Bub fell in with us as we got up from the table. It wasn’t any kind of rule that he couldn’t join us: orcs are welcome at the bar, or the tables. If they can fit. Some can, some can’t, and Bub leaned to being on the ‘can’t’ side, on account of being so damned wide. It did mean he got to us pretty quick, though. The crowd flowed around him.
Gloria looked at Bub, sidelong. “You speak this language?” she asked me, in Town Elvish.
“Sure,” I replied, in the same tongue. Bub looked on, impassive.
“Good. Is it reliable?”
“What? Oh, him. He’s here, isn’t he?” He also didn’t like being called ‘it,’ but I’d let Gloria figure that out on her own.