Anime Lesbian Boarding School: Let's Play A Little Lily Princess [SSLP]

[The Flying Twybil]

My votes: Read a Book, Read a Book, Play with Toys; and Jessie

I'll second this!

That was very squeesworthy indeed

About ADHD tips, I don't really have any myself, but I've been meaning to check out this Twine, the bits of it I've seen sound helpful: https://spacetwinks.itch.io/spacetwinks-adhd

I'm not the type to usually squee, but goodness was this update adorable.


As for keeping attention on a LP when all your brain wants to do is be distracted, I've found the best thing for me is to give myself a trivial amount of work (like just a few screenshots) that I tell myself that I have to do on the LP per day. It's enough that I get work done, my brain's like "eh, it's not that much", and then afterwards I indulge in whatever my brain wants me to do as soon as it's done. Usually by the next day or the day after it locks onto the LP again.

That's just what works for me though, no guarantees if it'll help with you.

[yamiaainferno]

Hello everyone and welcome back to LLP. This week we finally meet Becky properly, after like 4 or 5 weeks of trying.




Our knowledge is back up, so we can visit Ermengarde this weekend if we want, which would be her last event this act-- but we'll talk more about that at the end of the update. For now, Jessie!


You're looking very pretty today, Sara.
(Do I look any different than usual? Maybe that's just Jessie's way of saying hello.)
Thank you.
Of course, it's easy for you to be pretty, because you have so many nice things, and you have your own maid to help dress and style you, and...
... I wanted to ask you a favour.

Boy, this conversation sure did become uncomfortable fast.


You're the only girl I know here with your very own personal lady's maid. Lavvie says her parents say she's too young.
Don't tell her I told you that! It doesn't mean that she's jealous of you!

She's definitely jealous.


So, as it is, I was wondering if I could... borrow her.
Mariette? Why?
So that she could show me some new things to do with my hair? She's French, isn't she? She might even have been to Paris. And Paris is the very height of fashion!
She might have all kinds of tricks. Paints, embellishments, ways to curl hair without damage... I have to know!
(I have never seen her so passionate.)

For how ominously the conversation started, the request turned out to be rather innocent. I'm surprised this is the first time somebody's asked, to be honest-- though I suppose it's improper, and Jessie would be the only one who would. Lavinia would be far too proud, Lottie's too young, and I doubt Ermengarde cares much about styling her hair.


And if you ask her nicely, I'm sure she will talk to you about Paris fashions. She does know a great deal more about hair and clothing than I do.
But — I think your hair looks perfectly nice as it is.
It's not perfect. It's never perfect.
She pulled a section of her long red hair over her shoulder and glared at it.


Your hair can't make you sinful.
Well, of course it's not true, but it's what other people think that matters!
And there's nothing I can do about it. Diet doesn't help. I could try to stain it black, but then it might be damaged, or mark my clothing, and I would be humiliated...
She cut herself off, forcing her features back into the shape of a smile.
I must not damage my hair. Even if it is too long and heavy for the best dancing. It is my responsibility.


The length of my hair is my one unique beauty, you see. It's something that other girls can't copy, not unless they spend years working at it, like I have. It is my task to make myself as beautiful and accomplished as possible, so that I can catch the eye of a gentleman.
It's different for girls like you and Lavvie. You are your father's only heir. You will be wealthy. And I... will be pretty.
(Is that the only thing she wants to be?)
Well, come and visit me, and I will try to help you talk to Mariette.
Thank you! You're so sweet.

:yikesaroo: Okay, so Jessie has some major hangups here. Googling stuff about Victorian fashion brings up dubious sources, so I tried to dig up some contemporary books of fashion advice for women. Hair was a big deal in the Victorian era-- you wanted a lot of it, and you wanted it to look beautiful and healthy. It was considered a mark of elegance and refinement to have long, well-tended hair.

Redheadedness has had a long history of connotations with witchcraft and lustfulness, going back to the medieval era and continuing to this day. One of the books I looked at from 1897 said that auburn or "even red" hair had become a "craze"-- though I think the author likely meant the lighter, more ginger shade of red, as that section was about artificially lightening hair. Though today the connotations make red hair more desirable than undesirable, in the very moralist and prudish culture of the Victorian era I can see why Jessie would be self-conscious.

Maybe some hair talk can cheer her up, at least. And speaking of Mariette...




Sara extended her arms, letting them drift into ballet second-position.
Now, over your head, so I can see the fabric stretch?
Mariette was making the final adjustments to Sara's new pink dancing-frock, after pointing out that Sara's change in height meant her old ones no longer fit just-so.
Ah! — a touch, just there. Take it off again, if you please, and I'll have it done before your next lesson.
Sara wriggled free of the soft fabric and handed it over.
It's such a beautiful colour. And the skirt is so light.
Dancing in that, I shall feel like — a pink butterfly, floating on the breeze. Or a fairy princess, with wings like rose petals.
Roses... That is what it needs. A wreath of roses for your head. I will find some buds at the florist’s.
The mental picture of herself decked out in a pink dancing-frock with a crown of flowers was so delightful that Sara laughed aloud.


Mademoiselle does have a very good imagination.
No, it is the Magic. The Magic shapes our lives, and makes everything wonderful.
Sara's heart was lighter than a feather.

