Redoubtable Downtown Space Abbey - The Leviathan Club

The Sea Teas Flibbertigibbet Volume II

Shortages of SPAM reported throughout weatherby as citizens prepare for war with new Prussia

Parasites invading Weatherby
We thought our dear had turned evil. But it turns out that evil parasites had invaded his brain. Beware these parasites run rampant across Weatherby. The best way to protect yourself from parasites is to expose yourself to deep sonic blasts. (It is rumored that the local seer often to be founded imbibing at the Leviathan club is offering this treatment for £ 100 per session.) @ghoti

Guest Column by Jean-Rhys
Whither Walleye & Weatherby?
It is once again springtime in Weatherby, and our spirits rise with the sap as befits the quite lovely weather of the season. But despite our deserved good cheer, it has not been a season wholly without dark clouds and dreary moments.
Once such moment was the passing of Commander Piker’s @fintastic ward, a young Citizen Pretender named Walleye Crusher @Chewseen. The official cause of Death has been reported as dysentery, but that verdict elides certain pertinent details concerning the circumstances immediately preceding his death.
Reliable witnesses have reported that he was physically, but not mortally, injured prior to taking to what proved to be his final bed rest, and the lad himself claimed he was attacked by an angry mob convinced he was an agent of New Prussia! A notion that is, on the face of it, absurd, and a grave affront to Commander Piker who, as an officer of the United Federation of Oceans and Seas and a gentlesentient of some repute, would not be deceived for an instant by an impostor in such close company.
Clearly, the mob was mistaken. But how did they get that idea in the first place? It’s true that we’ve seen some opposition to the Nautical Echolinguistic Traps (from the the so-called “naught-NET-ers”) on general privacy grounds, but nothing that might warrant alarm. However, we’ve also seen a recent spate of letters to the editor, many of them explicitly pro-N.P., as well as some more subtly so, including a letter published in this very paper that seems to be the original seed of the vile conceit that these .NET devices were anything other than harmless scientific instruments. Combine the two phenomena, and I’m afraid we must at least consider the possibility of Agents Provocateur, of a veritable wave of New Prussian naught-NETs intent on swamping the popular media with messages of discord.
In such a climate of fear, uncertainty, and doubt, it would be all too easy for a well-placed Agent to inflame the passions of the crowd and set them upon poor Ensign Crusher. The great irony is that such fears are not entirely unjustified. The basic technology behind the .NET devices, as I understand it, could have many other practical applications, including wartime utility. With a properly funded lab, the potential for new discoveries would be quite expansive, indeed, and it would behoove us to keep pace with the research interests of our counterparts in New Prussia.
Perhaps worst of all, young Walleye’s final report to Commander Piker indicated that he’d discovered no evidence of sandfish sentience. Yet I am encouraged by the thought that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. The .NET devices were echo-linguistic traps, that is, devices designed to analyze sound waves, and while sound is a common communication medium in water, there are myriad other possible avenues by which sandfish might express themselves.
Perhaps they communicate via gesture and posture, akin to the dances of space bees, but vastly more sophisticated. Or maybe they exchange chemically-encoded messages; long-chain organic molecules can have a surprisingly high information density and a simple lipid membrane would ensure their integrity in seawater. Nor can we rule out the possibility of telepathy or other extrasensory modes of perception. Indeed, at this time, the only thing we can be certain of is that more research is needed.
If we can make contact with these majestic creatures, they could prove to be powerful allies in the conflict to come (presumably, of course, as no rational sentient craves war). Some of them are quite large, as one may recall.
So let us not let young Walleye’s sacrifice be in vain. Much as the True Citizens of Weatherby have recently and so generously invested in the public enterprises of our fair city, we must continue to support and fund the institutions of Natural Philosophy and the minds that drive them. Our civic pride demands no less.

Letter to the Editor
Sir -
We read your ‘newspaper’ with amusement. So sorry your King died. We hope that Queen Catherine does not grate on you - but you may want to check where she was born.
JUAN O’FUSS
BLUCHER, JAAP

Sponsored content
The governor’s ball was a great success.
Love is in the air.
See Reginald Oblongnoknees Ursulak Nock-nock Dipswitch VII
For all your marriage needs
Licensed Justice of the Peace, Priest, Rabbi and Imam
@ghoti

12 Likes

Eighth passes through the Foyer, the careful choreography of his many legs reflecting the manufactured poise of hours of instruction. Approaching the doorbot, he begins a conversation

After a calm pause, @Rumpthwaite looks up from the bar. "Delightful to see you again, Eighth. Or should I say, Master Landau. How can I be of assistance? "

Eighth, first scanning to make sure none of his many appendages in contact with the floor are across the threshold, leans towards @Rumpthwaite and attempts a whisper.

