To me, the only time a weapon is outdated, is when you're in a war.
Otherwise, anything works.
Even a fireplace poker in the right hands is deadly.
Depends on the opponent of course, but on someone cosplaying as a maid...
It's best not to think about, isn't it?
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this postTo be frank, the only thing I have against maids is the fact that they are the servants of the worst class in society.
A class of men and women who do absolutely nothing, and contribute fuck-all to progress. The most they do is send their pretty little boys and girls into universities in the hopes that they'll grow as people and become socialites like they are- the scholarly pursuit is not their choice. They waste the time of academics trying to teach those insipid little creatures that only look forward to the next party...
I am of course talking about the aristocracy.
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this postYou know what else isn't nice?
Waking up every morning in near-squalor, going to school knowing that you are different from everyone else- that they are all there because their parents could afford it. Their cousins were there, their parents knew one another, they all had their proclivities- some were just going to be shunted off to Sandhurst anyway, and they tended to form together. Doubtless they would remain good chums with one-another and be given comfortable jobs in the general staff...
My father was a lawyer, and he kept himself in poverty for the silly sake of living in the midst of London in order to get work.
He could barely afford to keep me there- and I was different from all others because of it.
But my father was a stern man- he kept at it. I respected that, until he turned to gambling.
He was already playing like a fool to try and move up the social ladder when all that matters is science.
But then he turned to a vice that only bites away at your very soul, until you find yourself in a dark apartment off near Soho- with a noose to keep you company, and the friendly push of death at your cold, weary back.
Because you have nothing left at that point. That's the end of all gamblers in my eyes.
edited 1st Mar '17 5:06:27 PM by RegularDefender
1.5 imperial gallons of tea were consumed during the writing of this post

"A forest."