Well, that was a cute little scene, even if it was clearly just a bit of fluff. We can forgive the game for its filler, though, because at last the time has come for Becky's full, proper introduction!


There were pictures and books and curious things from India; there was a sofa and the low, soft chair; Emily sat in a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, and there was always a glowing fire and a polished grate. Because the room was such a nice, bright, pretty place, the little scullery maid known as Becky liked to save it until the end of her afternoon's work. If luck was with her, she could snatch a few minutes to sit alone in the soft chair and look around, thinking about the wonderful good fortune of the child who owned such surroundings.


Her hard-working young body was tired past the limits of endurance. As she looked at the red coals, a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, her head nodded forward without her being aware of it, and her eyelids drooped.


Oh! That poor thing!
...
Becky looked nothing like any illustration of Sleeping Beauty. Her gown was stained, her face smeared with soot, and her poor little kerchief hung half-off her head. Even her face, beneath the dirt, was a plain one. She looked only like an ugly, stunted, worn-out little scullery drudge. But Sara was not cross to find such a figure in her own favourite chair.

The game is getting a little judgy here (almost all of that was original text, iirc), but I think that Becky is heckin' adorable. I won't go into what a scullery is or the duties of a scullery maid here, since I plan on doing an in-depth on it rather soon, but know it is the lowest position in the servant hierarchy, with duties thankless, difficult, and deeply unpleasant.


She crept closer to the chair, walking quietly on raised feet, and stood there, looking at her.
... zzz ...
(I wish she'd waken herself. I don't wish to waken her, but Miss Minchin will be cross if she finds out... I'll just wait a few minutes.)
She took a seat on the edge of the table and sat swinging her slim legs. If Miss Minchin came looking for Becky, she was sure to be scolded.
(But she is so tired. So tired!)
At that moment, Sara's indecision was interrupted by a popping sound from the fire. A piece of flaming coal had broken and shifted.
..... !?


!!!
Becky sprang to her feet, clutching at her kerchief to set it right.
Oh, miss! Oh, miss! I arst yer pardon, miss! Oh, I do, miss!

She speaks! She speaks, as you surely noticed, in a noticeable dialect. It's present in the book and consistent with how lower servants tended to speak in most contemporary works. Becky's dialogue certainly stands out and poses a contrast to Sara's, but I don't remember it ever being incomprehensible or hard to parse. If I suspect any cause for confusion, I'll try to clear it up.


Don't be frightened. It doesn't matter the least bit.
I didn't go to do it, miss! It was the warm fire — an' me bein' so tired. It—it weren't impertinence!
Sara broke into a friendly little laugh.
You were tired; you could not help it. You are not really awake yet.
Ain't — ain't y'angry, miss? Ain't you gonna tell the missus?
No! Of course I'm not.


Sara shook her head.
Why, we are just the same — I am only a little girl like you. It's just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!
'n accident, miss?


Here, miss? Me?
If your bedrooms are finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while? I thought, perhaps, you might like a piece of cake.
Cake! Me!
Yes, of course.
The next ten minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of fever-dream. The show pupil opened a cupboard and produced a thick slice of cake, all for her, and actually seemed enthusiastic about watching Becky eat it.

I think poor Becky is a little overwhelmed by all this kindness and understanding.


A few weeks ago, you were watching me through the area railing, weren't you?
Yes, miss. I...
Oncet, I saw a princess. I was standin' in the street with the crowd outside Covent Garden, watchin' the swells go inter the opera. An' there was one everyone stared at most. They says to each other, 'That's the princess.’ She was a growed-up young lady, but she was pink and lace all over, an’ flowers an' all, as pretty as anything.
That's what you looked like, miss, that day. You looked like her.

There are a lot of possibilities for this princess-- Queen Victoria had 5 daughters of her own and 4 sons, each of whom had wives, and numerous grandchildren. I like to imagine that it's Princess Louise, because she's cool as heck. I recommend reading up on her.


I believe I will begin pretending I am one.
Ain't you already?
From elsewhere in the school, there was the sound of a door slamming.
Oh, miss! I've got to — got to go.
Come back some day when you have more time, and I can finish that story you were listening to. I'm always putting new bits to it in my head.
Oh, miss... if you do that, I won't mind how heavy the coal boxes was, or what Cook done to me, if I might have that to think of...
She bobbed an awkward little curtsey, grabbing for her kerchief when it slipped again, and then hurried from the room.



And just like that, our roster is finally complete. We're nearing the end of Act 1, now, and we very much want to focus on finishing up what routes we can. Ermengarde has one event left, Jessie two, and Becky four. While we still have some weeks left, it's only going to be possible to bring in two of them. And because Act 2 is quite a bit tighter, we also want to start thinking about whose route we're going to ultimately choose for this run.

If you're interested, I have written out the stat requirements for Jessie and Becky's events here (the ones for Ermen's last scene are in the image), so that the thread can more effectively plan our weekday activities. I'd rather not skip any weeks if we can help it, and knowing what stats we can safely spend would help avoid that.

Here is activity information-- remember to discuss and vote, and I look forward to see you all next time. Bye!

[Carpator Diei]

If that part with Becky was original, this game's writing is really good at sounding Victorian; I was certain that that part would turn out to be from the novel.
Deciding between those characters really gets more and more difficult, but I think I'd like to see more of Becky; we have to finish telling her that story, at least. For activities: Tea Party, Practice Dance, Practice Dance.

