horseboykarl: (closed eyes smile)
“Hello, darling.”

“Hello, Aunt June. How are you?”

“I’m fine, boy, as you well know. Why are you calling?”

I smirk. Aunt June, always wanting to get straight to the point. “Can’t it be that I just want to talk to my most beloved relative?” I tease.

I hear her snort over the lines and know she isn’t buying my act for a moment, but she loves these games as much as I do. “As I recall, I’m the only relative you’ve got that you actually talk to, so cut the beloved crap, darling. What kind of favor do you need?”

Laughing, I answer, “You know I love and adore you, right?” )
horseboykarl: (Default)
Chilly morning and I’m sitting at the coffee house, enjoying my morning brew and skimming the paper. I don’t subscribe to the piece of shit rag, cause I know how much of it is lies and distortions, but sometimes it’s fun to read.

I’m shocked to see Orlando mentioned in it again . . . spider bite? Fuck, hope he’s okay. And then I remember . . . Thousands of clicking chittering legs and fangs. Spiders.

That fucking bowl. But I shake my head, it’s got to be a coincidence. Fuck, Éomer said some of them got away. Hell, I saw some of them head for the street. They weren’t Shelob size, but Tolkien never used spiders as anything other than agents of evil so odds are they’re pretty poisonous. Is it a coincidence that a man with an Elf-shift gets bitten by one of Tolkien’s nightmares?

I pull out my phone and scroll through my numbers, looking for Viggo’s. The only entry I have says “Vig/Orli” so I don’t know who’s phone it is or if it’s somebody’s house. Probably not answering the phones today anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I punch the number and get voice mail.

“Vig, hey it’s Karl. I just read about Orli. Fuck mate, I’m sorry about that.” I pause, not sure if Viggo knows about the whole bowl ordeal and not wanting to have to explain it on voice mail. “Listen, that bowl spit out some spiders a few months ago, some of them got loose. Paper didn’t say what kind of spider it was, but I’m really hoping it was one of our normal Zid beasties. But if not . . . fuck . . . I’m sorry, I was more concerned with the goblins that day. But if you need anything, ring me. I’ll help you any way I can.”

I hang up, hoping that whatever powers of good there exist in this world will help Orli.
horseboykarl: (karl close)
“Hey, you want to go out tonight, have some pub-grub and some beers?”

“No place particular, but I have a bartender connection, he’ll keep our mugs full.”

I laugh. “No, you’ve actually seen him before. Remember the band we saw the night we first kissed? That’s him.”

“I’ll never forget that night either. So . . . how’s it sound? Just kick back tonight.”

“Okay, did you drive in? I can pick you up when the shop closes.”

“All right, see you soon.” I hang up the phone and step in the shower. This will be good, I can introduce Eric to Gareth, who is as normal as they come around here. Maybe then Eric can see that not all my friends are intimidating, some are just regular Irish lads trying to make a go of life, just like everyone else. Hopefully, if he settles down, I can gradually have him meet my other friends. We’ll just take this slow.

Finally ready to go, I strap my spare helmet to the bike and head into town, getting to Moby Dickens right at closing time. Eric has the worst time shooing the last browser out of the store, so it always seems to stay open later than he plans. But tonight he’s on a mission and he’s locking up when I park the bike.

“Ready to relax?” He looks a little bushed as I wrap him up in a hug.

“Few cold ones would go down well right about now.” He kisses me hello, pulling me against him.

“We don’t have to go out . . . if you’re too tired . . . “ I leer at him.

“No, going out sounds good. Besides, you’re just trying to get me to cook,” he teases.

“Ah, you’re on to me! It’s your culinary skills I’m after, not your hot body.”

“Come on, you big idiot. Let’s go.”

I grin at him. “Let’s not make it too late, I know you’re tired. And I’ll give you a patented Urban massage when we get home.”

“Can’t refuse that kind of offer, now can I?”

We pull into the lot at the Firkin a little while later. Gareth is busy juggling glasses at the taps . . . the place is pretty crowded. We sit at the bar and he nods when he sees me.

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horseboykarl

February 2011

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