November, 1892 — A Rally

He had started going to these things because it was the easiest thing he could offer Charlie as a bribe to get her talking to him again. He'd continued when she had tentatively forgiven him (or at least pretended to) for two reasons: one, she'd stopped asking whether he was coming and begun to just assume, which meant if he wanted to stop he'd have to actually bring it up and risk another fight; two, it was clear this made her happy. He could see the difference in her eyes when she was listening to the speakers here compared to how she tuned out when their parents tried to talk to her over dinner. This was her community; it was obvious. He could hardly deprive her of it.

And the reason why he kept coming now was — well, he didn't admit this, except begrudgingly and occasionally to Charlotte, but they were starting to make a lot of sense. The one last week had an excellent point about how keeping women generally less educated contributed to sluggish growth in fields of research, medicine, science, and experimental magic; she had a wealth of historical examples to prove that when given the tools women were just as capable. A month ago one speaker had told them about New Zealand's system, already underway and not having brought society to its knees yet. They were compelling arguments, and Calvin was finding himself occasionally nodding along, though he wasn't sure he would claim to be at ease here yet.

But when he'd told his mother where they were heading today she had fretted about the possibility of rioters, so it was safe to say he was worlds ahead of any of the other Paxtons on the subject. Still he startled slightly when someone reached out to press a pamphlet into his hand. "Oh," he said, glancing from the paper to the man who had thrust it at him as though this might have been a mistake, and the other fellow would realize it and take it back. When he didn't, Cal awkwardly continued, "Uh, thanks?"

---

Declan Buchanan

  

---

Declan frequently tagged along on these errands if Tess needed an extra set of hands, and sometimes even if she didn't. He liked to hear from the activists, and turned over their words in his mind so that he could find his own way to contribute. Like everywhere else, he didn't like to speak at the rallies unless he felt more-than-halfway confident about whatever he wanted to say.

Today he was listening and handing out papers, and also trying to subtly collect more names and addresses for Tess' mailing list. He'd picked the man because he didn't see men at these things as often as he would like, and tried for a soft smile when the other man spoke to him. "It's more writings from today's speakers," Declan offered, "And an article on the impact of the Married Women's Property Act."

  

---

set by Bee

"Oh," Calvin said, tone more appreciative. He read the title of the stack he'd been given — or at least what he presumed was the title, since it was written in the largest print on the top page. He didn't know anything about the Married Women's Property Act, but people kept talking about it as though it was a thing he should already be intimately familiar with, so this was actually a welcome delivery. He would have been afraid to ask anyone about it at this point, but he thought he rather would like to understand what they were referencing. Six months ago, Calvin had never given a second thought to the properties of married women. His mother didn't have property, that he knew of — but how would he know? His parents seemed, in certain regards, indivisible; he couldn't conceptualize of them ever having existed apart, so the notion of what his mother might have done either before or after his father was hard to wrap his mind around.

"Are you..." he started, intending to ask something like do you work here but struggling to find the right phrasing for it. Here was a ridiculous word, because they were standing in a clearing on a public street. No one worked here. What he meant was more how precisely did you come to be handing these things out to strangers at this event but that seemed a bit much. He could perhaps simply ask if the other man was getting paid, and that might be the most expedient way to an answer... but as he started to form the question another thought occurred to him and took precedence: that he might be expected to pay for them, and that he might have already inadvertently agreed to do so either by saying thank you, or by seeming appreciative a second ago. "... selling these?"

---

The following 1 user Likes Calvin Paxton's post:1 user Likes Calvin Paxton's post
   Saffron Whitby

---

Declan shook his head almost immediately. His cheeks warmed up with embarrassment, even though this was not the first time he had been asked a question like that. "No," he said, "But Miss Whitby and I do distribution." Sometimes they got paid to do invitations for events like this, but mostly it was Tess' side project — and Declan liked to be involved, because he liked spending time with Tess and because he agreed with the suffragettes, broadly.

It was hard for him not to think about class and gender as being intertwined in many ways — working class women experienced things that upper class women never would, and all that. This man didn't look like he would entirely understand that, though.

  

---

set by Bee

Miss Whitby! The wrong one, of course, but still Calvin perked up slightly at the name. There were five of them. He'd been in school with Sage Whitby, who was a mediwitch, and Tess Whitby, who worked at her father's print shop. Neither were in his year, but close enough to remember them. Then there was his Miss Whitby, then two younger sisters he hadn't met yet. He wanted the whole family to like him, he had decided, though he had more tangible strategies with some of them than with others (how did one make a positive impression on a thirteen year old? he wasn't sure yet). He'd known where Tess Whitby worked, but it hadn't occurred to him yet that her work would have brought her to these sorts of things. Was she here now? It would have been conspicuous to look around and see. The man was still looking at him, with red in his cheeks now.

"Well, thank you," he said. He felt as though he should put them away to demonstrate that he meant it and was keeping them, but he hadn't brought a bag today and he wasn't sure what else to do with them. Would it have been disrespectful to fold them so they fit in a coat pocket? "I'll read them." And he would. Hopefully the sincerity in his tone was enough to convey what he'd failed to find the appropriate action for.

---

  

---

The man hadn't handed the pamphlet back to Declan, so Deck was at least half-inclined to believe that he was going to read it. Now, what would Tess do? Declan was not sure how interested Tess was in male activists, to be honest — they were probably less interesting to her than women, who were trying to actually win freedoms. That was fair. But he did know what her next question would have been, so he could follow her example.

He did a slight, customer-service style smile. "We have a mailing list," Declan said helpfully. "I can take your name down if you'd like to sign up to receive more materials and event invitations."

  

---

set by Bee