*Round Robin ‘Riting Sans Magic And Space-Time Travel
Suggested by Prarilius Canix, who pointed out “that the two sci-fi RRRs we had both had space travel, and the innumerable fantasy RRRs all had magic. I think it’s time to pull a Monty Python and say ‘And now for something completely different.’ I think that the writers on the blog (including me) might enjoy a challenge.”
Continued from Part 1.
Thanks, GAPAs!
A new thread is always our goal, but what good does it do?
I like it anyway. It’s easy to access. Thankee kindly, GAPAs dear!
I like Boston as a capital.
2- As you said, it’s easy to access. Also, it is on the main page, and thus will attract other bloggers who we may be able to recruit to the cause.
Abigail’s been followed for a substantial amount of time. Let’s switch over to Mark.
4- That’s the theory, anyway. List five times that a new thread has actually attracted someone that we’ve been able to recruit.
I stared out over the gently undulating hills. If I looked closely through the gap between two of them, I could just make out the masts of fishing boats and merchant ships bristling from the water of Boston Harbor. Beyond that lay the Atlantic, a dim, clouded haze. The rising sun sent shimmering beams through the swaths of mist.
Worldbuilding! *squee*
Sorry for multiple posts, but I am making a revised map of the world of SMAS-TT and I need advice. Several states were created during the time between the War of 1812 and the “present” of this story (1825.) What differences would there be in their orientation and names?
Here’s a bit of my reasoning. Suggestions appreciated.
Since Andrew Jackson died in the war, he would not have led the raid on East Florida, and Florida would still be part of New Spain. Perhaps Mexico would have tried to gain control of it when it declared its independence in 1821. We’ll ignore that for now.
Another important factor is the secession of New England. That would leave the United States with four free states (New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Ohio) to nine slave states (Kentucky, Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, Louisiana, Delaware, Maryland.) Thus, slave states far outweigh free states in the Senate. Assuming there’s an equivalent of the Missouri Compromise, there would probably be a significant push to create new free states in the Northwest Territory. The Michigan and Indiana territories might have been granted statehood, while Mississippi and Alabama would not. That still leaves three more states. Let’s call modern Illinois Wabash, after the Wabash River; Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula, Illinois (they were part of the Illinois Territory at the time); and the little uneven bit at the top (part of Minnesota), we’ll call… um… I don’t know.
Now you see why I need advice?
5- Perhaps you’re right, but here’s another reason that a new thread is good. People who are dedicated writers but have forgotten to visit an RRR recently may be reminded by the appearance of a thread on the main page.
7- No, I don’t see. With what do you need help? I’ll actually give it a shot. I have to look up anything I don’t know about, so I learn things when I try to help.
About the map. If you’re going to substitute “s”s for “f”s again, make sure you catch all the “s”s. The old map was inconsistent in that respect.
Oh! Let’s call the little state Sylvania, after a state in roughly the same position which appeared in Jefferson’s proposal.
Too many posts in a row, I know. So I’m not going to post yet. I’ll just minimize the window and let it sit there, and whenever I get an idea, I’ll add it to this post. Then, after the scroll bar appears, I’ll hit submit, by which time someone else will (hopefully) have posted and broken up the chain.
1 minute later: A question. What parts of Europe did Napoleon hold onto?
5 minutes later: Flags. Cat’s Meow, I really liked your NCA flag, but I think maybe we should do something that incorporates a few established emblems of New England. We can keep the major elements of your design, though. Another consideration: By my count, the United States at the time of the story has 18 states. How would the stars be arranged on a flag? Three rows of six?
10- I think He held on to France, Germany, Italy, Brussels, Holland, and a bit of Eastern Europe.
And Egypt!
Right, Didn’t He conquer Egypt?
11- Actually, France lost its hold on Egypt before Napoleon even became Emperor.
That reminds me. Napoleon’s army found the Rosetta Stone on the Egypt expedition. Off to do some research.
Later: Drat. The British got hold of it. It would have been cool to see the Rosetta Stone exhibited in Napoleon’s palace…
12- when?
12- When did they lose their hold on Egypt? Beginning of the 19th century. Or when did the British get the RS? About the same time.
10 – I think the stuff about the flags is fine. Perhaps the 18 stars could be arranged in uneven rows? Like…
*****
****
*****
****
You’ll have to imagine it, obviously, but something like that might work.
Alright. I’ve already created a map and added some cool effects with the GIMP. Should I send it in?
Now for the NCA flag. Maine was a state in 1825, but only because of the Missouri Compromise. All of the New England states were free states, so there would have been no pressure to balance them out. So Maine is still a Massachusetts territory in this world.
Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Rhode Island… that’s five states. So we have five stars. And five rings. One moment while I research.
I think we ought to do some variation on this. Wikipedia’s mostly harmless, right?
What if we put the pine tree in the middle, on a white background, then encircle it with five interlinked red rings? Outside the rings would be a blue background, with five gold stars arranged on it, so the symbolism of CM’s original design is preserved.
OK. That sounds splendid.
The map is in. But it probably won’t be posted for a while as the GAPAs are incredibly busy.
(18) Got it. Will try to post it tomorrow.
19- Thanks!
A note on NCA politics: Massachusetts has 22 electoral votes; Connecticut, 9; New Hampshire, 8; Vermont, 8; and Rhode Island, 4. Massachusetts, therefore, controls the vote unless at least three states throw their weight against it, and if Connecticut goes its way, the others might as well not go to the polls at all. There have been a few scattered protests over the issue, but it is not critical as the Confederacy is basically a one-party nation.
-awaits flag in anticipation-
20 – What party? If the USA still has the Republicans and Democrats, then what about the confederacy? The Confederalists?
21- In 1812, the USA had two major parties: Democratic-Republicans and Federalists. The Federalists in New England seceded.
The flag is finished. I’ll e-mail it tomorrow. CM, it bears little resemblance to your design, but I do have the gold stars and the red encircling the white. I hope everybody likes it!
Here is POSOC’s map, the full document, plus details. Click on the first one to see a larger version.
Wow! Thanks, milady Bunniful.
Lovely! I wish I had even moderate skills with Photoshop.
Awesome!
26- It’s the Gnu Image Manipulation Program (GIMP), not Photoshop. I’m glad you like it.
27- Ditto.
nice….
28- was it all from GIMP or did you have anything else?
30- I did most of it with Paint and used GIMP to add all the cool effects (sawtooth wave, gradient, smudging, &c.)
31- Paint. The only thing wrong with mac is it doesn’t have a paint-like program.
32- Really? Paint’s convenient for the simple stuff, but if you want to get fancy, GIMP’s your program.
Paint’s good for really basic stuff, but if you get really good with it you can make kewlith stuff.
Anyways, back to writing.
All right. Which is better, GIMP or Photoshop? Because if it’s the latter I’m not going to bother finding GIMP and downloading it.
35- I don’t know, as I’ve only used GIMP.
35- GIMP! Open Source like Celtx!
35 – I have no idea, considering I’ve only slightly fooled around with GIMP and not with Photoshop at all.
We’re back up, people!
Aaaand I have writer’s block. Sadly. I don’t know what to do next.
Hmm. Should we have Mark make up his mind (about joining the army) now?
40- Perhaps so. I certainly can’t think of anything else.
41- I don’t know. It would make more sense for him to do it when he hears about the invasion- more dramatic. Let’s zap my earlier post and go back to Abigail, shall we?
OK.
This new site is lightning fast!
*reads thread*
*hyperventilates*
Can I join this RRR?
45- Anyone is welcome. But…did you read BOTH threads, or just this one?
46- I read both.
47- Most excellent. We’re always glad to have new writers.
Yay! There are few people who’ll read that much just to join an RRR. I am one. Gwen was another. (Ah, I miss Gwen.)
