Annan: "Yey, of course m'lady," a young woman said as she looked over from cleaning a table that was a mess from the night before. Her mousey brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun and tied off with a thin piece of worn yarn, it seemed to have a life of its own as she moved through a door to the kitchen. It was but a few moments later she came out with a pipping hot pot of water, several teas and a metal mesh tea bulb there, as well as milk and lemon and sugar on the tray. A few biscuits were laid out as well. "Will this do?" she asked as she carried it over to Maeve.

"I came here with low expectations and am finding myself terribly disappointed," a thick raspy voice called out from the top of the stairs. The Lady Kirkpatrick was standing there, cane in hand, dressed in gray. "I want tea, not sweets. Now, go, full Scottish breakfast for two. Bacon crisp, not burnt. Toast dry. Eggs hard boiled, three minutes 35 seconds. Salt, pepper. Sausage blood, black. Beans cold, tomato fresh, black pudding. Go."

The girl nearly dropped the tray from shock but quickly put it down, taking the sweet biscuits with her and rushing back to the kitchen. "The builders tea will do, strong," she said as she started to make her way down the stairs, her cane knocking the wood hard with each step she took, not evening looking at Maeve as she stepped and moved over to a table to seat herself. "Laid eyes on the bumbling babbling balking baboon this morn?" she asked as she sat herself and finally looked at Maeve, obviously referring to the Fumbling Father.



London: Sister Sophia handed over the small note that Elizaveta had left behind and shook her head. "I have not seen either of them. Last I knev they vere vith her last evening. The papers for the young master James were left behind vith the note. I fear they ventured out vith the Grand Duchess." The usually scowling sister looks rather livid that the Grand Duchess would have dared to leave but in the same breath she doesn't look surprised. Elizaveta was never one to fall in line. "That child tests my patience." Her voice was flat and cold as she spoke but she turned and left the scene, moving to start searching the tents for any of the three women. Her eyes half way glanced towards Constantin as she walked by.

"Who vill punish a soon to be Czarinia? And yesterday, vhat does she need punishment for? A trance placed on her by another? An attack she could not fight against? Or a performance that shoved our strength and that ve vould not bov to any but god?" she said before continuing on her way. While she did agree that Elizaveta needed to be put in her place for running off, yesterday wasn't exactly a good example of that. If anything is proved that the young Czarina did things her way and they worked out. Today however, no one was of high enough placement to punish her even if she could be found. Other than perhaps Vlad and that was only in a fatherly respect. One that Sophia did not agree with.

Agree, disagree, sleep, wake, run, stay. Around and around we go, it matter not for no one knows. He was awake, children were sleeping. Let them sleep, let them lay there in dreams or nightmares, whichever made their hearts glad and reset their minds. His mind was fine, it was always fine, glad, not mad and so he greeted the day. The door swinging open and Dieter, the ferret, not his brother, staying curled up with Adam. "Ahh, bright day, beautiful day, wait, no, red dawn, blood dawn, split blood. Never good, a mad day, not a glad day."

Was blood split, or was it found, in the ground, running from rocks. One cannot get blood from a stone. Step, turn, dodge people rushing by, such panic, woman in black, scowl on her face, a wicked witch, no a nun, they were worse, penguins with hands and rulers, ouch. Nope, just nope. Walking and bobbing, and weaving, a skip and a step, a hop and a jump, over to the crowds. Push glasses up the bridge of the nose, squint and widened the eyes, allergies or ticks, the twitch not the bug. Gone? Perhaps blood was spilt but nah, couldn't be, then there would be more in black instead of colors, faces would be sad not mad. Well, no one was glad. Well except him. So he grinned and looked. "Do we have a problem with barbegles?" he asked out of the blue, or was it out of the red since it was a red dawn after all.

Manchester: The town is quiet this morning even though people are out in the streets trying to clean up the mess from the attack. Everyone seems very disheartened because of the dead and the numerous fires that had been started. So much loss in such a short amount of time. Gerard climbed out of the carriage and looked around. This was not good, not good at all. He spotted Fyror walking and stood there for a moment before rushing to catch up as a woman mentioned an attack.

"Attack?" he said before looking over towards Fyror. "We must find Milli, if there was an attack she might be hurt if she was in town," he said, a worried look passing through his eyes, though the thought of Rutherford coming into harm did please him it wouldn't have been worth it in his eyes if Millicent had come to harm because of it.

Looking over towards the woman he bowed slightly. "Forgive me, I am Gerard Connolly. Stable Manager for the Wyndhams. During such attacks, the local churchs are normally where aid stations are set, there is one two blocks west from here," he said in a kind voice but quiet voice.

Nottingham: Elizaveta looked around. Nottingham was a larger city so there was a chance. "Perhaps, maybe, not sure," she said. She wasn't sure since her nation did not take part in such trainings and she was unfamiliar with the country. Looking around she ran her fingers through her hair, the night ride had taken it's toll on her golden locks and she wasn't having it. Not that she was vain but it kept falling in her face. As she took a step here and there to stretch out her legs she quickly braided it and tied it off. It wasn't befitting someone of her status but Elizaveta was rarely worried about such things, especially now. Her tiger was enough to make her stand out. She didn't need extra attention. The three women stood out like sore thumbs.

There was a stable not far from them and a inn just across the street. "Let us tend to our animals and ourselves first. Sending vord to people ve are trying to avoid is at the bottom of list. Church learns, church send vord to circus," she said, reminding Mary they were try to keep people from knowing where they were. Looking over towards Virginia she smiled slightly. "You did well, thank you for coming vith. Perhaps your skills vill be able to help us locate your friend vhen ve get further north," she said as Myshka pushed his nose into her hand. "Yes yes, food," she said as she chuckled a bit and started to move seemlessly over towards the stable, where a young boy stood looking both in awe and fear at seeing a tiger. He didn't even know what type of animal it was. This could get interesting.

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The sun rose over a Circus in disarray. The lack of patronage was not the huge issue, though it was a little disappointing considering the fact that it was London during the Season. They should be making money, tons of it, hand over fist. Instead, they had to rely mainly on the sack of gold Crowns that The Great Bazhooli had negotiated for his performance at Astley's Amphitheatre to float their base expenses. They had existing savings, moreover they had things of value they could part with easily to keep them floating for a decent amount of time. The exchange rate on rubles in this part of the world might smack them as being somewhat unfavorable, but good, silver coin was worth its weight no matter where one traveled. It was a benefit to being Circus Folk.

No, the Circus woke in disarray because of the unexplained absence of one of their own, their Imperial charge, the one for whom much of their endeavors were geared toward. The Circus had raised her from an uncertain noble girl into a proud, strong woman; a future Czarina, leader of their nation. The Circus was powerful enough to be entrusted with her safety. In return for this honor, the Czars of Russia agreed to provide supplementary funding necessary to keep them running smoothly, doing their duties and taking care of various difficulties around the Empire. For lack of a better way of phrasing it, they had one job. On a more self-advancing note, making sure Elizaveta survived to ascend the throne would be rewarded with the Alexandrov patriarch's elevation from Baron to Count, a thing which would not only increase their land holdings immensely, but legitimize the Alexandrovs among other, higher nobility despite their Rusyn Gypsy bloodlines.

If Elizaveta got herself killed on some fool's errand while under their care and protection, there would be hell to pay. Part of that hell would come from the Bazhoolis themselves as they had come to truly love and trust their little Veta, now all grown up.

But even as he sun rose on a Circus in disarray, it still rose. There was still a Circus, still a Baron over it all, and still a Ringmaster and Great Bazhooli both to lead their people in this uncertain time. But life was not bright and hopeful everywhere in the Tent City, oh no. There is always a dark spot to make one appreciate the light all the more. This particular dark spot was over in the makeshift stables, where the Circus's uninvited guest was set to sleep off his reaction to the distillations of beets and potatoes. Some reactions were better than others, apparently.

