virginia inquired, uncertain as to whether or not she would have the mental focus, but knowing that she must try. As far as she was aware, the soulless could still remain in Almack's. She had witnessed two herself in the flesh, and then she had spotted another earlier that day, heading towards the general area. It struck her as almost reminiscent of the reports of the events at Flitwick manor.

"I do not... ah, I cannot pretend to be very familiar with that technique, my Lady." responded Mary. She had the basest idea of the more common practices of other schools of Training, but her education in the matter was limited to Vatican training and casual conversations with a precious few not of Rome. And of course, the almost miraculous demonstration she received earlier that day from Elizaveta, with promises of more unknown abilities from the Russian Empire. "I am to keep the Grand Duchess of Russia safe, and I have ineffective defense against the incorporeal. I can defend you both in the physical sense. Between you and I, we can determine if Almack's is sound. But we must get back to the front corridor."

Mary glanced back to the fallen form of Mosi. It was a waste and a shame. "We have three days to tend to her." Ever logical, but a twinge of understanding shot across her face. "If you wish to do something quick and dirty, though, I will help. We must leave Mosi for now, or make haste with her, Lady Crypt."

Virginia blushed slightly in embarrassment. She often was lost in her thoughts and that was no great surprise to her, and was quite evident with her mixing up of the date earlier at Millicent's residence. Perhaps she had been clouded by grief and forgot that Mary likely would not know the various techniques by name. As it stood, however, Virginia realized that perhaps a different technique may be most suited to their purposes.

But the majority of the Lady Crypt's mind was on Mosi. She shook her head slightly at Mary's suggestion of quick and dirty. While it would suffice for strangers, and although she had not kept in as much contact with Mosi as she would have liked, it would feel cheap to do that for her friend. "Let us leave her," Virginia finally said, a bit of reluctance in her voice. "I shall do my best to assist with the incorporeal."

It occurred to Mary that these Crypts appeared to deal with hardship well. Perhaps it was something in their upbringing, or the bloodlines with which they paired. Were their ways not quite so eccentric, she could see them pursuing the unyielding and painfully conditioning training of the Pontifical Swiss Guard. But it was not within her to shape others into something they were not. Their uniqueness was part of their strength. All Mary could do was try to lend her friend what support she could, and trust that Virginia would pull through, as her people always seemed to.

The young Dame recovered her polearm and rose to her full height. She extended a hand to her friend, silently offering to help her to her feet. Mary understood her hesitation. It was leaving a fallen comrade behind. Not truly abandoning her, but she could fathom how it might seem that way, like a tiny betrayal. "Come, My Lady. Let us get back to the front corridor. I'm sure the rest of the Ton is busy congratulating themselves, and require a reminder of those who fought on their behalf." She was not happy with what she had witnessed from these people. Not a bit.

Virginia took Mary's hand and rose to her feet. Her quick and rough fix to her knee from earlier did not result in further damage, for which she had been lucky. The only wounds that she felt a need to concern herself with were emotional ones, but once more, it was neither the time nor the place. She sighed slightly at the thought of the Ton. In her mind, their ignorant, selfish, and childish behavior had cost dear Mosi her life. The Crypt woman may have enjoyed a good deal of combat, but not at the expense of her loved ones.

"I fancy they will not listen to our remarks regardless," Virginia replied softly, taking on a bit of a cynical attitude. The Ton appeared to be capable of nothing meaningful and worthwhile, instead subsiding on shallow things, such as appearances and pastels. It was disgusting, and she perhaps would have made her disgust clearer, if her mind was not still filled with sorrow. "Has anyone else we care for fallen?" Virginia then asked, awaiting Mary's lead to return to the first corridor.

The young Apostolic shook her head solemnly at Virginia. "Others have perished, but none as I am aware that we hold close to our hearts." said Mary, quickly but cautiously leading them back through the Gallery the way that she entered. It would have been a very straight shot from their present location down to the corridor the other way, but with the casualty from the furniture incident and the mob of Peers congratulating themselves, she suspected it would actually take less time this way.

