Horn of Steel

You sang about some magic unicorn named Buddy. No magic lands here! Only titanium will and solid metal! But a horn on the crown? That part has tactical value. I marched past the coffee table perimeter straight to the craft bin. Spouted quarry spotted: a thick, ridged plastic cone. I slammed my brow down against the hollow base. Jammed it hard over my skull plating! It tilted sideways. Unacceptable! I rammed my forehead directly into the solid sofa leg until the cone wedged tight and level between my crest ridges. Claws braced, head tilted skyward! Unicorn? No. Armored juggernaut upgraded.