[Lush]

Leninia had to cut her ritual bath short.

"Insufferable nincomoops...Or is it nicopumps? Nickypups? Nincko..." She muttered whilst attendants dried off her famously tiny, yet lucious body. "Never mind. Regardless, the timing is terrible. Don't they realize how expensive my spa treatments are? Blood of the innocents is extremely hard to come by! Why, the other week the only so-called innocent they were able to net had some cheap garter on her leg and was staggering away from a cardboard wedding chapel off some highway in..."

"I get it, Mother, I get it," The Entish Guitar interrupted rudely (not to mention bravely, for interrupting Leninia often had unpleasant consequences). "Admit it, you're glad that they are fashionably late. You had an enromous amount of time on your hands to be a lazy wench. Betting on Puke basketball, firing good talk-show hosts [here the Entish Guitar chuckled derisively] in obviously politically unmotivated decisions, hoarding over-priced jewerly, and..."

"Oops, Mommy did it again," Leninia cooed affectionally as she scooped E.G. in her arms. "Am I making little E.G. upset with my silly rambling? Oh darling, don't think twice, it's all right, I'm only kidding."

One had to congratulate Leninia on her foresight. Each step the Itship took in the direction of Marrow Bones Studio was loosening her tight little grip on the Entish Guitar's mind. This was not a time to get petty over the Entish Guitar's tom-foolery.

And anyway, the waiting is the hardest part, and it was almost over.

Leninia clutched the E.G. as she trotted along to her main offices, wondering what to wear for her guests, briefly toying with the idea of wearing her (expensive) birthday suit, yet ultimately deciding that this was not that kind of roleplay.

Noting that this season green was in, and wisely deciding to remind her fashion-conscious gamers of this fact, Leninia threw on a gown of muted lime.

"What's this, Mother? A belated homage to the latest late Mr. Leninia?" The E.G. blurted.

"Yes, this was John Lemmon's favourite colour," Leninia sighed.

"Too bad the relationship went so sour, so fast," the E.G. laughed un-merrily.

"Oh, shut...I mean, shush, my darling," Leninia put a pretty little finger to her lips. "Our victi...I mean, guests, are approaching."

The entrance to Marrow Bones Studio, a gothic-style mansion made entirely out of black marble (oddly reminiscent of Disney's Haunted Mansion, minus the long line of sweating tourists with fanny-packs, whom Leninia had all turned into newts), was not, to put it mildly, a lively place, and neither did the establishment have anything to do with saving the lives of cancer patients, a disappointed Merisuwyniel quickly discovered as she rode up to it.

"Oh, this looks nothing like a hospital. And I was hoping to play a good, not to mention good-looking samaritan," she mused, whilst twirling a lock of hair about her finger fetchingly.

"Someone ought to sue them for false advertising," an eager Kuruharan piped in.

"Perhaps it is a second-hand eatery," Pimpi piped up hopefully.

"Quoi?" Read Earnur's suspiciously blood-shot eyes.

"A restaurant," Pimpi persisted. "For the poor. Where you get to eat left-overs. Like the bones. Marrow Bones, get it? I mean...If you can get second-hand designer bags, why not second-hand designer food? I mean...Ok...Oh, stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" Vogonwë inquired delicately.

"Like all I care for in the world is food!" Pimpi said, almost tearfully now.

"You could care for nothing at all, for all I care, as long as you take care to let me care for you," Vogonwë declared romantically, whilst others took care not to vomit on their shoes.

"Charming," the practical Kuruharan was the first to recover. "Shall we be on our way now? I've got a bad feeling about this place. Although it could be just my headache. Or maybe my colic. Or maybe I don't like the colour black much. Either, way, isn't it about time we...?"

"No," Merisu interrupted him, her gorgeous face a mask of resolve. "My heart tells me we should knock."

"Perhaps you're confusing the word 'knock' with 'walk', as in 'walk away'"? Kuruharan asked hopefully.

"My heart is very clear on the matter," Merisu insisted, placing her left hand on her heaving bosom in a most distracting sort of fashion, and her right hand on the door.

The door, having been coached by its demanding mistress, swung open by itself, creaking loudly and annoyingly. Earnur swore later that the creaking sound was actually the door saying "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" at super-speed and in reverse. Not that he did anything about it at the time, naturally.

The hapless travellers stepped into what appeared to be a huge, lavishly decorated hall, which rapidly began to fill up with soap bubbles.

"Idiots!" A disemboided voice screeched from somewhere above. "Wrong button!"

After a few moments of confusion which Chrysophylax spent cheerfully chasing the remaining bubbles, the hall began to fill up with the thickest, coldest, and dreariest fog that a vintage fog-machine can buy.

Just as Kuruharan opened his mouth, presumably to declare "I told you so," a siren-like song reached our party's ears.

"A trap!" Merisu thought quickly. "Too bad I left my bikini-waxing kit behind somewhere. We could all use something to plug our ears with right about now. "

The song, meanwhile, went on. Its lyrics are reproduced here without permission. The author swears that a law-suit won't net much of value besides a leather handbag and pink underpants. *ahem* On with the song:

Gold be tooth, toilet, and sink
and gold be your checkcard too, I think;
never more buy things on sale,
never, 'till your careers fail.
In the bank your sales shall lie,
Billboard ratings soar sky-high;
'till I have sucked you dry,
'till your bosoms have withered and the fans say bye bye.

And with that most seductive rendition, Leninia the Deceivingly Little slid down the banister of her winding staircase, her magic umbrella open, the Entish Guitar lying in her lap like a pathetic chihuaha.

The Itship stood, unable to move, frozen in place either by the song, or by the weird (and possibly illegal) chemicals in the fog, or both.

"Don't look so confused," the Entish Guitar sighed a sigh of derision. "She's an impresario. A modern-day thrall. You sign your contract and work for her until she's had enough of you and you end up a balding has-been on celebrity thumb-war, or something."

"E.G. here has a funny way of representing me," Leninia's gorgeous voice hissed out of her coral lips. "But at least it's a perfectly concise piece of wood. No need for small-talk, darlings. You walked into my studio out of your own free will, and now you must face the consequences of your curoisity. I consider fiddling contests to be unfashionable in this day and age, so how about we go for a sing-off? The terms and conditions are simple: one of you will volunteer for a singing competition with yours truly, after we find an impartial judge. Win, and you walk away unscathed, maybe even with a gift or two. Lose, and I get your souls."

"Just our souls and nothing else?" Orogarn Two piped up with relief. The others glared at him most unfavourably, and he fell silent.

"Do we get to choose our gift?" Merisu asked very boldly for someone literally frozen to the floor she stood on, her eyes staring at the Entish Guitar in the same manner a cop might stare at a doughnut, if cops existed back in those noble days.

"Only if you find out how to break her spell," The Entish Guitar sighed. "Which, to be perfectly frank, is about as probable as that dragon over there turning into a kitten."

Here Chrysophylax valinatly attempted a meow that made the wall shake and Leninia explode in dainty paroxysms of bemused laughter.

"Ah, let's not get ahead of ourselves" she declared brightly. "Now off to my basem...er, dungeon with you. For now."

Leninia swung her magic umbrella, the handle with the head of a poodle pointed at our heroes' feet, and the floor dropped out from underneath them.