You were getting up from the Ravenclaw table the morning after your stint as a shirtless Santa (for which the SSOO thanks you) when exclamations filled the Great Hall.
A group of dwarfs clad in pointed red hats and green elf tunics gleefully pranced over, each holding a small pouch.
"A share of the proceeds for your troubles! Generously negotiated by one Mr Sallow.” One announced in a croaky voice. They scrambled into formation: a circle around you and started pelting you with coins.
An especially eager elf-dwarf tried clambering up your legs to stuff his Knuts into your waistband. "Thank you for your service," he squeaked. Once the coins have run out, a final one lobbed a juicy, red tomato at you because, well, as with all performances and shows, one has both admirers and critics.
Andrew took a moment to stretch as he rose, twisting his torso with a long sigh. All of his feverous dance moves from the previous day's activity had left him a little sore in certain areas. He felt he was sore too often for his liking these days...
Dwarfs.... coming towards him? He lets out an exasperated sigh as he watches them approach. What was he? Snow White?
Andrew barely has time to react to hearing Sallow's name before he is pelted with the coins, he makes a move to shield himself before cursing and making a move to snatch one of the dwarves up by his suspenders, lifting him up into the air so they are face to face
Before he can do anything slightly more threatening, there is ANOTHER one crawling up his leg. Like a nightmare come to life, Montrose looks down in complete indignation as the coins go straight into his waistband.
"Didn't even have to dance for that one, hm?" He grits menacingly through his teeth in warning, shooting a look of death at the little elf-dwarf. The small thing squeaks, getting the hint and jumping off Montrose's thigh before he's turned into an elf-dwarf pie.
Montrose reminds himself he's holding the other dwarf just as the sight of a red, round, missile is flying towards him.
He doesn't miss a beat before he swings the dwarf in front of him, using him as a shield to protect himself from the juicy red devil otherwise known as tomatoes. His worst enemy.
The dwarf kicks in protest as the tomato lands with a SPLAT against him, and Montrose finally deigns to put him back on the ground, whilst grumbling.
"Quite the charitable bastard, isn't he? Please give Sallow my thanks."
