work in unmysterious, but certainly unpredictable ways.
Knowing things was not really a deep concern of one Miss Rosemary G Palm.
Oh do not misunderstand, she knew what she wanted to know, and knew a lot of things that did not want to know, and of course there were certain things that she lived ignorance of*. Nonetheless when she knew something, she knew it, and she tried not to get emotional about it.
It worked quite well for her. And business, if she still could call it that, was business as usual.
Except for the part where it wasn't. She'd hit a slump, a proverbial rut, and she felt no real need to play tricks or games outside the ones of her personality. This was the island's fault, she decided, and it's idea of "freedom" put so nicely next to "love" which managed to outdo her quite well and no amount of wet feet could fix it**.
She sighed and drummed her fingers on a rock. "I am not takin' orders." Religious orders that was.
Other sorts of orders could still be negotiated. She kicked her leg, absently playing with the ribbon on her top.
"It's the clothes. It has to be the clothes," she declared, in manner somewhat akin to someone having a religious revelation.
There are only a few ways to deal with a situation like this, and one of them requires fire. The other was what Miss Palm was doing, which equally opposed by religious orders, was certainly less destructive.
*Which was Typical of all people, not more or less Typical or Rosie Palm. Her Ignorance is distinctly different from the Ignorance of you or I.
**Thus caused by her having them in a waterfall. How else, you oddjob?
[[ooc: now accepting all manner of tags in all manner of Ts.]]
Oh do not misunderstand, she knew what she wanted to know, and knew a lot of things that did not want to know, and of course there were certain things that she lived ignorance of*. Nonetheless when she knew something, she knew it, and she tried not to get emotional about it.
It worked quite well for her. And business, if she still could call it that, was business as usual.
Except for the part where it wasn't. She'd hit a slump, a proverbial rut, and she felt no real need to play tricks or games outside the ones of her personality. This was the island's fault, she decided, and it's idea of "freedom" put so nicely next to "love" which managed to outdo her quite well and no amount of wet feet could fix it**.
She sighed and drummed her fingers on a rock. "I am not takin' orders." Religious orders that was.
Other sorts of orders could still be negotiated. She kicked her leg, absently playing with the ribbon on her top.
"It's the clothes. It has to be the clothes," she declared, in manner somewhat akin to someone having a religious revelation.
There are only a few ways to deal with a situation like this, and one of them requires fire. The other was what Miss Palm was doing, which equally opposed by religious orders, was certainly less destructive.
*Which was Typical of all people, not more or less Typical or Rosie Palm. Her Ignorance is distinctly different from the Ignorance of you or I.
**Thus caused by her having them in a waterfall. How else, you oddjob?
[[ooc: now accepting all manner of tags in all manner of Ts.]]