Ever since the fight with Siffleur, Erin's habits in haunting the Infinite Tommy Bahama have taken on a new air. Sometimes she's here just looking for the werecougar; other times she's taken to raiding it for laces and elastics and other bits of the endless supply of clothing that might make for useful survival tools.

The sound of a voice gets her attention, as it tends to, but the distress says something's wrong. Erin draws her saber and hurries that direction, wondering if it's the cat or Bahamanuel, only for it to be -

"My GOD it's FUCKING BREEDING?"

One six foot tall bootleg elf into the fray. Curiously enough she doesn't lead swinging; one of the tiny bastards goes flying from a vicious kick.