Page 7 of Geeky Pucking Orc

“Share,” I repeated. “Digital.” I was so lost, but all of these words were things I could study later, so it was important that I remember them. “What types of posts are most effective in creating engagement?” I ask.

She laughed again. “You’re a quick study.”

“I want to learn.” I did, but mostly I wanted to be of assistance. I wanted to be of value–to her.

“Okay.” She paused. “People like authenticity. Genuine reactions. Unexpected sweetness. Humor. Things that feel real. Stuff like Ozar playing with kids in the playground.”

Jealousy sliced through me.

“Or one of you discussing how a loss affected you emotionally,” she continued. “Or what your favorite food is, or a hobby from your childhood, or a story of a family member.”

I considered this. “Do you want only Ozar to do these things?” I ask. “Or is it okay if other team members post this content?”

She studied me again, more closely this time. “Why?”

“I wish to assist,” I said.

Her expression shifted—curiosity, perhaps. “You want to help?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Why?”

Because I love you.

I did not say that. “Because your success will help the team,” I said. “I also want to help the team. And these things you suggest sound interesting to me. They sound…fun.”

She grinned, her algae-eyes sparkling. “Well. I’m not going to turn down help.”

“Then I will be useful to you,” I told her.

Her smile widened. “That’s a great attitude.”

She eyed her watch and grimaced. “I’ve got thirty minutes until my meeting and I’m getting more nervous by the second. Take my mind off everything riding on this pitch, Bwat. Talk to me about something that’s not hockey or social media.”

I thought about all the things I’d searched the internet for today that didn’t include hockey or Abby and came up with nothing. That left one safe topic of conversation. Me.

“Many orcs never leave their tribal territories, even after they become adults. Those orcs who compete in games for their clan and those who are traders do, but for a large number of orcs, their villages and surrounding mountains and forests are their entire world.”

Abby’s brow smoothed and she eyed me with an expression of curiosity. “So you never left your lands until coming here? How jarring and unsettling that must have been.”

I shook my head. “My parents are traders, artisans that work with metal. As I child I had seen all the larger orc towns and even the huge city of Eng’s kingdom. I have seen the mountains and the seas, the plains and the barren lands. I have even been to the fae courts.”

She gasped. “You’ve been to the faery lands? Were your parents buying or selling? What are the courts like?”

“They are wild and colorful and full of art and beauty. The fae are beautiful, but we need to be careful in our dealings with them because they are full of trickery and love to deceive. There is no trust and very little in the way of honor when it comes to the fae.” I took a breath to release the tension I always felt whenever I remembered our visits to the courts. “Orcs are unaffected by magic, and we have no magic of our own, but our lives are improved by magical items. The fae would bespell our metal items, which made them very valuable and in great demand. Our most popular is a metal songbird that announces certain times of day by spreading its gilt-edged wings and singing. Very useful if the day or night is cloudy and judging time by the sun or moon is impossible.”

Abby laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than the fae-magicked birds. “Oh! Like a cuckoo clock! What were the other items your parents made and sold?”

I smiled, fondly remembering my childhood. “They were not all artwork. Some were useful items like a pan that does not burn the food cooked in it, or a…a flat utensil that turns even fragile foods without them breaking or cracking.”

“I seriously need that magicked spatula,” Abby said. “Half my over-easy eggs end up with broken yolks, and my crepes are a total disaster.”

The next letter home, I would ask my parents to send one over for Abby. One of the singing, time-telling birds too. And maybe one of the pans, although I didn’t want to insult her by implying that she regularly burned her food.

“We trade the fae for their spellwork, letting them have items they cannot create on their own. Fae are highly allergic to many metals, and although they have some spells to allow them to use certain items for a very short period of time, they cannot work the metal without severe injury or sometimes death,” I told her.

“Wow. That’s fascinating, Bwat.” She’d rested her elbows on her knees and was cupping her chin in her hands. I found her fascinating. And far more beautiful than any of the fae items I’d ever seen in their courts.