A Really Small House...

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Except it's not! It's one of those weird moments where you are in a house that looks absolutely teeny on the outside, but lavishly furnished and decorated on the inside. It's got secret passages that make no kind of sense, and with every turn the room changes behind your back. Don't get lost!

"I'll try..." I said. I closed my eyes, thought of a flame thrower, and instantly there was... WAS...
another pickle.
"WHAT THE HECK?" I screamed, throwing it on the ground, stomping on it, then grinding it with my shoe.

"NOOOO! You just killed Gerald Harold Fitzgerald!" I say to Amy.

"WHAT HAVE I DONE?!" I screamed, then shrugged. "I can always make another one. But... not now." Even making pickles gets impossibly hard even after two.

I looked at the dragon. "I can't decide whether to avenge Arnold Shmarnold McDarnold," Then I turn to her. "or Gerald Harold Fitzgerald." I scowl.

"Avenge Arnold! Avenge Arnold!" I say hurriedly. "He died a much more painful death?" I suggest. "Or... at least it wasn't as.... uh..... deadly a death..."

"YOU brought Arnold into existence just so he could be roasted like an overdone marshmallow!" I lunged at her.

I raced to the side. "I didn't mean for him to be roasted!" I explained. "It just HAPPENED."

I growled. I was about to race at her again, but then the dragon slammed its tail in between us and grunted. When we looked up at it, it pointed to itself and gave Amy a battle ax and gave me a mace.
"I wanted a flamethrower!" I whined. It rolled its eyes and gave me one. I cackled like the little maniac I was.

"It's a dragon," I pointed out. "It can BREATHE fire." But it was probably pointless to point that out. Pointless to point that out.... wow, that makes so much sense... but then I remembered, oh, yeah! We're about to fight a dragon! Huh.

"Oh yeah! We were about to fight a dragon, weren't we?" I grinned and twirled my mace.

I nodded, clumsily hefting the battle ax over my shoulder and stumbling under its weight. I set it on the ground. "I think I'll try something else." I closed my eyes. NOTAPICKLENOTAPICKLENOTAPICKLE!!!
In my hand was a small sack full of forks.
I shrugged. "Oh well. Better than nothing."

I fired my flamethrower. No effect. I fired it again. No effect. I fired it at the forks for some reason and they started glowing.

"MY FORKS!" I screamed. "What did you DO to them?!" I dropped the bag and they scattered everywhere on the floor.

"I dunno. They're probably just really really hot."

I slipped my hand into the thick leather bag and carefully grabbed one of the forks. I could feel its warmth through the bag. Squinting my eyes shut, I yelled and chucked the fork towards the dragon aimlessly.

The dragon roared in pain, firing fireballs at the ceiling. It gave us a thumbs up as it roared. Programmed games are weird.

I glanced at my hand, still in the bag, and nodded. "Cool. Forks are a great weapon, I guess."

I fire the flamethrower at random, still hooting and cackling.

"I really don't think that'll do much..." I keep carefully picking up forks and lobbing them in random directions.

A fork hit my toe and I yelped.

"Uh... sorry." I apologized sheepishly, making a note to aim better.

I scowled and continued firing the flamethrower at the dragon. The dragon roared at Amy and swiped a claw in her direction.

I screamed and ducked, hurling forks like a madwoman, not even caring that they were burning my hand like hot potatoes. I rolled away, screaming still.

Suddenly the dragon exploded in a fiery... fireball.

"Did we do it?" I asked, laying like a lump on the floor.