[Robindaybird]

It's a little lost in modern readings, but accent was a huge class indicator - and you see in history if the upper-class feel the lower-class sound too similar, they'd change up their accent to continue the exclusivity. This is - a somewhat simplified reason - for why the RP and other 'posh' accents drop the hard 'r' sound.

[yamiaainferno]

Hello everyone and welcome back to LLP. It's been a while, and I've started going to school in addition to still working full time. It's been a trial by sleep deprivation, honestly, but once I get used to it I could very well end up working on this more often as an excuse to procrastinate schoolwork. Or, I may just continue to update this at a snail's pace. Only time will tell.




It's tea party central up in here, guys. I think there was literally one vote for something else. That done, it's time for finish up with Ermengarde for Act 1. Predictably, shit is fucking gay.


Now, Sara had confided in Ermengarde some time earlier how much she disliked being interrupted when she was deeply absorbed in a fictional world. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage. Sara had described it thus: 'It makes me feel as if someone had hit me. And as if I want to hit back.’ Ermengarde took one look at that intent little face and could not bear the thought of causing it such distress. Therefore, instead of calling for attention, she simply took a seat nearby and waited.
...
Because she had few friends among the students of Miss Minchin's Select Seminary, Ermengarde was not entirely a stranger to being left alone with her own thoughts. For the most part, she had diligently tried to turn that extra time to revision, thumbing through the pages of her lesson-books in the hopes that their wisdom would be imprinted upon her. In recent weeks, however, the distraction of Sara, her stories and the time that they spent together, kept turning Ermengarde's attempts at studying into something more like daydreams. This did not help her lessons, but it did not seem to do them much harm, either. Ermengarde glumly considered that it was because she was already as much of a failure as it was possible to be.

Ermengarde, noooo.


Oh, Ermengarde! I'm sorry. Were you looking for me?
I — I didn't want to disturb you.
Well, it’s all right now.
She laid a ribbon bookmark across the pages and closed her book.
What were you thinking about?
Ermengarde found that she could not simply answer 'You.’ Even if, perhaps, it was the truth.
I — I was thinking about the museum that we went to.

Mhmm. Sure you were.


Sara nodded.
Mary Anning.
... I forgot her name.
You remembered the important part. Terror-
Pterodactyl.
She blushed and covered her mouth, ashamed at correcting Sara in anything, but Sara only nodded and indicated that she should go on.
The woman who found them wasn't even a lady, he said. She never went to a grand school. But she learned all about creatures by walking up and down the beach in Dorset and finding their bones. I thought, if we were planning trips around England, that perhaps we should go to the seaside. We... we could find seashells, even if we don't find any fossils.

When I mentioned Mary Anning back during the museum trip, I didn't realize that she would come up again here. She really is fascinating, though contemporarily she didn't receive much recognition, and was almost never mentioned in the scientific papers published about her finds, something she came to feel quite bitterly about. It's believed that Anning is the real life basis of the famous tongue-twister "She Sells Seashells". The 'pterodactyl' mentioned here is one of Anning's most famous finds, discovered in 1828 and later named Dimorphodon macronyx. It's actually quite a little guy, only about a meter long, and is not technically a pterodactyl, just a pterosaur, which is the order (taxonomical level equivalent to "birds", "fish" and "mammals") both pterodactyls and dimorphodons belong to.


And now the book was set aside on the window seat, as Sara’s imagination drew her to her feet.
There are cliffs along the coast in Dorset, aren't there?
And where there are cliffs, there might be caves, and where there are caves, there might be dwarves, or trolls, or pirate treasure...
Oh, don't!
Ermengarde clapped her hands over her ears.
You'll get me all confused again between what's real and what isn't.
Well, until we've been there, we don’t know what's real. There certainly have been real pirates. Like Captain Strangways, or Isaac Gulliver, the King of Smugglers. And it is possible that they might have left buried treasure in a cave somewhere.
One of Sara's books had included a history of wars, pirates, and weather-related sailing disasters around the English Channel. She was somewhat glad to have read it after her sea voyage rather than before.
We can't know whether we will find a treasure or not until after we have looked for one. And then, you will know it, and not be confused.


Oh, no. I forget things all the time.
But you remember all sorts of things about flowers and forests and birds and horses. You told me about two kinds of celandines, and about your aunt's dogs, and her flower-pressing hobby. You remembered where the fossils came from. You remember things that matter to you. Perhaps it's only books that you can't remember.
But books are what should matter — at least to my father, and Miss Minchin. And you.


I love books. They matter a great deal to me. But people — people matter more.

As they should. That's the last of our dedicated Ermengarde time this act-- though, of course, she'll still be around in other scenes.



Her stockinged feet were folded up beneath her, her elbows on the chair arm, and her chin in her hands.
(If I were a princess, a real princess, I could go among the populace in a grand coach and scatter largess. Everyone who was tired, and poor, and hungry — I could make their lives better. That's what a princess ought to do. Even if I am only a pretend princess, I can still invent little things to do for people.)
She thought back to Becky's amazed delight at being warmed and fed.
(It took so little to make a difference for her. She was just as happy as if it had been largess.)
(From now on, I'll pretend that to do things people like is scattering largess. Then I can truly be a princess.)
The thought swelled up inside her, making her head feel quite light. Before she knew it, Sara was sitting up straight in her chair, her arms at her sides and her feet hanging down, just like a little princess on her throne.

