Tikki advances. The elf shouts at Adama and darts around to the distant side 
of the table, snatching up another knife, two or three, a handful of knives. 
Tikki doesn’t care about that. She puts her head to the edge of the table. With
a quick snap of her head, the table flips onto its side. The gleaming 
instruments crash to the floor. The elf jumps back. Tikki swats at the table 
with a paw and sends it skidding across the floor to crash against the wall. The 
elf shouts, smelling like panic, and frantically throws the knives. Tikki waits 
for him to finish, then advances. What little injuries the knives inflict scab 
over, heal and vanish even as the last knife clangs to the floor.