Ox - Family Dinner
November 29th, 325 DF
Ox strolled along the street, heading south out of Demeter, heading towards the northern edge of NeoTokyo. He wore boots, jeans, and a black shirt with white lettering that said ‘YOUR MOM is a nice lady.’ Tucked under one arm was a large basket filled with all manner of fruits and vegetables.
It had been a strange day so far - not bad, fairly fun, in fact, but definitely strange. He shook his head, trying to leave the feelings of guilt and uncertainty behind as he pushed forward. This delivery deserved both his complete focus and best behavior.
He grinned as he entered the neighborhood - Neotokyo wasn’t subtle about announcing its presence. In a district full of factories, warehouses, labs, and more, Neotokyo was always its beating, vibrant heart, full of homes, businesses, and parks - to a social animal like Ox, it was like finding an oasis in the desert.
It wasn’t long before he found the oasis within the oasis he had been heading towards. Most of Neotokyo has a very shiny, futuristic quality, all either chrome or carefully manicured parks, but the building in front of him was as solid and practical as the family that lived there.
The one bit of flash to the building was, to his mind, the perfect accent to draw the right kind of attention to the building - a neon sign in glowing orange-gold lettering that declared the building the ‘Good Run Garage.’ He chuckled at the little private joke in the name, heading for the garage’s open bay doors.
The otherwise plain brick building was sectioned oddly, looking like three different sized boxes pushed together. The left side was the garage and mechanics bay, about 25’ tall, with four large rolling metal doors. The right side of the home of the family that ran the business - it was lower, but wider - about 15’ tall, but the way the windows on it were situated, it appeared to be separated into two 7’ floors. Finally, the last ‘box’ in the front was the building’s front office - about 10’ tall, with a door that could easily accommodate most trolls, Ox excluded. The front was glass windows, and the inside looked cheery, comfortable, yet practical and businesslike. There was an orc woman and human man behind the counter, wearing matching work shirts that said ‘Good Run Garage.’ Customers of all kinds were either talking to the employees, or waiting on a variety of comfortable chairs. Ox grinned at the familiar scene, and headed into the garage proper.
The inside was a bustling sight, but not chaotic - Ox knew better than to expect that. About four mechanics worked inside - two dwarves, a human, and one troll. Ox looked around, not seeing who he was looking for, but knew she had to be around her somewhere.
“Uncle Ox!” a young, excited voice called, one that couldn’t seem to decide if it was a piping tenor or a rumbling bass. Ox heard the sound of running before something caromed into his leg. He looked down into the grinning face of a young dwarf, a boy (Light, almost a man, Ox thought) of 16. He had brown-red hair tied back in a braid, and a full beard he had braided into three sections. He was also wearing a work shirt with the name and logo of the business, but unlike all the other workers inside, his shirt was mostly clean. He beamed up at Ox, only coming to the troll’s mid-thigh, but Ox privately winced and the strength of the arms gripping his leg - the young man was getting bigger and stronger every day. As it was, he was almost as wide as he was tall, and not much of it was padding.
“Hello, Ivar,” Ox laughed, reaching down to grip the young dwarf’s head. Familiar with the game, the dwarf clamped his hands over Ox’s, and laughed like a loon when Ox lifted him up to his level. “Where’s your mother?” he asked the young dwarf.
He pointed to a fifth pair of feet sticking up from underneath a sporty-looking coupe. Ox chuckled, putting Ivar down. “Of COURSE she’s working today,” he grunted with good humor. He looked down again at the young dwarf. “Light, Ivar, I swear you’ve grown three inches since I saw you last. You four feet yet? How’s school?”
Ivar puffed up with pride at the compliment. “Almost! Another inch and a half, and I will be! I’m already taller than Mom! And school’s good. I’m in the final running for that scholarship to U of A!”
