Location: Almackâs âItâs our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.â
As Fyror stood before Emma, he tried to make his presence as unassuming as his mangled face would allow. Though there was a softness evident in the rich amber of his right eye, it was heavily detracted from by the sickly white of his left eye and the extensive scar that accompanied it. More often than not, his scars took precedence over whatever handsome features remained and even over the compassion and chivalry he exuded. That was his unfortunate reality. Such a reality can be its own version of hell for a man, such as himself, who cares so openly and deeply for others. He stiffened at Emmaâs stare, that all too common stare that saw the scar but never the man behind it.
He awkwardly cleared his throat after she had looked away nervously and spoke briefly to Dr. Graham. âWell, Miss Jones, I just wanted to let you know that if your family ever needs anything, feel free to contact me. My family, the Kildragonâs, are currently staying in the inn adjacent Hyde Park. We should be staying there for a while before we head back to Colchester Garrison. Just ask for Fyror Kildragon, and I will gladly come,â he explained. He bowed his head slightly before returning to Mrs. Wyndhamâs side as Dr. Graham motioned him over. He quickly picked up his sword and sheathed it before helping the doctor move Mrs. Wyndham once more. He nodded his head in understanding of the manâs directions, and then they carefully lifted Mrs. Wyndham in unison. With all the crowds, it would be slow going carrying the injured woman through the ballroom and into the main corridor, but it was the least Fyror could do for the Wyndham family.
Location: Almackâs âMaybe Iâm not the person everyone thinks I am.â
Thalkenâs brooding was cut short as his ears picked up the muted, yet still distinct, sound of a scream. It echoed off of the walls of the Octagon Anti-Chamber and grew fainter as it passed through the Musicianâs Gallery to where he stood nearby. He abruptly pushed himself away from the banister, his hand tightening around the handle of his throwing knife. His gaze snapped over in the direction that the sound had come from. His instincts quickly took over as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He glanced over at his sister Thalcona and nodded his head in the direction of the Musicianâs Gallery before taking off at a sprint. He quickly ran through the Musicianâs Gallery with Thalcona close on his heels. The sound of a large catâs roar rang out through the gallery. Regardless, they kept a steady pace as they nimbly dodged people and other obstructions.
They unceremoniously burst into the Octagon Anti-Chamber. Thalkenâs nostrils were flared, and there was a wildness to his dark brown eyes as he quickly assessed the room and those in it. He noted the covered-up body of the Arch Graveolase and briefly glanced over the people before moving on to find the real threat. Upon his signal, Thalken and Thalcona seamlessly split up, taking opposite sides of the Octagon Anti-Chamber. He had not gotten far when a large white tiger barreled into the room. âGod damnit!!â he cursed out loud as he came to a rapid stop, his eyes widening. The only time he had ever seen a tiger was during his time in China, training under the Three Harmonies Society. A high-ranking member of the transnational crime syndicate happened to own a tiger as a pet. On more than one occasion, those stupid enough to piss the man off got fed to said tiger. Needless to say, it wasnât a pretty sight.
Thalken watched as the tiger bounded over to the Grand Duchess and turned on those around it. He kept his gaze locked on the massive beast as he slowly and cautiously moved to find a safe opening to throw his knife into the fray. Just as his hand raises and he readies himself to make his throw, the situation miraculously changes. The woman reaches out and boldly touches the tiger as she talks to it in a foreign language. She ultimately calms the tiger, turning what was a menacing beast ready to attack into a docile and stoic creature. âWhat the hell?!â he states in exasperation. He hesitantly lowers the hand with the throwing knife, though he refuses to remove his gaze from the tiger just yet.
An eruption of cheers and laughter roared from the many tiers and balconies of Astley's that evening, in sharp contrast to the horror befalling others elsewhere in London. The stands were packed to the brim with men and women of all walks of life, come to see the star of the established star of the Russian Grand Circus, a performer of extreme skill and renown, the eternally indomitable Great Bazhooli. He was a very fit man in his early forties, possessing a vigor that made him the envy of men twenty years his junior.
The cacophony of voices faded back, replaced by thunderous applause; the last applause of the evening. His last trick was an intricate affair involving the impalement of various pieces of fruit placed upon the head and outstretched limbs of a volunteer from the audience with his weaponry of choice - thrown knives. To make the performance even more captivating, after the volunteer was chosen, The Great Bazhooli covered his eyes with a dark, gossamer blindfold. Neither the audience nor the volunteer was aware that the blindfold did not actually do much in the way of restricting his vision. Up close, the flimsy fabric did little more than put a sort of blueish tint to everything. He was good, good enough to do the trick with a true blindfold, if it came to it, but he wasn't about to put someone's life in true peril to sate the crowd. No, he just wanted it to look like he did.
The poor soul who volunteered, however, was not clapping. No, this was a young Baron dressed in finery who, when he called for a brave soul to face his blades, shouted and shoved to be up front, rude and willful in his attempts to get The Great Bazhooli's attention. The famous knife thrower smiled, acquiescing to his lordly demands. But he did endeavor to teach the man a lesson in manners. The young Baron now stood against the Impalement Target, quivering with leftover fear from the performance, surrounded by various knives and short blades. The remains of several slain pieces of fruit stained his exquisite clothing, and the shaken fellow appeared to have wet the front of his otherwise unsullied white trousers.
The Great Bazhooli raised his sculpted arms, bowing several times to the adoring crowd. This was his moment, repeated a thousand times over the course of decades of performing. It was what he lived for. A gracious look to him, he strode confidently over to the fear-paralyzed nobleman and began removing the bits of sharpness from around his body. The slightest touch of compassion prompted him to lead the man away from his target by the hand, then begin clapping himself, motioning to him. When the crowd's favor shifted to his temporary assistant, however briefly, the spell holding him senseless broke, and he shakily returned to the stands.
A few paces away from his seat, he finally noticed that he had urinated down the front of his pants.
Much as The Great Bazhooli would have loved to have soaked up the adulation for a while longer, he was actually a little late getting to his next big appointment for the evening. His little Veta was meeting with the Graveolase this evening at Almack's Assembly Rooms. It was a venue he had not yet visited, probably because it was not the kind of place that requested his kind of entertainment, nor generally the kind of place that generally allowed Rusyn gypsies (or anyone with their blood) within a hundred meters of their front door. Luckily, his "Little Veta" was the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova, and as such could pick anyone she pleased to form her entourage in state or social affairs. And so, he left the performing arena at a jog, headed to the backstage rooms to meet with his people and collect his pay for the evening.
The Event Manager was present, politely already there with a bank note and small purse of pounds sterling. He counted out what was necessary for his setup men and paid them accordingly, and handed off the bank note to one of them as well. Pocketing the remaining coins, he gave bracing orders to them in Russian, amounting to "Note goes to Chernyshev immediately, and remember your percentage to the Circus. Go! Ve are late."
One minute more found him in the carriage house behind the Amphitheatre, climbing into a richly appointed conveyance. The second the door opened, a massive, feline head poked out of it, vocalizing in a manner that any sane person would have found terrifying. As it turned out, the comparative sanity of The Great Bazhooli was left open to interpretation. "Tikho, Myshka! Back in carriage! Idti, idti!" he shouted, recovering his coat and hat from the driver and climbing in. "Seychas my otpravimsya v Veta. Schastlivyy?" he berated the massive tiger, letting him know that they were on their way to Elizaveta now. He was apparently at ease in its presence, a feat that admittedly took him a little time to accomplish initially.
Earlier that day, before he left the circus, the huge animal continually blocked The Great Bazhooli's path while he was trying valiantly to attend his own performance at Astley's. He was adamant about it, until the noble gypsy mentioned Elizaveta's name. When he offered to take the great cat to her, eventually, it allowed him to pass. No way he was going to mix it up with a tiger. Even if by some miracle he killed the beast, he would have Veta to answer to. There was no victory to be had.
The trip from the Amphitheatre to Almack's was relatively short, during which time he equipped himself with his various "walking around" blades. Slipping into his formal coat and top hat, he made the subtle and mostly insubstantial transformation from The Great Bazhooli to Master Vladimir Alexandrov, escort to the Grand Duchess. The tiger seemed to be staring at him during the last bit of the ride. "Vhat? Hat not straight?"
The door to Almack's blew open, admitting the large, white tiger into the place of upper class hobnobbery. Screams could be heard from within, but it was a moment or two until he could catch up to the beast. In that time, an animal of that size and reputed ferocity could cause major damage, which prompted the bombastic Russian to give chase from their carriage, even before it came to a stop. Myshka had escaped with a suddenness that caught Vladimir off guard, as if he had gotten wind of Veta and could not wait for the vehicle to stop, else he smelled something in the air he didn't like. Regardless, the tiger's exit from a moving carriage prompted Vladimir to do the same, hand on the brim of his very becoming top hat as he hit the ground with an executed shoulder roll. He used the inertia of the roll to spring to his feet and tear off at a run.