Yes, I also miss The One Called Gwendolyn Hailing From the Multiple Large Bodies of Salt Water in the Oriental Direction.
yeah.
We seem better at world building then anything else.
I read quite a bit of Sea Roc to catch up with that. But I still haven’t read all of TerraFORMED, which is rather sad.
Anyways, what was the last post we wrote in?
348
So we’re picking up with France again?
54- No, the USA, I think.
I’m behind on this. I’ll compile it when I have time. Which may be in a while. A LONG while.
In the earlier thread, it was said that the federalists had seceded and formed the Northern Confederacy. Maybe I’m nit-picking, but it seems to me that federalists wouldn’t have formed a confederacy. After all, when the founding fathers were trying to draft some sort of a constitution and the came up with the Articles of the Confederacy, it was the federalists who initially opposed it. It seems more likely to me that they would have called it a union. Just something to consider.
56- Right after the Louisiana Purchase, a group of Federalists plotted to secede from the Union and form a Northern Confederacy. However, it fizzled when Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton and went into hiding. It seems to me that some Federalist leaders might have wanted to resurrect that idea at the Hartford Convention. But thank you for contributing.
57-Thanks for clarifying.
Hate to double post, but I just realized how annoying what I said in the post before was. I didn’t mean it wasn’t clear before, I just that slightly-confused me didn’t get it. Woops!
59 – Don’t worry. I’m rather confused as well, to tell the truth.
I was on the verge of replying with some piece of biting wit, when I was interrupted by a cry echoing through the forest. Judging from its volume, it couldn’t have been more than 30 (?) feet away.
“Abigail, Abigail!”
Inwardly, I whispered Drat. Outwardly, I said only, “Couldn’t we hurry up a bit.”
Julienne, who seemed eager to utilise every oppurtunity to insult me, smirked and said derisively, “If you managed to stay on your feet for a moment, we might have arrived before.” Choosing to ignore her, I repeated my plea and sped up my own pace. Grudgingly, the other bearers sped up too, and to my relief, my brother’s voice soon softened. A little more relaxed, but still wary of tripping again and provoking Julienne’s insults, I looked around and noticed that the forest had become increasingly familiar. We were nearing the creek where my mother was spring cleaning. The thought that I would soon be rid of my tiresome companions rejuvenated me a little and I walked on without mishap for some time. Gradually, it occured to me that if anyone was going to tell our glomy procession to stop it would have to be me, as my companions seemed to have no intention of speaking or any conception of where we were going.
“Right”, I said, “I think we can leave him here. My brother should be coming soon.”
Ok, my first attempt at a story post. I hope this is the right character (the right story actually) and that I haven’t comited on of the various bloopers I am capable of. Does it work?
60-thanks!
61- It’s great!
61 – Yes, it’s great!
Unceremoniously, Julienne dumped the unconciousman on the grassy hill that we had come out on, and it was only the strong arms of the men that he didn’t fall completely.
“Now that that’s accomplished,” Julienne said, turning to me. “What are we going to do with you?”
62/63- Squeeeeeeeee! Yay! Mission accomplished. Tanx!
What if we have Abigail stay with the wounded soldier and then when her brother shows up, she can say that she heard his cries and ran off to help him. Also, Julienne is a pretty French name, atleast more French than Abigail. Maybe she should be Lafayette’s relation. Also, is something cooking between Abigail and Samuel or was he just being nice to her?
Wow, idea overload.
*system crashes from memory overload*
Bang!
64 – Ideas are fun. I’ll try to respond to them all.
Abigail staying with the wounded soldier: Well, Abigail’s trying not to get found, so she probably wouldn’t agree to that. Now, what would be possible is Abigail’s brother showing up while all of them are still there, and some chaos evolving out of that.
Julienne: She might have French relations or something, and therefore side more with the French. We don’t really know much of their background yet, so we can really do whatever we want.
Abigail + Samuel: Well, Abigail is only 11 or 12, I believe people agreed earlier, so she might be a little young. The way I was thinking he was just being nice to her, since he’s a little shy and has probably never met someone quite like her before, but whatever you want to happen (well, whatever everyone else wants as well, but you’re one if 3-4 active writers right now) wants is what will happen. That’s what I like about RRRs is that everybody has pretty much complete freedom to write about whatever they want.
Great ideas, by the way. Keep them (and the writing!) coming!
(My apologies if there are lot of typos. The incredible shrinking comment box is plauging me right now.)
61- Looks good.
64- Not that I know of.
This thread is alive again. Awesome. Will write later this afternoon.
65- A lot of the people in New Orleans in the late 18th and early 19th century were from Acadia, a French colony in Canada that was taken over by the British. That’s where the Cajun population came from. So that’s a good idea.
Another idea: I don’t think, with the way the story’s going, Marie’s going to become very involved in the war. Suggestions? Here’s mine:
M. Bainruisseau brings home a mysterious set of papers marked with some distinguishing seal and a few enigmatic words. He works all night on them(although Marie doesn’t know this, he’s translating them into a cipher so that they can be sent to Saint-Pierre and Miquelon* safely. Parts for the steamship are being assembled there, and the letter contains the final instructions). The next day, Marie observes a fellow bearing the same papers heading into an unobtrusive cafe. She follows him and eavesdrops on the conversation which he engages in, overhearing his plans to cross the English Channel (illegally) and take the papers to London. Marie, who is understandably shocked that an informant has managed to steal the letter, does something rather rash: she follows him on board the ship.
I have no ideas beyond that, but it’s obvious that havoc will ensue.
67- Sweet…
67 – That sounds great.
Now, who wants to write?
“Why,” said Abigail, “I’ll stay here.” She met Julienne’s gaze for as long as she could, but had to break off. The contempt in the older girl’s eyes was unbearable.
“I thought you wanted to hide.”
Abigail had forgotten that entirely. “Oh. Yes.” But now she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t go back to the filthy little cottage anymore. It wasn’t the same, and she knew that these strange dirty people would stare at her. “But I ought to stay here,” she stammered. “Just to make sure my brother finds him,” she gestured to the prostrate soldier, and looked quickly away again. His color was worse even than in the cottage, and he was no longer even partly conscious.
Julienne made a scornful face, and Abigail blushed. Julienne knew exactly why Abigail was staying. “Whatever you say,” she said, her voice mocking. And then she turned and swept away into the forest. The others followed her. No one looked back.
Abigail sat down on a tussock of grass and wrapped her arms miserably around her knees. And then she waited.
70- Has Abigail started thinking in third person?
71- Oh, drat it all. I forgot the story was first person.
I’ll redo that…
“Why,†I said, “I’ll stay here.†I met Julienne’s gaze for as long as I could, but had to break off. The contempt in the older girl’s eyes was unbearable.
“I thought you wanted to hide.â€
I had forgotten that entirely. “Oh. Yes.†But now I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t go back to the filthy little cottage anymore. It wasn’t the same, and I knew that these strange dirty people would stare at me. “But I ought to stay here,†I stammered. “Just to make sure my brother finds him,†I gestured to the prostrate soldier, and looked quickly away again. His color was worse even than in the cottage, and he was no longer even partly conscious.
Julienne made a scornful face, and I felt myself blush. Julienne knew exactly why I was staying. “Whatever you say,†she said, her voice mocking. And then she turned and swept away into the forest. The others followed her. No one looked back.
I sat down on a tussock of grass and wrapped my arms miserably around my knees. And then I waited.
I heard the crunching of sticks in the forest before long, and I knew it was George coming to “rescue” me.
“Abigail!” he said, when he emerged from the forest, scooping me up in a bear hug. George is 22, so he’s allowed to do things like that. George set me back on the ground, and took me all in. I must have been a sight, covered in blood, with my new checkered dress ripped and torn until it looked more like a rag then the new outfit Ma (Ma? Mother? Sorry, I forget what she calls her parents) had made for me during the winter. “What happened, Abi?” he said, sounding a bit worried.Then he caught sight of the man. “Oh, who’s this?” he said, rushing over to feel his pulse.
