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Something deathly stirred within this house that Thalken barely called home. It was almost imperceptible at first, these little out of place noises lofting to his ears as he walked through the hallways of the Talink manor. A shiver went down his spine as he felt a chill breeze brush past him. A nearby candle was snuffed out by it, darkening the hallway. In the next room over, the crystals on a chandelier moved and clanked dully against one another. Something ominous lurked within these walls, something more than the violent threats and plotting of his father. He could feel it within his bones and to his very core. His hand went to the hilt of his Dao, as if that could possibly protect him from what he assumed was a Cargast in his midst.

His blood ran cold as the sounds of a child giggling came to his ears. The Talink household had no children. This was surely the work of the Soulless. His gaze swung to the side, perceiving the sound to have come from that direction. He made out a short shadow darting around the corner. His instincts were quickly kicking in, and with little hesitation, he followed after the moving shadow creature with long yet cautious strides. He wasn't about to let this little miscreant wreak havoc in his home. No, the hunt was on.

He stalked it from hallway to hallway and room to room. Time and time again, it evaded him. Each time he turned to follow the sound of its giggles, he would catch it darting around the next corner. Frustration rose up within him, but it did little to sway his determination. He would find it, no matter what happened and no matter how long it took. Finally, he entered a room that had no other exits. The creature was trapped. Or was it he who was trapped? Only time would tell.

He stuck close to the entrance/exit as his intense gaze narrowed on the source of this otherworldly disturbance. The culprit was a child, her pale skin contrasting her dark hair and equally dark eyes. She sat on a piece of furniture, giggling at him in an almost gleeful manner. She was nothing like any Soulless he had ever seen or heard about. She wasn't quite a Ryne and was nothing close to a Cargast or a Hraew. What was she? He didn't know. He started to unsheathe his Dao just as she went ominously quiet and the glee drained from her face. She then brought her finger to her lips and let out the most ear piercing scream he had ever heard. And yet the scream was vaguely familiar. It was the same exact scream he had heard in his dream.

Thalken dropped to his knees, gritting his teeth in pain as he covered his ears. By the time he finally looked back up, the girl had mysteriously vanished.

Meanwhile, Thalcona glanced between the three Crypts, her gaze softening as it landed finally on the young James. Unlike her father, there was goodness in her, and unlike her brother, she was willing to show it. She arched a dark brow as it became clear to her that James had no idea about the danger he was in. As far as she was concerned, he had a right know, but it certainly wasn't her place to tell him. Thus her lips thinned when James turned to inquire of her presence. She stared at him unblinkingly for a moment as she mentally scrambled to find the right words. She eventually let a small sigh upon realizing that a blatant lie would likely not appease his young mind.

"There are monsters lurking in the dark--Master James. I'm afraid their eyes are set on you. I am here to prevent them from taking you," she explained. She walked up to him and knelt before him so they were at eyelevel. "I assure you that my brother Thalken and I will do all we can to keep the monsters at bay," she added, even giving him a small smile. She then stood back up and scanned their surroundings for danger.

Eventually the Lady Crypt returned, and Thalcona turned to face the woman. Her eyes widened slightly at the woman's statement before a look of seriousness overcame her features. "I am afraid this is not negotiable Lady Crypt unless you wish to set my father's wrath upon you and your family. Back out of this and you will have two threats on your hands, the Soulless and the Talinks. I do not wish to hunt down Master James, and I know with certainty that my brother Thalken will not want that burden placed upon him either," she replied bluntly.

Over at the place of mourning the two riders had arrived. Thanks to help of a well paid off periodical vendor they were able to get a read of the names in the obituaries. A Miss Jeanette ‘Mosi’ Mournweald Crane's name had been among the departed, mentioning that the woman had passed in the attack at Almack's and paired with Elizaveta had told a few in the circus the night before had given them their destination. Granted she hadn't told the riders herself but she had told a few. News spread like wildfire in the Circus. If you tripped and fell while walking across the tent city, news of your fall reached the other side before you could finish dusting yourself off. It was just how it was.

"Ve vill not leave. Ve have message. Lady Virginia Crypt is to be handed this by us," one of the rider told the butler at the door who was, understandably, refusing to grant them entrance.

"No, I vill not entrust it to you. Ve have job, ve hand it to her. It comes by order of Sister..." another started before turning to the other. "как ее зовут?"

"Sister Mary Hale and the Great Bazhooli! Master Vladimir Alexandrov, heir to Baron Alexandrov!" the first exclaimed proudly as he took a step forward.

It didn't seem to be getting them anywhere. "Good man, do vish to deny entrance? To those who serve at the hand of Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova?" the second said quickly but the first was getting impatient.

"Lady Crypt!!" he bellowed through the open door. One thing about the circus folk, they knew how to project their voices.



A sheepish grin came to Adams face, he was no con-artist but he had tried at least. Elizaveta looked over to the young man, she wondered to herself just why he had been pulled into all of this. More than that, she wondered just what horrors he had to have endured in his life to be able to cope so readily the way he was. Yet she knew he was an orphan, they tended to either survive or die. They found ways to live and to deal with situations the average person never dreamt of, even in this day and age. It saddened her heart to think that he had gone through anything but a young life of laughter and frivolity but it was a common tale not to. She lived in a circus after all and there were plenty of orphans in it. Even though her family was alive there were many times she was, in her own way, she was an orphan herself.

The grand duchess knew the look that came over Constantins features, it was one that she had had to deal with many times herself. In fact it was near common ground in the Circus. Not common per say but there were plenty trained in the art and it struck at the oddest times. Apparently even when a tiger sneezed on you. Sitting up a bit more she reached out and laced her fingers with Constantins, giving him a concerned expression while she did. Sure they fought constantly but it was all in good fun. They were friends and had grown up together together in the circus. "What did you see?" she asked softly. Her eyes darting over to Vlad in hopes he was taking note of what was going on in case someone had to catch Constantin if he fell. It happened more often than not and she was in no condition to try to do it herself.

Sister Lazarus looked over towards Vlad and her brows furrowed. "I have dusting to do," she said flatly before her attention was grabbed by the others in the tent and a scene seemed to unfold. "Besides, I'm too old for this," she added before looking back over towards Mary and ignoring the rest. "This is a wicked indulgence of surroundings, brace yourself child," she added before turning and leaving the tent. Perhaps in her younger years she would have enjoyed such a night to be around people such as this, she was one of the more colorful nuns in the abbey but not anymore. Anyways, she had to get back to her home before Sister Alma forgot anything else.

