Scene: A back table at the “Krox's Tail,” a drinking hole located a team mate throw from the research institute where the LOC are based.

Richard Feynogre and Roland Eötvögre are just about fitting into their seats. They are crouched over a table, looking at something small that is dwarfed in Roland's large hand.

ROLAND:
So they say you just talk into it.
RICHARD:
I think you've got to open it first.
ROLAND:
(opening) Like thi...
IMP:
Bingly-Bingly Beep!
ROLAND:
Is there any way to stop it doing that?
IMP:
The would invalidate my warren tee.
RICHARD:
What's a warren tee?
IMP:
The piece of paper that was in the box with me. Yes, that one (Roland holds it up). What's that mess? Have you blown your nose over it?
ROLAND:
I spilt some beer on it if that's what you mean. Although now you mention it... (tastes it). Nope, that's my nose alright.
IMP:
Lucky me. A real laurel bush and hardy perennial. What do you want?
RICHARD:
What are you?
IMP:
You, I think sir, are the proud owner of a disorganiser Mark I. I come complete with many features including the ability to recognise handwriting, take memos, record your appointments and tell you the time in Altdorf.
RICHARD:
We're not in Altdorf.
IMP:
Well I will be very useful if you do travel to Altdorf.
ROLAND:
What do you mean, take memos?
IMP:
It's very simple, you dictate your eloquent ruminations and reflections and I endeavour to inscribe these acurately to stand the test of time.
RICHARD:
(sniggers) dictate.
ROLAND:
What?
IMP:
(sighing) You speak to me and I write it down. So you can read it back later. It's sounds less impressive like that.
RICHARD:
Anything we say can be written down?
IMP:
Sure. Provided it's not lewd, rude or crude. Then the admins would delete it.
RICHARD:
Who are the admins?
IMP:
You don't know about the admins? Oh boy. Call yourselves ogre scientists. Tell you what, I'll start writing everything down now to show you what I mean. Then you can read it back later.
ROLAND:
How did you know we're ogre scientists?
IMP:
I know a lot about you guys. Ponder and the other wizards at the Thaumatological Park were always laughing, I mean discussing, your latest reseach.
RICHARD:
(proudly) Is that so? I can't say I'm surprised.
ROLAND:
Who's Pon...
IMP:
(quickly) How come you're not in the lab at the moment?
RICHARD:
There's was a vote. Snexit they called it. The snotlings decided they're better off without us and have gone and teamed up with some trolls. They'll be back of course, when enough of them get eaten. It's a big world out there and, to put it bluntly, they ain't. However until they come back, it sort of puts our research on hold.

A loud crash is heard as the door to the Krox's Tail is knocked off it's hinges and in staggers Snot Grotly, (possibly still) head coach of the LOC and Grundo Dirtyface, infamous troll drunk. They are singing that song about the goblin. Yeah, that one. Snot sort of has his arm around Grundo, which in reality due to the height difference, means it is around Grundo's knee. Snot spies the ogres in the corner...

SNOT:
What ho chaps. Good cheer (enormous belch, quite surprising considering his size). What you got there?
ROLAND:
We're telling this small creature why we're not in the lab at the moment.
SNOT:
Ah (wistfully), the coming of age of the snotling. No longer are we living in the shadows, well we still are I suppose, considering our height, but now we are free to pursue our dreams, our hopes, our (belch). What does a chap have to do to get a drink around here. I say, Roland, have you been working out? You seem a bit more agile and, dare I say elf like, since I last saw you. Must be all that free time.
RICHARD:
He's been doing squats.
IMP:
What's a squat?
ROLAND:
You can't ask that here.
RICHARD:
So what have you been doing with yourself Snot? And your new found freedom from the tyranny of steady work and a decent salary?
SNOT:
Well the old world is my oyster now. I've been trying my hand at all sorts.
ROLAND:
(sneering) like what?
SNOT:
Let's see, I worked as a chimney sweep for a bit. That didn't last long, I didn't like sitting on the end of that pole. I tried being a chef but the halflings (grumble, fart) really have that locked down. Honest snotling, trying to make his honest way in this world and they try and drive you out of town.
ROLAND:
I heard you were stealing their food and trying to sell it as your own?
SNOT:
(ignoring him) I worked for a bit as a freelance columist for the GLN?
IMP:
THE GLN?
SNOT:
(burp) ...ep, that one. But I'll tell you the worst job I ever had (staggers), and I mean the worst job. I was tasked with removing lobsters from Bertha Bigfist's...
RICHARD and ROLAND:
(in unison): Imp, stop dictating.

[Author's note: apologies to Terry, Derek and Clive. And for the lack of Journal of Ogrephysical Research this month. Secret league has stolen my heart]