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everyonewasabird · 3 years ago

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Brickclub 4.2.4 ‘An apparition to Marius’

I’m not managing to pinpoint exactly where Marius is sitting, but it’s around here. This is what at the time was the southernmost corner of Paris, close to the Barriere d’Italie. The Rue de Croulebarbe runs up the middle of this image, and the Rue du Champ du Allouette runs north-ish to the west of it. The Rue de la Santé, though, also runs north, off to the west of both of them. I’m not sure exactly where he is, though, because Santé doesn’t intersect with the others. The Gobelins factory, which made tapestries and furnishings, is up at the top, along with the Bièvre river it was built on, which must be near the smaller stream Marius is sitting by.

He heard behind and below him, on both banks of the stream, the washerwomen of the Gobelins beating their linen; and over his head, the birds chattering and singing in the elms. On the one hand the sound of liberty, of happy unconcern, of winged leisure; on the other, the sound of labour. A thing which made him muse profoundly, and almost reflect, these two joyous sounds.

Two joyous sounds. Jeez.

This is Bad. Champmathieu’s daughter was a washerwoman who died young. Hugo isn’t letting us off with not knowing what this job was like:

“Then I had my daughter, who was a washerwoman at the river. She earned a little for herself; between us two, we got on; she had hard work too. All day long up to the waist in a tub, in rain, in snow, with wind that cuts your face when it freezes, it is all the same, the washing must be done; there are folks who haven't much linen and are waiting for it; if you don't wash you lose your customers. The planks are not well matched, and the water falls on you everywhere. You get your clothes wet through and through; that strikes in. She washed too in the laundry of the Enfants-Rouges, where the water comes in through pipes. There you are not in the tub. You wash before you under the pipe, and rinse behind you in the trough. This is under cover, and you are not so cold. But there is a hot lye that is terrible and ruins your eyes. She would come home at seven o'clock at night, and go to bed right away, she was so tired. Her husband used to beat her. She is dead.”

Marius continues to profoundly miss the point.

Anyway, he’s caught between the goblin and the lark, not that he’s paying any attention to the goblin.

Hugo does a nice job making his brain-state clear. Marius sits down to work every day, and nothing is connecting in his head, and he can’t make it happen. It’s sad and frustrating that his depression compounds his usual lack observation skills to make him even less able to perceive Eponine. But it’s understandable.

Poor Eponine. Hugo is being weird about her having become more beautiful, but I’m going to give him a tentative pass for now. There’s a decent chance this is about this book’s usage of beauty as internal illumination rather than outward appearance, and he’s alluding at least partially to the moral transformation she’s been undergoing.

“She had, in addition to her former expression, that mixture of fear and sorrow which the experience of a prison adds to misery.”

With Brujon, going to prison was just another Thursday, but we haven’t left behind the world Jean Valjean came from, where going to prison changes a person in permanent and terrible ways. Eponine has been changed that way.

Marius is overjoyed at the news that he can see Cosette, because of course he is.

His plot isn’t happening the way plots are “supposed�� to happen--character wants something, character takes steps to go and get it, complications ensue--and I think that’s on purpose. Marius is missing all the things that matter, and failing to take the actions that would make a difference. He’s squeaking by largely on the advantages birth and chance gave him--social class, manners, education, good looks, absolutely magical friends, etc--and that’s enough to get him the girl and the happy ending.

I’m not blaming him--his mental illness isn’t his fault. But he’s an unsatisfying character to follow because he’s meant to be. He keeps missing all the things this book stands for, and which the reader in his stead is being strongly encouraged not to miss in their own life.

And Eponine is experiencing the moral reckoning and burgeoning agency that seems structurally like it should have been his. She’s lied for him, she’s made moral judgments for the first time in her life, she’s noticed people in pain and been kind.

And this chapter, she’s weighing being selfless to someone she cares about because he’s sad and she wants to make him happy, even though it will lose her any chance at the thing she most wants.

And she does it. But even when she’s being selfless, she asserts her own dignity. She draws the line between their social classes herself, rather than seeing how much he will and won’t give her, and she refuses to let him make this exchange into something she did for money.

