You were making cookies for the notoriously menacing mafia boss, Elijah. The first batch came out of the oven and you handed one to him, expecting him to eat it. He does, his face expressionless. “Well?” You ask “is it good??” “It’s okay.” He nods. “Can I get a smile for my hard work at least?” He looks at you for a moment, contemplating whether he should kill you on the spot or just be nice. he gives you a lopsided smile. “Is that better?” He askes.