By the time he entered Almack's, he was a little surprised to see that Myshka was doing fine. He was with his little Veta, who was accompanied by what appeared to be a heavily armed Catholic, a pale noblewoman, and a dead guy. Obviously, the presence of a formerly living (and very fat) individual alongside the tiger and what appeared to be a particularly stressful moment for all parties attending caused him no small amount of alarm. However, as no one was being disemboweled at present, he treated the event as he treated all things: With panache.
Confidently, he strode into the main corridor, deftly tossing off his hat and coat to the nearest person to the coat check, whether or not said person was actually working the station. "Tell proprietors of House that they have honor of receiving Master Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov! Qvickly!" he shouted, to everyone and no one in particular. A flick of his wrists brought out two sizeable short blades from among the collection on his person. He twirled them between his fingers as he approached, reprimanding the tiger in snatches of both Russian and English. "Myshka! Vhy you do this to Velikiy Bazhooli? Alvays vith begat', zastavlyaya vsekh bol'she bespokoit'sya! Bad Kitty! Very bad kitty! Scaring hell out of zhirnyye, lysyye, pompeznyye Aristokraty, and for vhy?"
He approached Elizaveta and company, sprinting two steps and leaping forward, flipping once in the air before landing on one knee, fists (still grasping large knives) planted firmly on the ground in a stance of bowed subservience. His head lowered, he addressed her in loud, clear words, using the locally standard English with more drama than was actually necessary for the occasion. "I am here for honor of serving your vishes, Grand Duchess Romanova! And! And to apologize hundredfold times, your Grace." he raised his head to better view both Veta and Myshka, seemingly ignoring everyone else in the room. It also served to show off the extremely showy but immaculate grooming of his facial hair, as only a Bazhooli can maintain in the Empire. "Please allow me honor to escort your Grace. I vill try to ensure such indiscretion repeats not this evening."
Yes, they knew each other. No, it didn't matter. In public, he would show Elizaveta the respect he insisted others should, even to the point of passionate histrionics. If it got the point across and drew attention in the meantime, all the better. In a slightly quieter voice, he looked to Myshka, "Do this thing again, Kitty, I vill Mamushka vearing vhite tiger fur." He shot a quick smile and wink at Veta and Myshka both, indicating a more jovial intent with his last sentence. "Vhat does my future Empress desire of her servant?"
Maeve covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn't stop the laughter from spilling out as she saw Calum, ensnared by his own coat. He seemed to be getting more and more clumsy by the moment, as if with each moment, he regressed in his motor skills just a tad bit more. And while Nigel helped the man to his feet and didn't laugh, Maeve couldn't quite help herself. Any bit of self control she had been attempting to practice, at least when it came to Calum and his fuddling, had vanished.
As Calum made his way to the office, nearly knocking over tables as he went, Maeve couldn't help but wonder if the inn would still be standing come morning. The odds seemed to be increasingly against it. And if she didn't have a cover of some decency to maintain, she perhaps would have struck a bet with Nigel. She did enjoy gambling, after all.
"A gran' idea indeed," Maeve replied, as Nigel explained the removal of the candles. She turned her head towards the sound of Calum's latest crash and became more convinced by her earlier theory that the man was slowly losing all of his fine motor skills. When Nigel bade her goodnight, she thanked him once more for the instructions, though she doubted that she would need much during the night.
Recalling the instructions from earlier, Maeve grabbed her belongings and made her way up the stairs to the room that Nigel's wife had prepared for her. A lullaby drifted in and out of her mind, and had she not been carrying her possessions, she would have translated the words with her hands out of a force of habit. Roisin never could hear her sing, yet Maeve still sang to her child, just in a different way than other mothers would. Her heart ached slightly, wishing that her child could be closer, wanting to know every little detail about her little rose's day.
Her main consolation was that a warm bath had been promised to her before she turned in that evening.
The white tiger looked over at Elizaveta and rubbed the side of his face against her shoulder, giving her affection as a house cat would its owner. The Grand Duchess smiled gently at him as she continued to run her gloved hand through his fur. Looking over at Virginia, Elizaveta motioned for her to come closer. "Dank you, please come here. You may pet him, he von't bite. He just a big softy," she said confidently, welcoming Virginia to get closer to them both. Granted he could bite, there was always that chance but Myska was a good tiger; he rarely did anything without good reason and Virginia didn't seem the type to try to harm him or his owner, so she felt it was safe enough to invite her over.
"Dah, of course," Veta said to Mary as she asked to go about her duties. It would probably be for the best. They needed to get things done and she personally needed to get to her work if she was to be able to save what souls she could from turning. The skill Mary tried to use revealed nothing at that time. It seemed that things were in the clear for now, at least one hoped that was the case.
Elizaveta's eyes darted over at the new comer as he came into the room. It seemed he wasn't taking the fact that there was a tiger in the room very well, weapon drawn and all. Myska's head turned and eyed him like he was a slab of meat, licking his chops as he watched Thalken. "Myska, nyet," she said firmly and one could have sworn the tiger pouted a bit and whimpered at her command. Shaking her head slightly she kept her eyes on Thalken. "He von't harm you. That is, unless you try to harm me." Her voice was calm and steady as she spoke but it was firm, a warning given. Her eyes never leaving his even as she heard another voice, a very familiar one.
It wasn't until Vlad was at them and scolding Myska did her attention leave Thalken and go to her uncle. "Myska..." she said, drawing out her pets name. "Chto ty sdelal na etot raz?" she asked the cat, wondering just what he had done this time. Shaking her head just once she tapped him on the nose but it didn't seem to bother Myska. He just let out a long yawn before stretching out his front paws and laying down fully, his head resting in Elizaveta's lap like he was a lap dog.
"Dyadya, Ne tak uzh trudno na Myska. On khorosho govorit." She couldn't help but let out a bird like chortle as she spoke. Telling Vlad not to be so hard on poor little Myska, that he just meant well. Yet she understood Vlad's speech to the cat. He had caused trouble more than once when Veta was not around. But to her he was just a baby still, a 625 pound baby that could rip the crowd to pieces in a blink of an eye but a baby nonetheless.
"Please, help me to my feet," she said softly as she held her hand out to him, she knew with the weight of Myska's head in her lap it would take more effort. "Lady Crypt, please, let me introduce my dear uncle Vlad, better known as The Great Bazhooli."
Doctor Graham was glad for the help as they moved Mrs. Wyndham through the crowds, most of them clearing out quickly thanks to the new arrival of a tiger. One he didn't see since they came in afterwards and were at the other end of the long corridor. His attention was on his patient, nothing else. Emma following closely behind them. "I... well thank you Sir Kildragon but our family is under the protection of the Earl now. We shouldn't be needing any aide after this." Emma was shaky in her voice. It wasn't clear if it was the fact of Fyror's scar and appearance or just the rose tinted glasses she looked at the world through when it came to the higher nobles. It could be taken either way.
Once through the front door, Dr. Graham with the help of Fyror moved Mrs. Wyndham over to open aired carriage and were able to get her quickly laid down there on top of the glass still. "Ahh girl, never turn down a friend," he muttered slightly before motioning for her to climb in as well. "Thank you Sir Kildragon. I believe we have it from here and the orderlies should tend to every thing once we reach the hospital. Please, go tend to your family. They are probably fretting over where you are at this time." His voice was kind and he gave the young man a pat on the shoulder before leaning in. "Whether Miss Jones wants your help or not, do be kind and see to Miss Wyndham come morning. I am sure she would welcome a visit after everything," he said quietly. He had seen them dance together and how she reacted to Rutherford. "Come see me at my office tomorrow afternoon please," he added as he righted himself and passed Fyror his card. He was a standing physician at the hospital but kept a private office for his day to day patients near Hyde Park.
Climbing into the carriage he told the driver to get going. Emma watching Fyror for a moment before turning her attention to her mother as Dr. Graham did what he could to keep the woman still for the journey. He would have liked Fyror to come help but he knew he was there with his family, seeing them enter together. That and there was just no room at this point for another to give a hand. It would have made things far too cumbersome.
Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn
Maeve's room was set up and ready to go for the evening. A simple but comfortable bed was along one wall along with a dresser. There was a standing mirror in the room near the window as well as a screen that could be used to separate the rest of the room from the steaming bath that had been drawn for her by Nigel's wife. Also in the room was a tray of fruit, some biscuits, and tea for the evening. Towels were laid out on a stool next to the claw foot tub and lavender petals were floating in the water giving off a calming scent. A bar of lye soap was sitting on the top of the towels will a rolled up terry cloth piece of fabric to be used for washing.