A very short interstitial scene here, and the next one isn't too much longer. Largess (also largesse) is a noun referring to liberal giving, often money.


A letter from Papa!
She took the paper into her hands, not without the faintest twinge of dismay. She was glad, beyond glad, to have word from her beloved Papa — and yet, such a letter made her realise she had not much thought about him for days and days.
(Papa would be glad that I had found so many things to fill my days; I should not feel upset.)
Banishing guilt, she drew out the letter and began to absorb its contents.


This letter was far more fulfilling than the early missive from Bombay. He told her of many things he had seen and done, and how people that she had met in India were getting on, and it was all quite agreeable. And then, the most exciting news!

... A friend of mine from my schoolboy days came to visit me here in India, quite unexpectedly, to let me know of a piece of good fortune. He owns a large tract of land, too large to have seen every detail of it himself, but recently has made a remarkable discovery: a deposit of diamonds!
He is now engaged in developing the mines to bring out these diamonds, and if all goes as he most confidently expects, he will become possessed of such wealth as makes one dizzy to think of. And because we were fond of each other in our school days, he thought of your old papa and offered me the opportunity to share in this enormous fortune by becoming a partner in his scheme.

What is that? Is your father sending you a gift? You are too young to wear diamonds, in English fashion.
Diamond mines!
Sara's mind was filled with images from the Arabian Nights: deep caverns beneath the earth, sparkling stones studded into the walls and ceilings, dark-eyed dwarves digging them free with heavy picks, heaps of discarded treasure shimmering with enchantments.
(Can such marvellous things really be true?)

I probably don't need to say this, but Sara's rather fanciful images of diamond mines are not, in fact, true. We'll assume that this newly discovered deposit is in India-- by the late 19th century, South America and South Africa had taken over as the biggest producers, but prior to the discovery of diamonds in Brazil in 1725, virtually every diamond in the world came from India_[1], which is one hell of a monopoly.

Like any mining operation, mining diamonds was exceedingly difficult, exceptionally dangerous work almost always performed by natives, rather than the white colonials who would be reaping the benefits. Kollur mine, one of the biggest Indian diamond mines until it ceased operations in the 19th century, didn't even have supports in its walls-- meaning that when it rained the mines would collapse, killing everyone inside.

As for Mariette's remark, it is true that jewelry on young, unmarried women was considered tacky. According to The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness, 'Women are usually pretty, up to the age of twenty, at least,' and so further adornment is unnecessary and immodest.


Have you ever seen a diamond cavern, Emily? Have any of your fairy friends been there? Perhaps they could say hello to my Papa for us...
She hugged the doll to herself, her eyes glimmering crystal-bright.
Someday we will see them together, my papa and I!



That's all for today, folks. Sorry again about the delay between updates-- honestly I think it would be more surprising if I did get an update out in a timely fashion at this point, but I will continue to apologize nonetheless. My plan is to get a scullery maid bonus update in between now and the next update proper-- if I don't, I'll probably just tack it on to the end of the next update.

Here is activity information-- remember to discuss and vote. See you next time!

[Carpator Diei]

I'm just always happy when I see a new update of this

Voting for Becky again; and to make sure that's possible: Tea Party, Tea Party, Tea Party

Well, until we've been there, we don’t know what's real. There certainly have been real pirates. Like Captain Strangways, or Isaac Gulliver, the King of Smugglers. And it is possible that they might have left buried treasure in a cave somewhere.

The Isaac Gulliver link is broken due to a stray quotation mark.

By the way, those articles have some pretty great anecdotes:

It was at Howe Lodge that [Isaac Gulliver] allegedly covered his face in white powder and lay in an open coffin. When the customs men arrived to arrest him his wife told them he had died during the night and showed them the 'body'. When they went away, Gulliver got out of the coffin and escaped. Later, a mock funeral was held using a coffin filled with stones.

[yamiaainferno]

What's a Scullery and Why Does it Need a Maid?

Just as I did with Mariette, I want to take a moment and provide some context for Becky's job. As mentioned in our last bonus update, a large, wealthy household had a wide variety of servants, each with their own duties and rank in the hierarchy. A lady's maid like Mariette is at the top of this ladder-- a scullery maid like Becky, however, is at the very bottom.

The Scullery
The scullery is a room off of the kitchen where all the messy stuff happened. Dishes and laundry were washed here, fish and meat were prepared for cooking, vegetables peeled, and water boiled. The floors were near constantly wet, and the single drain could easily become clogged with grease, causing the floor to flood. Scullery maids would stand on slatted wooden platforms while performing their work. Because of all this, the scullery was dug several inches into the floor to avoid filthy water spilling into the kitchen, and was never attached to anywhere food was stored.

Easy access to water was the primary issue for a scullery; by 1888 indoor plumbing was a thing, but wasn't yet common, only adopted by the extremely rich. I highly doubt that Miss Minchin would spring for a tap in the kitchen, so poor Becky likely spends a good deal of time hauling buckets of water from the nearest well-pump.

