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Dinner. Isn’t that just the decision one has to make. I will likely attend Ms. Fangley’s as I find I am being drawn to public works in addition to my private affairs. So much good to be done don’t you know.
Truly though, it is but the aperitif before the Ball. My dance card is already set, and I look forward to an enchanting evening.
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Ah, yes. Ms. Fangley; a lovely woman, and you are indeed a fortunate Space Moose to gain an invitation to her table.
Myself, currently being somewhat disgusted by the Mayor’s moral judgement — you might ask Lt. Brummell here, or Cmdr. Piker, if you want further details — I think I will be dining with Ms. Applethwaite, if she will be so kind as to accept me at her table.
I lament the absence of Taaa’keeen Citizen-Pretenders to dance with, but I should have no trouble filling my card either.
I just wish that this blasted duel would get underway so that I can decide whether I need to continue retaining the services of a physician or not.
[sip]
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Jean-Rhys slips into the Leviathan like a spy in the house of love.
The talk of the town for the last few weeks has been of nothing but Mr. St-Patrick-Hartbrooke III’s @nimelennar challenge, and the rather unusual choice of weapons by the scoundrel, <pleasing hum> @manwich.
She’s come for the karaoke duel.
Ms. Witherspoon (&tc.) knows it’s unbecoming for one of her station, but she can’t deny the atavistic thrill of witnessing the parry and thrust of Polite Society, of being there when the perfect bon mot burns the recipient with a rush of blood to the cheek and/or carapace.
And the antics of that @Ssskidwish only throw yellow-cake onto the nuclear meltdown that is the controversy surrounding the despicable, yet somehow ascendant, <pleasing hum>. What on Weatherby could the retainer of Carsssy Honeyvenom @Donald_Petersen be up to?
She caresses the controls of her brain chemistry regulators and her pupils dilate in anticipation of the contest to come. Nature, red in tooth and claw, is about to reveal itself in the back room of the Leviathan Club.
If only @eighth were here to observe, one might learn a valuable lesson.
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Lady Jean-Rhys, @MrMonkey
I am outside with the Tom and Wesley, where we wards are expected to be. My multi-spectral sensors give me a pretty good read on what happens in the club, so I’m delivering the “play by play” for the rest of the wards.
I do appreciate your thinking of me.
-Eighth
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zoot!
It. Is for the best, real-ly. I do believe @Rumpthwaite has completed the preparations and the dueling stage is has been prepared. The mo-ment is at hand. I dooooo. Hope! That you both sur-vive as you seem like such prop-errrrrr True Citizens.
bing. ftoing!
I should al-so note that the dueling stage has been prepared.
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[Sitting in a dark corner of the Club, Franksenketchup makes notes on a card with much erasing and not a little profanity. After several hours…]
There. I think this is perfect.
Dance One - Mind the Grease 7-2
Dance Two - Elbow Room 20-1
Dance Three - Tumblemuffin 7-2
Naught left but the conquest.
[He falls asleep chin on chest, snoring noisily]
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In a remote corner of the Club, a curtained booth. Rumpthwaite supplies a tray with two tumblers of Old Herpeton '47, then withdraws.
“Cousin Ssskidwish.”
“Couthin Carthy. I came ath thoon ath I heard.”
“As soon as you heard? And what did you hear?”
“Why, that we’ve won! You thuctheeded in reaching the Governor’th ear! Our miththion hath been a thuctheth!”
“Do you think so?”
“It’th been all the goththip. Everyone thaw you arrive in thtyle at the Governor’th manthe. And the better-connected thay they heard you thpent a conthiderable hour in private conthultation with Hith Exthellenthy on the balcony. I can put two and two together.”
“I wonder. You have an odd number of talons these days.”
“That’th your mother’th fault, you know.”
“She said you had it coming, Captain… that is, Cousin.”
“Be that ath it may. Our next move ith clear.”
“Is it? Pray, illuminate me. What might that be, in your estimation?”
“Don’t be coy, lieut-- couthin. There’th no room for levity when it cometh to New Pruthia.”
“You have no idea. Nor do you know what was said.”
“I thaid ‘don’t be coy.’ I made you, godthdammit. I made you, and I can break you.”
“How’d you do at the ball, dear cousin?”
And today we learn just to what degree a Space Lizard’s complexion can purple.
It is magnificent.
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Cmdr Damerl Capstanturnbuckle enters the club with the upright but easy-going gate of a lobster who’s spent a life at space, and one who’s authority had been absolute. Mindful of etiquette he ensures a smile, a nod of the head, or gently clasped hand of each sentient in turn. After such he turns to the bar only to find @Rumpthwaite has already predicted the Cmdr’s next action and stands waiting.
“Ah, @Rumpthwaite, good fellow, if it’s not too much a trouble a bottle of Madeira and a dish of that toasted cheese like only you can prepare. Many thanks.”
Capstanturnbuckle settles into a comfortable chair he finds not quite comfortable and scans the room of all the proud coat of arms displayed there. To his dismay that of his own family is noticable absent.
“That damnable boy, here weeks before me and not a single action of reputable behavior taken.”
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Liv sets a drink down gently in front of a still inconsolable Lady Elizabeth (@Hadley). “If I had known that would be the outcome, I might not have torn up my dance card. And pay no attention to the Times. They never miss a chance to take shots at superior publications.” He pats her hand rather awkwardly. “Take heart, at least you didn’t make a spectacle of yourself”.
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Hieron strolls into Levithan. A spring in his step and a gleam in his eye.
Taking a seat at the bar, Hieron waits for @Rumpthwaite to finish serving Cmdr Capstanturnbuckle and catches his eye.
