I never thought myself greedy for collecting what no one else wanted. Disregarded or underestimated things are what I live to harbor. After a long day of being tugged and pushed brutally, I like to retire to me secluded space and sleep in the bounty of my wealth.
But when morning rises, I have no doubt some curious or frustrated persons will come seeking my wisdom. They will consult with me about lost treasures and forgotten valuables, many of which I hoard jealously. But diligent visits to my stores will often give a reward.
I’m overlooked or misunderstood by those who always surround me. I have no adornments or embellishments of beauty and receive no daily polish. But I’m often in use of those who forget me. Where would they be if I were gone?
What work would they have to do!
I squeak under the weight of my heavy load and wait for someone to come. Many pass by my store of surprises but no one stops to look. Oh well, I think. I needn’t share with those who don’t care to find what they have lost.
WHO AM I?
I really like how the scene brings the Roadkill Tavern to life the descriptions of the crowded hall, strange creatures, and Wendell’s confusion make the world feel vivid and immersive. I’m curious though… is the tavern meant to be magical or shifting somehow, since the door suddenly disappears on Wendell?