Did you know?

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

— Submit your own —

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

— Nominate a quote —

Post at least once with the same character every day for a month.


People Help The People
Bella's eyebrows shot up. "I have no idea what that means, either," she admitted sheepishly.

Post Log
Kieran grinned. "That one's easy," he said, "Means I think Ireland should be its own country."

Bella wasn't sure what problems Ireland had with the rest of the country (those were the sort of things her education had skipped over), but she was sure there were valid reasons, especially if there were whole groups dedicated to it. Admittedly, she had her own issues with her country at the moment, though those were more concerning social conventions than politics.

"I'm sure if they're stubborn enough, they'll get there one day," she commented casually, the result of such a split having no impact on her—or so she thought. "You can wear anyone down with stubbornness, I've found. I'm sure it even applies to the government."

Post Log
Kieran snorted audibly. She was yet another idealist who'd stumbled into their cafe and was going to fling herself fruitlessly against the barriers of reality until she became a cynic or found something else to do. Kieran rather thought it was the latter; she did not have enough political knowledge or desperation to become a proper activist.

"Sure," he said, without any real inflection.

Bella glanced around, committing this establishment to memory in case she saw reason to return someday. There didn't seem to be anything for her—not now, at least—but she'd had an interesting experience here to say the least.

"I should probably get going," she said, suddenly rising to her feet. "It was - uh - good to meet you...sir. I wish you and your communist Irish republic well."

(Whatever that meant—she still wasn't exactly sure.)

Post Log

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