“I- I-” I stammered. “I found him. And didn’t want to leave to get help, because then some wolf might eat him. Can we help him?”
“Oh, Abi,” George said, stroking my hair. “I don’t know if we can. He looks pretty hurt.”
“But can we try?” I said, faking tears. I knew that if I cried, George would forget to be mad at me, and hopefully Ma would too.
73- I think she calls her mother Mam.
74 – Okay, that works. I get confused, since each of them calls their parents something different.
George gave me a sad sort of smile. “Of course, Abi. Of course we can try.” he knelt beside the injured man again. “We’ll need to get him back to the house, but it’d be dangerous to move him in this state…”
I felt my face grow hot and tried to cover it with more false tears. Luckily George was looking at the soldier instead of me. “What’ll we do,?” I asked in a small voice, when I was fairly sure I was a normal color again.
“You run home and tell Pa what happened,” said George. “And get a bedsheet.”
I nodded and sprinted off.
Should we move on to someone else now? I could write more for Abigail, but I feel that we ought to move on.
65-Thanks. I am not personally a big fan of romance, just wondering. (I’m too lazy to go check how one insterts HTML smileys so I’ll just do it the boring way) : )
67- Sounds good!
*Does war dance to get rid of excitement about story*
Is this taking place in 1822?
Does Napoleon not invade Russia because of the British victory? Or did he, and did he go to Elba and come back? Or does he invade it sucessfully?
Also, Napoleon might have to die in the story becuase he’s already dead in real history (yes, I read the Muse issue about his death) but he was pretty sick. So I guess that this depends on how long the story lasts. I don’t know. So, wil he die? And does he invade Russia? And does he go to Elba?
*has memory overload*
*disk crashes*
76-I vote we move onto Abigail.
77- It’s in 1825, but the War of 1812 lasted to 1815.
So I can’t really answer the Elba questions. I don’t think he invades Russia (wasn’t that a huge failure with everyone freezing to death?), and I can’t even remember where Elba is, but wasn’t that the place to which he was exiled?
I know almost nothing about the actual history of this thing. I just write.
He could die, I guess. But it would have to be sort of near the end. Maybe. Maybe he dies and that sort of serves as a catalyst for . . . something or other.
We’re already writing for Abigail. Should we go to Marie or Mark now?
He went to Russia, but he managed to recover because the British were concentrating more on America.
78 – Exactly. I rely on POSOC to do my research for me.
On to…whichever betwen Mark and Marie hasn’t been written for for the longest. Marie is my guess, but I’m not sure.
80- Oh, I research stuff. I’m never going to be able to converse intelligently about history or anything else for that matter if I don’t do research. It’s just that I keep coming across more stuff that I don’t know, so my research doesn’t do much good. Plus when POSOC posts of his long history posts, it doesn’t sink in. I swear it goes in one…ear and out the other. (Except that it’s not an auditory thing.)
That’d be Mark.
…Or Marie.
Look, I have no ideas.
84- I have a couple. But I can’t write right now. Maybe later.
I have a couple, but I don’t like feeling a going back to find out what was up with Marie and Mark. -sigh-
85- Mark was admiring the sunset over Boston Harbor and thinking patriotic thoughts. Marie had just resolved to find out something about the invasion and whether there was any truth to Jean’s letter.
80-Agreed.
I meant Marie on my last post. Woops. Maybe we could have Marie’s father come home for lunch now and she could rush up to greet and interrogate him. And then..uh…stuff could happen (the informant stuff)?
87- Maybe when he comes home at night. I think he’ll have to stay at Napoleon’s palace for the rest of the day, and then work quite late.
88 – Sounds good. Who wants to write?
89- I’ll start, but I may have to stop soon because we’re going to the bookstore
By the time Father usually arrived home, I was practically bursting with curiosity, so when he didn’t come back until two hours later, I was determined to find out as much as possible as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, Father didn’t look in the mood for answering questions. When he burst through the door, he had shadows under his eyes, and his hair was in disarray. He was clutching a bundle of papers, each one stamped with a crowned eagle perched upon a thunderbolt. The Emperor’s personal seal. Obviously this was something important.
He planted a hasty, awkward kiss on Mother’s cheek and vanished into his study.
90 – You’re going to the bookstore at 8:30 at night!?
—
I waited for a few minutes so that my mother had retreated to her room before rushing to Father’s door and pressing my eye to the tiny crack at the bottom. I recoiled in shock as I saw him looking straight at me, arms crossed.
“Marie,” he said sharply. “I know you are there. Don’t stay at the door, daughter. Either come in or make your way down the hall to your room.”
91- Some bookstores are open pretty late…. like Powell’s.
And it’s kind of late and pretty hard to type ’cause I’ve got perfume on my wrists and I’d rather not get it all over the keyboard (actually, that wouldn’t be too bad
), so I’ll write in a bit/tomorrow.
Being naturally inquisitive, I bravely chose the former option.
“Hello Pa,” I said. He didn’t seem entirely pleased with my choice and I thought I detected a fair deal of impatience in his brow when he turned to me and said, “Well, what is it you want?” I gulped, unsure how to phrase my request for information. Never having been a particularly tactful person, I decided on bluntness. “Is it true that Napoleon plans to invade the Northern Confederacy?” I burst out. His gaze did not waver from mine for a long time. Then, finally, he said slowly, “Go to your room Marie {forgot her last name} immediately.” Having just seen a facet of my usually-mild father’s temperment that he had previously always concealed, I was not eager to disobey. Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I lingered a split second to examine the papers on his desk before scampering away. Among piles of useless papers, I had seen only one that interested me at all, a letter bearing Napoleon’s official seal.
Hope this works. Ok, have to go now.
*returns for a brief second*
Woops. I meant examined from afar, just something to imply that she hasn’t walked up to his desk, which I doubt he would tolerate.
Ok, now I actually have to go. Bye
“Go, Marie,” he said sharply.
I shook my head, almost definantly, but I obeyed. As soon I was out of my father’s sight, I ran to my room and sat down on my bed. I had to find a way to get that letter. This was no laughing matter, considering that France’s entire fate could be on the line if things went poorly. No matter what Father thought, he needed my help. And, by all means, I was going to give it.
I pulled out a tiny leather-bound notebook from the drawer just below my bed and opened it up to a dog-eared page towards the end. As I flipped through the book, I looked at the previous entries in it. Up until now, trivialities had constituted my deepest secrets and I read, “David is such a louse, but Mama and Papa humor him in all his silly whims because he’s a boy. I swear they hate me sometimes. You’re the only one I can confide these miseries to, diary. The world is so unfair,” with considerable embarassment. My entire world had changed since yesterday. I had gone from preoccupied fool to hope of my country. It was with these thoughts that I settled down to lay out a plan of action. To begin with, I made a feeble attempt to describe the letter (which, I was sure was what father had intended to conceal from me). I knew very little. A good five minutes of thought brought only: manila-colored, sealed with Napoleon’s red seal (I had no need to describe that, I’d seen it on enough of the papers Father brought home to be able to conjure up its picture vividly), one short inscription in black ink and a fine, but rushed, hand reading, perhaps “confidential.” Here I broke off abruptly. If only I had looked more closely, but fear of provoking father’s anger had dettered my. Inwardly I raged.
Hope this works. Lets take out the “before scampering away” in my previous post or 95 won’t work. OK, I’m really sorry in advance if this sounds bossy but I think maybe we should put something in between 94 and 95, just so the reader knows why she wants to steal the letter, otherwise it sounds as though she’s conspiring against her country. Maybe something like, “I didn’t trust father to keep that letter safe. For the good of my country, I knew I should steal it. from him” (just a little better written and explained). Other than that, I think its a really good post. Also, I think we should talk a little more about Mark’s life before recruiting him for the army, just go into a bit more detail. And last bit of bosiness before I go repent by throwing myself into a swarm of hpb’s, I think we should use the Francis Scott Key idea as a prologue. Does anyone want to write it?
