Not Quite Legolas
Title: Not Quite Legolas
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
Word Count: 929
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Snow meets with a surly elf.
Notes: For Monday, July 25th while LJ was down. Also, trying out a space between each paragraph. Lemme know if you prefer them this way.
"Look, I’m just saying it’s not my fault, that’s all!" I cried out plaintively, shrinking into my barstool as I faced Holl. The dusky elf quirked an eyebrow at me as he sipped the chilly martini in his tiny hand. Holl was short, over a foot shorter than me. He wasn’t really like other elves, or at least the kind you see in the movies. He was kind of more...squat. Brown-ish. And a total fucker.
"Right. A nekkid jackel-woman shows up in your luxurious penthouse and you don’t have my money. I thought this was an age of elektroniks." He slurped down the rest of the martini, taking in the remaining olives and the little toothpick holding them together. I was about to say something, but he crunched it in his yellowed teeth before I could switch subjects. Too many drinks already.
I sighed. "Yeah, I know. But the bank’s placed a hold on my accounts. Lady said they were worried about identity theft or something." I stirred my grasshopper grumpily. It’d made work more difficult than usual. I’m not a great cook. Never been. I tend to cook by smell and let me tell you, a lot of things that smell great to a wolf nose taste awful to a human mouth. Best to leave it to the professionals.
Holl waggled a five in the bartender’s direction, barking, "Another! Dirtier this time!"
The bartender looked up, one of those old-fashioned twirly mustaches quirking on his lip as he rolled his eyes at the repugnant elf. "Vodka still?"
"Is there any other kind?" The elf retorted, to which the bartender looked like he was about to say something and immediately thought better of it.
He turned to me again. "Well it’s too bad you’re short right now, but I’ll be taking that money t’night one way or another." There wasn’t a hint of danger in his eyes, and I certainly didn’t smell aggression from him. In fact, I sort of smelled something else. Elusive, hard to tack down, like a doe...
"What’s wrong, Holl? Someone squeezing you?" I said coyly, sipping my drink. I felt awfully in control now.
The effect was immediate. He withdrew, haughtiness and pride in every motion. "I’ve’nt a clue what you’re talkin’ about." He swiveled on his stool away from me, feet still dangling far from the ground.
"Is it Barnabas? You know I could just breathe near him and he’d shit himself."
"No, it is not Barnabas!" He snapped, taking his fresh drink from the bar and downing it at once. He was irritated, the stink of frustration, sweat, and fear rolling off him in waves. I reached out to him, gingerly brushing his bony shoulder.
Holl lashed out, taking a swipe at where my head had been a moment ago. Even his elongated arms weren’t enough to get past my deeply ingrained reflexes. "Luke, I do not need your damn comfort right now! Now you either pay me or get the fuck outta my bar!"
Oh, I suppose I didn't mention that I also go by Luke, huh? Yeah, you kind of stand out if you go by Snow unless you're out in California or something I guess. Also, this is so not Holl's bar.
I stood, gathering my jacket in one arm from the bar. "I expect you're paying for drinks, then?" A grin escaped my lips. I really shouldn't have done that.
"The hell, I am you poncy mutt!" Holl shouted, lunging at me. I let him grab at the fabric of my sweater, knobbly knuckles digging into my chest. I put one hand on his arm.
"Holl, listen, I'm in a tight spot and I need to know I can count on you. I'll have the money for you once it's all settled. You do good work and I don't want to fuck you over." I meant it, too. Having that storage he'd made had probably saved my ass this week. Probably that guy that got stabbed, too.
Holl visibly relaxed, but didn't let go of his grip. "You're damn right I do good work."
"Can't argue with that," I said, shrugging.
"And I'm going to get my money."
"Certainly will."
"Twenty percent more. For being late and being a poncy mutt." He leered at me, uncoiling his fingers like a snake slithering along the desert on a mission.
"Twenty-five." He looked surprised for a moment. "For the drinks," I explained, gesturing towards the bar.
Holl laughed heartily, cuffing my arm and walking on his spindly legs back to the barstool. "You're all right, Luke. Siddown."
"And you'll tell me what's going on?" I asked warily, pausing as I started to set my coat back down.
Holl looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll tell yeh two stories. One of 'em's true, and one of 'em's fake. You figger out which is which and you'll have what you need to know." I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Hey, you asked what was going on. I gotta cover my ass here." He spread his hands and nodded to the bartender, who started on another martini while staring in my direction. What the hell, I thought, and nodded to him as well. I could go home with a bellyful of chocolate and mint booze and a head full of what was probably going to be a load of bullshit. It'd be better than some other nights I've had.
