Hooray, hooray, the first of May! The bat forgot their shades when maypoling and so flits back into the Tavern, squeaking ultrasonically about belts and tains and all... with a slight headache. Totally worth it. A hot whiskey and a glass of ice, please. The ice goes into a recently-emptied-of-white-widow, or maybe -sour-diesel, baggie for the back of the bat's neck, aaah.

All better, the bat flits over to hang upside down above the musicians, warbling sonically in their deepest possible voice, slightly above a human prepubescent treble. Despite their large, flat nose, their harmonies are not too nasal, so the musicians don't mind...

Requests! Shouts the harpist, knocking back a large bloody mary. Sure and have ye not anything ye'll be wanting to hear?