"I would be most grateful if you could deliver that recipe to particular far-seeing member and let them know I am in the foyer?

I was made to understand that that particular chemical assembly can strain the synthetic sophistication of many establishments to the point that some aren’t even aware of it, so I included the full specification to the doorbot."

“While it will take a few moments to properly prepare, it is well within our ken and capability. You needn’t have bothered. Still, this quite the gesture, Eighth. This must be for someone very special.”

A half hour later, a server whispers a brief message into a furry ear, and Reginald Oblongknee’s @ghoti takes delivery of a

58%20AM

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[ Rounder accepts the offered libation, offering a toast of thanks in Eighth’s direction before downing the contents of the glass in one swallow ]

IMG_3673

 

Olden glow of misty moon
And the wreaths of nonsense croon
Softens through my spell of flute
Lulls my song and lures me mute.

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A cloaked humanoid briskly enters.

Brief eye contact with Doorbot and then @Bartlebot, recognition established.

image

It approaches a booth in the back of the Tiamat Room.

Sorry I was delayed, Commander. The Vortigaunt established contact with an Orz delegation, and asked for a Federation escort during their summit. I came as soon as I could.

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image

I’m glad you’re here.

Let’s go.

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Special edition
The full report, with extra links

Whither Walleye & Weatherby?

It is once again springtime in Weatherby, and our spirits rise with the sap as befits the quite lovely weather of the season. But despite our deserved good cheer, it has not been a season wholly without dark clouds and dreary moments.

Once such moment was the passing of Commander Piker’s @fintastic ward, a young Citizen Pretender named Walleye Crusher @Chewseen. The official cause of Death has been reported as dysentery, but that verdict elides certain pertinent details concerning the circumstances immediately preceding his death.

Reliable witnesses have reported that he was physically, but not mortally, injured prior to taking to what proved to be his final bed rest, and the lad himself claimed he was attacked by an angry mob convinced he was an agent of New Prussia! A notion that is, on the face of it, absurd, and a grave affront to Commander Piker who, as an officer of the United Federation of Oceans and Seas and a gentlesentient of some repute, would not be deceived for an instant by an impostor in such close company.

Clearly, the mob was mistaken. But how did they get that idea in the first place? It’s true that we’ve seen some opposition to the Nautical Echolinguistic Traps (from the the so-called “naught-NET-ers”) on general privacy grounds, but nothing that might warrant alarm. However, we’ve also seen a recent spate of letters to the editor, many of them explicitly pro-N.P., as well as some more subtly so, including a letter published in this very paper that seems to be the original seed of the vile conceit that these .NET devices were anything other than harmless scientific instruments. Combine the two phenomena, and I’m afraid we must at least consider the possibility of Agents Provocateur, of a veritable wave of New Prussian naught-NETs intent on swamping the popular media with messages of discord.

In such a climate of fear, uncertainty, and doubt, it would be all too easy for a well-placed Agent to inflame the passions of the crowd and set them upon poor Ensign Crusher. The great irony is that such fears are not entirely unjustified. The basic technology behind the .NET devices, as I understand it, could have many other practical applications, including wartime utility. With a properly funded lab, the potential for new discoveries would be quite expansive, indeed, and it would behoove us to keep pace with the research interests of our counterparts in New Prussia.

Perhaps worst of all, young Walleye’s final report to Commander Piker indicated that he’d discovered no evidence of sandfish sentience. Yet I am encouraged by the thought that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. The .NET devices were echo-linguistic traps, that is, devices designed to analyze sound waves, and while sound is a common communication medium in water, there are myriad other possible avenues by which sandfish might express themselves.

Perhaps they communicate via gesture and posture, akin to the dances of space bees, but vastly more sophisticated. Or maybe they exchange chemically-encoded messages; long-chain organic molecules can have a surprisingly high information density and a simple lipid membrane would ensure their integrity in seawater. Nor can we rule out the possibility of telepathy or other extrasensory modes of perception. Indeed, at this time, the only thing we can be certain of is that more research is needed.

