(author’s note: this story works so much better in present tense that i’m changing it going forward. maybe i’ll go back and edit part 1. maybe i won’t.)
Lily gets home from work around six PM. You’re already in your pajamas, sitting cross-legged in the living room with a bowl of pasta in your lap and your computer perched on the coffee table. She flounces into the room even before she’s taken her coat off and sits down hard on the other end of your ancient couch, nearly spilling you onto the floor.
“So, Y/N,” she says, stretching out the last syllable of your name into a rising note as if you were back in grade school. “An orc, huh? Tell me tell me!”
You shrug. Lily is doing her “messy bitch who lives for drama” voice, which normally you love, but tonight you’re not feeling it. “He was just an orc, Lily,” you say. “He was totally polite. He just came in and fixed the socket.”
Lily pouts. Clearly, this isn’t the answer she wanted. “Come on, that’s no fun. Did he smell? Did he speak english or just grunt?”
“His english was fine!” you say, affronted on his behalf. “And he smelled… I dunno, like a working guy. Sweat and grease and stuff. Like a plumber.”
Lily watches your face carefully for a moment and then shrugs. “That’s wild, man,” she says. “An orc in our building. Did he have clan tattoos? Did he carry his axe?”
“I don’t think the handyman’s allowed to carry an axe around, idiot,” you say. “And he didn’t have any tattoos that I could see. He looked very clean cut. For an orc.” You wonder why you added that last bit. Kolosh had looked clean-cut by any standard.
“Whatever,” Lily says. “Hey, next time something breaks, I’ll stay home. I wanna see an orc. There’s one who works as a janitor in my building, but she never talks to anyone. Just wears this wide-brimmed hat all the time and looks down if she sees you watching her.”
You know Lily means well, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach all the same. You remember the way Kolosh held your paper bear, the delicate way his thick fingers cradled it. You shove the image out of your mind and pulled up a show on Netflix.
Over the next week, every time you leave your building for work you look around for Kolosh. You tell yourself that’s not what you’re doing– but every time the elevator dings and you step out into the lobby, your head swivels around. Every time a hulking silhouette crosses your vision, you squint at it to make sure it’s not him. There are a lot of orcs around, you notice. Way more than you thought. Sweeping floors, selling newspapers, picking up garbage, working at construction sites. The clattering streetcar you ride to and from work is driven by an orc, his gravelly hollar calling out each new stop.
Of course, there are no orcs at your job. Your office is really just a cube farm, but it’s on the 29th floor, and you have to show your badge to the building doorman to get in. There are a couple of elves on your floor, and even a quartet of pixies (their miniaturized workspaces all fit into a single cubicle), but you know that no orc in the city works in an office like this one.
Gradually, he slips from your mind. Work is picking up, and you spend most of your days off getting to know people. Lily introduces you to some of her friends from college. Zollo the dwarf carries around a vape pen and blows the best smoke rings you’ve ever seen, and Lily’s old roommate Maggie breathlessly informs you all that she’s dating a satyr. “My parents are total hippies,” she assures your group over drinks. “They wouldn’t care if I had foals.”
Maybe it’s just the wine, but you think that’s hilarious. You laugh until you think you’re going to throw up.
You don’t, though. Not until you get home. There, leaning on Lily in the lobby, you barf like a champion. Great stringy clots of vomit splatter across the clean tile floor. For once, you’re lucky– nobody’s sitting at the security desk to witness your misfortune. You groan woozily and slouch against the wall, wiping your mouth on the back of your sleeve. Lily tugs urgently at you. “C’mon, Y/N,” she hisses. “Let’s get out of here before someone notices.” Her finger stabs at the elevator call button over and over, as though that would make it come faster. She hustles you upstairs and tucks you into bed, making sure to roll you onto your side.
