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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 3, 2011 14:45:58 GMT 1
far too English to say that stuff out loud! Okay. Might try again after Friday evening (and half a dozen pints maybe) If you're paying for half a dozen pints, you're on
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Post by lieden on Feb 3, 2011 17:29:26 GMT 1
Ahh, I knew it. For the record, Britons' drinking habits scared me off the country! D:
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 3, 2011 21:02:02 GMT 1
And for good reason! I live right across the road from a pub, You do not wanna live there on a Saturday night!
Useless fact of the day: The 1st of January 1565 really was a Friday.
3rd February, 2011
1/1/1565, London
My training is complete. Soon, I'll take up arms for the Order.
Walter says it would be foolish to send a initiate with scant months of experience out alone. I'm to work with William. We're to watch each other's backs until I'm "a little less green"
I don't resent his words. I'm new to this, and Walter has much more knowledge about these things. He should, he claims to have entered the Order at a younger age than even myself!
William and are to ride north on Monday, to collect weapons from some allies of Walter's.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 3, 2011 21:30:51 GMT 1
4th February 2011
Time for the bi-weekly ex-boyfriend Facebook stalking.
Click, click... J.O.N. Come on now: Jonas. How many Jonases are there who I might know? Do I have to type the whole bloody name?
Now we're so distant that Facebook doesn't even think I know him. I used to know him better than anyone. I just want to see if the picture has the new girlfriend in it. Just want to see what she LOOKS like.
Picture of his dog. Okay, well then I want to know her name.
Click.
Yeah, well. I wish I hadn't done that.
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Post by lieden on Feb 3, 2011 21:48:09 GMT 1
Glow, are you writing in continuity? This is getting interesting!
And, ah, the drinks conversation decided my (early) entry for tomorrow!
4th February 2011
I never got out much on Friday nights in Edinburgh, but I had ample evidence of what was going on. On Saturdays, the nearby – normally pristine – park turned into a refuse dump. An empty pack of fish and chips here. A few steps away, bits of fish and chips. Further off, partially digested fish and chips. On really bad days, you could even stumble on the person who had eaten (or tried to eat) the fish and chips. And all this mess was never cleaned up before late on Sunday morning, when it was certain that everyone had sobered up.
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 3, 2011 21:53:02 GMT 1
Thanks! I've been writing the same overarching story over these two batches, yeah.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 3, 2011 21:53:18 GMT 1
I want fish and chips.
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Post by lieden on Feb 3, 2011 21:57:11 GMT 1
Me and my goldfish attention span! Buch: you get the fish and chips, I get the mushy peas.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 3, 2011 22:00:58 GMT 1
I hate mushy peas - that sounds like a good deal!
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 4, 2011 3:20:19 GMT 1
3 February 2011
The puppy still thinks that she is starving. Despite three feedings a day, she still makes every effort to steal my dinner and attack the bin where I keep the puppy chow. The thing that gets me is that she *knows* which bin is "hers", and I never even feed her in the kitchen. She's a clever, determined girl who has already shown me that I have a decent sized gap between a fence post and the back of the house that will likely become her favorite escape route once the snow drifts melt away. If they ever go away.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 4, 2011 12:42:33 GMT 1
Chantress, I feel like a philistine for saying it but I like reading about your dog more than I like reading people's fiction entries. ;D
Seriously though, you're doing them well.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 4, 2011 16:44:43 GMT 1
Thank you. I'm certainly not running out inspiration. 4 February 2011 People who say that they are taking cat naps must mean that they intend to sleep by a sunny windowsill for a few hours at a time. The puppy does not do this at all. She sleeps in far shorter intervals before she's wide awake and seeking something to destroy once again. I have given up trying to catch up on sleep the conventional way. I am now sleeping on her schedule: sleep for an hour or two when I can and raise hell for the rest. I just hope I don't take on her Hobbit-sized appetite as well.
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 4, 2011 23:47:16 GMT 1
4th February, 2011
4/1/1565, Surrey
Leaving London at dawn, we've rode north nearly all day. Walter says this trip is vital, no matter how lengthy.
According to William, some friends of Walter's occupy a small farm on the border of Hertford county, working the land by day, and committing burglary by night.
Night approaches, we draw close to our destination. I'm utterly exhausted. I haven't spent so many hours on horseback since I was a child.
William notices me struggling to keep up. He's more accustomed to stretches on the road.
"That's enough for today. We rest" He decides. Thank God.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 5, 2011 1:00:41 GMT 1
5th February, 2011
With a weary sigh of resignation, Johnny looked out of a familiar window onto a... let's say 'sea' of snow. The animals were gone, but a lone pig stood at the right of his field of vision, almost smiling.
Flecks of dirt clung to his pallid skin, but he didn't notice. It had been a long day and Johnny had nothing to write. I mean, do. He had nothing to do.
But he had to do... something before he went to bed. So he stared at the snow, mumbled to himself.
Was it really any different to any other night?
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 5, 2011 22:16:58 GMT 1
Continuing from last month's batch.
5 February 2011
The Sandman raised a sandbag slowly above the Chili Thief's head. He could feel its contents drift slowly over him like a thin golden dust. As he fought to keep his eyes open, he thought he heard River cursing, shouting something about her ankle being bitten. He tried to turn his head towards her voice, but he saw nothing but an emerald green lawn with a tacky neon rainbow overhead. He could hear fairies sing their simple songs around his ears, and that made him fight harder to stay awake. He hated fairies. The buggers always pulled on his ears.
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