Do you fancy me? For the wip ask game?
Tagging @ash-rigby for the WIP game.
Do you fancy me? features Merrine, a human baker, and Bazur, an orc ambassador.
This is a bit of a prequel to another story, featuring Sir Rask, a half-orc knight that is tasked to guard the human princess and her anti-orc betrothed on a matrimonial journey. (There's an assassination attempt and the hapless trio end up finding out an evil queen is trying to disrupt both kingdoms, but that's Rask's story.)
Here's some old drawings of Merrine and Bazur from 2018 and 2019: 1 and 2
There's two versions of Merrine and Bazur's story. The beginning is similar, but what happens afterward is a bit different. Both below the cut:
Version 1
Merrine slammed her hands down onto Bazur’s table, determination sparking in her eyes and embarrassment flushing her face.
The orc jolted, his gaze snapping to Merrine’s face. Clutched against his chest, he held his book protectively between himself and the woman like a protective barrier.
“Do you fancy me?”
Merrine tried to ignore the heavy thumping against her eardrums, synchronized with the heaving organ in her chest. Somewhere, in the kitchen, her previously taunting colleague huddled against the swinging doors, all eyes and bated breath.
Merrine’s lips pressed tightly together, her green eyes never wavering from Bazur’s features despite the heat clawing at her face. She mentally prepared for a startled chuckle, a denial, or even outrage from him for her inappropriate question. Anything to prove Kilyn’s teasing wrong and to squelch an annoying tickle in her chest.
He was an ambassador, for gods’ sakes. He hobnobbed with royals and nobles! He was learned and kind and building political bridges to change society as they knew it. To think he’d favor her made Merrine’s brain fizzle with confusion.
Instead of answering, Bazur stared back at her, eyes glinting in shades of pomegranate, peach, and pumpkin. His lips parted, eyes fluttering as he finally registered her words, about to answer her. A shallow inhale, then his lips clamped shut, eyes screwing shut.
Bazur clutched the book tighter, his fingers digging divots into the cover. He swallowed heavily, Merrine watching the knot in his throat bob. When he opened his eyes, he caught her bewildered gaze with a steady look. “Is it a problem if I do?”
All of Merrine’s thoughts evaporated. She stared, slack-jawed, at Bazur until her some dazed sense urged her feet to withdraw. Retreat and regroup, that’s what she needed!
Only Kilyn’s displeased screech roused Merrine from her stupor. The elf grasped Merrine by her shoulders, giving her a small shake out of frustration. “What are you doing back here? He just confessed!”
“I don’t... I just...” Merrine clenched her eyes shut, her hands finding Kilyn’s wrists as she took a deep, steadying breath. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
---
Merrine waits for Bazur to return the next day.
The next week.
Three weeks go by, still no Bazur.
Merrine has resigned herself to this when a family friend requests help in the castle’s kitchens. There’s a big event, they’re short-staffed, they’re hiring outside help they can trust?
Merrine’s father “voluntells” Merrine to go. She’s been mopey around the bakery, so maybe a change of scenery will help her.
She goes one morning, assisting with prep work. Idk what this could entail. Preparing meat, cooling desserts, making sauces? Idk She excels in the baked goods, though.
The cook is elbow deep in some dough or whatever when a servant pops in, saying “The orc ambassador wants food.” (The way they say it is rude.)
Cook: Merrine, could you take one of the pre-made baskets to him?
Merrine: Oh, uh, I...
Cook: I know they can be frightful, but Ambassador Bazur is plenty civil. Maybe a bit one-minded, though.
Servant: *Rolls eyes* All hoity-toity for an orc.
Cook: *shoots a meaningful glare at them* Would you like to explain to Her Ladyship why we didn’t take him food, despite her explicit instructions?
Servant: I’m on break.
