AN: Sorry this took so long – but I want to keep the chapters around the same length, and it takes a while for me to write 9-10 pages Like I said in the first chapter, this story is going on temporary hold until I update my Recess fic (because I made a commitment to that one first), but I will continue to work on it! I love this show/movie too much to stop now.
2: Eat Slay Love
"Well, boys will be boys,
And girls will be trouble,
And I'm a man with bad habits—
I see you walking down the town
With another man,
And, girl, I had to have it."
- Thin Lizzy
I hate them, Zoria thought bitterly. I hate them all.
The suppertime rush had indeed arrived, and though Zoria had made a considerable effort to talk to some of the nicer-looking men, all she had discovered was what she had already known—men are jerks.
Or at least the men who were at the Snoring Dragon that evening were jerks. Muscle-headed, pheromone-oozing, sexist, belittling, unpleasant, foul smelling jerks. Even the ones who had seemed nice at first had wound up patronizing her for being a female hunter—saying her sword was nothing but a large butter-knife and asking her how many bunnies she'd managed to bag.
Perhaps tonight was just a bad night. Perhaps she just needed to talk to more of them until she found one who wasn't a complete loser. But she was tired and hungry and a hair's breadth away from snapping and lopping off the head of the next guy who dared to mock her. So she retired to the table by the fire, where Zaza sat eating her dinner with Gwizdo, Lian-Chu and Hector. She sat next to her sister and rubbed her temples with a drawn-out groan.
"Do you… want some bulgor stew?" Zaza asked her tentatively. "Mom made it special for you."
"Thanks, Zaza, but I'm not hungry yet. I'll have some once my stomach settles."
"Are you sick?"
"Ha," Zoria said dryly, "I guess you could say that…"
"Don't be discouraged, Zoria," Lian-Chu said soothingly. He had been watching his ex-pupil's attempts all evening, more out of concern for Zoria's wellbeing than anything. "This is just a bad bunch, that's all."
"That's what you get for tryin' to schmooze a roomful o' rogues," Gwizdo said between mouthfuls of stew. "They aren't exactly the marryin' type."
"Neither am I," Zoria muttered. "I don't know why I thought I could do this."
"Zo-o-ria-a-a," Jeanneline said in a singsong voice as she passed by their table, "I saw you out there—good job, sveetheart! Keep it up!"
"…I guess that's why," Zaza said once her mother was out of earshot. Zoria groaned again.
"I can't take it," she said exasperatedly, burying her face in her hands.
Gwizdo eyed her over his bowl. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her looking so helpless. After his anger over their earlier spat (which, like most of their arguments, had been wordlessly forgiven and swept under the rug) he'd been perfectly prepared to enjoy her distresses that evening. But something about the sight of her looking so defeated—not to mention the fact that, if overheard snippets were anything to go by, she'd been talking to some real pigs—melted him a little. Enter Mister Gwizdo, chairman of the flippin' Bleedin' Hearts Club.
"Hey, hey," he said gently, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the other customers, "just forget about them. Trust me, these guys aren't anythin' to hang yourself over."
She looked up at him. He winked at her and stuffed his spoon back into his mouth. Zoria smiled gratefully, and Gwizdo's rusty hinge of a heart gave a satisfying creak. That was Zoe smiling at him.
The soft whoosh-and-thud of the door flying open shattered their brief moment of peace. Every patron of the inn turned as one to look at the two men who had just entered into the room. One was thin and greying, perhaps in his late fifties, and had a simpering expression that reminded Zoria of her Uncle Arnold's advisor, Lord Gildas. The second was a young, muscular, and handsome man, sporting a head of golden hair that looked as if it had begun the day well-combed but had since fallen into disorder. Both of them were dressed practically for travelling, but their clothes were unmistakably of very fine, very expensive make.
"Ahem," the grey man cleared his throat and gestured to his golden-haired companion. "Announcing the esteemed Lord Mortimer Ecklestone II, son of Lord Quincy Ecklestone III of the famed Stutter Island Estate!"
The blonde man, Lord Mortimer, gave the room a polite nod and a bright smile.
"I," the grey man went on with a flourish, "am his confidant, Lord Plink of the House of Mugglor, and…"
A third man barged through the door and stood behind the newcomers. He was an armed giant about Lian-Chu's size, looking strangely composed for his barbaric build and wearing the neutral but vaguely irate expression of a bodyguard.
