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“And what exactly does that mean?” I asked, swirling my drink, starting to feel a little less weird. Maybe it was the ale hitting my system and loosening me up, or maybe I was just starting to feel like I was getting my footing back under me. Whatever it was, it made me lean forward slightly, more confident and ready to ask my questions. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. I half-wondered if my translator just didn’t get it right. Or, if the translation was right, I thought maybe it could be something metaphysical. The middle of a certain state of being. Or maybe the middle of the road, the middle of the night, the middle of the end...”
His dark brows rose, as if in appreciation for my philosophical musings.
“Ah, no. Nothing so, as you call it, metaphysical.” He straightened to his full height, slamming the fist that held the rag to the hard ridges of his abs
“The middle! We guard a man’s middle!”
My gaze tracked between his face and the fist that had pounded the spot just above his navel.
He chuckled, letting his hand fall. The sound of his laugh was even deeper than his speaking voice, rumbling down my spine and warming my chest with its smoke. Or maybe that was the ale, warming my chest. It was hard to say.Better have another sip to find out. Then, I’ll have to hear his laugh again, too. Just to compare.
“His stomach,” the orc clarified, eyes twinkling. “We’re guarding it against the sharp fangs of hunger. Though we do more than that. We guard a man’s head, too.”
“From what?” I asked.
“Sobriety.” His grin turned slightly devilish. “Too much sober thought is never good medicine.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And what about a woman’s middle and head? Don’t tell me this is some kind of exclusive boys’ club.” I could tell by the clientele it wasn’t – there were femme-presenting humans, orcs, and other aliens here, as well as people of other non-male identities present, all of them enjoying the food and atmosphere.
“We serve all species, genders, and identities,” the orc continued. His grin had softened slightly, but it still retained some of the wicked glint. “But in my experience, women take such good care of their affairs that they usually do not require such guardians the way men do. Thus, my choice of language.”
I snorted.Smooth talker, this one.
“Is all this flattery meant to get you good tips or something?” I asked, tilting my head slightly and giving him a mock look of suspicion.
“Tipping is not a custom we partake in on Orc-Orok, nor in this pub. We charge exactly what we mean to and require nothing more of our gold-guests.”
Guests who give gold... Customers?My translator had missed the nuance of the phrase, giving me the literal translation of the words. I made a mental note to tap into the translator app on my tablet later to update that and any other new phrases I learned.
“So.The Middle’s Guardian. Are you the owner then? The titular guardian?” It didn’t seem likely that a low-level employee would walk around this place with the grin and swagger this guy did. Especially considering the lack of clothing and the fact that he’d planted himself at my spot at the bar with the kind of confidence that meant no boss was about to come out from the kitchen and shoo him back to his duties.
“I am the hall-father, yes,” he confirmed.
I mentally translatedhall-fathertoowneras he continued speaking.
“But the guardian is the pub itself, along with good food and better ale. I am but a humble loyal-fist.”Humble loyal-fist.... Humble servant?
I wasn’t so sure about the humble part. Every inch of this muscled, towering orc oozed confidence and charisma. His vibe wasn’t smarmy or obnoxious, though. His confidence felt... Earned. The kind of sincerely swaggering assuredness that someone only possessed after years of hard, dedicated work. The comfortable certainty of someone who had found his place in the universe. Or, if he hadn’t found it, he’d carved it out with his bare hands.
The charisma part though, I supposed, was likely something he’d been born with. There was no learning the curve of that blinding smile, made charmingly crooked by his tusks. There was no way to fake the quick wit that underpinned his breezy remarks. No way to practice the genuinely friendly rumble of his smoky voice or to falsely master the intelligent warmth of his moss-green eyes. Those things seemed unabashedly all his own.
“Well, that only leaves one question, then,” I said.
“Which is?”
“What’s your name?”
“Archibald.”
I choked on my next sip, coughing and fixing my watering eyes on him.
“Are you serious?” I wheezed, dragging the back of my hand over my mouth. I’d heard the other customer call him Archie, but I’d assumed that was some kind of joke. What was a giant, gorgeous, Orc-Orokish man doing with an old human name like Archibald?!
“I expected something like... Forwulf or Greymorrow or something,” I said, trying to explain my reaction. Luckily, he didn’t seem offended.
“Well, the Orc-Orokish pronunciation isEorcanbald. But my grandmother was human, and the name was her father’s. And I’ve always been Archie to my friends.” He placed his elbows down on the bar, leaning closer. I sucked in the smoky, spicy scent of him as he said “So that makes me Archie to you, too, now.”
“Well, good. I’d hope so, considering I’m your new neighbour,” I said, trying to ignore the way my chest hitched at his nearness. I chugged my drink, heat simmering under my skin as those eyes bored into mine. The warmth there belied the probing intensity of his gaze. It drilled into me as if looking for something.