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Vlad's rather loud speech was something Constantin didn't really reply to as he was breathing hard, trying to put some sort of order into his mind and body. The way they overlapped and overtook certain senses was really unsettling at times, especially when pain was involved and by god did this time really hurt. The pain was powerful and the visions nearly devoid of any sense. He blinked a few times to clean his sight as Veta laced her fingers with his. This was just about enough to pull him away from it finally and he took another deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“ Haze... tvisted...” He lightly shook his head.” Lace , boomsticks, and thistles...” He explained through now steadying breathing.” Lots of pain too... someone's hurting vay too much... Agh... That vas it. It's not really clear one.” Constantin added, looking at Veta.” Think I should dance on embers more... if a mere vision takes me this long to recuperate.” He added half jokingly. He enjoyed dancing on the flames. To him it was a pleasing thing though it did build up spirit cause one mistake and you get burned.

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In Vladimir's excitement to attend to the guests of the Sem'ya, he was overlooking one of his own people. Such a thing could be forgiven readily by many without the gift of Rusyn Sight, or Tretiy Glaz; unfortunately Vlad was one such individual blessed and cursed with this ability. He knew full well what a sudden vision could entail. However, he didn't seem to notice until the younger man's difficulty until it was drawing to a close. The second he did, the more senior Bazhooli gave out a mighty "HA!" holding his hands out wide and listening intently to everything that Constantin had to say, eyes open wide. It was a little overly dramatic, performing an action for respect and quiet when it was mostly already being given. But that was The Great Bazhooli; nobly dramatic in every situation that did or did not call for it. He made a mental note of what his fellow performer had said, then repeated it aloud in summary.

"Haze. Lace, boomstick, thistle. Much pain; someone hurting. Da?" He rattled the words off, attempting to commit to memory by simplification. "But vhat does this mean?"

Meanwhile, Mary was trying to say a farewell of some kind to Sister Lazarus. It was ultimately pointless. When she got an idea or course of action in her head, it generally took a Bishop or higher to sway her away from it. She was a formidable old Nun, Sister Lazarus. She would likely outlive them all. Mary shook her head and returned to the conversation fully, just in time to hear Vladimir rattle off his list. "I cannot claim to know the proper interpretation of your visions," she responded humbly, "but in Scotland, we used those as symbols of marriage."

It was one of Mary's last memories of her native Stirling, a fine gathering featuring those elements on behalf of her brothers. Just like Almack's, it ended in blood. Mary's eventual path to the Vatican started there. It was a chilling thought that another such marriage would be associated with pain. But Mary was no interpreter of visions. She had to admit to herself that her own experience colored her judgement, making the association into something it might not be.

Vladimir was intrigued. Not so much as to slow his planning for the festivities for the evening, but enough to make comment. Unfortunately, the comment was directed more at the suddenly absent Sister Lazarus, despite the fact that Vlad was actually moving to help steady Constantin. "She has dusting? Vill never understand nuns..." He placed a hand on the young firewalker's shoulder, clasping firmly to show support. "Haze. Lace, broomstick, thistle. Pain. Do not know, is not good. But you rest now, da? Ve must see vhat is, and vhat can be done about it." He hated it when the visions were unclear. Such things were often worked out in hindsight, long after the chance to affect events for the positive. It was a helpless feeling, sometimes worse than not knowing at all. Maybe others in the Circus with the Gift would detect something, or have greater insight. But these things were often unreliable. More information would have to be gathered, and he didn't know where nor how to start.

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James clapped with excitement. The prospect of being taken away by monsters was thrilling to him. And since his sister had just dismissed Thalcona's aid, that meant that there was a good chance he'd get to meet one of them. He imagined himself riding on the back of one creature or another through the darkness, the cold air cutting against his face as they flew. It sounded like an incredible adventure!

"Of course, Miss Talink," Virginia murmured, her eyes flashing with annoyance deeply. She hadn't anticipated this resistance, but then again, she supposed there was some sense to it. Had Beowulf not been quite so impatient, she might have discovered the message from her father sooner. This would be a slight complication, then - one that ruined her joy at receiving word from her father. She took a few seconds to think through the relevant etiquette for marriages and engagements. One social rule in particular came to mind - engagements had to be approved by the father, if still living. It was custom. "I should expect that your brother, Miss Talink, will approach my father in asking for my hand - such is the custom, after all," Virginia said pointedly.

Her mind continued to think through plans and contingencies for this situation. Engagements, if not rushed, could last for months. It was a pity that Mary had not sent word back to her as well. They had spent hours at the funeral and she was certain that if Mary had received the letter and sent word to the manor, Miss Evers would have directed the letter to the Mournweald Estate. Yet with the guidance to Seek Life Elsewhere, Virginia imagined she and James would perhaps flee England before too much time had elapsed. Alfred would accompany them, of course. He was family.

She then turned her head, hearing her name shouted and carrying through the halls. "Alfred, James, if you would please join me. Ernest, I must apologize for any sort of scene that was created. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to call upon us. Mosi was rather dear to me," she said. "Miss Talink, you may follow at a distance if you so desire. I must warn you - James had a proclivity for setting things aflame."

Virginia then made her way to the front of the manor, with Alfred carrying James and following after her.

"My lady, I hope you know what you're doing," Alfred said quietly, only to receive a small smile from Virginia.

"Seek Life Elsewhere, dear Alfred. All will be well," she replied. Once reaching the open door, she raised a bit of an eyebrow at the two strangers. They were dressed strangely for London citizens - a fact that she appreciated. However, she did not recognize them. "Yes?"

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Thalken's gaze searched the room as he slowly got to his feet once more. His head still throbbed, and his ears were ringing from that little girl's piercing scream. He was fortunate he could hear at all. He let out a growl of frustration as he rubbed his ears. Once he had regained his footing, he started to carefully explore the room. His hand rested on the hilt of his Dao as his gaze scrutinized the contents of the room. He made his rounds before moving out into the hall.

Eventually, the ringing in his ears began to dissipate, and it was instead replaced by an eerie silence that pervaded the manor. Perhaps the girl had left, or perhaps she was silently plotting his demise. He leaned more towards the latter. His senses were heightened as he tensely walked through the halls. He glanced inside the rooms he passed for any sign of the girl but to no avail. In a way nothing and everything seemed amiss all at once. His intellect and his gut told him something terrible was afoot.

Meanwhile, Thalcona seemed unfazed by the flash of annoyance in the Lady Crypt's eyes. After all, she wouldn't expect anything else. "It's a dangerous game you play," she chimed in during the woman's momentary lapse of speaking. It was probably a bit rude to interrupt one's thoughts, but her manners weren't much better than Thalken's, which were slim to none.

