I'm not done with Edward Couch (although I feel very sorry for his tragic fate). He not only looks like this but writes with the voice of an 1840s Gent in his letters home. He visits Greenland and writes to his parents: "Arrival took place this morning at 3 o’clock & one of the rummest snug little places I ever saw. x x x x x" (He uses tons of Xs in his letters, from the example in May We Be Spared to Meet on Earth).
"Old Franklin is an exceedingly good old chap." And he continues:
In our mess – we live uncommon well – too well almost – we commenced preserved meats & soups etc, a day or two ago & find them very good – in fact every thing is most comfortable – couldn’t be more so. x x x x We shall have plenty of shooting by & bye – when we arrive at our station – jammed in the ice – a regular set of game laws will come out
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this comic has no plot 4/?
how many pages do you think i can get through just introducing different pretty people before i have to wing plot?
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Just found out that ‘Varney the Vampire’, notorious mid-Victorian penny-dreadful, is on Project Gutenberg and chock-full of important vampire knowledge from the year 1845. Vampires are from Norway, apparently? And can be killed in the regular way by being shot at, but can then be revived by moonlight? And are bad at getting over fences?
“They looked in the direction he indicated. At the end of this vista was the wall of the garden. At that point it was full twelve feet in height, and as they looked, they saw the hideous, monstrous form they had traced from the chamber of their sister, making frantic efforts to clear the obstacle.
Then they saw it bound from the ground to the top of the wall, which it very nearly reached, and then each time it fell back again into the garden with such a dull, heavy sound, that the earth seemed to shake again with the concussion. They trembled—well indeed they might, and for some minutes they watched the figure making its fruitless efforts to leave the place.”
I do also have to give them credit for the conversation that goes “Hey, you know our swooning damsel sister, who has done nothing so far but faint and get attacked by vampires while the narrator breathlessly describes how sexily terrified she is? It’s probably cool to leave her alone with our elderly mother while we investigate mausoleums, you think?” “…Well, we’ll give her a gun, right?” “Obviously we’ll give her a gun, dude.”
“Flora changed colour, and slightly trembled, and then, as if ashamed of her fears, she said,—"Go, go; I will not detain you. Surely no harm can come to me in presence of my mother." "We shall not be gone longer than the time I mention to you," said Henry.
"Oh, I shall be quite content. Besides, am I to be kept thus in fear all my life? Surely, surely not. I ought, too, to learn to defend myself." Henry caught at the idea, as he said,—
"If fire-arms were left you, do you think you would have courage to use them?" "I do, Henry."
"Then you shall have them; and let me beg of you to shoot any one without the least hesitation who shall come into your chamber."
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forced to be up and about when clearly my calling in life at this moment is to be cuddling francis by a warm fire with neptune snoring at my feet (and covering them bc they are eternally cold) and dozing off or perhaps just chatting quietly or listening to some music (watching something if it's modern au for sure) and just enjoying each others company dear god thats all I want
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NaNoWriMo 2022: Day 22
Day 22 Word Count: 1,669 Words
NaNo 2022 Total So Far: 70,135 Words
Excerpt:
The portrait that Gerry had done of us was hanging on the wall in the hall. Her painter flitted away from her like a fever dream. I don’t know why she hadn’t stayed. Gerry promised her the dawn and the twilight; English summers in the country side and cold winter nights wrapped up in loving arms. Perhaps she was a little too intense. I’ve noticed that. She got herself fired up and went buck wild once she knew she had a woman’s interest.
Gerry was a gambler; she would do stupid things to keep the women’s interest like spend an obscene amount of money on her. More money than most of these women had ever seen. We’re talking thousands of pounds.
“What does it matter, Matilda? I’m the last of Papa’s great line and Lord knows I’m not going to be anyone’s mother. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never been called Papa before.” She laughed at that; always joking to hide her pain.
She had that air about her; a swagger that seemed more likely on a gentleman. Well, naturally Gerry was a gentleman. I think seeing me play feminine was really bothering her. She used to talk about how she wanted to teach me all the courtly ways of the female knight.
My sudden shift into this unnatural grab at femininity was disheartening for her. She didn’t think my temporary sacrifice was worth my long term gains. I wanted to teach but in order to do so; I’d have to convince them I was a lady. I felt like I was walking backwards. It was ridiculous, having to pick up my skirt every time I had to step up or down. However did Rosie and nearly every other woman and girl survive every single day? I got so frustrated I tore the bottom of my skirt because I pulled it too hard and then I cried in frustration.
“Do you need my arm?” Gerry asked, watching me mince about. She wasn’t mocking me. I walked so slowly now; it must have been painful to have to keep pace with me. Gerry, of course, tolerated it with an admirable patience. But of course, I was her only girl then, so I didn’t expect her to rush off so suddenly.
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