It was with that thought that she’d made her way to the black-bricked pub in town, tugging her cropped jacket a bit tighter as she walked against the breeze. Silva was the one who had mentioned the bar, when Dynah asked their straight-laced co-worker what she’d done in lieu of the more carnal activities the little town boasted. Silva had blushed prettily, mumbling about there being a nice little pub where everyone kept their clothes on, before hurriedly changing the subject.A nice little pubwas a bit of a candy-coating, Ris scoffed as she approached. It looked like a dive bar from the sidewalk, and she’d paused, attempting to make out the curious creature depicted on the wrought iron sign above the doorway as it creaked in the wind.
Before she’d been able to make sense of the sign, the door pushed open, a tall orc on a cell phone exiting the bar. As it slowly swung shut behind him, she was able to hear raucous laughter and music spilling from inside, and quickly reached out, catching the handle and squaring her shoulders before stepping over the threshold. The bar wasburstingwith orcs. She stepped through the doorway with raised eyebrows, surprised by just how many burly green bodies were packed into the space; the last place in the world she could imagine demure Silva feeling comfortable.Definitely a dive bar,Ris thought, albeit a surprisingly spacious and clean one. The place felt positively ancient, all hardwood and exposed beams with a mix of hightops and lower tables lining the perimeter, and beyond the pool tables at the back of the room, she could see a doorway, leading to yet another section of the pub.Maybe that’s where Silva hid the whole weekend.The pool tables were clearly the center of the action, and she’d wondered if anyone would even notice her presence as she moved to the tall bar. It was not hard to see that wagers were being placed, money changing hands for sport with a ring of loud, laughing spectators. Two large clusters of women, other sightseers, sat at a group of high-top tables in the center of the floor, attempting to woo the few orcs who were not thoroughly absorbed by the noisy action taking place at the green felted tables.
"What’ll it be, lovely?"
The orc behind the bar was a good bit older than the other others in the room, with at least a dozen heavy silver rings in his long ears, the weight of which dragged them towards his neck. Bands of copper adorned his left tusk, while the right had been broken off just above the first circlet and filed smooth. Ris beamed up at his endearment, sliding onto a stool.
"Ginblossom and tonic with rosemary, if you’ve got it, and a shot of Lysträe."
The orc turned with a smile, the wide set of his shoulders completely blocking her view of the bottles on the wall behind him, the overhead light catching on the steel copiously threaded through his dark hair before he turned, expertly assembling the drink and setting it on a napkin before her. She watched as his head raised, his attention caught by something over her head for the space of a heartbeat before he gave a short nod, lips tugging around his thick tusks as he refocused on her drinks once more, lifting the bottle of Lysträe.
It started with a prickle at her neck, a whisper of attention that hadn’t existed only a moment before. The weight of eyes bore into her back as the grizzled bartender placed the shot glass beside her drink, turning away without another word to take the order of the next person who’d sidled up to the bar. Ris kept her gaze trained on the drinks, listening to thechink!of pool cues glancing off polished stripes and solids, and waited for the feeling of observance to pass. When it persisted, she threw back the shot. The silver-white burn of the alcohol flared her nostrils as it went down, and she sucked in a deep breath, counting to ten before turning.
It was an audience of one, she saw immediately: one of the orcs, sitting in a low chair along the bar’s front wall, looking completely out of place amongst the other bar patrons, his hair fashioned into gleaming black points and his long legs stretched before him. He gave the impression of having just stepped off a stage somewhere, a far cry from the orcs crowded around the pool tables with their thick braids and broad backs. He was bare-chested beneath the studded leather jacket he wore, and half a dozen piercings gleamed and swung from his long ears. The smile he fixed on her was brilliant and knowing, and Ris felt the corner of her own mouth curve up in response. Coming to this little bar had been a good plan after all.
Even from the way he lounged in the shadows she could tell he was built differently than the others of his kind from the pool deck the previous night — great, hulking brutes with deliciously muscled arms and straining cocks, eager for the small collection of tourists present to stoke them and suck them, taking their pleasure before moving on to the next mouth. She’d gone up to the pool bar shortly after her arrival, retreading her familiar steps from the previous trip on a quest for a single partner with whom she might enjoy the night. It was too cold to go around naked, at least for her, and the throngs of other sightseers who’d clogged up the decks and restaurants the last trip were mostly absent now. Despite the better odds, she’d left the pool the night before more than a little aggravated with the lack of reciprocity from the crowd of orcs. The guys there that night were all horny and eager to get off, but they’d been spoiled by the plethora of easy sex all summer, and she witnessed very little effort in return.Thisorc, by contrast, was focused intently and solely on her.A nice little pub where everyone kept their clothes on.The orc did indeed have his clothes on, although Ris had the distinct impression he was envisioning her without the same modesty.
