Young Writers Society

OOC: I'm not sure how many of you look at the Discussion Topic for this SB so, I'm posting this here, as well as there.

Here are some slang websites to find out what your character should be saying (that is if they use the slang of their time) and what other characters are saying (if they use the slang of their time).
Justagirl (Ian C. Haverty) 1800's Slang
fictionfanatic (Jane Melicent) Early 1800's slang
Liv (Vanessa Renee) 1970's Slang
Cspr (Stephen Abandonato) 1920's slang, and here's some more, and even more, and even more! And here's the last one XD
xXmusicaXx (Fern Thornton) Renaissance slang

And for those of you who didn't have their characters mentioned, I didn't find any specific slang sites for your time period, but, have no fear! I have this place which lists slang with the time period marked beside it.

I hope this is useful to everyone!

-Justagirl

Ok, lets get back into the swing of things!

F.T.
The next morning, a letter shows up in the mens' room. It reads:

Dear Time Knights,

I have brought you all here to help with the revolution, yes. But unlike what some of you may believe, it will not succeed without your help. Charlotte, you might as well admit to the others about your affiliation with the Sons of Liberty. All of you must be very honest with each other; you will be together for a long, long time.

The revolution isn't going as planned. Most of you know about the Declaration of Independence. You see, Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote it in the history you were told, is having his doubts. He is starting to think that the revolution will not be worth it. I need you to find him, and convince him to continue. This will involve trouble with the redcoats and maybe doing things that will seem immoral to a few of you.

I am certain that you will prevail. But it all depends on if you are willing to be a team. If any of you have doubts on if you wish to be a part of my Time Knights, just press the gem on your ring. I will send you home.

Sincerely, F.T.

Stephen Abandonato


Early riser as always, Stephen was up and prowling around, wondering what was up. He walked around the house and then came back to the men's room. He found a letter had been shoved under the door and he picked it up. He read through it, one eyebrow raised, and then went over to his new sleeping quarters. He put the letter on a nearby chest and leaned back against one of the walls, closing his eyes and clasping his hands, knuckles touching his mouth.

Well, this will be a weird job, he decided. Not much different from my normal criminal work moving around hooch if I remember right but perhaps with slightly worse odds. The fuzz certainly were a bunch of idiots, but the British military?

Interesting, though. He wouldn't be bored. He could forget about her. He opened his eyes and looked around, waiting for the others to awake as the sunlight started to leech through the shutters.

As he did so, he tried to wrap his brain around the rip in time he'd stepped through and the fact he was back to when the United States of America wasn't even a true nation yet. Bizarre.

He then wondered if he could ask some of the other people if they knew what happened in the future. Was he the, well, oldest here? He'd need to check that out. In the least, he could maybe figure out what stocks to buy. He chuckled to himself. As if.

Lottie

The next morning was spent in pain, as I predicted. I had to hold onto the foot of my bed as Mrs. Burbidge laced my corset tighter than was normal, until my ribs were squashed and my waist was the size of a child's. And if that hadn't been enough, she coated my face with white lead makeup and crushed a beetle into my lips to stain them red. She fitted me with a farthingale, which was the latest fashion from France. It was basically a metal cage that made my skirts stick out so much that I could barely fit through doors.

As I walked down the stairs, frantically fanning myself to get air, I could see the smirks on people's faces. I sucked in shallow breaths and hissed to Ian, who seemed on the verge of saying something, "Not a word! I'm in enough pain without you poking fun at me!" He smirked at me, so I made a very rude gesture with my fan and leaned against a wall, trying to catch my breath. I couldn't, though. My corset was made of whale bone, and to breathe too deeply would mean breaking a rib.

A few minutes later, Thomas Wilder entered, his eyes red from his night of drinking. He walked quickly towards me, only after giving a death glare to the men that were in the room. He grabbed my violently by the arm, tightening his grip painfully around my bicep. He yelled at me, "Lottie, you and I both know that these aren't your cousins! You aren't Irish or Italian! I demand an explaination, or so help me I will have you nailed to the stocks for lying!"

