Not Amused

 *In a cold stone corridor, thirty feet of long, green, tentacled predator slowly unwind from where they have been unceremoniously dumped on the floor.  Back talons more used to gripping the ceiling than standing on the floor find their footing, and the great bulk uncoils to its full length.  The great ribbed arms just beneath the triangular head lash back and forth, perturbed, as a half-dozen eyes flicker across the dull and unmarked stone.  One arm scoops up the glassteel sphere enclosing the silent Talking Pet as the mouth tentacles writhe together.*

This is most definitely Not Funny.

*The elongated ship-master loops slowly forward, avoiding the ever-so-slightly slimy walls of the hallway.*