ETA: GOD, I just noticed that Gillenormand’s rooms are decorated in Gobelins tapestries. I don’t know, I can’t quite lay out the metaphor succinctly, but it feels important. There’s such a stark divide here with Marius benefiting from Eponine’s goblin status and from hers and other people’s labor, and he doesn’t even notice that there *was* sacrifice or labor.

#brickclub #lm 4.2.4

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years ago

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Wednesday 26 July 1837

8 ¾

12 10

slept in the blur room – A- called me at 7 ½ but got into bed again after opening the door and fell asleep – fine morning – A- came and staid and dressed me – breakfast at 9 ½ to about 10 ¼ - then went out and met in the court Messrs. Waddington, Thwaite and Gledhill come about putting the Incline and coal staith in Southowram Mr. Waddington came in for a moment – then took Robert Mann and all walked to the top of the bank – pointed out the intended site, and then looked to see how the Incline road could be brought out in John Bottomleys’ land – might get leave of Mrs. Prescott to turn the old bank along the back of Birdcage into the viaduct but then the top of the old bank in Northowram – and this against it – stood talking sometime at least agreed that Mr. Gledhill should call and give me an answer on Saturday morning for Joseph Mann had just come and said he had seen Holt who said there was an act of parliament which made the coal rateable to the township under which it was got wheresover it was brought out – nobody knew of this – if true, all was right, and I should put my staith and engine in Walsh land – all colliers to be assessed in future at £10 to £12 per collier allowance to be made for pheying and straight work – I said I should have on an average 20 colliers – which they reckoned at £16.8.0 per annum besides buildings – engine etc – very civil to them all – stood sometime talking to Joseph Mann – Holt to be here this afternoon

SH:7/ML/E/20/0100

then came John Oates to the top of the old bank from H-x – he knew nothing of the act of parliament but agreed that I should have more room in Walsh land than he thought – would not have me inconvenience myself by putting my staith in Southowram – they could not expect it – home at 12 55 – sauntered about till all the men were at work again Robert Mann + 7 levelling the terraces walks Parkinson + 2 or 3 at the top terrace walls – he had brought the state of the poll at noon –

Protheroe 400

Wood 392

Wortley 264

over – Mr. Wortley reported to be gone to Sheffield – then with John Booth setting up spouts so as to fill the new cooler come from Luptons’ and the old tubs and barricks = 58 ½ gallons with water – then went in to A- soon after 2, or about 2 ¼ and sat with her till 3 Mr. Wortley’s being so far behind, incomprehensible - A- and I very sorry – but never despair – we will manage better in future? A- will have a vote from Throp or quit him – out again at 3 – Edward Waddington and James Sharpe the masons finished the laundry chimney outside – began yesterday on the roof – Joseph Booth and John Sharpe pulling down the conery barn – Booths’ 4 men will have done at the Listerwick pen-trough on Friday night – John Booth boughed out the yew tree ready to be removed - at 5 off to Little Mash by Pump lane – Womersley there and Gray the mason and young Mallinson the carpenter – back at 7 – washed hands for dinner – went into the cellar for marsala – dinner at 7 35 – came upstairs at 9 at which hour F62° A- made coffee for Mr. gray and came upstairs at 9 ½ - then we had tea in the blue room – in ¾ hour and A- left me at 10 35 – very fine day

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tangledbea · 3 years ago

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How did you think they cared for Rapunzel’s hair in the castle and the caravan e.g. washing and brushing it?

I think it was a group effort. Although Rapunzel is capable of washing and brushing her own hair, it's also really time consuming to do it alone. So I believe that brushing was handled in segments - and although it's a cute visual to have those segments be someone start at the roots and there's a long line going down the length of her hair, that's not realistic and would result in sections of tangles and knots where one person's segment ends and the next person's begins, so I think it's more like separated into hanks and each person tackles one of those.

Washing would be different in palace and caravan, though. I headcanon that in the palace, she uses oil-absorbing powders that can then be brushed out (kind of like dry shampoo) more often than washing it properly. But when it is washed, it's done kind of like Azula in ATLA.

