Gerard was his still self as Mrs Wyndham retold of his transgression, as if he had done a fault that is entirely unforgiving. It may have been, but he thought it was well deserved. Still, he would rather not linger around and put up with her. The time wasted could better be used in the search for Millie. Still, they have not not exactly figured out where she had went off.
He didnt exactly get what Mrs Wyndham was implying, Millie couldn't be feeling that way towards him. It seemed that people are being sent the wrong message when he and Millie are together. He wonders if this had bothered her, it surely hurts her reputation. Before he could go on further he then noticed Mrs Wyndham switching his gaze to the man he just noticed came in. Kildragon, was the first that came to mind, a man in red and a scar on his face, an eerie resemblance from a memory in his past. This man was a contender for Millie's affections? Gerard had no reason to feel even a hint of resentment at the idea but somehow he was. And it wasn't only at the fact that he was the son of the man that put his brother to prison.
Gerard frowned at Emma's words about Millie, "That it not true." he said a bit quietly than he usually would've, he says it more to himself than to anyone. He wanted this pointless meeting to end. Their opinions lost any sort of matter to Gerard, and there's no point in keeping up with this argument any longer. As they were angrily dismissed he followed the doctor out, the silence outside the room was more than welcoming to Gerard, not before he looked back and just slammed the door behind him. At least he thought he did. He does hope it was hard enough.
Frances Warwick
Location: The Glimmeric;
Outside the Glimmeric Frances was observing Michael who finally got some help with another man to lug the dead body. It took her a awhile to notice the other one's familiar stance. She would definitely know a Talink when she sees one, and it seems this particular Talink is Beowulf's son. What an amusing coincidence, she thought, that he happened to pass by and be in this predicament by some cruel twist of fate. What was he doing here though? As far as the madame knows she has no scheduled dealings with the Talinks at this moment. Still, it was rather surprising to see one of them willingly doing some favor for the community, they would not otherwise unless there's some payment involved.
"I see you found yourself an able bodied helper, Michael." She greeted them as they passed the Glimmeric, a slight curving of her lips to go with it switching her gaze to Michaels and to Thalken.
Inside the Glimmeric, Ruby was hanging out with the girls as they decided to lighten the mood with some leisure time. It was much needed now with all the news of murders at the docks and was just pointless having them all be stressed out over it. "Eh tough luck for the lot of you." she uttered revealing her winning cards. As she hit her deck on the wooden table, the sound of grunts and disappointed sighs from her competitions had followed. "Bullocks, I almost had it." one of the girls threw her deck down as Ruby reaped the fruits of her victory from the wooden table and directly into her purse. "Well see if you do at the next round then." "Screw that, I'm not spending a single penny if I'm pitted against you or the madame." The room filled with a jovial air, it was something of a usual thing for the girls to get together like this in between mornings before they start work.
One of the girls happen to check on Sarah Ann that moment. And to her worry caught her in the midst of her sleeping fits. "Sarah? Are you alright?" She rushed next to her bed, giving her a gentle shaking. "Oh, no." she placed her hand over her forehead to feel if she's burning up. One of them managed to take a peek inside the room. "What's wrong?" "Call the madam." Seeing the shivvering girl lying on her bed gave her the signal and without another word she quickened down the stairs only to catch sight of Ruby in the room. She paced towards her "Ruby, have you seen Madame Frances?" she said worriedly "It's Sarah Ann. "
Good lad? Pfftt, that's ironic. There's a first for everything Thalken supposed, but one shouldn't get there hopes up. He was a Talink after all. On Michael's count of three, he lifted his end of the dead body and helped moved it onto the cart. The Lord Galloway was a fairly hefty man in life and in death, but it wasn't anything Thalken couldn't handle. Truth be told, this wasn't his first time dealing with a dead body, by any means, but no one needed to know that.
He nodded his head slightly in response to Michael's thanks. He still found it so peculiar to hear people thank him for much of anything. In his line of work, monetary payment was typically thanks enough for a job well done. And by well done, it meant someone had to lose their life and a family's world subsequently turned upside down. It was all just so messed up when he thought about it. This life of inflicting pain and death wasn't easy on a person's psyche. No wonder his father was so heartless. The man had destroyed his heart and soul a long time go. Thalken just hoped he himself wasn't too far gone.
Thalken glanced over at Thomas, before his attention returned to Michael. His eyes narrowed as the man asked for his help once again but didn't give him a chance to reply. Basically he wasn't really given a choice in the matter. He barely held back a huff of annoyance. Michael was lucky Thalken was in a somewhat lenient mood. He followed alongside the cart as requested. Though if the body did fall off, he wasn't exactly going to dive down to catch. Sure he wanted to do some good, but he wasn't that desperate.
As they passed in front of the Glimmeric, he heard a familiar voice greet them. His head whipped to the side to meet Frances's gaze. Great, he had been spotted by someone who is familiar with his father. His eyes narrowed dangerously and turned into an outright glare in response to the upward curve of her lips. Did she find this amusing?! Because he sure as hell didn't.
Location: Westminster Hospital
It seemed Fyror had been thrown right into the hot seat upon reentering the room. Mrs. Wyndham had always made it crystal clear that she despised him, and for what? He had never treated her with an ounce of disrespect. No, she had made her mind up the moment she laid eyes on his mangled face, as countless others had before her. She likely made assumptions that his scar came from dishonorable origins, thus he was deemed as less than human, a monster incarnate. However, somehow Millicent could see past his scars to the true man beneath, and for that he was truly grateful. These days the world was in such low supply of people like that.
He straightened and braced himself as Mrs. Wyndham tore into him. He briefly glanced over at the other man who was similarly facing the woman's wrath. His jaw clenched as her words hit their mark, but perhaps they did not cut as deeply as she would have liked. She wished to shame him, but the truth was that he did not regret dancing with Millicent. After all, he had done it with the honorable intention of protecting her from Lord Rutherford. His only regret was that he had not insisted upon dancing with her longer or anything else to keep her from being defiled by that wretched earl.
"All I have ever wanted was for Millicent to be safe and happy. And I wish the same for you and the rest of your family, despite how much you proclaim to despise me. I regret that I was not there sooner last night to prevent the pain and loss that was dealt to your family. But when I did get there, I stayed by both of your sides until I knew you were in safe hands. Do not ever forget that, and do not ever say I don't care," he replied. His voice was gravely serious as he addressed both Mrs. Wyndham and Emma. Thereafter, without another word, he spun on his heels and followed Dr. Graham out.
Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: (Outside of) Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)
Vladimir barely heard the demand of Sister Sophia, though the question she shouted echoed in his mind as well. Elizaveta was still in there someplace, and he could do nothing at that moment to help her. Vlad opened mouth to respond to their resident Nun's question, but all he had was uncertainty to offer. Not that it mattered, the moment that he tried he began to cough up an ounce or two of lake water, painfully expelling it from his lungs. In his fervor to save Elizaveta, his own difficulty had gone quite unnoticed. Immediately, his eyes went back to the lake, still unnaturally icy in great swaths despite being at the beginning of summer in London.
The tense moment passed, with Vladimir looking over the otherwise still surface, exhibiting much the same level of emotion as Sister Sophia. At least in this, he and Veta's tutor were of one mind: Vlad loved the young woman as a daughter, and her death would pulverize him.
Suddenly, a swelling of water rippled along the surface from below, followed by a great, pale head with bright eyes and imposing, pointy teeth. It was Myshka. And God love the massive kitty, he was clutching dress fabric in his teeth. Vlad was already running. He pushed past any gaping onlookers, adamant to get to Elizaveta in a straight and rapid line. The only time he even slowed his sprint was when he entered the water, though it was purely because he was bound by physics. He fought back against the pressure of the water, moving himself forward and shoving against any remaining ice out of his way. By the time the water was over his waist, Vladimir was finally able to wrap his hands around the still form of Elizaveta Romanova, taking much of the weight off of Myshka to bear.
"Врачи! Принесите Целителей СЕЙЧАС!" he screamed, demanding the attention of a physician or other such healer immediately. He was not sure how his own Rusyn training of Krasnoye would help in this situation as he had never attempted it on a drowning victim before. It might be worth a try, but first, he needed to see if she could breathe on her own first. Vladimir hauled her onto the beach with strength born of desperation, depositing her as gently as he dared on her side upon the ground. "Breathe, Veta. Breathe..." he growled, thumping her back with the heel of his palm and using one of his knives to open any clothing which might restrict her chest from fully expanding. Tears were already forming in his eyes. His little Veta was close to dying, and he could do nothing more for her. "BREATHE!" he shouted. Begged, even. His feeling of helplessness was almost palpable.
"Go forward bravely. Fear nothing. Trust in God; all will be well." -Joan of Arc
Location: London Streets
The dull trod of the dapple grey stallion's hooves turned to a sharper clack upon the brick and stone roads of London. Mary reined the noble beast along the walls of St. Etheldreda's, passing what appeared to be a tavern attached to the outer fortifications. Mary nodded toward the attached structure, now sparsely occupied in the late morning hours. "Ye Olde Mitre." she mentioned to Adam, simply for the sake of pleasantry. "The Church operates a Public House, of all things, because we cannot count on the generosity of parishioners as most other churches must. Profits pay for many of our day-to-day expenses, Adam. Of course, we also count on our strawberries and saffron for this. The strawberries in particular; not to appear proud, but they were penned about by William Shakespeare over two hundred years ago." The errant Dame considered her statement, and followed with a delicate question, "Are you literate, Adam? Do you know how to read?"
Adam shook his head slightly, he would have answered the sister if it weren't for the fact he had a mouthful of food right then. The longest stretch of their travel was to take place on Holborn Road, directly in front of the church grounds. Mary reined Cassius gently, turning them onto the cobblestones of the thoroughfare headed east. With a look of determination, they steadily made their way up the block, nearing the first major intersection in their path at Chancery Lane. Adams eyes kept darting about as they moved through the city, he had never seen it from this height.