Merrine: I’ll do it. *she peeks into the basket, finding particular foods. Surreptitiously, she peeks at the cook before throwing in a couple of her own baked goods. Maybe she catches a snippet about Bazur researching something important, been in the library almost constantly for weeks. *
Merrine scuttles off to wherever Bazur is in the castle. Library, probably.
She knocks before entering. He responds, sounds distracted. Merrine’s heart pounds, hearing his voice. An evil little voice presses at the back of her head; just because he answered alone doesn’t mean he was alone. Did she want to deal with him with an audience?
Despite herself, she pushes through the door. The library is huge, with cases upon cases of books. Walls lined with books. Bazur sits at one of the tables, surrounded by books. He flips in one, consults another, scribbles something down in his own book. Books books books. lol
“Put the basket anywhere.”
Merrine looks around. There’s nowhere she’d feel safe putting it. She scuttles to Bazur’s side, placing the basket near his chair. He never looks up from his books.
She gets curious what sort of things he’s looking at. Books on orcs – seeing how humans see them? - and human culture. Anthropology. Religion. Science. History, general and political. Etiquette. Art. Music. Cultural anything.
“You may leave now.” Bazur sounds strained. Still looking at his book, shoulders slightly hunched to his ears.
Merrine narrows her eyes. He’s taking great pains to not look at her. He’s fiddling with a page corner. “You know it’s me.”
“Yes, Merrine.” Bazur croaks. He’s still refusing to look at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Working here temporarily. Helping with some big to-do.”
“Ah...”
Silence. Awkward, dragging silence. Merrine fingers dig into her skirts. “I want to apologize. For my reaction to your...” she struggled to find a word. It hadn’t truly been a confession. It had been a question to her question. “Your reply. I was shocked at the... implication.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot entertain such relationships.”
“I realize this. You’re an important person. You’re around royalty and nobles and leaders all the time. It makes more sense for you to strengthen a bond with another kingdom, bridging the gap between orcs and humans.” Merrine pauses, laughing. At herself. “I’m just a baker.”
“No.” He finally looks to her, face flushed. He gets up, pacing farther away from her. “While it would be more beneficial to be with someone like you mentioned, that’s not why I can’t.”
“What?”
“The Bazur you know is a shined and polished version. I put on my best face, learn the best manners, say the right words because – to humans – I exemplify all orcish potential.” Bazur pauses, brows furrowed. “While I acknowledge my feelings toward you, I... don’t think your feelings toward me are genuinely for me. They’re for Bazur the Ambassador. Not simply Bazur.”
“Wait,” A prickle to Merrine’s voice. She moves forward. Bazur moves away, keeping a distance to her.
“Don’t come closer.” His eyes dart to the door, as if afraid – at any minute – someone would enter. Merrine stops, staring across the distance. Her mind flickered with understanding; the tales of orcs didn’t precisely make them seem safe for the “fairer” sexes. She balled her fists, gaze edging closer to a glare.
Merrine pitched her voice to a hiss. “Are you explaining how my feelings – feelings that I know better than anyone else – are wrong?”
“Not wrong, just... your feelings are toward a façade.”
“My ma says there’s a bit of truth to most lies.” Indicates the books. “You’re smart. Always reading. You go out of your way to help others. You take your responsibility seriously. And you’re cute.”
Bazur’s eyes widen, flush deepens.
“I’m not naïve. I know there’s things I don’t know about you.” Merrine chews on her lip, eye drifting over the books. Lighting on the ones about orcs. She catches Bazur’s eye. “And there’s probably things I don’t understand about orcs. But I’d like to learn.”
“Merrine,” soft, pained, “It’s still so complicated.”
Merrine pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. She lets out a huff and starts for the exit. “Fine. Enjoy your food, ambassador.”
And she’s gone. Storming back to the kitchens, fists clenched and frustration swarming her mind. He dismissed her. Didn’t think her thoughts on the matter were as important as his presumptions. Or did he think she was a silly, idealistic girl?
By the time she returns to the kitchen, her face is ruddy and eyes glassy.
