On a large, lovely aero-craft of the latest design, and using the ultimate in electo-static atmosphere bubbling, a member of the dwarven race tried for the umteenth number of times to not roll his eyes as the very tall human woman next to him talked with the elven young man who he had to get to Richmond. They were discussing, in her native, if accented, English and the elf’s fractured fragments of English, about the nuts and bolts of the language.
The seats on the newest models of this aero-craft were as comfortable as any that Alvin had sat in since before the last war, when all air transports were petroleum guzzling smog factories that were as gentle on passengers as slingshots. These almost had the little man drifting off in slumber, even as the plane was lifting off from the launch pad.
“When the steward asks you ‘How are you today?’ They are being polite, and you only need to answer with something like ‘Fine, thank you.’”
“Ach, she asked.” The you looking man sat staring up at his nurse, and had a mildly confused look on his face. “Why ask, but not want?”
Ellen was very patient with the lad. More patient than Alvin had left in himself to be. Though that might be with this entire process, rather than with just Tj’Chin’Ker.
Alvin was surprised at the lovely soft Scottish Burr Tj’Chin’Ker’s spoke with. He knew that the man spoke with an accent Alvin had never heard before when they had spoken in his own H’Aghram language. Tj’Chin’Ker was fluent in the speech of Alvin’s people. But he spoke it with a completely alien accent; it was like nothing Truitt had ever heard before in his three hundred plus years.
The closest he had ever heard was the very cultured, elegant, and almost archaic way that Elgin Stark, himself, spoke H’Aghram. Alvin had heard that one of his more distant aunts had once been word by Stark when she had been barely into her second century. It was a scandal among his elders, though he had his suspicions that his own mother had been jealous of his aunt, Coreanatta’s, dalliance with the man.
He knew his cousins from her first brood were odd dwarves. In their looks as well as their temperament. They were some of the fiercest artisans he had ever met, and their capacity for the traditional forms of H’Aghram magics was stunning.
“...and why is it called that? That word is ridiculous, and uncomfortable to say.”
“Do ye’ know how one language borrows words from another and so on? That’s what had happened here.” She smiled down at the elf, possibly thinking this explanation would end the conversation.
“Ach, it’s a Romii word, but with Ostrogoii bits tacked on.” His face was serious as a stone slab, but something in his voice was trying to shift his frustration to levity. Alvin hadn’t caught what word they were discussing.
He closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing, hoping to catch a quick nap on the flight. He was almost done.
Rebecca had been working at the Price-Herz-Prize auto rental kiosk at the Liberty International Aero Center just outside of Philadelphia for two years at this point in her life, and had never had a customer who she hated as much, but also wanted to boink as hard, as this one.
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He was tall, handsome in that smooth way that international men could be, especially the ones from places like Brazil and Spain, and he was dressed in the most expensive casual dress clothing she had ever seen. His clothing even had a few tears in the fabric, and looked distressed in a way that wasn't “In” currently, but should be, in her opinion.
He spoke with such an amazing voice. His word choices were just screaming classy A!F! It was all she could do to keep herself from calling him “Daddy.”
But, he was being such an asshat about not having a car reserved. The man wanted to drive from here in Delco all the way down to Virginia, for some reason.
Rebecca got it. She knew life could throw you a hard curve now and then, and you had to adapt. You had to deal.
The guy kept talking about missing the flight his friends were on, and now he had to drive to catch them. It sounded like a bad idea to Rebecca. She would have just gotten a later flight. Or possibly take a train. They ran through the Philly station at 30th Street every two hours, and as long as you didn't mind spending a half hour in Baltimore, and then another in DC, it was so much better than driving.
But this was her business, and his shitty decisions weren't any of her business.
But this jackwagon was just yammering away at her, in his amazingly bossy-super-sexy-Latin-daddy way, and it was just exhausting her. She felt like one of those small furry things that snakes weaved and bobbed around, hypnotizing it until the little thing was so worn down that the snake had, after an alluring dance, an easy meal.
She had finally gotten him a car, and set up an account, and was trying to get him to pay for the service, but he kept trying to get it all charged to some large corporate account.
She didn’t have access to such an account, and he didn’t have the digital paperwork that she could use to charge such an expenditure.
Rebecca kept circling back to the need for payment, and every time she did, he had a flare of temper that just reminded her of her little sister’s need for drama 24/7/365.
Finally, the man smiled at her, and Ooooomygod, what a smile it was. She thought she might need a change of undies once this asshat was out and driving away. He pulled a wallet from his slightly tight pants. …not too tight, but tight enough to see the bulge and curve… Lil’Becca might have to get some specialized attention later in the employee lounge. She could never check off that box on her chore list enough times.
For a brief moment, the wallet looked like it had been covered in blood. Fresh, red, shiny, and dripping. But maybe Rebecca needed to eat an apple, her blood sugar must be low, and the man was pulling out large bills from the wallet to pay her with cash.
CASH!?
Who used cash now? Sure, she had to accept it. It was legal tinder. But, who used it anymore?
And the bills looked blood soaked, too. Until he placed three big ones, each a $500-. For a moment she could feel the warm, wet blood on her fingers, pooling in her palms, and then, in a crisp moment of reality snapping back into place in front of Rebecca, she was putting the three Baracks into the register, blues, greens, and vibrant silver colored inks of the bills highlighting the usually handsome face of that long ago President on those 5ers.
She sent a data bundle to the man’s datpad with the location of the rental, a signed digital contract, and the electronic keycode for the Luxury Portugal Leon, the most expensive rental car they had in stock.
And as fast as that, the jerk spun, and ran from her little kiosk towards the rental lot.
She watched his buttocks wrestle each other, and the fabric in his pants as he fled.