Upon noting that the Londoner was awake, cleaned, and dressed, one of the guards called to a woman nearby. She responded in Russian with an impatient sounding voice, but seemed to comply nevertheless by bringing a bowl and a two large mugs on a platter over to the stable. The guard muttered something else to the woman, who responded by sharing a gesture that, in her culture, was likely very rude. After a good chuckle over the whole exchange, the guard turned back to Thalken and set the platter inside of the stabling while another held a pistol ready. When it was safely inside and still upright, both men retreated from the stall.

The bowl was wide and shallow, holding a half loaf of bread that was likely made the day before, as well as a couple of local pears and some shelled walnuts. One mug was mostly full with goat's milk and the other one with what was most likely beer of some kind. The first guard nodded, intoning with a heavy accent of his homeland, "Dog Hair, da?"

Elsewhere, The Baron Dmitri Alexandrov was livid. Word had reached him of Veta's absence, and he was highly unhappy about it. Highly.

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The note was simple. Very straightforward, saying nothing but speaking volumes. "Do not follow", implying danger or at least complication were she to not leave quietly and alone. Except, she wasn't alone, if Sister Sophia was to be believed. The Grand Duchess left with a tiny entourage of more local persons; the timeless porcelain beauty of the Lady Crypt and Sister Mary, a lady of serene piety painted with flame. Surely with these two, his Veta would have a better chance than not of succeeding, or at least surviving whatever difficulties lay ahead of them.

Vladimir knew that Elizaveta could take care of herself. He knew that she was as proficient a warrior as any in the Circus, which was high praise indeed considering their history. She was already so strong, and had not yet reached the peak of her Rusyn skills. But to him, she was not the Grand Duchess, nor was she a soldier in service to her people. This was Veta, a little girl that he and his Izolde (God rest her soul) raised from a young age into womanhood, alongside their own children. As Vlad stared at the note, the worry of a father took him. Maybe this is what Veta was trying to avoid all along. Or maybe it was his next decision.

Fully assuming the posture of The Great Bazhooli, his raspy, projected voice boomed across the Circus in a manner that demanded respect and immediate acquiescence. "Sem'ya! Pull stakes! Ready horses! Gather provision and sharpen knives!" Vladimir raised his arms high and wide, turning around to emphasize the fact that he required as much attention paid to his words as possible.

By his second turn, Vlad was surprised to see the fuming form of his father, the Baron Alexandrov, standing just out of his arm's reach. With cold but understanding voice, he spoke to his son. "You vill not go galavanting off vith Bazhooli Sem'ya on fruitless mission. Do you understand?"

"Father, I..."

"No! You vould run off blindly, taking family vith you. Find out vhat you can. Learn. See. Then come back to me. Ve move whole of Circus at vonce. You understand?"

A smile crept across Vladimir's face. The Circus moves as one. "Thank you, my Baron." and over to Ludwig, of all people, "Is only vone vay from city. Hard to miss those three, vith tiger. You vill help, da?" He was their new ally. Time to test that.

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Mary nodded her head at Elizaveta's words. This was not how she handled her affairs, but she was pledged to Veta's preferences in this endeavor. "Very well. Perhaps it is best." she relented, continuing to nod as if in thought. "I know not about tigers, Veta, but my horse will need more than an hour's rest if we are to keep this pace. And I would not mind something hot on my stomach, either." They were pressed for time, but it would help no one if Cassius went lame in the meantime.

Mary approached the stableboy and slid from her horse. She handed over a coin, asking with sweet demeanor, "Oh, do not be afraid. Would you please take good care of my Cassius? Good oats and water, brush him down please? And if you could, is there a decent place nearby for a meal? I am famished." She removed her saddlebags and slung them across her shoulder, awaiting a response.

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Thalken leaned against the doorframe of the makeshift stall, stopping to rub his temple in a vain attempt at easing the pounding in his head. His brows were furrowed, his eyes downcast, and his face was contorted into a grimace. Even the dark ruminations that normally pervaded his mind were put at a standstill by the pain of his massive hangover. He was essentially forced to just live in the moment, a very sucky moment to be precise. Yet, the concept wasn't something he was particularly adept at, always too busy obsessing on the sins of his past and ever anxious about how they would affect his future. It was a pointless endeavor really that only served to make his life a living hell in the meantime. So, perhaps in some messed up way, this situation would prove beneficial, therapeutic even, for him. Maybe. Or maybe it would just give him amble opportunity to screw things up for himself once more, to sabotage all his hard work leading up to this chance at redemption. Well, only time would tell.

His dark eyed gaze came up as he heard a commotion. His gaze looked past the guards to the woman they had brought in and were now conversing with. When his gaze landed on the platter of food and drinks in her possession, his hand fell back down to his side and he pushed away from the doorway. His stomach gurgled as he eyed the food, and he absentmindedly licked his dry lips. He was parched and famished. He tapped his foot impatiently as they wrapped up their little chat with the now miffed looking woman followed by their moment of joviality at whatever had just occurred. He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally brought the food and drinks over. And then, the guard suddenly pulled out a damn pistol on him! Thalken's eyes narrowed slightly and he cocked his head to the side with a expression that said "really?" He let out a small huff of annoyance and gave a roll of his eyes before slowly backing up into the stall with his hands raised.

Thalken waited for the guards to safely retreat before he went over to the platter of food and drinks. He restrained himself from rushing over to it like he wanted to. He didn't want to give the guards the satisfaction. He sat down cross-legged and picked up the mug with the darker looking liquid. He recoiled as the unmistakable scent of alcohol hit his nose. Like hell. He unceremoniously tossed the mug, liquid and all, over his shoulder. He cringed slightly when he heard the mug shatter into pieces somewhere behind him. Oops. He then reached for the mug of goat's milk and gladly took several generous gulps of it before digging into the food.

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Fyror's gaze, which had otherwise been transfixed on the ruins of Manchester, moved, as out of the blue a woman's voice floated to his ears. He turned, following the sound of her voice, to face a foreign blonde-haired woman. The sternness that had previously overcome his features soon softened, taking with it some of the intensity of his mangled face, as his gaze landed on her comparatively more diminutive form. He inclined his head out of courtesy. His auburn brows furrowed the slightest bit at her words, and he was about to say something in reply when Mr. Connolly suddenly made his presence known.

He looked back over at Gerard and nodded his head grimly. "Indeed, we must make haste. We can ask around a bit here, see if anyone has heard or seen Lord Rutherford or know of his whereabouts, but if we can't get a solid lead we must continue on as we were," he replied, taking on the role of leader with a certain ease. His attention then returned to the woman, just as Mr. Connolly's did too. "And I am Sir Fyror Kildragon, infantry captain of Colchester Garrison," Fyror added with a soft, albeit slightly strained, smile. "Perhaps you could tell us about this attack whilst we accompany you to the aid station, with your permission, of course."

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Virginia was glad to hear that she was of an accord with Elizaveta when it came to the potential for contacting the Church. It would only hinder their progress in the long run, as it would both take time to send word back and increase the rate at which they were pursued. By giving them a location, they would have the Circus chasing after them in no time, knowing precisely where to go and where they were headed. A dramatic chase, while it would have been delightful, was not what they needed to save Millicent from a fate that Virginia found too gruesome to comprehend. It was one that the Deborah's of the world would have enjoyed, with their pastels and normalcy.... She shuddered slightly at the thought.

"Of course, perhaps the Chankoowashtay or Sokw will allow us to locate Millicent," Virginia said softly, giving Elizaveta a slight smile. She then glanced at the boy who was staring at the tiger with shock and she could not help but smile. Children were wonderful at times - with so much potential and curiosity. Yet she was truly just seeing her brother in the child's eyes, remembering his excitement at meeting the tiger just yesterday evening. It was a time of open mindedness that most of society seemed to lose by the time they came of age - and for that, Virginia could not help but pity them. They restricted themselves to a world without wonder.

