One of the last children of Lady Gonzalez's cursed line was preparing a speech: One so riveting, it would melt all speeches, a tribute so loud it would shatter any other tribute like thin glass. It was an ensign to the faculty that would leave them paralyzed with thunderous emotion. He adjusted his tie and smoothed out his curls. Fred thought about the Lady briefly as he looked at her portrait above the mantle, wondered if she was listening, and hoped, deep in his heart, that she would.

“Sir Abbot, you have prepared your final thesis for us?” Asked the board, most of which who had excused themselves the moment they knew Sir. Abbot was about to present.

Frederic Abbot took an awkward stack of papers and straightened them on the desk in front of him. It was a quiet old room, one covered in books, windows, and glossy wood paneling, and so the sound of papers being stacked was as loud as a gavel. The boy dressed like a man in a three piece suit but, from the way he walked to the way he cleared his throat, it was obvious that Fred was partially, but not yet fully, embracing the very worst part of his teens.

“Oh hell.” Said Sir Marcus, with a hand over his face. “Tractor feed paper. How does he keep finding the stuff, it's from the 90's!”

“Not again.” Sighed the other board member, leaning back into his seat.

“Honorary Members of the Board, I have prepared for you today my thesis.” Said Sir Fred loudly over their complaints. “It states thusly—"

“No, thank you, Sir Abbot.” Sir Marcus sighed.

“I have the right to present my thesis to the Board!” Fred piped nasally, “And I will state it thusly..."