Sometime in the middle of winter. For some reason I'm of the mindset that I was in or near the town of Rainy Mountain. There was a science fiction convention being held in a turn-of-the-twentieth-century building. Outside was mostly brick with decorative bits, floor to ceiling windows with balconies bearing wrought iron guard rails. Inside the rooms were a subdued dark yellow, everything had dark stained wood trim while the furniture harkened to that period. I'm in a corner by a window doing something on my elderly laptop.

raddidge comes in and is effusive about the events downstairs at the convention in addition to the games, panels and how she met some author or another whose name didn't survive the rigors of waking. Eventually she drags me into the hallway which is lined with convention goers. They're all dressed in black, the fashion seems more formal than functional (i.e. the slimming properties of #000000) and all heads turn to me once I'm in the hallway. raddidge laughs at me and pulls me by the wrist down the hallway past the assembled fandom.

At the end of the hallway is a big thronelike chair. Hardly gaudy, just a plain wooden chair which reminded me of Old Sparky. Unfortunately for you there were no straps or electrodes nor was I subjected to electrical torture. I sat down and raddidge did something to my face. When she handed me a mirror I saw the results of her labor. My face was a sallow green, like a corpse. She had removed my front teeth and my upper and lower canines became remarkably pronounced jutting out like the tusks of a boar.

She thought it was the funniest thing ever, her laughter becoming more convulsive when I asked why she turned me into an orc. I chased her out of the building and got in my car. Snowfall had become heavier so I idled my way back home. When I parked in the driveway, something I never do in waking life, I had a feeling that I had forgotten something important. On the hood of the car, under a patch of ice and snow was a small yellow labrador puppy. He was unresponsive when I prodded his exposed bits. Fortunately yanking the poor guy from his icy tomb woke him up. I clutched the pup against me, scrunching up in the hopes of radiating more heat while apologizing to the little dog.

Now I believe the pup was a holdover from a previous, vaguely remembered dream.