Trinx sat in front of the chipped, cracked mirror brushing her long blue-black hair. Vibrant streaks of cerulean and magenta added fun highlights. The goblin crafted two separate braids, each holding all three colors. Braids always brought generous tips from the patrons of The Arsonist’s Tender.

Now for the makeup. Trinx applied an olive-green foundation liberally over her entire face. She never had much facial hair growth, but even when shaved smooth, a shadow would often form by the end of the day. The concealer blended in well with her skin.

While Trinx worked on her transformation, music from a box spelled with the latest hits played via an amplification rune. Her favorite song from the Elven artist Serenya Dawnwhisper filled the room.

Whispers of the woodland, echoes in the night,

Tales of love and legends, shining in the light.

Yes, Trinx was a Whispie. Both she and her friend Quilka adored Serenya. Not that they could attend a concert. They wouldn’t allow Goblins anywhere near an Elven event, even if Serenya seemed like a person who would embrace all her fans. They couldn’t stop her from loving the music, though.

While the tune played, she brushed dusky rose eyeshadow on her eyelids. An elixir, Vash’s Extreme Lashes, added the perfect length. The goblin outlined her pouty lips with a crimson pencil and smeared a lush coat of ruby-red gloss on. With an audible smack, Trinx kissed at the mirror and stood up.

She smoothed out the chocolate-brown dress. The tavern uniform looked stylish and complemented the goblin’s olive-green skin. Full sleeves for her arms and dark tights on her legs covered the unsightly black hair that grew thick on her limbs. She had tried shaving it, and still did occasionally. The bare skin would look and feel so right. But it was much too difficult to keep up with. Better to just wear concealing outfits.

Trinx adjusted the pouches she had tucked in a simple black bra. It turns out, scoops from a recently killed gelatinous cube, mimic breasts with a desirable perkiness and the right amount of gravity induced droop to look believable. As long as Trinx kept any probing hands above the clothing, most wouldn’t realize the difference. The would-be breasts even bounced slightly with her steps as she walked.

The daily transformation was complete. Deciding she looked bombastic, she glanced at the clock and let out a curse. She’d done it again. All wrapped up in making herself presentable. Time had lost all meaning like it often does. How is it that minutes and hours can slip through her fingers without notice? Trinx tapped the music box to silence it and raced out the door of her pocket-sized room.

She flung herself into the network of tunnels that made up the home warren of the Chubug extended clan. Many of the Highfolk commonly believe goblins and other Wildfolk to be savage creatures–only a step above beasts. As such, they tend to assume they live in filthy cave systems. In fact, most tribes pride themselves on the diligent upkeep of the tunnels they use as their homes. The stone walkway Trinx hustled her way through this morning was free of debris and swept clean of dirt. The six-centimeter heels on her pumps clicked frantically, nearly drowned out by the buzz of the surrounding crowd.

One idea the Highfolk guessed correctly about Goblins was the fact that they do indeed breed faster than rabbits. Of course, they weren’t that wrong with relation to the savageness, at least with the ferocity they waged war and pillaged. The community ebbed and flowed as raiders died and newborns replaced them. Sometimes it seemed like the entire population of the clan crowded into the tunnels every time Trinx left home. They surrounded her and made it a chore to travel any distance. She did not need this today.

She pulled the iron re-enforced door open and entered The Arsonist’s Tender, an aptly named tavern. On more than one occasion, a powder keg of aggression would explode as heated arguments erupted between drunken patrons. At this hour, few goblins filled the seats of the currently calm room. Trinx had no trouble spotting the scowl Gristle shot her from behind the counter. The door to the kitchen opened and Quilka popped her head out, waving her arms to beckon Trinx to the back-of-house.

Needing no further excuse to duck out of Gristle’s glare, she hustled into the kitchen. Quilka rolled her eyes in exasperation and asked, “How can you be late again? Here, I made you some tea. Just the way you like it.” A steaming mug of Dragonroot with the perfect amount of milk, landed in her hands.

Trinx answered, “I–”

“No. It’s not like I didn’t know you would be late. You almost always are. That’s why the tea is still pretty hot. Drink up and then let’s get to work.”

Trinx took a sip and put it on the counter. She’d nurse on it throughout her shift. At least until she forgot about it, and it became the first of several cups in her daily beverage graveyard. Flashing a shameful grin, she said, “Thanks! You’re the best.”

The chronically late goblin noted the specials scrawled on the chalkboard above the prep stations and gave a friendly wave to Brizla, the old cook. Trinx slipped back out to the main room to check on the patrons. She didn’t notice Quilka’s flushed cheeks as she left. There would be time for gossiping and catching up on the latest over their pre-dinner-rush meal break.

