#forgeofsedition

[costumesandphoenixes]

👗 - Should I challenge you and say revolutionary, only? >.>

@forgeofsedition - Send Me A “👗” And My Muse Will Dress Yours

[costumesandphoenixes]

Business was slow.

Although ‘Albright & Sons’ was still making a profit, albeit a small one given all the taxes, their customers had lessened in the past few months. Although her brother didn’t want to admit it, if something didn’t change then Aiden wasn’t sure if they’d be able to keep afloat. And she had a good idea as to who the blame laid on.

Ever since the riots in the beginning of the year, their shop had been targeted as a ‘Tory’ shop, because of their goods solely being from Britain. While not entirely true anymore, thanks to the deal struck between her brother and printer Isaiah Thomas to move his paper through the shop, all of the books were made across the Atlantic.

Did that mean that she and her brother were loyalists? Not at all. After the massacre in Boston Square, Brennan had often said that were there a true bookmaker in the colonies then he would partner with them in an instant. But until that day came, their very livelihood depended on the books that he sold. Aiden brought in some coin from her seamstress work, but nowhere near enough to support both of them as well as paying the taxes. There was just no way.

That didn’t stop the patriots from protesting their shop, and while most of the graffiting was over, they still were getting fewer and fewer customers from the middling to lower class. More than once, the young woman had wanted to give the so-called ‘Sons of Liberty’ a piece of her mind, but Brennan had discouraged riling them up.

Turning back to the shelves behind the counter, Aiden shuffled a few of the books around, pulling down a few of the more popular titles so she could rotate the window display. Brennan had stepped back to discuss something with Isaiah, hopefully a way to put more of the young printer’s work through their shop, maybe coax more customers in; so she was left at the front.

The sound of the door opening brought her attention back to the front, a polite smile taking over her face as she greeted the dark-haired man. He gave her one look and grunted. “Thought this place was called ‘Albright and Sons’.”

“My brother’s discussing business with a partner in the back. I can still help you, are you looking for something specific? We just got in a handsome new copy of Robinson Crusoe.” Aiden tried to keep the irritation at the gender comment out of her voice as she gestured to the leather bound novel sitting on the counter. The man picked it up, flipping through a couple pages before, in the most unceremonious way, dropping it on the floor with a loud thud.

“Sir, if you didn’t want-” Another book picked up and dropped. Her hands clenched below the counter. “That’s not nece-”

“Is everything you have here Tori shit? Not one single thing made in Boston?” He gave her a grin as he swept four or five books onto the floor. “Then why shouldn’t they be on the floor? Why shouldn’t this whole place be out of business? Can you answer that, loyalist bitch?”

"That’s it! Listen to me you-” her coming insults were cut off by the sound of the door opening. Probably a good thing seeing as her Irish temper was about to make itself fully known. There was only so much she could handle.

@forgeofsedition

[annastrxng]

@Forgeofsedition

@forgeofsedition

“Are you the writer and printer Abraham was speaking about?” The brunette nervously questioned. 

[a-vulparia-archive-blog]

Generally speaking, she tried to keep her nose out of things. She had learned that poking around in things was a bad idea. It usually led to trouble. But there were some strange noises coming from the basement of an old building she walked past on her way home from work. Lights on in windows that were normally dark. She couldn’t help herself. This is the things horror movies are made of, she thought wryly as she stepped up to the building, checking the door. It was unlocked. Biting her lip, she pulled her pocket knife out, pushed the door open, and eased inside.

A long, empty hallway stretched out in front of her, with a few doors branching off to either side. With a frown, she followed the shaft of light that came from under one of them. She carefully turned the doorknob and pushed it open as quietly as possible. A frown creased her brow as she saw what lay inside.

She wasn’t sure what it was for a moment, the large machine in the room. But from the reams of paper and splatters of ink around, she was going to guess it was a printing press. Who the fuck still used a printing press? Especially in a basement in the middle of the night?

Her eyes fell on a dark haired man  working at the press. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out “What the hell?” And then immediately regretted it as the man turned to look at her.

Well, shit.