*throws self into swarm of hpb’s*
*repents feverishly*
Woops. I meant “had dettered my observations”
Okay, please don’t popo me for triple-posting. I keep reading through my post and catching my stupid mistakes.
I meant better written and explained than what I had written right before the parentheses and I spelt bossiness wrong.
*repents feverishly*
96 through 98- It seems illogical for her to steal the papers. And it isn’t really necessary to the plot, either.
Ergh. I can’t think about this. Ren is about to be murdered by Vashkar on the other thread, and Tam’s already dying and needs to be rescued so that he can be traitorous and weak-minded in further books.
I’ll come back later, why don’t I?
99 – I don’t think she should steal the papers either. But from 96 post I got the general impression that she didn’t steal them, she was just writing down what she knew about them. Correct me if I’m wrong.
100 – Yeah, same for me.
I’m sorry I left the Sea Roc, but they were introducing all sorts of random deities and magics. I get antsy when magic gets too random. Except when it’s random from the beginning and revels in it, like in Etheterre, but I always envisioned magic playing a rather small part in the Sea Roc.
102 – It actually isn’t very random right now. Well, less so than before. We’re also at the climax, so if you wanted to come back we could probably use your help.
102- Believe you, it’s not easy to work on. At all. It’s so confusing. We have way too many plots going on at one time. I really desperately want to edit and cut out some of the more confusing stuff, if I can, but we have to finish first and then see what we need to write a sequel for.
While I was trying to understand some of my previous posts earlier today, I officially forgave you for leaving. So yeah. That took a while.
104- I meant to say “believe you me”, not “believe you”
I left as soon as you guys introduced Jarbun magic and the Unknowables. I almost left as soon as the Orb of Centaur was introduced.
104 – Honestly, by now I completely forget he had left at all. Forgive and forget, I say.
We’re going to need to edit both of these a ton.
106 – Jarbun magic hasn’t been mentioned much lately. I don’t even really remember what it is. And the Unknowables have been referred to, but nobody has figured out exactly what they are yet, as far as I know. Most of the plot centers around Tam/Ren’s fire talent and the Orb now. That, and the Pukises.
Jarbun magic has annoyed me ever since it was introduced. The Unknowables I can tolerate.
The whole story has taken a very different path now that Donaldo’s gone and kiwimuncher’s joined. Less magic, more blood.
106- The only thing about the Orb that bugs me is it’s name.
continuing from 93? 95 seemed odd.
109 – What WAS Jarbun magic, anyways?
110 – Yeah, sure. I wanted to write, but I wasn’t sure what.
111- Well, I just read my post about it earlier, but I don’t really know myself…
Donaldo created it with the intention of it being used to control people, but you couldn’t make them use their powers. I promptly forgot the latter part of this, and consequently I had to sort things out later. I think it was more like… “You can’t make them use their powers, but you can channel your own magic through them.” Etc. It’s really confusing. We should cut it out when we edit.
Yeah, I’ll write if someone else writes first.
Ok, I don’t think she should want to steal them either. I guess I just thought that was what your post meant (embarassed smiley face). Sorry, I just created a lot of confusion. Let’s make her not want to steal them. Just make what I wrote, “I settled down to write a description of that intriguing letter” and make the sentence before “I was no longer the preoccupied fool I had been, something great was happening below my very noise. ” or something like that. Okay, its not going to be very good, but I’ll try to write to get us through this sticky spot (I’ll write assuming she was just writing that description becasue she was intrigued by the letter). Let’s have the house broken into over the night and the papers stolen. If anyone has any prblem with theft though, I have no problems with our discarding this post.
I promised myself I’d try again in the morning and tired by my wild day, I settled down to sleep. My matress and down comforter were inhumanely comfortable and I soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
Once in the night I woke up abruptly and thought I heard a faint scratching just down the hallway. I assumed it was my father, keeping late hours to finish yet another of those extravagant projects Napoleon set him to finish (probably something to do with the letter) and fell asleep again with little difficulty.
I judged it to be about five in the morning when I was awoken by the sound of hooves pounding on a cobblestones. Eagerly, I looked out my window. Peering through the wisteria vines that covered my windowpane, I saw a carriage I recognized as my father’s leaving the house at a canter. In the split second before he dissapeared down the drive I thought I saw an expression of utmost alarm printed on his features.
Hope this works.
Really ugly repetition of the word sleep. Ah well. Hate my use of the word eagerly. Sorry about the confusion but I really disilike that.I AM GOING TO PASTE THE REAL VERSION BELOW. I know editing stage comes later but I can’t help it.
I promised myself that I would try again in the morning and tired by my wild day, I settled down to sleep. My matress and down comforter were inhumanely comfortable and no sooner had my head touched the pillow than I found myself plummeting into a land of pleasant dreams.
In the middle of the night I woke up abruptly, certain that I had heard a faint scratching just down the hallway. The word “burglary” occurred to me but I discarded it, adopting instead the more rational theory that it was my father, keeping late hours to finish yet another of those extravagant projects Napoleon set him (probably something to do with the letter). My fears satisfactorily quelled, I fell asleep again with little difficulty.
At about five in the morning (as far as I could judge my the darkness of the morning), I was once again awoken by the sound of hooves pounding on a cobblestones. Groggily, I looked out my window. Peering through the wisteria vines that covered my windowpane, I saw a carriage I recognized as my father’s leaving the house at a canter. In the split second before he dissapeared down the drive I thought I saw an expression of utmost alarm printed on his features.
This nagged at me as I dressed, washed my face and hands, and went downstairs to eat my breakfast. Mother [or whatever she calls her mother] looked worried too, and this only sent my fears rocketing skywards. I remembered the noises downstairs, and suddenly I found I had lost all my appetite.
“What’s wrong, Marie?” David asked, noting, perhaps, my pallor and the way I stared at my porridge.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing is wrong, is it, [Mother]?”
“Of course not,” she said, glancing at David.
I tried to eat my breakfast, acting as if there was no air of worry hanging over the household, but I failed. “I have a headache,” I said. “May I go to my room?”
“Of course, Marie,” said [Mother], and I gratefully fled the room.
I lay down on my bed and pondered the past night’s occurances. Could it be that someone had stolen the letters? If only Father had been more preoccupied with keeping them safe instead of keeping me away from the letters. Now it appeared my only chance was gone. I sat up, and realized that not all hope was lost. If anyone could find the thief, it would likely be me. Being a well-brought up lady, nobody would suspect me of anything, as long as I had a suitable male companion with me.
Of course, there was only one “male companion” that could put up with me, so it would have to be Cyprien. Beiefly I wondered if he would agree to be a part of whatever scheme I would come up with, but I buried those thoughts deep in my mind. Of course Cyprien would help. Cyprien always helped me.
There, I collapsed on my bed. It gave way beneath the weight of my worry. The look on my mother’s face had confirmed my fleeting suspicions of last night. There had been a burglary. And my instinct, which I was more inclined to trust after having discarded it with such disastrous consequences last night, told me it was the very same letter that had occupied my interest which was now gone. Slowly, I sat up and removed the tiny leather-bound book from my bedestead (where I had dropped it iny my weary state last night). I flipped through the book until I arrived at the page with my scanty description of the letter, all of that unfortunate epistle that remained in safe hands. Resolved to know for sure if it was gone, I set off downstairs to brave my mother and try to extract the secret. And, I was resolved, that if it was that letter, whose theft I might have prevented by standing up last night, was really and truly gone, I would make whatever efforts I could, however feeble they might be in the grand scheme to find and return it to my distraught father.
