“Right then,” snarls a puce-faced ogre of a man, after drinking the last crumbs from a bag of roast beef Monster Munch, “the dog or the spoon?”. And sure enough, there in front of him, on the battered plasterer’s table that serves as his desk, is a blurrily-painted porcelain dog statuette, and a bent tablespoon. If you give the big man a quid, he’ll throw them into a bin, and replace them from a big cardboard box of slightly less upsetting boot-fair detritus. But you’ve only got 50p, so you choose the dog.
That counts as a Beast, right? you think to yourself, anxiously, as a faceless figure in riot gear bursts into the shipping container you’re obliged to refer to as “the shop”, and hauls you back out into the sunlight. You are, in the same metaphorical fashion as in this post from last week, playing Hearthstone‘s Battlegrounds mode.
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