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The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree


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Iola Hitchens for Elladora Black. The Blacks' black sheep.
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.

Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa


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Changing of the Seasons
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January 10th, 1889 - Ma's house, the Hebrides
Mordred was dead. Galahad was alive, but there was a big difference between one dragon and two dragons, especially when the one dragon he had left was in fairly good health. This was to say that Mac had free time on his hands - free time to think of his direct and extended family, and of their responsibilities to this island and these dragons, and where he wanted to be in five years. Dragonkeeping was dangerous, and it was no more dangerous for a father of soon-to-be four than it was for a single eighteen-year-old, (he wasn't as dumb, so it was probably safer.) But he had more to lose, now. But they had a responsibility to the islands, and to the dragons - because they'd been doing this for years and were in many ways the only people who knew how. And Mac wanted to be here in five years, wanted to be in the Hebrides, but he also wanted to be here, alive.

So he had some thoughts.

Jamie, it seemed, also had some thoughts. He had mentioned them on Christmas, although he'd been fairly drunk at the time. Mac hadn't come to the house explicitly to talk to Jamie - he had come to the house because his mother had hijacked Isobel, and he was trying to retrieve her. Mac walked through every room, calling "Ma!" periodically, and finding no response. He sighed. He was about to leave - Ma would give Issy back when she felt like it, probably - when Jamie walked in through the front door.

"She's not here," Mac replied, automatically, "Neither is Da, I don't think."

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It was time for Jamie's bimonthly true bath. Really, it was a bit sad he put it off as long as he did but he never really seemed to care. The little bit of spongebaths in his little shack were enough to tide him over for at least a couple weeks. But every once in awhile, he longed for a true bath and that could only be had at Ma's house. It was probably the only reason she didn't pester him about getting a true cottage for himself. Without the bath in his own home, it made it so that he had to stop by at least occasionally.

He'd come straight from the toddling island, not at all pleased with his course of work still, and was quite set on heading straight to the bath when he ran into Mac. He greeted his brother with a lopsided grin.

"Good, means I can bathe without her nagging," he said, really quite pleased that it sounded as if he'd have the house mostly to himself for a bit.


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