“No, not the MM tonight, good sir. It is Spring and time for a drink that reflects that. I’ll have a W&T. please”
“Of course, sir. A Whip and Tonic. Any preference on the Whip? We have PorkEaters, Not Your Astronaut’s Tang and, my favorite, Walla Walla Saphire”
“Your tastes are impeccable, sir. The Walla Walla Saphire will no doubt please me greatly.”
With the practiced moves of experience, Rumpthwaite takes a high ball, fills it it if one large ice cube, pours in three measures of tonic to two measures of Walla Walla Saphire. Rubs lime around the rim and garnishes with a cucumber spear. Handing it off to Hieron, they nod antlers at one another as Hieron crosses over to the seating area and seeks out Cmdr Capstanturnbuckle. @pogo
“Commander. No don’t get up. Enjoy your cheese. Mind if I sit down? No? Thank you.”
“So, as a Military Man, I have to ask - if this isn’t too touchy a subject - how do you feel about New Prussia.”
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Indeed Lady Elizabeth (@Hadley) , I shall dispatch a missive posthaste to cancel my subscription to The Times and subscribe to your august publication!
Er, what is the name of it again?
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New Prussia? Yes, that does seem to be all the talk these days. If I were being frank, I would say those black-hearted ner’er do-wells have made their intentions right and clear enough, copied out fair and announced here in our own publications. I say keep our forces to wind-ward, fast ships at the ready and after a strong broadside we cut their line and rake them stem to stern. Then we shall see what claims they have upon our new world.
Beg pardon, my dear Mr Farnsworth (@Wisconsin_Platt) I seemed to have slipped into the old habit of addressing myself whilst pacing the quarterdeck. I do hope you caught my meaning, though.
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um, don’t we need a Navy first?
Britannia Prime is a bit distracted with the Succession – we may have to fight this on our own.
It appears we’ll be lead by
Dr. Frankenketchup @old (MIL 37),
Lt. Erythro Brummell @daneel (MIL 35)
Commander Piker @fintastic (MIL 34),
Lady Farnsworth @Hadley (MIL 32)
and of course, you, Cmdr Capstanturnbuckle @Pogo (MIL 33)
I have every confidence.
corrected to repair an unintended slight to the Incomparably Dashing Lt. Brummell
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Ahem.
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Boldness dear Rothschild, boldness! The right planning, sentients of steely constitution, keen intelligence a favorable wind and we could take them with a scow!
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Perhaps it is time to put together a hydrological expedition; no higher calling than for a sentient to add to the sum total information of their society.
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Hieron wandered to the periphery of the now engrossing Military talk. He did not have a military mind and the talk of troop movements began to bore him. Talk of the supply trains had piqued his interest, but the conversation moved on from that back to defensive positions.
Finding a quiet table he pulled out his note book and began to jot down his recollections from the night of the ball.
Cousin Elizabeth @hadley. The poor child, the only other Tee Cees to not dance were dead or possibly clinically insane.
Nearly a half dozen of the Sea Peas were not asked. Poor things. Their collective hearts must be broken.
‘Madeline Penumbra.’ Heiron wrote. And then underlined. Who was this woman? While he saw nothing in her, so many others did. He would ask Pierre when he had the chance. He tended to rub elbows with a fair number of sentients.
‘Melisande Copse.’ A pretty, young cow. They’d chatted briefly after the Grand March. A Pity that everyone wanted her for the Waltz, but not the other dances. She was a graceful thing, but I see nothing in her.
‘Lizzy Heliotrope.’ So light on her feet. He mused. Perhaps. Perhaps. But others vied for her attention.
‘Eighth’ @Eighth A smile crossed his face. Such a nice, young crustacean. That was a dance out of friendship though. It was good to see him coming out of his shell.
Richard Forester. Hieron took his time writing out the name. The waltz had gone well. They’d talked before and seemed to have so much in common. His desire to someday attend Benjamin Wheatly’s Mercantile Concern was just adorable.
He sat back and sipped at his W&T that had been refreshed at some point.
I must check in on St-Patrick-Hartbrooke @nimelennar if he doesn’t make an appearance at Levithan tonigh, he mused. I must know what Ms. Applethwaite was like.
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[Dr. Franksenketchup enters the Leviathan Club looking very much the worse for wear]
Runtwaste, what’s the best thing for a hangover?
Yes, but besides water. And sleep. A comestible or quaffable that aids in restoration after a night of dancing and overindulgence? Oh never mind all that, just give me an aspirin. And a large pickle juice with two slices of Velveeta and a liverwurst schmear.
Good Gods this hurts.
[reads the paper]
Looks like we’re on a war footing for sure. The plague looks to have resolved a bit. And what this? That old cube has passed to a higher dimension. Quite unexpected. I was sure it would survive that gruesome cutting session.
I wish there was some reportage on what happened later in the evening. The events of the end of the night seem a bit foggy. I do recall that horrible Richard Forsener breaking my heart, and then not much after that. Let’s check my idea book to see if I wrote anything important down.
[written in a very sloppy hand]
Notes to self:
-Very Good Ideas-
Cross a pneumatic carriage lift with a duck to create a quacker jack
Try to breed a lagoderm and sandfish to get some swimming trunks
Inject a bird of prey with the plauge virus - no, no that would be ill-eagle
-Very Bad Ideas-
That awful Richard Fosnerp
[here a very large beverage stain of some sort obscures the rest of the page]
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Oh Dr. franksenketchup @old. I’m so glad you are here. I don’t know what to do. You are old so I’m sure you will have some good advise for me. No one danced with me at the ball. Not my cousin Rocco, not eight. No one. And grandmother says I must get married to secure my place in this new society.
tears pour down into her glass of sherry
What is a lizard to do?
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