An orc. In book-print pajamas. Reciting Hamlet.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?—"
He stops mid-sentence when he sees me standing in his doorway, coffee mug raised like I'm about to brain him with ceramic.
His eyes widen. Actually widen, like he's genuinely surprised to find an angry human woman in his living room at midnight. As if the note-under-the-door thing was supposed to solve everything.
"Ms. Ruiz."
His voice does that thing again, that deep, resonant quality that seems to come from somewhere in his chest rather than his throat. Now I understand why it carries so well through walls.
"Mr.Irontongue." I put emphasis on the title, matching his formal tone. "Lovely evening for Shakespeare, isn't it?"
He straightens, shoulders squaring like he's preparing for combat. Or maybe that's just his default posture. Hard to tell with orcs.
"I do apologize. I believed my evening studies concluded by ten-thirty."
"Studies." I gesture around his living room with my coffee mug. "This is what you call studies?"
The space is not what I expected. Clean. Organized to the point of obsession. Books arranged by height and color on floor-to-ceiling shelves. A desk that looks like it belongs in a library, complete with green banker's lamp and leather blotter. Six notebooks stacked in perfect alignment, each labeled in different languages.
No sound equipment anywhere.
But the bass thrums again, vibrating up through the floor and into my teeth.
"What the hell is that?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"That!" I stomp my foot, and the vibration seems to respond, growing stronger. "That bass noise that's been driving me insane for three weeks!"
Ursak, Mr. Irontongue, looks genuinely confused. His thick brows draw together, creating deep lines across his forehead.
"I am uncertain what you are referring to. I conduct my linguistic practice using only vocal exercises. No musical instruments or electronic equipment."
"Then what?—"
The bass note hits again, and this time I feel it in my heart. Like standing too close to a subwoofer at a concert, except there's no concert. Just me, an orc in pajamas, and whatever's making my internal organs vibrate.
"That. Right there. You're doing it right now."
Ursak follows my pointing finger to nothing. Empty air. But his expression shifts from confusion to something that might be understanding.
"Ah."
"Ah? That's your response?Ah?"
"Perhaps you should sit down, Ms. Ruiz."
"I don't want to sit down. I want you to explain why your voice sounds like a goddamn earthquake every time you practice your... your whatever this is."
I wave my hand at his notebook collection, accidentally sloshing coffee onto his hardwood floor. He flinches but doesn't move to clean it up.
"Orcish vocal cords operate differently than human ones," he says carefully. "Our speech produces harmonic frequencies that extend beyond the typical audible range."
"English, please."
"My voice creates sound waves you cannot consciously hear, but which your body experiences as physical vibration."
