On the day of the Hufflepuff-hosted potluck, the Great Hall had been transformed to accommodate the event, courtesy of Skwisgaar, a few of his bandmates, and several other helpful volunteers from Hufflepuff -- and one Ravenclaw. Skwisgaar and Toki's adoptive dragon-son, Smaug, had assisted with arranging some of the heavier items
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The Nard-dog had his banjo strapped on, all ready to get this hootenanny started.
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The banjo twanged and Andy crooned along -- getting most of the words right, most of the time. It was a way easier song to remember than, say, the Kit Kat jingle.
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He attempted to do a terrorist-fistbump with Dwight.
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"It's the Nard Dog, ladies and gentlemen, on the banjo!" he shouted, trying to work the nonexistent crowd as well.
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Fuck.
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And obviously, since said fan was a catgirl, this required Dwight's rendition of "Santa Baby". Which he was happy to provide.
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Dunder-Mifflin, Unplugged.
Andy didn't throw in too many otiose harmonies and trills as backup singer. This moment should be Dwight's as soloist. There was an etiquette to these things, no matter what Broccoli Rob might say.
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Okay, it might not be, but Turlough's in a belligerent mood.
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"That song," he said superciliously, "is actually a lighthearted critique of materialist excess, with a dash of sexy sass. Duh."
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The fellow bearing the closest resemblance to her Reseune colleague Denys Nye seemed like a good candidate.
Ari made her way over to him, soft drink in hand, and bestowed upon him a sly, knowing smile.
"You look like the ambitious type. Do I miss my guess?"
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