So I was wondering… what if there was a bright red button in a dungeon. This would take place in a fantasy world and I wouldn’t really describe it as medieval, but there is magic, swords, elves – all that pizzazz. This party of four, in particular, are traversing the dungeon as they usually do – fighting skeletons, beating up slimes, taking precautionary actions against potential booby traps and most importantly, searching for treasure! How else are they going to make a living?  In this world, dungeons are littered all across the world, and although this kind of thing would be feared, it became the main source of jobs and income. The Guild would need people to explore and discover dungeons and people to collect the goods from it. Of course, it would be up to the higher ranking members to do the former, while it was up to the lower ranking members to the latter. Which is exactly what this party is doing now. Except, they have encountered something in the Rank E dungeon (the lowest rank) that isn’t normally here, thus, sparking a moment of excitement in their mundane lives. It was also part of their greed that if they didn’t report this first to the Guild. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to take credit of this new alarmingly red discovery. However, as strong – ahem – …. seasoned? poorly seasoned dungeoneers, they did not forget the basics of livelihood. First, the halfling of the group, senses if there are any traps with his better-than-average hearing and nose, a normal nose.  He motions to his party with a thumbs-up, saying that, “Yeah it’s just an ordinary room, I don’t smell gunpowder or anything unusual. Could be traps though.” The Swordsman, determined to carry “knightly” duty, decides to take it upon himself to check for traps… by throwing his goddamn sword. The mage, after decking the swordsman, concentrates and gathers her wisdom, in search of an answer of what this disturbingly red thing could possibly be. She presumes it to be something of demonic origins because of its blood red color. Incapable of finding the answer with her own knowledge, she prays to her goddess, Google, for the answer. “Oh… I see. This thing is what people of that world call… a butt-on.” The halfling voices out a complaint, asking if it were pronounced the same way as a “button-on-a-shirt button” because he knows many others who have once pronounced it that way (including himself). In the end, they settled on the pronunciation, “but-tawn”. Whoever watching these four right now would probably be having a good laugh at their turmoil. I say this as a shrouded figure in an unnervingly blank, white room laughs boisterously. After understanding that this red “but-tawn” wasn’t like at all a “button-on-a-shirt button”, they fully step into the room towards the red button for further investigation. Although they aren’t entirely sure what Google meant, a “but-tawn” apparently involved a downwards motion, so the biggest of the four, the resident pretty-big friendly giant, wielding a sword twice of the halfling’s height, brandished said sword and began to swing it down, in a way one would chop vegetables, but horribly wrong. The mage manages to stop him in time with a movement debuff, explaining that it could mean a simple tap. With a single finger, she taps the “but-tawn”, but nothing happens. The swordsman, watching closely from behind the begins to fidget in place, fighting a sudden compulsion to slam his hand on the red “but-tawn”. The halfling, unable to even see the “but-tawn”, stares dully at the swordsman’s twitching hand, wondering how in the world did they pass him as a swordsman. While the pretty-big friendly giant’s sword still is in motion, slowly but surely, towards its final destination, the red “but-tawn”. “Maybe I should tap it a little bit harder? More taps?” mumbled the mage. Hearing this, the swordsman awakens from his stupor and yells out, “I CAN DO HARDER!”, slamming his hand onto the red “but-tawn”, and releasing all anger and frustrations accumulated in the seventeen years of his life. They successfully “press” the “but-tawn”. The four of them now stand in the room, notwithstanding the fact that the pretty-big friendly giant is still in motion, they wait for something  – anything – to happen. A minute passes and the halfling speaks up, “So – “, but is immediately cut off by the sound of popping followed by tiny pieces of colorful paper raining over them as a sort of screen rolls down in front of them. A message appears and the mage hesitantly reads it aloud, “Congratulations. You now know what a button is.” The other two are speechless, although the halfling still can’t see for Google’s sake! Someone give him a stool or something! The mage reads the second message that appears, “By the way, it’s pronounced – “. Or at least attempts to because the second she tries, she’s interrupted by an earsplitting CLANK by the pretty-big friendly giant, which was in actuality his giant sword clashing against the button and the metal it was encased in. The message disappears and the screen rolls back and up into the ceiling, leaving as quickly as it came. The tiny pieces of colorful paper are still scattered around them, a reminder of what had just occurred. The four of them, although the kinda-big friendly giant is a bit clueless as to what they experienced, walk lifelessly, excluding the kinda-big friendly giant, and report what they had discovered in that Rank E dungeon to the Guild, which eventually coins any button-y objects as a “but-tawn”. The four now seasoned dungeoneers vow to never utter a single word relating to that event ever again. But from time to time, the swordsman uses a miniature,  commercially manufactured button as a stress reliever.