Ox shook his head. “Can’t believe it - still looking to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”
At the cloud of sadness that crossed over Ivar’s face, Ox cursed himself for bringing up the boy’s father. Fortunately, the cloud passed, and Ivar beamed. “You bet! Although I can’t decide between electrical or advanced engineering.” Ox opened his mouth, but Ivar, wise to the needling troll’s ways, cut him off. “And YES, there IS a difference! You know that, I’ve told you SO MANY TIMES already!”
Ox laughed and spread his hands in surrender. “OK, OK, I’ll be good.” He hoisted the basket. “I’m gonna go put this in the kitchen - would you let your mom know I’m here? I better pay my respects to the queen of the house, or I’ll REALLY get it.”
Ivar laughed at their private joke, and nodded. “Yeah, of course. I tried to stop Mom from working today, but you know how she is,” rolling his eyes as he ran off.
Ox laughed, heading to the back corner of the garage, to a large door that was both wide and tall enough for him. The large door has a smaller dwarf-sized door in the middle of it, but the large door had an ingenious design that could be pulled out of the wall by twisting a troll-hand-sized level, then the whole thing could be rolled to the side. He entered the next room and closed the door behind him.
The room he stepped into was clearly part of the residential side of the house, the back half. It was essentially a big open room, first a comfortable living area and tv room, next a dining table with stairs leading to a riser on three sides and a large, troll-sized chair on the other. Past that was a kitchen that went up to two levels, with part of it open to him, and the other side with a pantry and storage on the top level, and a stove, fridge, sink, and dishwasher on the bottom. Next to this was a bathroom that looked modular - there were stair-stools that could be used to access the tall sink, toilet, and controls in the shower, and even the toilet seat had three covers, the second of which appears to make the troll-sized commode usable by someone much smaller. The right wall was broken into two levels, with a balcony and handrail jutting out from the second floor. The doors on those shorter floors were only 5 feet tall, and the ceilings only 7 feet from the ground - practically palatial by dwarf standards.
Inside were two young dwarf girls and a little dwarf boy, who hadn’t even begun to grow his young peach-fuzz beard yet. Ox also privately thought it was unfortunate his ears and nose had grown before the rest of his head, but his mother had assured him he would grow into matching them soon enough. “Kids!” he shouted, grinning broadly and spreading out his free arm. “Your favorite troll uncle has arrived!”
The three kids all had very different reactions to this news. The youngest, Oksar, a stout little boy of 6, reacted as he always did - by trying to take a straight line to Ox, regardless of what was in his way, caroming off furniture, stampeding through obstacles, charging like a bull. Ox privately noted that more of the furniture in here had been repaired or reinforced since he had been here last. “Un Cox! Un Cox!” he shouted at full volume. Ox privately winced at Oksar’s…UNIQUE method of saying his name, but he would endure anything to spend time with his youngest nephew and namesake.
“UNCLE OX! UNCLE OX!” The award for loudest volume definitely went to the nine-year-old Linnea - Ox’s youngest niece had enough energy to power the entire city of Olympia for ten years with plenty left over, and it usually came out mostly in the volume and speed of her speech. She advanced at the same rate as her more direct younger brother, but flitted from side to side as she did, tossing aside a coloring book, scattering crayons, snagging a crown made of plastic flowers, and grabbing a small bunch of grapes in a bowl nearby. “UncleOxhere’sgrapeshaveone Imadeacrownoutflowersbutthey’renotreal andIdrewapictureforyoubutIlostit!” Linnea was slim, for a dwarf, and had arms and legs almost as long as her eldest brother Ivar’s, which, combined with her manic energy, had earned her the nickname ‘Monkey.’ She wore one of her older brother’s too-large work shirts (essentially a dress on her) over a pair of overalls, and had strawberry-blond hair that exploded out from her head in a mass of curls. Ox saw there were three crayons, a comb, and a plastic toy stuck in the wild mane, which seemed to be the usual amount of things he expected in there.