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The young woman reminded Maeve of her sister, Niamh, and she couldn't help but smile slightly. She couldn't quite place her finger as to why - though she imagined it was likely that she was just searching for her loved ones in the faces of strangers. She wondered how Niamh was getting along, knowing that she was going to be marrying her fiancé soon. It was still a little difficult to swallow that sweet Niamh had fallen in love with a British soldier - but it couldn't be helped. The heart was a fickle thing and never made choices based on logic, at least in Maeve's experience. Maeve was about to nod that the tray would suffice when Lady Kirkpatrick came and contradicted such a claim in full.

She had to hold her tongue as she heard Lady Kirkpatrick's list of demands, thankful that her face had not been angled as to allow Lady Kirkpatrick to see her full expression. Maeve had grown up poor and even after marrying into the Brennan gang, her life was hardly easy. She had to work for everything that she had - she didn't have a title bestowed upon her just because of her birth and marrying Ciaran hadn't been a fairytale. While she didn't doubt she and her husband had been soulmates, they were best as friends.

"Not yet, me lady. The fatheh might be occupied knockin' over a stable," Maeve quipped, turning to face Lady Kirkpatrick as well. She didn't know if Lady Kirkpatrick wished for her to sit or remain standing.

Constantin wasn't exactly in the mood to argue with Sophia when the woman started getting displeased with his statement about Veta needing punishments. So what if she was a Czarina? She was still part of the circus and while punishing her was probably going to bring punishment upon them by the the royal family, the punishment that would be brought upon them if she was to die after managing to escape from their protection was going to be far far worse. The entire circus could be decimated if royal tempers flared...

Suddenly as he took another step a vision came upon him! It was slightly cold... old one? Past? It took him a few moments to realize what it was timewise. The images rushed upon him, Myshka, streets, fog at the gate for Jericho, a guard defying goat crusher and the roads towards the west. The vision vanished as it had appeared and he stood there, his breath taken for a few more moments before he bolted onto his feet and bolted towards Veta's tent, hoping he'd find Vlad there.” You silly... vay vould you abandon us to go there and not bring any of us...” He mumbled to himself as he dashed. If his previous vision was to be counted along this one, the talks that were spoken and a dash of common sense the conclusion was obvious! Veta had headed North!

“Great Bazhooli are you here?! I think I know vhere Veta's headed!” Constantin called as he moved towards the tent and saw the Vlad who was currently being really Vladishly loud with his orders. He bolted towards the man in haste.” She's probably headed north!” Constantin reported, taking a deep breath to regain his breathing.” Had a vision about last night vhen she escaped just moments ago! If ve take vhat vas talked about last night and my previous vision, then she's probably heading to Scotland!”

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Colette watched as the two men interacted, noting the names she was hearing? Lord Rutherford? They knew him then. Did that make them friends or foes? And Milli? Surely that had to be Millicent then! Maybe these guys were looking for them. Well, they were not going to find them if they continued here.

Still, one of her main goals was to help provide aid to the people here. "Yes, I would like to go to this church. I will tell you all I know, but it is not much." Colette walked with the men, telling them all she knew about the attack. Around when it started, how it came over all of Manchester, how she saw people die and flee. She saved the best, what she assumed both of these men would be interested in, for last.

"I hope you do not find me rude, but I overheard you mention Lord Rutherford. He was at the party I attended that night. Along with Millicent, who I assume you know. They left on a ship, I believe, though I cannot remember the destination. I was preoccupied with the attacking Soulless, you see. That is all I know, though, whatever help it may be."

Annan: "I see, well sit child. You need your sustenance as much as I. It would not do well if you were to faint on me. What good would you be then?" the Lady Kirkpatrick said as she st there before taking a long drink of her tea. Her cane laid beside her. Out of her hand but not out of arms reach.

"Though I doubt you would. You look like I did a life time ago. Though you are much more finely dressed than I was in those days. Granted you were more finely dressed when we first met than I had been as well. Yet working with a stil, you did not care what you wore. More concerned with keeping the blasted thing from blowing up in your face. How I managed to keep unharmed in those days is a testament to god I suppose. It was a wonder I was not ever caught and hung for the spirits I made or even the locks that were picked," she said rather bluntly with a slight smirk to her lips.

" have to admit though, no amount of money will ever bring me the thrill I had as a young woman outsmarting those lads. Outsmarting the younglins these days doesn't seem to do it, granted I wonder if half of them even possess a wit." Finishing off the cup she poured another. Seemed she was determined to be fueled by tea for the remainder of the day.



London: In a cage, in a cage, in a not so gilded cage. London within the walls, wilderness out. Or so they thought. Have to go down to go up, have to go south to go north. Hours and hours to go, march, march down you go, down the rabbit hole, and then climb, climb, climb back to go anywhere. Two steps forward, one step back, it works together cause opposites attract, it ain't fiction just a natural fact. And while fact, a little dance because it was catchy.

A dip of the knees and a shake of the head. "Roads and roads to go, leave the world to the fate of god or leave god to the fate of the world? Help those that help themselves, yes but sometimes need a guiding hand, to the north, go north. To the wall! Over the wall, no. Under the wall, no. through the wall," Ludwig said as he pushed his hands and stepped forward.

"Yes, yes, travel roads not so traveled. Save the king, sacrifice the queen. All nothing but pawns. An army in the front, a bishop in the rear, let us be knights and trigger the rook!" he laughed as he pulled out a book, flipping through the pages as he spoke. His glasses falling down and then being pushed back up as his nose twitched. Page after page until he stopped and shoved it in the face of Vlad. "See, see. Knight takes rook and then Freedom!" he exclaimed. (Pm for what the hell Ludwig is showing Vlad.)

Manchester: Gerard looked over towards Colette and then towards Fyror. "A ship? We may never catch them now," he said in a disheartened voice before turning back to Colette. "Thank you for what you know, here, follow me," he said as he motioned in the direction of the church and offered his arm to her.

Taking a breath he wondered what would happen to Millicent now. If they were on a ship and were going to Gretna Green, they would have to stop in Annan. yet being on a ship meant they would move much quicker than on horse. Gerard doubted they would be able to stop them now. Once they got to the church he looked back at Fyror. "I must go back to London. Please, keep going, try to stop this madness but I have no hope yet it can be. So I must look after Emma and Mrs. Wyndham. Millicent would wish that from me..." he said somberly. He didn't like the idea of turning back alone but he knew Millicent and this is what she would want of him and he dare not as Fyror to stop. The man seemed determined and Gerard was not going to be the one to tell him they would be lost.

"I will help here, do what I can until morning and then set back out to London. Please, go do what you must for her," Gerard said before looking over at Colette. "Thank you for the information, it is good to know that she did not fall victim here."

Nottingham: "Oh um, yes of course," the boy said.

Elizaveta stepped towards the boy and held out a golden coin. "Myska vill not eat you, be not afraid. Just fetch him meat and he vill be happy." the boy looked unsure but took the coin and nodded before pointing to an inn down the street and explaining that they could get food there. Elizaveta thanked the young boy before turning back to the business at hand.

"Yes, a meal for all of us and then some abilities to hopefully like the path," she said as she stepped over towards Marys horse. She looked over at Mary for a moment before laying her hands on him and closing her eyes. She seemed to relax as she did and her posture sagged slightly as she whispered under her breath. The horse seemed to become more aware and lively as she did. Slowly she pulled her hands away and smiled faintly but weakly at Mary.

"He vill be ready in an hour," she said before walking slowly towards the inn. "Nov I need sustenance to continue," she said in a tired voice as she continued. It was obvious whatever she had done had just taken its toll on her. Nothing long term or horrid but she looked more fatigued. The stallion on the other hand looked like he was nearly ready to go. Myska yawned and stretched out by the horse. Seemed the tiger wanted a small nap himself.

Walking into the Inn, there were a fair amount of people there. Only a few empty tables left. People were talking loudly and it was obvious that most of them were from London and fleeing but there were others there as well. Several tables were full of a group that were talking about an attack on Manchester the night before and how they had fled.

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The sound of crude ceramic shattering upon wood drew the immediate attention from the guards in the form of heads snapping around. When they realized what had happened with the fermented mug of mild intoxicant, the both of them shook their heads with disappointment. "Это пустая трата хорошего пива."₁ said one, sighing.

