Lt. Brummell. So good to see you.
The old farm looks to be doing wonderfully under your care. I passed by there just the other night and it looks like a bumper crop this season.
Probably for the best that someone more … hmmm … in tune with the earth ? be charged with such bountiful acreage.
All the better for me really, allows me to be less distracted with the baser commodities.
I do apologize, Lt Brummell; I must confess I saw you talking to Mr. Smith of Smith, Schmidt, and Smeets, Attorneys at Law, while we were both at Ms. Fangley’s. I admit that I came to the conclusion that you had given the same opportunity that I had — the discreet, pro bono services of an attorney — and had taken advantage of those to claim… Dear me, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?.. to reclaim, rather, the Whipweed farm previously in the possession — though apparently not the ownership — of Mr. Farnsworth here.
It appears that that conclusion was mistaken, and so I offer my sincere and heartfelt apologies for the misunderstanding. I assure you that no offense was meant, and I am glad that both you and Mr. Farnsworth are taking the matter’s resolution so amicably.
Indeed! That is remarkable news! Should I survive the evening, I would be quite glad to have you as a neighbour.
As for a sense of timing, I’m afraid I can’t take too much credit for that; it runs in the family, as it were.
Have you decided which dinner party you shall be attending?
Ah, now I understand the confusion. You met a lawyer, whereas I was introduced to a significant individual.
I was introduced to a significant individual, who, in turn, offered me the services of an attorney.
I assumed that your conversation with Mr. Smith was regarding a similar arrangement. I seem to have been mistaken, and, once again, I apologize for my mistaken impression. I was told the services were offered as a result of making an impression; I suppose we can’t all be so impressive.
It is an odd coincidence, though, that the attorney offered to me promised that he could acquire a “sketchy” tract of land from another Member of Leviathan’s while making it look like a mere clerical error being corrected by the courts, and, the very same month, you gain a tract of land from Mr. Farnsworth under the exact same circumstances. I’d say that such a thing happening by chance is ludicrous to the point of being unbelievable, but it has been said that truth is stranger than fiction.
Furthermore, your honesty and honour are well-known, and asserting that it was not a coincidence would be tantamount to calling you a liar, which, it is plain for all to see, you are certainly not.
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.
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]
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.
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
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.
[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]
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.
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.”
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”.
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.”
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?
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.
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
Ahem.
Boldness dear Rothschild, boldness! The right planning, sentients of steely constitution, keen intelligence a favorable wind and we could take them with a scow!