Oh, sorry Cat’s Meow. I didn’t see your post until I had hit submit. Let’s use yours. I’ll add on to it.
Cyprus was everything to me: brother, childhood friend, neighbor, etc. In the beginning, I had tolerated him for his usefulness (contrary to David’s stuborn refusal to help me) but over the years I had become increasingly fond of him. Now, he was my most trusted confidante. My mother approved of him, my father grudgingly tolerated him, and my brother David outright hated him (very complimentary to Cyprus if you ask me). I spent a good deal of each day at his house, discussing politics and life plans with him (he had somewhat less parochial views on a girls’ role than my brother), so my mother had grown use to my absence at home and my presence there.
More later.
Hope this works.
(((Is he new?)))
119- Cyprus/Cyprien? Apparently.
119, 120 – Yeah. It occured to me that we really didn’t know a ton about any of the character’s lives outside of a bit about their home life, so I added a character. He can probably go with Marie to the USA/NAC, if we decide to have him do that…
118 – That’s exactly how I was picturing him. -nods- Also, I originally had his name as Cyprien, but we can use either.
Woops. Embarased face. I meant Cyprien.
122 – All right.
—
I started to leave my room by the main door, but I heard Mother and Father’s agitated voices down the hall and thought better of it. Instead I opened my window and dropped down a few feet to the grassy ground below. I smoothed my skirt, hoping it wasn’t mussed up too much, and went on my way towards Cyprien’s house.
123-I love your post but we have a tiny continuity problem as her father is suppoused to be away. I have to go now, but I’ll try to write later tonight.
Should she find Cyprien before she sees the man with the papers? Or after?
124 – Oh yeah. Wait, he is? What post did he leave in?
125 – Before, probably, since he’s going to help her look.
126- Post #114. We can change it if need be.
I vote before. I also vote we take a short break from Marie and lifebuild on Mark before we plunge into action. This is moving pretty fast.
Okay, um, I guess I’ll write a word or two on Marie but then I have to go finish my hw so I can wake up early for Script Frenzy (squee!).
Once inside Cyprien’s house, so familiar to me from years of haunting it, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was only Cyprien’s presence there that did it, but the house always seemed to calm me and put my worries in perspective. The effect was particularly severe this time and I began to doubt if I had sufficient reason to be so worried, after all I had never had definitive proof that the catalyst epistle was really purloined. For a brief moment, I suffered mental agonies. In fact, I might have gone home at that moment, had not Cyprien appeared.
I know its sort of lame but I thought it might at least help with the momentum. Hope it works.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as always, and he wore a broad grin. “Hello, Marie,” he said cheerfully.
“Hello, Cyprien,” I replied, but my tone was far from cheerful.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.
I glanced around the hall, taking in the ceramic busts, the red-brown carpet, the stairs above where anyone could listen without being seen. “I can’t tell you here.”
“The garden, then?”
I made a doubtful face. Anywhere I went, there would be somewhere for an eavesdropper to hide. “Fine,” I said. “The garden.”
Eh, whatever.
-can’t think of anything to write-
This orange is distracting.
We walked to the garden and sat down on a marble bench, onto which wisteria and ivy vines drooped. Around us a multicolored array of flowers peacefully lay: geraniums, tulips, roses. I rubbed my feet against the cobblestones that paved the garden, revelling in their rough touch. I could not help but stop a moment to take in the beauty of my surroundings. Finally, in a soft voice I began to tell the story of the letter to my attentive friend.
Cyprien listened, and then, when I was done with my tale, stood up and began to pace around the garden.
“It’s certainly quite a situation,” he said, frowning slightly. “Someone’s clearly got to find and retrieve this letter, considering how protective your father was of it. I suppose it might as well be us than anyone else, considering how incompetent the police force often is.”
“That’s what I was going to suggest,” I said, relieved that Cyprien had promptly read my thoughts.
It was for these moments that I loved Cyprien. He had a thousand-faceted character. Sometimes the quiet dreamer and sometimes the matter of fact boy, he was prepared for whatever I lay before him. Someone else might patronizingly have told me to go back home and allow the adults to sort out all the problems, not to involve myself in wild schemes, and most certaintly, not to involve them in any of the aforesaid, but not Cyprien. Eagerly, I lay the plan that had slowly been forming in my head as I spoke, before him.
“More likely than not, the letter hasn’t been stolen for political reasons but because it would fetch an immense price on the black market. I think its reasonable to begin our investigations here in Paris, in the darker corners of the town.”
Cyprien looked at me a little strangely at first, but he nodded slowly after a few seconds.
“Many people in Paris wouldn’t be able to read the letter anyways, much less understand what it concerened,” he said. “I hate to say it, Marie, but what you say is right. But how to start? Paris is a huge city.”
“We’ll find a way, Cyprien,” I assured him. “Well, at least, I hope.”
—
I think we should move onto Mark now.
134-Sounds good.
I walked slowly back to the farmhouse to begin the day’s work. Overcome by the beauty of what I had just seen, I lay aside my thoughts for a moment and began to hum. My feet left imprints in the wet grass and I could feel them sloshing along. Beside, me my hands swung steadily and I squinted ocasionally to block out the already-bright sun. In this manner, I made it back to the farmhouse scarcely having even noticed that I was pointed the right away. I was careful to remove my boots at the door as Ma was very particular about cleanliness. Still humming the Star-Spangled Banner, I made my way into the kitchen where I saw my mother, already up and working, scouring pots and pans and stirring a pot with a wooden ladle.
“Morning, Ma,” I called cheerfully.
“Morning Mark,”she responded, then added, “But must you really hum that morbid defeatist song.”
“Sorry,” I replied a little ashamed, at my lack of patriotism, which I considered unnaceptable for a-soon-to-be soldier.
“All right,” she said in return, before turning her full attention to the contents of the pot. Thoroughly inculcated into our morning ritual, I began to set the table.
135 – That brings up an interesting point. What is the national anthem for the North American Confederacy?
136-Ooh. You’re right. I’ll try to do a little research but I’m hopeless at searches.
A couple of mins later:
Maybe this (we could tweak the references to the flag)
Song Of Freedom
Words by Florence A. Jones, Music by Franz Wald
Ring, O bells, from ev’ry steeple!
Tell the story far and near;
Let the breezes bear your echoes,
Freedom’s natal day is here.
Fire the guns and shout for freedom,
See the flag above unfurled!
Hail the stars and stripes forever,
Dearest flag in all the world.
Ring, O bells, and shout, O people,
Float, O flag, from sea to sea!
We, thy children, rally ’round thee,
Hail, O flag of liberty!
Float, O starry flag of freedom!
Flag our fathers died to save;
He on whom your shadow lingers
Never more can be a slave.
May “Old Glory” float forever,
High o’er vale and mountain crag,
See her stars on ev’ry ocean,
One dear country, one dear flag!
Ring, O bells, and shout, O people,
Float, O flag, from sea to sea!
We, thy children, rally ’round thee,
Hail, O flag of liberty!
Or maybe its too American. I’ll look a little more. I’m thinking maybe a Union song from the Civil War. I have one in mind but I can’t remember the title so I am waiting for a brainwave.
136- I don’t think it has one yet.
138- But the Civil War hasn’t happened yet, so its presence in this story would be anachronistic. I think it would be better if we made up our own.
Never mind what I said before. All the Union songs are too gory and belliegerent and inappropriate as national anthems (plus they all drone on about flags). Well, I’ll try more later.
As regards my post, I assumed that we were staying with the idea of the Star Spangled Banner having been written in a much more pessimistic tone.
140-*looks embarassed. You’re utterly right. Shal we do it in RRR format as well? I think it should be about the Northern Confederacy being united and having taken the place of the USA in terms of values.
142- I like the part about it being united, but I don’t think it should directly criticize the USA.
Thats fair. It seems like the USA and the NC are on pretty friendly terms, so you’re right, that wouldn’t quite make sense.
