In the hazy mist just before dawn, a goblin-ish sort of creature creeped from their hiding spot, ears twitching and half-folded from the earth-shaking snoring of the fat lumps of monsters strewn around the room, still clutching the final bites of the previous night's feast.
Guffin was a little stiff from the night in the cabinet, and a little queasy from the amount of junk food, but not above pocketing a generous amount of breakfast from the heaped and scattered leftovers. Fed and rested, they were much more confident in their abilities to get Lady Harriet out of whatever nonsense she had managed to get into while unattended, rather than attempting to find her in the dripping darkness on an empty stomach with exhausted eyes that wouldn't quite focus and a tongue good for nothing but swallowing, instead of negotiating. Their clothes were nearly as stiff as their muscles; dried strangely from the rain, and caked in cauldron grease drippings from the feast, but that was a problem for later.
Fat Pickens lay dark and quiet, but a parade of joggers could be seen in the early light, winding around the streets of Slim Pickens like a sad, scrawny parade running for its life. The goblin beast couldn't quite guess which one might be Harriet, but she would likely be near the back - the Pickens waifs were surprisingly fast, and even faster up close.
Still a bit queasy, Guffin darted through the shadows as the sun creeped upward, making to intercept the parade sooner or later. Their toes slipped and slid on the streets; both the stones and the toes covered with a film of cooking grease and slimy rainwater. The bridge troll snored, a bit more gently than the Fat Pickens Fat Burger patrons, against one side of the stone arch, and Guffin slipped past with softer sounds than the river below, undisturbed.
Wheezing for her life in a huddle of still strangely motivational Slim Pickens waifs, Harriet became aware out of the corners of her eyes of Something following behind. Either she was exerted enough to start hallucinating, or Guffin had finally decided to show up.
And about bloody time, too, she thought to herself.
The shadow scuttled and scurried, but almost never got any closer, and was careful to stay out of sight, for another painful and tiring four street crossings, until the parade of joggers was alongside the river, approaching the bridge.
"GROSS, A GOBLIN!" someone shouted up ahead.
Something came slipping and sliding with the splat-splat-splat of greasy toes on cobblestone, ducking and weaving through the joggers, just to land with a terrifying amount of force directly in Harriet's midsection. Before she could come up with a single thing to say or do, or even wheeze in another breath, the pair were flying through the air directly towards the river.
With an impressive splash, everything went dark and cold for Guffin and Harriet. And the residents of Slim Pickens turned away, and went back to their morning routine, without a single care in the world. After all, the only good goblin is a fat goblin who stays on their own side of the river, and the guest could choose her own company in her own time.