A Tutor

AJD just got back from visiting his old college roommates DS and L-AS, who recently welcomed their first child, JKS.  DS was the other half of the creative team behind the puzzle featuring some of my menagerie in the 2011 MIT Mystery Hunt, and so of course when the Wild Republic learned that he had a new baby daughter, they concluded that they ought to send her a tutor.  The tutor they chose is an owl named Archimedes; he naturally has the highest of credentials and is eminently qualified to tutor young humans.  Owls make the best tutors anyway, you know.

By fortunate coincidence, Archimedes and AJD ended up travelling together.  See, Archimedes is actually an old pupil of Twilby's; his mother is from the Wild Parliamentary Monarchy, so he did a lot of his schooling over there.  When he received his new assignment, he decided to stop by for a visit with his old teacher, and Twilby was only too happy for a chance to catch up with one of his favourite former pupils.

Archimedes hung out with the local chapter for a couple of weeks, and then he and AJD left on their epic road trip.   AJD had a conference to attend in London (Canada, not England) first, and although Archimedes is not a dialectologist, he's a generally intellectually curious chap and was more than happy to check things out.  Then it was off to the S household, where Archimedes met his new pupil for the first time.

She looks pretty intrigued, doesn't she?  I bet she's realised that her new tutor is big enough that he could probably fly her around her room if due care were taken.  Sort of stork-fashion, you know.  

I'd like to know what she's thinking in the second picture. She looks like she's mulling something over.  Maybe Archimedes has asked her a question?

Dissertation!

I submitted my dissertation today, and I printed an extra copy for myself and had it bound.  It was long enough, and the paper I'd used was nice enough, that it had to be bound in two volumes.  It's so pretty.  OMG.

Here I am showing it to Twilby.  Twilby is almost as delighted with it as I am.  He was very helpful while I was writing it, and he guarded the two copies all last night while I was asleep, because I was terrified something would happen to it.

(I'm showing him the Old English sentences in the section on the Germanic group genitive.)

Gilly was a bit more excited about the box.  When I brought the printouts home last night, he was initially confused, because he thought the box was my dissertation; now he understands.  He's quite happy that the box isn't the dissertation, actually, because it means I'm willing to let him play with it.  See, he's lashing his tail.

He says we shouldn't take his excitement at having a box as a sign that he's abandoned his dream of having a banquet hall full of mattresses lovingly draped in Oriental rugs, but he's satisfied for the moment.

Even My Owl Is Sick of My Dissertation

Lord Twilby has been attempting to help me with my dissertation the last couple of weeks.  Here he is:

This picture illustrates quite nicely the emotional states of both myself and Twilby at the moment, with respect to my dissertation.  We're of one mind in this: we're thinking of running away and joining the circus together. (Woman and Owl!  A fabulous double-act!) But he at least doesn't have to feel guilty when he decides to fall asleep rather than work on the blasted thing.

Goings on in the South Room

The plush component in my room at present is dangerously near to capacity, with some moderately amusing stuff going on.

First, Twilby is in here helping me with my dissertation, which is dangerously near to its deadline.  He's here because he's good with doctoral students (having advised many in his time) and my advisor refuses to see me.  (Really.  He has an official policy of not seeing me; he thinks it will make me write faster.)  Right now, Twilby is asleep on a pile of books on my desk with his little feet in the air and one of his wings splayed out.  My dissertation is wearing him out too.

Also, Sir Tristan and Lady Faraday came in here to get some alone time.  Right now they're actually having some.  When they first came in, Lady Faraday was totally fascinated by Sleepyhead, and she decided she just had to figure out what the deal was.  She ended up hanging out watching Sleepyhead while Sir Tristan had conversations with Seal, Seymour, and Casper and took naps.  I think he felt neglected.

Then Sleepyhead somehow ended up asleep on one of my bookcases, on the third shelf from the floor.  I'm not really sure how he got up there, although he appears to be content enough.  Sir Tristan, therefore, is happily cuddling with his lady.  It's not clear whether or not this is suspicious.  If it were Magick rather than Sir Tristan, I'd say it was definitely suspicious.

Meanwhile, Gilly and Beppe have discovered the shelf below that one, which has most of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time novels.  They haven't budged since.  Gilly's reading the first one to Beppe right now - there are lots of wolves, so Beppe is enthralled - and when he feels like his throat is getting sore from all the reading, they stare eagerly at the books instead.  This is great, because it means Beppe is kept out of trouble; he typically has enough energy for an entire litter of puppies.  Gilly is also young, but more responsible.  He can be trusted not to eat the book - and not to let Beppe eat it either.

Wild Parliamentary Onomastics

It took some doing, but we finally figured out the names of all seven members of the new Wild Parliamentary Monarchy delegation.  I am particularly proud of us given that three of said members are felines and two of them also have titles.  

Some of these names are old news, of course, i.e.,

• The capybara is named Pedro, which is a reference to The Twenty-fifth Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.
• The lynx is named Sir Theophilus Pearl, Bart., commonly called Sir Theo; the surname is a reference to the almost pearlescent quality of his fur.
• The ermine is, yes, named Angel Joe.  It came to me in a dream.  I don't know why.

 Others of them are not old news.

• The goat is named Nicodemus, probably because his nouveau riche parents were trying too hard.  My cousins had a black cat named Nicodemus, so it seemed like a good name for a white goat.  [This is not a complete reconstruction of my thought process, but it's kind of very close.]
• The owl is named Hrothgar Q. Hornbeam, Viscount Twilby.  Since he's a viscount, he'll typically be called Twilby, although Sir Theo addresses him as Hrothgar because they're old friends.  He has graciously given his permission to me to address him thus myself, which makes me very happy because I am uncommonly fond of the name Hrothgar, but I'll probably end up using both names.
• The serval is named Lady Faraday Pebble-Stone; the "lady" is due to her status as an earl's daughter.  Her surname is a reference to the markings on her coat, which look rather a lot like pebbles; we agreed that plain Pebble felt a bit too Flintstonian, and surely one of these guys would have a double-barrelled name.
• The panther is named Ruthven Jet Shadewater, Earl of Ebonwood, although his intimates (including Sir Tristan and Lady Faraday) call him Magick.  Coming up with a surname for him that was a) a reference to nature and b) a reference to black things and c) not a totally obvious reference to black things and d) vaguely plausible as English pseudo-aristocratic was remarkably hard.  I'm rather proud of both his title (by which most of the Wild Republic will be required to address him) and his nickname, which is a very indirect reference to blackness.

Everyone has a name now, which is a relief.  Tomorrow we're going to introduce the new delegation to the Wild Republic, who so far have met only Sir Theo, who has been in AJD's room to confer with Alfredo.  This promises to be memorable and we fully intend there to be photographic evidence.

Also at some point I really ought to tell everyone the story behind the Sir Tristan-Lady Faraday-Magick relationship, now that I've learned it.