Page 52 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
“No, Charlotte,” Brahnt cut in. “If you bring a casserole, my mother will start drinking.”
“Is she really that elitist, or are you exaggerating?”
“You’ll see,” was the grim reply. “And you’ll understand why I delayed this as long as possible.”
“Great, this is going to be fun. I like new experiences. Caro wanted me to wear a spy cam.”
They exited the car, Brahnt waiting for Charlotte to unbuckle Snowkiss. Charlotte opted to carry the dog rather than confine her to a carrier since Brahnt had said they’d be socializing outside and Snowkiss could run around.
“Try not to crap on their lawn, okay?” she murmured at her baby, who licked her chin and yipped—it was a non-committal yip. “Are you sure it’s fine we brought Snowkiss?”
“Start out as you mean to go on,” Brahnt said. “Besides, it’ll annoy Mother, and that’s always a bonus.” He paused. “Please don’t tell her I said so.”
“Do you two have unresolved issues?”
“Of course not. We get along great. I adore my mother. She is a fine female.”
Riiight.
They walked toward the house, though house was an inexact term. Charlotte kind of mentally blocked out the grandeur of the estate and grounds and pulled on her high positivity. Desperately.
“Sir, it's good to see you,” a gentleman Orc said, opening the door for them. He gave Snowkiss an askance look, then smoothed his expression. “Ma’am. A pleasure.”
Charlotte stared at the gentleman, and belatedly realized the gentleman was, in fact, a butler.
“Your butler is better dressed than I am,” she hissed in Brahnt's ear, tightening her hold on Snowkiss.
Brahnt snorted. “No, he's not. What you're wearing is three times his monthly salary.”
Charlotte looked down at her summer dress. Again, deceptively simple, and she’d prided herself before on her knowledge of the obscure brands of the quietly, insanely, insular rich. But Brahnt had taught her a thing or two.
“It doesn't look like I'm better dressed,” Charlotte said.
“Only poor people try to look wealthy.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, because she was well aware by now that Brahnt's definition of poor and Charlotte's definition of poor were separated by the gaping chasm of several tax brackets and at least three generations of accumulated wealth.
To Brahnt, Bill Gates was middle class.
Okay, fine, maybe Charlotte was exaggerating. . .but she didn't think so. Not by much.
“They're going to hate me,” Charlotte muttered.
“Probably,” Brahnt agreed. “Mother will. Father will like you because I do. Don't worry about it. You don't need their approval.”
“You're so offhand when you say things like that. I wish I had your confidence.”
“You do,” was the reply as they stepped out of the house. “Put Snowkiss down. I already informed the staff she would be present. They’ll keep an eye on her.”
Charlotte hesitated, then obeyed. Snowkiss, predictably, immediately took off chasing. . .something. . .and barking.
They walked across the lawn to an honest to god gazebo, Charlotte looking over her shoulder to keep an eye on her dog. Two Orcs, a male and a female, sat around a small round table, sipping beverages—the female paused mid sip, staring daggers at the dog.
The female was tall, elegantly casual in a blouse and wide legged trousers with black braids in a chignon and bare feet, toenails painted a matte lavender that went nicely with her blue-green skin tone. She lounged in her chair with the kind of “don't give a fuck because I rule the world and you don’t” aura that made Charlotte want to turn around and walk back to the car.
She turned and looked at Charlotte, who began to pat herself down to make sure her skin wasn’t being peeled from her bones to reveal her totally inadequate insides. The stare Brahnt’s mother leveled at a mere Human flipped the capitalization on those words—to Mere, and Human. And added an underlying threat. Charlotte sometimes wished she didn’t have her twin’s imagination, and verbose internal dialogue.
So the Mere Human pasted on her brightest smile and reminded herself that these people might be richer, but she was way more talented.
