( A day's bread, hard won on her feet when she's seven filled moons, swollen with child. Not her first. Won't be her last, if Mr. Fairley's to have his way of it, and truth told, Elizabeth's found this one easy. Improved, when she's settled on a bench in the yawning waiting halls of the Sanctuary, kindly shielded from the hurricane of public opinion and the mighty shrieking breeze they never seem to stay, from that there northern window.
Eight years she's worked the archives here, and this is her third set of the trials yet. First when she heard, gossip be a merry saint, there's some woman asking her good friend Thaddeus, same of the just court's record keeping, for her name.
So, suppose Elizabeth were to cut the chase short and intercede, before the gentlewoman keeps prodding. Might as well. )
Good day to you. Said our man Thaddeus, you were asking after me. Asking after the name of me.
( ...possibly, not with intent of Elizabeth pursuing the conversation, thereafter, but she's agreeable at least, softening the blow of her abrupt presence with a sweep of her hand where the bench is cold and waiting and silent. ) Well, you've got it. And you've got me, and — I'm sitting, you might as well. How can I help?
→ kim wexler
( A day's bread, hard won on her feet when she's seven filled moons, swollen with child. Not her first. Won't be her last, if Mr. Fairley's to have his way of it, and truth told, Elizabeth's found this one easy. Improved, when she's settled on a bench in the yawning waiting halls of the Sanctuary, kindly shielded from the hurricane of public opinion and the mighty shrieking breeze they never seem to stay, from that there northern window.
Eight years she's worked the archives here, and this is her third set of the trials yet. First when she heard, gossip be a merry saint, there's some woman asking her good friend Thaddeus, same of the just court's record keeping, for her name.
So, suppose Elizabeth were to cut the chase short and intercede, before the gentlewoman keeps prodding. Might as well. )
Good day to you. Said our man Thaddeus, you were asking after me. Asking after the name of me.
( ...possibly, not with intent of Elizabeth pursuing the conversation, thereafter, but she's agreeable at least, softening the blow of her abrupt presence with a sweep of her hand where the bench is cold and waiting and silent. ) Well, you've got it. And you've got me, and — I'm sitting, you might as well. How can I help?