Paine's Journal

[001] (In which things are set to scheduling and children are badly represented)
I hate children.

I do. My creations are not 'toys' for a small podling to gum. I do not sell such complicated machines to parents.

Yet I am being forced to do so. Master says it's a commission I could use. I say that I hope the clockwork explodes in the child's face.

Tomorrow I go out for supplies and groceries. It will be the first time in the better part of a month that I have had both the opportunity and the need to do so. I will be going incognito, of course-- it is not 'proper' for a lady to be buying whisky alone, no matter if she is buying it for someone else--, and so I can pick up a few things that I will be needing personally.

I hope there are no children around the junkyard. It is so difficult to wash blood from a white shirt.

Current Mood: annoyed