forty elephants



The ‘Forty Elephants’ or 'Forty Thieves’ were a London-based all-female crime syndicate in existence from at least the 19th century until the 1950’s. The gang specialised in shoplifting expensive clothes and jewelry worth thousands of pounds, dressing in coats, skirts and hats with hidden pockets to hide their loot. The women also used false references to work as housemaids and steal from their employers homes, and they blackmailed men after seducing them. 

They tried to live the lives of glamorous movie stars and the 1920s flapper society, giving extravagant parties, spending money in restaurants and wearing designer clothes (they didn’t wear the clothes they stole, but sold them) . The leader or 'queen’ of the gang during part of the 1910’s and 20’s, the haydays of the gang, was Diamond Annie, called this because she punched people with a fist full of diamond rings. By this time most of London knew the gang, their raids were getting more fearless, and they used fast cars to get away. Diamond Annie herself was jailed in 1925 for taking revenge on a male crook, but continued leading the gang from prison until the 30’s. 

anonymous asked:

My dad says Zoo's are becoming politically incorrect. I've seen both arguments but I wanna hear your opinion on it: do you think Zoo's are a good idea?

Well, let’s see if I can keep this response short.

First, I’m guessing that by ‘politically correct’ you mean ‘ethically sound.’ So, is keeping animals in zoos an ethical thing to do? As with many things, there is no easy or even single answer to that question.

Without a doubt, there are bad zoos- private or roadside zoos, zoos that keep their animals in abhorrent conditions, zoos that allow visitors to engage in unsafe things like cub-petting schemes. It is obvious that these types of zoos are unethical and exploitative.

(Hint: something like this is never a good sign.)

On the other hand, what constitutes a ‘good’ zoo? In the best captive conditions currently available, is it okay to keep an animal locked up? Some say no, no matter what; some say what we have now isn’t good enough. Others say yes- the best zoos are able to provide their captives with good lives.

This of course brings us to just what a ‘good’ life is. Those who say that animals should never ever be placed in captivity usually value a sense of freedom above all else. Even in perfect captive conditions, an animal will not be free, wild, or ‘natural.’

However, we must acknowledge that ‘freedom’ is a concept created and defined by humans. A human locked in a prison knows the difference between captivity and freedom, and is able to conceptualize that certain ‘rights’ that they have are being violated. But for animals, this may be too complex to perceive. How far back do you have to move a fence before a kudu decides that he is wild again? The idea that animals sense when they are ‘free’ versus ‘not free’ is, to me, not realistic.

Animals do, however, benefit from the ability to be free to make choices, such as what they eat, where they will go, who they will interact with, and so on. Undeniably, captivity presents animals with fewer choices of these kinds than they would have in the wild. The best zoos are now implementing programs to accommodate these choices, particularly with highly intelligent animals such as elephants and apes.

One such example: the “O Line” at the Smithsonian National Zoo allows orangutans to choose one of two buildings to stay in during the day. Other animals, such as the otters, can choose whether or not to be on exhibit via spaces in their enclosure that are sheltered from the public. Scatter feeding and foraging enrichment is yet another way that zoos allow animals to choose what food they want to eat.

Still, despite these improvements, there will always be limitations of choice in captive environments compared to wild ones by the very definition of ‘captivity.’ Furthermore, while many strides have been taken to update enclosures with choices in mind, the fact remains that the implementation of behavioral science in zoos lags behind the research due to the costs, and often due to the stress of the animals themselves when trying to adjust to new schedules and norms (even if they are theoretically better ones).

A forty-year old captive elephant will have lived through decades of zoo reform, and we can’t erase those negative experiences from her mind.

One danger of comparing captive animals to their wild counterparts is assuming that captive environments should mirror the wild ones as closely as possible. But what the wild even is is not well-defined. ‘Wild’ deer roam my suburban neighborhood: should that habitat be replicated in their zoo enclosure? Wild environments include predators, diseases, and natural disasters: is it better that those be implemented in zoos as well?

In actuality, an animal born in captivity likely has no sense of what its natural environment should look like. Certainly it has natural instincts and inclinations- a tiger likes to urine-mark vertical objects and a gibbon likes to climb- but neither of them specifically needs a tree to do this with- a post or rope swing would also work. The ‘naturalistic’ look of many zoo enclosures is actually for the benefit of the visitors, not the animals. In fact, a lush, well-planted habitat could still be an abysmal one for an animal if all of its needs aren’t being met.