"There was another passing of note, Lady Crypt. And I fear that it does change our situation greatly. When we are done here this evening, I shall need your help and guidance all the more." Weapon in hand, Mary rounded the last turn to get them into the main corridor. Though people were starting to take note, she led Virginia over to where Elizaveta held her vigil over the fallen Arch Graveolase, her own knightly cloak still over him. "It seems an honor has been passed to me." she said quietly, though her tone hinted that she did not consider it an honor. "But for now, we must ensure their safety."

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Fyror walked over to where Dr. Graham stood by Mrs. Wyndham’s side, glancing over at Emma as he passed by her. He gave her a small smile. It was meant to be reassuring, but it ended up coming out more pained. Unfortunately, there was not a whole lot he could do to ease the suffering that been so heavily dealt upon the Wyndham family. Such sorrow could not be so easily washed away. He would do what he could, starting with aiding Mrs. Wyndham. It mattered not that she had always treated him so vilely. He was not the type of person to disregard a person in need merely for his own benefit. Would her perception of him change if he were to aid her? He doubted it, but he would help her nonetheless.

He bent down to take a hold of her from the opposite side that Dr. Graham held. He nodded his head in understanding of the doctor’s instructions. He made sure to get a good grip on Mrs. Wyndham, not wanting to drop her like he had done earlier. Once Emma cleared the glass tabletop, Fyror and Dr. Graham lifted Mrs. Wyndham in unison and carried the injured woman over to the table. They went slowly and carefully, making sure not to slip on the bloody concrete floor or trip over the broken objects that Emma had haphazardly dumped onto the ground. They then gently rested Mrs. Wyndham on the glass tabletop.

Fyror took a step back, letting the doctor do whatever else he felt needed to be done before transporting her to the hospital. His gaze then went over to Emma. He watched as she retrieved her mother’s reticule and other personal items from the two bodies. His brows furrowed slightly when she held back a gasp and picked up a locket from the beheaded Ryne. ‘Millicent’s mother,’ he reminded himself. He felt another pang of sadness for all the Wyndham family had lost tonight. “Are you alright, Ms. Wyndham? Were you at all injured in the attack?” he asked politely and with genuine concern as he approached Emma.

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Thalken’s gaze did a sweep of the ballroom from where he stood alongside his twin sister Thalcona. The once panicked and violent atmosphere seemed to be calming down rapidly. He sheathed his sabre and switched it out for one of his throwing knives, not quite ready to let his guard down completely. Despite the fact that the Soulless were rapidly fleeing the area, he was doubtful that things were truly safe just yet. It was not lost on him the significance of Ryne, Hraew, and Cargast working together to coordinate a conjoined attack. The fact that they had left so quickly was a concern in and of itself. Either they had accomplished whatever heinous act they had in mind or they were fleeing something much more terrible to come.

He leaned back against the banister as he twirled the knife in his hand. The same knife he had thrown at the Ryne, only to nick Millicent’s thigh instead. The blade still had remnants of her blood on it and likely still of the many victims before her. A brooding look came upon his face as he contemplated all that had occurred. He was lucky to not have more seriously maimed her. Initially, he had not even known that it was a Ryne attacking Millicent. It was a gamble really, based upon a primal instinct. Years of working as a mercenary had taught him to trust his gut and not to hesitant as it could mean your death. Though his knife had not met its mark, the gamble still payed off. It distracted the Ryne from Millicent, which probably had saved her life just as much as when he had beheaded the creature. He had saved a complete stranger’s life—and also traumatized her for life. Well, that nonetheless amounted to one of the most positive accomplishments he had done in quite some time. Perhaps he still had some goodness left in him. He could certainly use that in the days and years to come, as darkness can only get you so far.

Mrs. Wyndham was set on the glass top and the doctor got to work on doing what he could to stabilize her more and secure her to the table. He wanted her moving as little as possible. Transporting her to the hospital was going to be cumbersome enough, the roads even within the city were not smooth as one would like. Cobblestone was like that. He was glad Fyror had stepped aside, he had a method and more hands would only make it take longer.