“Not so fast,” Gristle said. Stopping her before she could pass the bar. The older hob sat on a stool, waving her to him with his sole remaining arm. Losing the left in a raid led him down the path to running this tavern. “You can’t keep doing this, Trinxy. Granted. Tis usually slow in the mornin’. Not fair to Q, though, is it? She’s yer friend. Gonna hafta dock ya a silver.”

Breath rushed through her slightly parted lips, and she waved her hand, swatting the issue away like an annoying fly. She said, “I know. I know. Feel bad enough as it is without the pay cut. She even made me tea. Now let me just see what folks need.” She left him looking after her with a shake of his head.

Most of the tables in the room were empty. Only a couple of smaller ones had guests. The space had a warmth though, with the crackling fire in the corner hearth and the frosted lanterns hung from the ceiling with chains. At the end of each day, everyone tidied up. Gristle never let the staff leave until the room looked clean.

Trinx walked through the quiet tavern. This early it was always calm. Even if a bard planned on playing today, they wouldn’t be in until the dinner rush or later when people would do more drinking than eating. It made it easy to hear the snippets of conversation as she approached the first table. Two goblins sat talking and stuffing their mouths with fried root vegetables.

“You notice the moon last night? Bigger than I’ve seen in a while. Bright too,” one of them said.

“I’m not blind. Course I saw it. I’s in the same hunt group you were. Word is the grammas are sayin’ we been pleasing the forest spirits. Figure s’why we landed that rockhorn last night,” the other answered and crammed another wedge of potato in his mouth, despite his puffy cheeks.

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Trinx seized the pause in the conversation and asked with a smile, “Everything good? Either of you need anything else right now?”

The goblin with slightly less food in his mouth nodded and said, “Yeah. We good. Right?” He directed the question at his companion, who waved a finger at his mug. “Oh yeah. Good point. Couple more beers. Drinking the house ale.”

She said, “Of course.” Flashing two fingers to Gristle, she moved to the next table.

A goblin at the next two-top looked away from his buddy and asked, “Settle a bet for us, Trinx?”

She smirked and said, “Sure, why not? What’s the prop?”

The gob (was his name Glink?) continued, grinning ear-to-ear. “Which of us?” He motioned, waving his hand back and forth between him and his companion. “Which of us you tink Quilka is more likely to uh–” He made a filthy gesture with his fingers and looked expectantly for an answer, failing to suppress a sharp snort of laughter.

Trinx took a moment to step back and made an exaggerated show of appraising them. She ran her eyes up and down, head to toe, one after the other. Finally, she said to probably-Glink, “It’s a tough call. If I had to guess, it’s a toss up between your buddy there and the dire rat that’s been skulking in the cellar. Honestly, I’d say the rat’s in the lead.”

The goblins she had just finished checking on at the prior table burst into laughter when they overheard the conversation. Over their snorts, cackles, and whoops, his buddy excitedly clapped his hands and said, “See, Glink! I told ya! Course she wants me more’n you.”

Glink waved a dismissive hand and said, “Shuddap, Zurt! Ya didn’t win. The filthy rat won. Bets off.”

“Psshhh. Whatever. Yer still buying the next round. Two more,” Zurt said, motioning to the mugs. “What’s to eat? Meat ready yet?”

“Too early for meat. Root veggie medley is warm and should tide you for a bit,” Trinx answered.

Glink said, “That’s fine. We each’ll take a dish of ‘em. Make sure ya splits the tab down the middle. Not buying him nuthin’.”

She swung by the bar and picked up the four mugs of ale Gristle had waiting on a tray for her. Trinx dropped off one pair with the first two goblins and the second with Glink and Zurt. She took the empties into the back.

“You have a couple of admirers out there, Q. Don’t worry. Told him that filthy critter in the cellar has a better chance with you,” she announced on her way to the sink to drop off the mugs.

Quilka giggled and said, “Thanks! You’re not wrong. Though I have my eyes set on someone better than the rat.”

Trinx caught Brizla’s attention and said, “Need two plates of the medley.”

The cook humphed. “Sure. Sure. Here it is.” She ladled a heap of roasted vegetables in two shallow bowls and pushed them across the counter.

Slipping the dishes onto a tray, Trinx headed back out. It took only a moment before she returned and stationed herself at the sink to make headway on the mound of dirty mugs, plates, and bowls. She scrubbed at the crockery with a wiry brush under a weak stream of water from the faucet. Quilka stood a couple of meters away, prepping more vegetables and cuts of meat.

Trinx’s mind wandered as her hands automatically moved in familiar patterns. It drifted down dark passageways and stumbled on curious thoughts. A memory snuck up on her, then shrank away back into a difficult to reach nook. Nervous fetters tried to bind her mind as she considered the coming meeting with the review board. They failed to catch hold, and she slipped free of the whirlpool, waiting to drag her down into a cavern of what-ifs and dread.

A soft voice in the background said, “Trinx”.

“Trinx,” it repeated. Louder this time. The sound wiggling into the maze of her thoughts.

