Chapter Thirteen
~
Hale pointed at the blue signs listing the exit’s options. “There’s an orc diner.”
“Stinkin’ spicy,” I said.
“Ya’re a wuss,” Hale countered.
“Servings are small.”
“Why Papa orders three meals,” Hale said.
I was shakin’ my head, but when my stinkin’ brother gets somethin’ in his head it’s hard to shake it out of his brain basket. But I could try. “Prefer barbecue.”
“You eat barbecue every day. You’re a straight, unimaginative line struck by the most borin’ straight edge in the world.”
“Don’t eat barbecue every day. And I’ve been told I have a great imagination.”
Hale shot me a glance. “Ya’ve never, not eaten barbecue. And whoever told ya that is a fool and an idiot. Hope they don’t drive, ’cause they’d be a menace to society.”
I opened my mouth to counterattack, but he wasn’t done.
“Just ’cause Mama and the Commons cooks don’t use a grill, doesn’t mean the meat ya eat isn’t barbecue. They cook for ogres. Know a proper ogre isn’t gonna touch a piece of meat that doesn’t look like it was charred over a fire.”
“I hate ya,” I told him.
“Orc.”
“Fine.”
Forty seconds later we learned the orc place was closed for remodelin’, and a serious pout flowed over Hale’s face. I almost lost it laughin’ my rose-colored ogre-troll butt off. Hale’s not much for showin’ his feelin’s. I sensed a lot of it was just embarrassment. Served ’im right.
I pulled into a Continental-style and thought Hale might cry. What’s his trouble? He could choose between goblin or human here. Not that it would necessarily be authentic.
Inside, an orc waitress seated us in a giant section. Not that the unmixed variety is odd. Guess it’s easier for the staff in a lot of ways, and maybe lets servers more familiar with a style of food help their guests better. I kinda prefer when we’re all mixed together. I like to watch folk, folk of all flavors. Easier if they aren’t a hundred yards away.
“Giant, or continental menu?” she asked.
I said giant. Hale, continental. I got a tiny red menu, Hale a much larger white one.
Then the orc hen ’bout blew my mind. “You guys are Bele and Hale?”
I know my mouth hung agape. I looked at Hale. He was studyin’ her as though she sat wavin’ at ’im under a microscope.
She gave us a phish. “You’ve been all over the Internet. Besides, Papa just last night talked about you headin’ for the hoedown.”
All over the Internet? Okay, maybe one jerk reporter mentioned us headin’ for TIT at thirteen, like that’s a big deal. But—I don’t spend a lick on-line. So what do I know. The Birs clan does get a lot of attention. Mostly Aunt Nuel. She’s our lightenin’ rod.
“Ya don’t speak with a Southern accent,” Hale said. Speakin’ to a stranger again. Very weird. I guess I’d never get ’im to shut up now. Besides, the accent’s less Southern than non-human. As an accent, we mostly just talk slower. Though I’ve been told humans think we sound like yokels. I think it’s mostly the giant pronouns that make us sound—unique. Which is clearly wrong—orcs in the Hamlet use them too.
She shot Hale an enormous smile, not timid about showin’ off her orc, needle-sharp teeth. That puts off the human tourists at the Lake. “Papa says I act like I’m too good for the family.” She laughed. “Got into the habit after a year backpackin’ up North.
“Ya traveled up North?” we both, sorta gushed.
She waved a loose hand at us. “Humans aren’t intimidated by us orcs.” She made a tiny face, implyin’ a concession was comin’. “A lot of them still ticked off at ogres and trolls though.” She shrugged. “To drink?”
“Sweet tea,” we both answered.
I noted Hale followed her progress up the aisle. Takin’ a second look, I noticed she didn’t wear the longer, shin-length skirt typical for them. Still outlandishly colorful, but hit her mid-hamstring. “See somethin’ ya like?”
He turned radish-red. Very endearin’. I told him he didn’t seem to mind when she patted his forearm. He blinked hard. What, he didn’t notice? Maybe it was all the eyelash flashin’ she gave him. Knows how to work a good tip from the bulls.
