18:00, Rotation 264 / 365, 232 AE, -67.569069, -68.125256, Reath

  At the end of classes, with the collected crowd of youngsters milling about and coalescing into their cliques, Githarie wove through the mass to meet up with Lawrah at the great tavern, a ways away from school, down the ancient runway. She finally caught up with her along the stream of children sauntering down the ancient runway, filtering out to all the places they wanted to be after school. But the great bulk followed the crowd, as Githarie and Lawrah had, straight to the pub.

  The great tavern was a long hall much like the school. The pub, also known as the ‘Tusk and Tooth’, was a communal watering hole, traveler’s resting spot, feasting spot for special occasions, and, of course, where binge drinking youngsters went to get absolutely pissed. It was the last school rote before the mid-semester break! School’s out!

  The whole scene was here. Outside the Tusk and Tooth the Bear Brigade was passing a hashish blunt among themselves, they had a big keg of McMurdo lager and they were taking turns keg standing it and cheering each other to “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

  Inside, tearing up the dance floor, were the rest of the Lions, including Deyandra, Zholl, and Zhon.

  In twilight, with some space between them and the Bear Brigade, Githarie finally opened her palm to let Lawrah observe the teeny, conglomerated, slightly sticky white powder.

  “Looks a lot less than we thought.”

  Githarie puckered her lips to try and mask her sour disappointment.

  “Well, Lok Tar O Dar then!”

  She crushed up the contents of the pouch with her nails – it was easy because they were still elongated from berserking her way up the rock – then dipped the pinky nail into the pouch to scrape a bit of the now fluffy stuff, held it up to her nostril and careful not to let the nail bump into her tusk, and then insufflated sharply.

  “BALLS!” she blurted out.

  Her eyes shot wide open, and she sneezed immediately, she hoped not too much was lost with it. She started sucking her teeth. Weird. An uncontrollable grin began spreading on her face.

  “Gimme that ya nakaz orc,” Lawrah spooned a fingerful to her nose and sniffed. Her lips pursed tight after she did the bump.

  “Woo-”, they breathed out slowly. Lawrah put two fingers on her neck to track her pulse, which was pumping hard.

  “Let’s leeroy in and find atul,” – let’s go and find everyone, rapid-fire speech, “and let’s get some beer.” Githarie suddenly felt parched. She sniffed some mucus drip that began gathering at the back of her throat and it tasted like ghasholine.

  “Totes. Totally. Yep, yep, yep.” Lawrah smacked her lips.

  They shoved their way through the rowdy crowd, chanting cheers and singing songs. Right now, was a group chorus. It was a simple song, tied together by a stomp - stomp - clap.

  A rowdy young Lion, Gromnir Illkhan, had jumped up on the bar to sing:

  “Snaga, you’re a weak elf, foul elf,

  Shouting in the sand, gonna take on the Horde all long day,

  Sha got blood on your face, sha big disgrace,

  Waving sha banner all over the place.”

  “WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU!” the crowd crooned in unison.

  “WOOT!” Githarie and Lawrah heartily joined the stomping and clapping.

  After a little tousle through the crowd – at one point everyone was jumping up and down to make the stomps, but they quickly lost the beat and it just became a pitter-patter of feet – they finally found Zholl, Zhon, and Dey, and with quick hugs all around they pushed their way to the front of the queue for drinks.

  Zholl wrapped his arm around Lawrah and started whispering in her ear. Githarie started feeling a little anxious when this happened and started fidgeting – tapping her foot – she wanted a sip so bad now!

  As the line moved along, Dey looked down at the tapping foot, turned around and smirked, “Stoked for the razza, Githie?”

  Gromnir had now launched into another song, a rhapsody, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?” etc.

  “What? No. Whatsha talking about? It’ll be bubhosh fun, I’m sure. But whatever.” Githarie said it all just a tad too quickly. Behind her facade of a chaste and cheeky grin, she thought to herself, zip it Dey!

  Zhon, who was behind Githarie in line, put his meaty hands on her shoulder and started giving her a little neck massage – oh it felt heavenly! Githarie was starting to like this stuff – and then leaned close to his little sister's ear and whispered “Dey already told me all about sha order, sha naughty zug.”

