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“If you three ladies would like to mingle," (Patreon)

Published:
2026-08-04 02:22:38
Imported:
2026-08
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Headmaster Hoardblemish informed them cheerily, "there happens to be a Meet-and-Greet down the hall. Teachers, students, and parents will be in attendance. Snacks and refreshments will be provided.”

"How convenient!" I exclaimed, then sensing a bit of apprehension from Hoardblemish, I added, "Thomson, you're dressed a bit scandalously for this setting. Do you have anything more suitable for a formal -"

"Semi-formal," Xavier corrected.

"Semi-formal gathering?" I finished. "Consider this an intelligence-gathering mission. I don't want you to be conspicuous," I added in Elfmind.

"Of course," Thomson stated, as she applied some Floozy Quick-Change magick to her clothes, turning them into an approximation of peasant garb.

"O, well done!" Hoardblemish applauded as I nodded to the three femmes, giving them the go-ahead.

---

Before we get into the heavy conversation with Xavier Hoardblemish, let’s cover what my three agents uncovered during their reconnaissance. They even wrote a report to give to me afterward. I’m not entirely sure why they decided to format their mission report this way, but this is how they wrote it. So, without further ado, I present: "The Three Elfettes.”

---

“All right girls," Thomson said. "Mr. Calaveras agrees with Adler. If we’re gonna do this right we’ve gotta be inconspicuous. This is the first mission we’ve got on our own, so no screw ups.”

“I don’t recall anyone puttin you in charge," Burnside objected. "Says who?”

“Says Mr. Calaveras," Thomson retorted, holding the skull down close to Burnside's face. "He doesn’t take no for an answer. You wanna tell him no?”

“No, sir,” Burnside muttered, nervously curtsying. Thomson promptly poked her in the nose with the skull. “OOH!”

“Ms. Thomson, you’re acting strangely,” Rebecca observed uncertainly.

“I’m in character," Thomson replied. "Now come on. There’s no time to waste. Be serious, and remember, we’re undercover. Let’s move it.”

The three made their way to the Meet-and-Greet down the hall. Thomson was cool and in command. Rebecca had a super-serious businesslike glower on her face. Burnside , taking Thomson’s undercover comment literally, had concealed herself inside a large vase and was bumping into every wall and piece of furniture along the way.

They reached the location. It was a repurposed ballroom some Irenaeid Emperor had constructed to host social events. On this occasion it contained a large group of wizards and scholarly types mingling while they sipped drinks and munched on snacks. There was a quartet of stringed instruments playing themselves, providing background ambience.

“All right gals," Thomson whispered, "let’s spread out. We’ll cover more ground that way. Don't ask any direct questions! Never let them suspect that you're snooping. Just listen and observe. Rebecca, you cover the entertainment. Burnside, you scout out the back, and I’ll hover around the snack table.”

“Why do you get the snack table?” Rebecca asked.

“I’m hungry.”

Rebecca huffed and stomped over to mingle with the crowd gawking at the self-playing instruments. “I liked the crazy Thomson better…” she grumbled.

“Those wallflowers won’t know what hit ‘em,” Burnside chortled inside her vase.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing coming in dressed like that?" Thomson demanded, tapping her hoof on the bottom of the upturned vase. "We’re supposed to be inconspicuous!”

“You said we’re supposeta be undercover!" Burnside insisted. "So I’m under some cover.”

“What’s the matter with you?" Thomson protested indignantly. "You’re gonna scare people like that!” She plucked the large vase off Burnside and rolled it out of the ballroom and down the hall. Someone out of sight yelped and there was a loud crash. “Now quit messing around and be serious for a change.”

“I’m a victim o' circumstance!” Burnside retorted defensively. As she scurried away, Thomson gave her an encouraging boot to the rear.

After Burnside scampered off to the edges of the crowd, Thomson held Mr. Calaveras up to her face and sighed, “I tell you, Mr. Calaveras, it’s tough being the only sane person around.”

---

Hee hee hee! Even though I've read this report many times, it still cracks me up! Well well, my faithful listeners. Looks like we're out of time for this week, so I'll leave you with a question: What sort of antics and japes do you think my three lovely and questionably competent assistants got up to? Call out your guesses, and perhaps next week we'll see if you got any of it right.

Okay, cut!

This should be a good way to find out who's been reading ahead. I know they're getting advance intel from somewh - HEY! I said CUT!