Chef: *concerned* Are you okay?
Servant: *concerned and suspicious* Did the orc do something to you?
Merrine: I’m fi-- *whirls around on Servant* Are you implying something?
Servant: *holds hands up* everyone knows how orcs are like.
Merrine: Enlighten me.
Servant: Y-you know. *nervous laughter; lowers voice* They’re violent and notoriously... hungry. Even with unwilling prey.
Merrine: *socks Servant in gut; grabs Servant by the hair, keeping them bent double as she hisses* Ambassador Bazur has been nothing but kind and respectful to me and everyone else he’s come across in Stocaeca.
Servant: *grunts*
Merrine: Repeat it.
Servant: The orc’s been nothing but kind an-
Merrine: HIS NAME.
Servant: *through grit teeth* Ambassador Bazur has been nothing but kind and respectful in Stocaeca.
Version 2:
Empty and quiet in the bakery, this was the time of day Bazur enjoyed the most. So often, he felt curious gazes or disgusted looks at more crowded times. But he put up with it. Humans had bad interactions with orcs in the past and he was trying to be the new norm to them.
A well-educated, precise, and compassionate fellow. Not that the average orc wasn’t all of that - truth be told, it varied as much as humans - but when you only interacted with orcs in warrior mode… well… frightening rumors abounded.
There was solace to be had, in a quiet bakery. Especially considering who owned the establishment. Well, he supposed Merrine’s mother owned the place, but the younger woman worked there more often. Bazur focused on his book, however, instead of letting his gaze wander toward the kitchen door. A small, unguarded part of his mind wondered what she was doing, though. Was she preparing rolls for the evening rush? Or readying ingredients for some sweet treat come tomorrow’s breakfast?
Bazur nearly yelped when Merrine slammed her hands down onto his table. His attention snapped to her face, eyes wide with surprise. Clutched against his chest, he held his book between himself and her like a protective barrier. “Is something wrong, Merrine?”
Determination sparked in her eyes, her cheeks ruddy from both work and an uncomfortable flush. In her head, she kept hearing her colleague, Kilyn, and their teasing words. With every repeat of the words, the heat within her worsened.
“Do you fancy me?” It was a question, but on her lips, it sounded more like a demand. Trying to ignore the heat creeping into her cheeks, Merrine kept her eyes level with his face.
She tried to ignore the heavy thumping against her eardrums, synchronized with the way her heart heaved in her chest.
Back in the kitchen, Kilyn huddled against the swinging doors, peeking out through a crack.
Merrine’s lips pressed tightly together, her green eyes never wavering from Bazur’s features despite the heat clawing at her face. She mentally prepared for a startled chuckle, a denial, or even outrage from him for her inappropriate question. Anything to prove Kilyn’s teasing wrong and to squelch an annoying tickle in her chest. A tickle that had grown uncomfortably large, since she’d met Bazur.
He was an ambassador, for gods’ sakes. He hobnobbed with royals and nobles! He was learned and kind and building political bridges to change society as they knew it. To think he’d favor her made Merrine’s brain fizzle with confusion.
Instead of answering, Bazur stared back at her, his eyes catching light from the window and shifting between red and orange. His lips parted, eyes fluttering as he finally registered her words, but he couldn’t find the right answer. Bazur took a shallow inhale, his lips clamping shut as his eyes clenched.
Denial seemed the safest route. Politically and emotionally. He always knew his duty as an ambassador might lead to him marrying a human. Though, his parents had always said they’d be powerful and probably a noble. A union born of convenience to bring orcs and humans closer together.
He’d never considered he’d ever feel this way over a human. With his heart pounding and his insides melting under her heated look. With his fingers twitching to touch her, graze her, or with those damned dreams that plagued him at night. Knowing this, saying ‘no’ to Merrine made his chest ache.
