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deep breath and asked, “Must you?”
    Loly said, “I must.”
    “And with me here?”
    “I must,” Loly repeated, then spread her legs apart and rubbed herself in the spot where virtually all of the thirteen-year-old girls in Easterrabbit like to rub themselves. Her mouth opened, her eyes went to half-mast, her breathing quickened, and Magistrate Illinois covered her ears, because she knew what was coming next:
    “Oh my Gods,” she yelled, “bring it, bring it, bring it! Right there! Harder! Now softer! Now faster! Now rounder! Rounder! Rounder! Yes, yes, yes, give me those scallions, you stud! Scallion me like you’ve never scallioned before!”
    After Loly finished (twice), Magistrate Illinois said, “Do you still need me here, ma’am?”
    Flushed, Loly panted, “Give me a minute to recover. That was a good one. Or a good two, I guess.” Once she regained her composure, she complained, “If stupid Vladymyr would’ve tweaked my nipple like I asked, I might’ve gone for a tripleheader. Can you grab my robe?”
    “As you wish, Lolyta.”
    Immediately after Loly donned her garb, there was a harsh knock at the door, so harsh that it caused the walls to shake. Loly and Illinois exchanged nervous glances, after which Loly asked, “Who’s there?”
    No answer—just another knock. Except it was louder.
    This time Magistrate Illinois asked, “Who’s there?”
    Another knock. Even louder.
    Loly pulled her robe tighter, grumbled, “Screw this,” and then wandered over to the door and flung it open. She was greeted by a sight unlike anything she had ever seen.
    Loly looked the creature up and down, taking in his long, oily black hair, his bottomless black eyes, his bulging chest, his toned arms, his flat stomach, his creative facial hair, his four legs, his shaggy tail, and his enormous horse dong. Their eyes met, and after a seemingly endless staring contest, she said, “Ivan Drago, I presume.”
    The manhorse nodded and grunted, “Ooga booga. Unga bunga. Moo moo moo, poo poo poo.”
    She gave him a half grin and said, “That’s easy for you to say, handsome. Why don’t you and your tail come on in here?” As Ivan Drago hopped over the threshold, Lolyta Tornadobutt, Princess of Duckseventually, asked him, “So what’s your stance on nipple pinching?”

JUAN
    Being that he was a jerkoff, Juan Nieve knew he would never be invited to the feast celebrating the arrival of the House Barfonme royal family, but that did not stop him from hovering outside of the castle to get a peek at what many were calling the event of the season … and considering the season lasted a lengthy, yet undetermined, unexplained period of time, that was saying something.
    Normally he was not the type of boy to arrive at an event such as this without asking or being asked, but A) if he did not go, he would have lost one of his few chapters, and a relatively important one at that, as without this chapter, we would not meet another character who will die a painful and surprising death, and B) he was feeling randy, so he figured that rather than stay home, grab a scoop of oily mud, and pleasure himself, he would hang out by the castle and see if his Barker bloodline would impress any unattached young ladies. If that failed, he could always use his adorable direpanda—whom he had named Fourshadow—as chick-bait. And if that failed, he would go home, grab a scoop of oily mud, and pleasure himself.
    Juan positioned himself by the side of the building, peeked through an open window, and found the feast a sight to behold, and a scent to be-smell. The interior and exterior walls of the castle were covered with the banners of the two Houses in attendance—you’re already familiar with the Barker insignia; the Barfonmes were represented by a fluffy black and white kitty cat—and the attendees were dressed in their finest finery. There was enough food on the long tables to feed all of Summerseve: yak with boar sauce, boar with yak sauce,