Emma looked up at Fyror, startled by his words. Granted at that point anyone could have spoken to her and she would have jumped. The girl was lucky she had not fainted as of yet. In fact it took Emma a moment to realize that Fyror was speaking to her, looking around to see if Millicent had returned. "Oh, Miss Jones actually," she said nervously. "Mr. Wyndham is my step father," she explained as she clutched the items in her hand before looking down as she found herself staring at Fyror's scar. Stuffing everything in her own reticule, she hadn't meant to stare but she had.

As Dr. Graham righted himself Emma looked over to him. "Will mother be alright?" she asked, trying to keep from crying.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about this, I will tend to her," he said before motioning over to Fyror to get the other end of the glass. "Right now, let's move her cautiously to the front of Almack's. Through the ballroom please and into the main corridor."

Emma nodded, not arguing that she should be worried because it was her mother. She was hardly as outspoken about such things as Millicent was. Granted Millicent would have been at the table and insisted on helping carry the woman herself. Emma took no such liberties. Sighing Emma waited to follow them. "Well at least some good came of this travesty of an evening though I wish it was I who could have caught the Earl's eye instead of Milli. What he sees in her I have no idea," she said trying to change the topic and get back to the usual gossip of the ton. It was obvious she was still upset and on edge but she was in her own odd way trying to put on a brave front.

Over in the Octagon Anti-Chamber, Elizaveta knelt in front of the body and lowered her head. Giving a silent prayer for the poor man's soul but her eyes did not close, she did not want to leave herself vulnerable to an attack if it came. Lifting her head as she heard the flap of birds she looked over with her cool eyes to see that Mary had returned with another she had met earlier in the evening. A quick whistle of soft tone and the birds began to fly off. Elizaveta saw no need to keep them hovering any longer and she would need her strength if she was to perform the Ostanavlivat'sya again that evening.

"Yes, it does indeed. Could you tvo be kind enough to see what others have perished this evening? I must perform the Ostanavlivat'sya, having them close will make things simpler for me," she said before she was cut off from any further words as a scream rang out in the corridor. Her brow rose and her hand tightened on her swords hilt. That was until she heard the distinct sound of a large cat's roar.

Bounding through the front door and through the crowd was a large white tiger with blue eyes. It barreled right towards Elizaveta and placed itself between her and others around her: baring his teeth and looking as if he was about to attack. Elizaveta smiled to herself as she reached out and placed a gloved hand into his thick fur. "Myska! Chto ty zdes' delayesh'?" she asked in Russian, inquiring what he was doing there. "Vse normal'no. Oni druz'ya." The cat seemed to take her words well and calmed down, resting back on his hind quarters. "Forgive him, he is rather protective. This is Myska, my pet," Elizaveta explained to Mary and Virginia.



"I agree, everything is perfect Nigel. Thank you ever so much for the wonderful meal," Calum said after a few moments of chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth.

"Right'O. Well once you are finished, go ahead and turn in, everything shoulds be ready for ya," Nigel said as he continued cleaning the glasses. The Parson nodded and went back to his food. He was quick to finish it and while he could have eaten another bowl or two he was trying his best to curb his gluttony for the evening. Though, truth be told, the only thing that kept him from gorging himself on even more was the thought of what wonderful delights Nigel's wife would be making in the morning. He would want an empty stomach for that.

Rising from his seat he looked over towards Maeve and smiled. "Well I dare say that was a wonderful way to end the evening. I will be turning in now. Do please stay in the tavern this evening, never know what type of ruffians are running about at this hour in the port. I will see you bright and early in the morrow. We have much to do before we leave town and get you to your destination good lady. Have a pleasant evening," he said before giving a slight bow to his head and retrieving his hat.

