The Kirkmall

Well.

Here you are.

A sign hangs over your head as the thick double doors slide open, momentarily silencing the noise of the parking lot.  Chlorine and fresh air, the scent of the fountain washes over you, the scream of distant children reverberating.  It brushes aside the rough weather outside, a perfect moment caged in by glass and metal, and the bright lights of signs hanging over each shop.

Welcome to the Kirkmall.

As you walk in, a tri-sided sign grees you.  Electronics, shoes, and a new movie.  The Last Blight, black, brilliant white, and bloody red.  Those sorts of movies are popular, a third of the video games and costumes are darkspawn this year.  You’re sort of feeling over it.  Still, the arrow points somewhere to the left, away from the scents of food.  If you wanted to see a film, that would be the place.

The air smells like grease, sugar, the aforementioned chemicals, and the miasma of a great many people packed into a small space.  The floor is a crisp white tile, and to your left is a cell phone shop, with brilliant scarlet and white lights.  Templar Wireless.  To your right is a shoe store, Mabari Sport.  Ahead, an intersection beckons with light and noise.  Will you continue on, or duck into a shop?

Your cellphone has no messages, and the clock reads 15:27.  The next movie is at 17:00.

What will we do?

A bright red polo shirt briefly pulls your gaze aside to the Templar Wireless as you head up the crisply-tiled corridor. The shop is always busy, but from what you can tell that’s just because they trap people there and make them take forever to upgrade a phone.  Still, your eyes briefly meet a very nice pair of deep brown ones in passing, a contact that holds for a couple seconds longer than strictly polite.  It’s just a second, tense but pleasant, but you realize you’re staring when he gives you a smile, broad and puzzled.  Right.  Maybe time to be moving on.

Your phone’s fine, and eventually, regretfully you drag your gaze away from the den of overpriced electronics.  The intersection ahead beckons, some sort of advertisement playing on another of the three-sided signs, blaring over the noise of crowd and chaos.  

It draws you in, flickering and beckoning, and you don’t realize you’ve wandered to the edge of the corridor until your’re abruptly pushed off balance.  You’ve crossed into the shoe store, and directly into the path of someone working there.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

The exclamation comes as you’re already knocked to the side, You stagger a couple steps, and then a hand tucked into your elbow keeps you from falling.  Apologies trip more than feet, your balance regained by the solicitous hands, a gaze earnest and awkward fixed on you as you struggle to your feet.

“I’m sorry.”  He repeats as you straighten up, pulling his hands back with reflexive quickness.  “You’re all right?”

“I’m all right.”  You agree, finding your footing and setting yourself to rights.

A glance downwards from the worried smile and tousled hair finds a name, emblazoned across a pinned square of plastic.

‘Alistair’

“My…ability to make women swoon remains unparalleled.”  He jokes weakly, as you tug your jacket straight, and glance up the hallway.  “Falling for me, all over the…”

The stack of boxes you had nearly fallen into abruptly collapses with a clatter, sending shoes all over the floor.  Alistair startles, cheeks flushing as the chaos washes over both of you, and then abruptly rakes a hand over his hair.

A pair of soccer cleats tumble to the floor, as you stare at each other.

“All right, well, maybe it’s not…quite that easy.”  He admits awkwardly, and then noisily clears his throat.  “Sorry.  I should…clean this up.”

Still feeling the impression of his fingers on your elbow, you watch as he turns away, grabbing a pair of fallen shoes from the floor.  It’s a big mess, all said and done, an entire display at the entrance of Mabari Sport fallen.  You could stop and help him clean it all up, or you could move on.

As you consider it, your cell phone vibrates with a text message.  Sera's wondering where you are.  She's hungry.

Should we stop and clean up our mess, or go and meet our friend?  Or…something else entirely?

Ignoring the text messages from Sera, you turn back to the mess in front of the shoe store. She can wait a minute for once, it’s not like the food court is going anywhere.  Alistair is still kneeling to the ground, mumbling animatedly, with the occasional gesture or grimace.  Is he…arguing with himself?

“I’ll help.  It’s partly my fault.”  You offer, and he looks up, eyes widening for a moment.

“I…didn’t expect you to…hang around.”  He admits, and then lifts his shoulders and turns back, voice turning playful.  “Well, as long as you don’t expect me to pay you.  They barely pay me.”

“It’s okay.”  You say, and turn to crouch down and grab a stack of fallen boxes and tangled tennis shoes.

You can feel him watching you for a few seconds, a glance aside meeting his brown eyes.  He laughs with embarrassment, and turns back to work, clearing his throat roughly afterwards.

For a minute you both just work, tossing shoes back into boxes, and stacking them up on the table again.  The ‘SALE’ sign is stuck to the bottom of his shoe now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do…you work here?  I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He muses, and then hastens to add before you can reply, “Maker, that wasn’t a line, I was just trying to…I really could swear you seem familiar.”

You must have seen me in your dreams.

