Jiro had learned something else in the hectic little fight: goblin didn't taste that good. Oh, it was an easy--if somewhat slow compared to the way warriors were going about it--method of putting the little bastards down. Pin, bite. No more goblin, and their attempts to stop it were pitiful, no more than light scratches from that angle. Yes, she was quite happy to be on the side slaying the goblins, not opposing the warrior whose movement she could barely track. But they still tasted bad. Edible--overcooked, despite being blatantly raw, and stringy was her opinion--if needed but not something to seek out. 

Long-term survival would probably be hard looking like a bloodstained monster, and eating the goblins wouldn't help... with the fighting dying down, common sense was reasserting itself, and the dragon shuffled back towards the musician and... well, stood up, for want of a better word.

"So, I guess the music is as strange to you as [i]that[/i] is to me?"

Damn it, the blood hadn't gone away. At least her clothes seemed to be immune to staining... were they even clothes? Or were they just the scales in a different guise?