Lord Plink waved dismissively at the giant. "And this is Karl."
Karl grunted hello.
None of the patrons reacted. Jeanneline, it appeared, had gone off to the kitchens to watch the stew and hadn't heard the announcement of her esteemed new guests. But Gwizdo had heard. Oh, Gwizdo had heard just fine.
"Boy, oh boy, oh boy!" he whispered excitedly to his tablemates. "Stutter Island Estate is crawlin' with gold, it's practic'ly buried in it!"
"Fat lot of good that'll do either of us if they don't have a dragon they want dead," Zoria muttered.
Gwizdo stood up and let his eyes flutter shut dramatically. "My dear Zoria," he said, his voice dripping with oil, "surely you know me better 'n that?" He grinned. "I can squeeze cash outta these rich stiffs faster than Lian-Chu can catch a Smacklin'."
With that, he sauntered over to the three newcomers and greeted them with a deep and exaggerated bow.
"My dear Lords, I'd just like to thank you on behalf o' the owner for what I'm sure will be your very, er, generous patronage—she's not available right now, but I'll be happy to take care o' anythin' you need in the meantime. So whaddya want, hmm? A table, dinner, a couple o' rooms? Just name it. Tips are accepted and encouraged. And, ah," he winked conspiratorially at Lord Plink, "if you happen to wanna hire some specialists, say for a dragon-related problem, I just happen to know the perfect men for the job, so be sure to let me know."
Lord Mortimer grinned broadly at Gwizdo and shook his hand heartily. "I'm very pleased to meet you," he said, "and let me just say, if this is the sort of service this, er, Snoring Dragon place provides, then we appear to have been led here by Lady Luck herself. My companions and I are weary from a long day's travel and require lodgings for the night. Oh, and our horses—Karl took the liberty of leading them to the stables just now—they will need to be fed and watered. Could you, perhaps…?"
"Say no more, m'lord," Gwizdo raised a hand. "Just, ah, gimmie a second, and I'll—"
"Gvizdo, vhat are you doing, bothering my customers?" Jeanneline shoved the little man out of the way with a nudge of her hip. He slunk back to the table, muttering obscenities, as the innkeeper turned a radiant smile onto the Lords and their bodyguard. "I'm sorry, I vas in the kitchen. Vhat can I do fer you, sirs?"
"Um," Mortimer's brow furrowed, "that man we were talking to, he was not one of your staff?"
"Ach, no," Jeanneline scoffed, glaring over her shoulder at Gwizdo, "he and his big friend over there are dragon hunters, they rent a room here. Or, at least, they stay in a room here. But no matter, vhat can I interest you in? Rooms? Supper?"
"Both would be—" Mortimer began, but Lord Plink cut him off.
"My dear innkeeper," he simpered, "I suppose you did not hear us before. This is Lord Mortimer Ecklestone II of Stutter Island, and I am Lord Plink of the House of Mugglor. As befits our status, we require your best available accommodations. Money is no object, of course—provided that we receive acceptable service."
"Oh," Jeanneline gasped, and gave a clumsy curtsey, "of course, my lords. Let me take yer things, and you get settled at that table by the fireplace to rest yerselves. Dears," she smiled at Gwizdo, Lian-Chu, Hector, and her daughters, "could you please sit elsevhere and let the Lords have the good table?"
Before they had a chance to react, Lord Mortimer waved a hand and strode towards the table. "Nonsense, I won't have anyone's suppers disrupted on my account. There's plenty of room here, we can all sit."
He sat himself down next to Zoria and gave another polite nod to the table's company. "Good health to you all," he said.
"My Lord," Plink whined, "this is quite inappropriate—"
Mortimer ignored him and, leaning across the table, took a sniff of Gwizdo's stew. "Mmm… that smells delightful. I'll have a large bowl of that for my supper, please."
"Right avay, sir," Jeanneline bowed her head. "And fer you two?" she asked Plink and Karl, who were still standing.
