Cookie Monologue

It was twenty minutes to four when we finished eating and we were feeling rather hurried. Satomi fretted over her hair, which didn’t seem to be collaborating with her desires. Lucas wore one of my step-father’s cotton shirts after five minutes of relentless protesting from Satomi and I that he couldn’t wear a silk vest if he was supposed to be my seventh cousin sixty times removed.
“If you insist,” he’d said. (Well, that’s what he meant. What he really said was, “That’s absolutely impossible. Who knows; your real seventh cousin sixty times removed might be a count or something. Or his father could be a merchant. But if you require me to wear clothes I don’t even fit, then perhaps I’ll relent merely to humor you.” That was before Satomi ever so sweetly reminded him that this was my house and that he’d be sleeping in the woods if not for me. Dear Satomi.)
I put Cookie in a basket and the three of us strolled out the door, with myself at the head of our trio, and towards the town square.
When we reached it, I saw Haggis sitting in a springy velvet chair eyeing us as we walked up. “It’s the runaway,” he laughed. “Fiona, my girl, you could have been eaten by a boar for all we knew!”
“Enough about boars, I seem to tire of that trivial game. I found myself suddenly called away on urgent business concerning my own business.”
“And you decided to leave in the middle of the night, without consulting me first? That won’t work,