briarthebaker-blog

[briarthebaker-blog]

Briar looked him up and down. He was really something else.  “I always thought rose hip tea was fairly common,” She said, as kindly as she could. She’d always heard of people drinking it. Of course, maybe it wasn’t the style at Marcus’ shop, that kind of tisane.  But it struck her as odd that he’d blow past the concept entirely. True, his people weren’t experimental enough (likely), living in Uptown to try mushroom teas.  “There’s always watercress and burdock,” Briar suggested. “If you’re not interested in rose hips, we can always collect some of them instead.”

Foraging | Open |

“Oh,” he faltered and reached for the book, “I- I was out looking for herbs and I… well, I assumed I’d be the only one,”

Marcus winced inwardly at his clumsiness, and though he reached for her hand initially he immediately withdrew once he stood, “-Briar Rose, how- I-” he winced outwardly and reached for his book. “Thanks.”

“Obviously, you can tell I’m rather new at it,” he reasoned quickly, anxious to not look so green, “Have you been at it long, yourself?”

[briarthebaker-blog]

“My aunts would take me into the woods,” Briar said, smoothing down her shawl. “And my school took outdoorsmanship seriously.” If that was a word. It ought to be a word.  “You are new,” She said, stepping closer to get a peek into his collection. “But you’re not doing poorly. If you like mushrooms, I can show you where I picked mine—and if you ask nicely, maybe the rosehips, too?” Why was she offering them to him? Pity for how he’d tripped, maybe? You know why. He didn’t deserve the odd spikes she felt when she saw him. Certainly he was a nice enough man, underneath the...bumbling. 

So here it was. A genuine offer of one of her favourite winter treats. Would he bite? Or would it bite?

Foraging | Open |

“Oh,” he faltered and reached for the book, “I- I was out looking for herbs and I… well, I assumed I’d be the only one,”

Marcus winced inwardly at his clumsiness, and though he reached for her hand initially he immediately withdrew once he stood, “-Briar Rose, how- I-” he winced outwardly and reached for his book. “Thanks.”

“Obviously, you can tell I’m rather new at it,” he reasoned quickly, anxious to not look so green, “Have you been at it long, yourself?”

[briarthebaker-blog]

The voice took a moment for her to place. For a moment it seemed like something out of a dream—oh. Something that took her out of a dream, more like. Always Marcus!

“Mr. O’Hare,” She called out, stepping gingerly around the oak tree and descending the hill on light feet.  “It’s only Briar Rose.” There he was, on the ground. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe he just had a natural...nature to disturb her peaceful moments. Her basket was already heavy with what she’d come for. She could crouch down in front of him, offer him a hand and a (slightly weary) smile.  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” She apologized. “I was just collecting fresh ingredients, and I never expect anyone to be out here.” She reached for his book, where it had fallen just shy of his grasp, and brought him up. 

Foraging | Open |

The first frost had come. It was time. The winter air wasn’t as cold as it could have been. Still, Briar wore a shawl over her hair as she headed to the borders of the Tulgey Woods. She wished vaguely for summertime, for berries, for a chance to be barefoot—but winter had its own delights. She whistled to a bird with a little laugh as she began to walk the trails. Yes, the singular pleasures of winter foraging. Almost no competition, save for the Rangers who understood how much the forest had to offer. There—in the roots, the splitting trunks of ancient cedars.  Hedgehog mushrooms, both bellybutton and spreaders. A little deeper, eyes scouring the forest floor–yes! The burst of yellow, winter chanterelles! Her basket soon to filling with mushrooms and dandelion greens, there was one last thing to find in the forest’s shadows.  Rose hips. Fall and winter robs the plants of their leaves. Briar Rose reached into her purse for a pair of leather gloves, fine leather. Leather from easier days.  What would she do with them? A tea, to keep her Vitamin C levels up through the winter? Jams for gifts?  She could probably sell the location of one of the other wild rose groves to Chocolate Heaven so they could make truffles. Swedes make rosehip soup, too. With almond cookies.  But these ones were hers, fair and square.  There was no thinking too hard in the forest. This was church. All was natural, all was forgiven. A crack caught her ear, and her hand went to the small knife in her bag. It was made for mushrooms. But that’s neither here nor there. “Hello?” She called out, echo rising off the trees.

