New Toulouse

Being connected directly to the pulsing heart of New Toulouse by virtue of my many contacts, of various states of learnedness, at the myriad delightful watering-holes throughout our fair city (where there is never so much as a slight overcast to the sky, and where beautiful birds untainted by feather-rot warble sweetly from every branch), there have come to me wild rumors, gossip, and outright fabrications of the most upsetting sort.

Dr. Augustus Boffin, recently arrived in this town, is a current subject of such spurious speculation. Some say he is the mayor’s “mind man,” here to assist City Hall in its efforts to keep the locals happy and uninformed. That is, of course, pure poppycock. Dr. Boffin is the Boffin of Boffin Scientific Inc. (BSI), a perfectly benign concern mainly involved in outfitting the amateur science enthusiast. Any bright eight-year-old with a healthy interest in beetle collection or wireless technology knows this.

But some local scandalmongers have even been painting poor Boffin as a sort of mad-scientist figure out of the fevered imagination of H. G. Wells, darkly muttering about the shipment of crates from BSI to City Hall, as though they held parts for some evil mind-control device and not the insect vivaria and radio parts they probably contain in actuality.

Clearly these whisperers and ranters could use a dose of cold, hard reality with a side order of common sense. To this end, I call upon the mayor to stand up and tell the people of New Toulouse why exactly he has been conferring with Dr. Boffin. Mr. Mayor, please find the time to speak and allay our concerns! I will be waiting, pencil in hand, ready to record for the Tattler the substance of your address.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, exhibits a love of chemistry. His favorite molecule is CH₃CH₂OH.

This emergency edition of the Tattler was made possible by Mr. Lawrence James of James Ads & Signs, who kindly donated the use of his own press, as ours is currently underwater.

FREE BOURBON (AND SHELTER)
by Jack Mondieu (interim editor)

Hoping to help everyone “land on their feet,” the Krewe of Bast once again provide respite and shelter above the waterline at Spiegel Hall’s third-floor ballroom. Citizens and local rescued felines can wait out the flooding in relative comfort, with free hot coffee, food, bourbon, and cuddling. When asked about the location of Bast’s Nikita, krewe member Kristine replied, “Oh, she’ll turn up eventually, maybe a little skinnier but with plenty of lives left.”

EDITOR MISSING
by Frances Lava

As dawn broke over a storm-ravaged New Toulouse today, its weary citizens were shocked to learn that one of the city’s most prominent residents, and editor of this paper, was missing. As posters went up all over town, the question on everyone’s lips was when the flood-damaged stock sale was starting. A few people were also wondering about Miz Niki.

This reporter has learned that the editor was about to lift the lid on wide-scale corruption at City Hall. Certainly there has been a deafening silence from that quarter, especially on the subject of monies diverted from the upkeep of the levees which failed so disastrously last weekend. The mayor was not available for comment and is believed to be out of town on a hunting trip.

Where is Miz Niki? This paper is offering a generous reward for information leading to her safe return.

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

I shall account for the events of the great Caffeine airlift. I read an
article entitled “Weather or not” by Mr. Jack Mondieu. In it, he described
how “someone has bought up all the available coffee beans, and currently
there are none to be had on the open market. Look for cafe and restaurant
owners to adjust their price for a cuppa joe accordingly.” Now, the idea
of a bunch of caffeine addicted Taloosters not getting their cuppa joe is
barely less scary than Zombies down Bourbon Street. Fortunately, I happen
to have a friend whose nation is among the most reputable coffee providers
in all the Steamlands, one Callidus Weydelich. He scoffed at the idea that
would-be “Coffeosi” would try to do this, and well, he did want to repay for
all the times his shotgun fire damaged my spa. So, we set sail from Cala
Mondrago, in a warship full of Coffee.

The trip was a bit rough. I would like to say that we survived due to our
skill, but in truth, it helps when a Djinn stows away on board your ship and
can save you from crashing. We even got there in time for Salome Starsmith
to greet us with food and drink at the Severed head, which is right by port.
Bob Ellsmere, the hero of last year’s hurricane, was given Coffee so that he
might continue to provide demitasses for those weather weary Taloosters!
All in all, it was a glorious, defiant moment that showed our fair city at
its finest! Viva Nouvelle Toulouse! Viva La Demitasse!

Doctor Avalon

Editor’s note: Captain Alcide LeBlanc was successful in running from the storm and grounding his good ship ‘Calamares’ in the Bayou. The cargo was fully insured, he invites all citizens of New Toulouse to help themselves to as much coffee and bananas as they desire. To avoid waste, he recommends that no one take more than they and their immediate families and livestock can consume in a decade.

ADVERTISEMENTS

WANTED: Attractive woman who lives on the second floor or higher. Should have a non-leaky roof and be a good cook. I own a rowboat and am good with my hands. Please contact Henry Payne at Bayou #1.