Duties
As mentioned, the scullery maid was at the bottom of the hierarchy for domestic servants. They were often young girls, first hired at around age 10, and as the lowest of the low, were given the worst jobs that nobody else wanted. In addition to washing the dishes, they were responsible for lighting and maintaining all the hearths, cleaning the stoves, washing the floors of the kitchen, pantry, and scullery, hauling water, and cleaning the servants' chamber pots. Keep in mind that washing dishes wasn't a once a day chore like it is today (at least for me)-- dishes and cookery were to be washed immediately after use, so that they would be dry and ready by the next meal. A scullery maid was the first of the household to wake, and often the last to go to bed.

(Regarding the chamber pots, while they may be what the servants used, Miss Minchin and the young ladies of the house would almost certainly not. Outdoor toilets were fairly common by 1888, and since Miss Minchin is trying to cater to wealthy clients, she may have sprung for an indoor toilet-- likely just the one, though, and almost certainly not for the use of the servants.)

Payment
If you thought Mariette's £20 per year was shocking, hold on to your hats. Becky is likely making less than half that. Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management gives a range of £4-8 pounds a year for a scullery maid, somewhere between $500 and $1000 a year today. Mrs. Beeton notes that a scullery maid does difficult work with no respect and little pay, but consoles the reader that if she does her job well, doesn't complain, and is lucky enough to work under a cook that gives a shit, a scullery maid may one day be promoted to kitchen maid. Mrs. Beeton then goes on to give a definitely very true story of a girl who wanted to work in a kitchen so bad that she left her relatively wealthy family to work as a scullery maid, eventually becoming one of the best, most famous cooks in England through her hard work and grit. What's her name if she's so famous? Shut up, stop asking questions.

[yamiaainferno]

Hello everyone. For those of you who don't know, which I imagine is virtually all of you, I live in Texas! Because of this unfortunate fact, my family and I, like the rest of the state, were recently utterly fucked over by our incompetent, greedy leadership.

Before anyone panics, I am fine, and so are all my family and friends. We live in the middle of nowhere, which meant that our local power station was less strained, and so our rolling blackouts were able to keep rolling. I think the longest we were without power at a stretch was about 8 hours-- which was utterly miserable, especially for my parents who need CPAP machines, but not life-threatening. It never got below freezing inside, like it did for a lot of people whose power was out for much, much longer. Living in the middle of nowhere also has the drawback of it taking much longer for repair services-- there's fewer repair people who are trying to service a much larger area, and it takes a lot of time for them to make their way down the list. Pretty much as soon as our power stabilized a frozen pipe inside our outer wall burst, and we had to turn off our water. After 18 days, someone was finally able to saw through our living room wall and fix it the day before yesterday. We got away with just the one pipe, which we discovered relatively quickly, and so structural (and financial) damage was minimal-- there are other people whose entire plumbing system burst, or whose floors collapsed from water damage, or who have to rip out and replace the insulation of their entire house.

All that is to say: I haven't even fucking started the next update yet. I have a big project due Monday and a test Wednesday, so I probably won't really get the chance to until the week after. You've all been great at being patient through this whole LP, but it's worth saying again: thank you for bearing with me.

[clearcardinal]

That sounds dreadful; glad you're OK. Take your time.

[Carpator Diei]

Oh shit, best wishes to you and your family!

[yamiaainferno]

Hello everyone, just a quick update to assure you that I am not dead. Since Uri school has been really fast-paced, the hotel I work at has been remodeling and everything's been a mess there, and on top of that I've been helping my friends pick an apartment and plan their move (that's this weekend), since I'll be joining them in August after I graduate. Basically, I've been super busy and haven't really had time to devote to the LP, but it's not abandoned! There's only like a week of school left, then finals, and after those I'll have a couple of weeks before Summer classes start in June. I'm hoping to get things moving again during that time.

I hope you've all been well, and I look forward to spending more time with you soon!

[clearcardinal]

I like that bunny in your avatar

[yamiaainferno]

*blows the dust off of thread*

Hello everyone and welcome back to LLP. It's been about a billion years, and I thank you all for your immense patience. In my last update I said that I was hoping to have time to finish this update in between my first and second summer semesters; unfortunately I never got around to it. I ended up moving in with my friends early, which took up my free time during that gap. (I also had a defective firework explode in my face on 4th of July, which was super fun, especially the day before said move.)

It's been months, but I am here-- settled into my apartment, plus one BA in computer science. Let's jump right back in.




Mostly tutoring, with a tea party thrown in for kicks. I seriously doubt anyone remembers why they voted for any activity in particular at this point, but tutoring was a poor choice as we're already maxed on knowledge and the remainder of Jessie's events don't require knowledge. I think the idea may have been to replace the patience that would be used by Lavinia's event, but because the classes are technically happening before the weekend scenes, this didn't happen. It's a bit confusing, I know, since I don't mention activities until the end of an update-- I do it that way so that I can consolidate the voting and so we can spend time with a character each update. Chronologically speaking, each game week goes: [Scene #1] -> [Activities] -> [Scene #2] -> [Weekend]

I probably should have said something about the tutoring and given people the chance to change their vote, but at this point I think everyone would rather I just get the update out already, and we're not so hard up for time that it's a huge deal. I'll keep an eye on it in the future, though.

As I said above, we'll be hanging out with Lavinia this week. That "Last Chance!" warning certainly grabbed everyone's attention.


Of course.
Lavinia walked through the door to Sara's rooms, her hands primly clutching a notebook as an older woman might carry a handbag.
I wished to speak with you on the subject of Monsieur DuFarge, the French master. You did not correct him when he said that you were French.
Sara blinked, not expecting questions in this direction. It seemed a very small thing to bring up again, so suddenly. She tried to remember what had actually been said.

