Sitting at the swim-up bar at eleven o'clock in the morning the next day I have to check my hearing. Between sips of coconut juice, I ask, "Rokaci, let me see if I understand you. You want to close down the Celestial Cafe and have the inn host the mythical equivalent of a Tupperware party?"
"PLEASE." The wyvern sucks whitish liquid through a straw. "Tupperware? You insult me. The M.O.S.A.I.C. is the first and only gathering of mythical artifact vendors in the world. Mythical Object Sellers Alliance Interdimensional Conference."
I raise my eyebrows. "A trade show."
"Yes, so we won't overtax your limited human brain."
"Ha ha ha. Have your heard from Corvuz, the guy who tried to--"
Rokaci spits fire. "Corvuz? Never heard of him. That name is so foreign to me. Certainly he's not blacklisted by MOSAIC and every self-respecting wyvern of my acquaintance."
"Okay, well, if you don't hear from him, could you NOT pass along the message that he's dead meat if I ever see his slimy hide?"
