Magister Thorne consulted the thaumaturgical chronometer on his desk. It would not do to be tardy, but hastiness would be just as impolite while reeking of desperation. There was no need to be desperate. All potential stumbling blocks had been removed. He tapped the swirling orb next to the chronometer, concentrated on the person he wanted to reach and leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, hey, is that you . . . Thorne? It's . . . hear from . . . fine day . . . dinner still . . . this evening?"
"There seems to be a problem with our connection, Lord Haverstash. Are you very far out?"
"No, no, I'm right . . . stopped by . . . wash . . . charming student body . . ."
"Well, that's good to hear, Lord Haverstash. Lord Haverstash? Are you there?" Thorne cursed and dashed out of his office.
"Sir, I thought you might like to know . . ."
"No time, Miss Arhod."
"But I really think . . ."
"No time!" Magister Thorne walked out of the administration building and looked around. "What's going over there?" There was a crowd just past the campus, and laughing, and water everywhere.
Miss Arhod caught up. "That's what I was trying to tell you, Magister. You might want to tell Lord Haverstash to take a different road, since a Bikini Golem Wash was approved on Orange Street."
"A what? Wait. Who requested this approval?"
"Um, let me see, House Wiffledimp?"
"No!" He ran forward waving his hands and yelling for everyone to pack up and vacate the street, but nobody listened.
"Ah, there you are, Magister! You didn't have to come meet me, but any excuse is a good one, eh?" Lord Haverstash winked. "There's no need for a formal discussion anyway. I've decided my son and heir will be attending this university, and joining House Wiffledimp specifically!"
"Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
Finis
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