Chapter 5 #3
"It does when it becomes public spectacle." She slides a printout across the table. The blog post. Photos circled in red. "This undermines the program's credibility. Makes us look irresponsible."
Darius leans forward. "With respect, Councilwoman, Stone's personal relationships aren't program business. He's exceeded placement expectations. The bookstore's community engagement has tripled."
"Under questionable circumstances." Blair's voice stays level. Cold. "I've received calls from concerned citizens. Parents asking if the program properly vets participants. Business owners wondering if they'll face similar complications."
The liaison officer clears his throat. "We could consider reassignment. A fresh placement, away from Ms. Ellis. Less visibility."
My chest tightens. "You're pulling me from the bookstore."
"We're protecting the program," Blair says. "And you. This attention isn't healthy for anyone."
"It's not attention I asked for." My voice rises despite efforts to stay calm. "People took photos. A blogger twisted them. That's not my fault."
"No one's assigning blame." Blair folds her hands. "But perception matters. Right now, the perception is the program enables inappropriate relationships instead of fostering professional growth."
"Inappropriate." The word lands like a slap. "Because I'm orc."
Silence drops heavy.
Blair's expression doesn't shift. "Because mixing personal and professional creates complications the program isn't designed to handle."
"If I were human, we wouldn't be having this conversation." I lean forward. "You'd call it networking. Building community connections. But because I'm green and she's not, suddenly it's a problem."
"That's not fair," the liaison officer starts.
"Isn't it?" I look between them. "Tell me honestly. If a human volunteer started dating a business owner, would you pull them? Review their placement? Or would you smile and say 'how nice' and move on?"
No one answers.
Blair stands. "Mr. Venn, I understand you're upset. But this isn't about prejudice. It's about maintaining program integrity. I'm recommending reassignment pending review. You'll remain on the program roster but work with a different placement. Effective immediately."
"Councilwoman, this is premature," Darius argues. "Stone deserves due process. A chance to respond formally."
"He just did." Blair collects her folder. "The review panel will convene next week. Until then, he's suspended from the Ellis Books placement."
She walks out. The door clicks shut with terrible finality.
I sit frozen. Can't process. Can't breathe past the anger and hurt crushing my ribs.
The liaison officer looks uncomfortable. "For what it's worth, your work has been exemplary. This isn't personal."
"Feels pretty damn personal." I stand. The chair scrapes loud. "Am I dismissed?"
"Stone," Darius says quietly.
"Am I dismissed?" I repeat, louder.
The officer nods. "We'll be in touch."
I leave. Don't trust myself to stay. Outside, the morning air hits cold and sharp. People hurry past on sidewalks. Normal lives. Normal problems.
I'm a spectacle. Always will be. Big green orc trying to fit where he doesn't belong. Crashing through awnings and hearts and carefully constructed integration programs.
My phone alerts. Lacy.
How did it go?
I read the text. Can't answer. Can't tell her I've been pulled. That our relationship just cost me the placement I needed. That loving her made me a problem to be managed.
Another buzz. This time voices drift from an open window above. The civic building's break room, second floor.
"Blair's making an example of him," someone says.
"Harsh, but maybe necessary. Can't have the program looking like a dating service."
"Still. He seemed like a good guy. Just bad timing."
"Bad judgment, you mean. Getting involved with his placement supervisor? Textbook conflict of interest."
Lacy's not my supervisor. She's just the business owner. But facts don't matter to them. Narrative does. And the narrative says I crossed lines that shouldn't be crossed.
Another voice chimes in. "Blair's pushing hard on the non-human limits anyway. This just gave her ammunition."
"What limits?"
"For civic events. Festival staff. She wants humans only in visible positions. Says it's about public comfort."
"That's discrimination."
"That's politics. She'll frame it as safety. Crowd management. Whatever sells."
My hands clench. Blair isn't just pulling me from one placement. She's building a case to limit all of us. Keep orcs and others in back rooms. Away from children and cameras and anything that might remind humans we exist.
The voices fade as someone closes the window.
I stand on the concrete. City moving around me. Inside me, something cracks.
I wanted to belong. To prove orcs could integrate without losing ourselves. That we deserved space here. Respect.
But maybe that was naive. Maybe all my earnestness and poetry and careful gentleness means nothing when people look at me and see threat. Spectacle. Problem.
My phone dings again. Lacy, still waiting for an answer.
I type slowly.
Suspended from placement. They want me away from the bookstore.
Three dots appear immediately. Disappear. Appear again.
On my way. Don't move.
I slide the phone into my pocket. Lean against the building. Close my eyes.
Somewhere above, the break room conversation probably continues. People debating my life like it's a policy problem. An inconvenience to navigate.
I'm so tired of being navigated.
Tired of measuring every word. Every action. Every public breath.
Tired of wondering if loving someone openly makes me a bad representative of my people.
Tired of being a representative at all instead of just Stone. Just me. Messy and earnest and trying so hard it hurts.
Footsteps approach. I don't open my eyes. Don't want to see pity or curiosity or the careful neutral expressions people wear when dealing with disappointing orcs.
"Stone."
Lacy's voice. I look.
She's breathless. Hair messy like she ran the whole way. Eyes fierce.
"Tell me everything," she says.
So I do.