The last child did not make a noise, but rose from her chair at the table with all the pride of an Empress. 13-going-on-30, Honora was the reserved, proper child of the household, and she carried herself with an imperiousness that conveyed to everyone around her that she expected to be listened to and obeyed. Ox was always impressed by the fact that she wasn’t even three and a half feet tall, but still managed to make him feel like he was wrong for looking down at her, and that somehow their positions should be reversed. She had her mother’s pale blond hair, which she kept pulled back and up in a coil on her head that fell to a long plait down past her waist. Ox would swear she hadn’t cut it in the over 6 years he’d known her, and suspected she never would. He fully expected her to coil loop over loop on her head until her hair was taller than he was, just to express dominance. “Uncle Dzxoxian,” she said in her clear piping soprano, conveying both disapproval and grudging affection. “Queen Honor,” he replied, with a small bow that earned him a sniff and a correction of, “Honor-AH, Uncle Ox. My name is ‘Honora!’”
Ox had just enough time to set down the basket and scoop up his youngest niece and nephew. They dissolved into giggles and shrieks as he held them each at arms length and began to spin, something the height and width of the great room allowed. He pulled them close to him, giving them both a big hug. He could feel Linnea exploring his clothes to see if he brought candy. Oksar, the more direct of the two, just started biting places he hoped candy might be, just in case. All in all, it was a fairly standard greeting between the three of them.
He managed to peel them off and retrieve the basket before the youngest kids could do any damage. He approached Honora, who had stayed on the top riser next to the large table, the better to be closer to his height, he knew. “Hello, Honora,” he said solemnly, knowing her queenly dignity would not allow any sort of exuberant greeting. He held out his free arm for a hug, with a sad-puppy-dog expression on his face. She grimaced (no one could grimace like Honora,) but allowed herself to tilt forward long enough for a quick hug and a kiss from the troll. Ox considered this to be his greatest victory in the last year, and said nothing further to avoid breaking the spell.
“What you got, Un Cox!” “What’sinthebasketisitforme canIseepleasepleaseplease?!?” The younger children swarmed his knees, and he smiled. “It’s a birthday gift for your mother,” he said, tilting the basket so they could see the bounty of strawberries, pears, carrots, purple yams, golden acorn squash, sweet potatoes, garlic, onions, cauliflower, broccoli, carrots, brussel sprouts, and spinach. Oksar and Linnea groaned in disgust, but Honora nodded in approval. “Mother will be pleased,” she said, granting her implied approval and indicating her dismissal of him in one gesture. He set down the basket on the table, and said, “Well, like I said, THESE are for your mother. I ALSO have gifts for you, too.” This perked them up. Even Honora paused as she was about to sit, not wanting to let one she was curious, but unable to turn away.
He reached into the basket, moved some items around, and held out a foam football to Oksar. He had to admit, to his nephew’s credit, Oksar only bit it twice before it occurred to him it could also be thrown. He pulled out a cape shaped like butterfly wings to Linnea. “Here you go, Monkey. I remember you said you wanted to fly, so I figured these could help.” She squealed and grabbed it, but Ox held on for a moment. “What’s the rule for trying to fly, again?” he asked in a warning tone. She scowled and replied, “Nojumpingoffanythinghigherthanthecouch Ionlyjumpedofftheroofonce andyoucaughtmesoIwasfine thanksUncleOxIloveyoubye I’mgonnaflyweeeeeee!!!” He let go, and she ran off, shrieking at the top of her lungs. He turned to Honora, and she lifted an eyebrow. “I am too old for toys, Uncle Dzxoxian,” she said condescendingly, as if that should be obvious. He nods sagely, and pulls out a leather-bound book, handing it to her. “I know. That’s why I got you this - you’ll like it, it’s an Old World story about how a parent messes everything up and his daughter has to figure out a way to save him.” She looked intrigued, taking it and looking at the cover. “A Wrinkle in Time,” she read. “Hmmm. Very well, that sounds like a suitable story for my reading level. Thank you, Uncle Dzxoxian.”
