The Drug Opera .2.
Relic re-emerged, brow fret-sawed into puzzle pieces. "Looks like all those gillies up and ankled, right in the middle of supper. Nanty left but finked chairs and sullied silverware."
His kin gathered around him, four eager mouths prattling variations of: "Ours, then?"
"Aya, aya. 'less the proprietrix decides to reappear, anyway."
A fete of grins, uplifted eyebrows, squealing and clapping hands.
"Tail up, fellows!" They formed an anxious queue and filed inside, Antic patting Whimsy's behind to a snickering reception.
Whispers of awe stirred the stale air inside. The pub was broad and barren, occupied only by scattered tables, chairs, a deserted bar and several splintered support beams stretching to the orbiting rafters. An overlook hung precariously about the room's entire circumference; the tavern's wide and rickety foretoken grin. They spread apart, exploring the space without a word exchanged betwixt them until, with a cunning grin, Antic breathed into the silence, "Strike up."