Plink, who looked as if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, stammered for a moment before finally agreeing to have the same as Mortimer. Karl grunted his ascent. As Jeanneline whisked off to get their meals, the young Lord gestured for his companions to sit, which they did, Plink fidgeting all the way. They flanked Gwizdo on both sides, and the grumpy little man, now that he knew he wasn't going to get any cash from the Lords, made no further attempt to mask his irritation.
"And who are you fine folk?" Mortimer asked the group. His gaze swept the table, lingering an extra moment or two on Zoria, who responded by clearing her throat in a decidedly boyish manner.
"I'm Zoria the Dragon Hunter," she said with a small smile. "The innkeeper is my mother. And this is my sister, Zaza," she ruffled the girl's hair. Zaza grinned at Mortimer.
"Pleased to meetchya!" the child said, before turning her attentions onto Karl. "Oooh, is that a flail? I always wanted to use a flail, but Lian-Chu says they don't do much damage unless you're really, really strong like him—I guess you're pretty strong, huh?"
Karl smiled and grunted.
Mortimer laughed. "You know, that's the first time I've seen you smile in ages, Karl!" he turned to Zoria as Zaza and the giant continued their conversation. "Your sister's a plucky little thing, isn't she? What a delightful girl!"
Zoria nodded. "She's the greatest."
"Yeah," Gwizdo mumbled, "if you like annoyin' little chatterboxes that never give ya a moment's peace 'n' quiet, sure, she's a peach."
Zoria flashed him a quick glare. He stuck his tongue out at her.
Mortimer frowned, then flashed Gwizdo a wide smile. "So, sir, it appears you weren't actually in a position to get us our rooms, after all. Not the subtlest of attempts to get your hands on a gold piece or two, but certainly resourceful."
"Uh, I'm sure I don't know what you're talkin' about," Gwizdo stammered, "I was just tryin' to be friendly, that's all."
Mortimer smirked. "Not to worry, my good man. Happens all the time. And I don't blame you—you're in the dragon hunting business yourself, I hear? The innkeeper gave you away, I'm afraid. I hear it's been tough for many hunters to find work lately, and from the state of your clothes…" he gave Gwizdo's filthy attire a once-over, "I'd wager you're doing no better."
Gwizdo glowered at him.
"So," Mortimer went on, "I gather that you, sir, are Miss Zoria's agent?"
"Absolutely not!" Zoria cried.
"Heh, you should be so lucky, sweetheart," Gwizdo grinned. "No, my good sir, I am no man's agent. I," he stood up, in full pitch-mode now, "am one half of a lethal whole, the brains of the terrible twosome, the deadly duo, the unstoppable dragon-slayin' team… Gwizdo and Lian-Chu!"
Right on cue, Lian-Chu lay his supper down and struck an impressive pose as Gwizdo waved his arms in the warrior's direction. Karl and Zaza looked up from their one-sided conversation to give the pair a respectful second of attention before turning away. Lord Plink seemed less than amused, but Mortimer was grinning at the two with unabashed admiration. Zoria chuckled affectionately, resting her cheek on her hand—she loved watching her old friends get into their spiel.
"Gwizdo and Lian-Chu… I've heard of you!" Mortimer cried. "You're the hunters who freed the village of Reldingsfield, near Truckledingle Forest—we were just passing through there a few weeks ago, and they told us all about how you slayed that Puffbellied Plugdrifter for them last year."
"That's right," Gwizdo crowed, "and we do it all for a, ahem, very reasonable fee. So all you guys out there sufferin' under dragon-fire," here he turned to address the room at large, many of the inhabitants of which were watching them, "remember this! Gwizdo and Lian-Chu will slay any beast, no matter how terrifyin', no matter how huge! Just bring your cash and we'll take care o' the rest! Why, just a few months ago we were trekking through the jagged peaks of the Graniterra Isles…"
"Hoo, boy," Zoria whispered to Mortimer with a chuckle, "now you've really got him going."
Mortimer laughed, and turned to meet her eye. She'd moved closer to him to whisper, and their heads were leaning dangerously close. Zoria straightened up with a small cough. He smiled at her—a soft, sweet smile. His eyes searched her face, travelled up along her pigtails and down her lithe body. Zoria dropped her gaze to the tabletop—Bouncing baby-blues, she thought in a panic. I'm blushing!