[briarthebaker-blog]

Between the Sinners and the Saints | Briar and Megara |

tasteslikenutmeg

Meg’s smile widened noticeably when the girl stated what her thoughts of the club were. It made her happy when people appreciated the club.  Hades worked hard to make the club what it was today and since he came from a place where his accomplishments weren’t anything to congratulate or even acknowledge it always brought her joy to hear others compliment the product of his hard work.  “Hm, it is.” She agreed looking at the blonde. “I have always been amazed by it’s beauty. You never would have guessed it looked like this if you judged it by the outside or the part of town it is in.”

She listened as the girl spoke of her routine. “Sounds lonely.” she thought. “I am surprised to hear that. The bakery has many employees. I would not think that you would have that much trouble getting time off.” Weren’t there laws about that? Perhaps she just didn’t fight that hard. Maybe it was the kind of life she wanted. “I have worked here for twenty years now. As of last month.” She smiled, it widened as the bartender passed by them. It was a busy night and she seemed to have more orders than she could keep up with. Perhaps it was time to call Parker to help. Bandit seemed to be handling it though. She was sure she’d speak up if she needed the help.

“Oh, no,” Briar put a hand up—or was that too strong a gesture? She grabbed her drink instead, took a tiny sip.  “I don’t want the time off—I don’t really need it for anything, and I do have a mortgage to pay. I like how much responsibility Mason’s given me; I can develop new recipes, I can tinker with old ones. And being there first thing in the morning, when you see all the regulars time and again? Work makes me feel like a part of things in a way that being alone,” the word stung like a needle, “Well it just can’t compare to being there for someone when they need you.” She cleared her throat and smiled. “That, and since there’s no liquor, we have a lot of employees under 21. I don’t want them to have to worry about graveyard shifts.” Her eyes widened at the number. Goodness, she had to have been exaggerating—there was no way that this woman could have worked anywhere for twenty years! But the pride in her face...clearly that was no lie. “Congratulations! I think the twenty-year anniversary gift is meant to be china. Or silver, if you use the modern gift system. But I think I like the old one better. It makes you think more creatively.”  And yes, this place was beautiful. And in its own way, too.  “Have you achieved what you wanted to achieve? Twenty years is such a long time to spend in one place.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

☊ ? ♥

☊: “People don’t ground me,” Briar said. “Work grounds me. Making something with my hands, going out into the forest...If I could meet a person who made me feel like the woods do, then I’d probably marry them!”?: Answered.♥: “I..There’s no one that I’m allowed to cling to. I’m alone.” 

[briarthebaker-blog]

★ ✉ ☁

★: Answered.✉:  “I...I suppose Mr. Ratigan must think of me as at least a little bit of a bother. But he makes me homesick, in a nice way. Despite being nothing like the people from home! So much more....alive, I suppose.”☁:  “I don’t know what it is about Marcus, but he just always rubs me in just the wrong way! I would love to get to know him better, hopefully get past that initial bristling on my part. It isn’t fair, and I know he deserves better.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

☮?!

☮: “I find Scarlett rather soothing,” Briar admits. “She’s a good-hearted young woman, and she cares about our standards. I feel better knowing she’s on the MPB team.”?: “Confuse is an awfully strong word. There’s many people in town that I don’t understand all the nuances of. But I think I’m smart enough to have the vague outlines of nearly all of them.”!:  “No one frightens me so badly. There’s always something to connect with, some level of communion. Even if it’s just a fondness for cookies,” Briar giggles. “Everyone loves cookies.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