  That snitch! But Deyandra, just as lanky as Lawrah albeit much skinnier, was a good fighter, and it was more likely Githarie would be the one with stitches if they fought.

  She scrunched up her nose and lips and stuck her tongue out at Dey, “Tattletale.”

  Dey let Githarie cut her and rested an elbow on Zhon’s shoulder, not reacting, and she said, “Lion pride.” She turned to Zhon, “Besides, who are your brus to tellsha what to do?” Zugs stick together.

  Gromnir belted, “MAMA! Ooh-ooh-ooh…”

  Why did this queue feel interminable? And God, Grom was so off-key…

  Zhon then clapped Githarie’s shoulder, “Seniority, sis. Sha snaga to me, so hand it over. Taxation.” He then laid his forearm over her shoulder and held out an open palm.

  “If I’m not back this time tomorrow, carry on! Carry on!”

  She craned her neck back to look up at him, “Hey I did a lotta work work for this! Sha know how many dives-”

  “-Sha know how many hauls I’ve had to do this rote? Sha think we were surfing the entire rote? C’mon, give it. We funded sha anyways.”

  “Yeah, cuz it was my birth-rote hongbao, skai off. Anyway, Lawrah has it.”

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  But Lawrah and Zholl had already disappeared into the little bathroom around the back, abandoning their place in line, to do a baby line on their knuckles and make out.

  Thinking quickly – she had so many things spinning around in her head – she said to Zhon, “Why don’t we ronk up? I got the nazge, can we pick up another one from Dey?”

  He still had quite some coin from Lion work work, but he’d not share with his little sister, so he lied, “Nah, I’m skint.” Then he left his place in line as well, scouring for his brother, hoping he could catch Lawrah and Zholl and make an interception. Deyandra’s eyes followed him as he wormed his way through the packed clusters of merry goers.

  “Goodbye everybody! I’ve got to go!”

  Githarie looked at Dey and blinked quickly trying to give her best moony eyes. “Dey- can I get a little bit more?” More is never enough. “I’ll getsha back. Plee-a-se.”

  “Huh? What?” Miss Ghadaz was not paying attention to Zhon’s nakaz sis.

  They had made it to the front of the line.

  “I don’t wanna die! I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all!” But now, without a guitar to continue it, the solo died out as Gromnir tried to get a gaggle of pub goers, quickly losing interest, to chant ‘Scaramouche! Scaramouche!’ But what did that mean?

  Berodie Knielsin, the scatterbrained bartender of the Tusk and Tooth with a big old beer gut and a stringy black and green beard, dropped one elbow on the bar as he leaned forward to ask, “What can I getsha zugs? Murdoc?” A dejected Gromnir slid behind him to go bury himself in a beer.

  Githarie didn’t like the taste of Murdoc. It was too rich and heavy for her.

  Deyandra was flush, for she had made a lot of sales. “Durban, thrak us something spesh.”

  Bar Master Kneelzin, the sixth Bar Master that Tusk & Tooth owner Barliman Brugoff – who would never be seen working at his tavern, but instead up in the big, lofty attic above counting his coins – had hired in the last revolution, leaned back and smacked the bar three times with his right hand. “Got just the thing, we got a craft brew right here from Rothera! A buckwheat-wheat mix pale ale.”

  The zugs exchanged a concerned look. Rothera was a naval village known for jellyfishing and coastal trade. They didn’t grow many cereals and were not particularly known for their soil quality. Was this going to taste good?

  “Wazzit called?”

  “Rhagan’s Tooth.”

  “Yew.” Gith had to let loose that classic surfer holler.

  Berodie stroked his beard after he slammed down two tin tankards filled with a creamy, golden-amber drink, with a satisfying thunk. Just a few drops sloshed on the bar because Berodie had done this so many times he knew just how to place the drinks down for maximum dramatic effect without soiling the counter. Dey tossed him the coins and he snatched them up deftly.

  “Enjoy, zugs! Next!”

  They shuffled away, and then Dey smiled, holding up her tankard, “To our health.”

  Githarie smiled back at her and clinked the tankards, “To another rev ‘round the sun.”

  Whoosh. Deyandra did not pick up the hint as they chugged, before Dey stopped first to brush Githarie’s shoulder, “Zug! Take it easy, issa marathon, not a sprint. Still got the razza.”