“I…ah..ha ha…”  Alistair stammers, cheeks reddening as his eyes rapidly avert from you.  He clears his throat again, nervously, picking up a pair of tennis shoes.  “Right, I deserved that.”

“I work over at the book store.  Well, books and movies.”  You tell him at last, taking pity as you pick up an armload of re-filled boxes and move to stack them up.

“The…one with the coffee shop?”  He asks, and tries again when you shake your head, “No?  Then the second-hand one around the corner?”

You shake your head again, hiding a grin as you wait for him to get it.  He just looks puzzled, staring up at you with his head tilted to the side.

“Desire’s Dungeon.”  You finally tell him, taking pity on him.  “Novelty…books and movies.”

“Novelty…ri~ght.”  He finally says, and you have the feeling he still isn’t quite getting it.  When it hits home, you see it, his eyes narrow, and then widen as he turns red again.  “The…oh!  I thought you meant the…ah…comic shop.”

“We have comics.”  You tell him, and this time you can’t hide your grin at how easily he gets flustered.  “They’re just dirty comics.  It looks like we’re done, though, so…”

“Right.  Thank you.”  He says, blinking and rising to his feet with a nod, regaining some composure.  “I…appreciate the help.”

“No problem.  I’m late for lunch, so I should be…going.”  You tell him, taking a step back.  

“Going.  Yes.  And I should be…working, probably.”  Alistair says, and then adds dryly, “That’s what they barely pay me for, after all.”

Say goodbye and go shopping.  Sera’s never on time anyways.

Leaving Alistair behind with a brief farewell, you head up the wide corridor between the shops, letting yourself fall into the flow of traffic.  The chemical-purified scent of water hits your nose again, chasing off smells of food and a hundred different perfumes coming from the bath and skin care shop nearby.  

The fountain itself is a big, square tiled thing with seating all around it, roaring as noisily as the chatter and hum of conversations.  To your left and right the corridor continues, around a few smaller carts that take up space between the bigger shops.  

Right heads down to one of the big anchor department stores, past a children’s shop, the ubiquitous cheap teenage jewelry store, and a clothing store that spills cologne and the thud of bass into the thoroughfare.  Left is a bit longer of a trek, and eventually there’s a turn off to the food court, and an escalator heading up.  

From above, just faintly threading through the noise, you can hear the delicate sound of a piano on the second floor.

Holiday music.

“Oh come on,” you think, “it is way too early for that.”

The most instantly noticeable shops to your left are an Antivan Exports, purveyors over overpriced kitsch, a smaller storefront with a weathered copper sign that reads ‘Antediluvia’ (no idea what that one is, and the front window gives you no clue), and of course…Red Jenny’s.  If you need a (totally not for elfroot) pipe that looks like a dildo, a stupid bachelorette party gift, or a pre-distressed t-shirt for a band that was popular before you were born, that’s the place to go.  Other than that, just some clothing stores, a fancy jewelry shop, and the kiosks.  The closest one of those seems to be selling sunglasses.

Let's go into Antivan Exports

Antivan Exports is always good for a look-around.  You never know what you’re going to find in that place, but they always have huge baskets of those bath oil bead things and fancy scarves that aren’t too expensive.  The instant you walk in you’re surrounded by the scents of dusty eucalyptus, incense, and lacquer; and not for the first time today, you are confronted by a display of shoes.

These are fancy, not the running shoes over at Mabari.  Brocade slippers with intricate beading, they have soles too thin to actually wear anywhere out.  They’re sparkly, though, and not tacky at all.

“Aren’t they adorable?”  A voice asks you from your left, light and feminine with a soft Orlesian accent.

You turn to face a rather sweetly pleasant smile, a woman with short red hair and vibrantly blue eyes gazing at you.  Her expression is friendly and open, and thoroughly engaged.  You have a feeling she makes a lot of sales for the place.

“The beading is nice.  I’d ruin them pretty quickly, though.” You admit, reaching for a gold pair and turning them over to check the price.  Thirty bucks?

You set them back down.  For now at least.

“They are house slippers, but I agree, very impractical.”  The woman says with unflagging cheer, sweeping past you to wander towards the circular counter in the middle of the store.  "Sometimes you just want to put on something pretty around the house, don’t you think?  Just to make a day a bit more special.“

You catch a flash of her name tag as she slips around you.  Leliana.

“When sitting in your hanging egg chair?”  You joke, giving the odd piece of wicker furniture a little shove as you walk past it, chains creaking.  It looks cool, but like a death trap waiting to happen.

“They are surprisingly comfortable!”  Leliana says with a delicate laugh, “But you should probably avoid them after a glass or two of wine.  It is a good way to end up face-first on the floor.  Not that I would know, of course.”

She offers you a smile with a coquettishly playful tilt of her head, and then politely turns her attention away when you wander off to browse.  

There the scarves are, a big rack of them in a rainbow of jewel tones and metallics off to your left.  You wander over and pick one up, letting it slide through your fingers. You can still see Leliana through a display of glass wind chimes, but her attention is turned towards the entrance.