There's a trough of water long enough for all of her hair to flow freely, and she and servants work on washing it in bits and pieces. Until she invents the Mega-Dry, she has to dry it like she did in the tower - drip-dry by hanging it from things. But post-Mega-Dry, it goes much faster.

In the caravan, she still uses the powder a lot, but she's back to Tower ways of washing it: doing it like laundry in a tub and drip-drying it.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Rapunzel #TTS #Speculation #Headcanons #Answered

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honey-dewey · 3 years ago

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The Cowboy Conundrum

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/GN! Reader

Word Count: 3,128

Warnings: Jack gets heatstroke and suffers the symptoms (passing out, vomiting, etc.), but other than that it’s mostly just hurt/comfort

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog, and the masterlists are created by @clydesducktape.

Out in the middle of the desert, the days were long and hot, usually unforgiving and always unbearable. The sand was gritty, the sun was cruel, and the lack of humidity was somehow a curse and not its usual blessing.

Why the hell you were in a desert right now was beyond you, but apparently your work had decided to send you to the middle of God’s country, Arizona for something important, so something important you were doing. Well, you were waiting for your instructions in a cabin on the outskirts of some ghost town, but that felt close enough. You’d been here for almost three months, and at this point, you were entirely used to the boringness and the labor of day-to-day life in the desert.

Thankfully, it seemed the gods were merciful today. Instead of heading into town for a drink or counting tumbleweeds as you always did to stave off the boredom, a horse approached you as you exited your cabin to grab water from the well. It wasn’t a particularly interesting horse, just a regular old bay horse with one small white sock, but what intrigued you was the horse’s rider, or obvious lack thereof. Fully tacked in western gear, the horse had no rider that you could see. No one on the horizon, no shouts above the dry wind, not even a whisper of whoever had sent this horse running to you.

“Are you alone?” you asked, rubbing up and down the horse’s muzzle. “Are you all alone out here pretty boy? Hm?”

The horse whickered, shoving against you and flicking his tail. You nodded, looking out over the sienna landscape. “Is there something out there?”

Another soft whicker, and this time, you could’ve sworn you saw something, a glimmering mirage against the heat. A man, shambling upright, limping with every step. With one blink, he was gone, but the image remained burned in your head. You blinked a few more times, trying to dispel the mirage, but you couldn’t.

“Oh what the hell,” you groaned, picking up your hat and placing it securely on your head. “What could go wrong?” Already in riding clothes, you wasted no time swinging up into the horse’s saddle and gripping the reins tightly in one hand. “Take me wherever.”

Immediately, the horse was off, you along with him. Riding was as natural as breathing for you, and you actually felt nice with the wind threatening to upend your hat with every step the horse made.

It took almost ten minutes to find anything, but the horse seemed to know where he was meant to go and took you there without hesitation. When you finally came upon the crumpled body of a man, you swung off the horse’s back before he slowed to a stop, running alongside him and falling before the man. He was unconscious, his skin as hot as the ground beneath him and as dry as the air you were breathing. You shoved two of your fingers to the side of this neck, just below his jaw, and found a pulse, wild and erratic, racing under the man’s skin.

“Looks like heatstroke,” you said to the horse, flicking the brim of the man’s hat up and seeing his sun-flushed face. “Yep. C’mon, think you can carry us both?”

The horse was surprisingly willing to carry you and the mystery man. He knelt down so you could position the man at the front of the saddle, and stood still when you swung yourself up as well. Because of the extra weight, what should’ve been a ten minute trip home was closer to twenty, but before you knew it, you were dragging the man inside your cabin, leaving the horse cool and comfortable in the attached stall beside the house.

You groaned, hauling the man onto your only bed. You could take the couch until he recovered, you truly didn’t mind. Turning the ceiling fan on, you listened to it creak as you stripped the man of his clothes, piling everything to be washed in a basket by the door. When he was left in only his underwear, you began to relax. You’d need well water, which was typically cool, but for now, you grabbed an ice tray from your ancient freezer, popping out an ice cube and handling it carefully. The last thing you wanted was to drop the man’s temperature too fast, but you had to cool him down.