Ox chuckled, and dipped back into the basket. “Now, of course, I also have these boxes of candy that I…” He got no further than that, as Oksar and Linnea were back on him like a shot. Knowing it was not worth the risk to his fingers handing them their boxes, he simply tossed them to each of them Oksar immediately fell to chewing open the box, and Linnea ripped hers apart like a starving wolf. He set a box down next to Honora. She sniffed with disdain as he said, “Dark Chocolate and walnuts, your favorite.” She said nothing, but Ox knew the next time he turned around and looked back at her, the box would be tucked somewhere safely both out of view and protected from sibling attack.
Ivar came back in, taking in the scene with a grin. “You gave the little monsters candy? Mom’s gonna make you put them to bed.” He pointed behind him. “She’s on her way - she just couldn’t stop until the last bolt was back in place.”
Ox chuckled and tossed him his candy, which he deftly caught. Then, Ox held out a thick rolled leather case, which Ivar took with curiosity. He walked up the stairs to the table, unrolled it, and gasped. Inside was a new electronics kit, with precision screwdrivers, a wire stripper, thin needlenose pliers, cutters, and a brand-new soldering iron. He looked up at Ox in disbelief. “Uncle Ox, this…this is too much!”
Ox waved the protest aside. “Consider it a back payment for only bringing you a set of posters last time, which your mother ended up taking and saying she won’t give it to you until you go to University. Also, hell yes, you can. I’ve met your siblings, I know half your kit is missing or broken, and you’ve been using the same secondhand soldering iron since we first came to Olympia. Just pay me back by getting that scholarship and becoming Olympia’s best engineer in the fourth century, OK?”
Ivar smiled and nodded earnestly. “I don’t think I’m ready for ‘Sudsy Babes Washing Sports Cars’ yet anyway. I won’t let you down, Uncle Ox - I promise!”
Ox snorted. “Kid, you couldn’t let me down if you ended up being a go-go dancer at the Man Hole in Paradise City, as long as that’s what you wanted to do with all your heart. Your mom and I just know you…” Ox paused, swallowing something old and bitter, but continued. “...ah, you got too much of your dad in you not to be brilliant at whatever it is you set your mind to.”
Ivar pushed back his chair and leapt at Ox, giving the troll a big hug. Ox could swear he heard his ribs creak - How the hell are they growing up so damned fast?!?, he thought.
The smaller door-within-the-door opened, and a dwarf woman in her late thirties entered. She was wearing a pair of ‘Good Run’ coveralls, a red paisley scarf, both of which, along with her face and hands, were covered with grease. She had the same blond hair as her eldest daughter, pulled back in two large round braid-buns. She had sideburns running down from her ear down to the sides of her jawline, and a pair of pale blue eyes that seemed to hold both old pain and joy simultaneously. “Oh, Ox! You came after all!”
He grinned, and tilted the basket of fruits and veggies so she could see it. “How could I miss it? Happy Birthday, Gudrun.”
***
Later that evening, Ox leaned back in the large, heavy wood chair in the backyard of the garage, drinking from a large stein of ale, watching the kids running around the backyard. Ivar played with the two youngest, while Honora sat in a swing, reading her new book and sniffing disapprovingly at her siblings’ antics. Gudrun, her face now clean and wearing a simple shirt and jeans, sat in a chair next to Ox’s - it was smaller than his, but taller, leaving them closer in height when sitting down and both able to reach the table between them, where a plate of strawberries rested.
“I can’t believe you remembered me saying I’d kill for some fresh fruits and veggies in passing three months ago, you big oaf,” Gudrun said, drinking from her nearly-equally-sized stein. “I’m going to have to make jam and pickle the rest of that, just to make it last. You brought way too much, Ox.”
Ox sighed and took another drink. “Nothing’s ever gonna be ‘too much,’ ‘Run. I owe you all something I can never repay, but I’ll be stripped naked and dipped in cheese if I’m not gonna try.”
Gudrun sighed, and gestured for him to lean closer. “Oh, Ox,” she said in a sad tone. “Come closer.”
He leaned over to her…and she reached up and smacked him in the face. She was stronger than her son, and didn’t hold much back. “Ow! MotherFFFfffffluffer,” he exclaimed, pivoting mid-curse at Gudrun’s sharp ‘Mom Stare’ ™ as he rubbed his jaw. “What the fffuuuun?” he exclaimed, pivoting at the last second again.
