As you chat with Ichabod Temperance, he relays this little incident...
by Ichabod Temperance
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Excerpt from "A World of InTemperance":
“Are you Ladies ready?” asks Miss GoldenBear.
“Almost, Miss GoldenBear. I do have a few more items to secure, if I may. How are you coming Mademoiselle?”
“Oh! I am zee chicken of Spring, I think!” I think. “It is a good thing that I travel light, too!”
That impossible Plumtartt girl. She is the sly one I think. How she cornered me with her incessant interrogations!
“Quite so. Good thing, that. I say.”
“Oh, oui! I am thinking this, too!”
Oh! That blasted woman! She infuriates me! I have made one concession after another. Still this British Nouveau Aristocrat, always gets her way! I have cast my beautiful wardrobe behind us, not unlike Fairy Tale children in a storybook forest. How it pains me to part with such lovelies.
“I say, I shall have to figure some manner of carrying my cello.”
I can contain myself no longer.
“Your cello must accompany us further, Mademoiselle Plumtartt! Is it not enough that I have long ago thrown aside many wonderful creations in an effort to support our merry little band. Oui! But for you to ask of us to carry your blasted cello, as we continue our journey into a frozen and devastating oblivion! No, Mademoiselle! I have not lost my temper in years! Perhaps many years! I always slay the offending party before I have to endure a moment of duress! But you! Too much I think, too!
“Actually, Mademoiselle, I was going to ask for some assistance with my hat boxes, as well.”
“Oh! It eez hat boxes too! This eez a pretty fancy hat I think. I shall have a look at this wonderful chapaeux that Miss Plumtartt clings to so fervently.”
I go to her hat box collection. I snatch one up. No, I get the separated shoulder for my efforts, almost, I think. This is a heavy hat to be sure! Even for my considerable strength.
I look back at Miss Plumtartt and Miss GoldenBear. They both look like they just ate a piece of cake behind my back, I think.
“Oui. I think I must have a look at this hat for sure now, no?”
Effeminate accoutrements of pretty, floral patterned fabrics and ribbons adorn and/or, maybe, disguise the heavy leather construction. I disengage the strong straps that securely hold the parcel.
I am unsure of what I am looking at. It would appear to be a cannister of particular specialized purpose.
My Lady friends might be snickering at me.
“Am I correct in my evaluations, Miss Plumtartt?” I ask with much incredulity. “Are these munitions?”
She is looking like zee cat that ate the canary I think!
“Come to think of it, I have never heard you play the cello, too!”
I heft the musical instrument case.
I open the lid.
For the first time in many a long year, I feel my face go slack with awe.
“Very well Miss Plumtartt! I am in full agreement! You never know when we might need to hear a bit of music, I think.”
“I'll carry two hat boxes, You carry two boxes, and Miss Plumtartt, you shall keep your own instrument in tow.”
“How very sporting of you Ladies. I shall make every effort not to let you down in my duty.”
Perhaps I have been hasty with Miss Plumtartt. Her estimation grows in my eyes!
“I am going to cast for shelter and assistance.” from Miss GoldenBear.
A break in the wind is created for Miss GoldenBear. by Miss Plumtartt and me standing close together. Our black haired Indian Shaman says a prayer and casts a spell, throwing a pinch of dirt in a candle flame. She holds her eyes closed. After a moment she opens them.
“This way.” indicates Abigail GoldenBear.
This trudging through the snow, this is not mademoiselle's cup of tea. Mariage Freres Noel French, it eez not I think. But if these mortals can endure, then certainly so can I.
Miss GoldenBear has indeed found shelter! A village. An Eskimo encampment. They graciously take us in. Such hospitality! I am enamored of these generous people.
An elder of their tribe seems to recognize Miss GoldenBear. An excited twittering hush runs through the group. Miss GoldenBear is treated with great reverence. It is as if they are being visited by a Figure of Legend.
She handles this with easy aplomb.
I make an observation to, as Mr. Murray might say, 'create zee diversion.'
“These dresses I think, they have seen zee better days, no?”
“Yes. Quite. Are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?” smiles Miss Plumtartt.
“We are hundreds of miles from any sign of civilization. There is no need to stand on social customs or norms in this environment, and under these circumstances.” adds Miss GoldenBear. “Now is the appropriate time. Besides, who is going to see us?”
Before leaving Winniedepuh, Wolfgang took us out to do some shopping at some wonderful little specialty shops. We all built our own unique adventure outfits.
“Oh! Oui! Now is the time I think! No? Oui!”
We each take our bundles into our privately assigned igloo.
Oh! I am excited! A whole new style of clothes for me. Truly, this is adventure!
I hurriedly slip into my new outfit. Oh! The caress of sensual fabrics and finely crafted tailoring thrill me. I exit from my refrigerated changing parlor to better survey my newest wardrobe excursion.
Stepping outside, I encounter a ray of Alaskan Winter sunlight. The distant Sun is barely able to push her radiations this far into the Northern latitudes. The weakened beams are no more than a tingle on my face.
A self examination is required.
Extra sturdy ankle boots adorn my petite feet. Fashionable, oui, but of a heavier construction than I normally would go in for, I think.
Hosiery is worn with a mind to warmth, not the intimacy of private titillations.
A short jacket protects my shoulders. A wonderful purple. It eez so hard to find a shade of purple that I am happy with! This enjoys a heavy lavender and maroon embroidery. A silk blouse with a cameo at my neck. My Dear Wolfgang designed the cameo for me. It is actually a representation of me! Mademoiselle DeeDee Gauzot! Oui!
