#floozies

[hibobsblog]

i would love it if there’s a chapter from cat or one of the floozies pov while jean and jeremy are at the start of dating or just about to start dating and it all just be ‘they are so fucking obvious i feel like i’m unwillingly watching a porno’

[millportisntreal]

If I had a nickel for every time a queer/found family book used the term “floozies” I’d have two nickels

[dan-i-am21]

Is no one gonna talk about how they’re called the floozies…. In comparison to the monsters.

[auspiciousmanner]

Newsies, but it’s Medda-centric and it’s called Floozies

[shibara]

This is a personal picture I’ve been working on here and there for a bit over a year. 

It’s a fanart piece for an album called ‘Uncle Raven's Super Happy Funtime Carnival, The Ballad Of Lost Hallow Act 2′ the last album in a series of operas/musicals (I kinda don’t know enough about music to be able to tell the difference well xD) set around the fictional city of New Albion, made by Paul Shapera. 

It’s a bit hard to describe New Albion in a nutshell. 

It’s a story that starts as steampunk, and ends as cyberpunk. It has a religion around constructed dolls with souls, a literal search for heaven (that is not very pleased about it), the love story of a sheriff and a werewolf lady, a mermaid that swims in vodka in a bizarre carnival, a radio host that fights his show’s characters for control over the narrative, an albino tribe deep in the city tunnels, an AI that reads thrashy sci-fi magazines and dreams of having adventures with their siblings... the list goes on.

I can’t even express how much I love these operas. The music and singers are as absolutely fantastic as the stories. I think I might have listened to the album I made the pic of about 932847309485 times and will probably listen to it  932847309485 more.

If any of this sounds like it might strike your fancy, you can hear them all (and buy them, too) here: https://mochalab.bandcamp.com/ (Dolls of New Albion is the first one in the series).

A final tiny note of thanks to @ultharkitty who introduced me to this saga. You’re the person I ultimately blame for a gazillion hours of happily working to the sound of voodoopunks chanting. 

[adleryoung]

"Hudalaleigh!" the alleged Wolf Queen exclaimed from the gallery.  "Sure an' if it's mud wrestlin' I offer meself to act as second for one o' the combatants!  The Wolf Queen fights for justice!"

"I'll like, second for Prince Adler," SALV Fofox chimed in.  "And like, totally hold his clothes for him."

"The defendant is not a Floozy and will not be a combatant in this test," Minister Lynne pointed out.

I nervously fidgeted with my jacket buttons.  Hadn't Ms. Thomson said earlier that pole dancing was her weakness?  If Estmere picked that, I might be in serious trouble!  Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea for me to try to distract the opposing Floozy after all .. any advantage I could gain might make the difference!

"Please advise the Prince," Queen Edessa asked Estmere, loudly, "that he must not exert his supposed 'sick Irenaeid mojo' to affect the outcome of this contest."

"Keep your shirt on, Bro," Estmere said with a wink.

"It's not gonna be mud wrestling anyway, dudes and dudettes," Estmere guffawed.  "It's gonna be POLE DANCING all the way!  OOOH YEEEAAAAAH!!!  You two ladies strip down to your smallclothes, and somebody bring in great-grandpa Sartorius' Royal Dancing Pole!  WOOOOO!!"

The crowd in the gallery erupted into wild applause.  Ms. Thomson cast a nervous glance at me, and then at Minister Lynne, who shook her head sternly.

"Prosecution goes first," Estmere declared, as the pole was secured in place.

Someone in the gallery began strumming a lute, and someone else joined in on a shawm, and Miss Thompson leaped gracefully onto the pole and began twirling as if gravity had no effect on her.  Ms. Thomson shivered and looked suddenly ill.

I couldn't watch this.  Desperate for something to divert my attention, I pulled SALV Fofox's card out of my Elfintory.  It was elegantly illuminated, but bore no information beyond the number 8 written boldly in the center.  I stared at it intently but could not puzzle out its meaning.

"Wow," the vixen murmured behind me.  "There's these hot Floozies on the hoof, performing like, totally lascivious dances in front of you, but instead you're staring at my number.  Smitten much?"

"Uh, what?" I retorted suavely.

"Sssh, don't spoil the moment," she whispered back.

Miss Thompson spun slowly down the pole and alighted daintily on her hooves.  With a smirk at Ms. Thomson, she strutted back to her table and leaned against it.  "By my opponent I doubt I'll be bested," she called out smugly.  "Let the record state the Prosecution rested."

"Your turn then," Estmere said, gesturing at Thomson.