In the end, you ran the ice cube across his skin, focusing on the sensitive areas the most, his face, neck, and armpits. He gave no response to the shock of cold, and you couldn’t help but fear the worst. How long had he been out there? You knew heatstroke victims could lapse into comas, and you were technically supposed to call emergency services immediately, but who the hell were you going to call out here? All you could do was treat him as best you could and pray to whatever God resided over your personal slice of hell that the mystery man didn’t die in your bed.

You sighed, watching the last sliver of ice melt away. The man’s face looked a bit less flushed, and you ducked into your bathroom, coming out holding two thermometers. One was an oral thermometer, the one you were probably going to use, and the other was a rectal thermometer, the one you really should use. The second one was going to give you a more accurate reading, but holy shit. You hadn’t even technically met the guy yet, and you didn’t exactly think sticking a thermometer up his ass was the way to kick off your introduction.

Giving in, you put the first thermometer in the man’s mouth, watching and waiting for the beep. When it dinged, you pulled it out from between his teeth and sighed. 104.2 degrees fahrenheit. Shit. Still in the danger zone.

There was no getting around it now. You needed water, and fast. Your shower could only get to lukewarm before it stopped cooling, so you resigned yourself to hauling a bucket to and from the well. The horse looked at you as you sloshed water into the house, hurrying to get back to the man’s bedside before anything bad happened. Thankfully, he seemed to be better when you returned, dropping the remaining cubes from the ice tray into the water, cooling it down for a minute, and then grabbing a threadbare washcloth from the bathroom. The rag seemed to help more than the single ice cube, and you felt comfortable enough after wiping him down for a while to get up and leave him, the water-soaked towel still across his forehead, of course.

While the man rested inside, you headed outside to tend to the horse, putting his tack away in the miniscule shed beside the house and getting him cozy with some water and hay. He seemed grateful, munching on the hay while you began to fill your laundry trough. It was sat on the porch, the metal tub and laundry line the only way you had found to wash clothes out here. Two buckets of well water did the trick, and then you were grabbing your washboard, soap, and laundry, ready to scrub.

You were halfway through washing the man’s jeans when you heard a thud inside the house. Abandoning your laundry, you rushed back inside, seeing the man, awake, bent over on the floor, clutching his head and groaning like a wounded animal. You knelt beside him, helping him sit back on his haunches and then slump against the wall, skin flushed and warm against your damp hands.

“You have heatstroke,” you explained clearly and slowly, grabbing a new wet washcloth and wiping the man’s skin down, taking care around his brown eyes. “You were unconscious in the desert. Your horse found me, and I brought you back to my cabin.”

The man nodded loosely, his movements uncoordinated. You tracked his eyes, watching how they flickered around your face, never seeming to focus on one thing. “Are you nauseous?” you asked, grabbing an ice cube out of your second tray. You handed it to the man, gesturing for him to put it in his mouth. He did so, nodding as he went.

“Dizzy?” Another nod, and you were standing to wring the warm washcloth out and re-cool it.

“Headache?” The nodding increased in strength, and you winced, setting the cold towel against the man’s head, soaking his brown curls. “Pulsing?” You hated the confirmation, and you sighed. “Yep, heatstroke. Just gonna have to keep cooling you off, I guess.”

You were hesitant to leave the man, but the laundry still had to be done. Eventually, you gave him an old paper-thin bathrobe and let him sit on the porch swing, sucking on ice cubes and watching you scrub his undershirt against the washboard. He never once complained, but he didn’t say anything else either, and you had to wonder, as you hung the shirt to dry, if the man could even speak at all.

You got your answer over dinner. You insisted he eat plain toast, and he shook his head in refusal. It was a battle you were willing to fight, because you kept pestering him until he finally snapped, “Y’ain’t my damn mother!” His voice was raspy and sick sounding, but underneath that you could hear a richness to his words.

“Even so,” you said, not ready to give up just yet. “You need to put something in your stomach. Just one piece, please.”

The man’s eyes softened as you pushed the plate towards him. “Half,” he countered.

You shrugged, ripping one piece of toast in half and giving him the slightly bigger piece. “That works, cowboy.”

He ate slowly, each bite small and hesitant. He was still woozy, staying in his chair only because of the study back and arms of the chair trapping him in. But his head bobbed and his eyes flickered open and shut, and you were certain his head was still killing him.