Especially *checks watch* 14 weeks later! That's like three months! Honestly, one of LLP's biggest weaknesses for me is that the character and main story scenes are largely disconnected. There's a few things that impact the availability of certain scenes-- flags that make a scene inaccessible before or after X week-- but other than that they're entirely independent. For example, even though we haven't done a single one of Lottie's scenes, her and Sara are still quite close in the narrative. This is part of the book of course, and we've seen some justification for that relationship in the main story scenes as well, but it would be nice if the player's choices could actually impact anything, even if it was just an extra line or two here and there.


Besides, I am every bit as much French as I am English. My mother was French —
Lavinia cut her off at once.
You are not your mother.
That is — I am not saying anything against your mother, of course.
But whether she was a grand Paris lady or a common merchant's daughter, that should not matter. She is not you. You are an English girl, being given an English education. There is no need for you to be marked as anything less.

Oh boy, it's casual xenophobia time! Everyone's favorite!


We are in England. Gentlemen wish good English girls. Anything other is, by definition, less.
(I don't think that's true. But I do think Lavinia believes it. Or else, that she thinks society believes it.)
It would be different if you were foreign nobility, though even that would be suspect in some circles. To succeed in society, you must be English to the core.
Lavinia took a seat upon one of Sara's comfortable chairs and looked around the little room, with all its imported treasures.
Right now, because you are young and not expected to know the language so well, it makes you a novelty. A charming ornament, like your tiger-skin rug. A well-bred English lady should speak at least a little French, to show that she is cultured. But not to be French herself.
All of a sudden, Lavinia gave a wicked smile, relaxing her perfect posture.

*crosses fingers* Dontsaysomethingawfuldontsaysomethingawfuldontsaysomethingawful


What?
Oh, yes! I daresay she's just as hopeless as our Ermengarde, although she’s desperate to hide it. What a flaw, for the proprietor of a school for polishing young ladies!
How do you know?
My French is not anywhere near as good as yours, but I can put a few sentences together. I have said certain things in her hearing, and she has shown no reaction.
(Lavinia insulted Miss Minchin in French? No, surely she wouldn't dare, not when she’s so concerned with being proper.)

...Well, personally, I'm fine with talking shit about Minchin. Not that I missed that little dig at Ermen, but I can live with it.


(I did not mean to jab her with pins!)
She’ll never admit that she resents you, of course. That would be far too ill-bred.
I did not wish for her to resent me. I did not wish to make an enemy of anyone.
You can’t be friends with everyone, Sara. Especially not with those who are beneath you. They will always resent you for what you have and they do not.
Miss Minchin will always praise us in all our endeavours, because we are young ladies from good families, and she benefits from our wealth. It doesn't mean that she cares for us.
I... I think that is a very lonely way of seeing the world.
Lavinia shook her head slowly, with a smile that was decidedly smug about her greater experience of society.
That is how things are.

In Miss Minchin's case, at least, it probably is so. There's something here about conflating maturity with cynicism that makes me kind of sad, but I can't quite figure out how to word it. While Lavinia is certainly cynical, she's really not that much better than Lottie on the maturity front.


You should be careful with Monsieur DuFarge as well. He seems very fond of you, but if an unrelated man takes too much of an interest in a young girl, it might look inappropriate. Do not be alone with him. You should always have a chaperone, to protect your virtue.



Satisfied, she returned to an upright posture.
You understand why I am telling you all these things, don't you, Sara? I am your role model, and you are my responsibility. I want to help you be happy and successful in your life as an Englishwoman. We are two of a kind, you and I. Once you have settled in, I think we will be very good friends.
Sara smiled, but her heart was not in it.
(I do not wish to be a successful Englishwoman. I wish to return home, to my Papa.)
(Even when Lavinia is trying to be friendly, I am not certain that I like her.)

Yeah, I think we all feel you there, Sara.




They knew little about the details of mining in faraway lands, but fairytales, they understood. Especially with a teller such as Sara among them.


Deep underground, beyond the passage with the lamps, there were four doorways, and each led to a different kind of treasure. Copper, silver, gold, and diamond. The first was the room of copper. Copper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and copper pots lined the walls, and over the floor was spread a blanket of copper coins. But the guardian of this room was a dog with copper eyes as big as saucers, and a mouth full of rough-edged copper teeth...
Not everyone was quite so caught up in wonder.

Gee, I wonder whom that could be?


Well, people have to get them from somewhere.
Of course they find diamonds in the earth, but one at a time, surely. Not whole mines filled with diamonds. Do you know what a diamond ring costs, not even a big one? If there were mines full of diamonds, people would be so rich it would be ridiculous.
Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous.
She's ridiculous enough already!
Lavinia, do you hate her?
No, I do not. But I don't believe her.

Well, it's a good thing to hear that Lavinia doesn't hate us. That said, if we're currently at indifference, or even mild dislike, I really don't want to know how much of a terror Lavvie could be if she did decide that she hated us.

While it's honestly not much of an excuse to ruin everyone's fun, Lavinia does have a point. Mining diamonds isn't really like mining metals or coal; apparently it can take processing hundreds of tons of ore just to find a single gem-quality diamond. Any mining industry is dangerous, difficult, and labor-intensive-- but diamonds seem especially so. It also seems to involve water, a lot of time.


