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Cobra, also reminicing, brought out a guitar and strummed it mournfully, remembering her adventures with some of the other inhabatents of the WT who were now gone. Quickly, the other Taverners around her screamed and hurled random objects at her. She'd forgotten that she couldn't play the guitar. Quickly, she brought out a twisted gothic black harp, but that was wrenched out of her arms and immediatly stomped on.
Ordering a tall glass of Loganberry wine, she sat and sipped it, waiting for a plot hole to open, for turtles to invade, or for at least a dance to start. Maybe there'd even be battles over who should dance with whom.
Leaning back in her chair, she wished for the days of old, when action lurked behind every corner, and when there was never a dull moment.
But the doors suddenly burst open...
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please leave the satanic fish alone 
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