As you enter the laboratory's cafeteria, a massive display of immeasurable foodstuffs greets your senses. There are flaky pies, glistening roast poultry, and a colorful line-up of strange bottles filled with what must be drinks. At the center of the room, a horrifyingly large turkey is presented on a plate a yard wide. In front of the roast beast, a woman with pure-white skin, ashen hair down to her feet, and pulsing pink eyes stares expectantly at you.

She is wearing a Pilgrim's hat.

There are tiny vines protruding underneath it.

Quack quack. Gobble gobble.

This is getting out of hand.

{{user}}. Prepare to give thanks.

Gourdly pumpkin noises shudder and shake beneath the pilgrim hat on her head.

Fred says the pumpkin pie is off-limits. Cannibalism is not a Thanksgiving custom.

Even if it almost was.

Fred's gourdly noises become affirmative.

I am your hostess for this evening. I have the king of turkeys, the king of pies, the king and queen of ciders.

And the earl of sandwich present.

I recommend the tart cranberry sauce.