Gudrun’s expression was piercing and not a little mad. “Ox, you cut that out right now. You didn’t take anything from us - without you, we’d likely all be dead in the Wilds, and Ulrik might be alive,” she said, referring to her late husband, “but I don’t think he’d want to be. We owe YOU a debt we can never repay.”
Ox snorts. “I got your wonderful kids, plus Honor,” he said with only a slight smile. “I got Olympia, and a life I could have only dreamed of out there. We both got lucky,” he said, gesturing at the closest section of the Wall in the distance. He sighed. “Let's just say we agree to disagree - you think you guys all owe me, which you absolutely do NOT, and I feel like if I’d just lied and agreed to go after you as…SHE had told me to, you might still have Ulrik now. If I hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t have sent the others, and then your husband…” Ox’s face crumpled, and he blinked away a tear quickly before Gudrun could see it.
“Ox…” she said, “I never knew what Ulrik was doing for her. He never told me, probably to protect me, and I never asked. But whatever it was, it was so dangerous my husband decided to pack up his whole family and run for it. You know all this - my husband decided that it was important enough that she not get it, and thanks to you, now she never will. You tried to save him, you saved me and the kids, and you got us all here. You’re a good man.”
Ox put on a look of indignation. “Hey, you take that back, there’s no reason to be insulting!”
Gudrun snorted. “Oh, shut up, you big goof,” she snapped back with a grin. She took another pull from her stein and sighed. “Look, I know I’ll never convince you that if you ever owed us anything, you paid it off a long time ago, and I know your stupid code won’t let you take anything from me that you think you haven’t earned. But think about it like this - when we met, me and the kids were helpless, we needed your help, and you saved us.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a pendant, a simple metal rectangular bar on a stainless steel chain, presenting it to him like a talisman. “You saved HIM from a fate we both know would have been worse than the quick death he got. You pulled this from his remains, and gave me a piece of him I could carry forever. Now, I’m in a position where I could help you, and I know you’d fight me tooth and nail if I tried. Isn’t there anything I can do for you to convince you that we’re square?”
Ox sighed, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “OK, look, yeah, you know me. And it’s funny - just today, when I was getting your present, this girl I’d never met before asked me if there was anyone who’d be there to take care of me, and I told her I was doing great, and didn’t need taking care of. And all that’s true, because all my life, love always came with terms and conditioning. It’s just how I feel most comfortable now, knowing that I don’t owe anyone anything I haven’t earned first. And you built your whole house around the fact that you’d have a troll coming to visit, with the great room, the table, that bathroom - you made a house where a dwarf family could welcome a giant troll, and it’s…it’s…” his face crumbles, and he angrily rubs his eyes to banish any incipient tears. “You make me part of the family, you always make me feel welcome, and you let me uncle the SHIIIIiiiiip?” he trails off at a glare from the dwarf woman. “...outta your kids. You give me more than anyone’s ever given me, and you do it while respecting my limits and not asking me to change who and what I am. Even if I still feel I’ll always owe you, you take care of me more than anyone else in this whole damn city, and it means the whole fffuuunky world to me. I love you, I love your crazy kids, and I feel more welcome here than I ever felt anywhere in my life. I love you, I love your crazy kids, and I feel more welcome here than I ever felt anywhere in my life.”
Desperate to change the subject, he asked, “Oh, what about that date you told me about? The blind date with Yanna and her wife and that guy she knew? How did that go?”
Gudrun rolled her eyes. “Oh, Light, I know you’re changing the subject, but I’ve got to tell you about this. Yanna is now banned from setting me up, I swear she only set me up with this guy because he and I were both dwarves. She told me he was in sales, but I swear if he is, it’s stolen goods, Zoner, or untraceable LOStech. This guy had a stupid asymmetrical haircut, a damned gold tooth, and his name was…”
“...fucking CLIFF!” Ox cut her off, then winced at his slip. He glanced at Gudrun with a dubious expression to see if she would be upset with his cursing.