Maybe I’ll go look up the national anthems of small countries and see what themes they focus on. Or we could make reference to the pine tree (I think it was) on the flag. I don’t really know, lyrics honestly aren’t my thing.
10- I know its a little late to comment on post #10.
Anyway did you know sylvannia means woods! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
145- Yes, I did.
Can we please oh please delete my last story post, becuase I really hate it. Please. How about this instead.
I sat down on a wooden fence on the dew-loaded grass. Each of the delicate blades which I knocked with my feet as I swung them precariosuly back and forth was bent by the weight of a tiny glass jewel which sparkled in the morning sunshine. So I sat, cleared of all thoughts and absorbed in the beauty that surrounded me. After a long moment, I stood up and I could not help but feel that this was my nation. Omnipresent in all those tiny details that comprise a beautiful morning was my feeling of responsibility for keeping this splendor as pristine and spectacular as I had found it. With this in mind, I strolled back to the farmhouse, ready to embark on a day’s chores. As I walked, I hummed softly. In the morning splendour, even the maple beams that held together my home seemed to be shining. It was difficult to resist skipping like a larger version of Audrey and had it not been for my feeling of decoroum I most certaintly would have.
I’ll try to write a first draft of the national anthem, if nobody objects. Is it called the North American Confederacy?
148- I believe the official name is the Confederacy of New England States, but nobody uses that. They just call it the Northern Confederacy.
148 – Okay.
Hey, POSOC, would you be willing to post a profile of yourself (with age, appearence, interests, and stuff like that) so I can include you in my Script Frenzy?
Scratch that. I found one on the Muser Profile thread.
I sort of want to write But I’m sort of too lazy. Maybe I’ll write a sentence or 2 for kicks (because I am so not several pages behind with my screnzy).
Although the respledent beauty receeded almost immediately when I stepped inside, the air still had something of that magical quality in it. In the kitchen, I found my mother scouring some pots and pens and stirring something with a wooden ladle. Inculcated in our morning ritual, I begain to set the table.
Uh. Yeah. I know this is a
fillernot-altogether too useful bit but I *has no excuse*.Ugh. I wanted the strike to stop after filler but it just wouldn’t listen. I need to go take a short trip to the HTML practice thread or maybe go back and check the guide. Ah well.
[Repaired courtesy of the HTML gnome. –Admin.]
Sorry about the triple post.
How are things going on the anthem front?
(I think I might be addicted to this thread)
*prepares self for popopoing because of her triple post*
I think I’ll write some.
“Morning, Ma, I called cheerily as I lay down three bowls.
“Mark?” She said questioningly.
“Right on,” I replied.
“Well, lovely to see you up and about. Good morning.”
“Charming sunrise today,” I said (a little discontinuously, I’ll admit.)
“Was it? All I’ve seen this morning as far as views go is this wooden ladle”
I replied with some expression of mock sympathy and she laughed.
“Cut your cheek and wake up your brother. He can feed the chickens, tell him not to forget the pebbles this time unless he wants them all to come down with digestive problems again and you take the cows.”
I made my way up to the garret bedroom I shared with my brother and shook him softly. Ordinarily, I would have devised some cruel means to startle him from his sleep but I was softened by my morning excursion. Audrey, not having been on it, was not.
“Get off,” he growled.
“Not a chance,” I said. He had reached up a hand to slap me with but I caught it and pulled him up.
“Its too early,”he said groggily.
I guess I’m in a scripty mood. That would account for my sudden obsession with dialogue.
155- I’m really bad with description, so all I ever really write is dialogue. =\
I was about to write but I remembered my project, so I can’t. I’ll see you in a few hours.
153-*loves the HTML gnome* Thank you ever so much!
156-You are so extremely not bad with descriptions that it’s insane and that is final. Have fun with the project.
157- Thank you.
And the project is NOT fun and not even done yet. Ugh.
158-*pies with you-can-do-it pie* I know what you mean. I just finished my history (or mostly finished anyway) but I still have an English paragraph and math sheet due. *dies discreetly* *revives* Oh gosh, the thought of that really puts me out. And I doubt I will even be able to write today. My dance teacher has this saying, “Less homework, more art” and I am beginning to realize its value more and more. I seriously need to stop complaining about my homework on every signle thread several times, though. *pies self with spike pie* THat was a very long and very very irrelevant rant so I will now write one sentence to make up for that.
“It always is,” I replied cheerily.
Tada! My one useless filler sentence. Appreciate its worth.
159- *appreciates*
Oh, I forgot about the math questions. And my Field and Lab report…. *cries* For all I know the thing is due Wednesday and I don’t have any time! I’ve got the Improv meeting during Tutorial on Tuesday, so basically I have tomorrow and Tuesday after school to write an F&L report and I DON’T HAVE A HYPOTHESIS!!!!!
Anyway, having contributed to the homework rant, I will now stare blankly at the story until I get inspiration.
*stares blankly*
Aubry grumbled at me as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, and rolled out of bed. Ignoring his laments, I winked cheerfully at him and made to retreat down the stairs.
“Oh,” I added, remembering. “Ma says to feed the chickens, and don’t forget the pebbles.” And then I vanished. I heard something hitting the wall in front of which I had been standing, and laughed.
160-*appreciates appreciation* That homework stuff sounds almost as painful as being pied by a spike pie! Or maybe not. Or maybe more. I’m not entirely sure. Well, good luck. You’ll manage. I’d pie you yet again, except that would be redundant. By the way your post (particularly the ending) made me crack up because I thought of Audrey throwing a pie.
Downstairs, I sprawled on a wooden chair.
“Done,” I said.
“Excellent. Now what did I say about your milking the cows,” said my mother, still engaged in stirring.
“Right,” I muttered before standing up once again. At the door I pulled on my wellies. THey were black and a little too big, having been my fathers. As I walked through the morning grass, I could hear them sloshing in the wet grass. I paused a moment in front of the barn to look through the window of my bedroom. To my surprise, Audrey had succeeded in getting up, and was now dressing himself, with a look of utter annoyance plastered on his features.
Okay. I think I am going to take a short break from writing after this and just lurk on this thread, bothering everyone. I feel like I’ve been writing a little too compulsively and ignoring my Script Frenzy a little too much.
Hooray for double posting! *tries to remember reason for visiting thread* *fails miserably* But see now that I’m here I can’t really just go without making my presence known so to make this post semi-relevant I’ll just ask the ultimate filler question:
Anthem?
Right. *hands over choklit in advance* Sowwy.
Sorry I haven’t been on much. I’ll try to write the anthem.
163-No rush. I am mostly asking that question to avoid making totally irrelevant posts.
He caught sight of me staring at him and made a hideous face. I laughed uncontrollably and made my way into the barn, mostly to escape the torrent of insults that would probably follow and which, heard from below a bedroom window would probably send me into fits of convulsive laughter that would be unlikely to end in any rational period of time.
Ugh. I’m not in a very RRRing state of mind right now. Sorry.
me neither.
166/7-S’okay. I just sort of wrote that for kicks. Its a bit of a filler anyway.
All right, I’m writing an anthem and setting it to the tune of “Barbara Allen.”
169-Sounds very cool!
Oh, this is too hard! I’m just going to write an anthem and set it to my own tune.
On another note (no pun intended), I’m writing a little alternate history on the side. It’s set in an America where New York, North Carolina and Rhode Island didn’t ratify the Constitution, and the United States didn’t end up quite so united.
I think that a new thread would be very good for this RRR? If we make it to *estimates* 200, can we get one?
172- Perhaps so.
Mark’s been followed for a while. Switch?
I think switching would be good? Marie or Abigail?
I think my vote goes to Marie for a little and then Abigail for a while…
I am by nature an impatient person. I think I’ll write a passage on Marie. If anybody objects, I am perfectly ready to luanch it into the cyberspace void without any qualms.