If we can make contact with these majestic creatures, they could prove to be powerful allies in the conflict to come (presumably, of course, as no rational sentient craves war). Some of them are quite large, as one may recall.

So let us not let young Walleye’s sacrifice be in vain. Much as the True Citizens of Weatherby have recently and so generously invested in the public enterprises of our fair city, we must continue to support and fund the institutions of Natural Philosophy and the minds that drive them. Our civic pride demands no less.

10 Likes

Is this here a Kar-ai-ok-kee machine?

downs a double of MacMackey McMichael, neat

presses play

Jet, [Lag!]
Jet, [Lag!]

I can almost remember
Their funny faces
That time the guv’nor told us
That we ought be marrying soon

And jets,
I thought
the only lonely place
was outside
this saloon

Jet, was your parent as bold
As a Dragoon Major?
Oh, how come they told you
you’re hardly a citizen yet?

And Jet, I thought the Major
Was a Fishy Suffragette

Ah, mater,
want Jet to always love me
Ah, mater,
much later

6 Likes

@Rumpthwaite
I’ll take another glass of port.
Tell me are the rumors true. I heard that lt. Erythro @daneel is throwing a dinner party and that he Might invite me. It would be such an honor t be invited to dine with someone as high ranking as the lt. it would almost completely make up for my fiasco at the ball.

Im planning a dinner party of my own the following weekend. I may not have as much rank as others but I do know how to plan a good party.

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I do hope I could be there…

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[Dr. Franksenketchup bursts into The Leviathan with a wild look in his eye, attempts to compose himself, and hurries to the bar.]

Ahoy there, Rumpffwaste! Have you seen, uh… anything… er that is, anyone… unusual… here at the Club? Anyone who might not quite seem to be himself, uh, perhaps? No?

Would you send a boy with a message if that was to become a thing you might be aware of? Just in case it’s a medical emergency, and… and this purely hypothetical person was… suffering from amnesia or dementia or some other sort of iya that might be confusing to them and everyone else. I do have a modicum of medical training and might be of assistance.

And also where is the door to the alley where all those young hooligan wards congregate?

9 Likes

[Much later…]

Womprats… ah… Wompwaits… yes, Wompwaits! Look, Wanpwaits, Igor is out and about on a small chore for me this afternoon, but sooner or later he’ll come looking for me here. When he does, would you be so kind as to give him this note?

I have to be at the Organization of Molecular Fine Genetics (the OMFG for short) seminar and can’t wait any longer. Thanks kindly! Ah, and I’ll have a yogurt kombucha with extra mustard in a go cup, please. I must keep my strength up to get though this meeting, you know.

11 Likes

On his way home, Liv stops in at the Leviathan Club, perhaps for the last time. He sits hunched over the table, contemplating his drink perhaps a little too seriously.

“T’was a good run,” he says softly to no one in the empty room in particular. “An’ if this be it, so be it.” Not that he’s wanting it to be that way, but there’s something in the air and he’s feeling melancholy and philosophical. He plays with his glass for a while before tossing the contents back in a single swallow. Standing up, he carries the empty glass to the bar and leaves his customary large tip for @Rumpthwaite. “Thank you, good sir. You are a fine gentlemoose and it’s been an honour to be a member, here.” He thumps his hand on the bar, once, twice, then with a sigh, heads out into the night.

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[ Rounder stops in the Leviathan and heads to a corner table, where he can be alone for a short while. He pulls out his favorite pen and stationery and begins writing a letter… ]

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Tom walks through the door of The Leviathan Club for the first time not brashly, in a bold display of defiance as he would have just a short time ago, nor surreptitiously, as when he had first landed here alone, but with the even pace of, BUT NOT ,a True Citizen,

Marriage for Tom had meant many things; it was true NOTattaining the rank of TC was not without value, but for him it was the Duchess, the Duchess was the true prize. He scanned about the club looking for her, this was the appointed time they were supposed to meet after her afternoon rounds socializing, yet she was nowhere to be found

After waiting some while, he decided he must be confused as to their plans, surely that was it. Well, there were things to be done. “Business” had slowed with the departure of his partners, who it turns out had also apparently been two of their best customers, but still, there was enough to see to. Can’t have class divisions like Weatherby and not expect folks to try for any escape no matter how desperate.

