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Lord Fred has mistakenly ended up in Zsdfgxlg's basement. It has wall to wall shag carpeting. Water lanterns cast an eerie but bright-enough pall over the place. In one section is not one, not two but three pool tables. The pool cues, well polished, glitter in the lantern light. On the farthest side away from the tables is a gleaming bar that could fit in any establishment. Even from here Fred could recognize many drinks and famous wines. Was that an Emry Rissotto from forty years ago? AMAZING. Closer was an automated trademarked Magic Box. Sparkled with tube chemicals and could play an astonishing nine songs, three more if you had the Pulsing Box. And of course they did. There were comfortable chairs and even a bookshelf. Not just any bookshelf, one built into the wall. "Like my man-cave?" said a voice. "I'm Zsdfgxlg." Fred froze in terror. "Oh don't diddly worry. I'll take a form that is comfortable to your human meat-space mind." Fred turns around. There is a human, sort of. Big overbite. Pasty yellow skin. Brown hair, glasses, an abomination of fur that passed for a mustache. A thick green bulging carapace over it's torso and arms. And below, two vaguely grey extensions, the color of weathered tombstones.
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11/4/2017 10:17:11 PM
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