Page 22 of Fly to Fury
“My mama would love something like this.” Stickyfingers peered at the photographs before he shifted to stand infront of the price list. His shoulders fell, and he took a step back.
Pip shuffled out of the way as a group of about ten trolls filed past the flyboys to enter the photography shop.
Mak halted a few feet away, as if he’d just realized they’d stopped. “Yeah, I’ve been eyeing that shop too. It’s popular. You need to make a reservation.”
“Besides, we wouldn’t want to wait in a line tonight. I’m starving.” Pretty Face steered Stickyfingers away from the window.
As they moved away, Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Lije clustered together, talking quietly and glancing over their shoulders as if plotting something.
Mak turned down a side alley, which was thankfully less crowded than the main street. Smells of cooking meat and seasoned vegetables wafted from various buildings, and Pip’s mouth watered.
Mak took several more turns, working his way down increasingly more maze-like alleys until he popped out next to a ramshackle wooden structure with a metal roof. It didn’t have much for walls while a single countertop stretched down the center of the space. In the back, a male troll bent over a fire built inside a stone circle. A metal grate lay over the fire, and beef patties lined up there, sizzling and wafting savory smells.
“Mak!” The troll flipped patties with utensils gripped in each hand. He paused in flipping long enough to jab a spatula at the rest of them. “I see you brought some friends. I haven’t seen them around before.”
“This is my sister Pip.” Mak set a large hand on her shoulder for a moment. “And these others are pilots from the new squadron that just came in a few days ago. Pip is their chief mechanic.”
“Welcome to Fort Defense. Take a seat.” The troll gestured toward the other side of the open-sided shelter.
Tables with chairs filled the rest of the space beneath the roof. Only one table was occupied with two male trolls dressed in coveralls.
A plump troll woman bustled between the tables, cleaning dishes, wiping tables, and serving the food and drinks.
Mak halted next to one of the tables. “Mind if we rearrange things?”
“Go ahead.” The troll woman smiled, her hands full with a pitcher and a cleaning rag.
Mak, Fieran, Merrik, Tiny, and Pretty Face worked to move the tables so that they stretched in a long line. Pip helped Aylia, Lije, and Stickyfingers move the chairs around. Lt. Rothilion hung back for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, before he shifted a single chair to its place next to their rearranged tables.
As everyone shuffled into their spots around the tables, Pip found herself between Mak and Fieran with Merrik on the other side of him. Aylia, Pretty Face, Tiny, and Stickyfingers took the other side of the table with Lije at the end of the table. After a moment’s hesitation, Lt. Rothilion took the seat at the other end of the table, placing him between Mak and Aylia.
The troll woman bustled around their table, setting glasses in front of them. She filled the glasses with either root beer or water, depending on which each person wanted.
The only option for food was a beef patty sandwich with a variety of toppings. As the male troll slapped the sandwiches together, the female troll served them in baskets with a side of deep-fried potatoes.
As his sandwich was set in front of him, Lt. Rothilion glanced around the table. “Where are the utensils?”
“You eat these with your hands.” Fieran picked his up. The toasted bun teetered on a stack of bacon, pickles, ketchup, cheese, and lettuce layered on the patty.
Lt. Rothilion’s mouth curled. “You humans have an obsession with eating with your hands. It is highly unsanitary.”
The elves of Flight A had turned up their noses when they’d been served the sandwiches for lunch while on standby. Only their hunger had driven them to pick up their food with their hands.
“But it’s much more fun. I could get used to this.” Aylia picked up her sandwich and bit into it without hesitation.
Pip grinned as she lifted hers. Elves never ate with their fingers if they could help it. They even had small tongs that could be used to eat carrots, grapes, and other items that anyone else would consider finger foods.
Dwarves weren’t like that at all. In that way, they had more in common culturally with humans than they did elves, even if dwarves were one of the longer-lived magical races.
On the other side of Fieran, Merrik hesitated a moment before he picked up his beef patty sandwich, and Pip had to smother her grin still further. His elven side was showing.
As they ate, Pip glanced around the table, something inside her warming. She’d missed this. They hadn’t had a chance to just relax off-duty like this at Dar Goranth, and the hole-in-the-wall shack reminded her of the soda parlor back in Bridgetown that had become their hangout spot during basic training.
She swallowed hard, the warm feeling dying. That soda parlor had taken a direct hit during the bombing ofBridgetown. She’d never heard if the shop’s proprietor had survived or not.
Shoving the darker memories aside, she took in the table again. Their little group had grown since those basic training days. They’d added Aylia while at Dar Goranth. And now Mak here at Fort Defense. Perhaps even Lt. Rothilion, if he continued tagging along.
Tiny raised his glass of root beer. “To the Half-Breed Squadron.”