◎ ☯

◎: “I only feel empty when I’m with someone who doesn’t want to let me be who I am,” Briar thought aloud. “I felt empty with my parents’ friends and I felt empty with the kids at school. I don’t feel empty with my coworkers—just a little removed, since I don’t often get to work with them. And goodness knows I feel a little incorrect, sometimes, just on my own.”☯: “I think either The Dread Pirate Roberts or his Buttercup could do. They’re both so themselves, nothing else. They’re both a little more alive than I am. Which is to be expected, they have each other’s love! I think perhaps that Charlotte would be the more technical definition. You see, I can’t ever lie to myself, about anything, and I think she has the ‘skill’ that I lack.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

☒ ★

☒: “I don’t see the point in refusing to speak to anyone...I just perhaps, wouldn’t tell them anything worth the hearing.” ★: “N---no,” Briar said, very quietly. “I trust Mason in as much as he trusts me, so I suppose he’s an option, but...I was taught that you can really only trust one person, and that’s yourself.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

Foraging | Open |

The first frost had come. It was time. The winter air wasn’t as cold as it could have been. Still, Briar wore a shawl over her hair as she headed to the borders of the Tulgey Woods. She wished vaguely for summertime, for berries, for a chance to be barefoot—but winter had its own delights. She whistled to a bird with a little laugh as she began to walk the trails. Yes, the singular pleasures of winter foraging. Almost no competition, save for the Rangers who understood how much the forest had to offer. There—in the roots, the splitting trunks of ancient cedars.  Hedgehog mushrooms, both bellybutton and spreaders. A little deeper, eyes scouring the forest floor--yes! The burst of yellow, winter chanterelles! Her basket soon to filling with mushrooms and dandelion greens, there was one last thing to find in the forest’s shadows.  Rose hips. Fall and winter robs the plants of their leaves. Briar Rose reached into her purse for a pair of leather gloves, fine leather. Leather from easier days.  What would she do with them? A tea, to keep her Vitamin C levels up through the winter? Jams for gifts?  She could probably sell the location of one of the other wild rose groves to Chocolate Heaven so they could make truffles. Swedes make rosehip soup, too. With almond cookies.  But these ones were hers, fair and square.  There was no thinking too hard in the forest. This was church. All was natural, all was forgiven. A crack caught her ear, and her hand went to the small knife in her bag. It was made for mushrooms. But that’s neither here nor there. “Hello?” She called out, echo rising off the trees.

[briarthebaker-blog]

Business. This was business. Business involved turning her head to catch the eyes of his cater-waiters, clearing the last of the canapés away. It was time then, for their serving trays to be laden with cakes and pastries, cookies and squares. Everyone would have something sweet, out of the club’s largesse. The lights would have to be lowered a little more--she leaned her request into Finn’s ear as she headed into the kitchen. She caught the attention of two waiters, and asked them to grab and hold open the doors.  The cake itself would be shared according to the birthday boy—man—’s generosity. She stowed the cigar in her purse, and spied her reflection in the metal refrigerator. Didn’t she look rosy after that blunder! After a wipe, the cake server and the knife were placed on the caddy beside the cake. She placed a sparkler on the top, and with a high-arching arm she lit it just beyond the galley doors. Everyone loves a sparkler.  And as soon as the cake began to move, so too did they begin to sing. Briar always tried to keep her voice down in situations like this--this was for him to hear the people he loved singing to him. Or at least the people he vaguely tolerated. But Briar’s soprano always had a way of standing out, especially considering the high number of smokers inside the club. She caught a vague look from one of the musicians and shook it off with the bright smile she gave to the natal guest.  When the lights went up, the cutting began. Briar accepted the compliments with grace, bringing the knife down smoothly and inserting the server just so. The birthday man was accompanied by admirers. But he had friends who weren’t as blessed. As a couple of the women asked if the bakery catered corporate events, a red-faced man with ruffled brown hair spoke up.  “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing?” A man said. “Not compared to the cake,” Briar replied. “Are you enjoying your slice?” “It’s fantastic, but my dessert needs dessert, miss...” “Briar,” “Sweetbriar,” He corrected, and Briar’s toes curled in her heels. “Sweetbriar, you know what my favourite dessert is for dessert?” “Gary, why don’t we get you one of the other girls,” The birthday-man suggested, pulling a face. “I want this one,” He said, mouth full, licking the ganache off his lips. “It’s breakfast, by the way. I don’t know how much it’s going to take for you to come home with me but I am ready and willing, Sweetbriar. Name your price.” “Gary--” “My family raised me to be priceless,” Briar said, feeling the heat crawl up her neck.  “If there’s anything else I can get--” He stood, and came towards her. Leaned over her ear--a spike of Burberry cologne came with him. “You can get thousands, Sweetbriar, and a man who knows exactly what to do with you. You need defilement,” He groaned at the scent of her hair. “I can cut you another piece of cake,” Briar said, in tones even sterner than her mother’s voice could reach, wrist as as white as her teeth as she raised the kitchen knife up beside her face. It caught the light, and winked at the room. Gary sputtered, and Briar turned to cut it for him with a smile. Only then did she look up at Mr. Ratigan’s table.    

