Oh dear cousin Hieronymoose it’s so good to see you.
Grandmother told me you would be here and said I must look you up.
You know, us Farnsworths need to stick together.
Which do you think looks better on me the sash or the ring? Or maybe I should get a monocle, does it make me look older and more sophisticated?
Please give me some advise on who I should wager on at the races. at Madame scalopini’s they wouldn’t let us students place any wagers . we were simply brought to the races to work on our etiquette. How boring. And you know father. He never goes to the races. He’s all “I didn’t build this fortune from nothing by gambling.”
I am so excited to be in Weatherby all on my own. Finally spreading my wings. Father sent me here to make sound investments for our family but really it was grandmother who convinced mother to let me come. She said Everyone of any importance would be here. And that I Must come and remind everyone that our side of the famil are Farnsworths as well.
Dearest Cousin, it has been ages has it not. Please give my regards to GrandMama when next you talk.
Truly, the sash brings out your eyes so nicely, you would be remiss to not purchase that. Don’t take this wrong, but the monocle just does not look right for you.
With regards to the races, I heard Bricklayer was a sure bet, but what does this old Space Moose know about Lagoderm racing, eh?
But do you know who does know something about the races? My young ward, @Rockford_Julius. You have to meet him soon. Devilishly handsome, more rogue than dandy I’d say. I think you’d get on spledidily with him.
So much to attend to, dear cousin, I will see you again soon.
(following a deep curtsy) [falsetto] "Oh, Lady Jane! You honor me with your interest. Quid est? Rem haec antiqua? quoth my great-grandmother, but she did have a predilection for simultaneous humblebraggadocio and poorly-conjugated snobbery, and it is well that she was devoured for chronic insufferability some years before I matriculated from Madame Scal… Scallywag… Scalawhatsis… um, school. Er… the dress. Yes, the dress was made by… er, my cousin Ssskidwish. Have you had the pleasure? She’s… oh, bother, where did Ssskiddy get off to? She was just here. Well, never mind, she’ll be back soon, I have no doubt. Bit flighty, that one, but an innocent darling at heart. And quite cunning with needle and thread! Not a bad cook either, now that I think on it. Someday she’ll make someone a very fine mate. First rate, yes indeed.
“Goodness, I’m parched. Shall we nip into the Leviathan for a wee whistle-wetter?”
Commander, my .HIF seems to be doing fine. Most sentients whom I’ve met, which hasn’t been many, appear to accept my appearance as a space-human from the Federation. There’s only one so far that seems to have a taste for sandfish, and he’s making me a bit skittish.
Very well, Ensign. My formatter has been experiencing intermittant fluctuations, so be alert to the potential for .HIFsy-fits on your end.
Per Captain’s orders, I’m going to investigate whether there’s immoral trading of sentient sandfish. I think the most likely avenue is to explore the import/export traders. If there’s fish trafficking aboot, we should find clues there.
When I first arrived in Weatherby, I kept my eyes open. I looked for anything in the landscape that seemed to hint at some elaborate meaning beyond appearances.
Late that night I stood at a third-storey window of my spartan apartment in town. I looked past the regular pattern of streetlights towards the dark country beyond. A breeze came in warm gusts from the north. I leaned into the surges of air that rose up from the nearest miles of undeveloped land. I composed my face to register a variety of powerful emotions. And I whispered words that might have served a character in a film at the moment when she realised she had found where she belonged.
