Mjr. Third, finally having a moment to himself, pulled his harmonica from his pocket. He regarded it a moment with a smile, then began to play the vocal line of a favorite showtune. Occasionally he’d pause to whisper the words to himself, “Ma- ri -a…” He relished this interval; of course it was forbidden in his company, but if he played it in private none would be the wiser.

Or so he thought.

Just as he was about to resolve the chord, an awful whine pierced the air. Whipping around, Third caught sight of an elvish creature up in the rafters, accordion in hand.

“Oh, hello!” the creature called, stopping his racket for a moment. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” He played a bit more, shaking the air with more cacophony.

“What are you doing?!” Third moaned, clasping his hands over his ears.

“What, you don’t like it?” The accordionist tested out a few more notes, to Third’s auditory dismay. “Sounds fine to me. They’re only minor seconds, it’s not like I’m playing my trademark interval or anything.”