Traffic seemed lighter than usual, given the time of day and considering that this was London, the capitol city of the British Empire. Perhaps it has something to do with the phenomenon from earlier that morning. People started late, business was put off; there had to be some several of those affected that continued to keep indoors following the event. Naturally, that assumed the condition that whatever it was, it influenced an area greater than just the Ely Palace and St. Etheldreda's. For all Mary knew, they just had a momentary lull in horse and foot traffic. As they approached the second major intersection along their path, that being the gently forking Broad Street, realized that she hadn't eaten since about noon of the previous day. "Might you hand me some of that bread, please?" he requested, keeping an eye about her surroundings.
Nodding Adam tore off a piece of the bread and held his hand up slightly for Sister Mary to take. "It's wonderful," he said as he finally swallowed what he had been chewing. He had been steadily putting food in his mouth since they had left the church. The boy knew they would be eating with the lady he met yesterday but it didn't stop him. Adam hadn't had real food, not like this, in as long as he could remember and he knew right then no matter how much he ate of what little they brought with them he would still have pretty much an empty stomach come time to eat with Elizaveta. Growing boys had bottomless pits as stomachs, this one had an empty one times three that probably had never been filled in his life.
It was an interesting part of town. Residences of middle and working class mingling with neighborhood businesses, many small shops and the like. Broad Street formed a loop to reconnect with the main roadway, forming a carfax - a joining of four roads - with Holborn Street on the east, Oxford to the west, and Tottenham Court Road to the north. It was a lovely intersection, full of life and industry. People walked from errand to errand, workers unloaded stock. A brewery stood on the corner of Tottenham and Oxford; a stout man standing outside the front wearing a sharp, dapper suit, passing out samples of their latest fine ale in hopes of drawing clientele. He even offered a sampling to Mary as they sauntered by, though the look on his face changed abruptly as he noticed the heavy chain rosary on her belt. "No thank you." she responded, waving him away. "Though you should send someone to the Olde Mitre..." Mary called as she passed, "...fifteen minutes down Holborn, sir." She motioned back the way they had come, smiled politely, and continued past the sunny, bustling carfax. From the last fleeting look of the beer vendor, there existed the possibility that the man valued lucrative trade over general standoffishness with Catholics.
Adam and Mary spent the next period of time between major intersections taking a small meal of cheese, bread, and strawberries. Mary had cautioned that they were going to join the Grand Duchess at the circus for luncheon and not to eat too much, though circumstances were such that a minuscule of indulgence could be tolerated without crossing the boundary into gluttonous behavior. Adam wasn't worried, he didn't even know how to be gluttonous, he just knew how to be hungry. His frail form showed he knew that horrid feeling all too well.
Virginia began with a cursory examination of the wolf carcass. She would have preferred to create a brief sketch of it outside, but the image was firmly cemented in her mind. Taking a pad of paper, Virginia drew a rather crude depiction of the gazebo, the flayed corpse, and the message written in blood. She was nowhere near as talented as Millicent and the others, as she had no official training in it, but it was an exercise for her to be able to better recall the scene. Drawing a clean line across the page, she then recorded the date and time that she had found the carcass, as well as the general weather conditions. She then made brief written notes about the ominous flower Peter had found, along with the general state of the garden.
Virginia always fancied that if she were to be struck by a carriage and killed, James would be able to take her notes and continue on with her work the next day.
"Cursory examination of the carcass reveals little as to the circumstances of its placement," Virginia noted, jotting down a similar note in shorthand. Her first brief glance over all of the samples, whether it was blood or soil or the carcass itself, revealed almost nothing of note. However, that in itself gave some indication, planting an idea in Virginia's mind. She added another note to the paper: "Culprit is likely to be careful in their craft due to lack of obvious residue."
None of the hairs appeared out of place to the naked eye, but Virginia set them aside on a piece of cloth. She was well versed in biology and figured that she might examine them with a magnifying power, in order to determine the likely owner of the hairs. Samples would need to be collected from everyone in the house in order for the best pool of data, though Virginia doubted it was anyone here who had done such a thing. Regardless, she jotted it down as a procedural note "Collect hair samples from members of the household for qualitative analysis--color, texture, curl, and so forth. Compare against reference wolf hair to ensure only human matches are considered."
There were no fabrics from what she could tell as well, something that was a pity. It would have been a good indication as to the social class of the culprit, but she would have plenty of other avenues to examine. The blood was likely to all be from the wolf and blood typing would not even be thought of for almost another century. However, she would collect some of it and place it within a flask for further use. She could ponder on the creation of a test to determine if the blood came from an animal or a human, as she had read articles from the French about the incompatibility of animal blood with humans. There had to be some scientific reason present.
"Lady Crypt, I have the spirits you requested," a confident voice said, as a ginger woman popped her head into the laboratory with a smile. Virginia glanced up, her gloves clean for once. It would not have been the first time that Miss Evers entered the laboratory to find Virginia with blood stained hands.
"Very good, Miss Evers," Virginia acknowledged, her eyes moving around the laboratory as she sought out something capable of submersing the carcass in. Spotting a basin that appeared to be large enough, Virginia beckoned for Miss Evers to bring the spirits over. "We shall need to pour all of the spirits into this and place the lid on top of it. Do not fill it all the way--the carcass shall displace some of the liquid. However, we must be careful to place a seal on top of the basin until it is ready or else we risk the loss of our fluid."
"Yes, yes of course," Miss Evers replied. "It's a ghastly mess, isn't it?"
"Quite," Virginia agreed, knowing how fond Miss Evers was of removing stains. The Crypt household provided her plenty of work in that regard. "Miss Evers, once the basin is filled with the spirits, I shall need you to collect a hair sample from each household member...If they claim they are bald and cannot afford to give one, I care not where you take the hair from. It should still serve my purposes quite well."
"Of course, Lady Crypt," Miss Evers said, a bit excited at the prospect. She was the oddest member of household staff that they had, with Alfred sometimes forgetting that Miss Evers was not, in fact, one of the Crypts but merely a lunatic instead. "I shall do that right away."
Virginia nodded, stepping back as Miss Evers filled the basin with the proper amount of spirits. Once done, Virginia took a sheet and placed it over the basin, securing it tightly. It would have to do for a seal at this moment. The carcass itself would be placed within once she had finished her analysis of it.
Location: Annan
Maeve felt a bit of a stirring as Calum pretended for a moment to be a priest. She turned her face as to hide the redness appearing in her cheeks. He was a protestant, after all. It was a horrible idea to even think of such things with a man like that. And while he wasn't English, he wasn't Irish either. "Of course," Maeve agreed, grateful to get a bit of fresh air away from the parson. Stepping out of the carriage, Maeve took Rory's hand.
She didn't feel worried in the slightest, but she would rather appear worried than other things. The blush was fading from her cheeks and Maeve was quite grateful for that. She nodded at Rory, attempting to gain the presence of mind to charm him as she did everyone. It was how she had won the parson's favor and Nigel's favor. It had been how she learned to survive--make yourself a welcome presence, one that people will actively seek out.
"Oi'm not worried at al', but t'anks." She couldn't help but wonder how many other friends of the parson they'd be meeting on this trip. It was a wonder he'd be able to go in disguise at all.
“Myshka... swam … to... her...” Constantin did manage to reply to Sister Sophia, but that was about all he could before he went into a violent cough to expel some of the water that he had taken before he resurfaced. It was damn painful as he fell onto his knees and arms.
He finally saw the unmoving Veta being brought to the surface by Myshka and his heart sunk into some cold abyss colder than the freezing lake he had just experienced. He brought himself up, coughing a last time as he followed to where Vlad brought Veta. The man called for the healers and well Constantin himself was a user of Krasnoye. What Veta was suffering wasn't wound, so... he refused to believe she won't survive! REFUSED TO! Then he had an realization... the thing he was doing until just now.
“Vater! She's must have breathe in vater! Anyone know how to get it out!?” He called loudly. He thought of the grabbing her from behind and tightening sharply similar to how people do when someone chokes on something. If not... then he was going to use Krasnoye on her until either she woke up or his body was to waste away...
Rory chuckled a bit and ducked as Calums hat came flying out the window. Reaching out he caught it and placed it on his head. "Done with this I take it?" he called out towards the carriage. The door flung open a moment later and the former Parson leaned out of the carriage looking every bit a Catholic Priest.
"Bloody hell, that entire get up was itchin' me like no tomorrow. Glad to be rid of it and that hat," he said as he took a couple of steps down the side of the carriage and hopped out, with much more grace than he had been showing even just recently.
"Hey, this hat looked brilliant on you. What's you complaining about?" Rory asked as he did his best impression of a man of breeding, complete with hat twirl and bow. Calum just rolled his eyes a bit as he tugged at the collar. "Stop that, or your gonna bust it."
"Well, will be my first matter of confession then," Calum snarked.
"Who ya gonna confess to? Yerself?" Rory said bursting out with laughter and dodging a swing from Calum before he darted off and climbed back on top of the carriage and into the driver seat. "On yer own lass."
Calum shook his head a bit before glancing over towards Maeve and smiling a bit nervously towards her. "Sorry about the ruse, clumsy Parson draws far less attention than one would think."
England
Case Name: Time to go Location: London Time: As quickly as possible Reason: To get moving to meet Veta for Brunch Group: Sister Mary, Adam
Continue towards the Circus, should arrive by end of this round. As per usual, pm me for rolls about the trip. No rolls will be made after day 5 of this counter. 7 days to complete.
Case Name: Death of a Garden Location: Crypt Manor (London) Time: An hour or two Reason: Try to figure why everything died and why only 1 thing grew - you can finally start lol Group: The Crypts
Time to get to work hard core. Pm for rolls on results of tests, please be as specific as possible with roll requests to try to find information. The most specific the better. Freshness of corpse is key here, so move quickly. 7 day to complete.
The Strand: Michael chuckled a bit as they passed Frances. "Oh that I have Miss. Doesn't seem to talk much though, wondering if the cats got his tongue," Michael said cheerfully as he pulled the cart and made his way down the street. He wasn't meaning anything by the comment, just trying to make light of a rather dark situation. Some thing that Michael had no want to be a part of but was simply doing it because that was what he did.
