"Right, welcome back," Eliot said at the top of the class. He was very pleased to have discovered this morning that whatever had stolen his shirts hadn't counted jackets, so he wasn't topless in front of the students. "So you'll maybe be glad to hear that we're movin' into the modern world proper with this class today." He poked a
1950s Singer with
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If that meant that she was dissecting a sewing machine mid-class to see why it kept eating the thread, well, so be it.
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Practically won out over aesthetics in this case, especially because she might be able to crank out two or three of them by the end of class, and that was three little Millers who'd have toys they didn't have before.
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Obviously he had grabbed some. They were shiny, even if they were worthless. And he was kiiiiinda a magpie about things.
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She held up one of her own strands of beads. "These are used t' bribe pretty girls an' boys, from what I can figure."
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Hya, nobody even believed you.
"Though I don't understand the point of a bribe if 'tisn't worth much," he added, glancing down at one of the bands of shimmery purple plastic beads.
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He gave her a long look. "You'd wear them well, I think."
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As much as she wished she was, sometimes.
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Her words were still heavily accented with her drawl, but mostly-recognizable. Hopefully. Hell, she was just hoping she'd picked the right words or verbs or whatever.
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"Et vous êtes un délice constant," he told her, eyes warm and smile heart-breakingly fond.
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"I even know some of those words, too!" she said cheerfully, starting to tick them off on her fingers. "I am a -- something -- constantly. Yes?"
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"A constant delight," he translated. "Though I'll note how close it sounds to delicious, as well."
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