I shrugged, momentarily satisfied.
“Enough questions, little tasty one,” the black mass said, long roiling tentacles seething back and forth as they rolled across the bed.
I pulled on a lamp cord and dragged the rectangle glass lamp down to the floor; it broke in my hand, cutting me a bit across the palm. But all I needed was the long tube inside, anyway.
I wiped my blood on the copper piping, looking over my handiwork, glancing up at the black mass of tentacles ever so often. My face, I hoped, was reminiscent of Murphy when she rage cleans her guns.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time, you Cthulhu reject,” I said, scratching spells into the bloodied plastic casing around the copper with my fingernails, “Name. Quest. Average flight velocity of a swallow. You know the drill. I’m the Black Knight and the Guy at the Bridge, and you are?”
Gurgles of thick laughter erupted over the black thing, making its slimy, oozing surface shine and glop upward in little sprays of dark liquid.
“Little mortal! I was hiding in that treant! I drove it mad. I drove it to find you!”
The moment my brain started humming the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, it seemed somehow inappropriate for the Mood. But it was On.
The tentacle thing rose up from the bed like a vortex of black slimy arms and teeth, and all of that went gunning for my head, clicking and clacking and coming together and apart again in a spinning funnel.