When summoned to action in the dead of night from yet another of the festive round of Steelhead dances, one is never quite certain what may appear or occur before the alarm is silenced, and duty served.
On this particular early-November evening, an observer might have taken the young woman standing outside the Kittiwickshire Consulate Office for a recent escapee from the Tamrannoch Sanatorium: nigh-naked, shameless, and posturing, insensible to the chill in the night air. One might have found the sight pitiable, and indeed have been moved to compassion, but for the sign she brazenly wore, matching unquestionably her slatternly manner and unpolished speech. I am reluctant to record herein the wording of her original notice, as my daughters show interest in one day reading these memoirs; suffice it to say that once the young woman had modified her declaration to better suit Caledon as she perceived it, it could be seen to proclaim, "Gentlemen: a glimpse of ankle, L$500 per hour".
Upon my arrival at the scene, a small group of men and women comprised of local residents and merchants was attempting to reason with this Mainlandish apparition. She was provided with Landmarks to free garb appropriate to the era and locale; she was encouraged to cover herself; she was informed (as much as she would bother hearing) that there was no licensed House in the region, and that her activities were not to be welcomed here in any such blatantly visible form. She met this with uncouth insults, questioning both the maturity of the ladies present, and the masculinity of the gentlemen. Incensed on behalf of the learned and lovely ladies of Caledon, I fear I was less than polite to the young woman, pointing out that she was being "a slutty girl"; wondering aloud how a woman of her obvious physical shortcomings could dare to charge so much for her services; and finally, simply, requesting that she leave. Others tried to reason with her as well, meeting with as little success as I.
I believe her final departure from Kittiwickshire was due more to her eventual boredom than to any oratory skills we may have displayed.
An unfortunate collateral effect of this untoward incident was the necessity of modifying the Consulate's Fundraising Calendar for the benefit of Breast Cancer Research, as one of the local contributors to the project, overhearing the confrontation by happenstance, took umbrage at my words to the young woman. Such are the perpetual perils of working with the public, it seems; I took solace in the fact that the Calendar Project had been delayed somewhat, and the removal and replacement of a calendar page was not the hardship it might otherwise have been in the inaugural year of the calendar.
Reflecting later upon the evening's events, I found that this young woman reminded me quite strongly of the sort of Construct popular as a dormitory project among male TPU students during the Long Winter of 1776. Coincidentally, the Long Winter followed the temporary-yet-thorough eradication of the Beetleburg Red Light District by a visiting young American Spark; overly eager to enhance his perceived prowess among the ladies of negotiable virtue, he called down a most enthusiastic show of lightning, incinerating several city blocks ...
