“Welcome to the SPOGGY NOODLE!” the waitstaff cried as Sir Bellamy walked in.

“Uh, hi,” said Bellamy. “Thanks. Never been to a Spoggy Noodle before. Uh, table for four.”

“It’s SPOGGY NOODLE,” a waiter said. “You have to say it in all caps. Seat yourself and someone will be right with you.”

“Ooookay,” Bellamy said. He took the corner booth, his full plate armor rattling, as Squigs the gobbling roguelet, Harrier the helf cantripist, and Grug the horc heavy metal bard filed into the booth, each taking a menu.

“So…is this a chain?” Bellamy said. “I feel like this is a taven chain, but I’ve never seen a SPOGGY NOODLE before.”

“They used to have a Sproggy Poodle in The Slouch,” said Squig. “But it was more of a dive bar.”

Harrier shrugged. “Lots of taverns want you to think they’re a chain. If they manifest it in their level of service, they think it’ll become real.”

“Grug?” said Bellamy, noticing the horc studying the menu carefully. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll try the groi fas, whatever that is,” said Grug. “Never heard of any of the things they serve before. It’s like someone who once saw a picture of a fast food tavern trying to draw it from memory.”

Bellamy paused, thoughtful. “Hm.”

“Mimics?” Squig said.

“Yea, I’m thinking mimics,” sighed Harrier. “All right, get ready for the booth to try eating us. I’ll get a fireball ready.”

“Shame,” Grug said. “I was looking forward to a meal where we weren’t on the menu.”

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