My brain was already clouded from the lack of air, and I couldn't think of a credible lie. My breathing was coming faster and faster, shallower and shallower. My head throbbed and my vision started to go fuzzy. Right before I fainted, I could hear Stephen say angrily, "That's enough of that! Beat it!"

OOC: Thanks Justa! However, Fern is Irish, not British. Due to the strained relations between the Irish and British in that period, they spoke differently. In fact, their speech has remained almost the same to this day. Of dourse, with a few modifications and incrase in the list of swear words. XD But, thanks anyways.

Fern
Fern had risen early, before the break of dawn, and set out to explore this strange new place. She coped with the time switch easily, goven that in her own time, ahe was living under the Penal Laws.

On her way back, she peeked in through the windows of the millinery shop, and heard a commotion in the foyer.
"That's enough of that! Beat it!" she heard a gruff voice exclaim. Looking in through the windows, she saw that Thomas Wilder had grabbed the collar of Stephen's shirt in a choke hold.
Inside, she could see a passed out Lottie on the floor, with her head restong on Vanessa's lap. Ian and Jane were attempting, (and failing epicly) to revive her.

Cursing fluently under her breath at the sight of the two men facing off, she fitted and arrow in her bow and let it loose.

Stephen, standing with his back turned to Fern, had begun struggling with the overly possesive man. Her arow passed him, and he did not notice it till it pinned Thomas Wilder to the wooden walls by the upper arm. A second arrow flew past, narrowly missing Stephen and ripping the Redcoat's shirt, and grazing his waist. At the same instant, a long, black sword was at his neck, held by Aleya. "Don't you bother trying anything."

Fern looked in, pleased by the flabbergasted expression on the Redcoat's face.
"Mornin' Mr. Wilder. What's all the rumpus about? Why not solve it like a gentleman, eh?"
To which Mr. Wilder's only response was a gradual reddening of the face and incomprehesible spluttering. "Now," said Fern, "Mr Wilder, if you continue your seafoid (irish for nonsense apparently) babbling, the next arrow will be to your heart. So let me not hear you threatning my family again, okay?"
He nodded, as Aleya pressed the blade a little closer to his neck.

By now, he had released Stephen. Aleya looked at Fern, who nodded back an assent. She lowered her sword, as Stephn pulled out the arrows from the Britisher and let him free. "Get out. And next time you come to see her, lay off he booze. You reek, man." Stephen said. Shooting them all a glare, the half-sober British officer walked out.

Ian C. Haverty

The next morning I in the front lobby when Lottie teetered down the steps in a large, wide skirt, breathing quickly and lightly while fanning herself with a small fan. I gave an amused grin and was about to shoot off a comment about her being in her best bib and tucker but she gave me a glare and said, "Not a word! I'm in enough pain without you poking fun at me!"

So I just smirked at her and decided not to shoot my mouth off.

A few seconds later, the fop she had talked to the first day stumbled in the door, clearly soaked.

I rolled my eyes and gave him a glare as he started toward Lottie, looking angry. He grabbed her by the arm, and before anyone could stop him, started yelling in her face. After she had gone through all the pain of getting dressed nicely for him, too! How ridiculous.

He spouted off about how we definitely not her cousins, that we were Irish and Italian and some stupid bosh like that. At the end, he stated that he'd have her nailed to the stocks for lying.

And then, Lottie fainted.

Vanessa caught her and lay her head in her lap while Jane and I rushed over to her. I heard Stephen say, "That's enough! Beat it!" And then I was just focusing on Lottie.

Jane was fanning her faster while I pumped my arms up and down on her chest, seeing if I could get her to breath again.

"Oh boy, Lottie, you really woke the wrong passenger..." I muttered.

"Stop! Stop!" Said Jane, pulling on my hands. "You'll break her ribs!"

