BOOM!

A window crashed open in a splintering of glass and snapping wood. The tiny frames that held those thick panes between them was barely anything under the sufferage of the huge hoof that slammed against. Shards of glass splurged over the table under the window like rain; light caught in the fragmented faces glinting rainbows in a else sorrowful world. Outside, a raging roar of anger could be heard, and the hoof was slowly lowered. It was quickly replaced by the horned head of a big-bosomed faun-lady, clambering through with a fox under one arm and a struggling small boy under the other.

Confidently, she stood on the table as the previous participants scrambled back, hoping their drinks had not been contaiminated by her or the glass.

"Behold!" she held the tiny boy aloft with a hand. As she did it became clear that she held not a boy, but rather a very small halfling. An adult, but nevertheless aboslutely tiny. "This creature has never drunken before."

And she gently placed him down, giving the room a great beam. Some of the people were silent - those closest who stared with wide eyes, whilst about three quarters had never even heard the window shatter because they were already so loud. The small halfling man shook himself as he tried to realise, and come to terms with, exactly what had just happened. Still, the faun kept beaming at her stunned crowd, before he spoke up.

"Geez, Philomel," he said in a thick, farmer accent, "Yeh didn' have teh go and do tha'."

"You have not ever drunken," Philomel shrugged, now looking to her other arm, where the fox beneath it was just blinking large golden eyes. She reached over and scratched behind his ears. "That must be fixed."

The halfling rolled his eyes as he slid off the table, carefully avoiding the glass. "Oh, hire an expensive one they said. Experience they said."

"Hey, I told you I was on holiday, Emsmoor," the faun growled, her brow suddenly coming low over her eyes, "yet you insisted-"

"Bah," he dismissed her.

Philomel pouted slightly before looking back at the people around her. They were thoroughly pissed, most of them, and the ones with beer-stained beards and wet blouses, or with shimmers of glass in their hair had good reason. Pausing, she bit her lip, before starting off the table, shifting the fox around to her corseted chest. "Sorry," she whispered.