The man hadn't taken two steps when he turned and tumbled head over heels right over the nearest table. Thankfully it was empty of patrons and the like but he still turned it upside down as he flipped over and face planted against the floor. "God help that man..." Nigel chuckled as he choked back the full amount of laughter he wanted to let out. The sight of the rail thin man falling through the air like a sparrow caught in a hard wind was more than the old man could take.




"I be leaving the door open fer ya Mr. Connolly. Miss Milli not e worried about yous up here fixin' thangs. She be right happy 'bouts it I say," Abigail said before she got back to work on getting things together for Millicent when she arrived back home that evening. Turning the bed down, Abigail waited until the Constable and Gerard left the room before scurrying over to the side of the bed and retrieving the book. She was a curious young woman and just had to see. Pulling the book from beneath the bed she plopped down on the edge of the bed and flipped it open. Seemed it was Millicent's private journal. Turning the pages to the last one she eyed it. It took her a few to actually read what was on the page. She was not good at reading but Millicent had been working with her as she did Gerard.

March 21st, 1823
I dare say this day is turning out to be more than I can bare. Mother is bit and determined that I should marry Lord Rutherford. Time is coming where they will declare father lost and by extension dead in the eyes of the law. She knows she will inherit little from this, that father has always made arrangements that I should inherit everything he and my true mother amassed during their life together. She will be taken care of but not in the way she is accustomed to now, I will not let her squander away fathers fortune. Yet if I marry, my properties will go to my husband. I know not what she is planning but she is pushing Lord Rutherford now on me like she has never pressed before.

The man is vile. I do not wish this. I have heard the rumors but the ton is full of those yet something about these worry me. His last wife's death holds the stench of more than just simple death. I must look into this but alas not this evening. I dread going to Almack's. It will only give mother more fuel. I wonder what tricks she has up her sleeve. I may have no choice in the matter. IF I do not, she has sworn to have Emma or Jane marry him. They cannot protect themselves against a house fly much less someone like Rutherford. He is trained but I wonder where it was. None of his style seems to match others I have met in the past.

Why cannot life be simpler? I look over at such sweet smelling flowers that were given to me this day by Mr. Connolly. I would be happy to marry one like him. He is so kind yet I know I should not aim so high. No man would wish to be associated with the likes of my step mother... least be it to have her as his inlaw. Would be quite intolerable. Yet I would give up my fortune just to live happily in a green pasture surrounded by one like him and tending to sheep."

The entry left off there. Abigail closed the book and set it back where she had gotten it. "Well, that old coot just be stirring up trouble. What be wrong with Miss Milli being with Mr. Connolly? They make a right good match in me eye. He be right kind to her and well I see the way she look at him," she said to herself as she got back to turning down the bed and readying Millicent's sleep wear. "Mr. Wyndham, you needs to be getting' back here ya do. Miss Milli need ya," she added as she looked at the drawing of him with Catherine and a young Millicent. If he were here, things would be different.

Down in the study Constable Smith looked around at the mess. Things had been turned over, drawers had been emptied only to have their contents tossed here and there on the floor. "You say nothing was taken?" he asked half mindedly as he was careful not to step on anything that was laying on the floor.

"With Mr. Wyndham gone, who sees to the dailies and the businesses?" he asks as he picks up a paper and looks it over. That was a commonly known factor in the house but not something usually spoken about outside. Millicent had been raised to look over things for him. Mrs. Wyndham had no head for numbers and only knew how to spend money, not to make it. If it was left up to her the staff wouldn't receive their pay. Yet night after night Millicent burned the midnight oil, keeping up with the books and ensuring that all in her fathers employment were paid for their services. She had even put into effect a raise for each member of the Manor's staff this past winter as a Christmas present. Something she had not told Mrs. Wyndham, she knew it would not go over well but she felt the staff deserved more pay due to having to put up with the woman.

It was a time before the Constable had seen all what he felt he could see and it was about that time that Abigail came into the room. "Is there anything's I can be gettin' yous two?" she asked. The constable shook his head.