Looking out the window she would be able to see the moon hanging high in the night sky and out over the lush green fields to the north of town. She was not plagued with the south view that looked out towards the town and the dock. Downstairs there was a crashing noise one could only imagine was Calum.
"By George boy, what has gotten into you!" Nigel asked as he pulled up a chair and sat down. Looking down on Calum as he la sprawled out on the ground, again! "You have always had two left feet boy but this? Like you are a babe tryin' to walk fer the first time."
Calum sighed as he leaned back against the bed and just remained where he was. "Oh fuddle.... I am truly sorry Nigel. It is just, well she, I mean Miss O'Connor, well isn't she just the prettiest thing to ever grace this town?" he said bashfully. Nigel raised a furry brow and chuckled.
"Well I'll be damned," Nigel chuckled. That explained everything.
Gerard secured the last of the screws on the latch. Still he could not shake the feeling that something is still not quite right with all of this. He could rightly feel it in his gut. Just the way they were neatly removed from the latch it was as if somebody did it not from the outside, as what a usual break in would have been. It frightens him that somebody from the estate must have done it, Cook, Everrett, Abigail or anyone in the staff. He wouldn't be able to process if one of them might be found guilty of this.
Just as he was done, giving the newly repaired window latch a few tests, he heard Abigail call out to him. Looking out the window his heart stopped at the sight of Milli. Without so much as a second to waste he rushed down the stairs and out the door. He heard the tragedy that occurred at Almack's from Lord Ratherford just as he reached outside the front door . As the carriage drove off Gerard hastened towards her, and offered his arms to help up the injured woman.
He met her with a troubling stare, "Millie." he never addressed her with only her first name before, it has always been 'Miss Millie' to him, ever since he worked here. "I'll take her." He took her from Abby and gently, slowly carried her in his arms.
She was in tears, blood dripping down from the slits on her arms and on her thigh, soaking her dress in a shade of crimson. Gerard never saw Millie cry this much before and seeing her like this, for the first time, made his weary heart shatter in a million pieces. Who could've done this? Who could've even dared? He wasn't entirely sure what exactly happened at Almack's but he wished he could've been there.
While they all walk back inside the manor, Gerard did not exactly know what to say properly at that very moment, or make out the words to at least bring comfort to her. He was never really good expressing with words. Right then, he did not know what else to do, but to just carry her in his arms as they walk in silence, his grip was gentle, warm and comforting around her body. His eyes showed compassion, downhearted as he looked down at her. "It's alright. I'm not going anywhere." He spoke tenderly, his voiced slightly cracking with emotion.
Had Virginia not been regarding the beautiful tiger, she perhaps would have noticed Thalken burst into the room. While she heard his curses, she did not tilt her head in his direction. As the Grand Duchess welcomed her to pet the tiger, Virginia smiled more than she had before that evening, yet there was still a hint of sadness in her eyes. Kneeling as to be on eye level with the tiger, she pet him delicately, in awe of the beautiful creature. She could not help but imagine that James would have loved to see the tiger as well.
As Mary asked for permission to be excused and the Grand Duchess granted it, Virginia removed her hand from the tiger. "Thank you," she said, though it was not clear whether her thanks was to the tiger or the Grand Duchess, or perhaps both. She rose back to her feet, catching a glimpse of Thalken as she did. For a moment, she did tilt her head at him, seeing the wildness his eyes. But she more noted his fear of the tiger. It was a fear she herself could not understand, having been raised to see the beauty in the most fear inducing things.
Her attention was then consumed by the entrance of Vlad, the Great Bazhooli as Veta introduced him. She almost felt compelled to applaud as he landed in a bow after a flip, blades in his hands all the same. It was a feat she doubted most inside Almack's that evening could accomplish, with the fat bellies and rose tinted glasses of the ton. But her attention was caught again by the tiger, as it yawned and looked prepared to take a nap. It was perhaps the most adorable sight she had ever seen.
Mamushka? Virginia abruptly turned her head to peer at Vlad. It was a word she had only heard members of her family utter. It was their dance, one done at times of great celebration, one done for reunions and for triumphs. She knew that the dance had been in her family for ages and that their family was a large one, but to hear a stranger say the word...It was startling. But recalling Veta's interest in her last name earlier, she could not help but ponder if she had some relation to the Russians here. It was the most logical explanation.
"It is an honor to meet you, Great Bazhooli," Virginia replied, giving a slight curtesy to the man. Could she hold some relation to Vlad and Veta? It was an intriguing possibility, and had her father been present, she likely would have posed the question at him at once. He never did mention the Crypt family possessing power in Russia, after all.
Location: Teriny Inn
The room was more than she could have hoped for or expected, after the terrible journey by boat she had undergone, all to reach Scotland. Setting her things down next to the bed, Maeve slipped off her shoes and felt the floor with her toes, finding something calming in the sensation. Pulling the ribbons out of her hair that kept it up, her dark auburn hair fell down past her shoulders, and she shook her head slightly, letting her hair just be.
She glanced out the window, smiling slightly as she saw the moon in the sky. She could not help but imagine that Roisin would be looking at the same moon with excitement, begging her Uncle Finnian to reveal the secrets of the night sky. She signed a quick prayer as she gazed out at the moon, hoping for protection and happiness for her daughter. It was the same prayer she made each night, finding that Sign Language brought, for her, another level of spirituality to it.
The tranquility of the room was shattered as she heard a large crash from downstairs. She rolled her eyes lightly, knowing instantly who the culprit was: Calum. He was a funny and sweet lad, but possessed the skills of a babe when it came to walking about. She couldn't help but wonder if he had ever knocked his own home to the ground before, never suspecting that his clumsiness perhaps had an added cause this evening. He was a protestant, after all, from what she could glean.
She paused a moment, listening to see if there were any further calamities, but hearing none, she made her way over to the bath that had been drawn. The petals floating on the water brought a smile to her face. It was far fancier than she expected for a humble inn, truthfully having been picturing simply a tub of hot water earlier. The scent was lovely, she couldn't deny, and she prepared herself to bathe, looking forward to this simple luxury.
"...give me understanding, that I may know thy testimonies." Location: Almack's
Mary extended her senses into the Vatican training of Tanter, probing the rooms and grounds around her to ascertain whether or not her more martial skills would have to come into play in the near future. At first, she got nothing. Pouring more focus into the skill, the dedicated Apostolic continued to feel out the setting of Almack's Assembly Rooms, searching intently for any sign of more hidden Soulless. Thankfully, she found no evidence that was detectable by her abilities. The vastly more likely explanation of those results were that, because they weren't bothering to disguise themselves as human earlier, they had left the area entirely. This left antagonists of a more common variety with which to deal.
Her thoughts briefly drifted back to the "Lord" from earlier who had tried to steal her halberd, and the row that broke out in the Musician's Gallery that resulted in at least one person's death. People were shoved, trampled in humanity's push to save their own skin. The Ton had proven that they were not the bravest and the boldest that the British Empire had to offer; merely the ones birthed to the right families and with the socially acceptable gender to control vast amounts of authority and finance that was the life's blood of the United Kingdom.
She was just about to share her findings with Elizaveta and Virginia when she noticed two things. The first was a touch toward the subtle, a young man readying a throwing knife in Veta's general direction. Despite her very recent change of status, Mary was still a Knight at heart, her charge this evening being the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. The blade lowered, but Mary's eyes remained narrowed at the man. Until the second thing happened, anyway. The appearance of a loud, highly presumptuous man in a red waistcoat, tossing his top hat and greatcoat at the nearest member of the gentry and acting as if it were a privilege to receive them. Mary shifted her polearm slightly, divided at to which was the potential threat in this situation, until he realized that the loud man was speaking in a highly inflected Russian accent. It seemed extremely likely, given that they were in London, that Veta and this strange man knew one another.
At least he knew how to make an entrance. Following his grandiose production of offering servitude to Elizaveta, Mary intoned quietly but seriously, "To business: Your Grace, Lady Crypt, it seems quiet for the time being. Perhaps we should see to our deceased, following formalities."
Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms
Before Elizaveta could finish verbalizing her request for assistance with standing, Vladimir had already snapped to his feet. He swiftly twirled his blades back onto his person, and assumed a low dancer's stance. The dramatic Russian lightly took hold of the Grand Duchess's hand and aided her in her vertical relocation, maintaining a slightly bowed head all the while.
