Post by Leeroy Atherton on Aug 13, 2009 0:39:03 GMT
Country: Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset, England
General Area: maps.google.com/maps?ll=51.241608,-2.9986097&z=19&t=h&hl=en
Current Time: 16:18
Weather Conditions: Windy and very overcast, with a moderate chance of rain. Temperature is nineteen degrees Celsius (66.2 Degrees Fahrenheit), sometimes sliding down to sixteen degrees (60.8).
Leeroy Atherton was a woman of rationality, a hard worker who put business before personal affairs. Despite her introverted tendencies, she tried to be as polite and willing to talk as possible, and did what she was told, even if it pushed her a bit too far into the limelight. She would not tolerate anything less when it came to politeness, and if any patrons tried to break the rules of her bar, then they were thrown out without mercy, with even a few bruises if push came to shove. She would not dwell on what she couldn't change, and instead, simply work harder, trying to make her world run a little more smoothly as the war against Germany raged on.
Earlier that day, one of the kitchen assistants, Emily, had been going on about how she missed the young lad she fancied. His name was Tim, apparently, and she wrote to him every day, and he back to her. She kept showing off a little yellow ribbon she had received from Tim, bought from a small shop somewhere in France, and Leeroy had had to tell her four times that morning to keep it out of the food. Attached to Emily's wrist, it could easily contaminate the inn's guests' food, but no matter what Leeroy said, Emily hadn't moved it. There was enough ribbon to go around Emily's neck - surely the woman couldn't re-tie it there? Or was she too clueless, caught up in her sob stories of missing her beloved Tim, to listen to what her superiors said? No matter what the reason was, it irked Leeroy, and the Romanichal found herself working harder that morning in an attempt to vent her frustration.
So, when her break came, and she could finally wander about Burnham-on-Sea, the woman was most relieved. Despite the fact that clouds were in the sky, and a strong wind was blowing off the Bristol Channel, Leeroy could still not help but feel perky. Fresh air was just as precious as water or food, it seemed, and a walk around was always welcome during the longer days of work. Which, not surprisingly, reminded Leeroy of her primary job - she had a shift that evening at one of the local farms, delivering a few things that were to be sent to the nearby towns. There was no rest for the women these days, not with so much to do while the men were away.
That day would have also been an excellent day to take her motorbike out for a little drive. However, her "iron horse", as Leeroy fondly called it, was at a mechanic's, being repaired for some broken part or another. But who was to say that it was better than a good old walk, where the legs could be strengthened and the blood pumping more easily, all thanks to the exertion they were getting? It was quite liberating, and it helped keep Leeroy fit, for being door staff was a job not meant for the unfit. If she wanted to keep hauling drunkards out of the Traveller, then she had to keep her muscles strong, being only five-foot-six in height. Sure, some might have said she was tall for a woman, but naturally, men could be taller.
Her thoughts flickered back to that yellow ribbon of Emily's, and stayed there for a while, the Rom wondering why she was thinking about it again. It was such a vivid shade of yellow, almost as bright as a freshly-washed lemon, and was supposedly made of real silk. It matched the bright yellow ribbon Emily often had in her hair, which she had had ever since she had joined Monty's work force, back shortly after the war began. Leeroy wondered why such frivolous things were worn by women, but then again, Leeroy was guilty herself; a small, cyan band of ribbon wound itself around her own neck. It had been a birthday gift from her parents, and it went very well with Leeroy's white blouse - at least, that's what the Romanichal thought. Whether she was right or not, she didn't know.
She took a quick right, and turned out to the middle of the street. Looking to her left, her face brightened as she saw the sea side. The winds might have been rough, the waves rushing up and crashing against the sea wall, foam flying into the air, but Leeroy still wanted to walk there. It had been a misty morning on the waters, but it had cleared up, and a few fishing boats were probably out there. Leeroy wondered if Emily's yellow bracelet would stand out against the bleak landscape - everything looked grey and dark from the sea shore, the southern coast of Wales looming and mysterious on the horizon, like the Isle of Avalon from the tales of King Arthur. It was fitting, seeing as how the story was born in the land of the Cymry, as the Welsh called themselves. Now, all that was needed was the Lady of the Lake, a glistening sword, and some destined knight that would go out there and get that sword from her. Leeroy could not help but smile a little at the thought.