Girls? Gather around, please. I have an announcement to make.
We have had some very exciting news regarding a parent of one of our pupils. Starting from today, Sara Crewe will be leading the procession whenever we leave the school grounds. You will look to her as your example.
Lavinia could only stare, her mouth agape, her eyes not quite as big as saucers.

...uh oh.


How... How dare she...
Lavinia clenched her fists against the fabric of her dress and forced a tight smile onto her face. She walked up to take her new place in line.


Oh. It wasn't my idea...
Wasn’t it, though?
She said nothing more.

I think Lavinia has decided that she hates us.

As a reminder, HERE is where the activities you vote on will chronologically take place.


What is it? Is something wrong?
Oh, Sara! Do you remember the nest of eggs we saw in the tree a while ago?
Oh — did they hatch?
Yes, two weeks ago, but... it's dreadful...
What's dreadful?

Wuh-oh, a wild Lottie! Is anyone else just relieved that Lavinia isn't taking out her newfound rage with us on poor Ermen? Yet, at least?


What?
Oh, no!
They were too young to fly, they couldn't fly away... I don't know if he got them all, but...
Those poor little things...
Sara's sorrow was more for Ermengarde's disappointment than for the birds. She had only ever seen them as eggs in a distant nest, never as living creatures, and had expected them to fledge and be gone before her thoughts returned to them. But Ermengarde had spotted the nest from her own window — had clearly returned to that window time and again to watch over them, had imagined for herself the companionship they might have shared as pets. Ermengarde had made the baby birds a part of her life, without disturbing their freedom, and for her it was a true loss.




What?
It's not Tybalt's fault! He's just a cat. Cats bite sometimes.
I didn't —
She wiped a hand over her wet face.
I didn't say I was angry at Tybalt.
People can be sad when bad things happen without having to blame anyone for them. Sometimes it isn’t anyone's fault.
So... you won't hurt Tybalt?


Because — Because I heard Cook say that if Tybalt got into the kitchen and ate her chicken again she'd have him drowned!
So... I thought you might think like that, too.
Ermengarde blinked at Lottie, too confused to be upset.
She really said she’d drown him?
I... I'm sure she was... joking?

We've only seen Cook in one scene so far, but I feel pretty safe in saying that she was not.


Cook's not very nice to Becky.
Cook’s not very nice to anyone.
We don't know that. She might have friends or family elsewhere. She’s probably nice to them.
Sara didn't think it was right to condemn a woman she barely knew, even if everything she'd heard from Becky and Mariette was less than flattering.
She’s probably nice to Miss Minchin.


There, you see, Lottie? Cook wouldn't hurt Tybalt. No one's going to hurt him.
Sara hugged Ermengarde close.
I'm sorry about your birds. Why don't you both come up to my room for a while?
And Sara led her friends away, prepared to pamper them and distract them from their worries, like the perfect hostess.

And that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed the update, and that we didn't lose too much interest during the long delays. Now that I'm out of school I have a lot less stress going on in my life, and ADHD willing that means I can stick to regular updates for a while.



Lavinia's events are now closed to us for the rest of the act. I'm not sure if you have to completely finish her events before this point or just reach a certain one, but regardless we did not make the goal. As you may note, we also only have one option for this weekend: Becky. Since the thread (before the big pause at least) was interested in pursuing Jessie, and visiting Becky this weekend would take some of the sympathy we need for her event, I'm still asking you guys to vote between Becky and Skipping. As always, activity votes are also needed; information here.

See you guys next time!

[yamiaainferno]

Double posting because I wanted to let everyone know that Hanako Games is currently having a sale on all their yuri VNs. The bundle includes A Little Lily Princess, Black Closet (Anime Lesbian Boarding School 2: Darker and Edgier, and probably the game I will LP next), and Cute Bite (a brand new vampire-themed title that I haven't gotten to play yet because I am flat broke atm).

Check it out here!

[clearcardinal]

Congrats on your degree. Let's see Becky's event, and write in diary, write in diary, play with toys.

[yamiaainferno]

Hello everyone, and welcome back to A Little Lily Princess! Thank you for all the well-wishes last update! I really appreciated all of them. That said, I think we're all just going to have to accept that my executive dysfunction will let me work on updates when it damn well pleases, heedless of my wishes for a semi-consistent schedule. Thank you for bearing with me, and hopefully we'll get through this relatively short visual novel sometime before the heat-death of the universe. I intend to finish this thing!




The thread chose to spend time with Becky rather than skip the weekend almost unanimously, so we'll be seeing that this week. Spoiler: I love Becky to absolute bits. Her and Ermen are my favorite girls.


Becky?
Oh, miss!
So startled was she at being addressed that she fumbled the bucket of sooty brushes she carried, nearly dropping them. Sara rushed forward to grab the handle and prevent a spill.


It's all right, I'm being careful.
Please, miss, y'shouldn't. It's not right.
Well. You are the expert, of course. So I will leave things in your hands.
Expert!
Aren’t you? I'm sure you're good at your work.
Never ’eard it put that way, miss.
Mariette says that everyone below-stairs takes advantage of you and asks you to do too many things. They ought to thank you and tell you that you are doing a good job!
Becky looked so baffled at the idea of being thanked for her labours that Sara could not let the matter rest.
Is Miss Minchin very unkind to you?
Shouldn’t say nothin' about the missus, miss.