  Taking a second to break away from her chug, she gargled “I can handle mah liq-”, she swallowed and hiccuped, “Liq - wur…”, beset by a sudden dizzy spell, she slurred the word ‘liquor’ and swayed on her heels, head cast down.

  Dey squeezed the bridge of her nose together to make a scrunched little simper, because she, quite the gof bitch, just felt Githarie was too innocent, so protected was she by the Thraxes fam, and was going to get herself in trouble without some more street smarts.

  “No sha can’t, ya nakaz snaga gurl. Clearly. That ain’t even liquor.” As Githarie’s swung from side to side, she felt the hai was being a bit condescending. She couldn’t believe it. Deyandra fucking forgot her birth-rote.

  They finally finished glugging down the buckwheat beer after Dey had snatched Githarie’s tankard to top up her own. It wasn’t bad! A little nutty, a little sweet, weirdly salty, and very bitter, but not in an acrid way but – Githarie sloshed the liquid from cheek to cheek for a final discernment – bittersweet. That was the best way to describe it.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly she felt very calm. Ting ting. A tingly warm feeling well within her spread to every extremity and her unremovable grin twitched up just a bit higher into her dimples. She felt a profound sense of wellbeing.

  This was her home. These were her people. Her Horde.

  This was where she belonged.

  Happy Birth-rote, Githarie Thraxes.

  School’s out forever. School’s out with fever. School’s out completely.

  By far the most wheat-productive village was McMurdo, the capital and home of the Horde Master himself, who retreated into his massive palace. McMurdo lager, or ‘Murdoc’, was by far the most popular orcan brew.

  Special props were given if they could hit the blunt while doing a keg stand.

  They were inexperienced, and didn’t understand that it was still in compressed and compacted form, and that once they broke it up it would be more voluminous. It had barely been cut; it was fish scale. It would promptly kick Githarie and Lawrah’s butts with a single bump.

  While Lok Tar O Dar was a battlecry meaning “we run to life or death”, used in a less urgent context it could also mean “you only live once.”

  Balls. All you need are balls. To succeed are balls. Nothing too prosaic. Nothing too archaic. Here’s your wake-up call. We are provocations. This is instigation. Here’s your wake-up call. Your second call.

  ‘Leeroy’, orcish for ‘let’s go’ with great enthusiasm.

  Out and gone, the sun will never set tonight. Yeah, burning that gasoline.

  Gromnir truly earned his name for he was easily the youngest and most stoked surfer of Rothera.

  Little sister can’t you find another way? No more livin’ life behind the shadow.

  Not even the Godlikes knew.

  Orcish slang for McMurdo lager.

  He was really looking forward to doing ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ but was stopped.

  While this word meant ‘ruler’, in this context, being patrons of the establishment, they referred to the owner as Durban, like the use of the word ‘boss’ in an informal context.

  Not to be confused with the Brew Master of the Tusk and Tooth, an abrasive snarker named Zeth Rhagan, who had crafted that very beverage – the buckwheat pale ale – it was half local wild buckwheat in order to save coin on imported wheat, and his secret ingredient was simply a mash of fresh Protorcan bitter gourd grown in a little ramshackle greenhouse, and a little boiled sugar kelp.

  All five of Berodie’s predecessors had been fired for drinking excessively on the job, but Berodie had conquered his addictions, and would be a mainstay at the Tusk for a while.

  They’d hoped that by distributing the artisanal beverage, with reference to the tavern from which it originated – ‘Tooth’ – it would bring more patrons. Unfortunately, the brew never reached other villages, every drop was drained by Rotherans before it could even leave the island. Compared to the industrial might of McMurdo, an independent brewery from Rothera could never compete.

  She had no family, her parents killed during the Exodus. She had been banished from Syowa for theft – she would not have been found at fault had that orc not been a well-connected purveyor of rogue trader goods – and wandered along the Orcan coast before the Lions finally took her in.

  It was the cocaethylene coursing through her blood, dissolving her heart valve, but of course her troll regeneration – called this because the essence that made it happen was first transmogrified in the village of Troll – patched it up quickly.

  Everybody belongs to everybody else.