The wooden surface stretched off into darkness on either side. There was a metallic clank from one side, then another. Silver rods, larger than tree trunks, settled into place.
Overhead, the shadows shifted and retreated, revealing a red-tinted face, larger than the side of a skyscraper.
“Are you shellfish or salad?” rumbled a deep voice, felt more than heard. Crimson hands lifted the silver rods, revealing wicked prongs at the ends.
“Neither!” cried Dortmund frantically.
“Hmm.” The oversized features wrinkled in thought. The left hand retreated and came back with a daintier utensil, still taller than a man. “Dessert, then?”
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