"No, thank you. I think I am done here. I must go file the report. If you do find anything missing, please do report it post haste. You may tidy up now," he said kindly before looking over at Gerard. "Yer Miss seem like a right good woman, keep her safe."

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As Mary informed her that no others that they cared for had passed from this life to the next, Virginia felt a bit of relief. While she still felt immense sorrow for dear Mosi, at least no other friends of hers had greeted the reaper with open arms. Quite enough misfortune had already come to pass that evening, and in her heart, Virginia could only lay blame with the Ton. Every misery, including the death of dear Mosi, could be attributed to them. As she already loathed London society, the evening at Almack's could do hardly anything to improve her opinion.

She had followed Dame Hale through the gallery and around each turn, and as she spied the Arch Graveolase, with Mary's cloak covering him, her eyes widened ever so slightly. It took her but a moment to grasp the implications of Mary's words. A female knight itself was unheard of, Catholics were shunned in society, and now, a person who combined the two would take the title of Arch Graveolase for the time being. While she would like to have happiness for her friend, it was dampened by her sorrow--not for the Arch Graveolase, as she cared not for him, of course.

Virginia nodded at the Grand Duchess, unfamiliar with the term she used, but it seemed to be of some great importance. Besides, the Crypt woman found that concentrating on the matters at hand allowed her to push through the grief. She would mourn dear Mosi properly once she had returned to the townhouse. "Of course, Grand Duchess," Virginia replied, before looking towards the source of the scream with curiosity. Her hand reached for an axe, yet bewilderment shone on her face as she heard an inhuman roar. As she spotted the large white tiger, Virginia merely looked at it with astonishment, no weapon in her hand.

"He's beautiful," Virginia whispered, gazing at the tiger as it went from protective and menacing in one minute to calm and practically docile in the next. She could not help but feel fond of Elizaveta's pet. She had wanted a wolf when she lived in the colonies and according to her mother, when she was little, Virginia used to play with snakes found in the garden. She adored dangerous animals, although her bloodhound, Ripper, could only main or seriously injure a fly, and never kill it--or so Virginia claimed.

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"Aye, 'eaven forbid de ruffians git up ter any nonsense," Maeve replied, chuckling a bit at both her comment and as Calum succeeded in fuddling about once more. Of course, this seemed to be a more advanced level of fuddling, one that seemed extreme even for the parson. She raised an eyebrow, wondering how the man ever learned to walk. She could not help but imagine what he would seem like at sea, where even the most able bodied men would lose their balance. Perhaps by some miracle, he would walk perfectly on a ship.

"I dunno 'oy much 'elp God can give 'im, bit av a lost cause really," Maeve chuckled, shaking her head as she finished up her food. She figured that Calum would be able to spring himself up to his feet, or if not, he could wait a few minutes if he needed her assistance. For a moment, she imagined the journey he made by himself to come and collect her. She could not fathom how he managed to travel any distance at all.

"I t'ink i'll be turnin' in, lads," Maeve said, before looking over at Nigel and nodding at him. She was really quite looking forward to that bath, though at the same time, Calum making a fool out of himself was quite entertaining. It'd be a pity to miss him flailing about, if he kept up with it.

Gerard waited while the constable took a look around the place, watching him look over certain areas of the room. The constable had to reconfirmed if nothing in there was indeed, taken. "Aye. None that we know of. " He reaffirmed, at least he checked that nothing of value in the room was apparently missing. The constable then proceeded to ask him of the Wyndham's business matters, regarding who was managing whilst Mr. Whyndham's absence. "That would be Ms. Millicent of course. She'd been watching over things, even before Mr. Wyndham went missing. " And Gerard could see that she was working deeply on what her father had left. Even if it was only to have the staff be payed, her kindness was limitless. And it was one of the many things everyone in the staff admire her for.

