Vladimir Alexandrov
"The Great Bazhooli"
Location: Bristol Ship -> La Canela Ship
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English, Perception, Acrobatics
An invitation! Indeed, an invitation to board the great vessel that had pulled alongside, the one with which their ally and guide, Ludwig, was so familiar. Truly this was fate, kismet, or whatever word was best to use in the locally common language of English that best described a fortuitous event, possibly predetermined by a force or entity greater than themselves. And with the utter pride that Vladimir had for himself and his Sem'ya, it must have been a truly great force indeed. Regardless, he was honorbound now to set foot upon the vessel of other potential allies, the enigmatic group known as La Canela. He was an ambassador for his people now. This was expected of him. And why not? With the absence of the Grand Duchess and the Baron Alexandrov, who better to speak with the voice of The Circus, and by extension the whole of the Rusyn Trained warriors, than this generation's incarnation of
The Great Bazhooli?
Of course, referring to he and his as "People of Belladonna" was a little irksome. It was technically accurate, yes, being as the Lady Belladonna was the progenitor of three notable family lines, one of which became Alexandrov through time and circumstance, from which the concept of The Great Bazhooli had evolved. And he had an immense amount of respect for the woman.
Immense. Yet his family had grown to possess an identity that encompassed so much more than just their ties to the legend of Belladonna, both the good and the bad. But if this was how these people knew of the Circus and the Alexandrov line, then it would suffice. The time for clarification was not at the present; there were more important things to which they must tend.
For starters, getting up to their ship. Ropes and rigging were provided to help expedite the vertical journey, which Vladimir accepted with gratitude. Despite having lived through over forty winters, Vlad was a spry, vital man. It was precisely this which he wished to demonstrate to the crew of the La Canela vessel, most especially their Captain. He swept his hat off with a bow and, hat still in hand, sprinted toward the rigging. A great leap brought one boot solidly upon a horizontal section of load-bearing rope, which he used as a springboard of sorts, propelling himself farther upward. A hand reached out, catching another rope. His toned and conditioned arm became as muscled iron, locking himself into a dedicated arc traveling further along the hull of the vessel, powerful legs running along the side as if gravity held no sway over the man. All the while, his tall, black hat trailed behind him, still in the firm but gentle grip of his right hand, lest he crush the brim.
As he came to his destination, the plan was simple: Plant a foot onto the railing and leap into a single flip, landing at a kneel in front of Captain Montoya and, with an overabundance of grace and panache, sweep his fine hat upon his head and extend a hand to the noteworthy woman. Sadly, the same Fate which brought them together decreed that this was not to be. Reaching the railing, Vladimir had no idea that his foot had somehow snagged a bit of unaccounted for rope, cutting his secondary introduction horribly, painfully short. The other foot made it to the railing, yes, and he kicked himself off, even beginning his spiel with,
"...am known as..." before the unforgiving rigging reached its limit, prompting the most perplexed look from the man for about a quarter of a second before he very undramatically slammed into the deck, face first and facedown, with a massively impressive thwacking sound that rattled the wood beneath him.
He lay there for another second or two, rigid and motionless. Then without warning, the boisterous man leapt to a standing position and continued as if nothing happened, despite the very obvious tilt to his nose, AGAIN, with the accompanying rivulet of arterial red indicting that he very well may have just broken something. AGAIN.
"...Great Bazhooli!" Just in case they did not quite hear it the first time. He did finally set his hat atop his head, still seemingly ignoring what was probably very painful.
"Is pleasing and honor to be received on fine, fine ship." Without changing his gaze in the slightest, he raised his voice to a shout, directing his words to the other Russian on the deck.
"Constantin! For please Krasnoye?" He smiled a broad but probably very fake grin. This was not the first impression he was hoping to make.