This brings us to one of the most important aspects of zoos: the visitors. Theoretically, one of the major purposes of good zoos is to educate and inspire the public about animals, particularly in regards to their conservation. But do zoos actually do this?

The answer is yes… to a small extent. People given surveys upon entering and leaving a zoo exhibit generally do know slightly more about the animals than they used to, but this depends a lot on how educated they were to begin with. While many visitors express an increased desire to engage in conservation efforts after leaving a zoo, not many of them have actually followed up on it when surveyed again a few weeks later. Still, most zoo visitors seem to leave the zoo with several positive if perhaps short-term effects: interest in conservation, appreciation for animals, and the desire to learn more. If a visitor experiences a “connection” with an animal during their visit, these effects are greatly increased.

However, certain types of animal “connections” and interactions can also produce a negative effect on zoo visitors. This reflects what I said earlier about the naturalistic design of habitats being more for the visitors than the animals. Individuals who view animals performing non-natural behaviors (such as a chimpanzee wearing clothes and acting ‘human,’ or a tiger coming up to be petted) are less likely to express an increased interest in their conservation, and even less likely to donate money towards it. Generally, our own perception of freedom and wildness matters much more than the individual animal’s.

The fact of the matter is that, worldwide, zoos spend about $350 million dollars on wildlife conservation each year. That is a tremendous amount of money, and it comes from visitors and donations. What amount of discomfort on the part of captive animals is worth that money being devoted to their wild counterparts? It’s hard to say.

This is a very, VERY general overview of some of the ethical issues surrounding zoos; to go over it all, I’d need to write a book. But hopefully, it got you thinking a little bit about what your own opinion on all this is. (I didn’t explicitly state mine on purpose, though it’s probably fairly clear.)

Refs and further reading below the cut!

Keep reading

Today, when we think of U.S. fads and fashions for India, we tend to focus on the recent mass popularity of yoga and Bollywood films or on narratives of self-discovery in the East such as Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-selling Eat, Pray, Love. The hippie counterculture of the late 1960s, with its obsessions for Indian music, fabrics, and spiritualities, also remains strong in the public memory. It is largely forgotten that at the turn of the twentieth century the United States was in the grips of a craze of India and “the Orient” that was, in some ways, larger and more pervasive than anything that has occurred since. Between the 1880s and 1920s, Americans from all classes and walks of life were drawn to an “India” that was, in essence, a collective fantasy. Elites of cities such as New York, Chicago, Boston, and Philadelphia explored Vedantist philosophy and attempted the contortions of “tantrik" yoga. A young Isadora Duncan performed her interpretations of Eastern dance, in bare feet and flowing robes, on the lawns of Newport, Rhode Island’s finest mansions, while Ruth St. Denise performed in Indian-style on Broadway, bedecked with jewels and wrapped in a colorful silk sari. The New Thought writer and publisher William Walker Atkinson built a national audience for his mail-order books on clairvoyance, mind control, and the “Hindu-yogi science of breath,” published under pseudonyms such as Swami Panchadasi, Yogi Ramacharaka, and Swami Bhakta Vishita.

Meanwhile, the sexualized figure of the Indian “nautch” dancer became a stape of American burlesque theaters. Southern growers marketed tobacco under brand names such as Hindoo, Mecca, Mogul, and Bengal, with labels that depicted Ameers and maharajahs, palaces, hookas, and dancing girls. Tin Pan Alley songwriters churned out show tunes such as “My Hindoo Man” and “Down in Bom-Bombay,” which middle-class Americans sang to amuse themselves in the piano parlors of their homes. Circuses and exhibitions competed to present ever-larger menageries of Indian elephants and camels and ever-more spectacular recreations of Indian, Sinhalese, and other “native” villages. Such exotic public spectacles reached new heights in 1904, when the owners of Coney Island’s Luna Park turned fifteen acres of the Brooklyn amusement park into a replica of the city of Delhi and “imported” three hundred Indian men, women, and children, forty camels and seventy elephants to live there for the summer season. Several times a day the “natives” and their animals marched through Luna Park, performing a re-creation of the Delhi Durbar—the grand procession that had occurred in India the year before to mark the ascendance of King Edward VII of England to the imperial throne. By 1909, even the Wild West showmen Buffalo Bill Cody and Gordon “Pawnee Bill” Lillie joined in the craze, touring a “Far East Show” across the U.S. Midwest and South that featured Arabian horseman, a troupe of Sinhalese dancers, a “Hindu fakir,” and a “nautch dance ballet.”


