Ogres don’t date
Also on AO3
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Full of episode 9 spoilers, so the fic is under the cut.
Enjoy! <3
Pretty waited, his eyes hopeful even as the second hour after sunset ticked by to the next. The three women were late, but he didn't mind waiting. He had washed his face and replaced his grease-covered apron with a slightly less grease-covered apron at the behest of his boss, who was still just as stunned at Pretty's dates as he was. He'd never been on one before and wasn't quite sure what to expect. He hoped there would be food that someone else would be cooking. But just in case, he wore his best apron. He held his hat in his hands, trying not to ruin the fabric entirely and probably failing, but Pretty couldn't bring himself to care.
Another hour passed and Pretty squared his shoulders when one of the regular patrons came out, laughter in his eyes but it wasn't the funny kind of laughter, that much he could recognise. Pretty tried not to wince at the sight; this elven man was the reason for his full name: Pretty Ugly. His mother had called him Pretty when she had birthed him, as he had the best of both her features and his father's, and was the prettiest of all the ogres, she was sure of it. The elf, however, had adorned him with his unwanted surname, sneering 'yeah, Pretty Ugly' to one of his friends when he'd been introduced as the newest cook at the establishment. Thankfully, Pretty's larger stature meant most people only called him 'Pretty Ugly' behind his back rather than to his face. No one wanted their face plastered on a griddle and topped with gravy. In fact, Eltar was wearing a heavy glamour now to conceal one side of his face - the result of Pretty's anger, shame, and other emotions he didn't have the intelligence to name, but knew he didn't like.
"Face it, Pretty: they were playing you and stood you up. Just give up and go home," Eltar sneered.
"No. They did not lie." Pretty's lip wobbled. "They liked my food."
Eltar laughed outright now, definitely nothing funny about the tone. "No one likes your food, Pretty. They lied and probably stole everything of value right off you while you were sitting there sobbing. Everyone knows ogres don't date."
Pretty could feel that same rush of anger he'd felt when Eltar had given him his surname, his hands clenching into tight fists, and Eltar's eyes widened as he stepped back, his own hands raised in front of him.
"Whoa, now. Calm down, Pretty, I'm just joking - "
"Pretty! There you are! We're so sorry we're late," Fearne said, coming up behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder.
Her light touch had his hands unclenching almost immediately, his hat dropping to his feet.
"We ran into some trouble on the way here. It was my fault we're late," Imogen said, tugging on the braid over her shoulder.
It barely concealed the bruise she'd received after they'd gone to rescue Chetney from his pursuer, but she hoped the evening's dim light would cover the rest of it. Up until thirty minutes ago, she'd still been unconscious, and was thankful Ashton had thought to store emergency healing potions in Fresh Cut Grass' ... uh, stomach.
"It was also my fault," Laudna said, eyes bright despite the dim light. "I wanted to change my clothes, but Paté didn't like any of the choices. He's terribly hard to please, sometimes. I hope blood-stained clothes aren't a problem?" she asked, smile too wide and teeth too sharp.
Pretty turned away from Eltar to face the three women, and looked each of them over carefully. He recognised the signs of a post-fight tension and adrenaline that would soon be fading: too-bright eyes, tense shoulders, favouring one side over another, the slight wince when a limb was moved too suddenly. Not to mention the bruise on Imogen's shoulder. "You all look lovely," he said, one-hundred percent truthful.
"Well, thank you, Pretty. And is this a new apron?" Fearne asked, stroking the fabric as though she was trying to determine its worth under the grease.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you a friend of Pretty's?" Imogen asked, seeing Eltar to his side.
"No," Pretty said before Eltar could charm and sweet-talk the ladies into believing one of his stories; he'd seen it done time and time before, and he never understood how or why Eltar did it, but Pretty certainly didn't want him to lie to these three. Not when they'd been so kind to him and liked his cooking.
"Okay," Fearne said simply, turning her attention away from Eltar without a second glance. "Where would you like to go on our date, Pretty? There's a gondola - "
"Hey, don't forget your hat, Pretty Ugly!" Eltar called.
Pretty wished he had magic so the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He could hide beneath it, like a steak and vegetables beneath a river of gravy.
"Well. That's not very nice," Laudna said, blinking once and then staring. She reached out for Pretty's hat, her hand extending beyond what normally should have been possible, shadows reaching, whispers whispering, and fear drowning Eltar's mind.
His high-pitched scream sounded just like the one he'd given when his flesh had met sizzling metal. It was over in a second and Pretty glanced behind him to see Eltar collapsed on the steps, a puddle forming beneath his breeches.
"Here, your hat. Oh, look, it matches your apron. It is a lovely shade of fabric, isn't it? Is it blood-red or crimson?" Laudna asked, brushing the fabric off gently before handing it to Pretty.
