Fantasyland XI

“We’re clichés and not in a cute way but an unoriginal bad way,” the wizard, whose name happened to be Gary, said perusing the Inn. He was among four souls waiting for Gloria and Carl to arrive.
“I know,” Emma, the group’s token half-elven assassin, added, “look at me,” she stood up, “I might as well be from some kid’s D&D calendar. Who wears a skirt this short on a mission? And my ears look bigger than they should.
“Well at least you are not dressed like a circus freak,” Gary said. “Look at this hat. It doesn’t say ‘stand aside or fear my wrath’, no, it says, ‘this geezer has a floppy pointy hat with stars’.
“And what’s with that Cockney twang,” Emma offered.
“Don’t remind me.”
The pair looked at the end of the table at two silent figures.
“What,” one of them snapped.
“Who are you then?
“We’re the muscle, you know, the simpleton meatheads,” the other purred.
“But you’re Siamese twins.
“Your point?
“Siamese cat twins.
“What of it,” one of the heads said as the other licked their joint nether regions.

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