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“How do I know you’re not a pair of dognappers,” the driver asked suspiciously.
Wilhelmina held up the yapping dog, displaying its bleached tail. “Tinkerbell has the dog flu!” she told him. “I’m Miss Hiltôn’s spiritual advisor, dearie; we’re very close, and she’s given me special instructions to take the poor puppy to the resort hotel where she can see a doctor friend of ours. I knew this would happen, of course,” she added. “It’s been in the stars for months.”
“And who are you?” the driver asked the kamuraorc.
“Uh… just fiwming, siw. Hewe to make suwe Tinkewbeww is tweated pwopewwy.” The orc glanced nervously at Wilhelmina and she nodded ever so slightly. Maybe the orc wasn’t a complete loss.
“Okay, then. I’ll take you to the hotel.” The driver opened the door, and Wilhelmina, the kamuraorc, and Tinkerbell (and Mr. Swanky, deep in the recesses of Wilhelmina’s hat) got inside.
“Thank you, young man.”
“No problem,” he said, getting into the front seat and promptly changing into an orc. “I’ll get you there in no time – I drive fast.”
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