Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 18
~

My attorney prolly would have told me it was a bad idea to drive over to Daze’s home. As that maybe could be considered an inappropriate confrontation, or some kind of nonsense like that. As though a little ogre could intimidate an almost nine foot tall troll.

His mate opened the door, and gave me a glare. Not evil-like, like an ogre hen might, but not inviting. After a good pause, she said, “Just a sec,” in Trollish, and walked away without invitin’ me in. So the expression was indeed not-invitin’.

Daze appeared three seconds later. Why didn’t he just answer the door? Like he couldn’t see my truck out his window?

He held two thirty-ounce bottles of lager. But he walked past me without even greetin’ me. I followed, ’cause I’m flexible. There was a rough-hewed picnic-like table sittin’ around the corner. He crossed to the far side and sat. Set one of the bottles across from him, in invitation. So I sat. For someone who just quit, he was being relatively friendly. So maybe I’d learn what he was up to without havin’ to ask a whole lot of questions.

I settled in. The troll-height of the bench meant the wood cut into my hamstrings a bit. But I wouldn’t complain. Not like he was gonna hunt down an ogre-sized chair for me.

He hit his lager, so I opened my bottle and followed his lead. I wouldn’t have to tell Papa—he prolly knows I imbibe now and then, socially—the council needs to raise the drinkin’ age in the Range. The sun was settin’ good, and the shadows darkenin’. The croakin’ from a nearby creek filled the air. Pleasant as ya’d expect for a late May day in the Range. I should enjoy the great outdoors more often. Papa and Uncle Razi are big into hikin’. Surprisin’ they hadn’t roped me into a hike yet, since gettin’ home.

We were hittin’ our beers a third time, me edgin’-surprised the troll hadn’t started talkin’ yet. Troll bulls are not known for being tight-lipped, afterall. Considered yappier than the average ogre hen.

“Ya scared the wee out of yar friend,” he finally said. “I mean, literally. The constable had to take him to yar place to get a fresh pair of jeans.”

Really? Holy moly. My flesh started tinglin’ at my throat and moved up my face. Not a sensation I’ve experienced often. Stink, I wish Daze would look away from me.

I peeled at the label on my bottle. “He here?” I asked.

Daze nodded, and hit his beer again. So I did too. After he took a deep breath, he said, “I offered to put him up, for now. With the eldest moved off to raise his own brood, bed bein’ wasted anyway.” So the human had lucked into a nice hostel.

I nodded. The other day I was wantin’ to kick myself for allowin’ the idjit human to invite himself into my home. Don’t know why him slippin’ away irritated me now. Or was that embarrassment? Not an emotion ogres entertain, often. I would think.

Did I really care about Thomas one way or the other? More concerned about losin’ my grumpy facilities manager. Folk call him a grump, but everyone looks up to him. He’s worked for Grandpapa or another uncle for a hundred years. Prolly Papa at one time.

“Ya should worry more about yar friend than havin’ to find a new employee. That ya don’t, doubles my disrespect for ya, which truly saddens me.”

He could have just punched me in the face, the way everything above my shoulders turned lava-like. But if he’d punched me, there prolly wouldn’t have been a brain case floatin’ above my shoulders. Unless he was incredibly gentle about it.

Occurred to me, I was thinkin’ more about myself than the situation with Thomas. Maybe a character flaw? Or could I claim the situation is natural, considerin’?

I cleared my throat. “Hadn’t ever heard the typical troll cares much about a typical human.”

Daze shook his head, finally dropped his eyes off me, onto, maybe his beer.

Maybe a new flash of heat worked up my face. Maybe I shouldn’ta said that. I expelled some air that prolly had been lingerin’ in my chest overly long.

“Ya’ve been surrounded by humans,” Daze said softly, “up at that fancy plain college yar attendin’. And ya still hold that kind of opinion of them?”

“Maybe because, I’m surrounded by ’em,” I said.

“Don’t be smart with me, ya ignoramus,” he growled, grippin’ his hands into fists.

Oh boy. This wasn’t goin’ well. And I’d ticked off a troll. Don’t anger a troll, is prolly scribed on one of the shrines to one god or another the believers maintain here and there. Can’t help but cross one or two of those shrines on a hike in the Range.

“I apologize for my sarcasm,” I said. “Maybe not good timin’.”

His right fist flexed a little, maybe like it wanted to grab me by the throat. “The only intelligent thing I’ve heard from ya.”

Maybe not the wisest attitude, but I was gettin’ a little tired of his holier than thou demeanor. “I’m tired of bein’ treated like a lesser being, by humans on the plain. Like they have to slow down their speech so I can keep up. Surprised I manage to complete projects. Ace exams. Not just on the plain.”