Cyprien’s question caught me off guard. Typical of my “hasty”, as my mother liked to call it ,character, I had envisioned a grand adventure without a single though for the nitty-gritty essential details. My mind raced through all the shady “rue”‘s and “jardin”‘s of questionable character that I was aware off. My ignorance was laughable. And, as usual, Cyprien detected it immediately. “Why not try the cafe?” he asked. The little cafe on Reve Gauche, just beside the pont Mirabou, was one of our favorite haunts. In summer, when we tired of the stifling heat of our houses, we retreated there. In winter, when the brisk and bitter wind strewed discord in our houses, we rushed into its cozy interior.
And, now, faced with an enormous dilemna on which the future of a nation might hinge, it seemed appropriate to retire there.
What is she asking about? I to tried to look up.
Cyprien is asking where they should begin their investigations.
The cafe originated in a cozy, if a little hazy interior, then sprawled outside, into a series of marble tables perched on iron legs and shielded from the direct glare of the sunlight by murky green umbrellas.
Is this thread altogether deceased? I’d be crushed to see it go.
179- I’m still here.
Huzzah? It felt so prosaic. I love this story. If it were to die, I’d lay flowers on its grave every day and bemoan its loss on the random thread.
me to.
Yay! *does a this-thread-is-not-dead dance*
I will write here tomorrow. A long post. If I break this promise, pie me mercilessly, pile ashes on my head, and denounce me before the blogular community.
184- Oh dear, that put a nasty picture in my head. *shudders* I don’t think I’d have what it takes to do a thing like that.
I should write. I think I will.
~
Cyprien and I sat under these umbrellas, sipping tea. On ordinary days we would talk of many things, but today we were silent and pensive.
Cyprien leaned back. “Do you have any idea of what the papers might be?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m not sure, but they had Napoleon’s seal. If Bonaparte is personally involved, they must be extremely important.”
Cyprien mulled this over. “I hate to tell you this, Marie, but it makes more sense for us to go to the gendarmerie. They’re far better equipped to handle this than we are.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re not supposed to know about this. We’re not supposed to know about this.”
“Well, l’Empereur knows about it. I’m sure he’s working at all hours to find these papers, if they’re as important as you’re convinced they are.”
“Look, Cyprien,” I said, leaning forward, “if Father told Napoleon Bonaparte that he’d lost extremely important letters that had been entrusted to his care, he’d not only be out of a job, he’d be branded untrustworthy for life- if they suspect the worst, accused of treason. Would you want to see your father end up on the guillotine?” Cyprien’s eyes widened. I could see he hadn’t understood the gravity of the situation until now. “I have to do something.”
Cyprien shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t share my propensity for wild schemes, atleast not to such a degree, and I could tell he was a little disconcerted, but, typical of the good friend that he was, he only smiled and said, “Alright, Marie.”
“What’s the plan?” I said.
“Well…”
~~~
No ideas.
I decide on bluntness as my best tactic. After all, if I am on the verge of embarking on a great adventure with Cyprien, total trust and sinceruty wil be necessary. “I have absolutely no idea,” I say. Cyprien, to my utter shock, begins to laugh.
189- Past tense!
190-Oh yeah!
Just noticed that. Let’s junk that passage anyway as it isn’t very good and write from TMFA’s!
“I haven’t really got one,” I confessed, in a moment of blunt sincerity.
Cyprien looked at me, cocked his handsome head to the side, and burst into fits of irrepresible laughter.
I will quadruple post on this thread now. If no one comes and redeems me, I will cintuple post! So ha! Oh and delete my last post, please, whoever is keeper.
“Marie, Marie, Marie,” he said in tones of mock remonstrance. “We’re off to catch a mastermind of some sort and you drag me to a cafe with no particular plan of where we go next.” I smiled. I was too finely attuned to Cyprien’s moods to feel insulted by his words. “Yes, that just about sums it up,” I responded cheerfully. “Hmm…well atleast we’re perfectly aware of our position,” he continued, unable to supress a grin. He smiled, a wave of understanding rippled across the table, and we sat a moment in content silence. The waiter approached. “Good afternoon Monsieur, Madame, would you like something to eat. The Cafe Reve Gauche can offer you a fine selection of tartines, soups, and salads. Or perhaps a little something to drink,” he said in a slick voice.
Or maybe don’t delete the last one. *sighs* I’ve created an immense continuity problem. *gulps* Ah well! I’m going to continue writing on this and infinite-posting until someone takes pity on me and writes something.
*has writer’s block* *posts anyway*
Hi. Just reminding you that I’m still here…
196-Thank you for saving me from the indignity of cintuple posting (unless I already did) and for *breaks into sobs* being there! ; )
Cyprien and I were prepared. Without even pausing to cast a glance at the menu, we ordered croque monsieurs. The slick waiter looked at us with his beady eyes and said, in a voice that disconcerted me, “An excellent choice,” before sweeping off into the kitchen.
And then everything happened very quickly. If I hadn’t been scrutinizing the man so vigilantly, I might never have noticed it, and if I hadn’t been imbued with reckless instincts I might never have responded in the imprudent way I did. But I was and I did. Through the glass panes inlaid in the kitchen door, I saw our garcon swagger to the counter. There, he stood a moment in silence, surveying the scene with an air of nonchalance that would have been more fitting for a king than a humble waiter. All of a sudden, he was shattered in his reverie. I saw a hand reach through the kitchen windowpane and tap him lightly on the back. He turned, as if expecting a signal. Transfixed, I watched a brief exchange take place before our waiter slipped something into the other man;s hand: a crumpled piece of, or so it appeared, paper. In a moment, I was shaking Cyprien, and giving him a breathless, but very quiet so as not arouse suspicion account of what I had seen.
I am sorry if its awful. I just wanted to get the action moving.
Cyprien looked eager for the chance to stop floundering about and make some decisive action. “Let’s follow him, Marie, it can’t do any harm,” he said. Eagerly, I aqquiesced. We were about to stand hureedly up, when a thought struck me. “The food,” I hissed, “We can’t arouse the waiter’s suspicions by simply disappearing after having ordered. Maybe we should stay a minute.” Cyprien looked at me as though I were insane. “You think we’d ever find the man again. It’ll be difficult enough as it is. There’s not a moment to lose. Come on!” he said, raising his voice dangerously high. My qualms were far from quieted, but I had rarely seen Cyprien so excited about anything and thought it better to go along with him. “Fine,” I muttered, and allowed myself to be dragged onto the street.
Shall we go back to Abigail? Atleast for a little while. Also, I foresee a problem in the near future. How will Marie communicate with Abigail and Mark if she only speaks French and they’re linguistically limited to English.
201- Are they going to communicate? I can’t remember.
What are Abigail’s and Mark’s backgrounds? In this era, if they’re well educated, they might be expected to know some French at least.
202-Marie was going to stowaway to America, chasing the letter thief. She’d have to have some means of communication while there. Besides, it seems to make sense to have them meet after we’ve spent so long expounding on their characters. Otherwise, having three of ’em is a bit arbitrary if you catch my drift!
203-Unfortunately, they’re both essentially farm children. I very much doubt they’ve been to school or had any education beyond basic literacy and sums. I may be mistaken though, as I wasn’t around for their initial development.
203- Mark’s parents have tried to educate him well, but he really isn’t much concerned with schoolwork, so he might know just the barest rudiments. Abigail’s another matter. She lives in New Orleans, which had a major Acadian population even then, so it’s possible that she speaks it quite well.
Also, Marie is very interested in getting a good education, so it’s possible she’s learned English.
In that case, Abigail and Marie might have some difficulties understanding each other’s French. Seems likely there are plausible reasons Marie would know some English, too. Again, I don’t remember her background (sorry), but she could have had an English governess or tutor or perhaps a relative in diplomatic service. That might explain some of her interest in politics. Anyway, there are plenty of ways you can have them able to communicate in some rudimentary fashion at least.
