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