It had to happen. Every member of "Little Pebbles" demanded their parents buy them a plush 3' tall unicorn.
And, as it is written that pester power shall always triumph, they headed to the Beaker Bazaar and shelled out their 90 quids to buy the mythological soft toys.
And they headed into the Moot House, to join the unicorns of assorted gender, and binary or non-binary self-identification, pan-sexual, same-sexual and asexual as the choice moved them. Many of them just identified as "unicorns".
So many unicorns, indeed, that the Moot House filled with unicorns. No space for anything but unicorns. None of us could get in there. The Moot House was full of plushness. Where, we wondered, could we go from here? How could the Moot House be more unicorn or plusher?
And then Maygray wandered down the Corridor of Uncertainty into the Moot House door, and shoved one more unicorn into the mix. Just one more plush unicorn.
What could possibly happen?