She approached the pole slowly, with a sad, lingering look at her collection of weapons on the table.  "Wrestling would have been better," she groaned.

The music started, and Thomson grabbed the pole.  She took a few running steps and attempted to launch herself into a spin, but somehow one of her horns got hooked on the pole.  It made a harsh scraping sound which drowned out the gallery's collective gasp of horror as she twirled around the pole a few times and then collapsed in a tangle on the floor.

"Well, that sucked," Estmere declared.  "Is the pole okay?  Sounds like she totally scratched the crap out of it."

"We have a clear victor!" Edessa declared loudly.  "Fuma has chosen, and justice is vindicated!  For his crimes, Adler Young deserves the penalty of DEATH!"

"Whoah," Estmere exclaimed, taken aback.  "Chill.  Seriously, Edessa, babe .. sometimes it's like I don't even know you."

"The trial shows him guilty of treasonous charges," Edessa insisted.

"No, the trial shows that his Floozy can't pole dance worth a damn," Estmere corrected.  "It doesn't prove anything else.  I chose Trial by Floozy because I was getting bored and wanted to wrap this up."

"And according to the rules of Trial by Floozy, Adler has been found guilty," the Queen hissed.

"Oh.  Bummer.  Sorry Bro, I guess I effed that one up," Estmere retorted gloomily.  "Wait a sec, isn't there some rule where, like, you can't sentence a royal dude to death?"

"That is a rule except in cases of treason," Minister Lynne interjected.  "However, it has not been formally established that the charges against the defendant were treasonous in nature.  Even if they were, Your Majesty has the option of imposing prison time or exile instead of a capital sentence.  Once imposed, the death sentence obviously cannot be revoked.  In order to prevent a dreadful Mistake, Sire, it were best not to act rashly in this matter."

"See there?" Estmere quipped.  "That's why she's the Chief Minister.  Is there someplace my lil' Bro can go where he will be out of harm's way until like, the SALVs are done with their deal and all of this has blown over?"

"The Antglade Diplomatic Listening Post is, at present, unstaffed," the Minister replied.

"Nein!" a voice rang out from the gallery.  "Zis dastardly criminal must not be shunted off into zum remote sinecure!  Zis is tantamount to revardink him for his zinister actions against Vulpitanian national interests!  He must be extradited to Vulpitania to schtand trial!"

"Yeah right," Estmere scoffed.  "You must think I'm pretty dumb to fall for that one, but I know Vulpitania totally doesn't have its own judicial system.  Yeah, I studied Statecraft!  Eat it!!  Oh, and also, order."

"I have no objection to posting him on the Antglade border," Edessa mused.  "No, as far as I know, there's no problem with that.  The survival rate of border agents is very low."

"Whatevs," Estmere shrugged.  "Okay, Bro.  I don't know why you did the stuff and got yourself in trouble, but I'm thinkin' you look pretty stressed.  So I am sending you to chill for a while at the Antglade border thingy.  I think this means you'll be, like some kind of agent, so I will have to like revoke your appointment as Hand of the King.  Turn in your regalia to the bailiff on your way out.  Don't give me that look, dude, it's either this or dungeon time, and I don't think you want that.  Say hi to Duchess O'Daisies for me, she seemed really nice when we met - oh, and if you can get ahold of some Persoc-Itoome, send me a couple of bottles, all right?"

"He will need a Supervising Floozy to accompany him and make sure he stays on his best behavior," Minister Lynne declared.  "I recommend Ms. Thomson for this task."

"The one who failed to defend him?" Edessa exclaimed.  "You cannot be suggesting that we send this incompetent to watch over an elf who is patently a dangerous enemy of the Empire?"

"Babe, chill," Estmere chided.  "Thomson is a good Floozy.  Terrible dancer, sure, but aside from that, she's cool."

"I shall do my best to atone for my failure this day," Thomson sighed gloomily.

"Ooh, ooh," SALV Fofox interjected, waving her hand.  "Since there's like, SOO much Vulpitanian interest in the Prince, I mean like, his CASE - there's gotta be a SALV along as an, um adjunct?  Adjutant?  Adjective?  Something like that.  I volunteer to like, represent the Republic, or whatever."

"HUSSY!" a voice called from across the room.

"Sorry, SALV, I already totally called it," Fifi smirked.  "Snooze you lose."