"What am I supposed to do then?" I snapped, whipping my head up and throwing my hands up into the air.

"Open up her dress!"

Vanessa and I flipped Lottie over and I pulled a sharp gear from my pocket and used it as a jackknife to cut open the back of Lottie's dress. We pulled down the bodice of her dress and Vanessa untied the corset around Lottie's torso.

I slipped the gear back into my pocket as I heard Lottie take a large gasp of air and begin breathing normally.

By the time this had happened the shoddy Mr. Wilder had been forced to leave and everyone watched as Lottie started to breath again, now only in her undershirt, a thin chemise.

After a few seconds, Lottie opened her eyes, she looked around for a moment before realizing she wasn't in anything but her undershirt from the waist up.

Musica, you may want to be more careful. They would have a person hung, tarred adn feathered, stocked, etc for that.

Jane:

The fact that she was wearing a corset was obvious - and appropriate for them time. But this one had been laced up way too tight. Guess they weren't aware that corsets can kill you.

Many girls on my floor in the factory would faint, and even stop breathing because of the humidity and filth and illness. So I had gotten pretty good at this. When Lottie came through, and realized she was wearing barely anything from the waist up, I immediately undid my shawl and draped it around her shoulders. She gave me a grateful look, and I nodded a "don't mention it" kind of gesture.

Taking the knife from Ian's hands, I took the corset and began to slice it apart and muttered, "These blasted things can kill people."

I worked for a minute on demolishing the corset, my hands used to doing things like this, when a sudden fit of blurred vision hit me. Colors ran together, shaped disappeared, and I couldn't barely see an inch infront of my face.

Blinking a few times, I set down the torn up corset and Ian's knife, and carefully stood.

"I left something in the room" I said to everyone, and carefully made my way out, trying not to show that I could barely see. It would go away soon. It always did.


Oliver:

Jane hurried out of the room, nearly running into the wall, but catching herself. There was something wrong with her - I'm not sure if anyone else noticed, because of Lottie, but something was off.

"While we wait for Jane to come back", I spoke up, "And Lottie to feel better, what are we to do today?"

As I waited for an answer, I ran my hand through my auburn hair, realizing that I hadn't tied it back yet - peculiar. Pulling a white ribbon from my pocket, I quickly tied it back, though a few too short pieces fell into my face. I brushed them aside and looked at everyone expectantly.

"Lottie? What do you think? What should we do?"

Vanessa spoke up first: "The letter said to find Thomas Jefferson. But first, maybe Lottie could let us in a little bit of the do's and don'ts around here. For example," she shoved the light blue scarf from her head and her blue hair fell around her face, "I'm pretty sure this is a don't."

"Yeah, and I'm not too sure about how well these redcoats will take to Fern shooting arrows at them and threatening to kill them" Ian contributed.


*Hope this is OK*

Ian C. Haverty

Jane quickly gave Lottie her shawl once she realized that Lottie was speechless as we all stared at her in just her thin chemise. She reached out and took the gear from my hand (which I hadn't realized I'd taken out of my pocket and started fiddling with) and started shredding the corset.

"Hey!" I said, thinking the gear might become bent. But after ripping the fabric a few times, I stopped wincing and backed down, as it seemed like my gear would hold its shape.

I watched carefully as Jane's thin, worked hands destroyed Lottie's corset. Worked hands, just like mine. I rubbed my hands as I wondered what it had been like for Jane in the factory.

As soon as the corset was successfully in pieces, Jane stood up while dropping it and my gear, which I snatched up and started to inspect. When I looked up I saw Jane almost walk into a wall as she hurried up the stairs. I was about to go after her when Oliver started speaking.

"While we wait for Jane to come back and Lottie to feel better, what are we to do today?" He asked.

There was a pause as Lottie caught her breath, at the end of which, Oliver prompted again, "Lottie? What do you think? What should we do?"