Vivek Bald in Bengali Harlem and the Lost Histories of South Asian America

Some history of cultural appropriation. 

“Down in Bom-Bombay”

Ruth Denise

Hindoo Tobacco tin

anonymous asked:

Okay, okay. Just hear me out. You know how Lanyon's married? Okay, but what if his wife is actually Cut-throat Lucy? Just hear me out. She's a respectable gentle lady at daytime, but at night she's the leader of the Forty Elephants?

oh my, that’s quite scandalous~

i love this idea, anon, bless ye


The Master's Encounter - Calum 1920s AU Smut

inspired by this post - read it for background info on the whole fic

pictures from the post^ but the bottom row i edited myself. also this one’s pretty long, around 3.6k words but there is definite smut x

master!kink and stuff 


“I think she’s perfect for the role, don’t you darling?” Mrs Hood bat her eyes at her uninterested husband.

“Yes dear.” Smoke from his cigar fell from his lips as the man of the house agreed with nonchalance.

“Well that settles it! You’re our new maid!” Mrs Hood cooed, clapping her hands together and beaming at you, “Welcome to the house, uh…?” She struggled to remember your name.

“Annie Diamond.” You politely smiled as she led you out the luxurious living room, leaving you just enough time to glance back at your brooding target.

Mr Hood had caught the eye of your comrades a while ago as he was hurriedly leaving a burlesque show. It was, of course, old Patricia who had tipped you off. Being the star of the show she was always reliable to bring your attention to rich, unhappily married, gorgeous men. And Calum Hood was perfect.

You could tell by the way he was slouched in his chair with a crystal glass of whiskey rested on his knee that he was in no way happy with where he ended up.

He’d been to the burlesque every night for three weeks solid; Lord knows where he told his wife he was going. Well, you didn’t care much. As long as you did your job and got out in one piece, you didn’t care at all.

“You’ll be sleeping here!” Mrs Hood kept up her enthusiasm as she directed you into a small room upstairs.

“It’s lovely.” You respectfully said, you’d done this a million times.

“Thank you, Annie.”

“When do my duties start?”

“Tomorrow?” She said to you as if she was asking a question. She wasn’t.

“Would you like me to turn down your bed tonight? It’s no trouble, Miss.”

She looked at you with a vacant smile on her face, “Why yes, yes alright.”

“Of course Miss, shall I get changed first?”

“Oh yes, you better. I’ll leave you alone,” She crossed the threshold of your room but leaned back in, “Cook has left for the evening, but there’s still some food in the pantry if you haven’t eaten.”

She closed the door, her smile falling a fraction of a second before you lost sight of her.

Better get to work.

You quickly unpacked your large suitcase, flinging unnecessary clothes onto the bed to reveal what you really came here for. A large leather book was lying at the bottom of the bag, filled with documents related to Mr Hood’s sex scandals over the past year. The horny bastard.

You flicked through the book, recalling the events of Mr Hood’s year: Joe’s Whore House, the French Burlesque and too many strippers to count.

You were a con artist. A good one. And you worked for a network called the ‘Forty Elephants’, lead by Diamond Annie, so called as she wouldn’t hesitate to punch you in the face with her fist full of diamond rings. They were divine though, you’d picked out a few for her. All the girls working the field used her name when out on a job, for security. Your mission was simple and always the same:

  1. Find a rich man - younger preferably, they tend to give in more easily.
  2. Find out and keep records of his secrets, they all had ‘em.
  3. Infiltrate. That usually meant get a job in his home as a cook, maid, nanny, anything.
  4. Blackmail the bastard.

Voila. Job done.

And you’d be outta there 1000 clams richer and with a few nice pieces of jewellery.