Turning his attention back to the road ahead of him he kept walking, steadily pulling the body and half glad that the constable had instructed them to move it. Had they just left it lord only knew how long it would sit out in the streets stinking, rotting, defecating itself, bloating, or being torn apart and eaten by whatever stray hadn't had a meal yet that morning.
Making his way around the corner, Michael stopped in front of one of the buildings lining the street. one looked far more run down than though around it and from above the door hung a barely readable sign - Physician. Setting the end of the cart down carefully Michael dusted his hands off as he stepped over to the door and started banging on it loudly. "Nuetermyre! Wake up!" he shouted and banged again. Looking over at Thalken he sighed. "The man is about as deaf as a door post and sleeps until the sun goes down."
Sarah Ann laid in bed, her head tossing and turning every so often. She would whimper in her sleep, kick from time to time, it was like a horrible combination of a bad nightmare and being unable to get comfortable just as one was trying to fall asleep. It didn't help that she screamed out as she doubled kicked down her sheets, one of those oh shit I'm falling in my sleep! moments. It could all be chalked up to simple shock and fear most likely thanks to the scare she had had earlier, the young girls didn't tend to take well to corpses, doubly less so if it rolled down the hill towards them. Sarah Ann was even more skittish than the rest, which did not help in the slightest.
Regent's Park: Myska growled slightly as he finally released the material of Elizaveta's skirt, letting Vlad take ahold of her and finish the trek up to the shore. Bounding slightly ahead the large cat finally found land and shook himself off, sending a downpour of water on the rest of those standing there. The cat looked rather proud of himself for soaking half the circus in one go. Veta on the other hand, did not look very well at all. Her lips were dark purple, her pale skin seemed nearly transparent at this point, and it was ice cold to the touch.
Vlad beating on Elizaveta's back seemed to be getting some of the water out of the poor girls lungs. As Constantin grabbd her and squeezed, a gush came out. Myska turned and growled towards the two men. They meant well but Myska didn't know that. All he could see was what looked like a lifeless Veta being manhandled and beaten. The tiger looked like he was about to rip both of their throats out with one fell swoop of his jaws. They were big enough.
Sister Sophia finally rushed over, half drenched thanks to Myska and gasped when her eyes finally fell on her charge. "Move, move, out of vay, out of vay," she demaned. "Blankets, torches," she added as she sunk down to her knees. "Veta, speak," she yelled but the Grand Duchess still wasn't moving, at least not a first. The girl eventually gasped for breath and her chest started moving up and down as she drew breath but she still hadn't woken. "Ve need get her inside tent, varmth, she's freezing to touch."
Westminster Hospital: Once the three of them were in the hallway and the door was closed to Mrs. Wyndham's room Dr. Graham let out a frustrated huff and kicked the wall. Rubbing the back of his neck he looked over towards Fyror and Gerard. "Sorry, that woman is just vexing," he said; apologizing for his actions. Turning he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall in thought.
"If she is already missing, I fear the worst," he muttered more to himself than to the two men standing there. Slowly his eyes trailed towards Fyror and then to Gerard. "Is it like Miss Wyndham to go missing like this?" he asked of the two of them. For Millicent to be gone was very out of the ordinary, she rarely went anywhere without informing someone where she was headed and when she expected to return. She rarely went anywhere alone, always with an escort. Ever mindful of the rumors the ton would spread if she was caught out and about without someone at her side that was associated with her family.
Yet, last night may have changed many things. The way she was acting when she was escorted home by Rutherford, the bruising, the look of nothingness in her eyes, the way she had to be lead around like she was a shell of her former self. Though, all of that, she couldn't move from a chair to her bed without being lead by someone, she hardly could have moved and gone missing like this if someone wasn't leading her at this point. "Does anyone know when the last time she was seen?"
Gerard gave a sympathetic look to the doctor, Mrs Wyndham is the ultimate test of patience. As someone who had to put up with that woman on a regular basis it's expected for even the most patient man to come unglued. Returning at the subject of Millicent, he bore a wary look as the Doctor's comment. As much as he hated to hear it, it was the most likely possibility.
"No sir." Gerard responded to the Doctor's initial query. "It is very unlike her to be running off without a word. Nor without my..." Gerard paused, and later repaced his words. "Without an escort sir. " A part of his job being the coach driver is to be his employer's protector, but more so he had taken it upon himself to stay by her side if she needs him to. It was indeed very unusual for her to leave him out if she were to go somewhere. It bothered him deeply, considering what had happened to her only led him to assume that she was some danger.
Gerard recalled a very hollow Millicent when she came home that evening, the emptiness in her eyes, bloodied and bruised and delicate. Looking at Dr Graham, Gerard anstily retold the last time he saw her. "I knew there was something wrong the moment I saw her bruised and with an empty look in her eyes. I stared at her yet she wasnt even there." Then he remembered Lord Rutherford escorting her, the ring from her finger, and what Cook had told him. Millie wanting to get rid of the possibility of bearing a child. He blurted it out to himself more than to the two men in front of him, word by word. "He... did things to her. I wish I could've done something." He paused, as if exhausted and catching his own breath. He then turned back to the two men in front of him "PLease, we have to find her."
Frances Warwick
Location: The Glimmeric;
Frances rested one hand on her hips, still maintaining an amused look. "That he doesn't." She could see the young man was not very fond of the attention. Though never truly meaning anything by it, the situation is more of an unexpected surprise rather than mere amusement, knowing the Talinks. "Regardless, It is help worth taking, he is very proficient." It was neither to ridicule or to compliment him, rather than a reputation known of his family.
That moment Ruby bursted out from the front door, and felt her grabbing her fore arm "There you are." Frances turned around to see a slightly tensed Ruby. The madame asked her what was wrong. Ruby lead her inside and up to the rooms "I think you need to check up on Sarah, the girls said she's been trashing in her sleep. " As they came in her bedroom one of the girls was trying to get a hold of her when she screamed and kicking the sheets. The madame put the other girl aside and sat on the bed where Sarah Anne was trashing. She was shacking her gently, pressing her hand against her cheek whilst muttered for her to wake up.
"Go forward bravely. Fear nothing. Trust in God; all will be well." -Joan of Arc
Location: London Streets -> Regent's Park
Mary brushed the minuscule crumbs of their small but necessary breakfast from hers and Adam's clothing. Granted, there wasn't much. Mary herself was fastidiously kept as it mattered to taking meals, and the boy was obviously hungry enough to not let much escape him. Still, the steady, rhythmic movements of Cassius did tend have the occasion to jostle, and sometimes accidents do happen. It could be said that to take a meal from horseback, even something small, is an act showing an absence of ladylike refinement. However, Mary considered it a greater crime against propriety to allow a child to go hungry, and likewise her formal training had her on horseback for many a year, following other Papal Knights and Venator. Taking a meal thusly was second nature, so long as it was accomplished with expedience and humility.
Their journey down Oxford took them through more marketable locales, sporting row after row of plaster covered brick buildings interspersed between older wood-and-stone structures. Tall windows, many barred at street level, demonstrated the hustle and bustle of London here at the start of the Season as the middle class toured the establishments of gifted neighborhood craftsmen and artists, all looking to make a brisk bit of trade.
It was a glorious example of the enduring power and sociability present in humanity, yet Mary missed the countryside. It had been a very long time since she had been to her childhood home in Stirling, Scotland, if it could even be called that anymore. The elimination of the Hale family, or at least the male heirs of the Ennobled Knightly Hale Clan was such to have their holdings reabsorbed by surrounding estates, their assets impounded by the Crown proper, or granted to other parties for various reasons. She could not say for certain if her family's ancestral Clanhold near the border was still intact, let alone her father's castle in the middle country. Her thoughts drifted toward the trees and fields of Airthrey grounds, the still waters, the abundant nature. It seemed in direct opposition to the busy urban order of London, though living in the city came with several advantages. She would have loved to ride her horse across the countryside and take in the morning air along the loch. But she was not the daughter of a Knight of standing anymore, nor was she a Lady of a prominent House. That was not her life, halcyon as the memories were.
Perhaps the memory of her childhood was what prevented her from noticing the horse and cart barreling down the road. They were to turn right onto Portland Place, another busy road which would lead them straight into Regent's Park, but that plan was unsubtly postponed by oncoming disaster. The situation gave her pause and tested her reflexes as the cart driver, moving at a rate of speed suggesting he was trying to outrun an aggressively amorous demon made of steely, orange-hot, barbed phalluses rode through the intersection of Oxford and Portland without regard to anyone else on the roads. It was all Mary could do to rein Cassius in as he reared up, narrowly avoiding a glancing connection by the heavier vehicle. The haft of her halberd came across, holding Adam fast to her. Mary's skills as an equestrian were demonstrated admirably with the dappled grey stallion moving into a quarter turn while reared on its hind legs, both riders maintaining position atop the magnificent beast. "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come." quoted Mary, settling the horse down and turning onto Portland Place. "Matthew, 24:42. Are you quite alright, Adam?" she inquired, getting back into a respectable trot northward. "Not long now."
The more northerly route appeared to suit the disposition of the horse rather well, as Cassius settled down as only a trained warhorse does, taking up a solid canter after a block or so through a mostly open lane of city street movement. They made excellent time, passing the great public meeting space of Cavendish Square, ringed by several notable shops and townhomes for the wealthy, amid both buildings thick of wall and decorative statues of granite, marble, and semi-precious metals. Even a vast library sprang up from the side of Portland Place, signifying their coming closer to the south entrance of The Regent's Park, an internationally known place of natural respite amid the burroughs of London Metropolitan and grand venue for all manner of attractions, especially now that the Season was upon them.
The southern entrance to Regent's Park was framed by a massive ironwork gate, flung open to receive visitors of all kinds. Even Catholic Lady-Knights under Vatican orders, which was a bold statement considering social factors. Luckily for her, such exceptional access also belonged to Russian Gypsy-folk and lesser Cossack nobility from the same region. And most importantly, a Grand Duchess, one of very few that has ever been in the world, for whom she had come specifically to meet that morning.