You wake up hours later. You’re not sure what time it is– the sounds of the city outside are muted, but never truly silent. You’re still in your clothes and still a little drunk; you grope for your phone, to check the time, and realize you don’t have it. You panic briefly. Your phone! Did you leave it at the bar? No… a fragmentary memory bubbles up. You try to focus on it. You were checking your texts in the lobby, right before you blew chunks. You grimace with embarrassment and pad as quietly as you can to the door. Your phone’s probably still down there.
The elevator is quiet and empty and a little cold at this time of night. You huddle up with your arms pulled around yourself. The little L button lights up and the doors swish open, and you step out into the lobby. Everything’s dark and still at this time of night; the front doors are locked, and the night watchman is sitting at his desk. He recognizes you and gives you a little nod. You’re shivering now, wishing you had put on a coat, but you nod back. You’re about to ask him if he’s seen a phone when movement flickers in the corner of your eye.
You turn, and there’s Kolosh. He’s wearing the same outfit as the last time you saw him, the heavy boots, the chambray work shirt. This time he’s accessorized with a mop, which he’s drawing back and forth across…
Your puddle.
Whoops.
As if feeling your eyes on him, he looks up. In that instant, you wonder if he can tell that you’re the one that puked on his floor. You’re the one that made extra work for him. You probably dragged him out of bed. Guilt and shame are vying for your attention, and it’s a photo finish. You slink away to the front desk and ask the security guard under your breath if anyone found a phone. He reaches down and produces it with a wry grin. For a wonder, the screen’s not cracked.
You look back at Kolosh, but he’s focused on his work now. He methodically drags the head of the mop back and forth. With a last shudder, you run for the elevators and the safety of your bed.
The next morning you’re hungover and your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. As you pull on fresh clothes you consider that this is probably a just punishment for what you did to poor Kolosh. He may be an orc, but he probably doesn’t enjoy cleaning up vomit any more than you would. The thought won’t leave your head all day, and after a couple of hours of miserable and frustrating distraction at your work desk, you decide to do something about it.
You briefly consider hitting an ATM on the way back from work, but the idea of just handing him some money feels so… so… well, it’s what your mom would do. Offering to buy him dinner seems inappropriate. Luckily, you have a third alternative.
You start as soon as you get home, selecting a delicate sheet of washi, light blue with a faint red chrysanthemum pattern. Your fingers move quickly. You’ve done this pattern before, a few times, but never on the first try, and never this smoothly. It takes shape before your eyes, a poem in folded paper: a horse, a leaping stallion, caught in the moment of motion. The lines are simple and abstract, yet the figure in your hands seems ready to sprint away across the bed. There’s a sense of power captured and coiled. You lay it down on your desk and only then do you realize you’re holding your breath. Your exhalation makes the horse tremble and for a moment it looks alive. Then it’s just paper again, and you set your expression. Now for the hard part.
You’ve never been to the basement before, but it’s not locked. There’s laundry machines down here, you remember, for those not lucky enough to have hookups in their apartment. There are other doors, too, lysol-smelling closets and clanking machine rooms. You’re about to give up and climb the stairs back to the lobby when you see him.
There’s a door hanging open, and he’s kneeling on the other side in front of a boiler. You knock gently on the open door and he looks up. His expression changes from annoyance to caution in a second. “Can I help you?” he asks. “You’re… Y/N, right? With the broken socket?”
Your heart skips a beat. He remembers your name! You swallow, and extend your arm, the horse perched on your palm.
“Um. I made you. Something. A present. Um. Because I’m sorry. Um. The mess. In the lobby. I’m sorry. Um. About that.”
His face creases into an expression of confusion as he tries to parse your scrambled sentence. You put the horse down gently in between the two of you and back away. “Sorry,” you say. “Sorry.” Whether you’re apologizing for throwing up for or for the word salad you just dropped all over him, you aren’t sure.
“Wait!” he says. But it’s too late. You retreat for the safety of the stairs. A couple minutes later you’re back in your apartment, but it’s a long time before your heart rate returns to normal.
The Orc Next Door, Part 2
Published
Monsters and Villains 