Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 36
~

Ezra, draggin’ Thomas and Kriz along with her—quite the interestin’ collection of tagalongs—strolled in a bit before visitin’ hours was over. Couldn’t decide if she wore a pensive, or panicked expression. We ogres rely on the tenor of our growl more than our face to pass along emotions.

Papa gave up his chair quickly, said he was off for a cup of tea and a leg stretch. As Thomas mostly did the greetin’, Kriz settled in Papa’s chair without a hey or a nod. Face in his lap, he worked at his phone. Looked up a moment later with his own confused expression—that one we can discern.

Took me only a sec to figger out. He didn’t hear my phone ping—he’d texted me. I explained my doctors stole my phone. He growled, a frustrated, deep one. Made me curious what he texted me. Would he try speakin’? My imagination suggested he wanted me to know he had no idea why Ezra dragged him here, or why Thomas was with em.

“Surprised David isn’t with ya,” I got in after an interminable blather from Thomas. That human has more words than he was fairly dealt.

Ezra explained David had gone out with folks from OW for a bucket of ale. “Suggested he needed a cozier environment to build a better rapport with his peers. Don’t think they think of him as a peer.” She growled a chuckle.

“Not to Lew’s I hope.” That’s all we need for more drama.

“Prolly only place he wouldn’t get carded,” she suggested. Added everyone else in the Valley knows he’s my buddy, thus must be underage too.

Never fails to irritate me that I can drink legally north of the Range. My OW folk aren’t evil, much, they’d prolly take him to the sandwich shop on Birs Boulevard. They serve a pitcher of three-point-five lager on the back patio. A drink for the Northern summer birds—a liquid ya can hold up in a glass and still read the newspaper through. The average ogre would spit out that awful swill. What most call dirty-dish detergent. Prolly use it to get the bugs off their truck’s grill.

After no more than five minutes, Ezra clearly had enough small talk, went at shooin’ Thomas and Kriz out of the room. Hissed she needed to talk privately with me. When she said that, Kriz turned back around and plopped his skinny ogre butt back in Papa’s chair. Gave Ezra a try-it look. She growled. He growled. There’s really no arguin’ with Kriz.

“I’m out of here,” Thomas said. Maybe the growlin’ ran intimidatin’ for a human.

“Fine,” Ezra growled at Kriz. “But ya share this with any of yar favorite idjit fool-friends—”

“Ya have any friends?” I asked Kriz. He shook his head.

Ezra stepped near, thighs pressed against my bed, leaned even nearer, eyes twitchin’ at the door four or five times—guess to ensure no one was lingerin’ about.

“Mama sat me down for a talk this afternoon,” she whispered. “At the Inn. Didn’t wait for me to come home. She’d visited the South Shore shrine earlier. My mama. Asked direction from the gods.”

“That ain’t all that out there,” I suggested. My cuz seemed a bit freaked out. “I’ve had a conversation with em now and then.”

“Only ’cause ya passed by the shrine on a hike,” she growled. “Ya didn’t search the gods out in a quandary.”

“Have too,” I argued. She called me a liar. Which was rude. I exchanged looks with Kriz. He shook his head hard, as in, don’t bring me into that argument.

“So—what—she need—from—the gods?” Kriz growled.

She summarized their conversation succinctly, prolly. She’s good at cuttin’ ten words down to two. Kriz only snorted a couple times.

My jaw may have hung open durin’ much of her explanation. But after she turned quiet for a bit, I considered Aunt Tizir’s behavior wasn’t all that weird for her. That hen is a bit out there on an average day. If way timid for an ogre hen. She was prolly one of those who smoked the funny weed in the park with her antisocial geek friends, when she was at university.

“And?” Kriz asked after a bit.

“And what?” She shared her first glance at Kriz. Maybe an irritated one. Turned back to me. “What am I sposed to do with that?”

“Well.” I paused for longer than I’m prolly known for takin’ to collect my thoughts. Since maybe, my mind was flyin’ all over the place. I have my own conflict baked into Thomas’ presence. And my brain prolly isn’t at its best, currently.

“Ya racists—” Kriz said, I think joltin’ both of us. “Makin’ way—more—of this—than—it—deserves.” Think he had to rest after gettin’ that out. “Get—over—yar—drama.”

~ Ezra ~

Kriz never has had a nice word to share about any human I think he’s ever crossed paths. Especially David. And the past week, Thomas.

But then, communicatin’—usually by text—with even Ike and me, he’s never been very generous in suggestin’ he cares much for us. To be honest.

I maybe continued to glare at him. He gave me a growl that suggested he was done with the subject. Stood, impatient-like, and strode out of the room. I guess he decided he’d prefer Thomas’ company in the waitin’ room. Though he’d prolly be writin’ some code or something on his phone. He does more on his phone than most folk do with—nothing came to mind, for a good analogy.

I turned back to Ike, as the soft flap of Kriz’ footsteps faded. Maybe there were some clacks. The bull maybe oughta trim his toenails. I’d try to remember to suggest that—he’s not great at takin’ care of his personal hygiene on his own. And, he’d never eat if one of us didn’t lead him to food. I blinked at Ike a couple times. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Just a shrug. That’s all I get,” I hissed.

“This is all new to me too,” he said. Figger its more ’cause his brain is currently a little rattled.

“Should I have set my mama straight, or should I be askin’ ya to uninvite Thomas and send him home?”

“I think officially he’s Daze’s guest now. Besides, ya’re the one cavortin’ around with the human. I never suggested ya create a social crisis. Every holiday I’ve brought a human up to enjoy the Valley. Don’t know why. But it seemed like the thing to do. Who knew it was gonna be Thomas to send ya over the edge.”

A human? Had only been David up to now. I growled deep enough I didn’t need to say anything, but I did. “That was the crassest thing I’ve ever heard ya say. I ought to give ya a brand new brain bleed on the other side of yar head. Surprised the doctor-folk didn’t turn yar idjit ogre butt in the air to go lookin’ for yar brain.”

“My papa said something like that,” he said.

Of course Uncle Bliar would say something like that. Maybe I should go to him for his opinion. Direction. But as council leader, and my clan leader, would he be provoked to suggest what was better for the ogre world, than for me? He surely would be conflicted. For different reasons than I am.

Uncle Bliar has a real brain encased above his shoulders. He wouldn’t just shrug, or go talk to the gods. Not that I’m suggestin’ the latter is a bad thing—in case the gods are listenin’ in on my thoughts. Which god would smite me, if one leaned to doing such a thing?

We ogres believe in too many gods. Every week, way back, they musta come up with ten new ones. There’s a book in the library that lists em all by name and quirk. Was once required readin’, I think someone told me once. Not since Mama ever sent me off to the community school with Ike and Kriz. I wonder if Kriz ever read it. He reads about as much as me, but prolly not bodice grippers.

Durin’ that train of thought, Ike didn’t raise any more ideas, so I gave him another shrill growl, and headed for the door to pick up Thomas and Kriz.

Met Uncle about halfway down the hall, and growled at him. He stopped in his tracks and gave me a particular look, but didn’t stop me, so I kept walkin’.

He was prolly wonderin’ how he upset the hen. Rule number one, the bulls say, never upset an ogre hen. They’re all jerks. Rude. Thoughtless. Ignoramuses.

~