Meanwhile, back at the Cantina . . .

Virvel's head rested on her closed fist. Her elbow propped up on the table, her eyes drooped lower and lower until she could hardly keep them open. How could someone possibly be so bored, she wondered. Between her heavy lids, there was still a sliver of green from which she could see, albeit blurrily like looking down into a rippling pond. Two figures were gathered around the table, as well. Zifnab, his red head the only part that Virvel could focus on, sat across from her, but his attention was focused on another man. JW, his hair pulled behind his ears, was grinning uncomfortably. Zifnab, it appeared, was harrassing him to no end.

"It's so boring with most everyone gone," she moaned.

"Bah, it's a Sunday; no one's ever here on Sunday," said Zifnab, turning his attention to the half-asleep form of Virvel. "I've got an idea!" His eyes flashed with childish glee. "Would anyone here like . . ."

Virvel groaned; her head tumbled from her fist and smacked onto the table. She didn't bother lifting it back up.

". . . a song?" finished Zifnab.

There came a wild, primal wail of pain and terror as JW hurled himself out the window shouting, "NO! NOT AGAIN!"

"Sheesh," muttered Zifnab. "No respect, no respect at all."

Virvel giggled, the coercive tendrils of sleep finally finding her and pulling her away.