Gah, the city-state dialects. Plus whatever Franco-Germanic forms have drifted in over the border ...

It's bad enough Charles VII(?) and his army are wandering in and out of Rome at whim. But chaos is the perfect breeding ground for drama.

Well, if we're talking William the Bloody, we talking, what? 19th century. Huh.

I wouldn't worry about too much variation detail, unless you want to get really deep into it; personally, it's the sort of thing I never touch unless someone's paying me, which, in fact just happened. I literally had to go to the Chair of Medieval French at OSU, because - it gets no dopier than this - I had no idea whether the French familiar "tu" existed as early as 1381. And since the ghost in "Famous Flower" is screaming at her daughter in French, and since had she been modern she would have used the familiar rather than the formal vous, I needed to know.

Turns out, yes, it did exist, that early and earlier; it appears in Roman de la Rose. But I felt like a shmuck, not knowing.

That's intriguing, Connie. I noticed you had a story in your LJ, but have been so behind in my reading there, I thought I'd catch it later.

I like this.

Connie -- I don't know how important this is but after I went to bed last night I suddenly realized that given the di Irlanda thing -- it might just be d'Irlanda -- with no ls at all.

It feels better in the mouth that way.

It feels better in the mouth that way.

I'm just going to stare at that sentence and snicker like a twelve-year-old.

wrod. More Buffista Redball:
Scheiner and the rest of the guys from the ME’s office were wrapping up their initial exam when Kay and Munch arrived. Dr. S. was a cranky old pain in the ass, but Kay was relieved to be spared the spectacle of Munch and Alyssa Dyer flirting over another vic. That was just disgusting.
“What’ve we got?” she asked.

“So far there’s no reason for this woman to be dead,” the veteran coroner said, “No marks or exit wounds. We’ll have to wait for the toxicology."

“Well,” Munch said, “Scheiner. Obviously, she isn’t using the same crystal ball as you are, because we’re all here. Although the jury’s still out as to whether your ‘here’ and my ‘here’ are the same place, metaphysically speaking.”

“Munchkin,” Kay said, patiently. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with that crowd in there? Jeez, they talk more than a billy who swallowed a dictionary. I think they’re a cult.”

“Really?”

“I’ve fended off two indecent proposals. One male, one female, and three sets of haircut tips. And it looks like we’re going to Redball Country, USA."

"Damn. What kind of shindig is that, anyway?"

"Bunch of people meeting off the internet. Almost all tourists.And that's not all. Glitter, little crowns, perky breasts...maybe we oughta give Vice the heads-up, huh? Maybe they're looking for trouble.

Hee! I LOVE it!

Go, Erika, go!

“Munchkin,” Kay said, patiently. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with that crowd in there? Jeez, they talk more than a billy who swallowed a dictionary. I think they’re a cult.”

Bwah! More please.

Billies tell cops their life stories apparently...I hesitated about using it as it's short for "hillbilly", but Kay would probably say that.Glad you like it though.

“Damn,” Munch said. “My condolences. The vic is a Deborah Grabien, mystery writer and member in good standing. Kind of a firebrand too...this could have been a Company job, if you ask me.”

“You’ll notice I didn’t, huh? Right. The CIA takes out mystery writers at freak conventions in Balmer.”

“Well, it wasn’t Miss Scarlet in the conservatory, babe. In the interests of national security, people have ‘accidents’ sometimes.”

Kay waved the suggestion away. “Who’s she here with?”
“She has a husband. “
“Now he’s somebody I want to have a little chat with.”

“I’m sorry,” Betsy said, from the hallway, “but the door was open, so I couldn’t let that pass. The sentence you want is “He is someone with whom I want to have a little chat.” Because otherwise you end your sentence with a preposition. And that’s just wrong.”

“So that’s what ‘whom’ is for. Thanks. You don’t have confessions in there do you?”

“Afraid not.” “Look,” Munch said. “I’ll talk to the husband, because I can tell he is someone with whom you’d like to exchange stray bullets.”