I Kiss An Orc And I Liked It
The pub roared with people. Drunks staggered over the creaking floorboards, sometimes guided by more sober compatriots. In one corner, brawny men of different races challenged each other to arm-wrestling, food-gobbling, and drink-downing matches. In another, a fistfight brewed. Kalista sat a ways off from the excitement. Lounging on a bar stool, he sipped his drink and simply watched the goings-on with carnation-pink eyes. Outside, there was a festival going on. He hadn’t intended to arrive amid such festivities. It was lucky happenstance; Kali had a particular destination in mind, and this city just happened to be a stop along the way. Still, he admitted as he wiped foam from his lips, the wild atmosphere had its charms.
He, too, had his charms. There was a persistent set of eyes on him that proved this.
Lingering gazes fairly normal to the young necromancer. He twisted one of his braids, his chin lifted vainly. After all, who wouldn’t stare when they met a being as beautiful as himself? The only surprise to him was that the attentions were coming from an orc this time. It was a young orc staring him down, well-muscled, with creamy ivory tusks and biceps as thick as ropes. His small eyes had opened as wide as they could go as he took in the tall glass of water that was Kalista Proserpina.
Their gazes met.
The orc blinked, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. He rose from his chair and lumbered over to Kali’s side of the room. “Hello, stranger!” he boomed, leaning against the counter. His presence brought with it the scent of charred meat and musk.
Kali nodded in greeting and swirled the mug in his hand, watching the foam fizz and churn. “Hello. You’ve been staring at me for quite a while. Who might you be?” he asked, quirking his head at the stranger.
Gladly, the towering orc answered, taking the opportunity to sidle into the open seat next to the necromancer. “Krunck ‘Armbender’, Hun’uyna clan prince!” he declared, jabbing at his chest. There was a heavy lisp to his bawdy voice -- his jutting tusks got in the way of his tongue. Krunck’s grammar was a bit off, Kalista noticed; Tradespeak was not his first language. “Strongest of Salvar! Survives bite of cold with no furs to warm self. Fights yeti, wins. Meet wolves and bears in battle, no scratch on Krunck.”
“Oh, sure,” Kalista replied, leaning. He took another deep sip of his whiskey and smoothed his skirts -- he had chosen a lovely blue for today. “I bet you are.”
Krunck grunted cheerfully and smashed his empty mug into the countertop. “More drink for me; more for pretty human too,” he commanded the barkeep loudly. “Krunck pay.”
“Pay? For me? I’m flattered,” Kali said, the words coming out in a purr.
Krunck bobbed his head agreeably. “No trouble! Come to festival here every year, visit Aunt’s clan to bash heads with cousins. Have coin from winning competitions of strength. Always win, never lose.” Suddenly, the orc stopped and put a hand to his chin, thinking. His face scrunched up, sour as a squeezed lemon. “Well, always but once. Tiny elf cheated Krunck in arm-bending contest. It not count.”
The barkeep, a tired lavender-smelling lady, came over and poured the two more drink. How one was supposed to cheat in arm-wrestling, Kalista couldn’t fathom. He made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat and nodded. “Let me guess; are you good in bed too, or is that not part of your repertoire?”
“Krunck good bed-wrestler too, yes!” the orc bellowed with a gasp. “Uh, not wrestled human before, but sure it not hard. Humans frail; pretty human frail, like flower. Be gentle.” Like a blushing schoolgirl, Krunck’s hands clapped -- rather, smashed -- together enthusiastically. It drew a few startled glances from other patrons. “Pretty human. You not scared of Krunck. You like idea of strong, orc bed-wrestler for evening? Want?”
“Sure,” the willowy necromancer replied, tasting his new drink.
“If pretty human thinks no, is okay. Krunck underst-” Krunck began bashfully, only to stop cold as he realized what Kalista had just said. “Human say what?”
A laugh fell from the necromancer’s lips. “I said, sure! I mean, I haven’t been with another man before, but I’m open to new experiences.”
The orc’s heavy brow furrowed in confusion. “You... man?”
“Well, what did you think I was?” Kalista asked.
Krunck clamped his incredible jaws shut as he thought a moment. “Uh. Man.”
“That’s what I thought.” A sly smirk spread across the necromancer’s face as he leaned in towards the heavily blushing orc -- Krunck’s face went from cabbage green to forest. “You know, you just might be my type. Or, one of my types, anyway. I’m not all that picky. Do you still want to have a good waltz with me, or..?”
Krunck stroked his bristly chin. His gaze had gone a bit cross-eyed. “Confused, but curious? Uh. Very curious about pretty man offer.”
“Ha! Then let’s try it.”
And that was how Kalista ended up leading a very bewildered arm-bender orc prince out of a pub and into an inn.
Quote:
What even is this. A part of me is giggling, and another part is screaming DELETE DELETE DELETE.
Canon? Not canon? I dunno! I almost want to make Krunck a PC…