You ran your fingers over the developed portrait of Mr Hood, stuck to a document in the book containing all his personal details. You knew where he worked, all extended family, his usual routines and habits. One of which slightly intrigued you. You read the small black lettering out loud.

“‘Known to sleep with household staff.’”

Ha. He couldn’t keep his pants buttoned could he? This job should be a doddle.

You heard the creak of floorboards outside your room and hurriedly threw the book under your thin mattress. You stripped expertly and pulled the black pinafore over your head, stuck the ridiculous white bonnet in your hair and tied a white apron around your waist. You tentatively opened your door and peeked into the corridor. No-one in sight. Stepping out cautiously into the corridor you made your way to the Master Bedroom, opening the door and instantly seeing Mrs Hood by her dresser in her nightclothes, you looked to the floor to give her privacy as she turned to greet you.

“Sorry Miss, should I come back later?”

You may be a con artist but you still had manners.

“No Annie it’s fine, come in.”

You nodded and began folding the sheets on her large bed. She sat and watched you, but her eyes were glazed over.

“Annie…” Her voice broke as she said your name.

“Yes Miss?” You kept your voice monotone, she sounded emotional and you didn’t like getting personally tied up in your job.

“What would you do if your husband was sleeping with someone else?” She whispered the question, only making eye contact with you once she finished speaking.

“I don’t know Miss.” You started plumping up the pillows.

“Calum…He has no idea.” She said to herself.

“Sorry?” Mr Hood has no idea about what?

She stood up and threw herself into your arms, sobbing dramatically on your shoulder as she choked out a sentence.

“I slept with the milkman!” She wept.

“The milkman?” You stuttered, utterly perplexed.

“I know, I know! But I was all dolled up when he stopped by and Calum and I have barely talked to each other for months,” She straightened up and looked you in the eyes, “Don’t tell him.”

“Never, Miss.”

“Thank you.” She sighed loudly and collected herself, “Right! Get a wiggle on to bed, Calum will be up soon.”

“Of course.” You backed out the room, taking off your bonnet immediately and shaking out your hair.

“Has the doll finished wailing now?”

You started and watched as Mr Hood came up the shadowed grand stairs, stopping as he reached the top, opposite you.

“Sorry, Mr Hood?” You crooked your head.

“Winnie, has she stopped crying about fucking some other guy?” He stepped closer to you, the moonlight from a window casting across his tan face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master.” You bowed your head, his gaze was focused on you and you didn’t like how you could see his mind whirring away.

“Sure.” He moved past you, stopping at your side to slip in a last comment, “She’ll leave tomorrow at noon to get plastered.”

And then he left.

You scurried back to your room. Tomorrow. Bugger. You’d hope to have had at least a week to steal a couple of goodies but now your schedule had been pushed forward. So be it, you still had a job to do.

Deftly changing into your nightgown you fell asleep almost instantly, you needed to be rested for the day ahead.

You woke up automatically at 6am, your body clock set for working times. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you reluctantly changed into your maid outfit. You’ll change again later, into the ‘tailored’ one. You’d been playing this role for a while now and men always seemed to fall into your traps when you were showing a bit of leg. You guffawed out loud at your thoughts, I wonder why?

You pattered silently down the stairs and met the cook in the kitchen. She instructed you to take a tray up at 9, you had until then to eat your own breakfast and dust the living and drawing rooms. You swallowed a scarce piece of leftover meat and limp vegetables, and downed a glass of water then began to fulfill your duties. You had to admit, if you ever did decide to become a full time maid you’d be a bloody good one.

“Need a hand?” Mr Hood’s gruff voice sounded from behind you as you stretched to reach a corner.

“Uh, no Sir, thank you.”

He just shrugged but moved closer to you all the same. Calum stood next to you and seemingly browsed the bookcase, but he leaned in closer to you as you continued to dust, his presence was unavoidable.

“I liked it better when you called me Master.” His silky words floated around your brain, almost intoxicating you and it suddenly clicked why so many maids enjoyed his company.

You turned to respond but he was gone.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath, unsure whether it was a delayed reaction to Calum’s advances or the realization of the fact that you had one minute to get breakfast upstairs.