@forgeofsedition

[silverxsmith]

forgeofsedition replied to your post:(๏_๏) And every blog you've ever made. *grins*

// *hugs* I’m so behind in all of my replies…owe like 46. But Isaiah’s reply to Paul is drafted, I promise. ^_^

//No worries, my dear. You know you can always take as much time as you need. <3

[silverxsmith]

@forgeofsedition

“We need them to understand, Isaiah,” Paul answered, his voice steady but heavy with conviction, even though he knew the printer was already on his side. “In plain words. The people need to know what’s happening, what the Crown wants to do with them. In this instance, being impartial does no one any favors. If you post the truth of what they’re doing, they’ll say you’re biased. The only way to stay impartial is to stay silent. And we both know that’s not an option anymore.”

From his bag, he took a small package and stepped closer to Isaiah, unwrapping the linen from it to show a copper plate, engraved with the paper’s name – The Massachusetts Spy - but missing the old motto. He held it out to his fried. “I was hoping you would use this one from now on.”

[therapardalis]

[ @forgeofsedition from here.]

Isaiah couldn’t help but be intrigued whenever a woman spoke politics…or anything serious for that matter.  Not because he thought they shouldn’t, but because he knew society had ingrained it into them that ‘proper ladies’ should be seen and not heard - especially in regard to ‘matters of import’.  So, when a woman spoke, he had a tendency to listen because either she didn’t care what society thought, or she cared enough about her opinion that society ceased to matter.  Both situations fascinated him, and made him want to hear more.

Unable to resist replying, he said, “I understand your meaning, ma’am, but I’m uncertain it applies to those who wish for freedom from the British. Some might even take offense.  That particular turn of phrase could be construed to make light of the dangers they know they face.  Most of them accept that their actions are illegal in the eyes of the Crown.  They know, one day soon, it’s likely they’ll all hang, but that doesn’t stop them from doing it.  It doesn’t stop them from seeking the fairness and equality they believe we all deserve.”

The printer did his best to keep his reply from sounding like a rebuke.  It wasn’t meant to be, and he was hardly one to discourage interesting discourse, whether she was a Whig or a Tory.  In addition, he didn’t want the woman thinking he was brushing her opinion aside because she was of the female persuasion.  “Regardless, I’d be interested in discussing the matter further.”  Isaiah offered her an encouraging smile.  “If you’re so inclined, Miss…?”  Granted, if she was a Tory, once she learned his name he was likely to get himself slapped…but for a few minutes more spent with the comely young woman, he was willing to take the risk.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Thera cocked an eyebrow, turning toward him; she’d been simply musing aloud, and hadn’t expected anyone to take note, much less reply, “But if you ‘understand my meaning’, I’m not sure how you might construe any such thing.”

Her remark had been directed toward the attitude of London rather than anything to do with his patriot gallows apples - an opinion on an opinion, and little more. But she really felt no need to say so, or defend herself further. Any man, this one or another, so sensitive as to take the words amiss was not her particular concern.

Which was the notion that had her brows lifting again at the invitation that followed. “I’m not sure that’s wise.” She hesitated, then returned his smile with a faint one of her own, easing the edge of her reply. Perhaps he had only spoken in haste and was attempting amends ... or was simply of the flirtatious persuasion. Regardless, she wasn’t much of a mood to tread eggshells around someone who might jump at anything she said. “But thank you for the offer.”

[theserpentunder-t-blog]

@forgeofsedition || x

She had not been aware that she was heard, but all the same, Rebecca found the reaction refreshing. Though, there was still a lot left that was unknown about the man, and she was uncertain if he were Tory or Whig. But there was certainly ways to find out where the dark haired man laid politically. 

The midwife considered the comments before she looked up at him with a faint smile of her own. “Or merely instigate others if they are seen as martyrs. While there is some truth to ‘it’s better to be feared than love’ However, they seemed to have missed the notation of how one should avoid hatred if they are going to rule through fear,” she sighed with a role of her eyes. 

It was shameful in a way, how brutish they seemed to be in their methods, which caused her to shake her head softly. 

“Then again, treason is relative I suppose. Just as history is a lie written by the victors of war.”