Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 19
~

Papa was waitin’ for me when I got home. He was sittin’ at the breakfast bar, so he was definitely waitin’ for me. I’d been beat about the head and shoulders by Daze and hadn’t resolved anything. Kinda foresaw the same happenin’ with Papa.

“Sit,” he said, as I entered the room.

I asked him where Mama was. Late, but still odd she wasn’t here in the kitchen doin’ one thing or another. Maybe I was thinkin’ about my stomach, too. Been a bunch of hours since I last ate.

“She left ya all to me,” he murmured. Didn’t like how he drew out the short word ‘all’, like it deserved six syllables.

“That sposed to intimidate me?” I asked.

He finally looked away from his tea cup, and at me. “She said she was pretty irritated with all the drama occurrin’ in the Valley right now and didn’t wanta lose her temper with ya.”

“Not something I’d look forward to,” I said. “Nothing more dangerous than—”

Papa shook his head. Maybe I should hold back the smart remarks for a bit. Shoulda learned that with Daze.

He asked how it went with the troll, maybe readin’ my mind. I told him, not well. “He used the word disrespect a couple times.”

He hmmed. “Trolls are a bit known for coppin’ an attitude. But we ogres should always endeavor to display more character.” He looked up at me, eyes narrowed a bit. “Ya’re a punk kid, so a wise folk shouldn’t expect a lot from ya. But ya’re a Birs. Folk do expect perfection from us.”

“Punk kid,” I mumbled.

“I was a bit too dismissive of this situation before,” he said. “As a Birs, half the folk will always be mad at us, because they expect so much. Every decision I make as clan leader, council leader, by design will irritate half the folk in the Range. Knowin’ that doesn’t excuse us for the odd—mismanagement—of a situation.”

“Folk are indeed ticked at ya for approvin’ my project.”

He growled, told me not to change the subject. I wised off, of course, claimin’ I didn’t know what the subject was.

We sat still for a bit. I stole a glance into his cup. Prolly had been empty for an hour. Papa is way too patient and calm for an ogre. We do like to stay busy, whether our activity is for a designed purpose or not.

“So Daze didn’t promise to come back,” he stated. “Prolly put enough away to keep him and his mate comfortable for a century, but an odd thing, a troll embracin’ retirement. I’ve known more than a few two-hundred-year-old troll bulls still workin’ granite.”

I snorted, over the retirement comment. Papa shared a half-glance my way, which made me consider his statement a bit more. As a punk kid, maybe I couldn’t see the benefit of sittin’ around without a task to do. What, Daze is maybe only eighty. Has decades of productive years ahead of him.

Grandpapa came to mind. Maybe a hundred. Still sits in a saddle spring and fall movin’ herds here and there to fresh grass. Prolly on the board of a hundred ogre enterprises. Still has conference calls from the saddle. How’d he ever make it to the ranch when he was the clan and council leader?

“So,” Papa said. “Ya got any plans for what ya’re gonna do about the anger over yar project, or the situation with Ezra and Thomas?”

He used his name, not, the human. That was a bit funny. Maybe progress. Maybe ’cause for the moment, he didn’t wanta come across as humanophobic. Not that I’ve ever observed Papa treatin’ a human in a less respectful manner than he does anyone. It’s just a thing we ogres do, I think, minimizin’ lesser folk in private conversation.

“Ya’ve told me a time or two,” I said, “that less is sometimes more.”

He nodded. “Or lazy.”

~ Ezra ~

My phone finally pinged as I walked back to my place. “The Human” displayed on the face of my phone, so I slid the green-thing to answer. Gave him a hey.

“Sorry it took a bit to return your call.” He went on in a weaselly-way claimin’ he had to get his thoughts together or something like that, and wanted to call after he talked to Ike.

I asked him how that conversation went. Enjoyed the crickets cricketin’, my footsteps in the gravel, the otherwise silence of the night, as I waited for him to answer.

“I thought he was going to apologize. Didn’t. Didn’t really say anything. Didn’t say anything about me moving over to Daze’s place—”

“What? Ya moved out of Aunt Karzy’s? That’s rude.”

He was quiet a moment. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Well, he didn’t. Grow a pair, human. Just because a guy’s an ogre, ya gotta stand up to em.” Easy for me to say, maybe.

“Easy for you to say. You probably have a hundred pounds on me.”

Easily more than that, definitely. What a wimp. I actually laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

I ignored that, asked him if he’d eaten. Evidently Daze’s mate put together a nice vegetarian plate for him. Ick. I thought about askin’ him—weird thought—if he wanted to grab a beer. But I needed to be in the kitchen at five o’clock. But for some unexplainable reason, I wanted to see him.

Oh. He asked me a question. What should I tell him? Prolly a good place to lie, not that ogres lie—the gods don’t approve of that kind of nonsense. But we can fabricate a half-truth without darin’ the wrath of one god or another. “Ya think I’m fat, huh?”

The line remained silent a long time. Yeah. Work yar way out of that one, sucker. About that time, I noted a line of shadows flow out of the darker shadows. Big shoulders. Had to be ogre bulls. I slid my phone into my deep skirt pocket to free up my hand. Just in case. Absolutely no reason for a half-dozen bulls to be slinkin’ about outside my home.

~