The Lady Crypt's next statement took Thalcona by surpise. A glimmer of amusement lit up her widened eyes, and she had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. It wasn't the proposition in and of itself that she found humorous. No, it was the mental image of Thalken asking the Lord Dywell for his daughter's hand in marriage that made her ready to bust a lung in laughter. She would pay good money to see such a sight. Fortunately, the Lady Crypt's attention was diverted before she could.

While the Lady Crypt addressed the others, Thalcona strained to keep her amusement under wraps, but a few snickers managed to slip out. She straightened when she was suddenly addressed. She gave a slight nod of her head, not trusting herself with words. She then followed them at a distance.

The taller of the two men that were trying to gain entry to the estate let out a sigh of relief as Virginia came up to the door. They had been given a description of the lady before they had left and he seriously doubted anyone else could have fit it. She nearly looked like a walking Soulless with how pale she was.

"Ahh! Lady Crypt! Dah, ve have urgent message for you," he said as he handed over the sealed letter.

The shorter of the two nodded in agreement. "Dah, dah. Ve come from great circus! The Great Bahzooli told us to make sure to deliver vith much haste," the other said. "Ve stay for nov? You need send message back? Hurry if do, ve must return. Grand Duchess need us. Know Grand Duchess?"

Groaning the taller one looked at his compatriot. "Перестаньте разговаривать!"

"Зачем?"

The taller one planted his face into the palm dragging it downward with a rather over the top groan. It was more than evident that whoever these people were, they had to be associated with Vlad. No movement they made didn't scream put the spotlight on me.

"Please excuse him, he is learning," the taller one said which only made the shorter one roll his eyes. "But dah, he is right. Ve stay for letter? You vish to ansver?"



Adam looked confused but that didn't stop him from changing the subject. Slipping off the bed he moved slowly over towards Vlad and tugged on his pant leg gently. He looked up at the flamboyant Russian and bit on his bottom lip slightly. "Sir, is there food?" he asked before motioning that he wanted to whisper something in the man's ear. "Want to get some food for the princess. She needs to eat, she has thin s I am. Princesses shouldn't be so thin, should look healthy," he whispered as he tried not to draw attention to himself. Granted if he didn't want to draw attention to himself it would have probably been better to ask Mary instead of the man that was constantly acting as if he was in front of a crowd of thousands he needed to entertain.

Elizaveta's attention however had not been taken away from Constantin. "Ha, so veak. Visions did alvays take their toll on you. Your feet may be tough but your mind needs more time in books. Steel trap it is not," Veta teased. It may have sounded cruel to say something like that to one who had just been so obviously caught off guard by the skill, especially from someone who had gone through the very same the night before but that was just how it was. Elizaveta and Constantin were always going at each other like this. Tit for tat as it were. It was how they functioned. Elizaveta cared deeply for the man, they had nearly grown up together. He'd pull at her curls, she kick him in the shin, then they would laugh and eat a meal together. It was just how they worked.

When Mary spoke up though was when Veta's attention turned. Thinking on it before her lips parted to speak. "Dat girl last night. Vhat vas her name? Miss Vyndham? Vas she not engaged last night? I sav in the soldiers eyes her, so much pain. Could be about her? Dah?" she asked Mary. Elizaveta did not know the people of London well enough to be able to put pieces together fully but the engagement announcement had been a very large part of the evening before the Soulless attacked.

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Constantin made a sound of acknowledgement as Vlad spoke in his usual overly enthusiastic manner and that the nun gave a rather quick note about the use of said symbols in Scotland. Well that made a weird sense. Symbols in the visions need not always be something that they understood as their own. He wouldn't be surprised if that was indeed what it meant.” Of course.” Constantin agreed as Vlad told him he had to rest. He then threw a look at Adam who spoke. It was rather curious the thing he asked about. Then again Veta was always skinny.

“Hah.” Constantin replied in overly enthusiastic manner himself to Veta's comment about the visions and how they drained him.” It need not be a steel trap. Besides you never know if it's the pain that vill flood your mind.” He added with a smile. The desire in her swelled to poke at her and criticize her for going out in the fog on her own, but he swallowed it and stopped himself from doing so right now.

“May be that.” He noted as Veta brought a name he didn't exactly remember. Maybe he hadn't met the person.” If it vas her, she'd be better of dead. Vhatever caused that pain... it's not something anyone vants to experience.”

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This small child had a overabundance of nerve. First he inexpertly threatens The Great Bazhooli with the Scary Catholic Girl's polearm, insisting that he cannot enter one of his own people's tents, and now he wanted food. Admittedly, it was for Elizaveta. Mostly for Elizaveta, Vladimir suspected, but it was supposedly for a cause that he agreed with. He admired the little guy's дерзость₁. Vlad took a knee, speaking quietly to Adam. "Da. Da, little one, there is food..." a light seemed to come to life in his eyes, one known very well to the others of the Circus. He was seldom without it when he spoke, unless the situation was grave. It served to indicate when he was brimming with unrefined Bazhooli-ness that needed a venting point. His casual whisper gradually turned into projection, which then splattered messily into the realm of shameless roaring. "...there is food in plentiful amounts, little Adam. Foods of our people from generations past! Foods enough to gorge herd of vild donkeys! Donkeys, Маленький!₂ Have you concept of the donkeys, and food they can vith the eating? Donkeys!"

Naturally, he seemed very adamant about the concept. But moreso in the superior cuisine available, which in all honesty was a mere cut above the concept of street food. They were a circus, after all, and had only had food prepared at that moment with the expectation of ticket-bearing guests from London. But it was significantly better than most had access to in the city proper. Vladimir had risen (read: leapt) to his feet, enraptured in the discussion of suppertime. "Ve have the hot, moist cheburek! Ve have the fish blini! Ve have the cakes made from potato, da! Ve have pastry made from honeys and beet sugars! Meats carved from bone, roasted over aromatic voods! Sausages both sveety and meaty! Cheeses both pungent and exotic! Sugars! Savories! Salties! Roasted beet on stick! Roasted turnip on stick! Many roasted ve-ge-ta-ble... ON STICK!" The wild look in his eyes seemed to spill out into the rest of him, animating his limbs to the point of barely controlled flailing.