Vanessa spoke up before Lottie could say anything. "The letter said to find Thomas Jefferson. But first, maybe Lottie could let us in a little bit of the do's and don'ts around here. For example, I'm pretty sure this is a don't." She said as she pulled a scarf off of her head and blue hair fell onto her shoulders.

I gave a grin and added, "Yeah, and I'm not too sure about how well these redcoats will take to Fern shooting arrows at them and threatening to kill them."

After saying this, I decided to skedaddle before all the boring rules were announced.

"I'm.. Um.. Left something in my room too?" I shot at people's questioning stares before following Jane up the stairs.

I walked into the girl's room and found Jane with tears running silently down her face.

"Whoa, Jane! Why are you crying?" I said bluntly, staring at her.

Lottie
After Ian left, I tried to stand, still feeling very faint. It didn't help that I had to clutch the shawl tightly to myself to keep from being almost naked in front of Oliver and Stephen. I still felt very weak, but I was alive. The cursed corset was ripped in shreds next to me. Good, but if only I could have gotten rid of the farthingale. But that would involve stripping down to my pantaletts.

The metal cage was to heavy for me to life, and Oliver helped me shakily stand. I took another deep breath and said, "The only thing that all of us need to remember is that the redcoats have the power. Now, what did you do to Thomas Wilder?" I shot Fern, Stephen, and Aleya a look. Fern explained that she threatened him with death by arrows.

I half yelled at them, since I couldn't really work up a loud voice in my weakened state, "Did you even think at all? If I know the British, they'll be here very soon, and they'll want you all dead! I appreciate it, but you just don't threaten a redcoat!"

Fern looked at me, her eyes wide. "I didn't know that! What should we do?"

I clutched the shawl tighter to me. "I know not! I can't run when I'm like this! We don't have a horse."

Just then, Thomas WIlder entered with five other soldiers. One was his Captian, by the look of his uniform. As the three other redcoats grabbed Fern, Stephen, and Aleya, pointing muskets to keep them from moving, the captain said, "Charlotte Tryon, your cousins are to be publicly hanged for assaulting an officer of His Majesty's Royal Army."

I surged forward, but Thomas caught me, holding my wrist down on a table. I struggled furiously, screaming as loud as I could in my faint state, "Please! No, please don't hang them! They were just protecting me!"

The captain was calm as he pointed his own musket at a furious Oliver, who seemed on the verge of rushing Thomas. He said calmly, above the protests from everybody, "Miss Tryon, you are sentenced to have your right hand cut off for lying. Mister Wilder, if you please."

Thomas drew a short sword positioning it above my wrist, ready to bring down. I said the first thing that popped into my head; the thing that I knew would stop him. "Thomas, if you promise to spare my cousin's lives, I will marry you. Cut off my hand, do as you please to me, but leave them be. Let them live, and I will be your wife." He hesitated, licking his lips like a hungry wolf.

Oliver

Thomas WIlder entered with five soldiers. Three of the redcoats grabbed Fern, Stephen, and Aleya, pointing muskets to keep them from moving.

The man in the captain's uniform said, "Charlotte Tryon, your cousins are to be publicly hanged for assaulting an officer of His Majesty's Royal Army."

Lottie rushed forward, but was snatched by Wilder, who pinned her hand to the table, "Please! No, please don't hang them! They were just protecting me!" she yelled at them.

Fury surged through me, and I was about ready to rush at Thomas Wilder. Before I could get too close, the captain pointed his gun at me. Above everyone's protests the captain said, "Miss Tryon, you are sentenced to have your right hand cut off for lying. Mister Wilder, if you please."

Were they mad!?

Thomas drew a short sword and got ready to slice off Lottie's hand. Lottie looked frantic, and she said desperately, "Thomas, if you promise to spare my cousin's lives, I will marry you. Cut off my hand, do as you please to me, but leave them be. Let them live, and I will be your wife."

He hesitated, licking his lips, eying her like a piece of property.

