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. "This is my good
friend, Woodrow... I'm sorry, I don't know your last
name."
"Ath-Banard," the young human mumbled. He ex-
tended his hand awkwardly to the baroness, who ig-
nored it.
This time Gisella coughed behind them and pushed her
way forward. "Oh, yes," said Tas, "this is --"
"Gisella Hornslager," the dwarf announced herself,
locking eyes with the baroness. There were only two
things Gisella liked better than a contest of wit and will,
and those were making money and a good roll in the hay.
Since business was going down the sewer fast and the ap-
petizing baron had turned out to be milquetoast, she de-
cided to channel her energy into a good catfight with the
baroness. The ugly, sour-faced old matron obviously
wore the pants in the family, Gisella thought to herself.
Rubbing her hands with glee, she fell in behind everyone
else as the group followed the baron into the dining
room.
The evening passed very uncomfortably for everyone
but Gisella, as the two women passed barbs across the
dining table, the game table, and finally the sitting room.
All the while the mighty baron squirmed and fidgeted
like a beetle in a birdcage.
"You really must tell me where you do your dress
shopping, Baroness," Gisella gushed, shoveling straw-
berry tart into her mouth. "I find men-leering all the time
so annoying, don't you?" She smiled into the matronly
dwarf's face. "Anyway, I think some dull, drab, high-
necked dresses like yours might help, though I'm certain
they won't be able to hide my obvious attributes
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