DRY ROOM FOR RENT in sturdy brick building. Dock your small craft in the courtyard and head directly up to your digs. Apply at Red Drum Place #3, on Basin Street between Frog Alley and the cemetery.

DOCTOR AVALON wishes to let residents know that the third floor of Our Lady of Mercy Hospital is a Hurricane shelter! There are plenty of beds, and hot food. Do not risk becoming yet another casualty of the weather! Stay safe!, Stay dry!

Tuesday morning a horse belonging to A. R. Arceneaux, and carrying two small boys on his back, Eldridge, the son of Mr, Arceneaux, and Travis LaTour, became frightened at the barking of a small but innocent dog, the proportions of which he was unable to determine owing to slightly impaired visionaries, and dashed through the streets at a terrible pace.

Mr. E. C. Barnett and son Frank were driving towards the French Market from the ice house when they spied the runaway and stopped with the intention of catching the horse and thereby saving the youngsters from an uncertain fate. The horse, not observing Mr. Barnett’s Ford car, dashed into it at full speed, throwing the boys promiscuously. Travis LaTour suffered several severe cuts as he passed through the wind shield, while the Arceneaux boy escaped, much frightened, but with no serious injury.

Mr. Barnett acknowledged that the fact that his car was a Ford car is the only thing that saved it from total destruction. As it was, the front of his car presented a sad appearance with the wind shield gone, the radiator caved in and useless, and the fenders somewhat dislocated. He also thinks that the town ordinance requiring autos to have good and sufficient headlights should also apply to horses.

Jack Mondieu is a figment of your imagination.

“Armed with his trusty arsenal of guitars, Dr. Zip will assault your headmeat with some folking great tunes and songs. Protective gear recommended. Radium products for sale at the merch table.”

That is what we have in store for us, according to whoever poured my coffee at Fifolet today. I can’t be more specific about my source, since the server was wearing, among other things, a mask involving tentacles that will no doubt haunt my dreams. Whoever she was, she had access to the coffee.

Mr. Zippedy Zabelin, aka “Dr. Zip,” has been heard before in New Toulouse, when he demonstrated a strange instrument called a theremin, which one listener at the Artist Residency function described as sounding like “tiny whales.” My tentacled Hebe neither mentioned this instrument nor any whalesong, so presumably a more familiar experience involving guitar plucking and human vocalizations will take place this weekend.

Better wear protective gear, though, just in case.

Zippedy Zabelin
Saturday, May 9
1:00 PM
Fifolet

Jack Mondieu is a figment of his own imagination.

This morning I woke up to a piece of paper hitting me in the face. I’m still staying at the rooftop hotel, so I suppose that is not the worst thing that could have hit me. Groggily I peered at the page: it was a handbill advertising a maybe-party this Sunday, hosted by Krewe Bayou.

Last year around this time, I asked the shadowy figure calling herself Queen Notakraken how a person might join the krewe, if he were so inclined. You are already in Krewe Bayou, she told me. Everyone is in Krewe Bayou, whether they know it or not.

You would think that as a member of the krewe, I would have heard about this party earlier, or whether we’ll parade, or what. You would think that, and you would be wrong.

So all I have to go on are whispers, and this poster, and what looks to be party decorations on the roof next door. They say that Ghosty Kips had to cancel on spinning the platters because of a family matter, and that the mysterious “DJ Tabasco” stepped in handily to save the day with his collection of Cajun, zydeco, and swamp pop recordings. (They don’t say what “swamp pop” is, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Okra-Cola.) They say that there will be plenty of beer, which will come in handy in case of fire. They murmur of a trivia contest with “fabulous prizes.” And I overheard a rumor to the effect that “everyone gets a baby kraken friend.”

Now you know everything I do.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is often perplexed.

New Toulouse on a Budget

Various locations
New Toulouse

Woke up at predawn with a terrible thirst. I’m at the Hôtel Sur le Toit, a Gloryville rooftop flop. Drank a couple cups of joe and breakfasted on marshmallows roasted over a burning Christmas tree. Need water or something, maybe some toast. Checked my pockets: L$30, less L$10 now for the room and board. At the alleyway entrance to the hotel, some derelict has set up house in a crate. My accommodations last night were practically posh in comparison.

Passing by Lafitte’s. Ugh, fish nog is responsible for the evil elves tapdancing behind my eyeballs. I’d tell Morty the barkeep to go to hell, except I think he has a vacation spot there already. Anyway I can’t afford hair of the dog right now.

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“This is a bomb!” said a woman with a shawl over her head as she placed a neat brass cylinder with a screw top to it in the hands of Robert E. Joudain, a salesman, at No. 42 la rue du Rossignol on Wednesday evening.

“I found it in the street out there,” she added, pointing to that portion of the highway known as la rue Royale and la rue du Rossignol. “I think I’ll be going now.”

She went.