Fury took over my body, and I lunged for Wilder yelling, my New Orleans accent thickening "Thomas Wilder, you bast-"

Before I could finish my sentence, one of the soldiers grabbed for me, twisting my arms behind my back as I spat at them, "You call yourself men - you're disgusting!"

Suddenly, I felt the back of a gun come down on my head. Shocked, I stopped struggling, and brought a hand to my head. When I looked at my hand, it was stained red. My body went limp, and the world blacked out.

Jane:

"Whoa, Jane! Why are you crying?" Someone said, pulling me from my thoughts.

Tears ran silently down my face, and I turned towards his direction. Lip quivering, I asked, "...who is it?"

"Jane, it's Ian...you can't see me?"

Pressing my hand to my mouth, I felt my body begin to shake. In the next moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Ian," I whispered, "You know I work in a factory. But you don't know what it's like in there. It's so dark in there, I can never see. You couldn't imagine it, Ian. Sometimes I wake up, and I can't see! My vision is blurred! And I get so scared...because what if one day it doesn't pass, and I stay half-blind?"

Ian said nothing. Maybe he just wanted to let me cry it out. After a minute, the blurryness subsided and I could see again.

Sounds of yelling caused me to snap my head up. Reaching for Ian, I said quickly, "Ian, hurry!"

Rising, we both rushed out to where we left the others to find some red coats, Thomas Wilder holding a knife to Lottie thoughtfully, a few soldiers holding back Stephan, Aleya, and Fern, and Oliver laying limp on the floor unconcious. A man in a captain's uniform held his gun towards Ian and I.

"Wilder," he said, obviously flustered, "Make your choice already!"

Aleya


Lottie's proposal shocked me. Why in the world would she ever subject herself to that moronic ass. The idea was so ridiculous I laughed. Lottie shot me a vemonous look, something I had not expected from her, and Stephen who was struggling next to me elbowed me sharply in the ribcage.

I didn't like the feeling of the man, who had a musket to my head, wrapping his arm strictly across me. I struggled, and I knew I could have over powered him, had he not had a gun.

The man, Thomas I think, shot me a look along with Lottie. Thomas agreed with a curt look on his vindictive face. He kissed Lottie on the lips, who's face twisted up disgustedly. I could tell she wanted to pull away, but she just dealt with it until Thomas called his men off and walked away, telling Lottie that they would discuss it soon, but it sounded more like an order.

He didn't seem shocked that Oliver got knocked out.

When the man let go of me, I turned around and memorized his features. We stood by the dockside, all in one tight knit circle. We stayed there, silent until Stephen broke the silence, "What was that? You almost got all of us killed! And you he's blacked out!" He gestured to the boy lying on the ground, who Lottie was attending to.

He shouted at me, and he was at least a foot taller then me and considerably stronger, but I wasn't in the least bit intimidated. "As I recall you weren't the biggest peace maker either. Don't talk down to me when you are just as guilty."

He turned slightly red, whether from anger or embarrassment I couldn't differentiate, but either were just as satisfying.

"It's no use, he's out," breathed out Lottie, sighing dramatically.

In my opinion she was being rather stupid. Clearly he was till able to be woken up, so I grabbed a bucket from near me, and filled it with the water from the bay. I then poured it over Oliver's head. He woke up instantly.

I stood up and looked right into Stephen's eyes. I smacked him as hard as I could across the face. He doubled over in pain. "That should save you from apologizing."
He was about to react back to me, and he gave me a look that warned me of impending injury.

But I snickered at his hardly threatening look and stepped back a few steps. I would laugh when he sought his revenge.

*OOC: Oliver wasn't shot - he was hit in the head with the butt of a gun no biggie*

Oh, okay. I'll change it.

Lottie
I know not what compelled me to say that Oliver would die. The practical part of me knew that if I did this right, he would be up and about in less than a week. The scrap of fabric that Aleya had tied around his head wouldn’t be of any help though. I turned my gaze to the fighting Aleya and Stephen, telling them in an exasperated voice, “Instead of pointing fingers, which doesn’t solve anything, how about you help me?” I muttered to myself, “Besides, if this is anybody’s fault, it’s mine.”

