oh man…I’m bad at this, and I was hoping for some earlier comments for some inspiration…how about:
“and he dared to try to sell me a waistcoat of the wrong material!”
“no!”
“sadly yes. I simply couldn’t abide it. I left his shop immediately, in my usual prancing fashion.”
eh. no good. i’ll come back and read the more creative people’s entries later! 😀
Right Rake: Would you look at that lady? I believe she is heir to a fortune of 30,000 pounds!
Left Rake: My dear sir, you appear to have mud upon your cunning little shoes! Miss 30,000 will never look at you if you persist in wearing such outlandish garb!
Not that good, but I’m exhausted. Had to comment, though. LOVE the picture!
Left Fop: I say Sir ‘enry ole boy, the Marquise de Lyons fetes are truly fretfully dull as nails, don’t you think? Can Bath get any worse?
Right Fop: Tis true. The season has lost its’ glow and is nearing the end. Most anyone who is anyone has already sojourned back to their estates or townhomes in London.
Left Fop: Oh, what a ghastly bore it all is! I shalt partake no more, nor understand why in good heavens we agreed to this assignment in the first place. I’d must rather be on an elephant in some god-forsaken exotic place, being eaten alive by mosquitoes than lingering here another minute, bathing in sweat and smelling like rotten eggs!
Right Fop: Now, now dear cousin, don’t be a dunce. The deuce of the matter is, as you well know why, we were chosen to partake in the waters and comingle with the habitats to mingle and ‘hear’ what matters of botany have transpired. To take out leave now, while more pleasures may be tempting, and give up the ruse, could very well cause more conflict. Besides, dallying here longer only provides us more with the intimate clues for which the Major seeks; and the food, wine and the few damsels left are but a small reward for our work
Left Fop: Eh! Oui such the case, why I ever let you talk me into these schemes in the fist place is beyond my capacity. I’ll never know, but alright, to the dance my good man, and let the first man to catch a fair maiden’s hands in a reel, buys the other dinner tonight.
oh man…I’m bad at this, and I was hoping for some earlier comments for some inspiration…how about:
“and he dared to try to sell me a waistcoat of the wrong material!”
“no!”
“sadly yes. I simply couldn’t abide it. I left his shop immediately, in my usual prancing fashion.”
eh. no good. i’ll come back and read the more creative people’s entries later! 😀
Right Rake: Look at this Fob
Left Rake: Demme it man, I am looking at you!
Right Rake: I said Fob you dimwit, as in this lovely new watch, not Fop!
Well, that’s all I got to say, demme it, but I think anything between the two fake pimpernels in that one episode of Blackadder would be perfect!
I love it! There may have to be a “fop… or fob?” moment in the next book.
Right Rake: Would you look at that lady? I believe she is heir to a fortune of 30,000 pounds!
Left Rake: My dear sir, you appear to have mud upon your cunning little shoes! Miss 30,000 will never look at you if you persist in wearing such outlandish garb!
Not that good, but I’m exhausted. Had to comment, though. LOVE the picture!
Fop 1: Is that a bicorn in his hand, or is he just happy to see us?
Fop 2: It’s a bicorn. (Pause) We’ve got them, too.
Left fop: “I say, that’s a nice pair of ankles.” *ogles lady’s ankles*
Right fop: “Yes, I know, I am rather proud of them.”
Ashley, I love yours!
Left Rake: ooo! girl! you work that updo!
Right Rake: *gasp* o no she didn’t!
in the middle of a paper and a take home test. that’s the best i can do. haha!
~lAUra
Left Fop: I say, old beast, observe the grace, the poise, the femininity! Surely no star shines brighter than that which orbits the punch table?
Right Fop: Sink me, was there ever a jewel more successful in outshining all the women in London?
Left Fop: To be sure. Excuse me, Phipps, I’ve suddenly developed a unflinchingly desperate thirst for punch.
Left Fop: When you get there, you must ask him how he managed to get his cravat do that. Mr. Brummel always seems to outdo himself.
Left Fop: I say Sir ‘enry ole boy, the Marquise de Lyons fetes are truly fretfully dull as nails, don’t you think? Can Bath get any worse?
Right Fop: Tis true. The season has lost its’ glow and is nearing the end. Most anyone who is anyone has already sojourned back to their estates or townhomes in London.
Left Fop: Oh, what a ghastly bore it all is! I shalt partake no more, nor understand why in good heavens we agreed to this assignment in the first place. I’d must rather be on an elephant in some god-forsaken exotic place, being eaten alive by mosquitoes than lingering here another minute, bathing in sweat and smelling like rotten eggs!
Right Fop: Now, now dear cousin, don’t be a dunce. The deuce of the matter is, as you well know why, we were chosen to partake in the waters and comingle with the habitats to mingle and ‘hear’ what matters of botany have transpired. To take out leave now, while more pleasures may be tempting, and give up the ruse, could very well cause more conflict. Besides, dallying here longer only provides us more with the intimate clues for which the Major seeks; and the food, wine and the few damsels left are but a small reward for our work
Left Fop: Eh! Oui such the case, why I ever let you talk me into these schemes in the fist place is beyond my capacity. I’ll never know, but alright, to the dance my good man, and let the first man to catch a fair maiden’s hands in a reel, buys the other dinner tonight.
Right Fop: Agreed. To the girls and the dance!