Jump to content

Announcements

  • Recently Browsing

    No registered users viewing this page.


  • Recently Used Characters

  • Posts

    • "Maybe, fer this special occasion," Addy suggested, "we can try a little'a each?  That way, we can get a taste'a everything, so next time, we know what our favorite is."  It was a plan that appealed to her, so she didn't have to decide which she wanted!   "Never turn down help," she declared, "but seems ta me yer th' one needs help brushin' them horses down."  She glanced at Weedy and Josh, considering for a moment if it was safe to let the boy go up into the loft, but then, his father could stop him, and, after all, he was a Chappel!  He'd grown up around horses, and was of hardy stock!   With them all working together, it wouldn't take too long to get the horses settled, and then they could be on the way to treats!   @MD
    • "We'll get on."  Addy was determined, and once she grabbed hold of the crude rope halter, she had control of the animal.  "Here..."  Cupping her hands, she made a step for Caroline, to give her a boost up.  "Just grab his mane."   TBC   @Wayfarer                    
    • Mature Content: Doubt it With: Tyrell Garret Thornton Location: Add specific location information here. When: Mid-July 1876 Time of Day: Encompasses a couple of days     Place holder
    • Anæsthesia wasn't exactly convinced by all these homilies about falling out of trees, breaking arms, and sleeping in the mud: she smiled politely, if a little tightly. Truth to tell, she felt a little bit 'got at' - the snobby girl was getting a taste of her own medicine in the form of the inverted-snobbery of these rough frontier folk.    She suddenly blurted, rather defensively "I have learned to shoot a gun!"   "I have a 1858 model Lefaucheux double action revolver, and really am rather a good shot with it." she said proudly. Now maybe they'd stop telling her that she needed to fall out of a tree to be able to claim that her life had any meaning.    Of course, the hypocrisy was that she was quite willing to tell others what they should be doing with their lives: like learning to read.      @Bongo @MD
    • Mr McVey was chattering away as Arabella grabbed her non-packable items: two dresses, spare bonnet, basket and three large round circles made of bamboo. These were very hard to carry and to manoeuvre through the doorway.    "You and I disagree on a number of things, yet, we agree on others. Mister Reeve is certainly one to keep an eye on. And I would say, he is dangerous in another way, to the political atmosphere in Kalispell. He is an odd fellow, yet, so is Mister Pettigrew. Perhaps the goal of him running is to slit the vote? I'm not exactly confident on that assumption."   "Now don't you be mean about Mr Pettigrew, Mr McVey, he's been right nice to me: teachin' me all about how to speak proper and act like a lady." she objected. Pettigrew had taught her something else, too, something more important than those surface embellishments, something at her very core.    He hoisted the trunk that was surprising lighter than he would have expected. "As time moves on, we'll have a better idea of Pettigrew's purpose in the grand scheme of the elections this fall." He added, then, "I'm following you, Arabella."   "Hold on, I'm all tangled up!" she yelped, the three bamboo circles seemed to have minds of their own and were doing their darndest to stop her getting through the doorway. "I'm takin' these hoops with me, in case crinolines come back in!" she informed him.    Eventually she got herself through the door and down the stairs, with a shout of "I'm goin' now, I'll be back at seven!" at Caroline's door. When the two of them reached the bar, there was a ragged cheer from some of the rounders who were regulars "Don't worry, I'll be back at seven, boys!" she assured them.   "Oh damn!" one of them joked.    "You movin' in with him?!" another joshed. Arabella laughed and didn't say yes and didn't say no: well, Phin had said he didn't care if people talked!   @Flip

Edit History

Javia

Javia

“To be fair I think it’s more important that you’re used to them rather than me.”  He stopped before adding any more inane comments.

 

Frances smiled: not so much at the words themselves, she had always been what other people termed 'blind' whatever that meant, of course she was used to it. It was just her world. It was hard to imagine what 'sighted' even meant. She knew that most other people had some extra sense that meant they didn't have to feel for things the way she did, and that they could differentiate between two things that felt and smelled and tasted the same to her: it didn't seem any great gain, expect that the world was designed for people to use this extra sense to get around and do things. 

 

No, what made her smile was the sentiment behind James' words. He was sensitive, nervous, empathetic, he was trying to say the right thing while not knowing the right thing to say. He heart reached out to him. 
 
James nodded, then realized what he’d just done in front of the blind woman and spoke, “I’d be delighted to assist you in any way that I can Miss Grimes.”  He hurriedly assured her. 

 

Again, the man's essential goodness warmed her. 

 

"I only hope I can carry all this scrap metal, Marshall!" she joked. But the more elderly voiced man was right. Oh, Frances could feel the difference between notes which looked about the same to a sighted person, the problem was the plethora of different notes issues by different banks at different times: even the National Currency was far from uniform: printed by different printers in different places, but all backed up by the Federal Reserve. It was a problem that would puzzle blind people for a long, long time.

 

Then she felt a pang of guilt. Her brother, only a few hours dead, and here she was... flirting! The nice Mr Vaughn probably didn't realise it, he sounded rather innocent of such things, but she suspected the more experienced Mr Guyer might be observing it somehow: a flush of her cheek, the way she leant into Mr Vaughn when he spoke, a stupid, sloppy look on her face! Oh Dear! Things she couldn't always monitor and correct!

 

@Flip @Nova

Frances Grimes

Frances Grimes

“To be fair I think it’s more important that you’re used to them rather than me.”  He stopped before adding any more inane comments.

 

Frances smiled: not so much at the words themselves, she had always been what other people termed 'blind' whatever that meant, of course she was used to it. It was just her world. It was hard to imagine what 'sighted' even meant. She knew that most other people had some extra sense that meant they didn't have to feel for things the way she did, and that they could differentiate between two things that felt and smelled and tasted the same to her: it didn't seem any great gain, expect that the world was designed for people to use this extra sense to get around and do things. 

 

No, what made her smile was the sentiment behind James' words. He was sensitive, nervous, empathetic, he was trying to say the right thing while not knowing the right thing to say. He heart reached out to him. 
 
James nodded, then realized what he’d just done in front of the blind woman and spoke, “I’d be delighted to assist you in any way that I can Miss Grimes.”  He hurriedly assured her. 

 

Again, the man's essential goodness warmed her. 

 

"I only hope I can carry all this scrap metal, Marshall!" she joked. But the more elderly voiced man was right. Oh, Frances could feel the difference between notes which looked about the same to a sighted person, the problem was the plethora of different notes issues by different banks at different times: even the National Currency was far from uniform: printed by different printers in different places, but all backed up by the Federal Reserve. It was a problem that would puzzle blind people for a long, long time.

 

Then she felt a pang of guilt. Her brother, only a few hours dead, and here she was... flirting! The nice Mr Vaughn probably didn't realise it, he sounded rather innocent of such things, but she suspected the more experienced Mr Guyer might be observing it somehow: a flush of her cheek, the way she leant into Mr Vaughn when he spoke, a stupid, sloppy look on her face! Oh ear. Things she couldn't always monitor and correct!

 

@Flip @Nova

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

Connect With Us On

discord_white

If you would like to join the Sagas' Discord server or are already a member, click the image to open the Discord web application.

Site Credits

Founders: Stormwolfe & Longshot

Sagas' Rating

sagas-rating

×
×
  • Create New...