Liv waits until Tom and the duchess(@gwwar) leave, then wanders over to Lady Elizabeth (@Hadley). Time to throw a rock at the web and see what comes crawling.
“You wanted a tip, Lady Elizabeth? Wouldn’t you say young @Tom_Ratchetcrank isn’t quite acting himself, as of late?” Thankfully, his long sleeves conceal the way the hair on his arms is standing on end. “It could, of course, just be the brashness of young love, but it’s almost as if he’s an entirely different person.”
Like OMG Tom! I have been ready forever! Glob, let’s roll! I thought you’d never ask, like I was going to turn into a prune!
[ Meanwhile, in the corner… ]
While he awaits the arrival of forces from far beyond, the wet-nosed one shall bend light with his wrist and the young shipman will seize all the things, pleasing the purple cloudful of unfettered emotion, and two lizards continue spider-like, building webs to ensnare unwary patrons of the fancy place, but only one reptile shall live to regret it, AND THE SMELL OF DEATH IS UPON US, that’s not the sandfish baking in the Leviathan’s kitchen, WE ARE DOOMED EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US and my next drink will come from an unexpected source who shall forever be celebrated as the most generous person ever to pay for my drinks on this particular day, DOOMED I TELL YOU.
Eudaemonia strolls slowly into the Leviathan Club, stifling a cough in her handkerchief.
“Dratted cough! I thought I’d finally gotten rid of it… Ah, hello, my dear Mr. Rounder! It’s so lovely to see you up and around again. I believe I owe you a drink.”
Dear lovely lady, I thank you for your timely and very kind and generous gesture! I do hope you are feeling well again soon.
ALL I HAVE SEEN HAS COME TO PASS.
GOh my dear Liv @MalevolentPixy. It’s so nice to see that we can cooperate. Honestly in a world full of so much uncertainty, where our futures seem to change course every week, we really must work together if we are to begin to cover everything of import on weatherby.
I did notice young Tom has been acting very strange, though he is still very attractive. I thought it was simply young love. But perhaps something strange is going on. What do you think? Is he addicted to the fancy hallucinogenics they have here on weatherby? Or do you think he is a double agent?
And Liv to show you that I am sincere in my efforts to get our papers to collaborate here is a tip for you. I know for a fact that the new queen was not born on Britannia Prime but she is actually from New Prussia! I’ve been sitting on this information because I am afraid once I release it will spark a revolution against Britannia prime. Our business leaders are not taking the necessary steps to prepare for aggression from new Prussia because they believe that if we are attacked by new Prussia, Britannia will come racing to our aid. But that is pure delusion. That is why I have been employing my own Marshall.
“Hmmm…” Liv’s not going to tell her that he’s been sitting on the same rumour, because he can’t get verification. Besides, what does it matter where a person was born? There’s nothing special about that, other than in the minds of petty-minded jingoists.
But the Crusher thing… all these centuries and nobody has caught on to it’s not the crime, but the cover-up. Assault and murder and it would disappear into the churn of the news-cycle within a day or two. A week at most. But a coordinated attempt to hide it, and that’s a something with serious legs.
Nor is he going to remind her that she recently tried to warn him off New Prussia in favour of things closer to home. Sometimes the best way to get answers is to not ask questions at all, just give someone the space to babble.
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
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
[ Rounder accepts the offered libation, offering a toast of thanks in Eighth’s direction before downing the contents of the glass in one swallow ]
Olden glow of misty moon
And the wreaths of nonsense croon
Softens through my spell of flute
Lulls my song and lures me mute.
A cloaked humanoid briskly enters.
Brief eye contact with Doorbot and then @Bartlebot, recognition established.
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.
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.
…
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
@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.
I do hope I could be there…
[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?
[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.
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.
