"Come down to Earth—and stay there!" is a humiliating order for somebody with wings!
lligerence from her voice. He hadn't been very polite himself. "The handbook said respectable Terran women make up in public. Why shouldn't I?"
He sighed. "It'll take time for you to catch on, I suppose. There's a lot the handbook doesn't--can't--cover. You'll find the setup here rather different from on Fizbus," he went on as he kicked open the door neatly lettered THE FIZBUS TIMES in both Fizbian and Terran. "We've found it expedient to follow the local newspaper practice. For instance--" he indicated a small green-feathered man seated at a desk just beyond the railing that bisected the room horizontally--"we have a Copy Editor."
"What does he do?" she asked, confused.
"He copies news from the other papers, of course."
"And what are you doing tonight, Miss Morfatch?" the Copy Editor asked, springing up from his desk to execute the three ritual entrechats with somewhat more verve than was absolutely necessary.
"Having dinner with me," Stet said quickly.
A bird-creature from Fizbus arrives to work at the Fizbus Times' Earth bureau and finds she is constantly outraging Earth customs. It's a mildly funny story, and about half the characters are women, so it isn't glaringly sexist, but it is a satire rather than a serious story, and it wore thin after a while.