“Ah Annie,” Mrs Hood sung as you slid through the door to her bedroom, “I’m at a luncheon today, so I’ll be gone a little while. Would you mind sewing up a tear in my red dress? It’s hanging in the wardrobe.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Thank you, dear.” She took a bite out of her sandwich and sipped at her tea before bustling past you in a blur of silk.

You politely followed her down the stairs and opened the front door for her, seeing her into her cab and waving her off. As soon as she had disappeared around the corner you felt Cook rush past you.

“Cook?” You called.

“The cow won’t be back for a few days, I’m outta here!” She cackled and trotted down the road out of sight.

“Alone already.” You said to yourself, gearing up for what was to come.

You shot upstairs, changing into your fitted clothes, the bodice was corseted and revealed a lot of bust, and your skirt came up past your knees. You tucked your small revolver into your garter and pulled black stockings up your legs, revising the leather bound book before you slunk out the room.

You located Mr Hood in the living room, leisurely smoking a cigar and intently watching the smoke float up to the ceiling. He was totally unaware of your presence till you made it known.

“Master, we’re alone.” You began, Calum sat up instantly at the sight of you.

“Why yes I believe so.” His eyes raked in your body as he stubbed out his cigar.

“Do you like my dress?” You pulled out your skirt and giggled softly as he nodded.

“I do, but do you know what?” He moved closer to you, his large hand resting in your hip as you held his gaze.


“I think I’d prefer it on the floor.”

His plump lips captured your lips in a tender kiss, which quickly deepened and almost made you forget why you were there. You fought for control but he overpowered you, his lips roughly massaging yours. You rolled your body against him, using your arms to push him back down on the sofa as he was distracted. You began to kiss his neck, sucking occasionally but your hand was slipping into your garter, retrieving the gun and pushing it into his neck in place of your mouth as you leaned away from him. He shot you a confused glance but caught sight of the revolver and tensed.

“What are you playing at?”

“£1000. Give it to me please.” You felt highly undignified as you were still sitting with your legs spread over Calum’s lap, but you had to focus.

“A stick up?” He mocked you, clearly not expecting you to shoot.

“If you like.”

“And you would like my money?”


“Why would I give it to you?”

“Dorothy, Mary, Helen, Betty,” You were listing the names of people he’d slept with in the past year, “Margaret, Virginia, Elizabeth, Marie, Evelyn, oh you liked her didn’t you?”

Calum’s eyes widened with every name, anger and fear igniting his facial features. Adrenaline was rushing through your veins as you recited an endless list of women, knowing you had got him.

“Couldn’t you take her fucking clothes instead?” He whined, putting on a false pretence of composure.

“No. I want £1000.” You remained icy.

“That’s more than I earn in a bloody year!” He was acting bratty, nowhere near motivated enough.

“I’m sorry you’re not used to living the high life.” You said sarcastically, he was one of the richest bankers in his county.

His eyes narrowed at your remark and he looked you square in the eyes.

“Let’s play a game.”

You were intrigued and let him go on.

“Every time I make you moan I win my pounds back.”

“What are you—?”

The evil glint in his eyes made it obvious what he was suggesting. But of course you were never to make a deal without it being fair.

“Fine,” Calum cocked his eyebrows at your agreement, “But every time I make you moan, I get your pounds.”

“A moan a pound?” Calum settled.

“You’re on.”

You slipped the gun back in your garter and grabbed his shoulders, grinding your hips on his crotch. Your actions made his head fall onto the back of the sofa and you leaned forward to kiss his exposed neck, causing him to let out a groan. You smiled to yourself and moved your lips to his ear to whisper,

“One pound.“

Calum must have realised he needed to dominate you or else he’d be losing cash, his strong arms pinned yours above your head as he flipped you on your back on the sofa. He kissed you softly, but became rougher as he sussed that being gentle wasn’t going to get anywhere with you. Soon enough, his hands had rid you of your skimpy corset and he had you moaning as his practically magic lips roamed your breasts, sucking at your nipples and leaving purple marks over your chest.

“Baby you’re not doing so well.” He taunted in between sloppy kisses on your skin.

The pet name sparked an idea in your head, and you put it into effect immediately, grabbing hold of Calum’s thick hair and reluctantly pulling him off your body so you could slip of the couch and onto your knees.