His introduction to the paler noblewoman nearby was met with an interested raise of one eyebrow. Vladimir did so enjoy meeting new people. He bowed low and from the waist, offering a kiss to the back of her hand. "Ov course, this is Lady Crypt." His words seemed directed at Elizaveta, but his eyes held fast with Virginia's. "This young voman screams stoic intensity, vith exqvisitely beauteous, alabaster face and eyes like sword-iron in cloudy sky. My Lady Crypt, aristocrats ov room stare at you, and are shamed vith jealousy!" He straightened to his full height, a small card appearing in his hand with a snap of his fingers. He offered it over to his new acquaintance, verbalizing much of what was written on the piece of trimmed stock paper (in English and Russian): "Honor is mine. Privetstviye, ah... Salutation, Lady Crypt. I am Vladimir Alexandrov, heir to the Baron Alexandrov; and I have honor of introduction as "The Great Bazhooli", of Bazhooli Sem'ya - Master of Impalement Arts. Am at your service, iv need."
He smiled a warm but slightly mischievous grin, and looked to the women gathered around. The Catholic, the Lady, and the Grand Duchess. Then he remembered that there was a particularly dead person on the floor with the cloak of a Papal Knight shrouding the corpse, as well as a general sense of dwindling urgency in the room. Come to think of it, he thought he noticed a few carriages and people on foot out front moving as fast as they could away from their present location. It seemed odd, but who knew what really happened at these upper-crust London gatherings? It could very well be like one of the Circus's party games, wherein a large circle is drawn upon the ground and a skilled archer fires an arrow straight up into the air. The last person to flee the circle before the arrow returned to the ground was declared the winner; also, probably required the attention of a skilled surgeon. Such were the frivolities of some of the younger performers; more nerve than style.
Party games aside, a questioning look etched itself on his face, growing to angered alarm. His hands idly moved to two particularly painful looking knives from his personal arsenal as he voiced his waxing concern. "Vait... vhat has happened in this place? And vhy is scary Catholic girl looking for dead peoples?"
"I'm dying to catch my breath, why don't I ever learn?"
Elizaveta simply nodded to Virginia's thanks. She was not sure if it was to her or to Myska, or to both. Looking over at Vlad as he took her hand she pushed Myska's head from her lap and rose gracefully to her feet. Brushing the folds of her gown down she smiled gratefully towards her uncle. Though it seemed he was already in the middle of his introduction to Virginia. The man was a showman through and through. There was a reason beyond his skill alone that made him the current Great Bazhooli and he was showing it in spades. It was all about presence, the ability to get a crowds attention or single a person out and make them the center of attention while never losing a bit of the spotlight. This was why he was Bazhooli.
Turning her attention to Mary she let out a relived sigh. "Dat is most veclome to hear my dear nev friend," she said kindly to Mary. She was about to make introduction when it seemed that Vlad had finally clued in that there was more going on than just his presence and a loose tiger. Taking a step closer to her uncle she rested her hand delicately on his shoulder and gave him an understanding look. Then she began to speak in a language that sounded almost like Russian but it was vastly different. She spoke in their trained tongue. She explained that there had been several attacks in London today by the Soulless. She let him know about the lady whose soul she had to tend to earlier at the church and the events since then. She was succinct as she spoke, keeping it pure details. Not wanting it to seem that she was ever in a moment of peril.
Once she was finished she had one last thing to tend to. "And this uncle Vlad is Dame Mary Hale, a nev friend and the interim Arch Graveolase. She vill be vho ve present our case to."
Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn
"Man you have got to pull yourself together. Stumbling around like a babe in the nest isn't gonna be gettin' ya anywhere's with a woman," Nigel said as he stood up. Walking over to Calum he grabbed the man's arm and placed it over his shoulder before hoisting him to his feet. Helping him up and sitting him down on the edge of the bed he just shook his head and chuckled a bit.
"Lord help me, I know. I don't even know why I was chosen to come pick her up but I thought I was helping. I am just mucking every thing up. God did not bless me with the knowledge or ability to be around a woman like her. She is like the morning sunrise, that hair a blaze like the sun," he said in a dreamy voice and slipping off the bed and back onto the floor with a thump. "Oh fuddle..."
Nigel rolled his eyes. "Well ye best be getting things under control befores yous hurt yerself, hers, or break me tavern," Nigel laughed as she door opened. His wife coming in with the pillow and blankets Calum had forgotten out front.
"What in gods name?" she asked.
"Seems out Parson here be having a little crush on our newest over night tenant mi'dear," Nigel answered as he smiled and covered his mouth.
"Oh dear..."
Wyndham Manor, London
Abigail let go of Millicent and let Gerard take her into his arms. "I be gettin' things to get tended to," Abigail said quickly before darting back up into the house. Millicent fell into Gerard's arms, letting him take the weight of her and curling up against his strong frame as she wept. She was inconsolable as they moved into the house. Her body trembling, weeping against his chest, her fingers curling against his shirt and holding on for dear life. She seemed terrified and broken as they crossed the threshold. Cook coming rushing out of the kitchen and her eyes widening as she spotted Millicent and the condition she was in.
"God have mercy..." she said as she stopped in her tracks.
"Cook, heat water up," Abigail said as she bounded passed the older woman and into the back of the house. She needed linens, hot water, needle and thread, and more to tend to her mistress. "Mr. Connolly, take her up stairs please to her room," Abigail shouted from the back.
"Right, get Miss Milli up the stairs. I'll get on the water," Cook said before scurrying off. She wanted to know what had happened but right now first things first. Miss Wyndham needed looking after and from the looks of things she was in no state to talk about why she was in such a condition.
Millicent clung to Gerard, she hadn't even noticed that he had called her by her first name. All she could think of was what had happened. Her mother, Jane, the attack. The carriage... She could still feel his hands on her, what he did to her inside and out. It caused her to cry out in shamed agony and bury her head against Gerard. She was ruined. There was no choice left for her life but the path that had been made for her. No escaping it. No one would have her now. She was sullied. It didn't matter how, not in the eyes of the ton.
They were engaged, papers were signed. They would say it was on her, that she threw herself at him. Once they were wed it wouldn't have mattered anyways. He could do this to her over and over again and in the eyes of the law it was perfectly acceptable. She was a piece of property at that point. Now, she had no value besides what coin was in her families purse. It would all be his now, he ensured that. He ensured tonight that if she dared back out that her family would be shunned and ruined. She had no choice. Flight or death were not an option, he would have what he wanted no matter what. Yet a life time his cold hands around her neck and gripping her thighs. She nearly threw up right then from hyperventilating.
Finally hearing Gerard's voice her head lowered even further, unable to bring herself to look at him. Not wanting him to look at her. "Please do not look at me, I am far beneath you..." she stammered out between the shaky tearful breaths.
So far his time in London was not the best. He learned that this place was so lifeless it appeared. It lacked a certain feel to it that made other places seem more alive. Constantin wasn't sure if it was the absurd wall or the way people acted. Not that he thought the time here was wasted, far from it. It was educating in it's own way and they had a purpose to do here. Plus performing was always good thing! That said this whole event that he heard was a thing, wasn't really something he understood the reason behind.
Anyways he was currently by the Almack's after having driving the carriage for Vlad. It seemed everything in this place had gone wrong somehow. Looking at how people were hurrying to leave and then there was the fact the tiger that belonged to his friend dashed off, didn't make him feel good about the whole situation. Finally with a sigh he just checked his sabre by slightly pulling it just an inch before pushing it back into the sheath and jumping off the carriage, also quickly deciding to enter, just in case.' Did she get into trouble now?' He thought, heading towards the entrance, he already had lost Vlad from sight so he was just going to have to instinct it... or follow hte sounds of commotion since there was a tiger. A tiger being present was bound to cause some noise!
Location: Almackâs âItâs our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.â
Fyror and Dr. Graham slowly moved Mrs. Wyndham through the crowds towards the corridor. For reasons not fully known to them, Almackâs was not nearly as crowded with people as it once was. Fyror glanced over at Emma as she spoke up in a shaky voice. What she said did not put him even the least bit at ease. He had a sinking feeling that Lord Rutherfordâs version of protection was nowhere close to his understanding of the word. To protect someone was to keep them safe from harm or injury. However, the Earl seemed to be the type of person to take advantage of oneâs weakness for his own ends. The man would call his sudden interest in the Wyndham familyâs affairs as concern when truthfully it was simply self-serving manipulation. Fyror detested dishonorable men like him, men who cared about no one but themselves and would destroy everyone in their path to get their own so-called happiness.
Fyror and Dr. Graham soon reached the carriage that would be used to take the injured Mrs. Wyndham to Westminster Hospital. A small half-hearted smile pulled at the corners of his lips as Dr. Graham told Emma not to turn down a friend. At least the doctor understood Fyrorâs good intentions. He helped to gently place Mrs. Wyndham into the carriage before turning to the doctor as the man addressed him. âI wish I could have been there sooner to prevent such tragedies and devastationâŠâ he began regretfully, before trailing off as his gaze looked sadly at the injured state of Mrs. Wyndham. He should have been there for them, more specifically for Millicent. Not that it would have done any good.
