*A message from Foxmorton:
Every now and again really cool stuff happens in my life....in this case it involves a wondrous lass I met at last year's reenactment. You know how when you meet someone and you just know immediately they're a kindred spirit? Well, this was the case. In following Violet's blog she apparently had a few tid bits of her own to add.......
And so, forthwith, unbeknownst to Violet, a PLOT TWIST written and sent to me by me new friend and fine mate: Libby Boswell.
I present it to you with humble gratitude to her for allowing me to share such a fine gift! Ain't creativity grand?!
Aye well....little Violet may well wonder who set her up for the lobsterbacks.
You see we goes back a long ways....quite a long ways....not that far back dammit!! (cough) just to convent school. Aye... that far back.
You see while I were sittin making nice, tryin to worm me way into the inner circle of Lady Ath-ole, what should I hear from the back of the Lovely Ladies Tea (where I remember not to drop my haitches, and hoist me pinky)? I heard that VOICE!!! Well, that and th fart--I'd neer forgit either.
You see whilst sufferin through the purity o the Sisters of Perpetual Penance and Guilt's School for Possibly Redeemable Girls, I had discovered certain nooks and crannies where I could go to be more myself, like, and mayhap bring a friend or two of similar mind.
The broom closet...Sister Pancratia's armoire...The candle cupboard. Ah the memories! I had had set me sights on Carmen Bombazella--oh sweet mercy the sound of the creaking of her bodice strings on every inhaled breath were the stuff of me fevered dreams for weeks!!! So there we were..in the candle cupboard..about to discover the staying power of a #12 Advent Special when I heard that VOICE....
You see, I had no idea that the wee Miss Violet, dreaming of all things piratical e'en then, had been experimenting in the candle cupboard with making her own gunpowder...under the theory, I suppose, that no crew of self-respectin pirates would e'er turn down a lass what could produce her own ammo.
Aye well then. Wee Violet has ne'er had a head for the mathmaticks, so just as I struck me steel to flint, the better to see and appreciate Miss Bombazella's soon to be freed bounty....
I heard the fateful words "I wonder if that's too much sulfur?"
The flash and bang what resulted drove out the walls, and blew an 8 armed candelabrum through the ceiling and up through the retired nuns dormitory, where it skewered Sister Hepatica's pet parrot like a Christmas kebob. #8 Paschals rained down on frightened
juniors like cordwood, a thick grey ooze from smoldering lard covered the floor and the massive doorknob flattened the parson's ass
what he used to ride to visit the sick. The blast also ripped me drawers off, exposing a rather incriminatin tattoo....what were rather hard to explain. But worst, worst of all were the five pounds of feathers what were ripped from Carmen's bodice. She was STUFFED!!!
Or rather had been. What surging magnificance I had envisioned were as flat and hard as the stomach and abs of the new Spanish gardner boy what Violet landed on out in the yard. Oh aye SHE made out all right. Really. I mean she made out--arrrgh!! Enough o' her!! That wench!!
So I were summarily expelled, and sent to the work'ouse as being completely irredeemable. And I have ne'er forgot that voice....
submitted this day by Libby Boswell