Parisian People and Fleople

Victor, be nice.

I knew I should pay more attention to fashion.

Certainly. One question first -- How have you been feeling of late?

That would be an excellent trick. Thank you!

Flanimal!

Gregory realizes that there's no place in soceity for a bunch of fleople

Flegory]Flenclave for themselves

Freginald

Flalice

Soflonia

Flann

Flictor

Flartin

Fluplicates

Fleme

No, it is a scheme.

Sophronia, Talos can't read.

He can if you write it, Alice.

No, he can't read. Someone will have to read it to him.

I'm sure Uncle Leon would do it.

This is very weird -- time sharing Kristen's brain.

I can just email her.

Flartin -- Keep up!

I presume that like you, they have peopleto talk to

One would think so

What do they call them? Stooges?

No, snitches, perhaps.

You may have to make a flamunity for them.

No, a flenclave.

On the moon.

That's not the dumbest idea...

A flamunity of fleople on the Floon!

Diorama theater!

Two Flalices

A Flalice and a Flalec

Oh god we're doomed

We've got a hulk. We've got two hulks.

Last names don't matter.

They certainly do! We're not going to use first names!

We aren't?

I believe in this case it's right to relate to them as servants.

I suppose.

Your flerson and Anne's flerson are having a threesome with Lord Mace's flerson.

I would not!

Flues and his Flunderbolt!

Zeus and Fleginald

Divine Flunderbolt made by Flephaestus

Does he have breasts?

No.

Fascinating!

That would imply that Fleginald is Flegory.

I admit I hadn't seen the FLs coming.

From Alden

January, 1840. A small but cozy workshop, behind the hotel where the Beauchamps, Wilkinsons, and Lady Durless have taken rooms. Inside, a curtain divides the workroom from a very small foyer. Sounds of tools being moved about blend with two voices. The words are indistinct, but one is a man's barritone, ever so slightly querulous with age, the other musical soprano, with vaguely metallic undertones.

A knock sounds at the door, then a well groomed but slightly harried looking young man steps inside.

"Mr. Wilkinson? Sophronia? It's Gregory. Are you already at work?"

Some indistinct barritone muttering and more metalic noises from the other side are the only reply.

"I'm afraid something rather urgent has come up. Nothing very dangerous, just the usual sort of nonsense, but we do need to take care of it promptly. I'll still be abel to look after Martin, as promised, but I'm afraid I'll have to take him with me on safari, as it were, rather than look after him here.

More muttering, this time with just a note or two in soprano.

"I'm terribly sorry" says the man, retrieving a small pile of books from under his arm. "I'd planned to... Ah, no matter." Placing the books on a shelf by the curtain, he continues, "I thought you might enjoy... I'll just collect Martin, and be on my way."

A baritone grunt, followed by the sounds of tinkering.

The man bends down and calls out, "Martin, come along old chap, time to hit the trail. Come on then. Mao? Meaow? Rrrrrorwrrr. Reear-rowrrrr!"