“Master, won’t you let me help you?” You reinstated his formal name, you could see the affect it had on him, his hands balled into fists and his face hardening.

You were also pretty sure it wasn’t the only thing hardening.

Your hands slid over his clothed thighs, slowly reaching the zip on his trousers. You weren’t breaking eye contact with him as you undid it, yanking his trousers down his legs.

“Annie…” He warned.

“Don’t call me that,” You snapped, “It’s not my name,” You almost froze as you told him this, he wasn’t to know, “Tonight I’m your Princess and no-one else’s.” You cloaked your sudden outburst cleverly but you were sure Calum caught your slip-up.

“Princess what are you doing?” He looked down on you with hooded eyes as you stroked over his still hidden semi.

“Pleasing you, Master.” You batted your eyelashes at him as you finally revealed his cock, taking it in your hand and pumping straight away.

“Oh Hell…” His hand found it’s way into your hair, silently begging you for more.

You obliged, £1000 was worth this, and honestly Calum was the most passionate lover you’d had for a while. You slicked your tongue around his tip, and then took him into your mouth, sucking and pumping with your fist. It wasn’t long before Calum was quivering and whimpering under you, his thighs tensing as he threatened you with release.

“Christ, Princess stop!” His voice called to you but every moan was a symphony to your ears and money in your pocket.

“Master, please cum, please?” You begged him, you knew he would soon.

“Fuck!” He groaned and you felt him shoot ribbons of cum down your throat, you swallowed obediently.

You stood up with a satisfied smile as he lay panting on the velvet sofa.

“I believe that’s £270?”

“It was not that much.” He breathed out.

“A deal’s a deal.”

“No way, I haven’t had a chance to win it back yet!”


You squealed as he grabbed your bare waist and threw you on the seat in his place. His hands lifted your petticoats and he softly gasped and tutted as he saw your lack of undergarments. You felt his breath ghost over your inner thighs and bit back a moan as his warm tongue met your core. Your breathing turned ragged as his thumb became dedicated to your clit, rubbing furiously as his lips sucked at your folds, causing you to lose control and let a long moan out. You felt the bastard chuckle against you as he had begun to win money back. He confidently slung your leg over his shoulder and caused another wave of pleasure to hit you.

“I can’t! I can’t!” You became frantic as you knew you had lost.

You thighs trembled and your mouth fell open, spilling high pitched whimpers as you hit your high. Calum cleaned you up with his tongue, emerging from your legs with a stupid grin on his face.

“Dry up. I’ll take her clothes.” You grumbled, about to stand up.

“Who said I was finished with you?” His eyes were gleaming mischievously.

“Cal— Master?” You remained in character, eager to see where this conversation would lead.

Calum leaned down and kissed you, placing his hands on your waist and deftly flipped you on his lap as he sat down. You were game, grinding your entrance over the shaft of his cock to win back a few more moans, but it backfired slightly, the friction leaving you whimpering as well. Calum’s eye flickered over your body and you met his gaze.

"You ready, Princess?” Calum kept the pet name but you found it polite that he asked.

“Yes Master.” You breathed desperately.

Calum grabbed himself, lining up and letting you set the pace as you sunk down on him. You both let out long whimpers as you grinded down on him. Calum thrust up his hips to meet you and no doubt torture you more as he hit your sweet spot with ease.

“Fuck, Princess you feel amazing.” Calum mumbled as his hands cupped your breasts.

You only managed to whimper a mix of “Master” and “Calum” and “Fuck” at the bliss Calum was pumping through you.

“Can I cum Master, please?” You begged, bouncing desperately as you chased your orgasm.

“Wait.” He sternly said, his lips peppering light kisses over your neck and down the valley of your breasts.

“Please?!” You cried, throwing your head back, positive you weren’t going to last.

Calum grabbed your cheek and sloppily kissed your lips, swallowing your moans as you came, his own loud release following a moment after. You draped your arms over his body as your breathing slowed, and then shakily climbed off him, kissing him on the cheek as you observed his worn state.

He was slumped back, half naked with his legs apart and shirt disheveled. One hand combed his hair and his other fell limply as his side. His body was glistening with sweat and the afterglow of sex.

