She’s A Lactating Badass.
You don’t want to know. I may have mentioned this before, but it bears repeating: I teach history, and my focus is military history. What Jamie is enduring at the hands of Black Jack Randall is a sort of “greatest hits” of all the shitty things that humans do to each other in military and religious history,with the exception of outright murder. I’m sure everyone in Outlander fandom is braced for impact, so to speak. But back to Jenny and Claire for the moment, because:
We know Jenny has giant balls (metaphorically speaking), and Claire’s sensibilities, while modern, are no less badass.
Now, allow me to digress. Is it just me, or are the British just uniformly horrible to the Scots?
Yeah. They are.
Now fast forward to Jenny, and Claire, and some unfortunate redcoat messenger who is dealing with a woman who may or may not have:
1) Post-partum Aggression
2) A sore hooha
3) Boobs that jiggle like winesacks.
4) All of this on horseback
5) You’ve just stolen her brother, on whom the sun rises and sets.
Yeah, Redcoat. You really fucked up. Jenny is gonna bring a special kind of crazy to this party.
Let’s start a cheerful campfire, shall we?
I give credit to the messenger. He’s got some courage. . . until Jenny and Claire play “good cop, bad cop”. They also truss him up in a rather awkward position, more suitable for a corrupt cop looking for drugs.
Up your bum, that is.
A sword dancer, but still. Oh, and by the way, Claire is going to dress like a pirate (sorta) and travel the highlands while hoping to rouse Jamie’s curiosity. It’s an excellent ploy, and leads to one of the strangest transformations we could imagine for Claire. Performing as “The Sassenach”, they only succeed in getting Jamie captured, but that was inevitable. What wasn’t unavoidable was the, ah, costume that Claire is forced to adopt.
So, a few more shots of Scottish vistas, and here we are: holding and waiting to be stomped like a grape in a barrel next week thanks to the depravity of Black Jack Randall. He’s like a bladder infection rolled up into a visit from unwelcome relatives, topped off with papercuts.
But, you know, more into leather.
Until next week, then, friends. Gird your loins.