“And ya’re assumin’ Thomas to be a certain way,” Daze growled, “because he’s a human. He hasn’t meant to incite these idjits around here. He’s sincerely appreciative of yar cousin’s company. Maybe wrongly, thought that would help him fit in.”

“Fit in?” I mumbled. “He couldn’t understand how just being out in the woods with a hen endangered his life?”

“He’s from a different culture,” Daze nearly shouted. “Imagine, a folk that see us as stuck a couple centuries in the past. And no one acts, responds the way he expects.”

“If he held any respect for—”

“Ya’re soundin’ idjioter and idjioter,” Daze growled. “An ogre errs, a peer isn’t gonna shake him by the throat, because, well it’s obvious. But ya think it’s fine to hold yar greater strength over him? Who’s actin’ the fool, doin’ that? Ya wouldn’t treat a goat or a puppy like that.”

Well. That made sense. Though the analogy lacked a bit of context. Maybe. But trolls aren’t known for poetry.

“I know yar papa didn’t raise ya to be a bigot. If ya’re gonna follow in his footsteps, ya need to learn to appreciate all, respect everyone despite how different they may appear. Not like we trolls have always loved the attitude ya stinkin’ ogres exude. But we put up with ya. And yar constant growlin’.”

What’s wrong with our growlin’? It’s our second language. Before Ogrish, maybe. Like trolls don’t growl?

“And yar constant, unendin’ sarcasm,” he added. His face turned with a bit more ire.

Yeah. We’re kinda known for our sarcasm. Easier to be sarcastic than show any other kind of emotion. We’re only truly good with one emotion. Anger.

“Good thing we’re peace-lovin’ creatures,” Daze said.

That drew a hard laugh out of me. Trolls are not known for bein’ peace lovin’, at least historically. Surprised me Daze didn’t smile at his sarcasm. He was bein’ sarcastic, right?

“Or we couldn’t put up with ya,” he concluded, tiltin’ his bottle my way.

“Ya’re more known for talkin’ too much,” I said, “and cheatin’ at checkers.”

“Never played checkers,” he mumbled.

~ Ezra ~

Ticked me off neither Ike nor Thomas responded to my texts. Ike didn’t even answer Kriz, and they pretty much share half a brain. I grabbed my phone to text em again. Checked to ensure I hadn’t missed a ping.

“Just—leave—’em—be—for now,” Kriz murmurred, before bitin’ into the turkey leg he was workin’ on.

“Maybe didn’t—”

He shook his head. “If Ike’s—at Daze’s place. Be havin’—a heady—conversation. Not gonna—interrupt—that—to check—his phone.”

“But Thomas?” I argued.

“Prolly—in the—middle of it,” he said.

We ate a few moments. Felt a bit guilty for finishin’ everything off without Ike or Thomas gettin’ a bite. This was some good, bark-laden beef, if I say so myself.

I wiped my mouth after a bit. “Ya wanna go with?”

“Ya’re not—going—over there,” he said.

“Why aren’t I,” I challenged. He needed to finish off that t-bone so he could text. Conversation would track a bit faster.

He didn’t answer until he finished gnawin’ the last of the meat off its bone. “Ya like—the human—huh?”

“I don’t dis-like him,” I said.

“They’re—really—scrawny.”

“Maybe all the vegetables and starches they eat,” I said.

“No. Think—it’s all—D—N—A.”

I grinned. “Prolly. Why shouldn’t I like him? He’s handsome, for a human. Smart. Witty. Shows interest in me and the Range. Came here without even knowin’ the Birs clan is—ya know. So. It isn’t like he’s a gold digger.”

“We do—intrigue—some humans.”

Intrigue. Interesting word for it.

“What—do,” he growled, wiped his hands a bit more, and grabbed his phone to text. “Yar plans for Thomas? Where’s it goin, ya spose?”

“Not goin’ anywhere. Ya know that. Where could it go?”

“No law an ogre and human can’t be really good friends, or even more. Not like I haven’t heard of an orc hen partnerin’ up with a goblin bull. Sounds bizarre, but it ain’t unheard of. And if a little person and a giant can. Well.”

“Ya’re being idjiotic now,” I said. “I’m not lookin’ to mate up with a human.”

“But ya’ve thought about it.” His face hinted a grin with that text. Maybe my imagination, because the fool isn’t one to display emotion. Except irritation. And anger.

“Ya’re a butthead. Ya know that.” I looked at the time. A conversation with Kriz drags, just a bit. Doesn’t help when he’s goin’ all weird on me.

“So what are ya gonna do to get this community to accept yar friend.”

First of all, he’s Ike’s friend. I’ve just tried to be nice. Second. Why is it my responsibility all of a sudden to drive social change?

Kriz was shakin’ his head, sadly. “Ya’re a Birs. Well respected. If not ya. Who?”

Sometimes havin’ d Birs followin’ my given name is a pain in the shiny ogre butt.

~