Hmm…yes, it seems plausible that Marie knows some English. And Abigail could know some French.
Cyprien was impatiently tapping his foot. “Maaaarie!” he grumbled, a little too loudly for my tastes, “How are we ever going to find the theft and recover this epistle if you lounge about all day.” Cyprien had undergone one of his rapid transformations from indolent sloth to adventurous explorer, and I didn’t feel like putting up with his rapidly undulating mood. “Look who’s talking,” I hissed, before storming off, as quickly as possible, towards the street, down which I had seen the waiter’s companion go.
POSOC COME HERE!!!!
Here’s more of the Rothschild/Warble story.
And it hadn’t stopped at that. The furious storm that descended on them a few minutes after had certainly not been natural–the sky had gone from the clear blue one saw only outside the cities to a roiling purple-black within seconds, and the hailstones were of a frightening size. Again, the meteorite-iron had protected the train from damage, but the mood created by watching hailstones the size of your heads whiz past you mere feet away was not a pleasant one. By the time the storm had ended, Patrick was shaking all over, and he had gratefully fallen into slumber.
ARGH! I posted it on the wrong thread!
Sorry ’bout that. I’ll go put it on the right thread now… *slinks off*
210/211-You raised my hopes! And then you dashed them!
Ah well!
I am switching to Abigail. Any objections? Voice ’em now! I wouldn’t powerplay only obviously Marie isn’t attracting a tremendous amount of enthusiasm…
Last Abigail sentence:
“You run home and tell Pa what happened,†said George. “And get a bedsheet.â€
I nodded and sprinted off.
I’ll continue from here ASAP!
Running into Ma would only slow me down. She would drown me in a thousand questions and remonstrance before I even had a chance to open my mouth and explain the urgency of the situation. To avoid the diversion, I headed straight for the house, praying Samantha (my pesty younger sister) had forgotten to lock the back door. Again, brambles tore at my dress, but without Julien’s derisive presence, I found it somehow easier to bear.
I plan on reviving this thread if its the last thing I do.
Driven forward by my sense of the situation’s gravity, I ran, and quickly arrived at my house. To my utmost dismay, Samantha had, for probably the first time in her entire short life, remembered to do her job. To return to Ma now would be akin to sentencing the soldier to death so it seemed an appropriate time to abandon conventionality. I gulped. The window was a little ways of the ground and I had no particular propensity for climbing, but, I figured, what must be done must be done. Repeating this maxim over and over again, I climbed up the side wall by grabbing onto the shingles and darted throught the window. Back on the ground, I breathed a sigh of relief: the firm earth was welcome.
((I’ll try to get onto this, but I’m working on my FanFic right now… I’ll come here in two weeks time, after school is over! Is that okay?))
216-Fantastic! Thank you! *sends choklit*
The window opened on to our little kitchen, two doors down from the bedroom, my final destination. Barely pausing, I sprinted down the hallways, vaguely conscious that I was splattering mud on the floor and would be “in for it” when Ma came home. I skidded around a corner and slipped into the room I shared with Samantha and Jospehina. In one deft move, I seized the sheets from my bed, folded them into a tidy bundle, and set off once again.
Luckily, our door could be opened from the inside without a key, so I was saved from yet another escapade involving muddy footprints all over the kitchen counter and the further destruction of my poor dress.
Back in the woods, I clutched my bundle and hurried back to where George sat, tending the injured soldier. When I arrived in the clearing, he was bent over, seemingly emersed in cleaning the soldiers wounds. Ma had always said the George would have made a fine doctor if he’d been born into the right station of life. He hadn’t however, and that was the end of the debate. Ma had a strict sense of everything’s proper place.
“I brought the sheets, George,” I said. He issued a noncommital grunt. Unwilling to upset his concentration, I said very softly, “Where shall I lay them?”
Without looking up, he told me to “soak them in spring water and bring them over.”
Eagerly, I complied.
When I had soaked the sheets to my satisfaction and given them to George, I inquired as to what I could do to be of further assistance. He provided me with laconically phrased verbal instructions, “Get help!” Accordingly, I set off, a little apprehensive of the not-so-warm-reception I was sure to get from my mother.
I wish I could write here, but I can’t think of anything.
221-Atleast you showed up. That heartens me and gives me the strength to continue writing my fairly pathetic fillers…
Actually, I had an idea, if I can sit still. long enough to write it down.
Hmm. Oh yes.
As a matter of fact, my reception was perfectly warm, but less in a cozy way than a fiery scolding. “Abigail Hope Sanderson,” she railed. “I don’t know what–”
But I cut her off there. “Mam, Mam, there’s an injured man in the woods, and he’s really bad, and George told me to go get help, so come quick please!”
All her anger vanished and she became a bustling whirlwind, yelling at one of the girls to go fetch Pa, grabbing a blanket from off a bed, and then ordering me to lead the way into the woods.
“What’s the blanket for?” I asked timidly.
“It’s to be a stretcher, Abigail, there’s no other way to move an injured man.”
233-Thank you ever so much!
*bashfully and tentatively* GAPAs, do you think we could possibly continue this on a new thread. It might revive interest. I know we don’t have too many posts, however, you granted us a new SSS thread with even less…
Purlease!!!!
Danke.
(224) Sorry to say, it seems to be in the nature of RRRs that at a certain point in their development participation dwindles to a handful of faithful writers, and new threads don’t change that.
I’d write, but It’s to hot…
225-yes. I refuse to stray from the alchemy thread!
I was so excited about this RRR in its beginnings and helped with the planning, but once it got started it was so fast I couldn’t keep up. But now that school is almost over and the thread seems to be slowing down, I’d love to join!
Who is the keeper? Should I read through all of the threads, or is there a document somewhere?
225-How about the Sea Roc? A new thread revived that even after Alice was the only one left posting on it. *is rather pointlessly optimistic and cheery* *feels demanding and fairly silly*
226-S’okay! Thanks for showing…
228-I believe POSOC is keeper. The last keeper version is a while back, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to that ordeal. If you were considering joining, I’d be only too happy to post a detailed-ish summary for you, though!
I’ve been totally neglecting this… I really need to catch up. School’s almost out, so it’ll be a good project for a summer afternoon when I have nothing to do.
I blushed at my ignorance. What had I thought? That he would walk…likely, indeed.
Without further ado, I passed Ma one of the blankets lying conveniently by.
Really silly, I know…
She hastily seized it. “Well, don’t stand lolling about, Abby. If there’s a man dying, would you please show me the general direction in which to walk?”
“Sorry, ma,” I grumbled, thinking her anger a little in excess. Within moments, we were walking, or rather running, down the path I had so recently trodden, as I gave her a flustered account of his injuries.
I concluded by saying. “And I left George tending to him.” Ma grunted her approval of this scheme and we trotted in silence for a moment, before converging upon the clearing I had so recently left.
“George, Ma’s here,” I shouted. “Shh,” he hissed, “you’ll disturb him; his fever’s bad enough as it is.” I retreated angrily, and Ma stepped forward. I saw her approach George, whisper something in his ear, and then beckon to me.
While Ma’s anger was explosive, George’s was effusive. I could tell he was still smarting from my incosideration of his patient and as I approached he glared at me in a fashion most uncharacteristic to his gentle brow.
I hung my head and mouthed, “Sorry,” but by then he and Mam had bent over the wounded man, and I was left to fade into the background, which I did, reflecting on the unusual morning.
236-Thanks for writing!
And for saving me from the indignity of *counts* quintuple posting!
237- No problem.
Gurgle! Total writer’s block! Lack of ideas+natural indolence=Hypatia’s not writing and annoyance
Anybody have any objections to my switching to Mark?
240- No objections here.
Knock Knock!