"I think that midget stripper gave me herpes."
Life has been busy in the Eru domicile with incidents of a medical nature. Not only have I the breadwinner been to three different doctors in as many weeks, but Piper the cat will be going in to the vet for periodontal surgery this Friday after the results of today's yearly checkup. Surgery on my baby, oh dear.
Add to that a heinous backlog of cases at work (thus requests for overtime), a new database system chock full of bugs, PLUS a new boss, and I've occasionally been so tired by the time I get home that I want to curl up and cry. Which is stupidly depressing.
The sewing classes and NCRF practices, on the other hand, are wonderful beyond words. It's so refreshing to spend time with people who are bubbly and happy, eager to continue with the task of building characters and keeping all the fun within a family-friendly historical context.
Somehow it happened that my character, Margaret Fawkes, has developed into a hapless do-gooder.
She found a Scotsman (played by a former vendor at the Faire AND a bona fide bagpipes player) washed up in a burlap sack on the beach, thought he was a sack of cats, and thereby opened the sack to free the mousers, discovering to her astonishment a rough and bawdy Scotsman instead of useful feline creatures. Nevertheless, Margaret lets him live in the woodshed behind her family's house and tries to keep him out of trouble-- namely trouble with her lovely Irish cousin Siobhan (distantly related through Margaret's mother and played by a VERY Irish-looking young lady) who came to the English seaport in order to find a rough and ready husband (plus small army) with which to reclaim lands stolen from her by a male relative.
Can we see the trouble brewing here?
Siobhan is set to proposition anything of a male persuasion that walks on two legs, and despite the fact that Irishwomen of the day could end a marriage contract in as quickly as a year, Margaret has no intention of allowing her pretty young cousin to be wedded to Seamus McHaggis for even an instant. It would be a marriage of two people with no skills; Seamus was the black sheep of a well-respected Scottish clan before he was disowned, and knows little else besides drinking, fighting, and womanizing (Which is rather hard for a Scotsman to do in ENGLAND IN 1575 as the English despised the Scots. Seamus would be hard-pressed to organize a drinking song, much less a group of battle hardened men.), and Siobhan lived as an Irish noble and so barely had to do anything resembling a job. Presently Siobhan's well-meaning attempts to help with the family business generally end in... a mess.
Margaret also bears the burden of keeping any attempted "trysts" a secret from her parents: Master Fawkes is a metal-worker/craftsman with big, burly arms from working with the forge, and Goodwife Fawkes is a harridan with a frying pan/ladle/broom/hunk of unused material. Should either one of them get wind of a romantically inclined Scotsman leaving the designated woodpile to woo one of the young ladies within the house...
Pain would ensue.
Margaret would prefer that not happen, despite how comical -I- think it would be. Young Margaret Fawkes also has four older brothers who are off serving in the Queen's Army: John, William, James, and Samuel.
I'll let those of you in the know think that over and have a giggle.