"В самом деле. Он только болит. Неблагодарный." mentioned the other, his tone suggesting agreement. He continued in broken English, "Should have drink beer. Abdomen feel better. Head smaller. Not shit upon self as much. But is good. You need go somewhere? Talk somevone? Ve follow for now. Yes. Is for good."

The Baron left his son, Vladimir, after hopefully letting him know that his old man understood his position. Yes, he needed to see to Elizaveta as both a parent and as a servant of the future Czarina. Yes, they needed to get ready to travel. But no, it was monumentally stupid to get things going without a clear direction. One could tell the people of the Circus that London is tapped, they needed to go to Veta and had to travel to Edinburgh or Paris or Brighton. He would impart to his son that a clear plan needed to be established before committing his people to action, if it was possible in the least. This was the application of true leadership, not strength of personality. Vlad had skated on just that for the entirety of his life; raw charisma. That and earning the title of The Great Bazhooli, not to mention the respect that went with it. But he was not a strategic leader. It was exactly this that Dmitri (The Baron) had been trying to instill in his son ever since he became The Great Bazhooli. For the first time in a great, long while, the reigning Great Bazhooli was in line to inherit the Barony. Dmitri had to hold his son to a higher standard.

True to his word, The Baron did make his way around the Tent City, letting people know that they might be leaving soon and to effect a soft breakdown of the Circus, meaning to pack away personals and acts for the time being, stow anything nonessential and remain quiet about it. If all went well, they could have the whole of their people ready to leave at an hour's notice. Maybe even less, if they utilized every bit of their Rusyn and Circus training properly.

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This was not the time for his Circus to become divided in mind nor purpose. Everyone deserved their opinion, their feelings on the matter of Veta's unannounced departure, but none of them, not a one, had the right to openly criticize her decision to do so. Except for him. Vladimir had raised that girl as his own since she was very small, as had Izolde, and even Sister Sophia (though he had some misgivings about that). And while he agreed that this was a rash, foolish decision, there was no way in hell he was going to continue to suffer this conversation out loud and let disharmony flourish throughout the Tent City.

"Enough!" he roared, straightening up to his full height. He looked from Sister Sophia to Constantin, and spared no amount of accented eye glare for anyone else gathered around who considered the possibility of grumbling about the situation. Fine, he was supposed to be a leader. Now was a good time to make an effort toward it. "There vill be no more of talk. Talk, talk, talk... Solve nothing." He swept his tall hat from his noble head and adopted a more humble stance. But not a hell of a lot more. "Our little Veta is strong in vay of Tretiy Glaz. Strong in Chteniye Dushi. Stronger than Great Bazhooli, stronger than Baron!" He didn't know if that was actually true, but she was a young lady of immense talent. "If Veta goes, has reason. Duty! And I vill hear not another vord of 'punish'. Is Grand Duchess! As Grand Duchess, vord is law. Action is law!"

Vladimir swept his hands behind his back and began pacing, looking from performer to performer that had gathered to watch the drama unfold. "Veta is strong vith sword, for too... or did all ov us forget? And if Sister Sophia speak truths, she goes with others, powerful in Arts of their peoples. Now! Thank yous to Constantin, ve know she goes to Scotland. North! And... and..." His speech slowed down, finally processing the crazy that had come from Ludwig. Finishing his address to his people, "And vhen ve know more, vhere to go exactly, ve ready to move as vone!"

Vlad hurried back over to the German fellow, hopefully in understanding of what he had shown him. In a more quiet tone, he inquired of the mad Teuton, "This is for true? Jericho Vall has... Is big enough for Circus?" A smile spread across Vladimir's face, which quickly formed into a nigh cheshire grin. "Tell me more. Slower, for please."

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A dumbfounded feeling struck Mary. She was very vaguely aware of the Russian skill that allowed them to heal others. She had learned a similar one from the Vatican. While theirs was a potent ability that was reserved mostly for physical trauma, Rome's skill was broader in nature, possibly more apt to be of use in this very situation. She had just never considered the possibility of using it on her horse, and that lack of insight bothered her. Why couldn't she? Especially now, seeing as she was on a mission of divine importance, one to which she was specifically tasked by edict and training. Such an act surely would not be vulgar use of the ability. "Veta, you will have to let me attempt to return this favor upon your Myshka before we depart. I insist, please."

Mary gave a soft smile, the start of her trademark serenity returning despite the fact that she desperately needed to run a comb through her hair and have a moment to freshen up. It was a minor irritation of the road, or travel in general for that matter. Horseback was faster than a carriage, almost always, but tended to show more upon one's exterior. Some things could be repaired once that got indoors. Others would just have to wait. For starters, a decent but modest meal and a little time to sit upon a surface that was not hardform leather wrapped around a moving animal. Mary held her hand out to Virginia and made her way into the Inn pointed out by the stableboy.

Locating a table in this place seemed a touch toward the difficult. Mary was able to catch more than a few London accents from among the crowd. That in and of itself wasn't too uncommon this far south, but what really caught her attention was the talk of an attack to the north of them in Manchester. It was too much of a coincidence not to be related to the troubles in London. Luckily, Mary was not dressed as she normally did, nor was she carrying her Swiss halberd. That was with her horse's tack. Perhaps the lone Papist in a room chock full of Anglicans could get an easier time of it than she usually did back in foggy London. She leaned from her seat, hoping to glean some information on the happenings; after all, Manchester was conceivably on their way to Gretna Green.

"Gentle folk, did you say Manchester?" she began, looking concerned, "We travel north. Whatever happened?"

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It was a perplexing matter, the state of Thalken's head right then. His head was killing him, and yet somehow, he still felt entirely numb to the world. He was without a care in the world, making him seem more aloof than usual. His mind was mostly blank. There was no planning, no plotting, no brooding, just dullness. He knew how he had made it to this moment, but he didn't know where he was going from here. He didn't know if any of this was even truly worth it. But if there was one thing he did know, it was this. He had no home because he disowned the Talink name. Despite how much he despised feeling like a prisoner, this was probably the best place for him to be right now. The Russian circus folk would keep him in line, and in the meantime, his father couldn't touch him here. It was a win-win situation. So, why did he feel so depressed? Maybe it was because he felt that he lacked any purpose anymore. If he wasn't a Talink, then what was he?

His hand holding a piece of bread paused in midair on its way to his mouth when the guard's words hit his ears. His head slowly pivoted in their direction to stare them down for a moment with this cold, unblinking gaze. He cocked his head to the side slightly. They weren't going to keep him hostage in this stall. Hmmm, interesting. He turned back to his food and quickly finished eating. He downed the rest of the goat's milk then set mug down before brushing off his hands and getting back up onto his feet. He felt a little better having something in his stomach now, but it did little for the pounding in his head. He rubbed his head and glanced around before stiffly shuffling out of the stall. He glanced over at the guards, gauging their reaction, before making his way past them in the direction of the nearest exit. He didn't really have any particular place in mind to go, but surely anywhere would be better than just staying in the stables. As far as talking to someone, well, he wasn't in a talking mood right now, and whatever resolve he had to talk to the Lady Crypt had long since fled. Besides, the Tent City seemed secure enough to keep out the likes of his father. Her and the young viscount James should be safe here, and any "help" he could give would surely just be a hindrance. So, you could say that Thalken was moving on, or at least he was trying to. We'll see how long that lasts.

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Fyror gave the woman another small smile when she accepted his offer and was willing to tell them about this attack. He nodded his head in appreciation and gestured for her to follow them. He listened intently to what she had to say, his mouth set in a hard line as she recounted the graphic details. His gaze took in her features for a moment, noting with interest that she seemed relatively unfazed by all the death and mayhem. Perhaps it wasn't the first time she had looked death in the eye, or perhaps she was just good at hiding her emotions. Whatever the case, it said a lot about her character, that she was out here trying to help people despite whatever tramua she herself might have endured. In the end, he respected her more for it.