Dashing to the tent flaps, Vlad poked his face out and began screaming culinary requests at passersby that worked with the cooks and/or utility personnel. "You! You there! Нам нужна еда, вода и вино в палатке прославленной великой княгини Романовой! ТЕПЕРЬ!₃ Meat pies! Yes, many meat pies!" his seemingly disembodied head bellowed. "Чтобы нас не догнал Голод, и мы обращаемся к инфекционному каннибализму, разрывая кишечник наших друзей и семьи! Пища, чтобы исцелить наших больных и исправить наших раненых!₄ ...and something sweet. Is for boy."

Meanwhile, Mary was keeping her hands full trying to think in the vicinity of a fully active Great Bazhooli, pondering the meaning of the visions of the Russian firewalker, Constantin, and the observations of Elizaveta. The concept of visions was not fully unknown to her; there were rumors of people from the Church with similar abilities from history, though they were either treated as prophets. Or heretics. Or set on fire. Such was the fate of one of her personal heroes, The Maid of Orleans. Perhaps her presence was fortuitous in this instance, or even determined by Providence. "Miss Wyndham..." It seemed like so much had happened the previous night, enough to have lasted months instead of just hours. Perspective was an odd thing that way. "I believe that I had the pleasure of speaking with her just the once, and it was in introduction only."

She considered the event at Almack's in greater detail. "I am afraid I must confess that my attention was elsewhere. The engagement announcements were not my priority. Though I seem to recall that Miss Wyndham was not in the best of spirits that hour." She wondered again about the vision. Haze, lace, broomstick, thistle. Pain. Considerable pain. Those images brought memories of how marriages took place in Scotland, with a blend of the old and new ways. She supposed Ireland too, perhaps Mann (though the Scandinavian influence was just as heavy there), but why a thistle, specifically? Mary had a thought. Perhaps it was something that clicked, but more likely it was an idea based upon her own conjecture. "The thistle... is a national symbol of Scotland. It is not necessarily associated with weddings, in and of itself, outside of my country. Provided that you are correct, Grand Duchess, and the vision pertained to the wedding of Miss Wyndham and that unseemly Lord, then it is specifically a Scottish wedding."

But why Scotland? There were Vicars in London that would perform the ceremony, after the proper time and protocols had taken place. It would only be a matter of time, unless they wished to bend protocol and bind themselves in holy matrimony much, much sooner. Between the screaming of the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya, sticking his head out of the tent, Mary asked a solemn, two word question. "The Green?"

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Virginia paused for a moment, reflecting on who could have sent such an urgent message. As her mind went through the list of usual suspects, she nearly kicked herself with a bit of shame. Mary. She had become acquainted with the Grand Duchess and by their accents, it seemed very likely these men were part of her party. She glanced quickly at James, wondering what solution Mary may have come up with. She had already allowed her fear of losing her brother to get the best of her and it had resulted in a rash agreement with a Talink. While that agreement could be undone, she already felt pangs of regret, only further complicated by the message from her father.

"If you would please stay, that would be appreciated," Virginia replied, smoothing her dress. She was rather used to being met with quizzical looks when individuals first encountered her. She had met Mary because of large suspicion that Virginia was a member of the Soulless, all attributed to her unnaturally pale skin. It was merely a Crypt family trait, however. "And if Dame Hale should have time for an audience, I would be inclined to speak with her in person about these matters, before another rash decision is made."

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And just like that everything seemed to be restored to its normal state. The eerie silence that had once pervaded the Talink Manor was instantaneously replaced with the sounds of normalcy. Servants were rushing around the house to finish up and settle down for the evening. The house dully creaked as it shifted with the dropping temperature outside. It was a positive change of atmosphere, and yet Thalken still felt on edge. Soulless didn't just pop in for a little chat and then promptly leave. No, they had more purpose than that. They always left death and destruction in their wake. Become their target, and you become their prey. It seems that this particular Soulless, whatever type it was, had its ghastly sights set on the Talinks.

Thalken squared his shoulders and vigilantly paced the hallways and rooms. This creature wouldn't leave this residence alive if he had any say over it. Not that he was trained to deal with this particular creature, but oh, whatever, he would improvise. As he walked, or rather prowled, around the manor, servants gave him a wide berth as they passed. That was the customary practice in this household, brought on by his father's violent tendencies. It showed the desperation of the less fortunate that anyone would dare wish to work for a family of bloodthirsty mercenaries. Unfortunately, in this day in age, people had to take what work they could get.

Meanwhile, outside things seemed to be calming down to a point. Most in the area have long since closed up house and fled London. It was ironic really that some of the same people who had fled to London for its so-called safety were now tucking tail and running away from London at the first sign of danger. Did they really think that the world would be any safer outside these walls? Even the constables were on edge, as they had increased patrols, armed themselves, and made certain not to walk alone. A patrol was passing by the Talink Manor roughly every twenty minutes, which wasn't too unrealistic considering recent events. What else did the night have in store? Only time would tell.

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The coins on Alexandra's vest jingled as she half walked half hopped out of her family's tent, pulling on a riding boot as she went. The Great Bazhooli's impassioned words rang through her head, sending her into frenzied excitement. Singing! Drinking! Food! Dancing and performing! A celebration to beat all celebrations! The man spoke her language. Well, minus the sarcasm. That was her territory, and considering all the madness the day had held, she had plenty of juicy material to work with.

Perhaps there was a twisted quality to the notion of making light of the near tragedy that had befallen the Tent City of the Russian Imperial Circus. Truthfully speaking, she took no pleasure from people's pain and suffering. No, sarcasm was just the only way she knew how to process it all. Focusing on her next quip kept the tears at bay and the gravity of reality from crushing her. It was how she got through the years following her parents' murder. If you could make light of a dark situation, you could handle anything, right? Probably not.

She weaved between various tents and fellow circus folk. Everything was bustling with life, and she absolutely loved it. She had left her tent with the intent of getting her Brivaldi horse Balaur all gussied up and putting in some time for practice, but she found herself instead following the scents of cooking food. What could she say, her nose had a mind of its own, and she had a weakness for anything remotely tasty. She ducked into one of the vendor's booths and snatched some freshly cooked meat on a stick. She didn't really know what kind of meat it was, but she also honestly didn't care. Food was food, and she liked food. She quickly fled the scene of the crime as one of the cooks caught sight of her and chased her out.

"You vould go out of business if it vere not for me!" she called out, throwing a cheeky grin over her shoulder. She nibbled on the meat, letting out a groan of satisfaction as the flavor exploded over her taste buds. She ate while she walked through the Tent City, now heading for the makeshift stables. Nearby some musicians practiced, the sound of their music filling the air around her. She unabashedly swayed her hips to the beat all the while with her meat on a stick in hand. She was certainly a sight to behold, and she couldn't careless. She let out an almost girlish chuckle as she gave one last sway of her hips before hurriedly continuing past them.

