Bring Along the Grown-Ups for Tuesday’s Special Beastie Celebration!
A perfect Twelfth Night gift for any youngster with a love for fantastic pets. Get your copy of Mr Newton Scamander’s new book and, even better! get it signed by the Man With the Blueberry Coat, who has shaken paws with Hippos all over the world. Only $2.00, and free Pumpkin Cola for all!
The Thilly Thunderbird, Main Floor Greenwitch Village
Dear Miss McDolphin,
I confirm my presence at next Tuesday’s event.
However, while I wrote my book with a general public in mind, I doubt that ‘tiny tots’ are the best target audience. The animals in my book are no toys. With many, there’s a terrible cast to their beauty and strength, and you may want to warn the parents about a few entries (see enclosed list).
Also, you do not pet, pat, least of all pit yourself against the average Hippogriff. Ever. What do they teach at that ‘’’best’’’ school of yours?
N. Scamander
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Dear Mr Kowalski,
Please. Please, call me Newt.
Thank you for your letter and the roll. It was sweet indeed, and made up for the ban on milk, lemon and tea-leaves other than Mr Folger’s ‘instant tea-flavoured’ atrocity in my lodger’s kitchen. And Bearer 1 was quite chuffed with the coin – until it melted on him (his stash is a wee bit close to my tropical quarters), leaving him with a bad case of ‘sticky paws’. Poetic justice, if you ask me.
The book… is my alibi. I mean, I’m really supposed to be in England right now, so I talked my publishers into setting up a promoting tour in New York that I’m doing my best to do. Can’t say it’s been a hoot. I mean, everybody’s been very, loudly enthusiastic, it’s just that I’m not sure any of them actually read my work.
Once – and I know I’m courting Manhattan-size trouble, quoting past you to you, but I have to – once, you told me you liked ‘a good yarn last thing at night’. I was faking sleep, and you were reading about some fancy cat, his name Gustavus, your breath laughing a little as you did. Nothing fake about you. Not then, not ever. So I glanced along to where the light was gathering around you and the book, and, just then, I felt – impatient, I guess, because that cat wasn’t ‘the real deal’. Kneazles, now, that’s another And so I let you in on the deal. Down into my bright, live, unique underworld, and the more I shared it with you, the more that sharing dazzled me. You were so very chuffed by everything you saw, and I was chuffed up just watching your chuff, and
Sorry. Sorry, not making much sense, I know, but not long after, when you were gone and all I had were one-sided memories and a one-way passage to England, I placed my case on my lap and used it as a portable desk. To share some more. Or get one over Gustavus. Who knows. All I know is I never stopped until – well, the sum of it is in your hands.
What I’m trying to say, Mr Kowalski, is that if I am your egg fella, then you owe me nothing. I am in your debt. You see, you hatched my book.
Sincerely yours, Newt Scamander
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Froglet,
All quiet on the Dorset front. Well, nearly. The mater’s got wind of your scarpering off west and owled me for your coordinates. Said she had Plans For You. Thought I should let you know, since Mother’s latest plan for me involved challenging Gellert Grindelwald to a game of gobstones, using Basilisks’ eyes. I told her you were kipping with Graves. He’s a wand-in-the-mud, but he’ll know better than to side with her. Not after she locked the two of us in Fido’s playpen on his last visit.
Have fun, and don’t do anything I would do lady-wise. Or booze-wise. Or otherwise. Tease
Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (2/?)
Bring Along the Grown-Ups for Tuesday’s Special Beastie Celebration!
A perfect Twelfth Night gift for any youngster with a love for fantastic pets. Get your copy of Mr Newton Scamander’s new book and, even better! get it signed by the Man With the Blueberry Coat, who has shaken paws with Hippos all over the world. Only $2.00, and free Pumpkin Cola for all!
The Thilly Thunderbird, Main Floor
Greenwitch Village
Dear Miss McDolphin,
I confirm my presence at next Tuesday’s event.
However, while I wrote my book with a general public in mind, I doubt that ‘tiny tots’ are the best target audience. The animals in my book are no toys. With many, there’s a terrible cast to their beauty and strength, and you may want to warn the parents about a few entries (see enclosed list).
Also, you do not pet, pat, least of all pit yourself against the average Hippogriff. Ever. What do they teach at that ‘’’best’’’ school of yours?
N. Scamander
--------------------------
Dear Mr Kowalski,
Please. Please, call me Newt.
Thank you for your letter and the roll. It was sweet indeed, and made up for the ban on milk, lemon and tea-leaves other than Mr Folger’s ‘instant tea-flavoured’ atrocity in my lodger’s kitchen. And Bearer 1 was quite chuffed with the coin – until it melted on him (his stash is a wee bit close to my tropical quarters), leaving him with a bad case of ‘sticky paws’. Poetic justice, if you ask me.
The book… is my alibi. I mean, I’m really supposed to be in England right now, so I talked my publishers into setting up a promoting tour in New York that I’m doing my best to do. Can’t say it’s been a hoot. I mean, everybody’s been very, loudly enthusiastic, it’s just that I’m not sure any of them actually read my work.
Once – and I know I’m courting Manhattan-size trouble, quoting past you to you, but I have to – once, you told me you liked ‘a good yarn last thing at night’. I was faking sleep, and you were reading about some fancy cat, his name Gustavus, your breath laughing a little as you did. Nothing fake about you. Not then, not ever. So I glanced along to where the light was gathering around you and the book, and, just then, I felt – impatient, I guess, because that cat wasn’t ‘the real deal’. Kneazles, now, that’s another And so I let you in on the deal. Down into my bright, live, unique underworld, and the more I shared it with you, the more that sharing dazzled me. You were so very chuffed by everything you saw, and I was chuffed up just watching your chuff, and
Sorry. Sorry, not making much sense, I know, but not long after, when you were gone and all I had were one-sided memories and a one-way passage to England, I placed my case on my lap and used it as a portable desk. To share some more. Or get one over Gustavus. Who knows. All I know is I never stopped until – well, the sum of it is in your hands.
What I’m trying to say, Mr Kowalski, is that if I am your egg fella, then you owe me nothing. I am in your debt. You see, you hatched my book.
Sincerely yours,
Newt Scamander
---------------------
Froglet,
All quiet on the Dorset front. Well, nearly. The mater’s got wind of your scarpering off west and owled me for your coordinates. Said she had Plans For You. Thought I should let you know, since Mother’s latest plan for me involved challenging Gellert Grindelwald to a game of gobstones, using Basilisks’ eyes. I told her you were kipping with Graves. He’s a wand-in-the-mud, but he’ll know better than to side with her. Not after she locked the two of us in Fido’s playpen on his last visit.
Have fun, and don’t do anything I would do lady-wise. Or booze-wise. Or otherwise.
Tease
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