Bazur clutched the book tighter, his fingers digging divots into the cover. He swallowed heavily. Merrine watched the knot in his throat bob, suddenly realizing how heavy and warm it had gotten between them. When he opened his eyes, he caught her bewildered gaze with a steady look, trying to evoke solid composure. “Is it a problem if I do?”
Like a felled tree, silence crashed between them.
Merrine’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Oh no. Red spilled across her cheeks and she did the first thing that tumbled into her mind.
She turned around and retreated into the kitchen, leaving Bazur staring after her, his shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths. His heart continued to pound, as if he’d just faced a fearsome foe.
“I told you he liked you!” Another voice cried from the kitchen, gleefully.
Bazur’s shoulders hunched, focus turning to the table. But he didn’t see it. Shock and confusion colored his thoughts, completely adrift with this new development. His fingers ached from holding the book so tightly. Mechanically, he stood and reached out for his scone, finishing it as he tried to kick his brain into functioning again.
It took a few minutes for Merrine to reemerge from the kitchen. Her brain still a flurry of thoughts. He's an ambassador, he rubs elbows with nobility. Plus she knows nothing of orc culture. Did they even marry? What did a fancy even mean to him? Did he even understand what she meant?!
A cold chill shot through Merrine as she stepped into the empty room. Her eyes flickered to the counter, finding Bazur’s empty plate kindly placed by the til. Trying to shake the uneasy feeling, Merrine decided to speak to him next he came in.
It wouldn’t be that long, after all. He’d show his face in a day or two.
---
Two weeks passed before Merrine decided to find Bazur herself.
“Bazur!” “Why haven’t you returned?”
“I was unsure of how to handle the situation.”
“Why?”
“There’s a good deal of politics involved.”
“Okay,” Merrine said, crossing her arms, clearly waiting for a more detailed answer.
Again, Bazur floundered under her green gaze. He opened his mouth, closed it, brows furrowing as he tried to think of an adequate, if minimal, answer. Nothing came to mind. The stiffness in him fell lax, causing his shoulders to slump.
“Much of what you see in me is carefully constructed, Merrine.” “I am the face of orcish kind to many humans here. I cannot get overly angry or let my emotions get the better of me. I do not know if you’d like me beneath this mask.”
“And while I have considered joining with a human, I always thought it’d be born of duty.”
“Stop me when I’m wrong,” Merrine said, letting her arms fall to her sides.
“You’re Bazur, from a clan of orcs in the south.”
“You’ve spent your whole life learning to understand humans. Culture, language, etiquette, and gods’ knows what else,”
“You prefer sweet pastries, especially with blueberry.” “But you’ll eat anything the bakery serves.”
“You like me. And I like you.”
“Merrine…”
“I want to know more about you, Bazur.” “And it’s only fair for me to learn about your culture, as well.”
“Merrine…” Bazur repeated, though this time it was soft and warbling. Trying to hang onto his mask and failing.
“I won’t push it,” Merrine breathed against his palm, eyes still closed. Slowly, her eyes opened as she released his hand. “Come back to the bakery when you want to. I miss seeing your face.”
With that, she turned on her heel. Merrine left Bazur, once again, with his heart pounding and conflicting feelings swarming his insides. His hand still hovered in the air, where she’d pressed it against her face. The phantom heat and softness of her taunting his senses. Slowly, his hand lowered, his attention flicking to Merrine’s retreating form.
Unlike last time, he wasn’t going to flee.
In seconds, he’d closed the distance and swung Merrine back against a tree. His shoulders hunched as he stooped and his forearms boxing the woman. Heavy breaths
“Baz-?”
“Don’t taunt me,” he growled, cutting her off. Her eyes widened a fraction, heat licking over her face. The careful smoothness of his voice was gone.
Fear didn’t color her words. Other than her momentary shock at his actions, she didn’t even seem fazed. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I know. I know.” “I… Orcs feel things - love, hate, excitement, sadness - very strongly. We can get intense.”
Merrine hummed, her lips twitching into a smile. “I’d like to see more of this side.”