“You need to get cleaned up.” He grunted, pointing his hand in the vague direction of the lavatory.

You scuttled in there, trying to collect your thoughts. You had slept with him, which wasn’t uncommon in your line of work but now you were finding it difficult to fathom stealing from him. Fuck your empathy. You needed to be focused right now, after today you’ll never see him again. Ever.


You shook your head in hopes of rattling some sense into it. Money’s a lost cause, you’ll be forgiven as long as you don’t leave empty handed. You quickly cleaned yourself up and ran past the living room, not daring to look inside at risk of weakening again. You made a beeline for the Master Bedroom, rushing into it but stopping short as you saw a fully dressed Calum sitting on the end of the bed.

“Jewellery is in the left drawer of the dresser.” He pointed.

“Thanks.” You rummaged around in the shallow drawer, grabbing the riches and dressing yourself in them to save hand space.

You began giggling as you saw yourself in the looking glass.

“How do I look?” You posed for Calum who was intently watching you.

“Better than Winnie ever did.”

Your laughter faded out and you coughed, pretending to get distracted at the clothes in the wardrobe. A white satin flapper dress stood out from the other robes, it was decorated in intricate beading, you suspected real pearls.

“May I?” You asked Calum.

“You’re asking permission to rob me?”

“Why of course.” You grinned.

“Go ahead.” He sighed.

You slipped the dress over your head, and chose a matching headband to adorn yourself with.

“I love getting dolled up.” You sighed happily as you looked at your reflection.

“Whoopee.” Calum’s sarcastic voice sounded.

“Alright I got it, I’m outta here.”

You strutted into the maid’s room where all your belongings still lay. Expertly you packed them into your bag, placing the jewels carefully into hidden pockets. You shrugged on your huge coat and slipped into shoes, glancing at the doorway to see Calum there.

“Mr Hood, one might think I had taken your fancy.” You flirted brashly, trying to make a joke out of the situation, winking over your shoulder at him as you packed up.

“Well they might not be wrong.”

You froze for an instant but kept your mind trained on your duties. You had to be there for your partners in crime. You couldn’t up and leave with Calum, never. Even if a tiny part of you might want to.

“I need to go, Calum.” You grabbed your case and let him lead you downstairs.

“Tell me your name.” Calum rested his hand on the doorknob, not opening it just yet.

“No,” You shook your head at the floor, “I can’t.”

Calum looked frustrated, but let it go.

“I won’t be unfaithful anymore.” He said, “But I’m going to leave Winnie.”

“Good.” You replied with a small smile.

Calum twisted the handle, opening the door and you stepped over the threshold, only just, before looking back and kissing him hard.

“Will I ever see you again?” He asked.

You winked and began walking down the street, calling back to him.

“If you’re lucky!”

One of the most feared of all London’s street gangs in the late 1880’s was a group of female toughs known as the Clockwork Oranges. They would later inspire Anthony Burgess’ most notorious novel.

*I’d like everyone to know that this is pretty false. But a real lady gang in the 1880s was the Forty Elephants.*
Gravity/Art School/Glass Scientists Question time!

Anonymous said:

Are the comic copies still being shipped out?

Yes! I have been updating my shipping status periodically in the Bleeding Heart Kickstarter updates, but for quick reference, I’m about halfway done with shipping right now.

Anonymous said:

if Jekyll likes manly ladies then does Hyde like that type as well? :3c

Yep! Hyde has a long-standing fanboy crush on Lucy, the queen of the notorious (and very well-managed) gang of lady thieves called The Forty Elephants. They may or may not have hooked up already (neither party is very good at keeping track of their sexual encounters).

The main difference between Jekyll and Hyde’s sexual behavior is that Hyde casts his net far and wide and often, and Jekyll tends not to notice or express sexual interest with someone until he gets to know them quite well. I would tentatively call him demisexual, but the fact that Hyde is decidedly not that makes the whole situation kinda wobbly.

Anonymous said:

will the blog name for the webcomic be ‘glass-scientists’ or 'glass-scientist’? Because the interview informs about the latter, while the first name is currently a blog that looks a bit more like it, so, which shall it be?

The blog for the upcoming comic The Glass Scientists is and is still (I’m sorry!) totally under construction.

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