From alt.pub.dragons-inn Thu Dec  8 08:12:56 1994
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From: Thorr-kan, the White Minotaur, and Horde Father-Confessor
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Re:  You Say It, I'll Sing It
Date: 7 Dec 1994 19:31:35 GMT
Organization: Gustavus Adolphus College
Lines: 93
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <3c52inINNo8n@news.gac.edu>
Reply-To: mcutter@nic.gac.edu
NNTP-Posting-Host: jimbob.gac.edu

Kelly J. Cooper writes:
> Andrew Solberg writes:
>> "I sure do hope somebody requests SOMETHING.  It would be a terrible,  
>> awful thing is NOBODY requests anything, because then I'd have to drag  
>> out the default bar song, which is 'My Charona', and I'm sure nobody 
>> wants that to happen.  Least of all me.

In the kitchen, someone shakes his head.  "Da bloody elf is feelin'  
frisky, again," he mutters to himself.  The Short Ogre Cook looks faintly  
disgusted, but continues carving away at the potatoes and meat for the  
lunch crowd.

>
> Jameson W. Walker, sitting and sipping a mug of cider, winced audibly.
>
>> "So give me a song title.  Maybe I know it; if I do, I'll play it.  
>> Maybe I don't know it; if I don't, I'll make some lyrics up.  You can't  
>> lose.
>> 
>> "Requests, anybody?"
>> 
>> Listener starts softly humming MUH-MUH-MUH-MYYYY.... under his breath,  
>> as if in warning....

A look of stark terror comes over the Ogre's face when Listener begins  
warming up.  "N-nn-ooo," he stutters, "No!"  Reach across his worktable,  
The Short Ogre Cook grabs his largest cast iron frying pan and starts for  
the common room, yelling, "Listener, by All that's Edible, if you start,  
I'll ring your little neck!"

>
> Nearly knocking over her chair, Jameson struggled to stand while at the 
> same time dig about in her pockets.  She waved a fist in the air and 
> once she caught Listener's attention called out,

The Ogre bursts from the kitchen, knocking over young Bob LittleFair head  
over heels and scaring the daylights out of half-a-dozen nearby patrons.   
He stops in time to see Jameson rise from her chair.

>
> "Good elf!  Handsome elf!  Lovely elf whose beauteous features I would 
> mash together in an instant if you play that song (and I do believe the  
> fight dampening spells would indeed ALLOW it)!  This first bit I give
> as incentive NOT to play that particular tune!"
>
> With a grand and expansive gesture, she threw him the wedge of silver.
> It spun, glittering in the light, and was caught by the deft right hand
> of the bard.  He grinned a fine smile, with just a hint of playfulness
> in his eyes, "The _first_ m'lady?"
>
> Jameson bared her teeth to match his expression and confirmed, "Indeed,
> The first.  And the second, to play the rudest, bawdiest tune you know,
> good bard."
>
> Listener's smile grew impossibly wider.  But before he could take up his
> instrument, again the throw.  Again the catch.  Many eyes were upon them
> now and Jameson's voice carried well over the din of a noonday crowd.
>
> "And the third..." Jameson paused, as if in contemplation.  A pause in
> conversation cycled through the room, leaving a gap, an accidental hush
> over the crowd.  An incident of chance in the grand pageant for which 
> all good actors live.  "And the third, my dear bard, is for you to play 
> it _well_."  Her implications hung heavy on the air and observers swore  
> they could see a dangerous gleam, almost a feral light, come into
> Listener's eyes.
>
> "Oh indeed, my lady.  Indeed!"

Seeing the situation resolved, the Short Ogre Cook stomps over to   
Listener's perch.  He raises his frying pan and starts waving it in a  
threatening manner, "If ya EVER t'reaten to play dat hellish chant 'gain,  
I'm gonna... URRK!"  His eyes get very wide as the anti-violence charms  
stop him cold.  Listener looks down from his beam, suprised.

After several seconds, the Ogre is released and has calmed down.  He  
raises the pan again, but only shakes it at the elven bard.  "T'reaten  
'gain, and I'll help Rowan drag ya inta da street and whale on you."  The  
Ogre turns and stomps off towards the kitchen.  Halfway across the  
commons, he stops.  With a wicked gleam in his little eyes, he turns and  
says, "Or, better yet, I'll make ye take pork and dwarf spirits for a  
week!  No fruits, no wine."  A pained look crosses the elf's face, and the  
Ogre cackles in triumph.  He swaggers back to the kitchen, already intent  
on catching up with the noon rush.

-Matt C.
guardian- 1. one who has care of a person or property.  2.  In other 
words, someone who puts their ass between others and danger.

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Nuke 'til they glow, then shoot 'em in the dark!
Matt Cutter, e-mail to mcutter@nic.gac.edu OR mcutter@vax2.gac.edu              
Gustavus couldn't afford my opinions if they wanted them!
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