"Uh. Red."
"Ah, lovely. Now, we were discussing locations, were we not? Fearne?" Laudna prompted.
"Oh, yes. The gondola, or a park to run through, or somewhere to dance. Food, too."
"Those aren't locations, Fearne. Not exactly," Imogen pointed out, frowning. She went to brush her braid back over her shoulder, then let out a soft hiss as she hit her bruise.
"Are you all right?" Laudna asked immediately, eyes on her in concern.
"You need healers," Pretty said.
"Oh, no. I am perfectly fine. Don't you worry about this little thing. Just... It's just a small bruise, I'll put some salve on it when we get home," Imogen said quickly.
"Not just you, all of you. Who did you fight?" Pretty asked.
Fearne stopped walking, Mister peering out from her hair. She petted him absentmindedly, glancing at Imogen and Laudna. "Well, there's someone we're looking for, and some very unfriendly people who don't want us to find them."
Pretty frowned. "You're bounty hunters?"
Imogen shook her head. "Oh, goodness, no. Nothing like that... Well, maybe a little like that. We're not employed as bounty hunters, though, we're just - "
Laudna rested a hand on Imogen's uninjured shoulder. "Like Fearne said, we're looking for somebody who is making it very difficult to be found. But we're all right, no lasting damage, no one died. Well, no one we know, at least," she amended, frowning. "And we wanted to hurry back for our date. Have you been on one before? I haven't, and neither has Imogen. We're both quite excited!"
Pretty shook his head. Ogres didn't date, and after Eltar, Pretty certainly didn't either. Still, he had seen and heard enough from patrons, his boss, and others in the tavern, and understood the general concept. "I know somewhere with good food," he offered.
"That sounds lovely, Pretty," Fearne said, eyes wide and flowers growing in her hair.
Pretty smiled at her, then down at Imogen as she looped her arm through his carefully. Laudna walked beside them, silent and sometimes melting into the shadows, but it was comforting in a way he didn't understand or need to analyse, it simply was.
"The people you fought? Are they dead?" Pretty asked, leading them through the streets to the Spire by Fire.
"Hmm, I'm not sure. There was a lot of blood and shouting. I definitely heard bones break," Laudna said, smiling broadly.
"Ooh, did you? Was it the guard or the... uh, other one?" Fearne asked.
"I think it was the guard. They hurt Imogen, they weren't going to get away with it unscathed," she answered, as though the justification was required for anyone present.
"You really didn't have to - "
"I did, and it's already done. Now, where are you taking us, Pretty? Or is it a surprise? Will there be a table for the four of us?"
"I think you mean five," Paté said, popping up beside her.
"Oh, Paté, hush. You know you can't eat at the table with us again," Laudna scolded, glancing at Pretty for his reaction.
Imogen laughed softly. "The last time she, uh, Paté did that, we got kicked out of the place before we'd even got our food. I was starving all the rest of the night."
"Paté... chose your clothes?" Pretty asked, uncertain if he remembered correctly while his brain and emotions had been so focused on Eltar.
Laudna smiled brightly. "Yes, he did!"
"Do you like them?" Paté asked.
Pretty nodded. "They are the same colour as my apron. And hat," he added, reaching up to touch his hat, only to touch his bald head instead. His eyes widened and he looked back to see if he'd dropped his hat, only to discover it hanging from Fearne's antlers instead.
She saw his expression and smiled up at him prettily. "I didn't think you'd mind."
Pretty frowned. Did he mind? Eltar had teased him about his lack of hair, his small head, his large expressions on a small face, and the hat was something that hid most of those things. He shook his head. "I don't mind."
"Fearne, give it back. Pretty might get cold later," Imogen pointed out.
Fearne's smile dropped. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Can I wear it until the restaurant, then?" she asked hopefully.
Pretty smiled this time, and nodded as he slowed to a gentle stop, aware of their shorter legs and strides on either side of him. "We are here."
Fearne sighed and tugged the hat off carefully. "Thank you for the loan, Pretty. Is their food as good as yours?"
"Almost. They don't know how much grease or gravy to use," Pretty said, wrinkling his nose.
Oh, thank god, Imogen said in Laudna's head, who just smiled and entered the establishment's door.
"Good evening. Table for four?" Laudna asked, still smiling broadly.
"Make that five!" Paté called, popping out from Laudna's side.
Screams rang out into the night as much for Laudna's smile as Paté's presence.
Pretty liked these three women; they weren't afraid of him, they were strong enough to fight and break bones, and most importantly, they liked his food. After tonight, they might decide not to date him again, but Pretty hoped that they could still be his friends. He'd like that just as much as the sound of Eltar's flesh sizzling. He smiled as he guided Imogen and Fearne inside after Laudna to begin their date.
...
The end.
Thanks for reading; I hope you liked it!
