Lots of them.

My "otherworld" was for twenty years a ghastly, dark dungeon - home to a disgusting pervert claiming to be the ghost of the German poet Schiller, a great big cat with very sharp claws and lots of them (my mama lion. ah, she was all right really) and us lot - dungeon brats. Two rival gangs. Yes, we had some good times. Especially the way we could knock each other flat and not really suffer any actual injury, as such. I miss that.

I know the place has been tidied up a bit. And we're allowed in the castle now. And Schiller is well behind bars. Calypso, that manky sop, visits him and reads aloud to him. Don't ask.\