"Look Severus," Rus says with exaggerated patience, "pick a suitably deserted stretch of beach and sing a few notes or recite a line of poetry and see what happens. You go on from there."
He frowns, staring at the dice. Severus' entertainments are so esoteric as to be incomprehensible. To him, anyway. "Calculating odds?"
"Oh would you please?" Rus begs, not entirely acting. "I'd love some with tea." He raises an eyebrow. "Hot sauce?" He grins. "Why didn't you say so?" he rounds on Alf. "A double order please and they had better be hot!" He glares. Then Rus takes all the darts and amuses himself by throwing them in a hex pattern. Alf just goggles. "NOW!" Rus orders and Alf scurries away.
Uh uh. Closest one I know of is at the airport in Columbus. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! RUN!!!!! Oh my gosh! How can all that voice come out of someone so tiny?!