Chapter 9 Stone #3
"No. But I understand the fear." I smooth the fabric, reading the slogan: Cultural Exchange Strengthens Community. Generic enough to be safe, specific enough to mean something.
"You learn anything useful?" Darius asks.
"That I'm either brave or foolish, possibly both."
"I could've told you that." He stands back, surveying the setup. "Also, I did some digging on Blair. Thought you should know what we're up against."
I go still. "And?"
"Her biggest campaign donor is Marcus Rodriguez. Owns a chain of manufacturing plants on the south side. Guy's old money, old fear. Doesn't like change, doesn't trust non-humans, thinks the cultural exchange program threatens traditional business culture."
"So it's not really about policy. It's about one rich guy's prejudice."
"It's always about that, eventually." Darius pulls out his phone, shows me a photo.
Rodriguez at some gala, silver-haired and smiling, hand on Blair's shoulder like he owns her.
"But here's the thing. Rodriguez is scared because he doesn't understand.
He's never met an orc, never eaten our food, never heard our stories.
We're just an abstract threat to his abstract idea of how things should be. "
Understanding clicks. "So if we humanize ourselves—"
"Not humanize. Make real." Darius taps the phone. "Show him and people like him that orcs aren't threats or symbols. We're neighbors, coworkers, partners. Boring, everyday, normal parts of city life."
"That's what I've been trying to do."
"I know. But you've been doing it for Lacy, for yourself.
Now we do it strategically." He gestures to the display tables.
"Mara's cooking demo at eleven. I've invited local business owners, including two who supply Rodriguez' plants.
Let them taste orc food, meet orc chefs, see us as people who add value instead of disruption. "
"You think that'll work?"
"I think it's better than nothing." He meets my eyes. "Look, Blair's going to make her case based on fear. Unknown equals dangerous. But fear shrinks when it meets reality. When you put a face and a name and a grandmother's recipe on the thing people fear, it's harder to hate."
I think about the elder council's concerns. About visibility and risk and representation.
"I'm tired of being a symbol," I say. "Good or bad, I'm tired of it."
"Then stop being a symbol. Be Stone. Be the guy who cooks too much and writes terrible poetry and loves a human woman with the kind of fierce stupidity that orcs are famous for." Darius grins. "That's a lot harder to legislate against than some abstract cultural threat."
He's right. Abstract fears are easy to manipulate. But actual people, living actual lives, messily real and undeniably present? That's harder to erase.
"What time's the cooking demo?" I ask.
"Eleven. You should come. Bring Lacy if she's willing. Show Rodriguez' people what positive integration looks like."
"We've got testimony prep."
"Do it after. This matters too."
I check my phone. Message from Lacy: Where are you? Getting worried.
I text back: Be home in fifteen. Have an idea. Trust me?
Her response comes immediately: Always.
That easy trust. That's what I'm fighting for. Not the right to perform orc culture for human approval. The right to be trusted, to be loved, to be seen as completely myself and still chosen.
I help Darius finish setting up, then head back to Lacy's apartment. She's waiting with coffee and worried eyes.
"The elder council called you in," she says. Statement, not question.
"Yeah."
"They don't approve."
"They're scared. Not the same thing." I take the coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands. "They think I'm assimilating. Erasing myself to fit into your world."
She flinches. "Are you?"
"No." I set down the cup, take her face in my hands. "I'm adding. You're addition, not subtraction. Everything I was before meeting you, I still am. Just bigger now. Fuller."
"That's what you told them?"
"More or less."
She searches my face. "Did they believe you?"
"They're willing to watch and see. That's as close to approval as elder councils get."
She laughs, shaky but real. Leans into my touch.
"Darius has an idea," I say. "About the hearing. About swinging the fence-sitters."
I explain Rodriguez, the funding, the abstract fear that drives Blair's campaign. I explain the cooking demo, the strategic visibility, the plan to make orc culture real instead of threatening.
Lacy listens, mind working behind her eyes. I can almost see her reorganizing testimony, adjusting approach.
"So we show them normal," she says slowly. "Not exciting or exotic. Just everyday integration."
"Exactly."
"And we start with Rodriguez' people. Let them taste Mara's cooking, see orcs as community members instead of policy problems."
"Worth a shot."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "I love you."
"I know."
"No, I mean..." She steps back, holding my gaze. "I love that you're fighting for this. Not just for us. For your whole community, your culture, your right to exist loudly. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
"Or the stupidest."
"Definitely both." She grins. "But I'm with you anyway. Whatever comes."
We have an hour before the cooking demo. We spend it reviewing testimony, drinking coffee, stealing kisses between note cards.
This is what I'm fighting for. This quiet morning, this ordinary preparation, this choosing each other while the city holds its breath.
At ten-thirty, we head to the market district together.
The demo's already drawing a crowd.