*Poof.*On top of the bar, there's a tiny puff of white...smoke? mist? When it dissipates, there's a six-inch-high angel standing there, frantically dusting off his robe
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Are you quite all right? the fox inquires politely. You seem... unwell.
A perceptive sort might notice that there is a hint of amusement in the fox's... uh... voice? Well, he seems entertained for some reason.
It couldn't possibly be the fact that there is a six-inch human cowering at his paws much in the way he and his kind have often cowered at the mercy of mankind. Naw, that couldn't be it at ALL...
The fox settles down, one paw on either side of the angel. Isn't this cozy, now?
I am well, thank you, sai. Although I do not believe that you are. You presently look quite like something that expects me to try to kill it. Fortunately, I have been informed of the rules of this establishment, and I shall not do so.
Though that doesn't mean he won't have a little fun.
He innocently licks a red tongue over his pointy white teeth and shifts so that the worn claws on one paw tap next to Sam.
"Because I'm very comfortable like this pleasestopthat," he says, his voice (which already sounds like he inhaled a balloonful of helium) nudging up another half octave.
Whiskers in ur robe, sniffin ur sandals.
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"Nice doggie," he says, holding up a hand, still trying to scoot backward. "Gooooooood doggie."
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While it is true that I am indeed a member of the canid family, I am not, as you so eloquently put it, a "doggie." I am a fox.
The poor little... very small thing... seems confused. Perhaps he needs licking! The fox obliges, giving a gentle lick to the angel's hand.
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"Don'teatmepleasedon'teatmeeeeeee --" he wails. Very quietly.
Ralph's the one with the weapons! And it wouldn't be violence if you're acting in self-defense, right?
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He noses the harp curiously.
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Cautiously, Sam opens one eye, then the other.
He stays frozen in the fetal position, though.
"Good to hear," he manages weakly.
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A perceptive sort might notice that there is a hint of amusement in the fox's... uh... voice? Well, he seems entertained for some reason.
It couldn't possibly be the fact that there is a six-inch human cowering at his paws much in the way he and his kind have often cowered at the mercy of mankind. Naw, that couldn't be it at ALL...
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Sam lowers the harp.
Very.
Very.
Slowly.
"...And you?"
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I am well, thank you, sai. Although I do not believe that you are. You presently look quite like something that expects me to try to kill it. Fortunately, I have been informed of the rules of this establishment, and I shall not do so.
Though that doesn't mean he won't have a little fun.
He innocently licks a red tongue over his pointy white teeth and shifts so that the worn claws on one paw tap next to Sam.
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Or looking at the claws.
Or the teeth.
He does, however, muster up a bright smile as he says, "Great! It's always nice to meet somebody that's so upstanding and, uh..."
NOT LOOKING AT THE CLAWS.
"...law-abiding as yourself. Keep up the good work."
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Why do you not stand up or uncurl? You look like a mouse.
And foxes eat mice.
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"Because I'm very comfortable like this pleasestopthat," he says, his voice (which already sounds like he inhaled a balloonful of helium) nudging up another half octave.
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Please uncurl? I want to see what you look like!
Nose nose nose.
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Mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like a long and rather desperate prayer, he uncurls one slow inch at a time and clambers to his feet.
He's still holding onto his harp tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.
(Not that you can really see it. They're very tiny knuckles.)
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That is better! You are, I think, the smallest human I have ever seen. You are even smaller than my Prince, which is VERY hard to accomplish.
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