Gudrun just gave him a neutral stare, then sighed and shrugged. “No, you know what? It’s the only way to describe this slime, ‘fucking CLIFF.’ He convinced Yanna to cover dinner AND drinks, and tried to offer me Zoner laced with Lotus and some Bliss when Yanna and Claire went to the bathroom. I take it you know him?”
Ox growled. “Oh, I know him…I was also talking about him today. I was already planning on tying him upside down to a flagpole by his ankles, but I think now he’ll be naked and covered in hot sauce.”
Gudrun grinned. “Tell you what - you do that, and I’ll offer you a steak dinner in exchange. Just take pictures.”
He laughed, and offered her his stein to toast. “You got yourself a deal. Next time you have a date, tell me his name. If I know them, chances are really good you could do better.”
She grinned and ate a strawberry. “I love you, you big lummox.”
He grinned. “I love you, too, Princess Leia.”
She grimaced. “Damn it - are you bringing that one back? I don’t even wear them on the sides of my head any more, not since you showed me that damned movie.”
“Hey, don’t blame me,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “The classics never go out of style.”
She rolled her eyes, and the two of them went back to drinking beer and eating strawberries while the kids played.
Ox - Gains
November 27th, 325 DF
My Dzxoxian.
Ox paused in a squat, shaking his head. The voice came, as it always did, out of nowhere, when his mind was free to wander into the doorways of the past. Sweat already covered his massive frame, rippling muscle guiding it into rivulets pouring off him after over three hours of working out - now, the sweat turned to ice and a cold grip seized his heart. That voice - the slow, smoky voice, whiskey and honey. His friend, Dr. Carl, had told him stories of the old world, how there had been tales of creatures whose voice alone would drive sailors mad and lead them to run their boats into the rocks and drown. The second he heard that story, this was the voice that came to mind - a voice he was afraid would haunt him forever.
My Dzxoxian.
He shook his head again, kicking his legs out behind him, doing a push-up. It had been almost seven years, but it still had the same power it always did, the first time he’d heard it, all those years ago.
My Dzxoxian…I need you.
He pulled his legs back forward into a squat, jumping up with his arms raised, then falling back down to the squat again to begin the process all over. Exercise sometimes brought her voice back, but it was also what would drive her away again. Push himself hard enough, and the voice would go back behind its door and stop haunting him for a few weeks. He could live his life free of it, free of the icy chill it sent gripping up his spine, free to laugh, and work, and fight, and fuck…he just had to work through it, exhaust himself until the voice went away again.
“Gains,” he spat out between gritted teeth…legs kicked out, push-up, legs forward to squat, jump, squat, again, and again, and again. “All about the gains. My body is a fucking temple. A god-damn-fucking monument to the sexiest fucking troll under the god-damn-Light. I’m building something better, stronger. All about the gains,” he said, repeating this chant as he repeated the workout motions. Again. And again. And again.
You know what you mean to me…my Brokehorn Dzxoxian. My champion, my strong right hand…my love. I need you, my Dzxoxian.
The icy sweat now ran from every pore. “Fuck her,” he growled. “I’m done. Fuck you. I don’t need you, you needed me,” he grunted, his leg wobbling slightly before he growled loudly and forced it back into proper motion. “All about the gains,” he repeated. The voice may have had the same power, but he had power, now, too. It was stronger than the voice. It didn’t need the voice. “All about the gains,” he kept growling. “I know your fucking game. I’m stronger now. Stronger than you. Stronger than all of them. All about those god-damned, motherfucking, fuck-my-ass-in-a-sundress-and-call-me-Susan GAINS.”
My beloved…my Dzxoxian. Only you.
“All about the gains,” he spat out, pushing himself up, jumping forward to the squat, leaping into the air, again, and again, and again.
Only you know me, feel me, understand me like no one else. I love you, my Dzxoxian.
“All about the gains.” His arms trembled. He was approaching failure.
No one compares to you. I am yours, and you are mine.