Tom glanced in the box he held, something in the shop window that had caught his eye today

%24_3

Motioning to Rumpthwait, he slid the box across the counter with instructions it was to be hidden in Duchess Gummibuns’ (@gwwar) coat when she did finally put in her appearance, and with that he strode back into the bustling streets of Weatherby.

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I got seryl in the tank
I got money in the bank
I got news for you baby, you’re looking at the moose
I got rack in the game
Headed to the hall of fame
I got news for you baby, you’re looking at the moose

Right hand to God
First in command
My testimony, when I take the stand

Who’s the moose? Who’s the moose?
I’m the moose, I’m the moose
Who’s the moose with the plan?
I’m the moose

I don’t give a damn
I’m the moose

Thank you, thank you.

Hieron leaves the stage and goes back to the main lounge.

“W&T heavy on the Tonic.”

Looking around the room, Hieron spots Aaaakzeee St-Patrick-Hartbrooke III. (@nimelennar)

“Good evening, friend. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you so I could thank you in person for the beautiful SWIM watch. It shall be passed down for many generations.”

St-Patrick-Hartbrooke, nodded politely.

Also, I meant to ask if you and Madeline might join Liz and myself for some badminton later in the week."

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Oh Tom (@Tom_Ratchetcrank) ! Did you leave this for me? How sweet! I was out in the whipweed fields checking their condition. Not even those sister beans seem to be doing the trick! Not to worry though, my other businesses are pulling through, but it’d be nice to have some extra cash… you know for stuff.

Anyway, we’re like totally a team Tom. Don’t let those donks in the Leviathan try to kick you out just because you’re not legally a True Citizen. You’re like so much cooler than all of them. So don’t mind them at all. Globs, I can tell them all off for you too! It’s like my number one skill.

But really we need to talk Tom! How do you feel about having a little family? It’s like such a big change and stuff, like daily visits with the kids in the library before the nanny takes them away, but it’d be like the best! I mean who else should we give our cool stuff to when we get old and junk? And like they’d totally be the most fashionable and awesome kiddos that Weatherby has seen.

How do you think our heir might turn out? Like a totes screaming hot human, or like a fantabulous floating space lump? Let me know Tom! Like, I don’t think I have too much time before all the good space vats are reserved!

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Dear Duchess, I could not ask for more but than to have a family with you! And it should totes be lumpy, this place def has enough smooth poseurs running around.

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[ After a very successful (and terribly memorable - they’ll be talking about this night for years to come) first salon gathering, Rounder enters the Leviathan with a nod to Rumpthwaite (absolutely convinced that he has just telepathically communicated his choice of refreshment), then heads for his favorite corner table in the Lounge. From a satchel, he retrieves his talking board, anxious to continue a conversation he’d started earlier with a sentient who’d shuffled off this mortal coil not so very long past… ]

IMG_3746

Now where were we, O Spirit, and what do you wish me to know?

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St-Patrick-Hartbrooke nods politely as Farnsworth comes up to him, putting down a newspaper which somehow mistakes Weatherby for the capital of the Empire and home to the Queen, and not Britannia Prime. He would ordinarily write a letter to the editor, but with patriotism on an upswing due to the tension with New Prussia, he’s certain someone already has.

“You’re quite welcome, Farnsworth, and I offer my thanks in turn for such an exquisite tea chest. I, and my Madeline of course, anticipate getting great use out of it.”

The Space Griffin arises from his bench.

“As for badminton, I’m afraid that, as a game of agility, my size,” gesturing to his hindquarters, “will prevent me from doing very well. However, if you’ll promise not to laugh at my efforts, I will indeed have Madeline come along. You have, I assume, found a place to play which will allow such a mixed-doubles match, with both Tee Seas and Sea Peas?”

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"There’s a spot in Brummel Park close to the lake, but not on the lake, that allows “Mixed-Doubles” as it were. Really, little more than an excuse for fresh air and some relaxation.

“And, a little bird tells me, someone might be running for public office. If you need any backing, you can count on Abacus Racks.”

“I’ll have Liz make arrangements with Madelin for the outing. Take care now, I’m off to check on some business prospects.”

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