Centaur's Anxiety: Chapter 3 (Old) [End]

“Any preference on music?”

“No, not really.”

“Alright then,” he comes back to close the door behind me. I'm not taking my eyes off him until he's back in front. “Care for a drink? I just need to finish heating everything up. The dolmades are last.”

“You're heating something up for ten minutes in an oven?”

“Oh, uh, my mistake, I meant that everything's ready, but a bit lukewarm and that the dolmades are the last thing to come out of production.”

I need a moment to wrap my head around that statement.

“... Water? Tea?”

“Water.” No hesitation, don't show weakness.

“Alrighty then.” And with that he turns away, walking to a dark red floor in the back of the room.

Hold on...

I take my first good look at the interior, starting with the floor. There aren't many walls inside, nearly every part of the place is divided by different coloured hardwood and furnishings. Dark red for the kitchen, dark brown for the dining room, golden brown for everything else.

There are stairs and a rather out of place hydralic lift, I think it's called, installed in the floor off to my right leading to a second floor. I raise my head...

The walls!

My first reaction is of awe, there's barely any space on them. White paint obscured by so many other colours in the form of masks, weapons, artwork, and other items. For a moment, I thought that this house must be where museums stored the exhibits they didn't need.

I don't really have an interest in ancient history, but its difficult to take my eyes off so much stuff in one place. Just what exactly does 'Shortstuff's' parents do? Wait, where are they?

Too many questions, not enough answers, and I don't know if he'll answer them.

But maybe his invitation was sincere and this will be no different from any of the blind dates my mother arranged.

The music suddenly changes, switching to a fast-paced guitar. My head snaps upwards from the shock and brings me back to reality.

And suddenly I'm very aware of 'Shortstuff'' standing in front of me with the glass of water I requested and him saying, probably not for the first time, “Anyone home? Take a seat, may as well have something now.”

I let out a thanks before taking the glass and following him to the dining room (or is it floor?). The sight of the food-laden table makes me ask a question, “So where did you order this from?”

And I'm shocked by his answer, “Nowhere, I bought all the ingredients and made them from scratch. Most of the dishes were prepared at some point this week though, never expected company and meant to preserve 'em. Hopefully the taste isn't spoiled and I made enough for you, I'm really not sure how much centaurs eat.”

He actually rambles quite a bit when he wants to.

Besides that, he cooks? And what is this anyway? I see yellowed rice mixed with tiny bits of vegetables, some kind of triangle pastries, and what looks like roast potato halves among other things. The smell is wonderful though; scents of lemon, carrot, onion, and bits of garlic dance in the air with what little steam is escaping the glass rice pot.

“Greek.” His response when I ask; never had it before.

We sit down across from one another at the large circular table. Him in an unremarkable wooden chair and me in a centaur/lamia/arachne sized and reinforced chaise. The existence of the long chair meant for large species makes me even more curious as I notice other chairs fitted and altered for other species around the table and I imagine the living room too.

But I can't seem to bring myself to speak, but neither can he. Here we are separated by plates of food on a turntable and we're both just staring each other down as if we're waiting for the other to crack.

He goes first.

“Well,” he sighs, placing one elbow on the table and leaning forward a bit, “Let's get started. Like I said before, I want to resolve this calmly. So. Why are you here?”

Straight to the point. Well I can do that too.

“I want answers.” I certainly wasn't leaving without them. “You make me curious.” Okay, that was a bit too much.

“HA!” His sharp one-note laugh makes me jump a bit, “Sure!” He says through a smile, “Back and forth then, an eye for an eye.”

That's some phrasing he chose, it makes me want to call the club in right now, but I've gotten this far already.

“Quid pro quo?” I ask and he nods in confirmation.

If I get anything out of tonight, it'll at least be the issue burning in my mind since this afternoon, “You... exploded this afternoon, but invited me to parley over dinner while still yelling. I want you to explain that.”

His face suddenly drops its cheery expression and goes flat. He breaks eye contact with me and leans back in his chair, staring at the wall. I wait.

“... ... No one at school listens to me. I've got no friends, no support from the teachers, you know all this already. So I vented on you. You know this already.”

Nervous and repeating himself, his face shifts back to stare straight into my eyes.

“You're the first person to ever just sit there and listen. I know it sounds ludicrous, but somewhere around the middle of my ranting, I realized that. The thought actually calmed me down inside, but at the same time, I just wanted to keep on going, keep on venting, so I did.”

Wait, did he feel grateful for that?

“I- I started feeling grateful to you.”

Seriously?

“I saw an opportunity to get just about everything off my chest and took it, got confused near the end, wanted to apologize, to repay, thought of food improving people's moods, thought of me cooking, and I just went from there."

Please no, I don't need a stalker in my life.

“Aaaaand that sounded a lot less creepy in my head- whowantsfooditsgettingcold.” All his words come out through clenched teeth and a strained smile complete with twitching eye that creeps me out and makes me feel sorry for him at the same time.

I'm just going to reach for my phone now.

“Look, I'm sorry for the punch, for the threat, for everything. I just wanted to unwind with archery before I broke. Then I bro-”

Huh. Good timing. “One moment please,” I throw that casual phrase at him before answering, my full attention on the voice on the other end.

“I seeeeee youuuuuu.”

What.

“What?” President Ezra's still intent on breaking the window isn't she? I look around on reflex and notice her head at the bottom of the window closest to the front door, peering in with a far too excited look on her face. We really have to address her action film addiction.