His gaze went back to Dr. Graham, and he nodded his head in agreement to the fact that he needed to go back to his family. His brows furrowed slightly at what the doctor said next, as the man leaned in towards him. Sure, Millicent would be glad to see him in the morning, but Mrs. Wyndham and Lord Rutherford, not so much. When the doctor requested that Fyror meet with him at his office tomorrow afternoon, Fyror was left puzzled. He stared down at the card for a moment before absentmindedly watching the carriage slowly drive off. When the carriage eventually disappeared from view, he sullenly turned around and headed back inside to find his family.
Location: Almackâs âMaybe Iâm not the person everyone thinks I am.â
Thalken snorted contemptuously at hearing the Grand Duchess call her pet tiger a âbig softy.â It seemed like an ignorant statement to him. Sure, the creature was well-trained, but it was a predator nonetheless. Predatory instinct cannot simply be turned on and off, as they are deeply engrained in oneself. No amount of control can fully quell the darkness, violence, and bloodthirst inside. He would know, for he struggled often in vain to separate the good man he wanted to become from the monster he has been shaped to become.
As the tigerâs attention turned to him, he stiffened slightly and his hand instinctively tightened on the handle of his throwing knife. Of course, he was intimidated by the hungry look in the big catâs eyes, after all he has seen firsthand what these creatures can do. One would be foolish to not have at least a healthy amount of fear of them. His gaze moved slightly to the side, still keeping the tiger in his peripheral vision as Elizaveta reprimanded her tiger and then addressed Thalken directly. His eyes narrowed at her, not fully buying that the tiger would only harm him if he attacked her. There was more than one way to provoke the wrath of a predator.
It wasnât until Elizavetaâs gaze left his did he take note of the newcomer Vladimir. In fact, there were several people in the Octagon Anti-Chamber. His gaze reluctantly left the tiger to take in all of these people. The majority of them he recalled briefly seeing when he arrived at Almackâs: the Grand Duchess, the apostolic woman, and the pale Ryne-like girl. His sister Thalcona caught his eye as she slowly moved around the edges of the room back over to him. He noted slight amusement in her gaze, causing him to glare at her in response. He did not find one second of all that has happened even the least bit amusing.
He felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as he sensed someone watching him. His harsh gaze swung to the side to find that Ryne girl was looking at him. His eyes narrowed on her. What did she want? When he heard the Grand Duchess address the woman as Lady Crypt, the look in his eyes darkened further. Even as Virginia Cryptâs attention went elsewhere, Thalkenâs harsh gaze remained on her. Who knew exactly what he was thinking, for all one could see is the cold darkness of his expression.
Bazhooli was perhaps as agile as he was charming, from what Virginia could perceive. The interested raise of his eyebrow, the low bow, the delicate kiss on the back of her hand, and the verbose declaration of her unique beauty all caught Virginia's attention. In many ways, Vladimir reminded her of a Crypt man--enchanting and skilled with knives. Taking his card, Virginia smiled kindly at him, her eyes scanning it before she placed it carefully inside of her reticule, in order to not lose it. Vladimir certainly was more welcome company than any member of the Ton that she had met that evening.
"You are far too kind, Great Bazhooli," Virginia replied. No man outside of her own family had ever given her quite so grand a compliment. Most of the Ton, when it came to commenting on her appearance, either prescribed a month in France near the water or informed a member of the clergy that they were certain she was a ryne. Even Vladimir's warm and mischievous grin kept a slight smile on Virginia's face, distracting her from her grief over dear Mosi.
Of course, it was not that Virginia fancied him--she more so found him decidedly pleasant and agreeable, an individual whose company was not irksome. She had sworn off suitors until her parents returned from their voyage at sea, though for her to be candid, she had no intention of ever entering courtship with any person. None of the men in London interested her and she was quite certain that no woman would risk social exile for her. She was in the closet, so to speak, for a quite good reason.
Virginia was almost disappointed to hear that there were no more soulless in Almack's that evening. Destroying more of those who had brought such great peril to dear Mosi would have been a welcome activity, yet she also supposed it was for the best. She had more friends to protect than just the one she had failed, after all. She listened as the Grand Duchess spoke to the Great Bazhooli in another tongue, appearing to try to ease the anger from the knife wielding man. But of course, she too felt someone's eyes boring into her back.
Turning around, Virginia stared back at the culprit, the man whose fingers seemed to be eager to draw a blade. She recalled the way he had snorted contemptuously at the Grand Duchess and could not help but find the man irritating, to say the very least. Who was he to act as if he knew better than the creature's owner? His harsh stare and narrowed eyes hardly helped his case.
She could not help but feel that this man was one of the reasons she never wished to entertain suitors. Turning around and fully intent on ignoring the man, she let out a slight sigh as she knew that it would be time to tend to Mosi shortly. But with the Grand Duchess announcing Mary as the interim Arch Graveolase, she smiled sadly, happy for her friend to have achieved such a position.
"I should perhaps go and fetch dear Mosi's corpse," Virginia said quietly. If there were no more threats to be found in Almack's, the least she could do for her fallen friend would be to ensure the safety of her mortal shell.
Location: Teriny Inn
Maeve had already disrobed and settled into the tub, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the peaceful environment of the room. Little petals floated across the edge of the water, tickling her nose as the Irish woman attempted to stay absolutely still. At home, it was incredibly rare for her to get moments of peace like these. The gang always needed something and her daughter always needed something. Why, even the drunks at the bar were always demanding something. It sometimes surprised her that she didn't have a perpetual headache.
Of course, the illusion was shattered once more by both a sneeze on Maeve's part and another thud from downstairs. She chuckled a bit, imagining the parson flailing about the office and continually falling, always missing the bed he was attempting to climb ever so gracefully into. She couldn't help but snort as she imagined him as an elderly man, attempting to use a cane to aid with his walk. To be quite frank, she thought giving the parson a cane now, in his young age, would be an excellent move.
"Oh, fuddle," Maeve whispered to herself with a giggle, attempting to lace on a Scottish accent. It was such a ridiculous phrase and she found that it suited the parson quite well. Her mind was replaying some of his more ingenious trips and falls for a good ten minutes, and she had to wipe away a tear from her eye. It was too funny a subject to think on.
That moment, Gerard couldn't keep his heart still. There were a bunch of emotions going through him; sorrow, confusion, anger. He looked at Milli and see nothing of the strong, intelligent woman he always saw her to be. She was unrecognizable. What could have really happened that brought her to this? Looking away she let out her words between shaky breaths, he did not know what she actually meant by it.
As they came into the manor, Cook had the same look he had when she laid eyes on Millie. He could hear Abigail calling, going about in the room and asked him to take her upstairs, not that she needed to tell him that as he was almost halfway ip the stairs. He hurried up, her weight had shifted them but he let his shoulders lean on the wall, as he held her tightly. They finally went inside her bedroom, and lay her down on the bed, slowly bending over the side as he carefully did. This time he had a clear view of her, what she had gone through. The gash on her face and the wreaking smell of blood, on her body. Amounts of it, that he figured some of it did not belong to her's.
Regrets slowly ate him little by little. He was suppose to be the family protector, he shouldn't have run off that time and couldve stayed by her side. His hands balled into a fist, resting on his lap. Gerard was sitting by her bed, looking down at her soiled yet gentle hands. He had a feeling she wouldnt want to talk about what happened at Almack's, after what happened there. To Jane, Mrs. Wyndham as what he had heard from Lord Ratherford earlier. "I'm very sorry." he finally spoke, his sad eyes to hers, frightened and bloodshot from the tears and his heart was breaking all over again.
From boyishly charming to inflamed with controlled rage, the face of The Great Bazhooli was ever the maelstrom of intensity. Thusly was his change of demeanor as Elizaveta explained the particulars of the evening in the older language of their Training, one considered provincial and antiquated by many of Russia's noble classes despite the power the Old Words still possessed. He did not respond immediately, merely listening to the Grand Duchess until she finished her summary of horrifying events. When she was toward the end of her speech, Vladimir placed the first two fingers of each hand on his temples, making circular motions as if to ward off a coming headache. He then took his turn, speaking with a sense of restrained, concerned anger, as a parent might to an unruly but well-meaning teenager, in the same language and with the same fluency as Elizaveta. There were sweeping arm movements and expressive facial changes as he went along on his tiny tirade, basically breaking down that, her small contingent of mundane guards were unsuited to the task of holding off an attack of Soulless, and that she should have sent for people from the Sem'ya as soon as she knew of their presence in London.
"Iv anything happen to you," he finished in English, "I could not forgive myselv. Not vhen ve could have done something."