“Nice figure, huh?” I teased. “That brief skirt, with the tucked in, scarlet blouse, makes her hard to ignore. Dreads are nice and shiny, huh.”
He studied his menu hard now. Wow. An awareness struck me that embarrassed me a little. This shouldn’t be new to me. Of course. Hale has always been more open with orcs than any other. Funny. To think about it, Papa’s always acted more comfortable around them too. Maybe not a coincidence the entire staff is orc. Except for the old troll that works security, when Papa holds functions in the other wing.
~
Hale
~
Don’t know why she had to make a big deal about me enjoyin’ the ambiance of our gorgeous server. She teases me so much sometimes, it could be considered bullyin’. Maybe I should tell her that.
A lot of my attention, to be fair, was the little orc’s time up North. Might be enlightenin’, hearin’ her thoughts about—
“I’m havin’ the Ogre Platter,” Bele announced.
“That’s a startlin’ anomaly.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m gonna give her my phone number,” I said. “Ya know, so we can ask her about, uh, her time up North.”
“And she’s just a puddle hopper away, if ya wanna invite her to a concert or somethin’.”
“Shut up.”
“In all fairness, she is cute,” Bele said.
“It’s for background,” I stressed.
“Uh huh.” Not a lie, but yep, not the full story.
Good thin’. An ogre-troll romance is one thin’. In no situation could I see a seven-foot-tall ogre-troll, four-foot-tall orc relationship ever—well, workin’ out. That’s too bad. If a bull and a hen like each other, no matter, it should be okay.
She returned and took our orders, smiles still radiatin’ my way. I kept my eyes down—mostly. But, bein’ so short, her generous bazoombas layered about even with our tabletop. Midway she maybe noticed my attitude had changed, and her demeanor chilled, significantly. I’m not totally incompetent in readin’ an attitude, just not good at it. My chest vibrated. Guilt? Had I led her on, inappropriately. Not like anything was ever gonna be. Stupid thinkin’.
After she left, Bele apologized. I kept my eyes down.
“Really. I’m sorry,” Bele said. “I teased. I shouldn’ta. I was—just taken unexpected-like, a bit, ya showin’ interest. Not somethin’—I’ve ever seen ya do before. And here I go makin’ a thin’ about it. I was out of line. Forgive me?”
I looked up and tears pooled.
“Dragon pooh,” she hissed, and hurried to dab her eyes dry with her napkin. “Did I mess up my makeup?”
“Really bad,” I said. Didn’t really. But she deserved it.
A second later she laughed. “Ya liar.” I’m definitely gonna hate her majic.
When our orc server returned, Bele explained in painful detail that she’d teased me about fancyin’ her. Thought my ears were gonna explode. Dumb siblin’ went on and on. Blast her. Even explained I wanted to talk to her about her experiences North. Like I couldn’t do that.
“Ya fancy me, huh?” she asked. Not sure what she was doin’ with her face. Maybe I should ask my stupid siblin’. The pretty orc hen told me to give her my phone. I was so frozen in shock there was no denyin’ her, with Bele studyin’ me like one of her biology doodads. The hen took enough time with my phone to take over every account I’ve got. My skin crawled. After leavin’ the table givin’ me a long, pretty smile, I checked my recent texts, which was still open. To a Beky. Said, “Look forward to hearing from you.”
“She enter herself in yar contacts?” Bele asked me.
She must have. Otherwise my text wouldn’ta had her name on it.
“Did I make up for teasin’ ya?”
I’m not good at makin’ a face fit a mood, but I worked at givin’ her an angry motif. No clue if it worked. But she smiled. So maybe not.
After we finished, Bele grabbed our check, but I left a gold Continental for a tip. Was that wrong? Would she take it—badly? Couldn’t guess how it might come across. Didn’t want it to be as though I tried to buy her friendship. As an arrogant—
In fairness, Papa often leaves what Mama would call an exorbitant tip, when he appreciates the service. Funny, that Papa is otherwise as frugal as a muskrat with twenty younglings.
~
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