Camelot: Saturday Afternoon. While Merlin And Arthur Are Off Holding Hands Like Otters.

[thatsamilkshake]

Francine had long ago figured out that Angelica Demesnes and her ilk -- not that Francine would use the word ilk unless she was trying to spell milk in a game of Scrabble and somebody else had already laid down the M -- had no clue what life was like in a medieval kingdom.

What she was sadly finding out now was that medieval kingdoms had no clue how to write historically-suspect bodice-heaving romance the way Angelica Demesnes did.

Instead, she got to sit on a step and try to make it through at least one paragraph of Ye Tragik Historye of Sir Ethelred the Dubious and His Enormouse-Busumed Wyfe before her eyes started swimming again.

[For NPC shenanigans, though The Girl, she is welcome also!]

Comments

[thatsamilkshake]

"...Good point. We can't ask someone where the euphemism for fishing hole is." That got her to the bottom of the steps, at least. "Well, we could ask Merlin, but he and Arthur went hunting."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

"Oh, sure they did." Katchoo did not, it needed to be said, give in to the urge to actually pat Francine on the head. No, that pat was directed at regions further south -- and pulled back halfway through, once she remembered now would be a bad time for that. "Point in a random direction, will ya, and we'll just head that way?"

[thatsamilkshake]

Oh Katchoo. Letting Francine navigate? You'll end up surrounded by giant scorpions or something. You know that, right?

"...That way!"