However, he seemed to sort of stop in his tracks when the conversation took an unexpected turn. Perhaps he should have felt a sense of relief that Lord Rutherford and Millicent had been spotted in Manchester as recently as last night, yet instead he held his breath. Surely there was a catch. And how right he was. His jaw clenched when she mentioned that they had taken a ship, and he quickly looked away as the rest of his features hardened. There was a tense silence that pervaded him as they walked the rest of the way to the nearby church. He felt a sense of outrage once again bubbling up to the surface, and yet, this change of course did little to sway his resolve. No, he would follow through--or die trying.

As such, Gerard's words brought about a feeling of stunned disbelief from Fyror. Disbelief, and perhaps anger. His head whipped around to look at him with a wide disbelieving gaze. He was just going to give up?! Just like that. Just because things got tough. Millicent deserved much better that. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to choose his words carefully lest he snap the man's head off. "Well, I'm not about to turn back now. Do what you must, but I'm going to follow this through to the end," he finally stated, albeit a bit tersely. He then turned back to Colette. "Are you alright from here m'lady? If so, then I have a ship to catch."

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Colette was now sure that these two men were talking about the same person. She had wondered if Millicent made it out safely. She didn't really care if Lord Rutherford did or not though. It seemed the two men had a falling out with one deciding the effort was not worth his time while the other seemed to want to see it through. Now, her efforts of helping the relief seemed distant. She wanted to help, but she also wanted to make sure Millicent was all right.

Before the man could leave, she turned to him, "Wait! Please, if you are going to seek out Mademoiselle Millicent, let me accompany you. I have concerns for her safety as well, you see. Please?" Truly, Colette did not need the man's permission as she had already made the decision in her head to seek her out, but having someone with a relatively good idea of where to start looking was an asset for sure.

Plus, it was not like she could not handle herself. Hopefully, the gentleman would be willing to allow her to join. She would not hold him back if that was his worry.

Constantin shut himself up as the crazy German was doing his crazy thing and shoving a book into Vlad's face for whatever reason. Whatever he was showing the man, the things coming out of his mouth were not something Constantin was liking the sound of. Not at all. He also kept him mouth shut because Vlad also snapped about the punish comments. As much as Constantin respected the man and loved the Circus he wasn't agreeing with him, but kept quiet. As much as Veta was great at many things and arguably taking care of herself, she in Constantin's eyes was just a rash person the rest of the time. He wouldn't be surprised if she just ran away this time just because she didn't want to endanger the Circus and no other reason. Or maybe she had a reason, but still not even saying anything before leaving was not something he approved of.

Constantin then once more pulled his attention to Ludwig. What on this crazy world was the also crazy German person talking about to Vlad? What had he shown the loud man? The fire walker felt his curiosity burn as he could see the grin on Vladimir's face. This was the grin of a man who just learned of something really good that he could put to a great use. Admittedly said thing might not be really safe or all that, but the grin spoke volumes to Constantin, so he just focused his attention on the duo of loud Russian man and crazy German one. He had the feeling whatever they pull of their collective sleeve would be a glorious sight to behold.

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Virginia watched as Elizaveta seemed to transfer some of her energy and vitality into Mary's horse, with Mary then insisting upon later returning the favor with the tiger. She could not help but smile slightly at the exchange. It was so much nicer than the empty pleasantries often exchanged in London society. Rather than a kindness just for politics, it was something real and purposed. Of course, she also was fascinated by the range of Russian skills. She knew a skill herself for increase endurance, but it only worked on herself. Perhaps if she had known a healing skill, she could have helped Mosi to cheat the Reaper.

Her thoughts drifted to Mosi for a moment. Veliona would be with her - Virginia felt certain of it. And Death was nothing more than a grand adventure. Her good friend would be enjoying herself thoroughly, no matter what trials awaited her in the afterlife. She accepted Mary's hand as they walked to the inn, knowing that some sustenance would help to sustain her and allow her greater focus in her attempts to seek out the trail that led to Millicent. Her mind then snapped to attention as she heard rumors of a Soulless attack. Even if they had simply been traveling for holiday, it would have been something Virginia would have wished to pursue. She adored stories of the Soulless.

Mary beat her to the chase, however, asking what had happened. "What Soulless appeared in the attack?" Virginia inquired, incredibly curious to know if the Soulless in Manchester had also been different than what they viewed to be the norm for the British isles. "And of those with abilities who fought - who were they?" she added, wondering if Millicent had been present.

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Maeve kept her outward expression cool and collected as she took a seat. However, she couldn't help but see a reflection of her current situation in Lady Kirkpatrick's tales of her youth. When Maeve wasn't busy playing spy, she acted as a bartender at the Brennan Family Bar - which itself served as a front for the actual line of work they were in. There were hardly any female members in gangs, at least in Maeve's experience, but she was allowed a near equal voice and say in what they did. Besides, the family looked out for each other and they were good to Roisin. They could have turned her and Roisin out after her husband died, but they hadn't.

"They jist accept whatever they see - withoyt questionin' what it actually is," Maeve agreed, taking her own cup of tea. Part of her had to wonder if Lady Kirkpatrick was onto her - and what she'd do if she found out that Maeve had been sent to spy on Lady Kirkpatrick's family. Of course, Maeve wasn't beyond betraying the 'Father' and his family if that was what it took. As long as she got the money to send Roisin to the best school for the deaf that she could, Maeve hardly cared where the money came from. She looked out for her own - and that was it.

"Oi'm sorry if this is too blunt, me lady, but 'ow ye git into that line av work?" Maeve couldn't help but ask. She could hardly imagine a noblewoman making spirits in secrecy. Maybe if they had gotten bored, sure, but she was beginning to feel a bit skeptical as to what she had assumed about Lady Kirkpatrick's background and history.

Annan: There was a bit of a smirk that came from the Lady Kirkpatrick. "The better question to ask was how I got out of it. I twas poor than dirt under your nails after a hard days work growing up. There weren't no money. Weren't no fine silks and laces. Sure we had a title but what good is a title if there is no money? Damn Brits took alls we had long b'fore I was along. Yet, a woman knows what to do to get ahead, evens if the mens only knows how to survive." It was odd but yet fitting that the formal tone faded away and a more street language started coming from Sally as she spoke of her past.

"You dos whatevers you got to. How evers you got to. then you nevers forget where you cames from. You can lost title and have no means to maintain, you can lose title and have money which means no crown influence. Been through both and I'll be damned if I go back." She went quiet for a moment as the girl brought in her food and waited for an order from Maeve before hustling back to the kitchen.

"See, that girl, she has no ambition. Perhaps she wants a husband and kids, but she doesn't want power. Money sure, we all want money, but she doesn't want power." Shoving a blood sausage piece in her mouth she looked over to Maeve and huffed. "Bloody girl will probably never get it. You on the other hand, you want more than money but I will tell you this little lady. if you don't want it for yourself you'll never get it. Do fer yerself first, then you can take care of others."

Picking up her tea cup she took another drink before setting it down. "I got to where I am by doing what I had to fer me. Now I can move my clan forward and others. Like the ones I sponsor."



London: A circus a circus, everyone loves a circus, and a ring, put a ring on it, if you love it that is. The walls, the walls were high, they were thick, they were strong but Ludwig just grinned a goofy grin as his eyes squinted. "Not yet but.." he said, the grin faded as he spoke and he got a much more serious expression on his face. "The walls can come a tumbling down. Down and down they go, down the rabbit hole. And through, through the knight pushed, taking the rook down as he went. Kings will sacrifice their queens to be safe but the queens sacrifice themselves to push the pawns through the walls of Jericho."

Apparently he could never give a straight answer but in his words there was sense, if one could only find the tree for the forest. And down he went to his knees, pulling rocks and sticks from the ground as Dieter, his ferret not his brother rushed over to him and up to his shoulder. And he worked. With each stone and stick, sticks and stones. It was a rough model of London and the wall.

"London bridge is falling down falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady," he sun as he pulled out his journal and drew once the scene was set. As he drew the pieces the moved, to the wall, to the tower, taking the tower down and setting off a domino effect that opened the wall. "Those from under the big tent can go above the ten, and to the top of the wall. Dash away, dash away, dash away all."