Once cut, she put it down in front of him, and looked to the birthday boy.  “Are we going to be generous with the cake?” “We can’t eat it all, but we’ll try again. Roll that bad boy on,” He permitted, giving her an apologetic look and taking her hand. She looked up at him when she felt a weight of bills in it. A thickness of them, truly. “Please accept my apology,” He said, or laughed.  She gave a nod, and held the hand tightly closed as she rolled her serving station over to another set of couches. Thank goodness for her long fingers, her strong grip. That is not how Mr. Ratigan predicted you’d make an obscene sum of money tonight! 

Crown & Catering || Briar & Padraic

Well, at least she was acknowledged as a lovely young lady. And one with a pretty face, too. You can’t think to give Mr. Ratigan a Nobel Prize in Seeing the Obvious, scoffed her pride.  But that didn’t quiet her pleasure to be noticed by a man with refined tastes, just the same. Although what he said didn’t make much sense; were there modelling scouts in the room? Did men get generous after being rebuffed by the women Mr. Ratigan hired, some way to demonstrate that they were catches after all despite their drool-stained chins? They were sure to love her baking, yes, but—oh, maybe that’s what he was meaning. The pretty dress will entice the men to come to the bakery, or make extravagant orders in the hopes of her wearing something similar.  Her lips pursed at his refusal, eyelids lowered to conceal her disappointment—until he pulled out the full cigar. And then she had new thoughts, new concerns. She didn’t have a humidor, so she’d have to smoke it here in the next two days. He had to know that most twenty-two year old women wouldn’t have proper cigar storage at hand. Which makes this cigar an invitation, she surmised. He wants me back, and he hasn’t specified that I should only return with more cookies. Her own inability to smoke a whole cigar herself would have to be addressed then, though. She’d only ever had to worry about being able to handle a few puffs at a time.  And those puffs were years ago! Maybe he would take pity. After a long moment, her fingers curled around the extended cigar, cellophane crackling slightly as Briar’s eyes slid up to meet his. “It does,” Briar agreed, smiling faintly. Of course, this posed its own problems–Briar bit her bottom lip as she quickly assessed the only pocket the dress had, a small one above her breast that was right now holding the bakery’s cards. Her glance flicked from the pocket to the cigar before she made a little sound. “Just a little too long, I don’t think it’ll fit,” She murmured carelessly– Oh my.

Her mouth clamped shut immediately. Clearly it could not be trusted open. “I’ll carry it in my hand, then,” Briar said, taking it from him and standing up, smoothing the skirt of her dress down where it had ridden up. She cleared her throat. “I think it’s time I went and set up— but you can finish the rest of the Kir Royal, tell me if you like it later once you’ve had some cake?” Clearly she’d had enough of it.  At least Mr. Ratigan was a gentleman who would not press the matter. 

[briarthebaker-blog]

Once Upon a December

Two days after her return to her parents’ court, the fairies came to speak to Briar Rose in her quarters. Princesses are not born, but decided upon. The decision had to be unquestionable. 