PREV www.patreon.com/posts/165030626

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Comments

Vet

Pie fight in two minutes people!! (Nyuk nyuk nyuk)

Walter Reimer

Burnside: Try to use the Voice of the Forest on the wallflowers. Be disappointed when they act all shy around you. Rebecca: Enjoy the music, while using those rabbit ears of yours to casually listen in on various conversations. Conversation 1: Talk between a canine professor and two ursine parents about their cub's grades. It seems that little Abner Honeysnuffler could be doing better. Little Abner looks angry. Conversation 2: Two groups of parents are admiring the decor. Conversation 3: Two students, brothers, are being admonished by their mother to be good. Thomson: Partake of the refreshments, they're quite good. Mr. Calaveras agrees. Be approached by a student, who asks if you are a new professor. Think fast and say Maybe. Burnside: Get fed up and get some refreshments. Thomson: Query Burnside why she abandoned her assignment; Burnside explains she's hungry and doesn't want Thomson hogging the goodies. One porcine fellow nearby looks offended. Thomson: "Oh, you're hungry, huh?" And mash a cream bun in Burnside's face. Thomson and Burnside: Begin the food fight.

Rick2tails

yes if trays of food dont fall on the floor and pies arent thrown I`ll be dissapointed

Walter Reimer

I think that's where Eric was pointing.