Gwizdo, taking no notice of the fact that his wealthiest audience member was good and distracted, led Lian-Chu to a more central location to continue their not-so-subtle sales pitch and story-time session. Mortimer leaned a little closer to Zoria—just an inch, but boy, oh boy, what an inch.
"So, Miss Zoria…" he began.
"Just Zoria is fine."
"As you wish. Zoria, I'm somewhat embarrassed to have heard so much about your friends but so little about you. Tell me about your work."
She shrugged. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of me. I'm what you might call a roaming hunter—I pull most of my contracts well past the Oridell Archipelago. Around these parts," she smiled bitterly, "you might know me as the Mustachioed Lady."
Mortimer gawked at her in a decidedly ungentlemanly manner. "That giant hunter who turned out to be a woman in disguise? That was you? I heard you were fantastic!"
Her smile turned playful. "I still am."
"Perhaps we could spar sometime—I'm something of a swordsman myself. Best on Stutter Island, if I may be so bold." He gave her a look that could only be described as dangerously flirtatious. "If you can go toe-to-toe with a dragon, surely you could put up a good fight against me."
Zoria was temporarily stunned. He wasn't mocking her, she could tell. He actually wanted to spar with her. He'd never seen her fight, and already he was convinced she was good at what she did. She knew the simple fact that he wasn't belittling her shouldn't be enough to get her heart thumping, but—gosh darn it—there it went, hammering away. And I guess it doesn't hurt that he's really darn cute.
"I'd be honored," she said finally.
"M'lady, if you're half as good as the rumours say, the honour will be all mine."
Zoria grinned.
"We-ell," Gwizdo said happily as he and Lian-Chu returned to the table, "I think it's safe to say we've impressed the rabble today, eh, ol' buddy?"
"They did seem to like your story," Lian-Chu agreed.
"Like my story—who're you kiddin', they loved it! We had 'em eatin' outta the palms of our hands! Boy, oh boy, I tell ya, any one o' those rogues comes across a dragon, they'll come runnin' straight to us. Hoo boy, that felt great," Gwizdo cracked his knuckles and shoved a heaping spoonful of bulgor stew into his mouth. "Mwe ha'n't done tha' in months!"
Lord Plink turned up his nose. "I so admire the ease with which the common folk can be entertained," he said dryly.
Gwizdo swallowed. "An' what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"It means," Plink sneered, "that if all it takes to impress these people is a few pretty words from a half-literate charlatan—"
"Half-literate?" Zoria and Gwizdo cried in unison.
"You couldn't be farther off!" Zoria snapped.
"Whaddya mean, half-literate?" Gwizdo said, his words once more overlapping with Zoria's. "Buddy, I'll have you know I could out-literate your sorry butt any day o' the week!"
"Gwizdo is a great reader, and a great speaker," Lian-Chu added, his gentle voice tinged with anger.
"Is he?" the skinny Lord sniffed. "That's hardly a remarkable feat considering where we are. Why, a toddler who could barely spell his own name would be a great reader compared to the likes of these ruffians."
Gwizdo stood up and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted.
"Lord Plink!" Mortimer barked. "Hold your tongue! We are guests at this inn and I will not have you being rude to our companions. Mister Gwizdo, Mister Lian-Chu, I am truly sorry—please excuse Lord Plink, he is," Mortimer shot his companion a pointed glare, "unaccustomed to being polite to anyone who isn't of noble stock."
"We-he-hell," Gwizdo said darkly, "I'm sorry we ain't good company, Lord Plink. C'mon, Lian-Chu—Hector. Let's go."
He stalked off towards the staircase, and after a moment's pause, his friends followed.
"Goodnight everyone," Lian-Chu waved as he turned away.
There was a chorus of goodnights from everyone who wasn't Plink or the still-mute Karl. When her old friends had left, Zoria made to get to her feet as well.
"I think I'll head off to bed," she said, her voice clipped.
"Me too," Zaza huffed, giving a fuming Plink the stink-eye and waving goodbye to Karl as she jumped to the floor and stalked away. Karl waved back.
"Zoria," Mortimer put a hand out to stop her, his fingers hovering just above her arm. "I hope you're still open to that sparring match," he smiled apologetically. "Trust me, nothing like this will happen again."
Zoria smiled back. "I believe you. And thank you for putting a stop to it."