The taller of the two looked very relieved when Lady Crypt spoke. "Dah, ve vait. Ve guide you there safely," he said in confidant voice.

The shorter of the two nodded in agreement, grinning over towards James. "Ahh, you like young man of adventure. Like to see men walking on fire? Vomen hanging from top of tent, flying through air? Knives going through air? Hov about grand white tiger?" he said towards James. "So much danger makes blood rush, so close to death but ha! Death never catch us!"



Elizaveta quirked a brow. She did not know what this Green was that Mary was speaking about. Turning her head she looked over towards Vlad and sighed a bit. There would be guests soon, and from what she could make out the Graveolase as well. It would not do well for her to be held up in a bed if she was going to place before them adding her nation to the council. She couldn't afford to look weak.

"Vlad, please take Adam to eat, and Constantin as well so he might get his spirits back," she said as she gave Constantin an understanding smile before turning her attention back to Mary. "I must ready myself. Vould you please help me once the men are on the other side of my tent door? I dare not summon Sister Sophia, I need not lecture of rest right nov. I need to prepare. You are friend, I trust you to know hov important this is for my country," she said towards Mary.

It was odd. Elizaveta was not one to make friends. Sure she was like family to many in the circus but in many ways she was still an outsider. Because of this, friends were few and far between. Traveling constantly kept her from making friends in the cities, plus it just wasn't safe. Mary on the other hand, seemed to be a blessing. They seemed to have an understanding and if she was now in charge of the Graveolase and Russia was added to the council, it could mean this was a friendship she could actually keep.

"And please, tell me about this... Green? Vhat is it?" she asked Mary as she carefully started to stand. She was still a little wobbly as she did but she managed, the fragile looking Grand Duchess had far more fortitude than many were aware of.

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“Vathever is the connection vith a vedding and the sensations I felt... actually do not mind me, I just be repeating myself.” Constantin stated with a sigh.” If this is indeed about that lady you mentioned... Ve can only hope her mind holds strong and do not break... Broken spirit is hard to mend.” The firewalker frankly couldn't completely set his mind to this explanation of the visions though it did seem ratehr coincidentally on point given the information Veta and the catholic dame were giving. He understood something if the woman was not broken despite that pain... she had a reason to fight. You could put Contantin on danger, but as long as it was for the circus and the people in it, he'd stand to the very last breath well at least that was his steadfast determination.

“Might as vell eat some salad. Salads refresh the mind and body!” He stated to himself, agreeing with Veta on the opinion to eat. He'd personally skip alcohol tonight. Preferred to not have his senses dulled even a little, especially when they practically suffered an attack at their very doorstep. Still even if he started with salad it was natural the meat comes afterwards! Without further delay, he headed towards the exit of the tent, to leave Veta to her preparations.” Myshka, this time do not The Grand Duchess vander off, right?” He casually mentioned to the tiger, half poking at Veta before hopping outside.

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And so, that one gentle English evening, it was said that the impossible occurred. Maybe not fully, absolutely impossible, but so unlikely as to warrant notation as a truly rare and remarkable event. You see, this fateful evening, as the sun's setting began to make the sky purple in its twilight hour, The Great Bazhooli was rendered speechless.

To be clear, that is speechless. Without speech. Mute. Sans talking. The most garrulous person inside of the Russian Imperial Circus (possibly excepting Viktor, he has his moments) was standing quietly with a look of possible shock on his face. He was staring directly at Constantin, eyes wide, trying to take in the entirety of what he just said. His eyes still on the unruly firewalker, he carefully picked Adam up beneath his arms and backed out of the tent. The moment, the very second that Constantin exited the tent, Vladimir mysteriously regained his ability to speak. "салат? салат!?! Ты серьезен? Вы стоите там, рассказывая мне, что с щедростью замечательных блюд с нашей родины, уже приготовленной, вы хотите САЛАТ? Я беспокоюсь о тебе, Константин. Вы не можете поддерживать Fal'shbort с листьями и стеблями одуванчика! Кроме того..."₁ He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, ... что, если бы люди увидели тебя?"₂

The Great Bazhooli took a step back. He still held Adam steadfastly with his swarthy arms, toned by a lifetime of labor, hurling sharp objects, and acrobatic training. He didn't seem to mind, care, and/or notice, even to the point of motioning with the boy for emphasis. "Reputation! Reputation, my boy!" he said, shaking poor Adam at Constantin. "Ve cannot have ourselves being seen vith eating of unmanly foodthings! Is for British, da? And for French peoples. You vant salad? I do not even think ve have the salads here." He placed Adam over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes, continuing, "You vant eat light? I get you eating light things. The potatoes and beets and salmons, all choppy choppy vith pickle and the sourest of creams and the most grette-ed of vinegars little island of England has seen, ever!"

He turned to stride away, toward where the food was being prepared and portioned in a central pavilion. He had to stop, as the a couple of the circus's cooks were headed directly toward Elizaveta's tent, carrying bundles and trays of things that were venting aromatic and toothsome steam from the sides; a telltale detail that his words from a couple of minutes earlier were being heeded. "No no! You vait for a minute, for please. The Grand Duchess, she is partly of nakedness and I vill make the stabbing if she is disturbed, da? Da. Is for good."

For the first time since picking the boy up, Vladimir addressed him, lumped over his shoulder as he was. "Come, boy!" as if he had a choice in the matter, "Ve get you the steaks and the honeys now, you vould like? Attack vith teeth. Maybe fork. But maybe fork is being too slow. Teeth is ok." He walked a few more steps before setting the kid back down, coming to the realization that it might be polite to do so.

Meanwhile, inside of the tent, Mary was just about to explain the concept and importance of The Green to Elizaveta, but found herself staring at the tent flaps, engrossed in the conversation erupting just outside. She maintained the usual serene look she normally adopted from practice, but her face was turned unerringly to the sound of The Great Bazhooli being dramatic yet again, even as she held her arms out to assist Elizaveta. When the word from outside became a discussion in English concerning the possible state of the Grand Duchess's undress, Mary snapped back to the task at hand. "I am very sorry, Gran.. Lady Roma.. ah," she fumbled, blowing out a sigh. Her kneejerk reaction was formality in most all situations, as a side effect of her disciplined upbringing with the Vatican. This situation had to be different; Mary had promised the Grand Duchess that they would speak plainly while alone, even to the point of referring to her by abbreviated first name. It was unheard of for someone like Mary, even if she still held the social position her family once did in the British Empire, to speak with what could be interpreted as a lack of respect for someone much, much higher in the hierarchy, second only to an Emperor in royal standing.

