Friday, June 01, 2012

the distant yolkengines of the free cheese...

Neire Sceevht sighed. How long had it been since Murthellec had last checked in? Five weeks? Ten weeks? The last time it was some farrago in Turge about the Nalabay revellers or some other purposeless fanfaronade. Neire had had enough. Done was she with the outpost. Done was she with the Uni. Done was she with the needless and dismissive epistolaries from Druvyak and Mossom and whichever other ones of the Societe De La Desideratem had her pouring over one of Mheramyr's ancient papers -- they could find another damned conservator willing to work with Leimthe Allakers over their shoulder raining down needless abuse about patterns of oxidation in parchment and the Foundation threatening to withdraw its endowment yet again because of some needlessly political thing that Dr. Allakers had done at one of those scandalous soirees he was so fond of attending. Did Dr. Allakers actually read Mheramyr's old letters? They were abysmally written. Mostly they were demands for butter tithes from the rundown border farms of Vnicticum or pages and pages of insults scrawled in a heavy abusive script against the gentry or landowners or whatnot in Vnictury, west of Vnicticum. Mheramyr was a terrible stupid man and Neire could not understand the cache these letters held amongst Dr. Allakers and the cognoscenti, but she suspected it was a result of being four or five generations since the forced dissolution of the feudal class -- most of the cognoscenti still organized themselves uponst out of date class lines.

Neire thought to herself while throwing her data slate and some multiweather metamorphic nanoclothing in a carryall -- she had thirty and a whither tatsulks in cash and another three hundred and five whithers in the depository. She could go back home to Mehvpoyle, but her parents were still entangled in that unfortunate property boundary imbroglio with Fehy Gussuls, and it wasn't treating her well. She could just travel for a while on the underrail -- she did have an unlimited pass. A thim bird twittered sweet syllables outside her domicile. Gilithcruve! She hadn't been to Gilithcruve in ten years. Undoubtedly most of the old crew had moved on. Bavmaro had moved south to Ulsmey and started a paper mill. Urchozz had some sort of chronic illness and had to have been moved to hospital across the river in Misprayo, and Selcurna Dahatai was probably still in her bungalow by the beach amongst the riech trees. Neire called up Selcurna "Hey Selly! Hi, it's Neire."

Selcurna: "hey Neire! long time no talk. how're you?"

Neire: "Eh. Sort of at a crossroads. Being a conservator didn't work out. Too many prickly Principal Investigators"

Selcurna: "Well, I have a guest at the moment, but I think the guestroom of the downstairs neighbors is free, and I think you'd like them... Mil and Tal are inkwrights..."

...just another moment in the polyroam...

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