"It was my pleasure. Tomorrow, then?"
"Tomorrow. Goodnight, Lord Mortimer."
"Please, just Mortimer."
She felt her cheeks growing warm again. Why did he have to look at her like that? "Goodnight, Mortimer."
000
"So-o?"
Zoria, who had stopped by the kitchen to grab a quick bite of stew, eyed her grinning mother suspiciously. "So what?"
"So, how did our little compromise vork out?" Jeanneline put aside what she was doing and stared expectantly at her daughter. "Did you meet anyvone you liked?"
Zoria turned pink. Again! I haven't blushed this much since Gwizdo told me he liked my shorter pigtails. "Maybe."
Jeanneline gave the sort of joyous shriek one might expect from a giddy child. "Is he cute? Did you make any plans to see him later? Who is he?"
"Mom, calm down!" Zoria laughed. "You're more excited about this than I am. And to answer your questions… yes, very—yes, tomorrow—and I'm not going to tell you."
"Vhy not?"
"Because you'll find out soon enough." And if I tell you you'll just go out there and hum wedding tunes whenever you pass by his table. "I'll be sparring with him tomorrow."
"Sparring?" Jeanneline frowned. "Zoria, fer gosh's sake, vasn't the whole point of this to—"
"Ah-ah-ah," Zoria held up a hand, "don't forget your end of the bargain, Mom. I meet a nice guy, and you stop trying to get me to settle down."
Jeanneline huffed. "All right, but I don't have to like it." She turned back to her dishes. "Sparring… hah! Whoever heard of sparring on a first date?"
First date? Zoria tossed the words around in her head as she made her way upstairs. She just wanted to fight with the guy. Did that really constitute a date?
She passed by Gwizdo, Lian-Chu, and Hector's room, and the giant poked his head out the door.
"Zoria," he whispered, "are you off to bed?"
She nodded.
"Well, I'm sorry tonight didn't work out for you. With Jeanneline's compromise, I mean."
She chuckled. "Actually, I think it turned out pretty well."
Lian-Chu looked confused. "But I thought everyone you talked to was awful."
"Well," she smiled, "not everyone…"
"Oh," realization dawned on Lian-Chu's face. "Do you mean Lord Mortimer? You liked him?"
"Yes, I think I did. I'm sparring with him tomorrow."
"Oh, Zoria," Lian-Chu smiled warmly, "I'm happy for you."
"Thanks, Lian-Chu," she said, yawning. "Goodnight. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight."
Lian-Chu closed the door to his, Gwizdo, and Hector's room and began to change into his pajamas. Gwizdo, already dressed for bed, took off his pilot's cap and shook out his mussed hair.
"Lordy, lordy," he grumbled, sitting down on his bunk, "I hope those two noble stiffs scram soon. If I hafta put up with that Plink guy for more'n' two minutes I'll go crazy."
"I hope they stay," Lian-Chu said. "Zoria and Lord Mortimer have really hit it off."
"Huh?" Gwizdo frowned. "Whaddya mean?"
"Zoria likes him. They have a sparring date tomorrow."
"Oh, really? Like a date, date? Is she nuts?"
Lian-Chu climbed up into his bunk. "Why? Lord Mortimer seems nice."
"Nice?" Gwizdo sprang to his feet. "The guy's a snob! A real world-class jerk. Didn't ya hear what he said about my clothes?"
"They are pretty dirty."
"I like 'em that way," Gwizdo snapped. "Besides, he… he's nothin' but a two-bit pretty boy. Dumb as a post. Boy, oh boy—I'm tellin' ya, buddy, Zoria must really be off her nut to go for a guy like that."
"He was very kind to us, and he stuck up for us in front of Lord Plink," Lian-Chu pointed out. "He can't be all bad."
"Yeah, whatever, Lian-Chu…" Gwizdo grumbled as he got back into bed. "You'll see—he's a total loser. Trust me, by the end of their little date, Zoria'll be beggin' us to get rid of him."
000
Zoria made her way to her own room—still kept neat as a pin by her mother—and collapsed on her bed. That had been very long and very exhausting day.
First date. The words came back as she curled up in a ball and began drifting off to sleep. She smiled softly. Tomorrow I'm going on my first date.