Mary crossed the last main intersection leading into Regent's Park, a T-shaped junction of thoroughfares where Portland terminated against Marylebone Road and opened its way into the greener, sloping lands and clusters of trees that made up the Park. Almost large enough to be its own district, the Park ambled and stretched for a long, long way, encompassing an amphitheatre, the Zoological Society, a lake, horticulture nursery, and even some dwellings (though they were Crown property, one may rent or use them with special favor).
It was the goal of the armed and determined Sister Mary to locate the Russian Grand Circus and gain entry to their Tent City, to have an audience with the highest example of nobility she had personally ever been introduced to. Seeing as it was the goal of the Circus to attract people to them, they were not difficult to find. Grand tents of red and purple, muslin and canvas dotted a space not too horribly far away, though strategically placed so as not to interfere with the other locations within the park. Large cargo wagons formed a barrier on one side of the Circus while smaller vardos took up space next to residential tents in orderly rows and circles, forming their own little roads in the grass. This must be the place.
As they approached, Mary noticed that something seemed off. Hurried, possibly, though no Circus she had heard of set up shop that early. Perhaps there was a difficulty. They would likely not know until they got closer. Cassius slowed to a trot, riding into the grounds of the Circus proper with a question of location upon her lips. Now if she could just find someone familiar to her...
Passive Skills:
Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: (Outside of) Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park)
Sister Sophia was a Nun. Nuns worked for the Church. The Church is known for tending to the sick. Ergo, Sister Sophia must know what she is talking about. At least, that's the thought process that ran through Vladimir's mind. The thumping of Veda's back and Constantin's infernal squeezing had paid off, but according to Sophia, much more was required. She mentioned blankets and torches, and to get her someplace warm. That, he could do.
At first, he gave the slightest of consideration to throwing the Grand Duchess over his shoulder and riding Myshka back into the Tent City like some manner of Rusyn Tiger Cavalry, though giving it even a nanosecond's worth of scrutiny led him to the conclusion that him committing suicide via Siberian tiger wouldn't help Veta, nor would it help himself. Ok, that was right out. Second, and probably a much better idea, would be to lift the thankfully respiring young woman into his arms and haul ass back to his Sem'ya. There was only one part of Sister Sophia's plan that didn't seem to fit:
"No! No torch. Bed varmer!" he looked over to Constantin, "Vith cold gear! Please!" It was a bit of a luxury item, but Viktor, the Ringmaster and Circus Manager was always certain to provide Elizaveta with every comfort he possibly could have, especially if it meant getting more stuff for the Circus. "Talk to Ringmaster... eh, Son!" he switched targets and called for the other Konstantin (though obviously with a "K"), "Please be getting tent stove lit in Grand Duchess's tent, da? Move the ass!"
The younger Bazhooli gave a quick showing of affirmation and began running full tilt back to the Tent City. His mission was absolute, and while he might tell someone about it very soon, it would wait until after he did as his father requested. The Great Bazhooli himself had gathered up Elizaveta into his arms, and was quite busy moving her to her large and luxurious tent back with the Sem'ya. If Sophia wanted torches after this, she could grab them on the way in easily enough.
Fyror did not blame Dr. Graham for getting vexed by Mrs. Wyndham. The woman was stubborn and headstrong, and as many in the ton did, she had a warped perception of the world. She stubbornly refused to see the good in those who truly were, and she was entirely blind to the darkness within those who had little good left in them. Title and prestige did not make a man into a more decent human being than a man who has nothing to his name. However, Mrs. Wyndham did not see it that way, such was their dilemma. Fyror had a feeling nothing would truly change Mrs. Wyndham's view of Lord Rutherford, and publicly discrediting the man would only make her hate the mangled faced officer more. In the end though, her view of him mattered little in comparison to ensuring the safety of Millicent.
His lips were set into a hard line, and his features were harsher than usual as he listened to Dr. Graham. No matter how much he wished to deny it, the situation with Millicent grew graver by the second. The clock was ticking on her life expectancy, and he feared that they would be too late. At Dr. Graham's question, his gaze turned to Gerard. The stable hand seemed more familiar with Miss Wyndham and likely could answer with more accuracy and credibility than he could.
"All that Miss Wyndham had witnessed and experienced at Almack's had taken a toll on her, and Lord Rutherford clearly took advantage of her already fragile state. If I had known the truth about him then, I would have gladly taken that man down right then and there, no matter the repercussions," he stated after Gerard had spoken. There was an evident edge to his voice, and he looked over at Dr. Graham before his gaze turned back to Gerard. There was a fieriness to his eyes as he addressed the man. "I will do everything in my power to get her back and to see that justice is served. Lord Rutherford will pay, and I don't care if he ruins me in the process."
Thalken's dark eyed gaze whipped back and forth between Michael and Frances as they bantered about him of all people. They were talking about him like he wasn't even here. His nostrils flared slightly in his annoyance. He didn't like this in the least bit. It was one thing if it was his twin sister Thalcona teasing him. He could tolerate her for the most part, but people who were basically strangers to him? They had no right.
"You know I am standing right here," he stated snarkily. He had always been a bounty hunter above all else, so "socializing" wasn't exactly his forte. With this in mind, his words more often than not had a harsh bluntness to them, like that which had just spilled from his mouth. His eyes narrowed back on Frances at her last comment. His head tilted slightly to the side. He did not know exactly how to take what she had just said. Was it ridicule? A compliment? Or simply stating a known fact?
Thalken did not have much time to ponder that thought as Frances was needed elsewhere and Michael was already moving on. He let out a huff of frustration, but nevertheless, he followed the man to the nearby physician Nuetermyre. If it was even possible, Thalken looked further annoyed at Michael's statement that the doctor was practically deaf. Great, he would be here awhile. How long did this helping thing usually take?
Constantin's heart almost exploded when he saw that Veta took breath! This was almost akin to miracle and he only threw a glance at Myshka. The tiger was naturally worried about Veta and Constantin suspected given the chance because of that treatment they gave her, they were going to be feline food soon if Veta hadn't breathed. Still the fact she was living for now was all fine and good, but they had to keep her alive!
“Cold gear, right away!” Constantin replied with utmost haste as he dashed off get to Viktor. He doesn't remember running so fast since just a little while ago when he bolted through the opening in the mist. Now both the cases of him pushing his speed to the limit were about Veta. She was among the closest of friends. No way he's letting himself not help her to the utmost.
“Ringmaster! We need cold gear for Veta!” Constantin almost shouted as soon as he came near the location where Victor usually was.
He hadn't confirmed Viktor was here even though he called so he hurried to look about to find the man. If he was here and heard him -great! Otherwise damn he was ready to grab the gear himself and just suffer punishment later if he had to. No time to lose.
Miss Evers returned, interrupting Virginia's concentration for a mere moment. While Virginia felt a bit exasperated, as she had begun to have some ideas as to which tests she might perform on the carcass, Miss Evers' presence was not entirely unwelcome. Carefully placed on a sealed tray that Miss Evers carried, Virginia assumed were the hairs that had been collected from each member of the household staff. With a full staff, having the samples to compare things with would make the work much easier. She may be familiar with most of those who worked in Crypt Manor, but she certainly would not have been able to identify each person's hair on sight.
"All the samples, just as you asked," Miss Evers explained, setting the tray down and removing the lid. The hairs were laid out on a sheets of paper, with their names identified in a messy scrawl. It took Virginia by surprise for a moment--she was unaware that Miss Evers could read or write. It was uncommon for the lower classes, especially women. But that was a matter for another time--the carcass decayed with each passing moment.
"Excellent," Virginia said simply. She took the hairs she had obtained from the specimen and began her comparison, jotting down notes as she went. She compared the hairs in terms of texture, color, structure, and so forth. Creating a table of sorts among her notes, Virginia filled in the columns for Alfred, James, Peter, Miss Evers, herself, and her beloved dog Ripper. The rest of the household staff was added as well.
"This is all rather ghastly, isn't it?" Miss Evers pressed, sounding excited and showing seemingly no shame about it. "Think of all the stains there'll be to clean...There's already blood on your dress, my lady."
"Interesting. Two hairs that appear to be human with no correlation. A dark hair, thick structure and short, texture is greasy, shaft is smooth. Second one is a course auburn, short as well," Virginia said, jotting down the notes. She ignored Miss Evers' prattling about how she would manage to get the stain out of Virginia's dress as best as she could. Removing bloodstains from clothing, if possible, was a key part of Miss Evers' job.
Virginia then took the two hairs she had identified and placed them between two wetted pieces of glass. If done properly, it created a decent seal that would ensure the hairs would not go amiss in the laboratory. Walking away from the bench for a moment, she set the hair samples down on the shelf, leaving a small note near them to explain what they were. She didn't care for miscellaneous specimens and chemicals of unknown origin to be in her laboratory.
"Any leads yet, my lady?" Miss Evers pressed once more, as Virginia put a second pair of gloves on and grabbed a small flask. To the best of her ability, she filled the flask with some of the carcass' blood. She could attempt to analyze it later. "Take this to the well, place it in the bucket, and lower it down. The conditions at the bottom of the well will keep the temperature constant and appropriate for preserving this specimen."
Miss Evers nodded, looking at the flask with fascination as she gave it a bit of a swirl. "Remarkable," she whispered.
Virginia glanced up at Miss Evers, her eyes partially narrowed. "If you are to be my assistant in these affairs, I expect that you follow my orders as holy writ. If religion is not your opiate of choice, then I can certainly amend my analogy," Virginia warned. The laboratory was her dominion. Those who ignored her instructions earned her irritation and seemingly sensing this, Miss Evers made her apologies and hurried to deal with the flask.