But she promised. As a part of the oath she took upon becoming a Dame, she swore "I will speak the truth at all times, and forever keep my word". Speaking to a Grand Duchess as a friend became part of that, the moment the words left her mouth that she would attempt to go against her training to do so. "Veta. My apologies, Veta." Mary beamed an almost childlike smile, as if she had just gotten away with something juvenile like running off with a cookie unnoticed. "Of course you do not need a lecture, or any other such aggravations right now. I shall act as your aide in the place of Sister Sophia, certainly."

As Mary helped Elizaveta ready herself, she began to discuss the nature of the place she referred to as "The Green". "Gretna Green. It is a village just on the other side of the border between Scotland and England, where the laws concerning marriage are much, much less restricted. Many have eloped there because lawful marriage may be obtained from almost anyone, without a period of waiting, so long as there are two witnesses to sign the document. Such marriages are recognized as binding by The Crown."

Mary stopped for a moment, putting facts together. She was so intent upon the threat of Soulless at Almack's the night before that a few details had waited until now to congeal in her brain. "The young woman, Miss Wyndham? That unpleasant fellow she was marrying was Lord Rutherford, yes?" It was more of a comment than a question. When certain realizations hit her, anger bubbled up a bit beneath her ordinarily calm features. It had been many years since she had remembered any of the names from her Clan's seat, as she spent the majority of her younger years to the north, in Stirling. She did remember two things in that instant, though. "Rutherford is the name of the ruling family in Roxburghshire, where my people once held seat. And that Lord Rutherford made himself very scarce after I announced that I detected the presence of hidden Soulless. The moment he disappeared from view, the attack began." It was an observation more than anything else, but her mind was drifting slowly toward accusation. Mary needed to pray, to get her mind in focus on facts. She needed to know if personal emotion was swaying her view on the situation. But first, she needed to get Elizaveta ready to meet the Graveolase.

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James squirmed out of Alfred's grasp and actually leapt for joy at the man's descriptions. Everything he described was giving James the most exhilarating sensation. To be so close to Lady Death and yet evade her clutches? He couldn't have been more ecstatic, beaming as if Father Christmas was there - though for the Crypts, Krampus may be the more enjoyable visitor. "Ginny's gonna teach me to throw hatchets one day!" James boasted. "But...Could you teach me to throw knives? And what's a tiger?"

Virginia opened Mary's letter carefully, her eyes flying across the page. She quickly scanned through it a second, third, and fourth time, uncertain how to reconcile the emotions rising within her. She needed more time. It would be a long journey to the Carpathian Mountains, but one that would be necessary. It was the largest geographical clue as to where to find her family - yet she could not bring James with her on such a journey. She trusted Alfred rather deeply, yet she knew that with an enemy who could write in her trained tongue, she should expect the unexpected. Every precaution should be taken in order to protect James' life.

And yet...If she were to appoint Mary as James' godmother, would James not lose out on the traditional Crypt childhood? Who in the Vatican would tell him stories of relatives burned at the stake? Who would teach him to dance his first Mamushka? Would James grow to become a Crypt purely in name yet not in spirit? Was such a fate better than death? Virginia could not be certain. Just the day before, it had all been so much more simple. Her parents were missing, yet they would return. Virginia and James would await them. Alfred would continue to assist them, with Ms. Evers scrubbing out any bloodstains that were produced.

She felt incredibly weary of all of this. There was no easy choice to be made. She had already made a rash decision, one that was hastily rectified, but what if this would be yet another choice driven by emotions and not logic? And what if it was her emotions holding her back from a logical choice? Virginia finally glanced up from the letter and regarded the messengers.

"I believe this letter does indeed require a more personal response," Virginia said. "Miss Talink - You may not accompany us beyond this point. I care not what you do - yet monsters in shadows always find something to amuse themselves with, do they not?"

"The carriage should be waiting for us, my lady," Alfred said to Virginia. He would be glad to be rid of the Talink's company. The family was not endearing to him.

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All seemed quiet within the walls of the Talink Manor, at least for the time being. Thalken begrudgingly resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do about that pesky Soulless right now. If the creature was merely in hiding, stalking the halls would not give it reason to make its presence known. And if it had indeed left the premise, he had not the skills to ward the place to prevent its inevitable return. He let out a growl of frustration. He didn't do well with the knowledge that he was basically a sitting target.

He made one last vain attempt at scouting the halls with his shrewd gaze before finally returning to his chambers. He wasn't quite ready to retire for the night though. No, he wanted to wait for his father and sister's return from whatever deal they were making with the Lady Crypt. After that, well, he wasn't entirely sure that he could get any real sleep knowing a Soulless had been, and may still be, lurking in the privacy of his own home. It gave him an uneasy feeling, the feeling of being watched. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

Upon entering his chambers, he began rummaging through his stuff, eventually finding what he was looking for. He pulled out his blade sharpener and tossed it onto his bed. He unsheathed his Dao then sat on the edge of his bed and went to work on sharpening the edges of the blade. He had a feeling he would be needing his blades in tiptop shape.

Meanwhile, Thalcona had taken on a passive role in the Lady Crypt's affairs. She quelled her curiosity and instead focused on the task at hand, protecting the young Master James. Her dark eyed gaze diligently surveyed their surroundings. As she had said earlier, monsters lurked in the dark, and she would do well to keep them at bay. Her scouting was suddenly interrupted as the Lady Crypt addressed her. Her eyes widened in surprise at the lady's words before subsequently narrowing. "I hope you know what you are doing, for your sake and for the sake of your brother," she warned. Her disapproval was clear, but she made no move to stop them.

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Alexandra smiled warmly at those she passed by as she made her way to the makeshift stables of the Russian Imperial Circus. She ate the remainder of her meat on a stick in a few big bites, more or less inhaling the exquisite food rather than properly chewing it. She then twiddled with the bare stick between her thumb and forefinger, drumming it to a mindless beat. The smell of musty hay and horse manure wafted to her as she neared the stables, and soon enough the smell hit her senses like a slap in the face. To many this would be gag-inducing, but to her this was the smell of home. No matter what tragedies befell her, horses remained a constant in her life. They were always a source of comfort in the darkest of times.

