Without further explanation, Jocular swept away in a flurry of cape and fangs leaving them in the capable hands of Toofer (if those hands belonged to a ravening serial killer in a spectacularly bad mood who'd just stubbed his toe on the corner of his sofa that is, and we all know how much that hurts. In fact it's enough to make you want to kill someone. N.B. To any policemen who may be reading this. Not all people who injure themselves on an item of furniture turn into serial murderers, in the same way that not all serial murderers go around slaughtering armchairs. Hang on, that's not right. Fred West was always tripping over young girls. Or was he killing elaborately decorated coffee tables? No, that's not right either. Or is it? I'm confused now. Anyway, Mr. Plod, you're going to have to