“Your Highness, you must not speak of our time in the forest,” Flora told her. “Our responsibility, all of us and you, must be to the Kingdom and your future husband.” She looked to them. “His Highness was happy to marry a peasant girl.” Merryweather looked as though she would speak and Flora shot it down with a poisoned look. “His Highness fell in love with your beauty and grace, but he did marry the Princess Aurora.”  “He--he wouldn’t have come for me if I wasn’t me,” She reasoned. “He came to rescue his peasant girl; I didn’t wake for the kiss of a Prince, I woke for the kiss of my true love.” The Princess’s mouth could never look ugly, even as it shifted unkindly.  “Are you speaking to Briar Rose, or the Princess Aurora?” Three different answers, all at once.  “The Princess Aurora.”  “Why, you, dear,” “Rose!” They looked at each other and to their former ward, or niece, or daughter. “What may I say?” She said.  “As little as you can,” Flora began. “That you were fearful, that you can’t even say how you survived for sixteen whole years. We bumbled through everything. I’ve already begun saying some nonsense about how we didn’t know to bake the cake before icing it and that I cut a hole out of cloth for your feet to go through when making your debut gown.” Briar Rose’s mouth parted in indignation. She had thatched their roof, grown their crops, hunted their game, they all had! They had survived as any peasant family would! She could snare and fish and run and  “We took care of each other,” She breathed. “I took care of myself, we all did—why must I lie?” Fauna came closer. “Dear, the people of court wouldn’t know how to handle it if they could imagine you hunting rabbits and digging outhouses, they would forget that you’re a Princess. People who do those sorts of things--” “Your authority at court depends upon you playing your part, my child,” Flora reinforced. “Princesses do not do the things we had to do. They cannot.” “They’re fools and ninnies who have never worked, and competence makes them feel bad about themselves.” Flora all but snarled at the youngest fairy. “A competent farm-hand is not something Princess Aurora can be proud to be! Thank heavens for our magic or else--” The Princess Aurora stood and the fairies remembered their height. And their place. To serve the court.  “Or else what?” She asked. They said nothing. “Your Highness,” Flora began, pale as cloth. “On your christening day, we gave you gifts. Merryweather could mitigate Maleficent’s curse. Flora gave you your beautiful voice. And I--I gave you beauty, immeasurable beauty, as I gave your mother before you. There is no greater blessing for a princess.” The Princess had turned to her own reflection and looked on it with the same confusion as when she was first bestowed her crown. “Without it you would look every bit the farmhand. Muscles bursting out of a gown, not a good look!” She attempted to joke.  “You may leave,” the Princess said, gaze never leaving the mirror.  What had they done to her?

