Re: And It Only Gets Worse! Anyone know first aid?

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: : : WHAM! BANG! KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!  OPEN UP THE DOOR THERE!

: : : Well, if it ain't the cream o' Mohicanland havin' one o' thur fancy parties!  What I want to know is - - - where's that no-good, lazy, blankety blank *#@*** grandson o' mine, Grapeshot Ramrod, the useless, low-down skunk?  HEY, YOU!!  That's right YOU!  Grapeshot!  Haul yer lazy hulk back in here over that windersill and stand at ATTENTION, d'ya hear?  Granny's back and ready to move inta the old wattle hut, and what do I find?  The wattles is strewed all over the place, and the pig is rootin' up the dirt floor, and thur's no firewood to be had, and here's my lazy wastrel grandson in middle o' a mess, as usual!  Stop yer yowlin', stoopid - - ain't like ye never got hauled in over a windersill by yer ear before!  Now ye jist roll yer lazy hulk down the hill and git scrappin' up them wattles and rebuildin'.  Yer livin' with ME from now on, stinker, and Granny'll see that yer mendin' yer ways purty quick!

: : : Move, folks.  Jist clear outta my way while I drag this sorry Lothario outta here and leave ye to yer socializin'.

: : : DRAG.  HAUL.  PANT.  PANT.  SLAM!!!!!!

: : : The Old Crone

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: : OLD CRONE!!!  Y'all just bring that Handsome Stranger (yer grandson, ye say?) back here right now!  He's the one that caused all this ruckus, and y'all shouldn't be haulin' him off until everything's all settled back down again!  I mean, it's very nice to see yer wrinkly face back in Mohicanland again after such a long absence, an' all...but!  Fair's fair, and ol' Grapeshot needs to take part in the Healin' Process here, doncha know!

: : Just cast yer ol' crossed-eyes around here, Crone...there's a heap o' tears comin' outta Miss Katie's corner, and Benton's out for blood, and the Red-haired Lass is rollin' around on the floor, (wenchblouse-less, I might add) with that Twiggy person, kickin' an' bitin' an' gougin' in the mud an' the blood an' the beer!  I, myself, have been pretty upset, too, I can tell you!  Why, the only ones around here NOT in a terrible dither are She Who Tracks and her faithful hound, Hector.  They appear to be more puzzled by it all than anything else, but then you know, She ain't much on social situations, anyways, and this whole rigamarole was just too far out there for her to grasp (her Gifts bein' those of a Woodsperson & Tracker who leads a mostly solitary life, like).  SO,  the UPSHOT of it all is, GRAPESHOT has some serious fence-mending to do, if he's gonna be makin' Mohicanland his new home!  I'm sure y'all will agree.

: : Miss Marcia 

: Well, nae THAT'S finished...now would anyone be knowin' basic frontier first aid, now? Not that I usually mean tae hurt a body, but I'm afraid I had tae put that Willow woman in the infamous "Highland Headlock..." Sorry, Bent, not meanin' tae cause your relative tae be seein' stars, but SHE twas the one what launched herself at me like a half-crazed woodchuck and caused me tae be takin' part in an impromptu round o'topless wench-wrasslin'. So now I must be traipsin' back home tae mend the new blouse. So much for bein' social. If She Who Tracks and poor Miss Katie would like, I'm goin' back tae my own cabin to drown my irritated nerves in squeezins' ...by the way, ye may tell Mr. Grapeshot that if he's tae be leapin' out windows and rejectin' my simple ladylike request for gentlemanly protection, then he needn't be pesterin' me tae run a tab at Bumppo's. YE, sir, will be payin' FULL PRICE fer yer ale...
: *****Wench stalks off holding blouse together with hair flying****


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