All my fault. Had I not been stupid and fainted, Fern and the others wouldn’t have assaulted Thomas. Then I wouldn’t have proposed to Thomas to save them, and Oliver wouldn’t have charged forward like a blind horse. If only I had made the right gesture with my fan the first day I met Wilder. This wouldn’t have even been a problem.

I turned to Fern as I unwound the bandage, “Give me a bottle of whiskey. And I know you have some.”

She handed me a bottle, and I pulled the cork with my teeth as I lay Oliver’s head in my lap. I poured the alcohol over the wound, until the whiskey ran clear. He was starting to wake out of his stupor and cried out in pain, gritting his teeth. I tried to murmur comforting words, “Shh. It’s going to be all right. You’ll be fine.”

I almost threw up when I saw the wound devoid of the blood. I could see all the way to bone. I told him, “Oliver, this needs sewing. You’ll have a scar, but I’ll make my stitches as straight as I can.”

He only nodded as somebody handed me a thick embroidery thread and a strong needle. I made him swallow the remaining whiskey to numb some of his pain, and gave him a rag to bite so that his screaming wouldn’t bring curious neighbors.

Then I set to work, using one hand to keep his jerks of pain from making me mess up. I sucked in deep breaths; now was not the time to faint again. It was amazingly like sewing a cloth, smoothing out the skin so that it wouldn’t crease. I tugged a little harder than usual, and a few minutes later, he had a relatively straight row of stitches on his forehead. I cut the thread with my teeth and knotted it off. Then I looked at Oliver, who had opened his eyes. I had never been more relieved to see the color green. I told him firmly, “You are not going to die on me, Oliver. I will not allow you. Do you hear me?”

OOC: Guys, give Fern some credit, please. The kid lived under the Penal laws, and went about blatantly defying. Just sayin'.

Fern

Fern hopped in through the open window, using a tree nearby as leverage, and watched as Lottie sewed up Oliver's wound neatly. "I'm so sorry, Lottie. I hope ye'll fergive me. I hope all of ye can." she said, Irish accent thick, voice catching. She swallowed, forcing herself to continue. "Stephen, Aleya, Oliver, forgive my actions. But I couldn't bear to see any of my, well, friends to be treted like that. And, I've disliked that man ever since I first saw him. I believe ye all have too, after seeing your reactions today."

She looked around, and saw several of them nod. "Well, now what do we do?" asked Ian. "It's a given that we can't stay here. Especially not Lottie."
As he spoke, there was a soft dlutter of wings and a coo, as Ariel settled herself on Fern's shoulder.

The Irish girl looked at her owl, who looked at the window. She looked out, and noticed a few Redcoats wandering around outside, trying to look casual. However, they kept shooting furtive glances at the house. Looking closer at Ariel, she realized the bird had been shot at.

A slightly agitated Fern turned back to the others. "Looks like we have another problem. They're keeping watch on us. And they shot at my Ariel. Does she look like a duck to them?!" No one understood the context of her last remark.

Lottie looked worried. "I believe that is a measure to prevent us feom escaping."
Next to her, Fern snorted.
"Well, obviously that isn't going to work out very well."
"What do you mean?" asked Jane, confused.
Fern looked around, then looked at Lottie's embarassed face.
"I saw FT's note you know. And, I know Stephen did too. Shouldn't you tell them, Lottie?" she asked.
"Tell us what?" asked Vanessa.
Lottie looked distinctly embarrased. Jane, noticing this, said "How about we take Oliver upstairs, and let Lottie get some clothes? Then let's talk in the mens' room, since Oliver is in no condition to walk, hm?"
Everyone nodded, and headed to their rooms, Ian and Stephen carrying Oliver betweeen them, like a dead body.