Mr. Joudain emitted a low moaning sound and dropped the “bomb” into the gutter. A crowd collected—at a safe distance. Somebody started to turn in a fire alarm or call an ambulance.

But Mr. Joudain is a brave man.

“I will take this to the police station,” he said after proper moments of precaution had passed and nothing had happened. He did.

“This is a bomb,” Mr. Joudain explained as he laid the wicked brass cylinder on the desk before Lieut. Ray. The lieutenant arose from his swivel chair with alertness.

After he had come back from the street, he doused the “bomb” in a pail of water. Then he summoned courage and examined it closely.

The “bomb” was a handy automobile tool-case.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.

Familiar to Taloosters for her secondhand shop, Look What the Cat Dragged In, Ms. Kristine Jinx-Kristan has lately established a haven for homeless cats. Seeing the sign out front advertising a pre-Halloween black cat adoption drive, naturally I had to find out more. Luckily Miz KK was on the premises.

What made you decide to open a cat shelter?

Ever since the horrific catburger scandal, I have tried to keep an eye out the feline population of New Toulouse. While most of them are quite independent and only need food left out in the park occasionally, some have grown accustomed to making themselves at home at my apartment and shop. They are of course quite welcome, but after a customer returned two rugs and a loveseat claiming they caused sneezing fits in her husband, I decided they needed their own place of refuge.

Why a black cat adoption drive before Halloween?

It is a myth that black cats are especially in danger before Halloween. Many shelters refuse to adopt out black cats in October for fear they will be abused by pranksters or worse. I feel that they are in more danger on the streets, as any cat is, all year round. My main goal is to find them loving, forever homes. My adoption screening and fees help ensure that anyone wishing to have one of my precious darlings is of good morals and means.

Additionally, along with neutering and socialization, each cat has been taught a secret, and if things get too weird, I will come and personally extract them and bring them back to safety.

These cats seem very well looked after, even pampered. Would you consider taking in a stray human? I’m getting tired of sleeping on the Tattler office couch.

I’m sure we could arrange something. My sole volunteer—Kevin, who attends the info desk—could use a break from time to time. Bless his heart.

The Bayou Street Adoptive Home For Unhoused Cats and Kittens is located northwest of Laveau Square on the corner of Bayou Street and Bogus Alley. Taloosters are encouraged to stop in and socialize with the cats anytime, even if they aren’t thinking of adopting.

Jack Mondieu, Ace Reporter, is a figment of your imagination.

Calling a hasty press conference on the Mama Cree, the mayor announced the newest acquisition for the New Toulouse Pelicans baseball team: Miss Colette Basile. His intention that she start as pitcher surprised everyone. 
 
Standing all of five feet tall, with flashing eyes and perfect skin, and attired in a pearl-colored evening gown, Miss Colette bore no resemblance to any baseball player anyone had ever seen. Mr. Godenot announced her statistics: “She has really big stats, like three thousand or ninety-nine or something like that. I forget, but they’re up there. She can bat left or right, and throws right. Not a real power hitter, but she can throw, and she can steal.”

Miss Basile permitted a few pictures, requesting that the eager photographers send her the nice ones for her baseball card. She flashed her winning smile and said, “You throw the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball. And you gotta play it one day at a time. Except when it rains.”
 
The mayor and the ball player left the press conference together, holding hands.
 
The mayor has done some weird things before, but this time he has gone too far. Nobody trades for a pitcher in September. Especially when they don’t own a team, or a ballpark for them to play in.

 
Jack Mondieu is on the ball and off the wagon.

Not Just for Kids

Gamaliel’s Vintage Toys & Dolls
French Market, New Toulouse

You may know Mr. Gamaliel as the person who cracked the radio code and who, together with his wife Arijah Ankh Khalid-Zyn, operates Ravenwood Arts & Curios on Shotgun Row. He can be seen around town in various elaborate costumes. Now he has a new venture: a toy shop in the French Market district. Since was giving away free popcorn, naturally I had to take a look.

Why open a toy store in New Toulouse? He and his wife recently made a wooden doll for a little girl who visited Ravenwood. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” said Gamaliel. “Some good, some bad, and some … well, we’re not gonna go there. But it felt good making that doll—to know that someone will enjoy the hard work put into it. It also reminded me of my dad. When I was little, he carved me a wooden toy boat. It was probably the best gift I ever got from my old man, who lathed fine furniture by hand. So in a way, it was like living that all over again.”

Gamaliel has in stock a fine selection of handmade jigsaw puzzles with pictures of local scenery. He also sells toy planes and is giving away a special New Toulouse version as a gift. “It’s made of a really thin, lightweight strip of wood. The propeller is wound tightly by a flexible band that makes the propeller move, so when you toss it, it flies like the real thing. On my travels I met one of the Schweizer brothers, who was exhibiting a glider prototype. This is the best I could replicate it, but I figured I’d make it look like a biplane.”

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