Days became weeks. Her mother told her the words of her blessings, heavy on her tongue as they were to her daughter’s ear. Philip courted her in earnest—Samson had the easier time winning her trust though the other horses in the stable whinnied and whined for her attentions.  Philip could take her places that her ladies-in-waiting could not. Though he would not take her to her woods. “I’m still a little frightened of goblins and trolls,” He joked in their first year of marriage, “And why would we want to be anywhere but in this bed?” It did not snow on the palace that winter.  “We have our own palace to tend and rule, I promise yours is safe and sound,” He cooed in their second year. They had heirs to make. No seed took purchase.  “Our courtiers would miss you too dearly.” “We have duties.” Briar Rose prickled with fear. No reason was given in the next three years. Their kingdom grew; their military grew to defend it, and the farmland on the outskirts of the palace grew verdant, creating more crops than their kingdom could ever eat. Stefan and Leah still ruled, still keen, but the young Prince and Princess held the court. The wild grace of Briar Rose was lost in the echoing grace of the dawn. The skills of a hunter were not so different from the skills of a courtier. Both required stillness, a keen ear, and a swift and silent hand.  Hubert died first, then later Stefan. Only the grief in the Queen’s eyes showed their age.  The black and greys of mourning were Briar Rose’s colours, and she prayed that she would be forgiven for enjoying a more familiar reflection.  It is odd, the things that can make a perfect woman crack. Philip and Aurora were perfectly married. Their decisions were made in unison, they learned leadership from the same tutors and courtiers. They could laugh and dance. But even perfection grows tiresome. Philip would smile at the girls with the crooked smiles, the uneven noses, the unruly hair. He would not love them, he would only love her. The betrayal was not physical, not for the most scrutinized pair in the land. He did love her. She did love him but who was she, who was the princess, who was the girl, was she they, was there any of her left in her? Who would she become, was she going to die inside of Aurora’s smile, Aurora’s gowns? Commissioning feasts was not the same as cooking them. Wearing gowns could not compare to the pride of mending them. Commanding to have done was not the same as doing. They let her sing, at feasts, gave her solos with eagerness that they would have given her otherwise with remorse. She chose the hardest ones she could. She missed strain.  It was eight years until the weight of the crown became natural enough to ignore. She bade the castle’s best huntsmen to ride with her into the warm December night, one torch blazing. “Where do you wish to go, your Highness?” “The forest,” She said. “The deepest part. I will lead.” “The snow is thick, your Highness,” The hunter warned her. She looked to him, but said nothing. When she saw the first glimpse of the snow on her forest, she thought she would cry. Her forest, it never snowed there--the forest remembered her and began to shed its snow for shame. The hunters looked to each other. “We thought it was a unicorn, keeping the woods green. All of us.” “I walk with springtime wherever I go,” Aurora recited, and brought her horse in front.  Along the creek, up the path, down through the grove and into the glen. The hunters followed close.  Her cottage had been devoured by the tree they’d worn it into. Eight years without upkeep--the watermill’s planks had rotted and collapsed. The thatch roof had holes. Doubtless the furniture was ruined. She’d left her clothes behind. Had moths enjoyed them? She tied her horse to a tree, and extended her hand for the torch. The hunter passed it after a moment’s hesitation. Enough steps of the footbridge remained that she could walk right up to her own front door. Home, not-home. Briar Rose’s home, her home, she was still Briar Rose, someone, please, remember me, remember the girl who lived here-- “Your Highness,” The hunter breathed, stepping off his mount. Princess Aurora raised the torch, pulled back her shoulder.  “Your Highness!” The hunter shouted. Briar Rose threw the brazier in the stream. Like a tree she fell to the forest floor. Her sobs echoed through the entire forest.  They were muffled long before reaching the palace, which enjoyed its first snowfall in eight years. “Your Highness,” The hunter murmured, coming and kneeling to the sobbing woman.  “Briar Rose,” The princess whimpered. “My name--is Briar Rose.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

if i’m butter, if i’m butter if i’m butter then he’s a hot knife he makes my heart a Cinemascope screen showing a dancing bird of paradise he excites me (must be like the genesis of rhythm) i get feisty whenever i’m with him                                                                 i’m a hot knife, i’m a hot knife                                                                 i’m a hot knife, he’s a pad of butter                                                                 if i get a chance i’m gonna show him                                                                 that he’s never gonna need another,                                                                 never never need another                       you can                       you can                       you can relax around me                                                               maybe he can teach me something                                                               maybe i can teach him too                                                               even just to reach is triumph                                                               now i really got a hold on you

[briarthebaker-blog]

☆ ♛ ♦

☆: “Aside from the high school boy from the last time I answered this question...” Did she resent her mother or father enough to punch them? No--no, she loved them, always would. “I don’t want to punch anyone else. Not even a little bit.”♛: “I’ll....I’ll carry on in the same vein as the make-out answer. Someone who’s good at it. Someone who wants to fuck me, often, and mean it.” Briar cleared her throat. A stray image floated across her mind. A hand with the scent of tobacco, sliding up her stomach to her throat.♦: “If I had one roadtrip for my aunts...Am I allowed to say that I’d like a second one just to be alone? I loved the trip I took when I found Mythos Pines. I think I could keep going as long as I would have to.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