[dan-i-am21]

#tscspoilers

Okay I love menace Neil and seeing Andreil cameos but are missing the best part…. JEAN ON A MOTORCYCLE AND THE POSSIBILITY OF HIM LEARNING TO DRIVE ONE. And just Laila and Cat all together, I love them with all my heart I need Cats backstory, she knew to get Jean out. I have so much more to say, JEAN IS SO RUTHLESS AND A ASSHOLE, he is so sassy I love him so much

[adleryoung]

"I want Meadow Grainmaster to serve as my official Floozy during these proceedings," I shouted as the Marshal and the Sergeant hurried off ahead of us.  Then, as the constables manhandled me toward the Detention Center, I protested:  "Hold on a second!  What exactly am I being charged with?"

"Fuma spray me if I know, laddie," the wolf constable replied.  "Tis at the Queen's orders, so could be anything.  Did ye give her an odd look, or leave a chamberpot in the wrong place?  Did ye fail tae wish her a bonnie mornin' in the proper tone o' voice?  Ye never can tell wi' femmes.  Me own Sally holds me responsible every time there's cloudy weather.  It's got so I'm scared to say anythin' at hoome."

"You think that's rough?" the bull rumbled.  "You should try building a miniature three-masted schooner inside a wine bottle - after you didn't even get to drink the wine!  Speaking of which, Nero, where do you want to go for breakfast after we drop this little perp off?"

"I dinnae, Angus, how aboot that Antglade-style barbecue stand?"

"They don't have decent salads there," the bull objected.  "How about the Green House?"

"Bah, we went there last time," the wolf scoffed.  "Barrin' the barbaric flavour and the havoc it wrought upon me digestion, those shrub-run places have such beastly slow service!"

This debate went on for the duration of our walk, cruelly reminding me that it was early morning by now, and had been quite some time since I last ate.

When we arrived at the Detention Center, the constables unfastened my manacles and shoved me into a holding cell.  Then they went away, still debating where to go for breakfast.  I dejectedly surveyed my surroundings.  There was a bench chained to the wall, with a chamberpot and an assortment of cobwebs under it.  I sat down on the bench and worriedly contemplated my situation.

"Pssst, hey you, hey fella," a rat in the cell opposite whispered.  "What are you in for?"

"I'm not really sure," I answered mournfully.

"Aw come on, buddy, you can confide in me.  Us Unseelie gotta stick together, see?"

"I was caught snooping around where I shouldn't be, I guess," I admitted.  "But my intentions were good."

"I hear ya," the rat commisserated.  "This goody-goody tyranny just ain't fair, see?  What do skunks know about life on the street?  No offense.  That lowfolk was already mostly eaten when I got there!  Elves don't lie, see?"

I was somewhat relieved when Marshal Theronmyathus and Sergeant Avogadro strode up to my cell, interrupting this conversation.  The Marshal unlocked the door and Avogadro rushed in, jabbing his finger at me angrily.

"I've had it with you, Bastard!" the mole squeaked furiously.  "Are you gonna tell us what you were up to in the SALVs' apartment, or do I have to get rough?"

"Er, should you be questioning me without my Floozy present?" I asked nervously.  "Where is Meadow?"

"Now, now, Sergeant," Theronmyathus croaked as he tugged Avogadro away from me.  "The Prince has rights, and it would not do for us to go violating them.  Sorry about this, Your Highness.  He gets excited sometimes.  Cares passionately about justice, you know.  Anyway, we came to inform you that your Floozy - or should I say Floozies - are here.  You are only entitled to one, so you'll have to clear up this confusion before we can proceed."

"Don't dawdle about it," Avogadro growled irritably.

Four femmes lined up in the corridor outside my cell.

"When I heard that Cute Prince Adler was in trouble, I just knew he needed me," Doris Saltstick sighed dreamily.  "I will help him through this time of adversity."

"When did you get back from Caer Adland?" Meadow sneered.  "I'm the one currently serving as Adler's office Floozy, I understand his present situation better than anyone else here, and besides, it's me that he has asked for by name."

"Hudalaleigh!" the scantly-clad wolfess exclaimed.  "Sure an' the Wolf Queen fights fer justice, so I'll wrestle the lot of ye for the right to serve as Adler's Floozy!  One at a time or all together, it matters not.  Best three falls out o' four wins."

"I am Prince Right Hand Adler's Court-Appointed Floozy," the smartly-dressed ungulate stated drily.  "The rest of you might as well go home."

"Quickly, Sire, while they're all distracted," an Ixie whispered in my Elfmind.  "Only one of yon Floozies is in league with the Sisterhood, so choose carefully.  Also, if thou hast anything in thine Elfintory which thou'dst prefer the Marshal not to find, best give it to me now and I'll smuggle it away for safekeeping."