The introduction of the woman he had casually referred to as "scary Catholic girl" took him by considerable surprise. He assumed an expression and posture of humility, with lowered eyes and shoulders as he turned to address the heavily armed woman in black cassock. "I am shamed, Dame Hale, before your sight. I vish to give apology, my vords are born into situation of peril and ignorance." He placed a had over his heart and bowed in front of the young Apostolic, his eyes not moving from the ground as he continued. "Having position or not having position, a Bazhooli does not speak this vay. I bring shame to selv and to Sem'ya. I vill apologize with any method your people say is appropriate, if I am able. For now, I am very The Sorry."
The Great Bazhooli straightened to his full height and adopted a more relaxed manner, hoping that his social faux pas was smoothed over with a touch of self-imposed public humiliation. If it weren't, he was still fully willing to back up his offer. In the meantime, it looked like there was some business at hand, which he chose to address in his own histrionic fashion. "Lady Knight!" he exclaimed, "I and little Myshka vill see to keeping of Her Grace safe, da? You see to Honored Dead. Ve vill hold the rooms until your retur... "
Vladimir was cut off by a glimmer of something from the corner of his eye. Apparently, the person who had received his hat and coat upon his entrance was not overly fond of standing there holding it, and so deposited them both unceremoniously upon a chair. His fine top hat had rolled to the ground, now listlessly rolling back and forth upon the smooth floor as the gentleman in question tried to exit without notice. The Great Bazhooli held up his hand to the group with which he was just speaking, indicating that he would be right back.
Truth told, he did really like that hat.
"Privet! Vhere you go, khm?" he shouted, running over to his errant belongings. He settled his top hat upon his head and quickly threw on his fur-edged coat. The weather gave insistence that he left it flared open, but such was his nature for the dramatic. Plus, it showed off enough knives about his person to give a good impression. Returning to his earlier place in the conversation, "Da! Until your vork is done. Ve have lot to talk about, Lady Knight. I am Master Vladimir Alexandrov, and I am at your service, Arch Graveolase."
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Location: Almack's
The new Russian certainly could talk. Not that his structure of the English language was perfect, but he did stress and utilize those words with singular flair. Be it that he did give her mild insult the moment that he met her, it was less than she was accustomed to dealing with on a daily basis anyway, and the utter absurdity of his profuse apology was beginning to make her uncomfortable. This could not be indicative of all people from his corner of the world, as observed by the demure and proper behavior of Elizaveta. In the end, Mary waved her hand and spoke with a dismissive voice, "I accept your apology, Master Alexandrov. Pray don't mention it again." The words were kind, but the delivery was a bit stony.
What she did actually appreciate was his offer. Mary was attached to Elizaveta as part of her entourage. All of her entourage, as it turned out, and as such had certain responsibilities to her. Such responsibilities could ordinarily only be passed on to another of her entourage or another Knight. This man was no Knight, neither Realm nor Papal. But it could be argued effectively that, though he was late, he was intended as part of her entourage. Besides that, no matter how colorful he was, he obviously cared about the Grand Duchess and was particularly skilled with more physical disciplines. Mary nodded her acceptance, and turned to Virginia.
"Lady Crypt, I thank you for your presence while I attended to the safety of my charge. To the best of my ability to detect, Almack's is clear. Let us see to your friend together." Mary hefted her polearm, extending a hand to Virginia.
Within Almack's the ton was starting to disperse, summoning their carriages and heading back to their homes. They were gossiping as usual, exchanging their stories and leaving the dead where they lay as if there was nothing to be done about it. Constables were being summoned by the staff and the last thing any of them wanted was to be caught up in a scandal. It could ruin any of them, especially the ones that had killed someone in their mob like mentality. So they left, as quickly as they could now. This would make headlines tomorrow, or perhaps it wouldn't. It would depend on who paid the paper the most to either run the story or to keep it hushed. Their pockets were deep, many of them. It would be left to the coin to decide.
In the ballroom some of the families remained. There was blood splattering the flood where no less than three innocents had died and their bodies were bleeding out. Their bodies still there staring off into the abyss. Eyes as empty as the rooms were becoming. The families of the deceased were there, at least one of them was. Mourning. Screaming for justice and blaming the Soulless because the ton couldn't have possibly done this to their own. They had no faults, they wouldn't panic. Of course not.
Elizaveta watched Vlad's semi-melt down over the fact she hadn't had more guards or summoned for more when she became aware of the Soulless. Taking a breath she reached out to him and rested her hand delicately on his shoulder and spoke to him in the same language they had been conversing in. She told him she was fine, that he had raised her to be more than capable to take care of herself. She was circus more than she was some frail princess. She was strong, like he had taught to her to be. And that she was no fool, she had protection. The name Mary slipping into the conversation. Telling him who better to be at her side than a warrior of God? A light to protect her.
The tiger Myska just looked at Vlad as if this was a daily thing and it almost was. The older Elizaveta became, the less she wanted to deal with the fact she was royalty and the more she sunk into the life of the circus. Taking chances was part of that. Myska just yawned, licking his jowls before resting his large head on his paws and continuing to watch with a look in his pale eyes as if so say, are you done yet?
"Please, gather bodies so I can tend to them. Then ve can make arrangements for their burials," she said before glancing around a bit. "Has anyone seen the voman vho was introduced to me by the lord? Or Sir Kildragon?" she asked. Neither of them seemed the type to her to run off. The lord on the other hand, did.
As she spoke Elizaveta suddenly gasped, a hand coming to her chest as the other pressed against the wall. Her eyes staring at nothing as she froze. Vlad would know the look all to well. Many in the circus who were trained were caught by it from time to time. A skill that could make itself known at any moment and without warning. A vision was coming to Elizaveta. Myska never took this way with Elizaveta well and roared lowly as he came to his paws and padded quickly over to her, taking a stance between her and ones he was not familiar with as if to protect her as she stood there unblinking.
After a moment she looked to Vlad. "I fear more death vill come before the end of season," she said quietly as her hand fell from the wall. It was never easy to describe the Tretiy Glaz. It would come in flashes. Sometimes it was nothing, sometimes it meant everything. It was like walking through a dream and as soon as it was over it was hard to recall if it was faint. This one was short even if it hit her hard. This made it more difficult to determine but she could feel a chill over her, death. She knew this sign. It was never good.
Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn
Calum ran his hand through his hair and was helped back onto the couch by Nigel before the tavern keeper and his wife finally exited the room. Hoping to god that he wouldn't end up knocking something over and burning the place to the ground. The parson was all a fuddle of course, seemed that the woman he had to escort was getting to him. Why on earth had his brothers chosen him to do this? He was a parson, not some underworld. Yet he had accepted nonetheless. He had his own reasons.
Pulling his boots off they fumbled out of his hands and thumped against the floor hard, rolling under the couch. Letting out a long sigh and rubbing his face. "Fiddlesticks..." he said under his breath before falling back onto the couch and staring up to the ceiling. He opted to just sleep in his clothing instead of changing out. At this rate he would end up knocking himself out just by changing his shirt.
The town was rowdy, sounds coming in from the docks of people laughing and yelling and fighting and who knew what else. It was your typical dock noises at this time of the night. Thankfully inside the tavern things were quiet, even from the office where Calum was staying at this point. Nigel wandered around with his staff, clearing off tables and getting ready to close up the kitchen and bar area for the night. They would be up early the next morning getting things together for breakfast and people checking out to go on their way.
Wyndham Manor, London
Millicent clung to Gerard as he carried up the stairs, weeping and crying out as the thoughts and feelings cut through her. It was all too much. She felt she had lost everything. Everything she held dear and everything that brought her any worth. Her very identity felt striped away. In her mind, she couldn't help but wonder why she had fought for so long. Fought to live or was it even living. Was it just surviving? What good had it brought her to try to protect those she called family? It had ruined her. Who was she anymore? None of these questions came with any answers as Gerard laid her down on her bed.
Rolling onto her side she curled up in fetal position. Her face burying against her knees as she tried to hide herself, hide her shame. She heard Gerard but what could she say? Tell him what happened? No, she couldn't. She didn't want him to see her for as worthless as she felt. She didn't want him to see her at all right then. Millicent didn't want anyone to see her. She felt like a shell that had been ripped of its contents, there was no way to truly describe how she felt other than utterly destroyed.
Abigail came in shortly after with a basket full of supplies and Cook followed behind, totting bucket after bucket of hot water. "Mr. Connolly, cans you helps Cooks with the waters?" she asked but as she felt a hand on her arm she glanced over and saw the look on Millicents face. Complete devastation. "Actuallys, wes got this. Cans you straighten up the office?" she asked him. It really didn't need to be done now but it would give him some busy work to do while she tended to Millicent.