"Excuse me . . . did someone pay for my drinks?"
"Aye." The old orc didn’t bother looking up from where he wiped down the polished surface of the bar, and Ris pursed her painted lips.
"Am I allowed to know who?"
"Guess that’s part of the game, lovely . . . the findin’ out." This time he did look up, giving her a silver-toothed grin. Her punkish watcher may not have been her normal type, she considered, turning to flash him a brilliant smile, earning one in return, but she’d already lost one night of the weekend to the buffet.He won’t be any different. They’re all looking for the same thing, but you may as well have fun.She watched him drain the glass that had been sitting on the table, pulling his endless legs back and straightening in his chair, pocketing his cellphone and pushing the chair back . . .Showtime, baby. Time to order off the menu.
She had just turned back to respond to the barkeep’s quip and give her audience the chance to make his move when a sudden shout made her jump. An angry, accusing voice at one of the pool tables was quickly joined by a second, and then a third. Her stomach clenched in panic when the old bartender added his own gruff shout to the mix, limping to the corner of the bar, threatening the orcs behind her to take it outside, but his voice was ignored.
The orcs at the center of the noise were enormous, one wearing a white t-shirt that looked nearly painted on, the fabric straining around his thickly muscled arms. A heavy-linked gold chain sat around his bulging neck, and his black hair glistened with product beneath the overhead lights, his braid a long, fat snake down his back. A preening peacock, she thought, he was the exact sort of orc who probably spent time nightly around the pool bar, she thought, enjoying anonymous blowjobs from the steady stream of tourists before heading back up to town for a different sort of entertainment at the bar. By contrast, the orc he quarreled with seemed like a rougher sort. Two long braids hung down his back beneath the bandana wrapped around his head, the emblem of a motorcycle club on the back of the leather vest he wore.
A satyress sitting at a hightop with her friends shrieked, high and shrill, as the men began to point and push accusingly, the bystanders egging on the confrontation until the two huge orcs in the center of the circle were nose-to-nose, the angry shouts not subsiding. Ris watched as the two tables of women quickly cleared out, the satyress and friends disappearing through the metal door, wondering if she’d be able to skate past the tables to do the same when one of the orcs shoved the other, and the crack of a barstool hit the floor beside her. In an instant, there was a buffeting presence at her back, pressed to her tightly, his hands at her shoulders.
"You don’t want to get caught in the middle if they start tussling, Nanaya. Just stay right where you are."
She could tell it was the mohawked orc without even needing to crane her neck back, and could feel the heat rolling off him as the shouts behind her increased. His big hands squeezed her shoulders reassuringly before lowering to the bar on either side of her, the leather of his jacket pressing to her sides. She was trapped, but Ris recognized his action as one of chivalry. He’d tented himself around her, preventing her from being hit by any flying objects or orcs.
"Rukh, you planning on stopping this?"
The grizzled bartender had backed up behind the bar once more, had killed the music that spilled from the speakers upon her arrival, still shouting at the orcs around the pool tables, but at the punk orc’s words, he glared.
"You see how many of ‘em are standin’ now? I’ve got arthritis in both hips, boy. Don’t see you sailing in to save the day."
"Me? I don’t work here. Fuck, I don’t even get a friends and family discount! But I’d like to see the old girl still standing tomorrow. These are your customers, they listen to you!"
"Well, they’re not listening to anything right now."
"Then you need to call him."
The old orc grunted unwillingly in response, raising his voice again, calling out to several of the orcs by name, to no avail. His face reminded her of a bulldog, even more so when he scrunched it up, as he did then.
"He won’t be happy . . . got his little beauty in, said not to disturb him..."
From her limited vantage point beneath the punk orc’s arm, she watched as the peacock raised a thick finger to jab in the other’s face; one that was hit away roughly, several other orcs wearing leather vests bearing the same emblem surging behind their fellow, the ring of bystanders continuing to goad the agitators in the center. Ris tried to envision what might happen if they erupted into violence — huge, colliding bodies, toppling bar stools and tables as though they were nothing; shattering the glass bottles behind the bar, the shards of which they’d use as weapons along with snapped pool cues and broken chairs, heedless of anyone who might get caught up in their rage . . .
"You let them start swinging and they’ll tear through this place like a herd of rhinos." She whimpered, her fears confirmed by her protector. "Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had to break up a bar fight?"
"We don’thavefights," the old barkeep growled, his words nearly being lost as glass shattered against the floor to her back, and Ris tucked up her feet with a squeal.
Another shatter, the green gleam of shards sliding beneath her stool where her feet had been only a moment before.