Manchester: Gerard could easily see the anger in his eyes but he did not react. Gerard only said what he felt was needed. "I do not do what I need, if I did I would have taken Milli away many moons ago and freed her from the wretched folk she was forced to call family. Would have searched for her father. I do what is needed of me and Millicent has given up everything for her family, so I will go protect them as she has. Giving up what I need for what she needs," he said calmly before looking over towards Colette.

"I wish you the best Lady Fontaine, if you do find her, please give her this," he said as he pulled from his pocket a small worn cotton handkerchief, a few small threads in the corner that spelled out G.C. "Let her know I will keep her family safe." After handing it over he shoved his hands in his pockets and started off towards the church to see what he could do to help until the next morning came. Then he would head out for London and get the Wyndhams back to Bedfordshire under his protection. This wasn't about what he wanted, this was about what he knew Millicent would want from him.

Nottingham: Veta looked over towards Mary and gave her a kind smile. "Yes of course. Please do. Vould be helpful, very helpful." Sitting down as they were motioned to do so by those that had been attacked she gave her thanks to them. Food was ordered and she listened.

"Yes, a triple threat, the air got cold, fires broke out. The entire town was under siege. I do not know about any that fought, we ran from our home as quickly as we could. We were supposed to attend a gathering at Lord Eagertons home at Heaton Hall but we opted to abstain from the events. The town was ablaze in the distance as we flee for our lives."

This did not sit well with Veta but still she was having no visions so she took that as a good sign. God would not push them forward if there was nothing they could do. They just had to stay true to their path. And then there was always Virginia. Perhaps her skills could help. Perhaps she would be able to see something once they could be alone after a meal.

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The Baron Alexandrov walked upon heavy steps, his hands resting upon a pair of masterfully worked Russian sabers at his belt. His long, silver hair hung freely, framing a face of smouldering, venerable authority as he issued commands in the Rusyn tongue, apparent only to those who had been brought up in the Circus. His people got to work in the same way they usually did: with music and singing and celebration. The songs served as much of an indicator as to what they needed to do, enough that a performer just arriving back from London proper could hear the music and instantly know where they needed to fall in line.

While the rest of the Circus fell into a flurry of activity, getting things together for a potentially quick exit, the two guards assigned to Thalken looked to each other in a knowing fashion as the man exited the stall and began shuffling toward the exit of the canvas and wood structure. One looked to the other, cleared his throat, and addressed the Londoner.

"Um, excuse? Doing something vith pant full ov shits? You can give to washers, but for please, knock chunks out before, da?"

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The look of utter satisfaction and hope started to fade from Vladimir's face as he began to wonder, and very near wonder out loud, exactly what this German fellow was jabbering about precisely. Maybe he wasn't understanding it the way it was being explained, in in fact there was an explanation underway. Nonetheless, he was bound and determined to maintain his positive outlook on this. Ludwig knew something. Even if Vlad could not understand, he knew something very, very useful. Plus, he was an ally now. There had to be at least a modicum of trust. Vlad hoped, anyway.

The images that Ludwig showed him were fantastic. Amazing, really. It had to be one of the skills passed down along his Trained skill set, though he would never have guessed it a possible thing. Objectively, there was a whole world outside of the Russian Empire that had no idea that his Circus had people capable of healing traumatic wounds and empathic communication with giant, white bears. There was much they all had to learn about each other, especially those Trained folk who were rejected time and time again by the Graveolase.

Vladimir spoke at a whisper, at least for as long as a man like himself was capable. "You are saying to me... Vall opens? Entire vall opens? Ve move entire of Circus at once! Ha!" Well, he tried. Vlad fixed his very tall hat firmly upon his head and gave his left had a quick flourish, producing a blade seemingly from nowhere which he then began to spin about in his fingers, up the row of four, pivot at the thumb, and back down again. This action continued as he mused over his options, absently. "Helps Great Bazhooli for thinking... Now, ve have vay out. Can close, da? Ve do not vant city overrun... but have vay out. Now. NOW! Needing to know vhere they go." He looked to Constantin, "Constantin! You have vision, da? Scotland is large place. Large place and far from here. Vas there anything in vision that might make options smaller?"

They were going to need to investigate this more. Especially this secondary way out of London, if they had time to get out that way.

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Mary gave a small smile as Elizaveta agreed to allow her to practice the Vatican's own version of Trained healing upon her great white tiger, Myshka. The young Apostolic seemed to be doing that a lot around these two; smiling as a normal woman of her age might. But she knew that none of the three were particularly normal. On that day and many others, it was a blessing. She concluded that it was indeed a grand, grand thing to have friends. Other women who understood her in a way that society could not. And the devil take a care about the differences between them. She believed it was put best in Colossians, stating, "In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all." Mary imagined that the spirit of the scripture would extend to include Russian Orthodox and Crypts of indeterminate religious upbringing, and so resolved to act in accordance to those principles.

The conversation inside with the table near them caught Mary with some surprise. She had not expected a clue like that to land into their laps so suddenly. Perhaps a higher power was looking out for them, or at least led to the meeting of their two groups that information of a pertinent nature could be passed along. Her eyes passed a silent congratulations to Virginia, asking a question that had nothing to do with their present mission but the answers therefrom may bear fruitful news. And indeed, they were rewarded.

Cold. Fire. Town under siege. Mary leaned in closer to the other two women at her table and intoned, "A soul-chilling cold took Almack's Assembly Rooms as the attack was mounted. I could see nothing, but some manner of invisible force seemed to squeeze the life from Lord Buckingham as the chill intensified." Not to mention that it all went down the moment that Lord Rutherford stepped out of the room, protesting too much at Mary's assertion that there were Soulless hiding among the Soulled that evening. She looked gravely at her two companions, advising, "Manchester is along the way to Gretna. I might advise we take that route, perhaps have more opportunity to speak with persons fleeing south on the way. Perhaps someone dressed in scorched finery might know more about the events and the people at Heaton Hall." Mary gave a quick glance around the common room, if just to see if anyone fit the description she had just given.

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Thalken's eyes squinted slightly, and he held up a hand to block some of the sunlight that increasingly trickled in the closer he neared the exit. He grimaced as it egged on the pounding in his head. Nevertheless, the outdoors called to him. Normally he was one who enjoyed seclusion, but in this case, it felt like more of a prison than a humble abode. He paused midstride when the guard's words hit his ears. He blinked. Had he heard the man correctly? He believed he had. He slowly turned around to face them with a deathly glare on his features. "Bite me," he growled defiantly but otherwise obliged to their request, order, question, ugh, he didn't know what it was and quite frankly didn't care.

He grumpily shuffled back over and into the stall. His nose wrinkled with disgust as he picked up his soiled pants and did the crappy job that was asked of him. When he was done, he folded it between the cleaner pieces of clothing and set it on the ground for the time being. He stopped to wash his hands vigorously with the soap before picking up the pile of clothes again and headed back out of the stall again. He gave the guards one last withering glare before shuffling towards the exit again. This time he wasn't about to wait for them or stop if they called him.

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Fyror looked back over at Gerard, his lips thinning at the man's words. In hindsight, he realized he had spoken a tad harshly. He didn't doubt that Mr. Connolly cared for Millicent and wished her no ill will. Yet, with that in mind, he couldn't wrap his head around how turning back, even if to protect her family, was what Millicent needed right then. Surely not. What she needed was to be rescued from the clutches of the master manipulator and serial killer that was Lord Rutherford. It was perhaps naivety on his part that led him to believe that the current predicament that she had found herself in was all on Lord Rutherford. In his mind, he thought that surely Lord Rutherford had brainwashed her into thinking that this was what was best for her and that this was what she wanted. It didn't dawn on him until then, until Gerard opened him up to the reality of the situation, that she had gone of her own volition. This was what she wanted. She was giving herself up to the devil in order to protect her family. How had he not realized this until now? How could he have been so blind? But, that's the thing about Fyror, he has a tendency to go in with his heart and not his head.