Her smile broadened at the sounds of horses shuffling in their stalls and munching happily on hay. She walked through the aisles to locate the stall that was occupied by her Brivaldi horse, a bay Russian Don by the name of Balaur. With all its twists and turns, it was like a maze to get to her beloved horse's stall, but nevertheless, the trek was always worth it. She rounded one last corner before his large form came into view from behind the bars of his stall. "Балауры!" she exclaimed in greeting as she approached his stall. Balaur let out a gusty exhale, his ears twitching slightly, but he was otherwise unmoved by her presence.

"Vell don't get too excited, you might have a heart attack," she remarked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Amusement lit up her dark brown eyes, making them sparkle in the dim lighting, and the corner of her lips was quirked up in a smirk. She placed the stick from her long since eaten food onto her tack trunk and grabbed a halter off of the stall door. She paused for a moment as an idea popped into her head. A grin overcame her features. "I knov vhat vill cheer you up!" she exclaimed, bending down to rummage through her tack trunk. "Угощения!" She pulled out a small handful of treats and waved them in the air.

Balaur suddenly came to life. His ears perked up, and he let out low nickers as he excitedly paced over to the front of the stall. This elicited a giggle from Alexandra. She entered the stall and offered the treats to her horse, who eagerly scarfed them down. "Ve both love our food, da?" she stated with a grin. She haltered Balaur and tied him to the side of his stall, before setting to work gussying him up. She curried and brushed his coat to perfection. She devotedly picked the pieces of hay and manure out of his mane and tail, before combing out the knots and braiding the hair. She finally tacked him up in her trick riding gear, and soon enough, she was leading him out of the stables by the reins.

"Ha! Such spirit the little ones has. You vould learn marvelous things in the circus. You must meet the Great Bazhooli! No better man with a blade lives. I have seen him pierce falling silk and split a thread mid air. Dah, you must learn one day," the man said before kneeling down to James level. "A tiger, is big cat. Bigger than horse with fangs and clavs that rip flesh like hot knife through butter. Myska is the Grand Duchesses. He is white with black stripes and eyes the color of the glacier at vaters edge. His roar can shake vindow panes and strike fear into even Soulless. You meet him, ride perhaps if he take liking to you," he said before grinning broadly.

As he entertained the youth with his little story the other nodded towards Virigina. "Yes, come nov. Ve escort or if you prefer, ride vith us, vill be faster," he said before turning and briskly walking down the steps, his partner close behind as they mounted their horses. Holding out his hand to Virginia he awaited her decision. The one that had been telling tales to James smiled broadly over towards the young boy. "Dah, ride vith me little one. I shov you hov ve ride in Mother Russia!"

The winds picked up slightly in the city of London, and over by the home of the Talniks a thin strip of paper floated in the wind. Pale and rough around the edges it wafted on the air, spinning from a known source. Dew had collected on the windows of the homes because of the weather. London was always a foggy city and it was normal that this time of the night would cause such steaming of the glass on homes from the inside and out. The paper napped and landed against the glass of Thalkins room. On it it was clear that something that had been written in a language he knew too well. 甩繩馬騮

The Grand Duchesses brow quirked high at the mention of a salad, her eyes slowly traveling to Vlad as she basically made this face. She knew that wasn't going to go over well with the Great Bazhooli. Watching the two exit the tent she looked over towards Myska and sighed. Veta half wanted to see exactly what Vlad would do over the whole salad comment but she needed to get ready and it was probably best they had left the tent otherwise she would have gotten comfortable and watched the show. It was probably going to be more entertaining than the actual circus itself; for personal reasons only.

"Dank you Mary," Veta said gratefully towards her new friend as she finally was able to slip out of bed and start preparing for the Graveolases arrival. While she had a feeling that Mary would be open to hear her proposal to add the Russians ways to the council she did not place much fate in the rest of the council. This was not the first time they had tried though it was her first attempt. Perhaps God had brought her and Mary together for this very purpose, to change things for the better. To allow people to become more ready. To expand on their knowledge for it was lacking in many things. Yes, having more places for people to train would take funding away from the current ones but for her money was not what was most important. Survival was and if Soulless were spreading it would be the councils only hope of survival. The alternative was to have two councils, one official and one of the renegades. Elizaveta would side with the latter if it came to that.

Turning her attention to Mary she listened carefully as it was explained to her just what this place was. It sounded horrific. A place where weddings could be done without tradition? Without the law. What protected either side from forced marriages because of this place? Turning so that Mary could pull her laces tight she looked at herself in the mirror. "I vonder if his scarcity vas because of something sinister or just cowardliness," she said in passing. "Ve must stop vhatever his plan is for the young voman though. Be it Soulless or something else, it is foul nevertheless. Constantins vision, the pain."

As Mary finished Veta turned around and looked everything a Grand Duchess should on receiving the council. She gave a the nun a look of sternness and her jaw was set firmly before she continued. Reaching out she placed a gentle hand on her friends shoulder. "To vindicate the orphan and the oppressed, so that man who is of the earth vill no longer cause terror," she said quoting the bible. "After the meeting, I ride for Gretna. Tell not Vlad, he vould not like that I vould leave protection of circus. Yet I must and he is needed here." Outside Veta's tent things were not as calm but it seemed that someone was up to something other than the Grand Duchess.

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Suddenly Constantin's expression turned into that of complete shock, confusion and deep( overly expressive and dramatic) pain of betrayal!” Impossible! I object!” He stated grandly as if this was a matter of grave importance!” My parents hail from Bulgaria! Ve value our salads! Good old lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and cheese!” The firewalker stated grandly.” PERFECT SIDE DISH FOR ALCOHOL!” Constantin seemingly had gotten into his role an not budging from his opinion as any proud firewalker should!” Salad first then good old meal after! That's the way to do it!” He even found the face of his father nearby nodding his bearded head in approval to his son's words.

Seemingly he found that continuing to argue over salads with Vlad might not be the best way to spend the night, though to be fair he did thing that a good greens now and then might be good for the mighty loud Vlad's body constitution every now and then. As such he headed to where his parents were sitting, there usually was a good salad or tarator there always. You could make a bulgarian leave his homeland, but you can never make him forget the taste for home cuisine! He had nothing against Russian cooking, but they focused on manly things too much. The body needed more!

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Insomuch as The Great Bazhooli was not a man who was prone to judging others purely on their preferences, this was talk about a bowl of crisp, unsatisfying, wispy greenery. If the Kolev performers had such things squirreled away in their tents and vardos, then more power to them. Circus cooks and circus vendors had spent the better part of their work hours preparing food with the intent of selling it to the people of London and thereabouts as items one could walk about with, or sit for short periods of time and consume. Bowls of leafy vegetables were not high on their To Do List. But hey, if the younger firewalker wanted lettuce, who was Vladimir to stop him? More cheburek for The Great Bazhooli.