Virginia grinned a bit once she was alone in the laboratory. She fetched a cloth mask for herself and put some lilac inside of it, knowing that the smell of death would be upon her soon. She was entranced by death, but even Virginia found it much more preferable when combined with flowers. It was reminiscent of funerals. Placing the mask on, she considered for a moment placing a third pair of gloves on, but decided ultimately against it.
She began the process of dissection, working slowly and carefully. Not even the lilac scent of the mask could conceal the awful stench that filled the laboratory. Blood drenched her gloves and the sleeves of her dress, as well as the front. It was not some small creature she was dissecting--this was a fully grown wolf. She removed its organs that she found and set them aside, intent on preserving them separately. They could prove useful for analysis.
"How curious," Virginia murmured underneath the mask. The wolf was missing a kidney, gallbladder, and pancreas. There was no indication as to when the organs were removed, but another development appeared to be more pressing. Taking the organs turn by turn, she attempted to deduce as much as she could about the wolf's last few days of life, placing the organs in jars filled with the same spirits filling the basin once she finished.
"The sex is male," Virginia noted, but that was not what captivated her. "The subject appears to have been digesting human remains."
Location: Annan
Maeve felt bewildered as she took in the parson. While he had changed his attire and chosen to hide underneath a new profession, his entire personality appeared to have changed. The clumsy parson she had traveled with had been nothing more than a ruse, then. It was impressive commitment, she had to admit. However, some small portion of her felt disappointed that it had all been illusion. She had become quite fond of the clumsy man in the last day.
"'tis al' de seem ter me," Maeve answered with a tone of indifference. She was curious as to who Calum actually was, but she was too prideful to ask that type of question. She didn't want to admit that she had been fooled, amongst other things. It was better to just use Calum as a means to an end. This man was likely just the same as all of the others, then. She couldn't decide if she was more irritated with Calum or with herself.
"Let's git 'eadin', den. we're wastin' our time," Maeve added. "Unless yer 'av another costume change yer nade ter git done, kid."
"I see," Callum said, not exactly convinced that she was telling him the whole truth on how she felt about the deception but he wasn't going to pry. He had after all deceived her to a point since she had arrived. Nodding he stepped over to the carriage and held the door open for her with one hand and the other held out to her to help her into the carriage if she chose to take it.
Rory sniggered a bit but didn't say anything, especially after the look the priest shot him. Climbing back up into the driver seat he took a hold of the reins and waited for them to get situated. Callum watched Rory for a moment before his eyes went back to Maeve. Giving her a slight smile his eyes motioned towards the carriage. "Come now, Father Blair here to help you with all your spiritual needs. Shall we proceed?" he asked her trying to make light of the situation.
"Seriously though, I am a priest, and a parson... Long story, will tell you if you want to know. I at least owe you that," he said. Rory's brows shot up and his head snapped quickly as he looked down at Callum. Rory knew why the deception was needed, knew the history of Callum, the two were closer than Callum was with his entire family. Yet hearing him willing to tell someone else about it pulled a look of astonishment from the carriage driver.
England
Case Name: Death of a Garden Location: Crypt Manor (London) Time: An hour or two Reason: Same as before Group: The Crypts
Like with previous rounds, Virginia is still seeking answers. (And she will until you tell me otherwise lol) - So continue as before. Pm me for rolls on tests you think she should take, or questions about what she could or couldn't do with her skill sets. (Trained and not.) - Another 7 days.
The Strand: "Yup but you don't seem to speak much," Michael chuckled a bit before banging on the door again. "Nuetermyre! Wake your ass up!" Michael bellowed as he kept banging on the door. There was a sound from the window upstairs over them. A sound of something crashing, a banging, and then a slew of curses that would have made a sailor blush. The window flung open and an old man that looked more like he should be a patient in a hospital than a doctor on the streets peeks his head out.
"What in the blazes!" he shouted before looking down and spotting Michael and the corpse. "Alright, alright, I'm coming. Stop beating on my door before you knock it off its hinges," he spouted before disappearing back into the window. Michael just shook his head and glanced over towards Thalken.
"Watch your pockets in here," he warned Thalken as he heard the locks on the door start to turn. Looking back at the door it opened and there Nuetermyre stood in his robe and slippers.
"What is all this?" he asked. Michael explained in short fashion what had happened. "So I am to hold a body? They better be paying me for the space."
"I have no information on that, just need to drop it off."
"You know where," Nuetermyre said, giving Thalken the once over and licking his lips before turning and walking off. Heading back up the stairs without a word. Michael couldn't help but roll his eyes as he turned back to Thalken.
"And your virtue," Michael said, adding to his warning from earlier. "Let's get this body moved," he said as he climbed into the back of the cart and grabbed the dead man by the shoulders, leaving the feet hanging off the edge of the wood to Thalken. "On three, and lift."
Sarah Ann still didn't wake, thrashing about like a bug caught on its back. That was until Francis pushed the girls aside and tried to wake her. The poor girl bolted straight up right and looked with wild eyes around the room. Her chest heaving as she panted for breath. "Bollocks," she said in a weary voice before her eyes finally came to Francis and found that she was in her room surrounded by people she knew, living people. Letting out a sigh of relief she fell forward against the madame and apologized.
"Oh twas horrible madame! This head be rolling after me, I kept running but it wouldn't stop. I climbed things, turned this way and that, but the head kept coming for me. Head of the dead man it was. Then soons as I thought I was safe, his body came after mes from another ways. Two pieces running and rolling after me. Was maddening, I nevers wants to sleep again," she cried against Francis.
Regent's Park: Sister Sophia looked at Vlad and nodded. Gathering up herself as Myska circled around them before starting to growl at the crowd that was around. The tiger causing the people to part like the red sea and keeping a quick enough pace to stay ahead of Vlad until he reached the personal tent of Veta. Myska leaped up onto the bed and turned slightly before basically flopping down like he did every night. His body curling about. This was how he always slept, there in bed with the Grand Duchess, as a pillow in the summer, warmth in the winter.
It was probably a good thing Elizaveta had spent so much time with the animal, raising him from a cub. He was far more docile towards her than most others that trained animals. Like a child has a connection with its mother. And right then Veta needed all the warmth she could get. As Vlad carried her, her body was ice cold, far colder than the waters had been and while she was breathing, she still had bits of frost on her blue tinged lips, her hair crusting over like frozen gold, and her body involuntarily shaking from the chill that ran to her bones. Yet she still made not a sound, not a whimper of pain, not a movement of her eyes under the lids.
Adam looked around the chaos that was going about, watching cautiously as he sat there before Sister Mary. He didn't say anything at first but then looked up at her. "Go that way," he said as a chill ran through his body. His finger pointing off further into the tent city. It wasn't a second later that Myska came pushing through and parting the crowd before ducking into a large extravagant tent. It was much smaller than the main one but much larger than the rest that seemed to be various homes for other performers. Sister Sophia was coming through the crowd but her eyes caught a glimpse of the two there on the horse, it wasn't every day another nun was in eye shot of her. She looked at them confused but turned away and headed towards the tent that Myska had just gone in, yelling back at Vlad. "Hurry, gods speed now!"
Westminster Hospital: Dr. Graham stood there and sighed a bit to himself. "I do not believe that anyone harm will come to your reputation Sir Kildragon even if you were to flay the main at the gates of Buckingham and set him aflame. If anything, it might raise people's opinions of you," he said gravely before shaking off the thought. He would actually have paid a kings ransom to see such an act.
Pulling out his pocket watch he looked at the time, stepping over to where the nurses were he found the papers on Mrs. Wyndham and checked her visitors log. His finger ran over the paper before checking his watch again. Grumbling to himself he turned back to the two men that were there. He looked them both over. He wasn't sure what their relations with Millicent were but it was more than obvious that they seemed to be the only ones he had met thus far that seemed to care whether the woman lived or died. It was more than he could hope for at that point.
"If he is doing what I believe he shall, he already has at least an eight hour head start on the both of you, maybe as many as twelve," he said as he motioned for them to follow him down the hall a bit. On the wall was a casting of bronze of England with the counties marked out. He pointed to the high point of England, where Scotland would have touched the border. "Gretna Green is where I believe he is taking her," he said before looking back at them. "He must be at least to Nottingham by now. I do not know if you will reach him in time to stop a marriage... Time is not on your side with such an advantage of time and distance as he must have already placed between him and London. We can only hope that he feels threatened and is not pushing for speed. If he be, all hope for the girl may be lost."
The Ringmaster, a shrewd and fairly portly individual named Viktor, was busy with his attendants trying to squeeze himself into a man-girdle when he heard his name being called, nay, shouted into the late morning air. He threw a shirt on over the not-quite-fastened torso restraining device and poked out from his personal tent, located near where the action usually was.
Viktor knew what was going on with Veta, but seeing how many hands were on the case already had slipped back to the tents to ready himself to meet the public, if such an event were necessary. The best way he figured he could help involved dealing with people outside of the Circus, organizing the personnel (aside from the Bazhooli Sem'ya, that was Vladimir's concern), and keeping things running smoothly while those who could help directly did so. There was also the painful necessity of drafting letters to the Emperor and the Imperial Court if the unthinkable were to occur, and the Grand Duchess not make it.
Naturally, that letter would be delayed by a day or two while another, faster moving one was sent, detailing the immediate need for additional monies and supplies for Elizaveta's betterment.
He heard the urgent tone in Constantin's voice, and as soon as he saw the younger man running about, screamed back at him. "Cold Veather Gear? It is in STORAGE VAGONS! STORAGE! Back of the Tent City!" He pointed in the general direction of the cargo wagons forming a blockade around the back of the area. It was all common knowledge, but perhaps he was looking for the Noble(ish) Ringmaster because he knew every nook and cranny of the Circus like the back of his hand. If anyone could locate something buried in storage months ago, and quickly, it would be him. And because it was Veta, he would make sure it was handled immediately. "Come, come. Tell me vhat you need, I vill get..." He managed a jog back to a specific cargo wagon, waving Constantin back with him.
Co-GM's Note: For the sake of simplicity, just assume that Viktor locates and gets you what you need, as long as you tell him specifics.