typeandkey

(Walter) Rebecca: Enjoy the music, while using those rabbit ears of yours to casually listen in on various conversations. Conversation 1: Talk between a canine professor and two ursine parents about their cub's grades. It seems that little Abner Honeysnuffler could be doing better. Little Abner looks angry. Conversation 2: Two groups of parents are admiring the decor. Conversation 3: Two students, brothers, are being admonished by their mother to be good. >Rebecca: You harrumph at the lack of any relevant information. Perhaps something a bit more direct is required. You walk over to a group of gossiping hens wearing mortarboard hats. You smoothly butt into their conversation and subtly blurt out, “So… Heard anything about Zandar?” >Gossiping Hens: Despite this stranger rudely interrupting you, the chance to gossip and spread rumors behind someone’s back is too much to pass up. “Oh, and THEN SOME! Have you seen the way she sips her soup? She slurps like a drowning fish!“ “And her posture! She’ll become a hunchback if she doesn’t stop slouching!” “And she dresses like such a tart! Though, I wouldn’t expect anything less, considering what she teaches. I can think of a few ways she got the job” “She has such a chip on her shoulder! She’s always angry, always in a foul mood! “And she can’t go a day without mentioning that Randolph person.” “I believe the gentleman’s name is Randal.” “No-no, I’m sure it’s Randolph. Always going on about how he ruined her life, and he’s the reason she doesn’t have any friends.” “She would have plenty of friends if she didn’t have such a repugnant attitude.” >Rebecca: You rub your chin in thought. From the sound of things, she a sour, unlikable person. It checks out with what Adler said, but is she dangerous. You decide to masterfully fish for more information. “Has she, per chance, gone on any rampages recently where she slaughtered an entire village?” You freeze at what you just said. You were so wrapped up in recent events you had almost forgotten Zandar brutally murdered everyone, women and children included, in your old home. That and you were trying to suppress the memory. >Gossiping Hens: “W-Why? Is that something she’s likely to do?” You ask nervously. “Not to my knowledge…” “Should we be worried?” “Xavier told us he had an excellent background checking system.” “Remember how she probably got the job, though.” >Rebecca: You wander away from the group of hens in a daze, over come with sorrow and rage. Adler doesn’t want any harm to come to Zandar because Fuma might have a plan for her, but… But you can find a different way to strike out at her instead… Adler won’t like it… But you’re sure he’ll understand if you do it right. (Walter) Thomson: Partake of the refreshments, they're quite good. Mr. Calaveras agrees. Be approached by a student, who asks if you are a new professor. Think fast and say Maybe. >Thomson: Consummate professional that you are, you are dutifully paying half-attention to the inane prattle of the scholars around you. You primary concern is the feast of snacks and finger food lining the table. After 200 years of eating ancient canned food, something fresh tastes better than holy ambrosia to you. In a refined way, you shovel massive amounts of food into your craw like a ravenous beast. A student asks you if you are a new professor. He does a double-take when you turn to look at him and he sees all the food smeared around your mouth. He politely backs away as you hold Mr. Calaveras out to him and mutter, “Maybe.” Through a mouthful of shrimp. (Walter) Burnside: Try to use the Voice of the Forest on the wallflowers. >Burnside: You have heard the word used before, but are only dimly aware of what a wallflower is. You decide it is a kind of plant. You approach a very large pot housing a medium-sized indoor palm tree. How to proceed? You don’t speak a lick of that plant language, but you’ve heard Adler use it before, you’ll just try and repeat a few things you sort-of remember him saying. You lean in close to the tree and conspiritorially make a bunch of wispy approximations of leaf rustling. Clearly offended by what you said, the mini palm tree shudders and curls its palm fronds into the shape of a very rude gesture. You swipe your hands across your own face in a display of shock and outrage. You curtsy as you hiss venomously. “Oh, a wise-bush, eh? I’ll wipe that smirk off your bark!” You daintily punch the tree right in the pot, the way only a refined lady can. Instead of being knocked over, the large pot rocks back and then right back at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you rolling towards the snack table. >Thomson: You successfully got a scholarly man with a mustache to tell you about Zandar while he was showing off his expensive new belt to you. “Why yes, as a psychological specialist, I can tell you absolutely everything about Zandar’s mental and emotional state, and since she is not technically a client, there is no breach of client confidentiality.” He says while stretching the front of his trousers out to show you the fancy, glittering belt buckle. Suddenly Burnside barrels into the back of you, causing you to lose your grip on an entire plate of lutefisk. The delicacy of fermented, rotten fish falls down the front of the elderly man’s trousers. He yelps in shock and disgust as he begins doing a frantic hopping dance. His hopping sends him backing into a group of gentle ladies and they all fall into a pile. They all begin gagging at the vile smell seeping though the man’s pants. You glare at Burnside and set Mr. Caleveras down in the punch bowl with a splash. "Why I oughta…" You growl theatrically at Burnside. “What are you ding away from your post?” (Walter) Brunside: Burnside explains she's hungry and doesn't want Thomson hogging the goodies. One porcine fellow nearby looks offended. >Burnside: “It’s not my fault! Those wallflowers really pack a wallop! Plus, I’m hungry too! It’s not ladylike to hog all of the treats for yourself.” A nearby pig dressed in finery snorts. “Well, I NEVER!” He grabs a plate of salad and onks over into a corner to eat angrily. >Thomson: You put on a jovial air. “Oh, you’re hungry! Is that all it is? Well then, close your eyes and open your mouth, and I’ll give you a BIG surprise.” >Burnside: You do as instructed. “Oh-boy, oh-boy.” >Thomson: You reach into a nearby tank and pull out a live lobster (present for both decoration and fresh shellfish), you stretch open the neckline of Burnside’s blouse, and drop the live, snapping lobster down the front of her shirt. >Burnside: You yelp in pain and shock as the lobster clamps down onto something you really wish it wouldn’t. You hop around yelping and whooping as you hobble back to your post on the outskirts of the crowd, bumping into and knocking many people over as you go. >Thomson: You fish Mr. Calaveras out of the punch bowl and start using him as a drinking cup to drink punch. You muse that it sure is convenient that no one has thrown your trio out yet. Stuff like this may be a common occurrence. Or, judging by the way people keep avoiding eye-contact, maybe they just don’t want to deal with you. (Eric) It's fairly obvious that there's going to be an absolutely massive session of pastry-throwing. (Vet) Pie fight in two minutes people!! (Rick) yes if trays of food dont fall on the floor and pies arent thrown I`ll be dissapointed >Rebecca: You scan your surroundings looking for the perfect opportunity to lay a trap. To the untrained eye, it looks like you are abandoning your mission to pursue a personal vendetta, but a witch works in mysterious ways. You feel confident that by pursuing this course of action you will find out the answers Adler wants. How this Zandar woman reacts to being humiliated will tell volumes if she is safe to be around or not. Plus, in a room full of wizards, the danger is minimal. Probably. Your perk up when you see many large carts loaded with pastries and pies being rolled into the venue. You get a devious smile as you recall all the lessons in japes and pranks you leaned from that holy book you read so long ago. “Perfect.” >Chef: “In honor of the legendary Baker Oonagh and her gifted daughter, I present this selection of the finest pastries in honor of Pastry Day. Bon appétit!” >Rebecca: You casually saunter over to the massive selection of baked goods and begin covertly casting grameries on them. (Let’s save the actual food fight for the finale.) >Thomson: As you continue to eavesdrop on the chatter around you, it occurs to you that you know nothing about what Zandar looks like other than she is a skunk. It wouldn’t do to run into her by mistake. You lean over to the nearest person at the snack table and ask without looking, “Hey, do you know what Zandar looks like?” You casually take a long sip of punch from Mr. Calaveras’s skull to avoid looking suspicious. >Zandar: You raise an eyebrow. “She looks like me. I’m Zandar. Who wants to know?” >Thomson: You do a comically long spit-take. Unfortunately- or fortunately, depending on your point of view- the geyser of punch spraying out of your mouth all goes right into Zandar’s face.