After the night of investigation, the constable was finally done and noted to have them report if they ever find what ever is missing. Gerard gave him a short nod in reply. Before he took his leave he turn to Gerard, there was solemnity in the irishman's blue eyes at what he had said. "I will, with everything in my power." he, assured him. Gerard had lost plenty close to him, those that gave him the love he thought was gone along with them. When he first met Millie, Gerard was distant. He never thought, or even wanted to have any sort of personal connection with her, or anyone for that matter in the first year that he worked on the Manor. But anyone would find it a challenge to not be drawn to a woman like Millicent. Before he even knew it, the woman had already made her way unknowingly into his heart, an eventful moment that had even caught him by surprise.

After the constable left, Gerard now made his way to his own room by the stables to get something that would fix the broken window, trying to remember while on his way if he had some spare screws lying around there. Once he got what he needed he went back to the Manor, just like she promised Abby had left the door open for him. The room was scented of Milli and after a moment of pausing by the entrance, he paced towards the window and got to work.

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Mary gazed one more upon the deceased Arch Graveolase. Was his death the overall goal of this assault, or merely a coincidence? The Soulless, if guided by a single intelligence or purpose, could have taken many more victims this evening. They might yet. This could merely be a lull in the attack, or a setup designed to pick people off as they left for their homes. Another gruesome thought: If Buckingham was the objective in this assault, then Mary would be a target soon, herself. It might take a little time for word to get around, but when it started, it would prove to be scandalous.

Another reaching "if": Provided she actually survived to attend the meeting of the Graveolase, Mary would need a fair amount of support backing her, possibly with powerful fighters in entourage. With some disgust, Mary conceded to herself that she might have to play her hand at politics. She was familiar with the concept, having trained for many years at the Vatican and bring privy to some of the dealings of the Cardinals, Bishops, Grand Crosses, and the like, vying for Papal favor or trying to increase their status. Politics, indeed. She would need to surround herself with people she could trust. But that could wait. She had to tend to the scene at Almack's; detecting for the presence of any hidden Soulless and retrieving the mortal vessels of the recently departed, in hopes of helping to secure their eternal rest.

Mary was just about to open herself up to the extra-perceptive sense of Tanter, when a scream sounded from nearby, followed by the roar of a great cat. The Apostolic had not heard a Tiger in a good, long while, let alone viewed one outside of a perilously rare visit to a zoo. When the beast entered, her first instinct was to protect those nearby, especially Elizaveta. But when it took up a defensive posture between the Grand Duchess and everyone else (including herself and Virginia), Mary forced herself to refrain from taking a fighter's stance. Still, her eyes were wide and knuckles tense, gripping her halberd.

"You have a lovely companion, Your Grace." was the extent to conversation that Mary could quietly muster at the moment. This would take some getting used to. "With your permission, please excuse me." she intoned respectfully, resuming her duty and utilizing her Trained skill of Tanter.

Abigail nodded towards the constable and escorted him out once he and Gerard were finished speaking, showing him the door and thanking him for coming out. The constable tipped his hat and made his way back towards the park to meet up with the other officers. He would need to file the report about the break in but he wanted to check in with them first. Abigail looked over towards Gerard, "I'll be straightenin'up the office." She wanted to get things back in order before Mrs. Wyndham returned, she knew the woman would have an absolute hissy fit if the place was in disorder when they returned. It wouldn't matter if there had been a break in. The woman's priorities were vastly out of order. Walking back to the office she got to work. Thankfully there was nothing broken in there, so it was just gathering papers and trying to stack them mostly. She felt bad for Millicent because she knew it would be up to her to reorder everything that was in disarray but she didn't know what went with what. She just would do what she could and try not to make more work for Milli when she returned.

The window wouldn't take Gerard too long to repair. The screws didn't seem to have worn out the wood and new ones would easily be replaced. It was odd, if it was just wear and tear the holes would have been stripped and need putty of some sort but these were fine. There was also no sign of the missing screws, they hadn't just fallen out. It seemed that they were missing. Had someone actually unscrewed them from the inside and taken them? If so, who? No one had been in the house that others were aware of and if that was indeed the case it meant that someone in the house had set up the opening for the break in. But who? Everyone seemed very devoted to the family, especially so to Miss Milli. Why put her in danger? What if she had been home when the break in occurred?

