[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=556B2F]Thalken Talink[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/2xPJ9k8Ku6YLnIS5he/giphy.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=556B2F]‘Cause the harder you push, the rougher I get

[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvNUiMjuhVE][color=556B2F]- [I]"State of My Mind" by Shinedown[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=556B2F]Location:[/color][/b] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park) - Stables
[b][color=556B2F]Skills:[/color][/b] None currently
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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. [color=556B2F]"Bite me,"[/color] 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 [I]again[/I]. He gave the guards one last withering glare before shuffling towards the exit [I]again[/I]. This time he wasn't about to wait for them or stop if they called him.
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[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=DC143C]Fyror Kildragon[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c08e11f7-3cfd-47ba-8929-88361f1112d2.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=DC143C]I don't know how to be silent 
when my heart is speaking.
[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4q2bYTM8LU][color=DC143C]- [I]Fyodor Dostoevsky[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=DC143C]Location:[/color][/b] Manchester, England 
[b][color=DC143C]Skills:[/color][/b] None currently
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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 [i]needed[/i] 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. [color=DC143C]"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,"[/color] he explained earnestly.