Mail Call
Rosencrantz nodded to the postman. “Good morning.” The postman lifted a hand, waving weakly.
“Roy, fetch this fellow a postman treat. Take Alter with you.” Alter had long since finished her treats, and had begun to get fidgety. She had a clear view of the postman’s boots, and the Evil Ferret Overlord did not want to take any chances. As Keeper left, the Evil Ferret Overlord motioned for Rosencrantz to stand. The attorney did so, groaning and rubbing the areas on her back that she could reach. “Aww, poor Rosie. Lay down on the floor. I need a footrest, and you need a backrub.”
“Thank you, Overlord.” Rosencrantz said. “Any word on your science project?” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had both been informed of the late-night surgical antics of Keeper and company, in case someone were to grow curious as to Maureen’s whereabouts.
“We’ll find out when Roy gets back.”
“I’m not called Roy,” said the Keeper, returning with a bottle of sports drink for the postman. (Alter had been returned to her suite, and was presently scurrying about in search of a snuggly toy to attack.) “and Rosencrantz, I’m not entirely certain those feet on your back have been washed in the past few days.”
“My feet are sparkling clean, thank you. I’m giving her a backrub, and she’s providing me with a footrest. It’s perfectly symbiotic, isn’t it Rosie?” The Overlord tapped between Rosencrantz’s shoulder blades with a toenail.
“Yes, symbiotic.” She agreed hastily.
The postman soon recovered his strength and left the castle to complete the rest of his mail-delivery duties. As soon as he was safely out of earshot, the Evil Ferret Overlord dragged one of the mail sacks over to her chair to begin the sorting process.
“Let’s see…bill for the petri dishes and heat lamps, that’s for you, Roy. Couple here for me. Better be praises or taxes. Philippe, Philippe, Gil, Philippe, Me, Roy, Philippe, Philippe. Bah! This whole stack is Philippe’s.” The Overlord tossed the stack down, and opened one of her own envelopes. “Oh, most Magnificent and Wise overlord, without whom we would not survive,” she read, “Thank you for your continued patronage of our humble pixie-dust-dealing establishment. Please accept these shiny coins as a token of our gratitude. Sincerely, Clarissa, Chief Proprietor of the Magical Pixie Dust Factory.” The Evil Ferret Overlord dug into a little pocket on the card and pulled out two silver coins. “Weeheeeeee! Shiny refund for Meeeeeeeee!” the Overlord squealed with ferrety delight. “Where is Philippe, anyway?”
“Out making pastry deliveries, EFO.”
“Still? Bah! I’m bored. Hand me one of his letters.”
Rosencrantz selected one that came in a pink envelope, stamped all over with flowers, and stained with a lipstick print on the seal. “How gauche.” Said the Overlord, ripping it open with a claw. No sooner had she done so, than she had begun to sneeze and gag. “Ack! Perfume. So, we know it’s from a nutcase.”
“What does it say?” asked Keeper. There was a long pause. “EFO, are you still alive.” She was, but her expression was pained. “How many times do I need to tell you, Ferrety One, it goes: inhale, exhale, repeat as necessary.”
“It’s…disturbing.” The Overlord gagged.
“It’s only fanmail. How bad can it be?” Rosencrantz asked.
“Beyond awful. You can read it aloud, if you’re feeling masochistic, Roy.” She passed the frilly stationary to her keeper.
“Dearest Philippe.” Began Keeper, “I know you have no idea who I am and that you’re busy and probably won’t see this letter, but I am a great fan of you and your pastries. I had three for breakfast this morning. I just wanted to tell you I saw you making your delivery to the general grocery today, and you looked very smart in that suit. I hope we can meet properly in the future. Even though I’ve never met you, I think of you as a kindred spirit, because you make such yummy pastries. I think we would be great friends…maybe even more. Teehee!” Keeper paused, “she actually wrote teehee. Anyway…Your friend, Florinda.”
“Roy, fetch this fellow a postman treat. Take Alter with you.” Alter had long since finished her treats, and had begun to get fidgety. She had a clear view of the postman’s boots, and the Evil Ferret Overlord did not want to take any chances. As Keeper left, the Evil Ferret Overlord motioned for Rosencrantz to stand. The attorney did so, groaning and rubbing the areas on her back that she could reach. “Aww, poor Rosie. Lay down on the floor. I need a footrest, and you need a backrub.”
“Thank you, Overlord.” Rosencrantz said. “Any word on your science project?” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had both been informed of the late-night surgical antics of Keeper and company, in case someone were to grow curious as to Maureen’s whereabouts.
“We’ll find out when Roy gets back.”
“I’m not called Roy,” said the Keeper, returning with a bottle of sports drink for the postman. (Alter had been returned to her suite, and was presently scurrying about in search of a snuggly toy to attack.) “and Rosencrantz, I’m not entirely certain those feet on your back have been washed in the past few days.”
“My feet are sparkling clean, thank you. I’m giving her a backrub, and she’s providing me with a footrest. It’s perfectly symbiotic, isn’t it Rosie?” The Overlord tapped between Rosencrantz’s shoulder blades with a toenail.
“Yes, symbiotic.” She agreed hastily.
The postman soon recovered his strength and left the castle to complete the rest of his mail-delivery duties. As soon as he was safely out of earshot, the Evil Ferret Overlord dragged one of the mail sacks over to her chair to begin the sorting process.
“Let’s see…bill for the petri dishes and heat lamps, that’s for you, Roy. Couple here for me. Better be praises or taxes. Philippe, Philippe, Gil, Philippe, Me, Roy, Philippe, Philippe. Bah! This whole stack is Philippe’s.” The Overlord tossed the stack down, and opened one of her own envelopes. “Oh, most Magnificent and Wise overlord, without whom we would not survive,” she read, “Thank you for your continued patronage of our humble pixie-dust-dealing establishment. Please accept these shiny coins as a token of our gratitude. Sincerely, Clarissa, Chief Proprietor of the Magical Pixie Dust Factory.” The Evil Ferret Overlord dug into a little pocket on the card and pulled out two silver coins. “Weeheeeeee! Shiny refund for Meeeeeeeee!” the Overlord squealed with ferrety delight. “Where is Philippe, anyway?”
“Out making pastry deliveries, EFO.”
“Still? Bah! I’m bored. Hand me one of his letters.”
Rosencrantz selected one that came in a pink envelope, stamped all over with flowers, and stained with a lipstick print on the seal. “How gauche.” Said the Overlord, ripping it open with a claw. No sooner had she done so, than she had begun to sneeze and gag. “Ack! Perfume. So, we know it’s from a nutcase.”
“What does it say?” asked Keeper. There was a long pause. “EFO, are you still alive.” She was, but her expression was pained. “How many times do I need to tell you, Ferrety One, it goes: inhale, exhale, repeat as necessary.”
“It’s…disturbing.” The Overlord gagged.
“It’s only fanmail. How bad can it be?” Rosencrantz asked.
“Beyond awful. You can read it aloud, if you’re feeling masochistic, Roy.” She passed the frilly stationary to her keeper.
“Dearest Philippe.” Began Keeper, “I know you have no idea who I am and that you’re busy and probably won’t see this letter, but I am a great fan of you and your pastries. I had three for breakfast this morning. I just wanted to tell you I saw you making your delivery to the general grocery today, and you looked very smart in that suit. I hope we can meet properly in the future. Even though I’ve never met you, I think of you as a kindred spirit, because you make such yummy pastries. I think we would be great friends…maybe even more. Teehee!” Keeper paused, “she actually wrote teehee. Anyway…Your friend, Florinda.”