Meanwhile, the younger Alexandrov, Konstantin (yes, but with a "K") sprinted along as fast as he could, pausing only long enough to snatch up a live coal with a set of tongs from a cooking brazier, plus a handful of wadding. By the time he got to Elizaveta's tent (a place where he would otherwise never dare tread), others were arriving. He set at once to light a solid fire in the tent's blackened iron stove. It would provide plenty of heat, but not a lot in the way of light, for a couple of hours before needing tending. Hopefully, the Grand Duchess would be a little better by then.
Passive Skills:
Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)
The Great Bazhooli did not quite notice the lack of warmth in himself. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline passing through his blood, his heart pumping at a rate that propelled him to action above personal safety. But he was freezing cold. What he did notice was the block of barely breathing ice that was shaped like his little Veta that he carried in his arms. No matter how cold he might have been, she felt colder still against his skin.
The tiger, Myshka, was doing a truly admirable job clearing the road for him. He seemed to instinctively know exactly where they were going and what to do when they got there. The animal was probably just as waylaid by the cold as he was, probably moreso despite his larger body mass. It was a kind of love/hate relationship with Myshka. He seemed to get along fine with Vladimir, even follow some simple commands that he would issue, but only if it meant getting to or helping Elizaveta. Otherwise, he took his life in his hands just as much as any other poor soul that got that close to a territorial 500 pound kittycat. But times like this, they worked together well, their only things in common being an attachment to the Circus and a mutual love for the young Romanova.
As soon as Myshka situated himself in Veta's bed, Vladimir lay his charge next to the great beast. He level of worry increased at that point, fueled by the desperation of a lack of options. At least while he was carrying her to possible safety, he was doing something. His efforts at using the Krasnoye were seemingly ineffective against whatever afflicted her, and there was nothing else he could do. Now that his usefulness was over... Vladimir slumped into a sullen heap to sit upon the floor of Veta's tent, leaning against the central pole. The fire was lit in the tent stove, pushed closer to her bed. Any moment now, Constantin should be returning with a bed warmer they could load up with hot coals to really get that temperature up. Any moment now.
Suddenly, he sprung up from the floor, a purposeful smile on his face. "Bottles!" he cried, pointing his fingers in the air with the most grandiose of "AHA!" moments. Perhaps there was somethig useful he could do. "Ve need bottle! Glass bottle! Clay bottle! Stone, steel, full vith vater! Yes!" The intent was to place said bottles upon the tent stove, thusly making quick and simple, bed-friendly sources of replaceable heat. "HA!"
With that, he ran for the exit.
"He sent out His word and healed them, and delivered them from their destruction."
Location: Regent's Park -> Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)
The Circus seemed to be in some sort of uproar, though for what reason Mary could not tell. The sudden twitching of her young charge, Adam, followed by a eerily serious command issuing direction was noted by Mary with some wonder and concern. The last couple of days had taken her from normal (or what passed for normal for her) to the cusp of one of her greatest fears: an uprising of Soulless that threatened all of Humanity. With this in mind, she was willing to take a few things on faith. Taking things on faith was in her job description, anyway.
Mary reined her horse in the direction that Adam pointed, her heart filling with a sense of dread purpose. She was fully in the belief that the boy, through whatever window of Divinity, had been given the task of guiding her in that moment. Of course thinking logically, if someone like Mary were needed in a hurry, enough to warrant guidance from on high, it could not be good. Her talents mostly lay in rooting out and destroying threats to God's children, waging wars both quiet and overt upon the Soulless. Yes, she had to get wherever Adam was pointing.
As soon as her decision was etched upon her face in stone, Mary and Adam were greeted in extreme passing by a massive, white tiger, bounding along on its own direct path. The crowd parted, as any sensible group of persons should when an animal that dangerous moves among them. Mary noted with some satisfaction that the tiger was moving in generally the same direction that Adam pointed while having his curious episode just then. Again with satisfaction, Mary noted too that Cassius didn't react whatsoever to the massive apex predator rushing past them. Immediately afterward, what appeared to be a Russian Nun parting the distance, calling back for Vlad.
"Vlad?" she wondered aloud. "But isn't that...?" Now, while the young Apostolic's brain was focusing on the odd Russian knife thrower who gave her a ride back to St. Etheldreda's, the question she almost got finished asking was answered by that very man, hauling his human cargo as fast as he possibly could through the path that the tiger opened. He did not even notice Mary and Adam atop the splendid grey horse, foreigners within the boundaries of their Great and Most Splendid Tent City. Someone was hurt. And Adam correctly predicted where they were headed, as if Mary needed to be there.
It was a little slower moving, getting to that tent. Tent was perhaps not the most appropriate word for the temporary shelter; Silk and Canvas Palace might have been better. It was opulent as far as tents went. Fit for an Emperor, or at least an Emperor's daughter. Then it hit Mary like a gnawing, burning worry. Who was Vladimir carrying? Mary slid from Cassius and fized his reins to the nearest strong, deep pavilion stake. It was not the most appropriate place for a horse, granted, but it would keep him around until she returned and made apologies later. She took up her halberd and helped Adam down, instructing, "Stick close and stay quiet, Adam. I do not know how we will be received."
With resolve, Mary strode up to the tent with little Adam in tow. She was unsure as to what she might say, but knew that she had to meet this head on. Someone, probably someone she had come to consider a friend in a short time, needed her. She had just raised her hand to announce her presence upon the tent's canvas opening when a familiar face popped out. It was Vlad. And seemed very happy to see her. "Scary Catholic Lady! HA! Da, DA! Come in, you come in, but qvickly!" he barely allowed Mary to cross the threshold before exclaiming her presence in his native Russian, "Это страшная католическая леди! Ах, Дама Мэри Хейл, из Ватикана! Мэри - друг Веты, новая арка-могила. Мы позволим ей помочь, если сможет."1 "Everybody, out ov vay! Please, Sister-Knight, vill you pray over our Veta? Can you help?"
Mary swallowed and looked over Veta. And her tiger. It was a foregone conclusion that she would have to get within mauling range to help her, so she needed a couple of things first. She offered her main weapon to Adam, stating, "Please take this and stand to the side, Adam. Lay it down carefully if you need to, but out of the way. Thank you." and to Vladimir, "What has happened to her?"
Vladimir dropped most of his pretense, opting for quick, direct answers. "Soulless attack, or Monster. I do not know. Ink-black vith tentacles, vas invisible at first. Had two heads, froze everything it is touching or coming near. Lake became as ice. It vas trying to kill just Veta, like assassin." First the Arch Graveolase, now the Grand Duchess. Highly placed individuals. Mary thought she might be next, now that she had position, however temporary. Well, let them come. People might be ready this time. But the description of the Soulless had her at a disadvantage.
"I cannot claim to know what that was, Master Alexandrov. But I will try to help, if I can." Mary walked over to the unconscious form of Veta on her nicely appointed bed, complete with tiger. She only hoped that Myshka would recognize her as a friend, someone who was there to help his mistress. She removed her rosary from her belt and slowly brought it to Mary's forehead, holding the crucifix lightly to her freezing skin. With her other hand above Elizaveta's heart, Mary began to pray. She focused her prayer into a mental centering as she opened herself up to the Vatican trained skill of Timyne, attempting to drive the affliction from her friend.
"In nomine Patris, et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti. Loving Father, be it Your will, I beg that you shine a ray of Mercy upon your servant, Elizaveta. Remove the corruption and preserve her Soul, O Lord. Knit her flesh, that she may still serve you on Earth. Please spare this woman. Please, in your infinite wisdom and capacity for love, raise her from this affliction and put strength into her limbs. In nomine Patris, et Fillii et Spiritus Sancti.
Back at the tent opening, Vladimir was slowly backing out, mumbling quietly, "...bottlesbottlesbottles..."
1 = This is Scary Catholic Lady! Ah, Dame Mary Hale, from the Vatican! Mary is a friend to Veta, and the new Arch Graveolase. We will let her help, if she can.
Gerard looked over to the man in red next to him and to the doctor and nodding in agreement at the plans they were coming up. Although a bit fidgety, he was rather patiently waiting for the doctor as he ran through the bundle of papers, Gerard hopefully reckoned this will help them figure out where Millicent might've gone to. He could not quite read the doctor's expression when his eyes moved towards the both of them.
What he said next didnt sound good. Listening intently at his every word Gerard was feeling more and more worried for Millicent's fate. He will not let him have it, he will certainly try all he can but the doctor's points on the matter seemed to make it look like there's little hope for it. But there's no sense in giving up now. As he had told himself, and Millicent many times before that he will stand by her side in the midst of a hurricane, and if it means throwing himself in the middle of it just to get her somewhere safe is enough a motivation and take that seemingly unattainable window of hope to save Millicent, "Is there some way we could reach them quickly?"
Frances Warwick
Location: The Glimmeric;
At that moment Sarah Ann bolted up and finally came to her senses, there was true horror drawn in her eyes. Everybody went quiet for a moment, eyes all on her with genuine worry until she spoke up. Frances gave her arms to comfort the young woman, it does happen but not as common to have lesser experienced girls be plagued with nightmares with traumatic encounters. The worst of it would evidently leave an irreversible impression on them, even going as far as to ruining their functionality and their whole life. One client made that tremendous mistake. Frances made a promise to make him not see the light of day again for it. And without regrets she will do it again to the next one who would even dare.
"Hush now. No need to apologize, mijita. Tell me what you saw?" Frances gently pats her back, though this would help her ease down if she lets it all out. Sarah went on and retell her dream in a most detailed manner. One of the girls standing behind let out an audible snicker, while the other one elbowed her. "What? It sounds so silly." she reasoned the other. Frances just let her rest against her, "Have you had anything to drink? Some tea perhaps?" "I did saw her chugging some spirits while back." Ruby voiced out,"I may... be partly to blame for that." she was leaning on the post just next to her. "Well, no wonder." the madam said nonchalantly. She gestured the two girls on the back to get her some tea, and went back to Sarah Ann. "Would it help if I stay here for awhile?"