Walking over to the door she waited for him to leave before closing it behind her. Cook making her way downstairs and into the hallway before she finally broke down. Seeing their mistress like that was slap to the face. Cook had always thought of Millicent like a daughter. How could someone do this to her? She just hoped that Abigail could get her patched up and at least in bed. Maybe Millicent would get some sleep, too tired to keep her eyes open after all the crying. It couldn't get any worse could it?
Abigail helped Millicent sit up, Millicent had stopped crying at this point but she had slipped into a nearly catatonic state. Just moving as Abilgail moved her to clean the wounds, stitch her leg, help her undress. It was once Millicent was undressed and Abigail got a good look at her in the light of the room that she realized the full extent of just what had happened to her. The bruising wasn't just from a fight. Abigail had see such bruising before on friends of her. Servants in other homes whose Mistresses and Masters were not as kind as Miss Milli was. Girls... "Oh god..." Abigail could only say quietly as a look of shamed confirmation came to Millicents features before she looked away and tried to cover her form.
Helping Millicent into the bath, she rested soap and cloth over the rim. Millicent didn't move, she just sat there as Abigail left the room. Closing the door softly behind her. Once it was closed she broke out into a mad run down the stairs to find Cook. "Cook, cook, I have to go. I be rights back," she said as she grabbed her shall from the kitchen as she ran by and back to the front, placing it over her head.
"Where you be going? Miss Milli needs you!" Cook said as she wiped the tears away.
"She need Diachylon more," Abigail said sadly before running out the door. Cooks jaws dropped as Abigail ran off down the street. Cook knew what it was for. Normally it was used around the manor as a lead plaster but if Miss Milli needed it, there was only reason. To keep a quickening from happening.
Sure enough, as certain as the sun raising across the horizon on the morning, Constantin found himself hearing the low sound of a roar from what could only be Myska. He was very close to where Veta was after all. Without much hassle from there he soon found himself at the location where quite the group was gathered along his friend, The Great Bazhooli and the tiger.
âOf course there vill be more death...â He said as he came near.â There are alvays deaths when the unprepared underestimate the soulless.â He stated with slight displease in his voice. These people in their arrogance forgot how dangerous these creatures were.
âVher be my manners.â He suddenly said and made a slight theatrical bow.â Constantin Kolev, at your service.â He stated, before throwing a look between Vlad and Elizaveta, before stopping his eyes on her with almost judging like stare. He wasn't going to say it in front of strangers, but he disliked the fact she didn't bring anyone from them with her when she came at this nest of vipers. His sabre was still in it's sheath, but he was ready to draw at a moment's notice if the need arose.
As the Great Bazhooli and the Grand Duchess conversed in the Russian-like tongue, Virginia closed her eyes for a moment. She could still recall almost every minute of the battle with the hraew and simultaneously, she could only remember certain seconds. Had she not waited so long to attempt to fix her leg by force, then perhaps Mosi would still be among the living. A single tear trailed down her face and Virginia's hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles impossibly turning an even paler shade than the rest of her body.
Virginia opened her eyes again as the Great Bazhooli offered to protect the Grand Duchess while they tended to the dead, an offer which Mary accepted. Virginia could think of no one in Almack's who had fallen that was more deserving of attention than Mosi, but she was biased. To her, the fallen Arch Graveolase did not merit the same level of care and attention as Mosi did. Mosi had a certain liveliness to her that few of London's society could ever match. Though as she saw the Great Bazhooli rush over for his fur coat and top hat, she wondered what opinion dear Mosi would hold of him. Mosi would have loved circus folk, Virginia decided.
"There is no thanks needed, Dame Hale," Virginia said to Mary, after she was thanked for coming with Mary to attend to her charge. It was no great ordeal to go ensure the safety of the Grand Duchess and the others in Almack's. Besides, it was a continuation of the task that Mosi had given her life to complete. If more had perished in Almack's, Mosi's sacrifice would potentially be rendered meaningless. She nodded as Mary informed her that Almack's was clear and accepted her friend's hand, taking a breath as she prepared herself to retrieve Mosi's fallen form.
"I suppose Mosi's family will wish to bury her," Virginia observed, a tinge of sadness in her voice. She wanted to burn Mosi's corpse and spread the ashes on the shores or in the woods of the New World, yet she also knew that most in England preferred more traditional burial practices. It felt cruel for Mosi to be buried in a land she never found comfort in and under a name she hardly ever used for herself. At least the Grand Duchess would tend to Mosi's corpse. Virginia could not help but assume that it would shortly be ensured that Mosi would not rise again in another form.
Millicent? Virginia had not seen her friend since she left to protect her family, having begun an engagement with Lord Rutherford. The thought of her friend engaged to such a man left a vile taste in her mouth. She had hardly interacted with Lord Rutherford, yet she could not believe that the man would bring Millicent happiness. She and Mosi had perhaps gotten a bit carried away in their discussions of Lord Rutherford, but they had meant well. If Lord Rutherford truly made Millicent happy, then who was she to stand in her way? Her friend had shown such an aversion to marriage without love and was fully capable of fending for herself.
She shook her head in response to Elizeveta. "I do hope Millicent is not among the dead...The world would suffer greatly from her loss," Virginia said quietly, her mind filled with the image of Mosi, lying dead on the steps. They never had made it to the second floor that they intended to secure. "As for Sir Kildragon, I have not seen him since as well."
Virginia could not help but feel intensely curious as Elizaveta froze, a hand on her chest and another on the wall. It looked to the Crypt woman as if the Grand Duchess was stuck in some sort of spell, utterly transfixed. She noted the way the tiger came to his mistress' defense and listened carefully to the Grand Duchess' words. It did seem to be logical for there to be more deaths before the end of the season, especially given the slaughter at Flitwick Manor. It once was a rarity, such attacks. With the events tonight at Almack's, it now appeared to be on the path to becoming common.
Another Russian man came into the room, voicing a sentiment that Virginia could not help but agree with. The blame of the tragedy was with the ton. They had no respect for the dark forces in the world and instead elected to ignore them. Tonight was proof that such behavior never ended well. She could not help but hope that James would take after the rest of her family, instead of adopting the habits and attitudes of the ton.
Location: Teriny Inn
Maeve finished her bath, having scrubbed her skin clean with the soap and attended to her hair. Drying herself off with the towel, she changed into a nightgown and attempted to keep the things from the bath in the most orderly condition possible. Having worked hard since she was a small child, she didn't wish to go out of her way to make things more difficult for those girls employed by Nigel. The inn was quiet and peaceful, of course, but that didn't make the work any easier.
She grinned slightly as she heard the sound coming in from the docks, walking quietly over to the window. The moon was gorgeous and hearing the rowdiness had a more calming effect on Maeve than the bath ever could. She let out a content sigh as she continued to stare out of the inn and look towards the heavens. Everything seemed to be quiet and still. Softly, she began to sing Mo Ghile Mear, her voice hardly above a whisper.
NĂ labhrann cuach go suairc ar nĂłin Is nĂl guth gadhair i gcoillte cnĂł, NĂĄ maidin shamhraidh i gcleanntaibh ceoigh Ă d'imthigh uaim an buachaill beĂł.
Marcach uasal uaibhreach Ăłg, Gas gan gruaim is suairce snĂłdh, Glac is luaimneach, luath i ngleo Ag teascadh an tslua 's ag tuargain treon.
Seinntear stair ar chlairsigh cheoil 's lĂontair tĂĄinte cĂĄrt ar bord Le hinntinn ard gan chaim, gan cheĂł Chun saoghal is slĂĄinte d' fhaghĂĄil dom leĂłmhan.
What can he do? His mind would go over the possibilities in situations like this, at least to take away a little of her pain. He wished he knew how. He could ask her but it was no good to remind her of the horror she had been through. Would a hug work? A soft caress on her cheek to wipe away her tears, holding her close and telling her everything will be ok? Like a proper gentleman would in the books that he would find himself reading in some occasions. If only he could. Millie doesn't seem to want him there, rolling to the side away from him. He looked down on his lap for a few moments, hearing her quiet sobs.
As Gerard got up from the edge of Millie's bed, Abigail and Cook entered the room, he stood there as he watched them get busy. He nodded when Abigail asked him to help Cook with the buckets, but abruptly changed her mind. For a moment he looked at her, and to Millie who was clutching her arm.
"Alright." His expression was glum, nodding at her direction as he left the room. It was only appropriate for him to do so, for whatever reason she did not want to look at him, or is it the other way around? There could be a reason, but Gerard couldn't exactly understand. At this point he doesn't care, he only wished he could be there for her, confide in him for whatever the reason. Milli is his family, and one thing about Gerard is he never turns away from family. Even if the worse comes to worst, he will stay.