That's a yes, obviously. Poor Becky.


No one is anywhere about.
...
Come into my rooms, if you feel safer that way.
Oh, I shouldn’t, miss. It’s m’first job, miss, first job in a real 'ouse, like. It's 'ard work, but at night I’ve got m'own room and m'own bed. Never ’ad that at t'workhouse, miss.
You didn't have a bed?!?
Room's full o' beds, miss, but more full o' girls. Everybody squeezes. It's good, in the winter, innit? Keeps ya warm.
Sara did not lack for imagination, but she simply did not have the frame of reference to picture a workhouse dormitory, with its rows of narrow beds crammed together. The smallest sleeping quarters she had ever seen were those on board the ship which brought Sara and her Papa to England.

I may delve deeper into workhouse conditions in a future bonus update. I touched on it briefly much earlier on in the LP, but there's a lot more that could be said on the subject.


If the missus 'adn’t given me this job, I don’t know what I'd do.
(She is grateful for so little...)
Listen! Are you done with your chores for a while? Would you like to come and have cake again?
Oh, miss, I'd like that, but I... I've got these other rooms still to do, and the curtains, and...
She looked absolutely crestfallen at the idea of abandoning the cake, but still determined not to give up on her duties.
(Such unrewarded diligence! Miss Minchin does not deserve her.)
It's all right. I promise. I will keep the cake and wait for you. You can come by whenever you are finished for the day.
Even... even if it's evening, miss? There’s a whole ’eap, and Cook's sour today...
If you work so late, then you need a treat even more, don't you?
I’ll stop getting in your way now. I don't want to get you in trouble for talking to me. I will see you later, when you can. I promise.
Thankee, miss!

Becky is so adorable. I can't even.




Lavinia strode through the halls, Tybalt clasped to her bosom, crooning little songs to him and paying no attention to any fur that might be shed onto her dress.

Hmm... Lavinia is certainly in a good mood. Why do I find that ominous?


Gossiping about your betters, Ermengarde? You had better be careful. Bad little birds who squawk and squeal get gobbled up Whole.
Lavinia threw her head back and laughed. Tybalt stirred in her grasp, yowling faintly.
Shh, shh, my prince. Yes, you are a good kitty. Shhh.
That's what cats do, you know. They eat the weak.
The sound of her humming marked her passage as she moved out of sight.


I’m sure she wouldn't do that.
You heard what she said. She was laughing at me.
That doesn’t mean that she — no! I won't believe it. She said what she said to taunt you, and that was very unkind of her, but — She isn't a wicked person, not really. It would be wrong to accuse her of something so dreadful.
You are too charitable. Lavinia is horrid.
I know, you're always kind, and I'm glad that you are, but... she doesn’t deserve it.

Personally, I don't believe that Lavinia would have sicced Tybalt on the birds. She can be cruel and spiteful, yes, but I think she likes animals too much to kill a whole nest of baby birds. Besides, while she's clearly not above escalating her punches at Ermen in order to get at us now that we've usurped her as star pupil, I think the birds are too many layers removed.


A princess should always be kind, whether it's to a noble or a peasant or a witch. Sometimes, being kind to a wicked witch is the only way to break her spell. Or to make a friend.
I wish Lavinia would be kinder to others.
So do I.

I think we all wish that, Ermen. Maybe even Lavinia herself wishes it, deep down.


Of course.

A surprise visit from Jessie! How grand.


Is she not in her room?
No.
Then I don't know where she is. Perhaps she went out to have an ice?

"Ices" were fashionable desserts enjoyed by the wealthy in Victorian times, and are more or less equivalent to modern ice cream. They came in three varieties: cream ice (contained custard/cream), water ice, and sorbet (contained booze). Because there were no electric freezers or mixers, ices were extremely labor-intensive to prepare, especially as they tended to be served in elaborate molded shapes and highly decorated.

The "Queen of Ices", Agnes Marshall, wrote two books dedicated solely to ice recipes and patented the first ice cream maker (hand cranked, of course) in 1885, just a few short years before our story.


I feel like — in the past weeks, she's spoken more to Tybalt than to me.
She's obsessed with that cat. She's even taking it into her room to sleep with. I’m supposed to be her best friend, and...
Jessie looked down, hugging her arms around herself.


She looked over at the doll displayed in pride of place.
Emily is a very good listener.
You think Lavinia has troubles she isn’t telling me about?
I don’t know. You know her better than I do.
I would turn myself into a cat if I could, if that would make her happy...

That's uh, not especially healthy, I don't think.


Oh, I'm no princess.
You could be, if you wanted to. Anyone can be a princess, if they’re willing to work hard at it.
That’s only pretend.
I think... I think princesses who live in castles are a kind of pretend, too. Because we pretend that they're different than we are, just because of where they were born.
You are a queer sort of girl sometimes, Sara Crewe. Maybe you're the one who was born different.

That sure is some phrasing! I just want to thank everyone again for bearing with me during the long pauses between updates... I'll keep plugging away at it. Let's leave it there to avoid jinxing anything.

We have a few more options open this week in regards to weekend socializing, so be sure to vote for that and for our classes. Information on voting is here. See you all next time, whenever that may be!

[clearcardinal]

Hello again! I vote for Mariette.