“Trrrinxxx!!” Quilka yelled and reached over to shut off the water. The last cry yanked the daydreaming goblin from her mind’s meanderings. Her eyes again focusing. “Geez! How many times are you going to scrub that dish? I’m pretty sure it’s clean by now. If there is anything left of it, that is.”

“Oh!” Trinx said. “Sorry, I guess I was thinking about something.” She straightened up the dishes she had finished washing and dried them before placing them into stacks on the shelves.

“I never would have guessed,” Q playfully admonished. “I thought we lost you there. What in the world were you so wrapped up in?”

“Um,” Trinx started, then stopped, sheepishly shrugging. “I guess I don’t know?”

Quilka laughed and pat her on the back. She gave an involuntary flinch and hoped with all her heart Q hadn’t felt it. It seemed she hadn’t noticed, or at least didn’t visibly react.

“I’ll finish these up and check on folks. Unless you already did recently?” Trinx asked.

Her friend said, “Yeah, that would be good. Haven’t been out of the kitchen. Just been working food prep and doing a little thinking myself.”

Trinx put the last of the clean dishes up, grabbed an empty tray, and ducked out of the kitchen to check on the guests. No one new had come in, which wasn’t surprising. The dinner rush would be soon descend on the inn. She enjoyed the idea of doing a quick cleanup and having a meal with Quilka.

Glink and Zurt sat nursing a couple of ales that Gristle must have served them. They chatted about various bits of nonsense. Cracking crude jokes, they took turns punching each other to make the punchlines literally hit harder. They needed nothing else for now, so she simply loaded their dishes on her tray.

The other two goblins had pulled out a deck of cards, and whatever game they played had them engrossed. They had moved all their empty plates and mugs to the floor. Grimacing, she squatted down and collected them onto her tray. After fetching them a fresh set of ales, she returned to the kitchen to scrub some more.

Trinx started washing her latest set of dishes and Quilka said with a grin, “Don’t get lost again on this batch. Brizla will have our pre-dinner meal ready by the time you finish them.”

“For sure, Q. Keeping my head in the game,” she said. She meant it too. Really, she always meant to keep focused. Sometimes it was out of her control.

Brizla set out two plates of food on the small staff table. Tonight they would serve roast rockhorn with the root vegetable medley, now enhanced with some onions, peppers, and assorted spices. She ladled a thick gravy over the slice of meat and wedged a rye grain roll into the pile of veggies.

She made another plate up and took it out for Gristle. Brizla rarely fixed an entire meal for herself. Instead, her style of cooking often involved a good deal of sampling. She constantly checked on the spice level and flavor profile, snatching bits of meat and vegetables throughout the evening.

Trinx placed the last dried dish on the shelf and sat down with Quilka. “Thanks again for the tea earlier. I realize now I only had a few sips, but it was a nice way to start off the shift.”

Q gave her a warm smile, then her mouth twisted up into a smirk. “Figured you could use it. You’ve been out of sorts. Late more than usual. Daydreaming with the dishes. I dunno know, maybe not too much more, but seems a little off is all. What’s been going on?”

Trinx fidgeted with her fork, poking at a hunk of potato. “Just nervous I guess. I have the review meeting coming up. Last time they said no because I didn’t have a steady job.”

“But you fixed that now! You work here and I’m sure even grumpy, old Gristle would let them know you do great work,” Quilka said.

“Yeah. I know. They can’t complain about that this time,” Trinx said, then put a small piece of rockhorn smeared with gravy in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “I figure they’ll have some other reason. I think they can’t figure out why I want to adopt a whelp.”

Q laughed lightly and said, “Well, they aren’t the only ones. I don’t get it either. You’re young. You don’t need to get strapped down by a child. But I know that’s what you want. I like that about you. Once you decide to focus on something, you make it happen. I’m sure they’ll see that too and grant you permission.”

Quilka was great that way. She was always encouraging, and she never probed asking why Trinx didn’t wait to find a hardy mate and have kids of her own. Surviving that conversation would take a complicated set of skills. Yes. It was wonderful she didn’t question her in that direction.

Instead, she continued a different way, not as tough, but delicate to dance through. “What about your family? You think your parents could help?”

Trinx dipped a piece of the roll in her dwindling pool of gravy. The rye spice paired well with it as she chewed. “Pretty sure my parents spend most of their time mourning my dead brother. He never came back from a raid during his training. They’ll probably try to birth another son or two. Probably hope to get lucky and produce a hob with better chances of surviving in the raids and battles.”

“They still have you, though, don’t they?” Q pressed.

Trinx shook her head. “I am sure they never think about me.”

Her last statement hung in the air while they both continued finishing their meal. Then Quilka perked up. “I know! I’ll help you pick out the perfect outfit. It will be hard for the board to say no if you look fabulous.”