He went down to the office and looked at the room the prowler had left. He sighed deeply and went over the mess, scrounging at the piles. All the while, his mind was with Millie.
He slipped Dr. Grahamâs care into his pocket as he trudged into the ballroom. His face was downcast, and he was despondent. At first, he didnât even hear the concerned words of his family as they rushed over to him. âFyror? Fyror, darling, w-where are you injured?â his motherâs worried questioning finally broke through the haze he was in. His brows furrowed. Why would she think I was injured? Glancing down at himself, thatâs when he noticed the dried bloodstains that were mixed into his red tunic and white trousers. Oh. He must have acquired those stains while he was holding Millicent in his arms. She had been covered in so much blood. âThatâs not my own blood,â he muttered in response. His eyes glazed over in sorrow as he acknowledged the blood covering the ballroom and the bodies of the innocent lives that had been lost in the chaos.
Location: Almackâs âSometimes Iâm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.â
What did my father see in the Crypt family? Thalken thought as he watch Virginia Crypt with masked interest. His dark eyed gaze was unfalteringly intense as he practically glared at the woman. He watched her every move as he ignored the others in the room. The range of emotions he saw played out on the womanâs face was perplexing to him as such emotions seemed contrary to all he had heard about the Crypt family.
His head tilted slightly to the side. Millicent? Sir Kildragon? Those names sounded familiar. Werenât those the people whom he had previously been with? he thought to himself. The proper thing would be to walk up to Lady Crypt, introduce himself, and inform her that her friends were all right. But Thalken was never one for formalities. So, he just stood there staring brazenly at the woman with his intense gaze.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Location: Almack's
The situation had a way of bringing people to a pause. It was grim, the business at Almack's, but what irked Mary even more than the lack of nobility among the nobles of London was the fact that these people saw fit to leave before their names could be publicly associated with the event, and have others clean up their mess. She wondered if the living had taken more lives than the Soulless in the last hour. Whether or not it was true, the fact that the thought crossed her mind raised questions. They would have to be reevaluated later, but the method in which she carried out the letter of her vows to the Church and her Order, in her estimation, needed amending. The people of money and power, "Soulled" individuals, needed to understand the reality of their situation, in the harshest and most direct manner possible. They could not simply walk away from the damage they had done and drown it in the tragedy of a Soulless attack. Yet that is exactly what they were going to do.
Mary's newfound (if temporary) position might be able to help her with this situation. Whatever happened afterwards would simply happen, chips fall where they may.
Dropping her hand from its earlier, outstretched position, Mary turned to Elizaveta. "By your leave, Your Grace." she said, taking a knee. Carefully, she rotated her halberd horizontally and laid it at Veta's feet. It was symbolic, the surrendering of a cherished weapon, but it was also practical. It would be infinitely more difficult to haul the bodies of the fallen with it in hand. Mary raised to her feet, gave a quick glance to Vladimir and Myshka, and walked off to recover the remains of Virginia's friend, Mosi, first. Despite the absence of the weapon for which she was most noted, she was still quite formidable.
Location: Almack's Assembly Rooms
The appearance of Constantin raised questions about who was tending to the carriage (or where it was parked at that moment), but that would have to wait. If one of the retreating nobles or their servants got the bright idea to run off with Elizaveta's means of conveyance, it would be a massive inconvenience on everyone's part. Veta had more than one carriage to her name; the one she left the Circus in was one she used for short trips of a similar nature to errands or state functions, such as the Circus had anything akin to those. But the one that The Great Bazhooli took, and by extension that Constantin drove, was actually better described as Myshka's carriage. Much of the interior seating was removed to accommodate the huge, white tiger, allowing for only the bravest or better known by Myshka to share the cab, and then only one or two of them. "Malen'kiy brat Constantin, so very pleasing of you to join! Is virst time coming to big, London party vor noble peoples? Is for me, as too." There was the lightest air of derisive camaraderie in his words, which continued in the same tone, "Slushat'... Iv someone uses carriage to run avay? You carry Myshka on back, all vay to Circus. Da?" He smiled, "Ah, is good to have you vith us!"
The expression on his face made it unclear as to whether it was an attempt at humor or something that should concern his fellow performer. Nevertheless, he smiled a big, charismatic smile and gave the surrounding room a quick look-over. He gave a mental note to the odd fellow a ways from the rest of them, standing very still and staring in their general direction. Specifically, he appeared to be quietly but intently eye-molesting the Lady Crypt. Vladimir made a point to memorize his face for later, and return to Elizaveta's attention. "Tretiy Glaz? Vhat did you see, Little Veta?" His tone changed from the formal to the personal quickly, as these visions were unpredictable at times. Genuine concern colored by curiosity was evident in the man; he was not merely a showman nor figurehead. These people were family.
Elizaveta looked over to Constantin and gave him a look of disdain. The man always seemed to have some sort of comment to make. This was a serious time, if she saw death it was more than just basic slaughter. It took what breeding was in her not to roll her eyes at his comment. "And even more when the trained overestimate their skill," she said as she stood there and laced her hands before her. Giving him a slight look and raising the corner of her lips into a smirk.
Though at Virginia's mention of Millicent it faded and she looked over to the pale woman. "I do not think she is gone, not from vhat I have seen. I have not seen death, I have seen pain," she admitted. She had seen in other's eyes Miss Wyndham and she had seen great pain. She feared that what Millicent had in her future was far worse than death. Yet she did not want to say more on the subject just then. There was much to do and she was already drained from the days events, she still had work to do this evening.
Turning her head she looked away and caught how the one man was looking at Virginia and how stoic he remained. "Use vords, not glares to communicate. You vill go further," she stated towards Thalken before looking to Mary and nodding. She understood the significance of the weapon being left behind as her new friend left. Reaching down once Mary left she wrapped her fingers around it and hefted it up. Resting it on its pole end and holding it straight. She would watch over it for now and hope that it was not needed for use other than for a deep meaning.
As Vlad spoke to her, her lips pursed. "It vas broken. Dark. There vas blood. There vas something, Soulless, I do not knov. I fear ve may all lose something dear before this year draws to a close," she said quietly. "I fear someone has already at this time."
Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn
Calum found laying on the couch and closing his eyes was a far safer use of his time than anything that required movement. He wished to study his bible some, to find some answers in it perhaps but at this point he was half afraid that if he turned a page he would give himself such a paper cut that he would bleed to death before the morning dawned. It was best to just say his prayers and close his eyes and hope that things would be better come the morning. Thing like being able to walk without falling over a table. That would be a most welcome thing indeed.
He would have normally taken to his knees but the act of just getting onto the couch had been a miracle in and of itself. The parson was not about to push his luck be getting onto the floor and then attempting to get back into bed. He would most definitely die. Closing his eyes, he spoke to god. Repenting his sins, such as his gluttony for the pastries, and then there was Maeve. Oh he should not be turned over like this because of her. Yet there it was and he tried to repent for it though he wondered just how well that went over with the Lord God since he knew he would not stop thinking of how pretty she was.
"Oh fuddle..." he muttered before repenting for his curses of fuddles through out the day.
Wyndham Manor, London
Cook slowly walked into the room and glanced around as Gerard tried to tidy up as best he could. "She will not speak Mr. Connolly. She just sits there in the bath water as it grows cold. Unmoving. Oh poor Miss Milli, how could someone?" she said as she collapsed onto the couch and brought her fist up to her teeth. Biting down slightly as it became more and more clear to her what Millicent had suffered that evening.
Slamming her fist down onto the arm of the couch she shook her head. "Whoever did this should be tar and feathered and drawn and quartered," she said in a shaky voice.
After that she just went silent, thinking on the expression on Millicent's face when she went to check on her. The girl just sat there, like stone. Not even a ripple ran across the waters surface. It was still, like death. The light that had once been in Millicents bright dark eyes was gone and nothing but a bit of abyss remained. Cook had only seen some of the bruising but it was nothing compared to the look of nothingness in Millicents eyes.
Abigail came barreling into the house, the door closing hard behind her and calling out for Cook. "In here lass," she said as she stood up, drying her eyes. "Have you got it?" she asked solemnly.
"Yes yes Cook, I be gottin' it. Just gonna bes brewing up a tea fors it I will," Abigail said quickly, half out of breath.
"Make sure to be careful with the amount. You wish to prevent any quickening, not lay our Miss out on a slab in the family mausoleum," Cook warned.
"I's know, I's know," Abigail assured her.
"Are you sure this is what Miss Milli wants? I suspect it is, one such as her would not wish to raise a child of forced notions..." Cook said as she started to tear up again.
"I's don't knows rightly, shes won't speak. Has she spoke yet?" Abigail asked.
"No..."
Abigail nodded and ran off to the kitchen as Cook sat back down and shook her head. "Poor little one... Such a frightful night..."
