Obligatory reminder that he’s basically The Godfather, but a Goblin.
Copyright
J.B. Norman
Leader of one of the most feared and successful mercenary companies in Realmgard, the veteran Goblin warrior known to all but his most trusted confidants and his own family as Boss Virrad has spent the morning hearing the petitions brought him by his guests.
For a man of honor does not refuse a request made to him on the day his daughter is to be married.
The old Goblin gravely regards the three interlopers in his study.
Dunstana waves happily back at him as Annie and Ginger hide behind her. Despite being barely shorter than the veteran Goblin, Annie and Ginger are overawed by his lofty and fearsome reputation, and also strangers in general. While Dunstana is just happy to be the tall one, for once.
“You come to me,” he says wearily, and maybe just a touch indignantly, “on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding. And you say to me, Oh, Boss Virrad, please buy cookies from us for money. For, you see, the financial situation of the Municipal Art Galley of Porthaven is most dire.”
“Yeah,” Dunstana agrees with a nod. “Pretty much. How many do you want?”
“You come to me, a lover of the fine arts, on this, on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding, knowing that I would feel compelled to aid the Art Gallery I love so dearly,” Boss Virrad continues.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dunstana says. “We just happened to be going around the neighbourhood, and we say your house and it’s, like, eight miles wide, so we figured you must be rich and you could afford to buy so many Art Gallery cookies.”
“Look,” Dunstana says. “You some cookies, or not? We don’t have all day, and you’re, like, all business on your daughter’s wedding! This is the happiest day of her life, you should be spending it with her!”
“Thank you!” Boss Virrad’s daughter interjects from the couch at the side of the room, where she’s spent the morning being all but ignored.
“Ginger’s Mom and Dad baked this cookies themselves,” Dunstana continues, “and they’re pretty much the best bakers in Porthaven!”
As Boss Virrad’s gaze falls on her Ginger squeaks in distress and tries to hide more of herself behind Dunstana.
Boss Virrad sighs again and gravely regards the three girls again.
“Those ones there,” he asks, pointing with a bony, gnarled finger. “Are those raisins, or chocolate chips? Because I would not suffer you coming to me, on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding, to sell me raisin cookies.”
“No, they’re chocolate chips,” Dunstana assures him. “Nobody likes raisins in cookies.”
“I like raisins in cookies,” one of Boss Virrad’s underlings, the pleasantly-named Jimmy the Person-Stomper, mutters.
“Very well,” Boss Virrad says. He snaps his fingers and one of his underlings places his wallet in his outstretched hand. For the sake of the Municipal Art Galley of Porthaven, I shall purchase the cookies you offer to me for money, on this…”
“Dad! Stop talking like that!”
“… the day of …”
“Dad! Everybody in Porthaven knows it’s the day of your daughter’s wedding! You don’t need to keep saying it!”
“…my daughter’s wedding.”
“Ugh,” Boss Virrad’s daughter mutters. “I’m moving in with my husband’s family…”
Note to self: next time he shows up, have him eat an orange…
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