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
- Blueberry Cheesecake #22 (cold shoulder)
- Cayenne #3 (unfair fight)
- Maple Walnut #21 (between a rock and a hard place)
Word Count: 929
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Snow meets with a surly elf.
Notes: For Monday, July 25th while LJ was down. Also, trying out a space between each paragraph. Lemme know if you prefer them this way.
"Look, I’m just saying it’s not my fault, that’s all!" I cried out plaintively, shrinking into my barstool as I faced Holl. The dusky elf quirked an eyebrow at me as he sipped the chilly martini in his tiny hand. Holl was short, over a foot shorter than me. He wasn’t really like other elves, or at least the kind you see in the movies. He was kind of more...squat. Brown-ish. And a total fucker.
"Right. A nekkid jackel-woman shows up in your luxurious penthouse and you don’t have my money. I thought this was an age of elektroniks." He slurped down the rest of the martini, taking in the remaining olives and the little toothpick holding them together. I was about to say something, but he crunched it in his yellowed teeth before I could switch subjects. Too many drinks already.
I sighed. "Yeah, I know. But the bank’s placed a hold on my accounts. Lady said they were worried about identity theft or something." I stirred my grasshopper grumpily. It’d made work more difficult than usual. I’m not a great cook. Never been. I tend to cook by smell and let me tell you, a lot of things that smell great to a wolf nose taste awful to a human mouth. Best to leave it to the professionals.
Holl waggled a five in the bartender’s direction, barking, "Another! Dirtier this time!"
The bartender looked up, one of those old-fashioned twirly mustaches quirking on his lip as he rolled his eyes at the repugnant elf. "Vodka still?"
"Is there any other kind?" The elf retorted, to which the bartender looked like he was about to say something and immediately thought better of it.
He turned to me again. "Well it’s too bad you’re short right now, but I’ll be taking that money t’night one way or another." There wasn’t a hint of danger in his eyes, and I certainly didn’t smell aggression from him. In fact, I sort of smelled something else. Elusive, hard to tack down, like a doe...
"What’s wrong, Holl? Someone squeezing you?" I said coyly, sipping my drink. I felt awfully in control now.
The effect was immediate. He withdrew, haughtiness and pride in every motion. "I’ve’nt a clue what you’re talkin’ about." He swiveled on his stool away from me, feet still dangling far from the ground.
"Is it Barnabas? You know I could just breathe near him and he’d shit himself."
"No, it is not Barnabas!" He snapped, taking his fresh drink from the bar and downing it at once. He was irritated, the stink of frustration, sweat, and fear rolling off him in waves. I reached out to him, gingerly brushing his bony shoulder.
Holl lashed out, taking a swipe at where my head had been a moment ago. Even his elongated arms weren’t enough to get past my deeply ingrained reflexes. "Luke, I do not need your damn comfort right now! Now you either pay me or get the fuck outta my bar!"
Oh, I suppose I didn't mention that I also go by Luke, huh? Yeah, you kind of stand out if you go by Snow unless you're out in California or something I guess. Also, this is so not Holl's bar.
I stood, gathering my jacket in one arm from the bar. "I expect you're paying for drinks, then?" A grin escaped my lips. I really shouldn't have done that.
"The hell, I am you poncy mutt!" Holl shouted, lunging at me. I let him grab at the fabric of my sweater, knobbly knuckles digging into my chest. I put one hand on his arm.
"Holl, listen, I'm in a tight spot and I need to know I can count on you. I'll have the money for you once it's all settled. You do good work and I don't want to fuck you over." I meant it, too. Having that storage he'd made had probably saved my ass this week. Probably that guy that got stabbed, too.
Holl visibly relaxed, but didn't let go of his grip. "You're damn right I do good work."
"Can't argue with that," I said, shrugging.
"And I'm going to get my money."
"Certainly will."
"Twenty percent more. For being late and being a poncy mutt." He leered at me, uncoiling his fingers like a snake slithering along the desert on a mission.
"Twenty-five." He looked surprised for a moment. "For the drinks," I explained, gesturing towards the bar.
Holl laughed heartily, cuffing my arm and walking on his spindly legs back to the barstool. "You're all right, Luke. Siddown."
"And you'll tell me what's going on?" I asked warily, pausing as I started to set my coat back down.
Holl looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll tell yeh two stories. One of 'em's true, and one of 'em's fake. You figger out which is which and you'll have what you need to know." I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Hey, you asked what was going on. I gotta cover my ass here." He spread his hands and nodded to the bartender, who started on another martini while staring in my direction. What the hell, I thought, and nodded to him as well. I could go home with a bellyful of chocolate and mint booze and a head full of what was probably going to be a load of bullshit. It'd be better than some other nights I've had.