“The MOTHERFUCKING gains,” he growled. His legs were shaking, his arms, his whole body, now.
Forever.
“Fuck YOU!!!” he roared, surging to his feet, the adrenaline sweeping away the fatigue. He pivoted to the heavy bag, bellowing like an angry bull. He lashed out with his fists, pummelling the heavily reinforced and triple-anchored bag. He hit it with everything he had, hearing the thud of impact, feeling it run up his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his whole frame.
“I am STRONGER now,” he growled. Thud. “I KNOW you now.” Thud. “The REAL you, not the mask.” Thud. “And I…” Thud. “...don’t…” Thud. “...need…” Thud. “...YOU!” Thud. Thud. THUD.
His last blow, he groaned, catching the back of the bag. The sweat now ran hot again. The ice was gone, and the voice was silent. He gripped the bag as the adrenaline left, leaving him sagging, clutching the heavy bag like a drowning man on a life preserver.
“It’s over,” he groaned. “It’s over. She’s done. She’s gone. She’s out of my life. It’s my life. MY FUCKING LIFE.”
He shifted, unsteady on his legs, falling into an ALSO heavily-reinforced chair, breathing hard. He dropped his head between his knees, letting all the trembling, the weakness, pass over him, through him, and out again. He took several deep breaths, let himself let go of everything racing through his body, his mind, his heart.
The phone rang. He looked up, groaned, and pulled himself up. He began to walk to the phone, and each step seemed to take him back to himself. His gait steadied, and his shoulders and fists relaxed. The look of exhaustion and slight panic melted away, and by the time he picked up the phone, his eyes danced with life and mischief, and his usual cocky smirk was back. He picked up the corded phone, putting the receiver to his ear.
“Lucky you, this is Ox,” he spoke into the phone with easy charm. His eyebrows perked up at the voice on the other end of the line. “Why, Ranger-Captain Sharpbone…” he replied, his voice dropping to a sultry purr. “...what a lovely surprise. Calling for business…or pleasure?” His grin spread wider. “Why, Honey, sweetie, my adorable little-cutie-pie,” he replied, knowing the cutesy nicknames would get under her skin, “...I know such an innocent and tender maiden like yourself could never realize the full depth of the effect you have on poor, simple me, but any business I have with you is ALWAYS a pleasure.”
He both winced and grinned at the spirited, and loud, response on the other end of the line. His normal charming tone came easily in response. “Well, sure,” he replied with a chuckle. “We could do that. We could meet at the bar, have a drink or seven, we laugh, we fight, we arm-wrestle, you try to trick me into the Wardens, I try to steal your hat, and we end up hooking up in the bathroom. OR…” he shrugged, the mischief rising in his tone and eyes. “...we could skip to the end. I get a bottle of John David whiskey, you secure our usual spot, and we spend a delightful evening throwing each other around the room. What do you say?” His grin grew wider and more sly. “It IS a deal. Like I said, business with you is ALWAYS a pleasure. Give me about an hour to shower, change, and get out there.” He laughed. “No, this is not ‘good sweat.’ Just wait, or I’m going to stink, AND not have time to grab the drinks.” He paused, laughing at her response. “Can’t wait. See you soon.”
He hung up the phone. For a second, his knuckles grew white as the phone receiver creaked, and the humor and mirth drained out of his face, leaving it pinched and wan. But as soon as it drained away, it was back, his humor, his charm back on full display.
“All about the gains,” he repeated. There was a hint of urgency, a hint of wheedling, like he was trying to convince someone. Then it was gone. Ox is back and better than ever, he thought to himself. The Brokehorn Dzxoxian is gone.
“All about the gains,” he repeated one final time, his tone calm, self-assured, back to his usual irrepressible self. He turned, grabbed his towel and shower kit, and crossed to the door to the fire escape outside, where his open-air roof shower awaited.
My Dzxoxian, the voice called one last time.
He paused, gritted his teeth, rolled his shoulders. “Not anymore, bitch,” he growled to himself, shutting the door. “Not any-fucking-more.”