General Area: maps.google.com/maps?ll=51.241608,-2.9986097&z=19&t=h&hl=en
Current Time: 16:18
Weather Conditions: Windy and very overcast, with a moderate chance of rain. Temperature is nineteen degrees Celsius (66.2 Degrees Fahrenheit), sometimes sliding down to sixteen degrees (60.8).
~| (o) | ~ ~| (o) | ~
Leeroy Atherton was a woman of rationality, a hard worker who put business before personal affairs. Despite her introverted tendencies, she tried to be as polite and willing to talk as possible, and did what she was told, even if it pushed her a bit too far into the limelight. She would not tolerate anything less when it came to politeness, and if any patrons tried to break the rules of her bar, then they were thrown out without mercy, with even a few bruises if push came to shove. She would not dwell on what she couldn't change, and instead, simply work harder, trying to make her world run a little more smoothly as the war against Germany raged on.
Earlier that day, one of the kitchen assistants, Emily, had been going on about how she missed the young lad she fancied. His name was Tim, apparently, and she wrote to him every day, and he back to her. She kept showing off a little yellow ribbon she had received from Tim, bought from a small shop somewhere in France, and Leeroy had had to tell her four times that morning to keep it out of the food. Attached to Emily's wrist, it could easily contaminate the inn's guests' food, but no matter what Leeroy said, Emily hadn't moved it. There was enough ribbon to go around Emily's neck - surely the woman couldn't re-tie it there? Or was she too clueless, caught up in her sob stories of missing her beloved Tim, to listen to what her superiors said? No matter what the reason was, it irked Leeroy, and the Romanichal found herself working harder that morning in an attempt to vent her frustration.
So, when her break came, and she could finally wander about Burnham-on-Sea, the woman was most relieved. Despite the fact that clouds were in the sky, and a strong wind was blowing off the Bristol Channel, Leeroy could still not help but feel perky. Fresh air was just as precious as water or food, it seemed, and a walk around was always welcome during the longer days of work. Which, not surprisingly, reminded Leeroy of her primary job - she had a shift that evening at one of the local farms, delivering a few things that were to be sent to the nearby towns. There was no rest for the women these days, not with so much to do while the men were away.
That day would have also been an excellent day to take her motorbike out for a little drive. However, her "iron horse", as Leeroy fondly called it, was at a mechanic's, being repaired for some broken part or another. But who was to say that it was better than a good old walk, where the legs could be strengthened and the blood pumping more easily, all thanks to the exertion they were getting? It was quite liberating, and it helped keep Leeroy fit, for being door staff was a job not meant for the unfit. If she wanted to keep hauling drunkards out of the Traveller, then she had to keep her muscles strong, being only five-foot-six in height. Sure, some might have said she was tall for a woman, but naturally, men could be taller.
Her thoughts flickered back to that yellow ribbon of Emily's, and stayed there for a while, the Rom wondering why she was thinking about it again. It was such a vivid shade of yellow, almost as bright as a freshly-washed lemon, and was supposedly made of real silk. It matched the bright yellow ribbon Emily often had in her hair, which she had had ever since she had joined Monty's work force, back shortly after the war began. Leeroy wondered why such frivolous things were worn by women, but then again, Leeroy was guilty herself; a small, cyan band of ribbon wound itself around her own neck. It had been a birthday gift from her parents, and it went very well with Leeroy's white blouse - at least, that's what the Romanichal thought. Whether she was right or not, she didn't know.
She took a quick right, and turned out to the middle of the street. Looking to her left, her face brightened as she saw the sea side. The winds might have been rough, the waves rushing up and crashing against the sea wall, foam flying into the air, but Leeroy still wanted to walk there. It had been a misty morning on the waters, but it had cleared up, and a few fishing boats were probably out there. Leeroy wondered if Emily's yellow bracelet would stand out against the bleak landscape - everything looked grey and dark from the sea shore, the southern coast of Wales looming and mysterious on the horizon, like the Isle of Avalon from the tales of King Arthur. It was fitting, seeing as how the story was born in the land of the Cymry, as the Welsh called themselves. Now, all that was needed was the Lady of the Lake, a glistening sword, and some destined knight that would go out there and get that sword from her. Leeroy could not help but smile a little at the thought.