"Whatever the case may be, I am preparing myself for anything. I don't expect Lord Rutherford to go down easily, the worst perpetrators never do," Fyror replied as his attention returned to Dr. Graham. He watched for a moment as the man began checking his pocket watch and looking over some papers.
Fyror's gaze then drifted over to the stable hand who stood alongside him. The man's anxiety was palatable through his demeanor. Clearly he was equally concerned about Millicent's safety. He vaguely wondered the extent of the man's relationship with Ms. Wyndham, recalling how Mrs. Wyndham had stated that the man often read in the stables with her step-daughter. It was a curious situation but not entirely unsurprising. Millicent clearly did not see the world in the same way as the ton did. Titles and appearances did not seem to sway her perception of people. She saw the real man or woman underneath. As far as Fyror was concerned, a friend of Millicent was a friend of his.
Perhaps his perception of the man would be different if he knew of Gerard's history with his father, or perhaps he would not. He knew about the case but not of the names of those involved. Such details were privy only to a select few as a means of protecting the identity of the man (Gerard) who had provided the pertinent information at the expense of his own brothers. "I am Sir Fyror Kildragon, by the way. I don't know that we have ever been formally introduced," he stated to Gerard. His attention left the stable hand when Dr. Graham spoke up once more.
"Then we best be getting a move on. It would be ideal if we could cut them off before they reach their destintation. What's the quickest route to Gretna Green?" he replied determinedly.
Thalken let out a small huff and rolled his eyes at Michael's comment. As far as he was concerned, he would talk when necessary or when he felt that he had something of note to say. Granted, it wasn't entirely lost on him that he had an off-putting tendency to speak with a harsh bluntness. He didn't necessarily do it intentionally. It was really just the only way this socially deprived man knew how to communicate. He wore on his sleeve the hatred he felt for his world that was drowned in darkness. He wasn't here to make friends, and he wasn't here to make enemies. He just wanted an out. Ultimately, at his own pace, he would do whatever it took to feel what it was like to live in the light and to leave the darkness behind. It didn't matter how uncomfortable or painful the process was. He was ready for it, but unfortunately, old habits die hard.
There was that ever-present intensity to his dark eyes as he watched and waited for Nuetermyre. He was honestly tempted to pull out his pistol and fire a round into the air. That would surely get people scrambling to attention. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips at the thought. That soon evaporated as the "doctor" finally made his appearance following a string of profanities. As Nuetermyre disappeared back into the window, Thalken glanced over at Michael with a looked that said 'seriously?' Needless to say, he wasn't overly impressed with this so-called doctor. He let out a small sigh in response to Michael's comment about watching your pockets. If his twin sister Thalcona was here, she probably would have translated that as a 'whatever.'
Nuetermyre eventually came to the door, and Thalken stood silently and broodingly off to the side while Michael and the doctor talked. The only upside to this current situation was when the doctor finally left them alone. Good riddance. Thalken arched a brow at Michael's added comment. "Remind me not to die in this part of town," he grumbled before helping move the body once more.
“Yes! Veta fell in the freezing water!” Constantin said to the ringmaster.” She's breathing right now, but her body's freezing! We need the cold gear to warm her up well enough!” He quickly explained everything as he followed the man towards the wagons in the back where the gear was it seemed.” Think vorst vinter and vhat you need to survive it! Yes! Cold gear and bedwarmers!”
The gear was indeed found with an impressive display of haste on hte ringmaster's side. Constantin supposed it would have taken him a much longer time to get all of that gear sorted.” Thank you, Ringmaster! I need to get this to Veta as soon as possible!” He stated, grabbing as much of it as he could carry along the bedwarmer, as he dashed off back towards Veta's tent. Time was running and it was precious commodity they didn't have in abundance right now.
“Fast... fast... fast... Make way!” He was mumbling and shouting while running. Trying to keep a tempo and everyone from getting in his way.
Virginia continued to carry out her analysis. Oddly enough, she found the very same organs the wolf missed within its stomach, though they were human. This in itself was interesting--the balance of probability was not that a wolf would consume the same organs it would later lack. A person must have done this intentionally, along with the placement of the note. Slowly, a profile was coming together. They knew the trained tongue, so they either were friendly with the tribes or had been trained themselves. But they were also patient and had a reason to hate the Crypts.
Of course, she knew that the wolf had been fed the organs. They had been partially digested, though that in itself gave Virginia an idea. Might she be able to make an approximation of a wolf's stomach to determine how long ago it had eaten the organs? It was a novel idea, though she would need to find some solution equivalent to a stomach's acid. It was a shame wolves were not more common in England. It would have been a great aid.
Miss Evers returned, only to be sent off by Virginia once more. She had been in the middle of removing the organs, before explaining to the maid that everyone on the property would need to be interviewed as to their whereabouts that morning. Miss Evers had returned by the time Virginia was removing her gloves and making her final notes, giving her a run down of everything she had learned. Peter had gotten up as normal, had breakfast, and then went to work. Alfred responded similarly, with James insisting that he had been playing Wake the Dead until his morning lessons.
"Is that all, my lady?" Miss Evers asked, eyeing Virginia's tattered gown. "Shall I see about cleaning that?"
"No, you shall not," Virginia responded coolly. "If these people mean to end us, then we shall kill them as well." There was little other analysis that she could think of performing. She merely had to now consider the facts she had learned and see if any clues might enlighten a suspect.
Location: Annan
Maeve declined to take Calum's hand, hoisting herself into the carriage. It wasn't the most lady like action to take, but she didn't care too much at the moment. She was peeved, enough to the extent that she didn't wish to admit her curiosity about the parson's double life. Well, the fake parson. She honestly wasn't sure what to make of him anymore and she was certain she didn't care. He was a means to an end. "If oi 'av mislead yer, Father Blair, I'm sorry. but it doesn't matter ter me who yer are, as long as dis job gets done an' oi git what's mine."
She didn't bother looking at him, instead turning her head to gaze outside the window of the carriage. She supposed she shouldn't have been too surprised that a protestant, of all people, was causing such a reaction in her. And so what if he claimed he was a father as well? She didn't have any reason to trust a single word that came out of his mouth. He could've claimed to be the King of England at this point and she wouldn't have bothered to care. If anything, she would've just become more and more disappointed.
Calum eyed her for a Maeve for a moment as she refused his hand. She said it didn't bother her but the way she wouldn't look at him made him think otherwise. Sighing a bit he began to climb into the carriage. He had made it about half way up the steps before his show slipped and he face planted into the floor of the carriage with his body splayed out down the stairs and feet dragging the ground. This brought a roar of laughter from Rory and a "Oh fuddle..." from the Parson/Priest.
"You foozler, thought you have finally out grown that double left footedness of yers," Rory exclaimed between the guffaws. Slowly righting himself Calum shot Rory a look.
"Oh put a cork in it you meater," Calum snipped back before finally climbing into the carriage and shutting the door. Two hard thumps later to the roof by Calum and they were off. Sitting there, Calum brushed the knees of his trousers off. He decided it was probably best to keep quiet for the rest of the ride. Thankfully it wasn't long before they were pulling into Annan proper and down the streets. The area was far nicer and more civil than the port had been but that was too be expected. Most cities were like that. The docks were never a kind place. Not that the cities were any better but they at least pretended to be so.
As the carriage pulled to a stop Calum looked over to Maeve. "Mad at me or not, you do need to act like everything is fine. That means accepting my hand when I offer it or you risk Lady Kirkpatrick not wanting you to be looking after her house," he said before the door of the carriage opened. Letting out a breath he slipped out of the carriage and gave a sideways glance towards Rory before holding it hand out to Maeve.
England
Case Name: Death of a Garden Location: Crypt Manor (London) Time: An hour or two Reason: Same as before Group: The Crypts - Side note for Mosi
Okay, you put your left hand in you take your left hand out, you put your left hand in and you shake it all about. You to the hokey... oh fuck it. LOL You know the drill. Can't remember if Virginia had plans today or not, so if she did, it might be getting around that time, if not no worries. There will be an obituary in the papers for Mosi, stating that the funeral will be this evening at Mosi's family's home. (Riv, Morose, don't know how you two want to handle this but here is an article on it - angelpig.net/victorian/mourning.html - might give you some ideas. Pm me if you want to work in the funeral to the Rp or not) - 7 days
The Strand: "No, no madam, I be fine, just feelin' a bit amoke. Sure I be right as rain as long as I don't be tryin' to sleep for a bit," Sarah Ann said in a not too convincing voice. "Don't want to be keepin' ya from anything miss." That sentence though came through with utter honesty. Sarah didn't want to put Francis out by asking her to sit with her. Right then she wasn't sure if she wanted anyone to sit with her or if she just wanted to be alone. Neither of the options really seemed like good ones in her mind.
Sighing she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stared at the ground a bit. "Least be tellin' me that body be done gone, don'ts wants to be thinking abouts lookin' out the window and seein' it still layin' there, she said before shivering slightly and wrapping her arms around herself. Sure, some of the girls snickered at her but she had to wonder just how well any one of them would have taken a body rolling down the hill at them so while she felt at her nerves end she wasn't too hard on herself for having a nightmare about the entire situation.
Over at Nuetermyre's Michael nodded a bit towards Thalken. "You and me both lad, this is not the man I want tending to me corpse," he said as they hauled the body inside. Walking down the hallway Michael took the lead and headed towards a room in the back. The door was unmarked but swung open readily enough. The room itself looked like what one would call an operating room in the day. The walls were lined with shelves that held various odd looking items and there were several tables of wood in the center of the room, all stained with old blood that just couldn't be scrubbed off enough. Looking at the state of the room, one had to wonder if it was ever cleaned considering the amount of dust on most things. The only clean areas seemed to be areas on glass jars that had been touched and picked up and only the place where the hand had grabbed it was clean of the filth.