In that moment, he found that he had even more respect and admiration for Millicent. He saw her for what she was, a truly selfless human being. She had an inner strength that not many could proclaim to possess. Did this mean that he was going to turn back, that he was going to let her seal her own fate? No. He couldn't find it in himself to do so. All that changed was his opinion of her and his outlook on the mission at hand. Now he felt that he was not only saving her from Lord Rutherford but also from herself. The irony was that had he been in her shoes he would have done the same exact thing.

He started to turn to walk away when the voice of the Frenchwoman, the Lady Colette de La Fontaine, penetrated his otherwise muddled thoughts. His brows rose slightly at her outburst, and he slowly turned back to face her. His brows then furrowed as her words settled in his mind. He took in her features with a seemingly searching gaze. She seemed sincere about what she said, but did she know what she was truly getting herself into? That was what concerned him. Before he could say anything Gerard said one last thing, this time addressed to Colette, and handed the Frenchwoman a cotton handkerchief before he departed. Fyror gave the man small, strained nod in farewell before returned his attention to Colette. "Forgive me, m'lady, but I am unsure if that is wise. Lord Rutherford is a dangerous man and as such there is a chance that this could get violent. He won't give up Ms. Wyndham willingly, so I will take her by force if I must. I don't wish to see you become another one of his casulaties," he explained earnestly.

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Colette took the handkerchief in hand and observed it. She did not understand the meaning, but if the man spoke true, Millicent will know what it meant and that was good enough for her. She was worried about the woman, continuing to travel with Lord Rutherford. Soulless attacks be damned, she was in as much danger with him than she would have been staying behind, she was sure of it.

She attempted to follow Fyror, but he stopped and turned to face her. A look of caution on his face. Of concern. She had seen that face before. Oh yes, she knew it well. That face that said "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" As if on queue, he voiced his concerns. Albeit, justified ones if she was right about Lord Rutherford, but all the same, it wasn't as if she was some housewife out and about. She had just survived an attack and lived to see the light of the next day. Surely that spoke volumes?

But she had dealt with it before and she will surely deal with it again. She took in a deep breath, before speaking. "You're concern is appreciated, Monsieur Kildragon, but I am fully aware of what I am asking. I am aware of how Lord Rutherford is and I only just met the man yesterday. I am not some princess in a castle that needs to be saved. I am perfectly capable of handling myself in battle, should it come to that. Now, are we going to go save Mademoiselle Millicent or not?"

Constantin kept his mouth shut, raising an eyebrow as he studied the quirky German person and his weird probably insanity induced fits of rhymerics and unsettling prophecy sounding words. There was a degree of insanity in them yes, but also allure. Well as much of allure as teh ramblings of a crazy person attracted for the novelty of them, but allure non the less. That and some of the things being spoken were a grade A works of fiction that would more likely than not gather a lot of praise if they were to be collabed into a book and sold for money. Constantin suspected the critics would go nutts over them and how insane they sounded. Who knew maybe even a new word might be born to describe them...

Leaving the crazy person aside, he focused on Vlad once more as the man called out to him. He quickly faced him and nodded as he followed his question. Then made a troubled expression for a moment." I do not have details about their destination aside Scotland. It was mostly focused on their escape from here." He explained, making a thinking expression.

"I might know where to start looking though. It's probably all about that voman they talked about. The one vhom I had visions of being married off. Ve track HER dovn and ve should find Veta and the others not far behind. Ve can also for the moment try to track them dovn... I mean Myshka's vith them right? A tiger's trail should be a lot easier to track than vhich set of horses they vould be using too!" Constantin let his conjectures be known with frankly quite the confident expression.

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Virginia nodded, feeling a bit of excitement and horror mix together in her mind. It was always a riveting sensation - the feeling of her hand standing up on her arms ever so slightly, her mind racing forward with anticipation. The Soulless attack appeared to have a connection to the events at Almack's and although Mary appeared to have no further questions, Virginia's curiosity was heightened. "Do you know of those who were also expected to attend the event at Lord Eagerton's?" she inquired. As Mary indicated, Manchester was along the route to Gretna Green. She could not help but wonder if perhaps Lord Rutherford had made a stop at an event of the Season, rather than race on towards the Green.

After all, what reason would he have to expect he and Millicent were pursued? Millicent's family was in tatters, her father likely dead, and any skills of the classic path with prophetic designs were rather tricky to pull off and time consuming. The odds of someone chasing after Millicent, in the mind of such a man, had to be slim. He seemed to be the type to enjoy the events of the Season as well - and by that, Virginia more or less meant that he was a normal. All of them enjoyed the trivial parties, void of Mamushkas and rousing games of Wake the Dead. It was nothing in comparison to the raging celebrations the Crypts hosted.

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Maeve listened to Lady Kirkpatrick, unable to help but smile slightly. The woman had confidence and spunk - something that Maeve couldn't help but admire. She had never had a strong female role model in her life. Her mother hadn't ever been someone that Maeve felt close to, and once her mother had fallen ill, she became just another obligation Maeve had to attend to. Her sister-in-law, Mary-Clare, was probably the only woman in her life that was willing to fend for herself. Once the girl came for Maeve's order, Maeve gave her her order - nothing too fancy, but enough to be filling.

However, Maeve had to hold her tongue as Lady Kirkpatrick told her what her obstacle was - that she had to want things for herself before she could get it for others. It wasn't like Maeve could come out and talk about her membership in a formidable Irish gang - or that no matter what, she'd always put her daughter's needs before her own. She would starve herself for Roisin, take a bullet for Roisin, drown for her - whatever it took for her daughter. If she could give Roisin her life so that way she could hear, she'd do it without question. "The ones yer sponsor?" Maeve asked, intrigued.

She couldn't help but be curious - especially of an opportunity. She didn't know what sponsorship entailed, but maybe Lady Kirkpatrick would sponsor her daughter. She'd gladly turn on the clan that hired her, just to give Roisin the chance of a proper and decent life. She ultimately didn't care who gave her the money she needed to get Roisin to a school for the deaf in France, as long as her daughter got there.

Annan: The Lady Fitzpatrick nodded a bit as the woman finally brought back food for Maeve. There was a bit of mischief in her eyes as she glanced towards Maeve. "Why yes. Sponsor. There are many that have been trained from Scotland and Ireland that I personally funded once I came into a position to do so."

Reaching into the folds of her skirt, she pulled from her skirt pocket a small ledger with rough and worn leather binding. It looked as if it could have been as old as she was. Placing it on the table she let her fingers drum across the top of it. "Each name in this ledger is someone I have sponsored over the years. Training in many cases, funding for expeditions, loans given out, favors granted." Resting her weathered hand on it she pressed it down a bit as the years of flipping through the book left it to the point where it never truly closed fully anymore. "Every one of them owe me."

Shrugging to herself she slipped it back into her skirt pocket and went back to eating, finishing her meal rather unceremoniously. Reaching she took her cane and rose from her seat. "Finish your breakfast, gather our belongings and ensure they are loaded into the carriage. Rory should be out front shortly," she said nonchalantly before she began making her way to the door. The tip of her cane echoing through the room with each step she took. It was as if she was purposefully driving it against the wood far more heavily than was needed as she walked. (Move forward and have carriage loaded by end of post.)



London: Around and around we go, where we stop we never know. Why should he know. Knowing took away all the fun, or added to the fun. Maybe it added a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. Maybe it added a spoonful of vinegar to make the medicine come out smoothly. Vinegar and sugar, sugar and honey, vinegar and honey. Flies to come and flies to go, catch a fly by its toe, catch a tiger by its toe. Don't become a meal for the tiger.

"And the walls come a tumbling down but not yet. Not yet, so much to get, so much to gather. And the tents come tumbling down tumbling tumblers tumbling the tents. Boxes and crates, folded and fluffed. Packed to the nines, to the tens, to the elevens. Because it is eleven! Oh, oh, crates, boxes and bags. I must pack! Time to fly!" Ludwig exclaimed and before one knew it, his nose twitched a bit more his eyes fluttering. Flutter, flutter, flutterfly, butterfly. Fairy time! And bip! He shrunk!