However, he had to set an example for the boy. Little Adam mustn't be led to believe such unmasculine things about mealtimes. As they walked in the vicinity of the food preparation areas, he began quietly, "You are knowing, little man, vegetables are important, da? Vell, don't tell I say that, okay? Okay. But vhen ve are around people, you tell them..." He raised the volmue of his voice as to be overheard clearly, "Salad is not food! Salad is vhat food eats!"

The Tent City was a jumble of various knots of people, some setting up, some clearing out areas, and many finding whatever open spot was available to practice their acts. Gymnasts and contortionists went through their motions on raised wooden platforms, effortlessly pushing their bodies past the limits of broad humanity. Musicians looked on, accenting the endeavors of the laborers and performers, which in turn brought about the attention of many of the dancers nearby. It was like the Circus decided to host its show outdoors, many of the acts simultaneously, in plain view of the general public. Of course, there was no general public at this time, nor would there be back in the great Tent City of the Russian Imperial Circus. Vladimir even saw some of his own people setting up, juggling knives and beginning the first steps of the acrobatic, juggling dance known to the Rusyn Cossacks as Mamushka. It was more than a dance to these people, more than mere entertainment for the masses or even themselves; the astute could witness the extreme martial application of these movements, note the physicality and skill with a blade involved.

Vlad looked on approvingly. He would join them shortly, but for now, the legendary showman escorted Adam to a respectable vendor and procured for him a couple of meat pies and a paper bowl of honeyed nuts. "More! There is more if you vant, little Adam. You eat. Is plenty. Maybe after you are done, I show you Russian knife throwing. You vould like, da?" He maintained a cheerful appearance, as usual, though there was still a persistent concern about Elizaveta. It was his job, and besides, she was as good as a daughter to him, regardless of social status.

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Mary was not completely unaccustomed to the trappings of finery. She was able to assist in the proper fitting of Elizaveta's gown and accessories to her with only minor difficulty. She did not generally partake of things with such affluence implied by it, though she could admire the beauty and skill involved in its creation. And the Grand Duchess did look every inch her station, in Mary's opinion. She could never wear something like this wonderful gown; it would clash horribly with her halberd and make her more equestrian pursuits difficult. But Elizaveta did look very regal, and Mary allowed herself a touch of humble satisfaction at assisting her in getting ready.

During the course of wrestling with the fine dress, Mary listened carefully to Elizaveta's concerns. She refrained from discussion until after everything was ready, focusing on the task at hand. When they were done, the young Apostolic stood, beamed warmly, and spoke. "You look radiant, Veta. Truly regal." She meant it, too. It was not her way, but she could appreciate the look of a fine dress, the tailor's craft not unlike that of an architect or sculptor, from planning to execution of an original piece. It was not flattery and carried more sincerity than a mere polite nod in the Grand Duchess's direction. Then she got to business, such as her business involved the Soulless. "Veta, if I may speak to timing? If Lord Rutherford and Miss Wyndham left for Gretna Green immediately after the event at Almack's, or as of this morning, I cannot imagine that we would be able to catch up to them in time to stop their marriage."

Mary did not say this to discourage. In truth, she wanted to find out for herself. If Rutherford was in league with an organized Soulless uprising, then this was precisely what she was put upon the world to fight against. However, she was pledged to lend her assistance to others here in London. And according to the message from the Vatican, she was to learn Russian Trained skills from Elizaveta herself. She was torn between two obligations. Maybe there was a way to do both. "If you wish to go, I cannot stop you. I must advise that you do not travel alone. I would very much like to go with you, if I may. I know the laws, culture, and customs of the place you wish to travel and they are more tolerant of Catholics in Scotland." She sighed, moving on to the liabilities of her situation, "There are some obstacles to overcome before I can commit myself, however. I am responsible for the child, Adam. I have also promised to give assistance to the young Lord Wenwynith, still a boy but has been given apparent mortal threat from Soulless. I am friend to his sister, the Lady Virginia Crypt, and await word from her on the matter this evening. Further, I must send word back to St. Etheldreda's. If we travel, they need to inform Rome as to the nature of my departure."

Ever the pragmatist, Mary pressed on to more logistical issues, "Gretna Green is a few days' journey from here. We would need supplies. There are other things to take into consideration, but if these issues can be surmounted I believe that I can greatly increase your chances of success in your task, Veta."

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The Great Bazhooli? James racked his brain for other people he knew with the Great as part of their name, yet he came up empty. Most of the historical figures he knew were ones that he was related to. All young Crypts were taught their heritage from a young age, able to rattle off the names and accomplishments of their most important ancestors. Some of them were largely held to be myths at this point, yet James believed fiercely in each and everyone of them.

For the Great Bazhooli to be the only the Great...James' eyes widened. He had to be excellent at something - maybe he was skilled with poisons or with wrestling bears? Or maybe he was just really really good at dancing the Mamushka? Virginia had promised to teach it to him once he was a little older and had gotten the hang of throwing either knives or a hatchet. She herself danced it with hatchets, having even trained in their use while in the colonies. James wanted to learn with daggers, having been inspired by tales of an Italian Crypt told by his mother.

"Could the Great Bazwhooli teach me the Mamushka?" James asked quickly, before turning to look at Virginia. "Please, Ginny? He's the Great! He can show me how to do it with knives and stuff! With the giant kitty too! Tigers and Mamushka!" James clapped his hands together in the Mamushka rhythm, winning a smile from Virginia.

"Oh, little devil, only Crypts know that dance," Virginia replied. "But perhaps the knives - then I can teach you the dance." She had been raised on the Mamushka, taught that it was a part of Crypt cultural heritage and used as a dance for celebrations. The idea that a stranger would know the dance as something more never even occurred to her.

James didn't even wait for Virginia to say if it was okay to ride - he was already trying to get up on the horse, which was practically as tall as he was - if not more. Virginia glanced at Alfred for a moment. While it would be faster, she didn't like the idea of leaving Alfred behind. He was family in all but name.

"I'll bring the carriage 'round to the manor.," Alfred offered. "You go on with Master James, my lady. You needn't worry 'bout me - I'm more than just an old gent. Send word if you need help with the little tyke." He chuckled slightly and Virginia nodded. James' safety was being prioritized today. Moving as quickly as possible would help to that end.

"Thank you," Virginia then said to the rider who had extended his hand for her, as she took it and mounted the horse behind him.

"Where's Russia?" James then asked.