“A good night’s rest will do you good,” you said as you finished dinner, helping the man up and into bed. “I’ll leave the fan on, okay?”

The man nodded, letting you tuck the thin quilt around his body and leave him with nothing more than a whispered goodnight.

The next morning, the man seemed to be doing better. His skin was no longer as flushed pink as it was the day before, and he told you over breakfast that his head had finally stopped pounding so hard. It still hurt, but was no longer unbearable.

Unfortunately, he was still nauseous and lightheaded, stumbling around the cabin and throwing up what meager oatmeal you’d convinced him to eat. It was hell as you followed him to the bathroom and rubbed his back, letting him cry into your shirt for a while before realizing being on the floor couldn’t be good for him.

“Looks like it’s another bed rest day,” you said, helping him up off the bathroom floor. He swayed in your arms, groaning as you walked him to the bedroom. “I know,” you said slowly, pulling back the quilt on the bed. “But you just have to rest.”

The man fell asleep quickly, and you left him with the fan on and an open window to let in some breeze while you went outside to get some chores done. It was mostly busy work, hauling well water to fill the house’s water tank, checking on the laundry, feeding the horse from yesterday, and caring for your own horse in the stall beside the mystery horse. By the time you walked back inside, it was nearing noon, the grandfather clock in the living room reading half past eleven.

The man was awake when you entered the bedroom, and you insisted on taking his temperature.

“Just a minute,” you promised, holding the thermometer out. “Then I’ll leave. I have to go to town anyway. Think you’ll survive on your own?”

The man gave you a look as he put the thermometer under his tongue. When it beeped, he handed it to you, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “One hundred and three point six,” you said out loud, putting the thermometer on the nightstand. “Getting lower.”

“That’s good,” the man said. “I think.”

“It’s better than it was yesterday,” you said, looking over the small bookshelf in the room and picking a book. “Here. Read as much of this as you can before I get back please. I’ll see if I can’t find anything to help your head while I’m out.”

You ended up leaving the man with his book while you saddled your horse up and rode into town. The trip was only a few miles, but you almost never walked it out of fear you’d end up with heatstroke, just like the man in your house.

“Heya Sal,” you said, dismounting and walking up to the convenience store. “How you doing?”

Sal looked up, his cloudy eyes unfocused. He was older than everyone in town by a wide margin, but no one dared try and help him, lest they end up getting a cane to the ankle. “I’m doing fine,” he said, finally focusing on you. “How are you?”

“Oh I’m hanging in there,” you said, smiling. “Gotta get some groceries. I ran out of eggs yesterday, if you can believe it.”

Sal shook his head. “Just don’t go drinking them raw,” he said as you entered the convenience store. “I did that in my youth and let me say, made me sicker than a dog.”

Smiling, you let the cold of the air conditioning wash over you as the door swung shut. The store was dead empty aside from the owner, who seemed oddly excited to see you.

“I haven’t seen anyone else all day!” He said happily, hopping over the counter to hug you. “It’s good to see you, how’ve you been holding up?”

“I’m fine Joey,” you said, hugging Joey back and flicking a stray brown cowlick he’d missed when he was getting ready. “I found a heatstroke victim yesterday, and I’m no nurse, but I think he’s getting better.”

Joey winced. “Out here? It’s a miracle he’s survived!” he said. “Is he okay?”

You shrugged, reaching around Joey to grab a basket. “Headache,” you said. “Nausea, he’s still running a fever, and he’s woozy, but he’s awake now, so I don’t have to worry about a coma.”

“Sounds rough,” Joey muttered, picking up a bottle off a shelf and handing it to you. “Here. Painkillers. Should help the mystery man’s head.”

You grinned. “Joey, you are a lifesaver.”

By the time you got home an hour later, the sun was at its peak, and you were worried about the man inside. But your worries were just that when you realized he was fine, sitting up in bed and reading the book you’d given him. He looked up as you walked in, carrying the bag of things you’d gotten him. He took his medicine without complaint, even though you knew it was probably nasty, and seemed to perk up when you told him you’d bought him new clothes because his old ones were disgusting. He joined you yet again on the porch when you went outside, although this time you sat beside him, working patiently on a cross stitch project.

