“YOU HAVE BEEN SENTENCED TO DEATH!” Botis suddenly screamed, pointing at us.
Donut yowled and jumped in the air, landing all poofed out.
The turntable under our chairs started to slowly spin, moving clockwise.
“Death! Death! Death!” came the shouts from the other goats all in shadow.
“Carl,” Donut said, turning to me, giving up her attempts to maintain her on-air personality. “What in the Jonestown is happening?”
Individual spotlights started shining on the goats surrounding us, turning on and off, illuminating each of the goats in turn in a counterclockwise motion. The goats were of all shapes, though more than half were the large, dark, evil-looking kind. Each time one was illuminated, it croaked out, “Death,” and pointed at us.
“I feel as if we didn’t get a proper chance to defend ourselves,” Donut muttered.
“Do you wish to appeal the death sentence?” Botis asked, waving his arms, suddenly back to his happy, enthusiastic personality.
“Eh, not really,” I said.
“Yes, we do,” Donut said. “Both of us.”
“Very well! Death has been stayed! Now prepare for judgment!”
The turntable stopped, and we sat facing a single smaller goat with red coloring under a blazing spotlight. This one was about four feet tall and the smallest of the lot. He or she wore dark flowing robes. Their hands twiddled nervously.
The goat spent some time examining both me and Donut. It seemed to be seriously contemplating us. Finally, it said in a female voice, “Either may answer. Do you feel your daily foliage input is sufficient?”
“Fucking what?” I asked.
Donut brightened. “Carl clearly has some issues as evidenced by the sheer number of bathroom breaks he takes. I think it’s the fault of his food boxes. They’re broken.”
The goat nodded as if this was the answer she had been expecting.
“I am honored to remove your death sentence. You are welcome to walk amongst the herd.”
“Uh, thank you?” Donut said.
“Do you have any questions for me?” the goat asked.
“Wait, we can ask you questions?” Donut asked.
“Yes. Thank you for the question.”
The table turned to the next goat, who was one of the satanic ones.
This one just growled and said, “The death judgment stands.”
“Rude,” Donut replied.
The next was another of the big ones, but we were deemed worthy. Or at least Donut was.
“Princess Donut, have you given any thought on what three spells you might combine if you were to cast yourWar Crimespell a second time?”
She stiffened. But then she composed herself. “It’ll depend on the circumstances. Nothing is off the table, but I won’t be able to cast it until the twelfth floor. Carl and I must first get through these next two floors.”
The goat nodded.
“So, is it my turn to ask?”
“Yes,” the goat replied, and we moved to the next.