Down he went, a glow about him for a minute and then he hovered. Dieter, his ferret, not his brother, luckily jumped from his shoulder to Vlads as Ludwig went and changed without warning. Then he fluttered off and Dieter (his ferret, not his brother) leapt after him, rushing through the Circus towards the exit to follow. Seemed Ludwig had finally remembered he had possessions outside of the circus he had to recover. (Move forward and have Circus ready to move by end of post. No visions this past round.)

Manchester: With the morning moving on, the city was coming more alive. People searching for survivors, others leaving quickly in their carriages, on horseback, on foot. It would take some time for the city to recover but those that lived had to press on. Could this be just the beginning or was this just a rare thing? The people of Manchester were afraid and just wanted to get through the day.

Gerard would make his way to the church to take care of what was needed and then leave in the morning, perhaps that evening, back for London. The carriage horses were changed quickly at the stop and one was sent to inform Sir Kildragon that they were ready with the horse change and that they had provisions for two as requested for the next stage of the journey. (Move forward and be ready to leave Manchester by end of post.)

Nottingham: Elizaveta glanced towards Mary and took a shallow breath. "How much time would that add to our travel time?" she asked. If it would make their trip shorter she would be all for going to Manchester, even if it put them in the path of Soulless. Yet if it were to add time, it might not be wise to do so. The thing was, unknown to Elizaveta changing their route from its current course to Manchester would add at least a day of travel to Gretna Green, perhaps even two depending on the roads condition because of the storm that had rolled through just two nights ago.

A patron looked at Virginia and shook his head. "I do not know. We opted not to go that evening. From what I have heard along the road here, it was a good thing. Few were able to escape. Some managed, Lord Eagerton is said to have escaped and headed for the coast with some others."

"Aye, he got out, with two others. His carriage nearly ran mine off the road as we fled," another chimed in.

"Yes, it was most dreadful. The look on the poor womans face as the carriage pushed passed ours was blank. She must have been in shock," yet another said.

Elizaveta rose from her place after taking a few bites of food. She needed a short rest before they continued on and secured them a room for the next bit. Ensuring Mary and Virginia knew where she would be she excused herself before making her way to the room and laying down. (Move forward - pm for skill rolls if needed.)

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The guards watching over Thalken gave questioning glances among themselves, in the end shrugging it off. The phrase, "Bite Me", did not fully register as something they understood, except as a tragic piece of English slang. One of them went as far as to make a biting motion with his teeth upon his arm, then jerked his thumb back in Thalken's direction. It was met with a bewildered, slightly comical look and otherwise not given any mind. If this odd Londoner really wanted someone to set teeth to him, then he would have to wait until the reddish tinged lamps of female provocateurs (which may or may not have been part of the Russian Imperial Circus) were lit, well after sundown, with proper discretion. Regardless of the man's preferences in this way, the two guards returned the glare of their charge with seemingly ignorant smiles and nods, then stepped up to follow Thalken at a respectful pace, one each at his rear flanks. As he so went, so did his armed, goofy chaperones.

Meanwhile, The Baron was busy hastily assembling his people to him, issuing the order to begin packing up in earnest. They needed to be ready to leave within the hour, and were instructed to not spare the horses, as it were. Those not familiar with the manner in which these people plied their trade, particularly the methods employed in breaking camp and preparing to move in amazingly short order, this was as much of a show as a full-blown circus performance. Acts of strength and dexterity were abound; the more mundane talents of Circus Folk blending seamlessly with the Rusyn Trained skills, leaving one to wonder where one stopped and the other started. Animals of differing corners of the Russian Empire were moving to assist their human companions, all acting as if under the direction of a combined intelligence. Ropes unfurled, tents dropped and were instantly folded to be packed away. The line of supply wagons lumbered to life, forming a line in the order of importance and convenience their cargoes would have to the Circus in transit.

Perhaps the most impressive sight of the entire, choreographed movement was the realization that, per capita, the Circus had more Trained people than probably any place in the world. Everyone seemed to be expressing a Trained Skill or two, but barring that, the intense physical and mental conditioning that each one had honed to a hard and sharp edge over years and years of practice, merely to perform their prospective acts, made them formidable indeed. And the level of familial respect given across the board was such that one did not need to express Trained abilities to be counted as equals. They were Circus, with their own ideas of family and hierarchy that often ran contrary to the expectations of outsiders. Noble and gypsy alike, working as one. And soon, they would move in unison to protect a single of their number.

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As usual, Vladimir was fond of his stirring speeches and flowery verbiage. But he was also fond getting a straight answer when asking a straight question, even if said straight answer was given amid an explanation as colorful as his own habit for the craft of speech. But this Ludwig guy was leaping bodily upon his last nerve. Hopefully soon, he would come to understand the nature of this man's thought process. It would also help a great deal if they both had a firmer, more intuitive grasp on the English language. That might come with time. The present held a different series of challenges. Not the least of which was a very friendly ferret and a batshit German fellow turning into a fey and bounding off into The Regent's Park as rider and steed, screaming something about getting packed. The practicality of being quite small aside, Vlad really wished that Ludwig would hurry. The Circus would be ready to depart soon, and they needed him. He thought.

The crazy man aside, Vladimir did listen intently to what Constantin had to say. His face turned from one of concentration to one of mounting possibility, and finally to one of joyous hope. He settled an arm around Constantin and gave him a powerful sideways hug, exclaiming, "This. THIS! This is vhat I am liking! HA!" Like many in the Circus, Vlad was a proficient hunter, part of that involved stalking prey, and he was very familiar with the scent and tracks of tigers, thanks to his years around them. "Da, my iron-footed friend! Is not like tigers run everyday in foggy island. Ve can track... if not track from start, ve can tell if road is right road. Ve know they travel north to Land of Scot. Ve know British girl gets husband." Vlad adopted a sort of thinker's position, with two fingers on his right hand pressed to the side of his head as he paced back and forth with only mildly exaggerated motions, a feat in and of itself for the man. His left hand absently worked a knife in fluid circles and figure eights, a thing which he obstinately claimed many times helped him think.

"Vhy?" he inquired into the air, his feet coming to a halt. "Vhy must they travel, and long vay, to get married? They have not churches in London? Big, shiny vones? Scary Catholic Girl has church. Big church. Castle in middle of London-town. Vhy not here?" This must have been some kind of foreign (to them) politic or cultural oddity that Vlad just couldn't grasp. "Ve need talk to Englishman about this. Any vill do..."

In that moment, dawn broke in Vladimir's brain. "Ov course." he whispered. They happened to have one of those in the Tent City under guard. As the tents and wagons were assembled in front of him, readying to depart at a moment's notice (His son Konstantin was supervising the breakdown of The Great Bazhooli's setup), Vladimir set upon his next task: Find the Londoner.

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In truth, Mary could not answer Veta's question about travel time. She knew of basic routes across her countries only, and places she had personally been. Exact time spent on the road, or how the season might affect this, were quite beyond her. Perhaps sustaining their original route plan was the best idea, regardless. The goal was to catch up to them at Gretna Green after a hard ride, not to attend to side investigations. And even if they were present at Manchester, they still had to get to The Green to make the wedding happen. Mary was looking forward to their meeting, in the same way that a Knight looks forward to setting himself against a rising challenge.

The people fleeing Manchester seemed far more open with Virginia than with her, giving bits and pieces of information that might warrant attention. A woman with a blank face, two guests of the Lord Eagerton headed toward the coast. Mary puzzled over what it might mean, weighing the options before her as carefully as she could, considering a lack of other, clearer knowledge. Perhaps more could be learned later. In the meantime, Mary took to her food with grateful piety, making the sign of the Cross before her and reciting quietly, "Benedíc nos Dómine et haec Túa dóna quae de Túa largitáte súmus sumptúri. Per Chrístum Dóminum nóstrum. Ámen."

Mary ate a modest meal laid before her and, following the example of the Grand Duchess, retired herself to the room she had provided for them.