“Do you like working on these things?” the man asked, handing you your thread snips. “When you’re bored?”

You snorted, tying off the thread you’d finished using. “Yes,” you said sarcastically. “I’m a ninety year old woman who has nothing better to do than to work on a cross stitch in my rocking chair.”

The man laughed, passing you the thread bundle you gestured at. “I’m serious,” he said, watching you expertly thread the needle you were holding. “You’re very good at this.”

His words made you warm, and you shrugged loosely. “There’s not much to do out here,” you admitted. “So yeah, I guess I do like it, cowboy.”

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

The man looked you in the eyes, smiling slightly. “My name is Jack.”

Just like that, Jack was no longer a mystery. He was a constant in your life for two more weeks as he recovered, growing stronger by the day. You gave him chores to do, making sure none of them were too labor intensive, and he pulled his weight around your cabin, hardly ever complaining. At night, you and him would watch the sunset on the porch, sitting side by side on the porch swing. You took care to finish your cross stitch, the tiny, rhythmic X stitches in the fabric lulling you into a state of calm night after night.

One day, almost three weeks after Jack had arrived, he told you he had to leave.

“I’m gonna go tomorrow,” he said, tangling his feet with yours under the kitchen table. He had made dinner, the chili a nice warm meal after your long day. “I was out here traveling, and my people back home are probably worried sick about me.”

You nodded. You understood, you really did, but damn did it hurt to see him go. You liked having Jack around. He was funny and smart and an excellent cook. A tiny part of you wanted to ask him to stay, and then you remembered you didn’t live here either. You were just visiting, exactly as he was.

The next morning, you helped Jack pack his things, giving him a nice new shirt to wear.

“It’s thin,” you said, handing him the vibrant red fabric. “So it should help keep you from overheating. Just remember to drink water and to stay cool please.”

Jack chuckled, putting his hat on his head and tipping the brim up. “Will do.”

As Jack got dressed, you walked out to his horse, holding your completed cross stitch. It was a beautiful pixelated version of the landscape, the tiny cabin illuminated by the rising sun. Slipping it and a letter into Jack’s saddle bag, you gave his horse one last kiss on the nose before going to tell your cowboy good-bye.

It was hell watching Jack ride away. He waved to you as he kicked his horse into a trot, disappearing over the horizon line faster than you wanted him to. When he came back into view, miniscule and almost unseeable, his red shirt a stain against the orange of the sand, you waved again, He saw you and his hand raised, bidding you farewell one last time before he looked out over the sea of rising buttes and sienna sand, riding off and leaving you alone under the cloudless sky.

#Kingsman #kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing #writer wednesday

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heyitswil · 2 years ago

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Traditional Bathroom

#Huge elegant kids' beige tile travertine floor corner shower photo with a trough sink #open cabinets #medium tone wood cabinets #concrete countertops #a one-piece toilet and brown walls bathroom #cardinal construction inc #laundry tubs and troughs #travertine flooring #stained cabinetry #wall mounted sink faucet

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zazamatic · 6 years ago

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In the months following the end of the war, despite all efforts, food and housing shortages were still severe. In the winters of 1918–19 and 1919��20, the Viennese population was starving again. On banners they wrote, ‘What you give to the settlement, you will save in unemployment support’, and ‘Give us land, wood and stone and we will make bread from it!’

To restore national pride and prosperity, the municipality exhibited settlers’ and allotment gardeners’ achievements to the Viennese public. The highlights of the exposition were three settlement houses, Margarete Lihotzky had designed them personally.

They all adhered to a similar modular construction system that could be expanded over time and built outward from a small ‘core’. The process of enlargement worked like this: In the first phase, a minimal Siedlerhütte (settler hut) was constructed, which consisted of a Wohnküche (live-in kitchen) and a small bedroom on the second floor; in the second phase a stable was added; in the third, the bedroom on top was enlarged; in phase four, two rooms were added; and in the fifth stage a Kochnische (cooking-niche) and Spülküche (scullery) extended the house to the garden. Thus, houses could grow over time whenever the settler family was able to afford adding on to the central core.