“I'm in position! Have you ingested the poisoned food yet? Should I dive in now?”

I'm about to say no to the first question and yes to the second when I sneak a glance at 'Shortstuff, wondering if he'd seen her. But he's too busy fidgeting, staring into space lost in thought or daydreaming, and generally being more nervous than me.

... He's more nervous than me.

He makes all these preparations for someone who could destroy him at any given time, tries to genuinely apologize after I heckled him to his breaking point, and I couldn't even give him the benefit of the doubt.

... ... Damnit.

“President. I won't need to see you.”

“But-” I cut her off and shut down my phone. No need for more interruptions.

“Hey, Shortstuff.”

His head snaps to face me, his eyebrows raised in surprise at my call to him.

“What's your real name?” I ask as I take several potatoes for starters. He gives the briefest of stares before breaking out a wide grin, leaning forward and saying teasingly, “I believe you already had your turn.”

An hour and a half pass by surprisingly pleasantly. The whole time felt more like a business meeting than anything else, questions going back and forth, but without the need for secrecy or false smiles. I learned a lot.

His parents are anthropologists specializing in studying law systems, they travel often. He used to be with them as a child and helped them with their work, making friends with any local children and recording his experiences. This house is meant to be their 'base camp' for when they study this city in a few years time.  They picked the location, furniture, and design for their eventual home as a family years ago, but only he moved here after construction had finished in order to try and finish modern schooling. He adjusted quickly for the most part, being used to shifting between cultures. Best of all, he does not have an elaborate plan to gain vengeance on all of us.

His lack of hesitation in answering makes me think that he's used to socializing but not being alone or keeping secrets. I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him.

Oddly enough, when it came to his turns to ask me anything, the questions were not terribly personal for me, mostly pertaining to rumours he had heard about himself or simple questions like 'what's two plus two?'

When asked, he answered that he wanted to ease my discomfort and that if we do this again, he'll ask about me. It's kind of silly that he admits it and even sillier that he continues afterwards, but I'm really going to have to see if I can stop some of the more ludicrous rumours about him if he keeps being so nice.

The food was comparable to the company, extremely pleasant and surprising to experience. I told him before, I've never had Greek, but after this I'll have to try finding restaurants in the city that serve these dishes. The smells makes me think of store-bought potpourri for some reason, but the tastes are explosive, everything seems locked within each dish until I bite it, then there's a tasty ambush of lemon or feta cheese or whatever else is there. He had admitted before that much of the food had been frozen before and were not fresh except for the dolmades, grapevine leaves stuffed with rice and herbs. Given the softness of the rice and leaves compared to the slightly mushier grains I had chewed earlier (“had to reboil the stuff in the microwave with a little hot water, not great”), I dearly wish to try everything here freshly prepared.

At the end of it all, we'd managed to put away most everything on the table and pass on dessert, I even get a take home bag with the rest for later. Maybe I'll feed it to the club. The quid pro quo question procedure was even dropped as we changed to talking about the club and sorting through which parts of my heckling of his archery skills were true or false, laughing or scolding each other over arcs and draw weight.

About another half hour passed before we realized it was past nine and I needed to start getting home.

“Do you require an escort?” He offered, rising at the same time as me.

The only word that goes through my head as I stare silently at him is, 'chivalry,' something I always thought was just another way for guys to be insincere, so why do I believe it coming from him?

He starts gibbering nervously again, his eyes trying to look at me, but shifting all over the place, “Well, I guess you don't really need one or anyone in this city really, 'ceptmaybehumanguys, butinothercultur-”

“No, no, that's alright, there seem to be rather a lot of dishes to wash anyway. I'll make it on my own.”
There was no way I could make myself sound more ungrateful in this moment could there?

“Uh, er, one more thing. Concerning the school-wide bet.”

I hadn't even mentioned that, but I'm not surprised. How do you not hear about that given how long its been running and widespread it is, plus being the subject of the bet?

“It won't stop the bullying altogether, yeah, but would you like to win it?”

For a moment, I consider the idea that asking about this was his original intention all along, sweet-talking and serving me for one night to try and reduce the stress in his life. But the circumstances behind this night and his openness make me feel that I should give him some credibility... And maybe a little more.

“I would. Stand over here next to me.”

He walks stiffly over to my side of the table as I shove the chaise out of the way. Despite that, his face is relaxed.

We stand next to each other as I pull out my phone and throw my arm around his neck as I sit on the ground. The look of surprise I see out of the corner of my eye would win me the bet, but it isn't what I want.

“Smile. You've just got a new friend.”

He hesitates for a moment, staring at me in disbelief I think, before his mouth splits open in a teeth exposing upward curve that went ear-to-ear and his eyes became bright and alive.

I think of all we did tonight and smile too before taking a self-portrait photo with him, the eaten meal set for two behind us caught in the frame as well. I'll ask Noriko to dispose of the video from this afternoon, not to say that the money will go only to me, but I want to win with this shot.

When we part, him opening the door for me, his expression only changes to closing his lips, it's almost goofy how happy he seems, no. Is.

“May we speak again some time?” He asks as I pass between the columns. I turn my head around and put on a smile again before walking away, “Of course, in the club and you can tell me all about those walls.” And he keeps on smiling.

He finally closes the door once I'm on the sidewalk and I hear the club rustling in the overgrown lot across the street, definitely eager to hear what happened in there. I'm sure Anna or Ostet will rope them in before he looks out a window or something.

I take out my phone as I start trotting down the street. The photo came out nice. It'll be the first thing I show the club when they come.