Students stop to read, to comment, to share on social media with tags Tess feeds them. The counter-narrative builds, organic and real.
And near the quad's edge, half-hidden behind a tree, the donor watches again.
Day three, the park near City Hall.
This one's riskier, right in the government district where Blair's influence runs thick. Darius brings eight orcs as backup, all trained in de-escalation, all wearing smiles that don't quite hide the tension.
The crowd's older here, more conservative, more likely to have seen the clip and believed it. We get suspicious looks, a few muttered comments, one woman who spits near my feet before her friend pulls her away.
But we also get curious council staffers on lunch break, administrative workers who've maybe only seen orcs from adistance. They try the food, they ask questions, and slowly the wall of suspicion develops cracks.
An older orc woman, Grandmother Kess, tells stories while I serve. She talks about craft traditions, about the pottery her village made for centuries, each piece stamped with family symbols that carry lineage and pride. Her voice wavers with age but carries authority, the kind that transcends species.
"We are not so different," she says, holding up a cup she brought, its glaze the deep green of forest shade. "You make beauty, we make beauty. You love your children, we love our children. You fear the unknown, and so do we. But fear is a choice, and so is understanding."
I glance up from serving and freeze.
The donor stands at the front of the small crowd around Grandmother Kess, his expression no longer carefully neutral. His eyes are wet.
She continues, talking about her grandson who died in a border skirmish before the peace, about how she makes pottery now in his memory, each cup a prayer that the next generation won't have to fight over difference.
When she finishes, silence holds heavy and sacred.
The donor steps forward. "May I buy one of your pieces?"
"I did not bring them to sell."
"Please. I'd like to own something beautiful that reminds me why beauty matters more than fear."
She studies him, then nods slow. "I will send you one. A gift, not a purchase. Because gifts build bridges, and we need bridges now."
He takes her hand, orc and human, wrinkled and age-spotted both, and the moment breaks something in me. Tears burn behind my eyes, pressure building in my chest.
This. This is what I've been trying to show them.
Day four, the farmer's market.
The crowd's huge, weekenders out for fresh produce and local honey, families with kids who light up at the sight of our setup. I've prepped extra food, anticipating demand, and we still run out by noon.
Kids are fearless. They ask about my tusks, about why my skin is green, about whether I can pick them up, please, please, just once. I oblige careful, lifting a tiny human girl onto my shoulders while her mother watches nervous-approving, snapping photos.
An orc teenager teaches a human boy our traditional clapping game, the rhythm complex but the boy catches on quick, both of them laughing when they fumble. Parents watch, and I see the calculations running, the quiet realization that their kids don't see monsters, just other kids.
Tess runs social media live, streaming the chaos and joy, the messy beautiful reality of integration when people stop performing fear.
The donor doesn't show this time, but his assistant does. Young woman, professional, carrying a tablet. "Mr. Harrington wanted me to observe and report back."
"Observe whatever you want. We've got nothing to hide."
She stays for three hours, taking notes, accepting tea, eventually setting the tablet aside to just watch a group of orc elders teaching humans a traditional dance that involves a lot of stomping and laughter.
When she leaves, she's smiling.
Day five, the final night at Lacy's bookstore.
We transform the space into a feast hall, tables laden with every dish I've served this week plus more: slow-roasted meats with herb crusts, grain salads bright with preserved lemons, sweets made with honey and spice that smell like celebration.
The room fills beyond capacity, standing room only, faces I recognize from every location mixed with newcomers who heardthrough word-of-mouth. Tess estimates two hundred people, maybe more, spilling onto the sidewalk.