♗ ♠ ❖ 💗

♗: “Oh dear,” Briar bites her lip. “Men and women are sexy in such different ways. I think it’s easier to find the women I’ve met sexy, like Megara and Luz, because I know what sexy means for a woman to be. A sexy man...they can look like anything, can’t they, as long as they know their own power, what they can do to a woman. And I can’t really say I’ve felt that energy directed at me, though of course I’ve witnessed it, so, I think Luz or Megara would have to be the right answer.”♠: “---Umm, that’s a forward question--someone who wanted to make out with me? A good kisser, a man I’m at least faintly attracted to? I don’t think it’s right of me to answer a question like that, I can just see my aunts and mother’s looks of disapproval from here that I even want a man to kiss me that way. Although I know I’m a little behind, but why does it have to be such a big--please let me just say the Gone with the Wind answer, I want to be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.”❖: “How long would I be sending the person to jail for? My eldest aunt warned me so sternly about being good, I think maybe it would be good for her to see what someone who really misbehaved has done. But just for a visit. Why would I want to lock someone away? No one’s harmed me.”💗: “Why, that is a compliment! I don’t think too many young women have the honour of your friendship. Anything else would be...inappropriate?” She laughs. “Besides, I need a Prince; I think we both know that you are a King.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

✖ ☂ ♦ ✌

✖: “Now, I don’t want to seem unfair, her business has been very good to the bakery,” Briar said, nursing her cup of tea. “She’s fantastic at maneuvering between the desires of her clients and the realities of cake-making. And it’s hard to be in a bad mood when you’re near her, it’s wonderful how cheery is. I just hope she appreciates how lucky she is to be with Mr. Ratigan. She’s too old to think she should be having kids biologically, and I can’t imagine Mr. Ratigan wanting to worry over a kid in college when he’s in his seventies. And in all that pink, you’d never lose her in a crowd.” She closed her mouth firmly, stifling a giggle. “I’m sure she’s lovely when you get to know her. He wouldn’t want to be with someone who had no other thoughts but Good gracious, wherEVER am I gonna find enough tinsel for the table runners~~!!” She put down her teacup. “No, he’s too smart. I will have to get to know her better.” ☂: “My dream prince,” Briar sighed. “I’ve had dreams of being in the rain with him before. Oh, I don’t know what he looks like, but I know he’ll hold the umbrella just right, high enough to keep all of me dry, close enough to be near him...You didn’t say I had to have met him to want to share the umbrella.”♦: “My aunts,” Briar said decisively. “If I had all three of them, we’d be able to split driving shifts evenly, and my parents wouldn’t have to worry. Boys wouldn’t try to get me into trouble, and I’d learn so much about America from them. They’ve travelled and lived, and I could see fabric markets and the insides of zoos--oh, it would be fun!”✌: “Would it have to be a woman, since women are jailed together? I think my Mother if it had to be a woman. I shouldn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to cross her, even in jail. And...and I was a bit hasty, leaving home when I did. There’s still so much I can learn from her, now that I’m old enough to understand her perspective. And I’m sure she respects what I’ve accomplished thus far. If we’re in the same town again, I think we can start building a whole new relationship.”

[briarthebaker-blog]

☆, ♤

☆: “Why--why should I want to punch anyone?” Briar pursed her lips. “But if for the sake of argument, I had to punch someone, and it had to be a good punch, with force behind it...there was a boy in my class at high school once, who stood in front of the whole class in our free period and gave a presentation on how I clearly wasn’t born so much as created in a lab, since didn’t like to misbehave or flirt or get into trouble with my classmates and I was clearly pretty enough to get into all kinds. And it was awful, because he got the idea from when we were working on a group project on our lineage and told him that my parents struggled so to have me. I would punch him. Imagine saying I was genetically engineered to be beautiful and compliant!”♤:  “Luz.” There’s no hesitation. “If I had a figure like Luz, I wouldn’t be so shy! I’m not sure how you’re going to find any different answer.”