Somewhere near the ceiling of the Sorting Room, there is a sound much like
a baseball bat being passed through a coffee maker, and then a large gray-green mass materializes out of thin air and lands on the ground with a splatch. It sits there for a moment, inert, and then a pair of eyes emerge and pan around the room. The mass sprouts a pair of
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"And the plasgun? Well, this model's a multifunction unit. It's got a rocket mode - the only difference between a plasma rocket and a plasma cannon is which way the switch is pointing, really - and it's got a variable beam aperture that can go from surgical-narrow to screaming-carnage wide." He grins. "Plus, it makes this really nice soothing sound."
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"Almost as nice as a Muggle hair dryer," he mused happily.
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Then he looks at Miles, eyes level. "Y'know, I never knew humans came in your size. Except sometimes for the women, but even Elf's a little taller than you are. Even before she got body-modded, and back then, she was tiny. Er ... no offense?"
((ooc: Normally, Schlock is about Miles' height, although he weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred kilos. And most of the humans he knows are mercenaries with severely boosted physiques.))
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Then he rummages in his mouth a bit and comes up with a much smaller (dare one say, Bun-Bun sized?) pistol. "Here. Kevyn gave this to me after my first plasgun got blown up. It's a ... something or other. Magic sleep gun."
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Schlock hands the little gun back and picks up the owl, which is actually snoring. "See?"
Then Schlock eats the owl.
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