Abigail sighed as she went about cleaning up the study, wishing that Mr. Wyndham was there. If there were papers missing, he would know and Millicent wouldn't have to worry. He would take care of it. Picking up a pillow from the couch that was on the floor she hit it hard a few times, fluffing it up before setting it back in place. As she did, she looked out the window and gasped. A Carriage she was not familiar with had pulled up to the curb in front of the house and she saw Millicent exiting it weakly. Rushing from the office and out int the hallway she flung open the door. "Mr. Connolly! It's Miss Milli! She be hurt!" she screamed as she ran out the door and her eyes fell onto the blood that was covering her mistress.

Lord Rutherford held Millicents hand as she stepped out of the carriage. "Remember, this is on him and you. Don't make matters worse," he hissed in her ear. Millicent looked as pale as a ghost, resembling more of a brunette version of Virginia right then than the light olive complexion she normally had. Blood clung to her arms from the cuts, the bruise on her cheek fully revealed and another one seemed to overlay on top of it now. Trembling Millicent tried to take a step before nearly collapsing into Abigail's arms as she rushed over.

"Miss Milli! What happened?" Abigail asked in a panic as she tried to steady Millicent but it was difficult. Abigail wasn't much larger than bird and far smaller than even Millicent's frame.

"There was a Soulless attack at Almack's." Rutherford's voice cutting the silence and Abigail's widened. "Jane didn't survive, Mrs. Wyndham is being taken to Westminster Hospital, tend to my fiance. Word will be sent as soon I know more," he said. Abigail took a stuttering breath and nodded, turning her attention to Milli. Fiance? Abigail thought quickly in a sorrowful mindset. She did not like the idea, she had heard much on the servants grape vine.

Rutherford did not say more before the door of the carriage closed and it drove off quickly. As soon as it started off Millicent broke down in tears, her knees giving out from beneath her as she clung to Abigail in sobbing and shaking like a leaf. "Aww Miss Milli, I be so sorry," she said trying to comfort her. "Let's be gettin' you inside," Abigail added, trying her damnedest to get Milli back to her feet and help her inside but it was of no use.

"I can't..." Millicent cried in hysterics. The tears streamed down her cheeks like flood waters and her body shook, cold and terrified even from the wild look in her eyes. Blood clinging to her skin and into her gown, her thigh and more were feeling ripped apart. Everything inside her felt destroyed right then.



"Ye be right Miss, Lord might have been able to create heaven and earth but keepin' that lad on his two left feet might be beyond's even the Lord Almighty," Nigel chuckled as he looked over towards Calum. Who was at this point wrestling with his coat, whose tails had flipped over and gotten into his face as he flailed on the ground. It was like watching headless chicken trying to fight it ways out a burlap sack.

"Oh fiddlesticks!" Calum exclaimed as he got to his feet and fought back the mighty tyrants of his coat tails. Swinging his arms around like a broken down windmill caught in the storm. Once he had finally defeated the evil overgarment Nigel held out the man's hat to him and chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from roaring with laughter at the sight. "Right, thank you," Calum said as he took the hat and plopped it onto his head. "I, well, yes. Goodnight to you both," he said before turning away and starting to make his way back towards the office where he would be sleeping that evening. Nearly taking out three more tables along the way.

"It is never dull when that boy is in here. You know I usually be keeping candles on all them tables but soons as I heard he was in town, I swept those away right quick. I can takes a few broken chairs, buts last things I be needin' is him burnin' the place down," Nigel guffawed as he stepped out from behind the bar and picked up said broken chair which had been reduced to fire wood. Shaking his head he kept chuckling as he looked over toward Maeve and heard a crash in his office. "Lord give me strength, excuse me Miss. Have a good night, if ye be neein' anything, just pull the cord bys yer bed and one of the girls be up to yous post haste," he added before rushing off to see what destruction the parson was causing this time.