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Snippet #2470084

located in The Mayall Galaxy, a part of Temporal Conscripts, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Mayall Galaxy

None

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Character Portrait: Sir James Fritswick
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The cane of James Fritswick made a sharp tapping sound as it connected repeatedly with the paved pathway leading through his back garden.
By his side was a young lady, to whom he addressed as 'Miss Rowanne'. She was a fairly pretty lady, dressed in flowery garments that were simple in design, yet visibly appealing - including a corset pulled a bit too tight for physical comfort, but a perfect means to complete the aesthetics.
Fritswick was wearing his week standard attire - a brown tweed jacket over a plain grey shirt, accompanied by a black-with-red-stripes necktie.

"As you could probably tell," Fritswick continued. "I don't usually have guests within the house; most of them gather around the garden as ah... as we are in now."
Fritswick put a deliberate inflection on his speech, emphasising every use of each 'a' syllable. To many it seemed to make him forgetful, but to others it certainly completed his image.
"Please, forgive me for saying this," Miss Rowanne started, raising the back of her hand to her lips," but how do you... find the time to deal with your infamous watch collection?"
Miss Rowanne chuckled at her own joke, while Fritswick, used to that sort of remark, spoke with a smile on his face.
"Well, ah, you see I always believe in the motto, "You can always find time for a hobby of your passion". Timekeeping is a simply fascinating hobby of mine, possibly part of the reason I became so interested in machines as a young boy."
Miss Rowanne continued to chuckle as they stepped over a cracked path tile.
A few steps later, Fritswick raised his voice.
"Good day, Sam!"
At the far edge of the garden, a teenaged gardener raised his hand in reply.
"Afternoon, Mr Fritswick!"

Miss Rowanne chuckled a little more at their display.
"I must say, Mister Fritswick, you're exactly as they say..."
"They must say good things, I hope?"
"You're a fine gentleman, but at the same time, you don't have that... how shall I put it, stale air about you that others have."
Fritswick guffawed at her compliment.
"You are quite a woman as well." He paused before continuing. "You may tell your father that, yes, I'll reconsider the proposal."
Miss Rowanne nodded in confirmation.
"Thank you kindly. Oh, I nearly forgot the occasion! Do you have the time?"
Fritswick rolled his eyes, pulling out a silver-cased pocket watch from within his jacket.
"It is fifteen minutes past the hour of four."
"Oh, heavens, I'm afraid I'll have to end my visit here."
Miss Rowanne bowed in courtesy, before taking off back into the house.
"Forgive me, James! I may see you again within the fortnight!"
Fritswick waved her goodbye as she disappeared behind the door.

"Nice woman," Fritswick muttered to himself. "Father of hers is still a right..."
He inhaled sharply. With his exhale, he let all of his anger into the summer breeze.
"That crook'll get my secrets the day bowties go out of style."
Fritswick continued along the garden path - though, he admitted to himself that calling it a garden was a mistake, as it encompassed almost an entire acre by itself.
Fritswick came to the centrepiece of the area; a gazebo, sheltered by a wooden roof, within it four wooden chairs and a child-sized chest, within which were many books of many subjects.
Feeling rather tired, having spent the last three hours entertaining the daughter of his rival, he decided to take one of his customary afternoon dozes in the gazebo.
He pulled out the watch from his right pocket - this one a slightly larger one with a fine wood finish.
To his mild surprise, it said the time was five twenty five.
He quickly took out the silver watch to compare - it told him the time was four twenty two.
"Now," he muttered. "Which one of you decided to stop working right?"
He glared disdainfully at both the watches, both of them ticking at the exact same speed.
"Oh well," he thought aloud. "Won't do her too much harm."
Fritswick pulled up his usual chair, sat right beside the chest of books. He decided against taking one out, realising he would insult the author by falling asleep right after he began.
And so Fritswick slept through the rest of that summer Thursday afternoon.