The cooking-niche had fourteen fixed elements. They were rationally organized and stood in direct relationship to one another. In addition to the stove, the cooling counter and the hay box, which remained in the live-in kitchen, the niche had a laundry stove, a preparation table, a washing trough, a box for collecting kitchen wastes for the animals or compost, a dish draining board, a drawer for special utensils, a sink, another hay box with additional drawers, a water conduit with swivel tap, ten running metres of shelves for kitchen equipments, and even a tub. All elements were poured in one concrete block. The floor was cast in concrete as well. Cleaning was easy. Through an outlet in the floor the water could be drained when washing up or taking a messy bath. There were no longer any furniture feet that would make sweeping laborious. Kitchen furniture was in effect eliminated.

https://journal.eahn.org/articles/10.5334/ah.aq/print/

https://www.deutschlandfunkkultur.de/serie-frauen-im-bauhaus-margarete-schuette-lihotzky.1013.de.html?dram:article_id=437461

#margarete lihotzky #kitchen #vienna

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swagmmorg · 2 years ago

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Kingdom come deliverance bathhouse

In the villages the bath-house keeper had to do all these jobs himself. In the richer urban baths there would also be pharmacists, massage therapists, stokers and cleaners. In the 13th century particularly, bath-house prostitution became widespread and there were scarcely any that did not provide sexual services. In the 13th and 14th century, the bath-houses were very much associated with prostitution. In addition to municipal and private baths, there were also private baths in the houses of the nobility and wealthy townspeople. Bathhouses typically belonged to the municipality, and were leased to the bath-keepers. There was even a regulation that the bath-keepers had to open their doors once a quarter to the poor and to students. Almost every NPC has a story to tell, and many have believable personalities. Kingdom Come: Deliverance provides one of the best open world gaming experiences. Here's what you need to know about how it works in the title. Kingdom Come Deliverance features some opportunities for romance. There were 47 public baths in Prague in the second half of the 14th century and by the 15th century the baths were attended not just by the well-to-do, but also by the poorer classes. Kingdom Come Deliverance: A Complete Guide To Romance. In Bohemia, there were baths in operation since the early Middle Ages and their numbers rose steadily. Fully body washing was done in bath tubs, coopered wooden vats and tanks. Bodily cleanliness was in the care of male and female bath assistants. In those times, steam was produced by pouring water onto heated bars of iron or stones. Here, people had access to hot water for bathing or steam baths. Sometimes a town would have three to four bathhouses. There were baths quite literally in every town, and not in small numbers. Public baths in Central Europe appeared from about the 12th century. Where hygiene and bathing was not up to scratch, the public baths were on the rise. You can get yourself bath, clean clothes, healing, haircut, shave or even hire a wench.You can buy various types of potions or bandages here. Before the Perk I mention I could haggle the Bath house Owner ( not the maid).At the bathhouse you can talk to the Bathhouse proprietor and for only a handful of gold, use one of the bathhouse services. The higher your skill the more damaged a item is that you can repair.Īs to Haggling, sounds like your haggling skill isn’t too high an needs to be improved. Repair kits for clothing, armor, weapons, shoes, are dependent on your repair skill. As to willie repair there is a perk you can get later that lets you get it for free.īlacksmith can repair some armor but some of the best if totally trashed is to be done by an Armor smith in Rattay or Sassau. Laundry is just dirt/blood cleaning Also for an extra fee laundry and health concerns taken care of. I also tried getting them to repair my willy, but I didn’t have enough coin so I tried haggling with the bathmaids, but they said I had to pay in advance and that’s not how I roll. I have some plate couters for the elbows, but they don’t seem to get repaired either. Am I right in thinking that?Īs for getting them to repair armour, I don’t really have any at the moment as I’m not very far into the game. (more than you can do by simply washing in a trough), but in order to actually repair the condition of clothing you have to take your clothes to a tailor or buy a repair kit and repair them yourself. I think I understand now anyway, as far as I can tell if you get your clothes laundered at the bath house, they will just clean off any dirt, blood etc.

#Kingdom come deliverance bathhouse

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