I confess! The tiny little hat I wear is a nod to the modern fashions, but Mademoiselle must have her idiosyncrasies! Oui!
How I adore the bustle skirts! I feel completely undressed without a bustle to protect my posterior charms. But the skirts, they are proving less and less practical as we continue our journeys, I think. The Mademoiselle makes her bravest sacrifice of all!
Wolfgang and I have recently traveled through the Orient. We made a stop in the recently opened to trade country of Nippon. We saw many fascinating sights! One thing that sticks with Mademoiselle. Their brave Samurai Warriors! Sometimes appearing in voluminous, skirted and pleated pants. Hakamas. I borrow this design and have my tailor create a dress that combines several fashion aspects.
A lovely shimmering emerald satin hides the heavier, almost canvas material these rugged skirts possess. Velvet highlights and Alaskan woodland motifs décor the two “legs” of the deceptive skirted pants with intricate embroideries. Velvet flocking protects me on the inside, too! I do require the comfort! Oui!
A tasteful, conservative bustle protects my most delicate feature.
“Good morning Miss GoldenBear! Oh my goodness! You are absolutely stunning , my Dear! Oui!”
Headfirst, the Indian Beauty emerges from her Tee-Pee of the Tundra.
Sometimes, Mademoiselle forgets just how tall this woman is!
As her knee high boots find their footing, a living Totem Pole arises. Free of her civilized restraints, her frame seems to expand in welcome release. She stretches her body outward in a blossom of physical enjoyment, right to the outreached points of her fingertips.
Smiling, she shakes her thick black hair out behind and looks up into the gray skies with an inner glow that provides its own enlight-ment.
With a wide stance, she throws her head forward, flinging her onyx locks in an arcing parabola, and then immediately whipping them back, catching them up in her hands to gather a tail behind her head. In a way, reminiscent of our horses tails.
Tucked into the flapped-down top of her boots, go her brown leather pants. The supple hide firmly embraces her powerfully built legs. A zig-zag pattern of lacing details the outside seam. An inseam of a lighter skinned animal contrasts within her thighs.
A leather vest, matching in color and style of the pants, I think. Strongly inspiring the shape of an hourglass, too. The vest is just a tiny bit strained in its effort to contain this substantial girl.
A simple blouse is all that is necessary to protect this hearty child from the harsh elements.
Before me stands a woman that was only hinted at before. So great a girl has been hidden! Her magnificent hips, and bosom. Her shoulders squared, and head held high. I suddenly am unable to bring to mind a single man that can rival this girl's aura of control.
“Come along now, Miss Plumtartt! We are ready for you, I think.”
But the Mademoiselle is wrong.
I am not ready.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that emerged from that icy cocoon.
For the second time in as many days, the Mademoiselle, that is to say, I, am struck with the awe.
Despite the restrictions of my kind, I blanche at the impossibility before me.
I feel the blood drain from my bloodless face.
It takes all my self-control not to turn and flee this monstrous vision de horror!
“What eez that!” I scream!
Pausing in a reptilian crouch as the creature eats its way from its form changing husk.
It brings itself to its hind quarters.
Thickly soled boots, with an extraordinary amount of straps and buckles insinuate themselves all the way past her knees by four to six inches. Twelve to fourteen inches of indecent thigh, en-wrapped with black hosiery, is scandalously exposed before eventually making it to the bottom of the shameless girl's hem.
This hemline, barely covers her femininity! Generously studded black leather tightly conforms to her, admittedly, shapely waist.
I knew Miss Plumtarttt required support for her ample bosom, but this, I think, is ridiculous!
Such a corset Mademoiselle is not familiar with! Though I have known of their existence.
Open front, for the display of her décolletage.
I am so happy she bothered to wear a blouse! We are fortunate she wears anything at all, I think!
“What could be what?” the woman replies.
“This outfit, if one can call it such, is not one with which Mademoiselle wishes to be seen.”
“Mademoiselle, You have not been made aware, I am afraid. You see, I am a practitioner of a physical and mental art and discipline. Recent experiences led me to gain a remarkable amount of training in the Warring styles. A Gung Foo, is my form of practice. I find that the minimal hemline, though admittedly immodest, does allow for a free range of motion in hand to hand combat.”
“And zee outrageous corset, Madame?”
“I require support across the duodenum.” she sniffs.
Miss GoldenBear has procured us transport. The wonderful folk of this village! Their generosity knows no bounds! Oui!
We load our provisions. Miss Plumtartt's weighty baggage no longer a detriment or dilemma.
“Oh! I say! This IS a delight!” from Miss Plumtartt. “Between our adventurous togges, and this delightfully quaint modus of transport, this is really starting to feel like an adventure!”
“Oh! Oui! I agree, too!”
“Very well then, Ladies.” Miss Abigail GoldenBear then turns to her eagerly awaiting team.
“Boys?” she inquires.
Her boys look to her expectantly.
“Mush!” cries Miss GoldenBear.
“Oh! I say. Rather. Mush! Then Lads!”
“Oh! Oui! Oui! It is the 'Mush!' for my boys too, I think!”
Dog days in the Alaskan Sun lie ahead.
Guest post created by Ichabod Temperance, author of A World of InTemperance
© 2013 All rights reserved.
by Ichabod Temperance
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READ more about this world...
by Ichabod Temperance
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When it comes to steampunk fashion for women, which item is a MUST?
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image source: red velvet cupcake recipe