Sighing Michael hefted the body onto one of the tables and groaned a bit as a thick puff of dust billowed up and caught in the light coming in from the windows. "Half tempted to just leave this body here and see if it attacks him," he muttered under his breath. Not that he would have actually done such a thing but considering how Nuetermyre acted half the time, or more likely all the time, it would serve him right to be drained by a new born Soulless. Yet Michael knew even if they did leave, it hadn't been enough time to turn. Mores the pity. Wiping his hands off on his apron, he then pulled out a handkerchief and held it out for Thalken. "Probably the cleanest thing to touch in this place, I wouldn't even trust the water," he said glancing towards the pitcher and basin, which was in just as horrid condition as everything else in the place.
Regent's Park: Sister Sophia was not sure what Vlad was going on about with the bottles but if the crazed man had an idea she was not about to stand in his way. Thing was there were none in this tent. Things were brought to the Grand Duchess, they didn't just lay about. The only bottles she had were filled with perfumes and oils. Small decorative. Not of use for much anything else.
Adam stayed close to Mary and his eyes widened as she handed over her pole arm. He took it and nodded, trying to stay out of the way but his eyes remained trained on Veta, who was a blue lipped as ever and not moving as of yet. His head tilted to one side and the other. "She's cold, so cold," he said absentmindedly.
Sister Sophia looked over Mary for a moment before eying the child. She nearly snapped at him for being so daft as to state the obvious but then Adam spoke again. "Won't get warm in wet clothes, it clings to her. Keeps her chilled," he added. The Russian nun wanted to slap herself for not thinking that herself. It was such an obvious thing. They had been so quick to try other things they had forgotten the basics. Ones people of Russia knew well for all the cold and winters they had to survive. Cold, water, and clothing did not mix.
"Here, help me... Sister..?" Sister Sophia said as she grabbed Elizaveta's dressing gown and knelt next to the grand duchess. "Turn around boy, this is not for your eyes. Keep others out," she instructed, not even looking as she took Elizaveta by the shoulders and slowly and carefully pulled her forward. Adam didn't question, just stepping over to the tent's door and standing in the middle of it with the pole arm. Not like he could wield it, he could barely hold but damn it if he wouldn't tell anyone that came that they shall not pass!
Westminster Hospital: Dr. Graham sighed. "I know not of the routes to take to get there. Roads are never an easy travel and I myself have not been outside of the city in some time." He sounded slightly defeated. He would have enjoyed being able to give the men routes that they could have taken that would have allowed them to move with haste but he just had none. "Perhaps some in your regiment would know? Military and all I would think you all would know the roads better than us gentile folk," the doctor added before looking back at the map on the wall.
Reaching up his fingers ran over it. "Though, knowing what I do of Rutherford, which I wish I knew nothing at all of the man. He has a residence in Nottingham. A place for relaxation to get away he says but I doubt as much. If he is traveling to Gretna Green, chances are he will side off there to change horses and such. That might buy you some time but other than that I know of nothing besides his home at Kirk Andrews near the border."
The doctor did not know what else to tell them other than the following. "If you are going to make chase, I suggest you do it quickly."
"Dr. Graham!!" the nurse bellowed as she stood in the doorway of Mrs. Wyndham's room.
"Yes, yes..." he said before bidding the two good luck and asking them to contact them if they learned or needed anything. With that he was down the hallway to deal with a bellowing Mrs. Wyndham who was demanding attention for her suffering and pain, of which he had no doubt about. He was sure the woman was in pain but he couldn't help but feel that much of it was brought on by her own yelling and attitude.
It is more so out of instinct that Gerard was feeling mildly wary of the man next to him. His experiences and relationship with the british military was not entirely good in memory, almost half of his life they were his enemies. He had killed plenty like him in his time pillaging ships, and in the process equally taking his closest friends. That is why to Gerard, it felt almost strange enough that they were exchanging hospitable words rather than swords and bullets.
He did try to produce a response, only more or less out of courtesy when their attention was caught by the doctor's earlier statements regarding the current matter. What he provided was indeed of great help at least now they know where they should start looking. But the doctor's last statement had set off his determination, he could feel his heart rapidly break out of his chest. He wanted to leave set forth as soon as possible.
As the doctor left, he was now alone with the man who introduced himself earlier as Fryor. Seems like fate meant to partner them together for this, and seeing that they're the only hope Millicent has got, he himself truly hopes that they will all come through this. After a few short silence Gerard thought to reconcile their cut off introduction, giving him a rather awkward nod, "I'm Gerard Connolly." said, he could not seem to maintain eye contact with the man. " Sir Fryor, what do you suggest we should do first?" It would seem imprudent if he were to lead between the two of them, even though Gerard was eager to the entire time. Dr. Graham did suggest Sir Kildragon's regiment, so it will be most likely they will start there.
Frances Warwick
Location: The Glimmeric;
Frances took it to mind what Sarah had said. Could she be saying this because she did not want to keep her from staying? The madame had made it clear for the girls to come forth if there are things that would bother them, specially to the one's like Sarah Anne. But she now took some concern on the nightmare she had, though it may come of as silly and may only be nothing more but a terrified girl's harmless dream, there could be more to it although not necessary directly. Frances would take it as a sign, or a warning most like it. After all how the body was found unusually, and rather suspiciously she would definitely bet on something sinister about it. It was partly her first thought when she first saw the body. This might only be an overthought but assuming it were ever true, then she's only a short walk away from Nuetermyre. Or maybe she should probably just drop by, just to be sure.
"Yes, no need to fret about it. The body has already been taken off the street. You can go see for yourself. " she gave her a reassuring smile. Frances stands up from her sitting and looking down at Sarah "If you don't feel like resting, you could always go out and interact with the others. If only to keep your mind away from it." she suggests. "Although they may jest on it, I'm sure they truly sympathize. It could turn anyone's good day into a terrible one."
Fal'shbort - You are tougher, stronger, more Russian!
Tretiy Glaz - An ability that gives a person a sixth sense into the future. Unpredictable and random.
Location: Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)
The Great Bazhooli threaded this way and that, to and fro, around and about the general area of the Tent City nearby to Elizaveta's personal canvas guest palace. He was on a mission, you see. His quest for bottles had taken him to nigh manic frenzy as he darted about, not particularly caring that he too might be dealing with something along the lines of mild hypothermia. One such example of his rabid determination had him darting up to one of the lesser Bazhoolis (a cousin of some note) and snatching an earthenware vessel from his grasp.
"For sorry, cousin! I need this, da?" It was less of a question and more of a sideways method of asking permission for something he had already taken. Sudden curiosity got the better of him as he gave the fired clay decanter a cursory sniff, followed by a frenzied chug. He held the liquid in his mouth for a half second, looking at the man with a goofy yet incredulously questioning stare, as if to ask "Dear God, what did I just drink?". He turned his head and very dramatically expectorated the odd fluid from his mouth with loud, sputtering cough, making the air around him perilous with sour-sweet smelling, vaguely pink vapor. "Vhat is this, ссать?" He began to scrape his tongue with fingernails, overcome by the unexpected suddenness of his imbibing.
"Is beet vinegar, Master Alexandrov."
"Great Bazhooli!" he reminded. He was only Master Alexandrov in front of outsiders, and then only when not performing. "Vhy you have ссать in bottle?"
"Beet vinegar..."
"You are drinking this, cousin? Vhyfor you drink ссать?"
"Made from sugar beets, Great Bazhooli. Vas taking to cooks."
"Ve talk later, ссать-drinker. You need rest now. Long, long rest for brain, da? Da. But vater! Need vater now."
The lone, vinegar hauling performer reached into a great woolen sack and handed over two more glazed, earthen vessels. He took a tentative step backwards, away from Vladimir and his apparent descent into madness, then quickly scurried off to the cooking pavilion. The good news was, Vladimir now had four decent sized sealed bottles of water and a place he needed to get to. The bad news, he also had a carafe of beet vinegar he had nothing to do with. It was a cumbersome carry, maneuvering five bottles (one of which he didn't need), but luckily he wasn't far away. Stumbling, it occurred to him that he might have had an easier time if he juggled the bottles instead of holding them in his hands and arms. Nevertheless, he moved as best he could back to Elizaveta's great and fluffy Imperial Tent.
"He sent out His word and healed them, and delivered them from their destruction."
Location: Russian Imperial Circus - Tent City (Regent's Park)
Inside of Veta's tent, Mary felt a little foolish. Here she was, attempting a Trained skill to heal her new friend, when it appeared that what she needed was to change into clothes that were not soaked with water that chilled her to the bone. She sighed, going as far as to raise her hand to her face. It was pride that led her to this conclusion, pure and simple. Pride in her abilities led her to a basic oversight that might have been dangerous to the Grand Duchess, were someone with momentarily better sense not present. Of all people, Adam stepped in to correct the situation, reminding her to check the simple things before jumping to Divine abilities. "The simple wisdom of children. God bless them all." she mused, and immediately moved to assist the Russian Nun with her efforts.
"At once, Sister." replied Mary, setting to help Sister Sophia in changing out Elizaveta's wet clothing for dry. "Do as she instructs please, Adam." Mary noted with some small amount of satisfaction how seriously the boy took to his duty, holding the line back with a weapon over twice his height. Were he not so serious about it, it might be less comical. That was not the point, though. The child was showing signs of growing to be a decent and strong young man. If Mary could help him do just that, she most certainly would.
Mary began to strip Veta of her wet vest and blouse, opting to take care of the remainder as the dressing gown was placed about her. Though she was unconscious, Elizaveta deserved as much modesty and respect as the situation could afford. As the Grand Duchess was taken out of and then returned to a state of dress, the young Apostolic found that she was privy to one side of an interesting discussion taking place just outside of the tent, one which brought a quiet smile to her face.
"Vhat you mean, "None Shall Pass"? A? Nuns tell you? Out of - vhoah there..."
Yes, the big-armed experienced Russian could very easily destroy the child without effort, but he appeared to be a decent man. The pitch and urgency of his voice said that, while he was being respectful, his patience was running dangerously thin. "Just a moment please, Master Alexandrov." called Mary, hurriedly seeing to Elizaveta. "The Grand Duchess is not dressed to receive."