“What is this about drinking wine and falling over?  Something I should have been invited to, yes?” A voice asks from the front of the store, roguishly amused and thickly accented.

“Oh, Zevran.” Leliana sighs amusedly, leaning over the counter as an elven man in a pair of oversized sunglasses wanders up to it, “Since when have you ever waited to be invited?”

“I come here, to bring you a gift,”  Zevran says, shaking his head slowly as he scans the store, “and you mock me.  My poor, shattered heart.”

“I think that your heart will be fine.”  Leliana replies tartly, smile still fixed as she glances down to his hands.  "What have you brought me?“

“You wound me, and still expect a gift?  Leliana.”  Zevran sighs, and you’re caught watching as he glances your way.  The sunglasses are in the way, but the grin he gives you is unmistakable.  "Excuse my unpardonable rudeness,“  He calls, a hand over his heart, "would your shoulder happen to be available for crying upon?  I am very…very sad.”

“Please do not flirt with my customers, Zevran.”  Leliana chides with an apologetic smile your way, reaching out both hands and taking a tiny box he offers to her.  Her attention quickly turns back to it, smile brightening. “Oh!  You were working at Josephine’s!  Thank you!”

The small box is glossy white, and when she sets it down on the counter, you can see it’s emblazoned with ’Montilyet’s’ in a graceful, metallic gold script.

You’re trying not to spy, but it’s hard not to when they’re talking to, and about you.  Your attention is pulled away yet again from the scarves, another peek up meeting a gaze fixed directly on you. Zevran flashes you a wink and a devilish smile, and then slides the sunglasses back up his nose in a smooth, slow motion.

Flirting with a stranger while giving another girl a present?  You’re brave. 

“Brave.  Do you think so?”  Zevran muses, turning away from Leliana to face you.  “I am only trying to…spread the love, as they say.  If I have offended you, I apologize.”

Leliana is busily opening the box, which you now realize has chocolates in it.  Just four of them, little bite-sized sweets with various embellishments.  Zevran subtly reaches for one, and she swats his hand away.

“I’m not offended.”  You say, watching them play slap fight with each other for a couple seconds until he finally manages to swipe one from under her hand.  “I just think it’s…”

You stop short as the chocolate is offered to you with a flourish, balanced on the palm of his hand.  A glance aside at Leliana shows that she doesn’t look annoyed, just giving you a quick smile and selecting a different one for herself.

“Impressive?”  Zevran suggests, with another wicked smile and an arch of an eyebrow.  “I would be modest, but…ah, modesty, sadly, is not one of my vices.”

Just what are your vices, then?

“Ah, well…”  Zevran laughs as you take the chocolate from his palm with two fingers, “A beautiful woman flirting with me is fairly high on that list.  And then of course there are the…other vices that such beauty inspires.”

“It is a very long list,”  Leliana interjects playfully, smile still as warm as ever, “but I am trying to work, you know.  That recitation could take all night.”

“And I, alas, should be going to work as well.”  Zevran declares to both of you, with a long sigh as he lifts his wrist and checks his watch. “Two hours to freedom, yes?  Not that there is much excitement on a Sunday night.”

“You will tell Josephine thank you for me, won’t you?”  Leliana asks, and then nods and selects another chocolate as he inclines his head.  “Thank you, Zevran.  I shall see you in the morning?”

“Yes, I will be outside your door bright and early.  The new employee…he did not make the cut.”  Zevran says, gesturing at the sunglasses kiosk just outside of the shop, on the main thoroughfare.  “I believe the coffee…is on you.”

“Good night.”  Leliana says with a nod, and then turns away to deal with an approaching customer.

“And good night to you.  An exquisite pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  Zevran tells you, hand on his heart as he nods his head, and then turns away.

Let him go, play it cool.  You know where he works now.  

No need to chase after Zevran, you decide.  You (maybe) know where he works now, if you feel like looking him up again.  Which you probably will, he seems like a lot of fun, but you don’t want to come on too strong.  If there is such a thing as too strong with him.  You browse a little longer, and idly chat with Leliana, but the day’s getting late, and your cell phone is now full of angry texts.

Angry, cussy texts.

Giving in at last, you head out with a friendly goodbye and make your way into the wide, white tiled corridor.  Red Jenny’s isn’t too far away, its glaringly crimson sign looking like it was spray painted on.  Curiously, you peek into that weird shop Antediluvia as you pass it by, the pale golden-lit interior full of what seems to be locked display cases and book shelves.  There’s actually a big leather upholstered armchair behind the counter, even.

Weird.  It doesn’t seem like a book store.

There’s a thin guy standing stock-still behind the counter in the back, hair hanging in his face.  Kind of spooky.  As if he can tell you’ve looked his way, he abruptly lifts his head and meets your eyes, lifting a hand in greeting.  Awkwardly returning the gesture, you continue on your way.

When you poke your head into Jenny’s at last, you are greeted by an argument that seems like it’s been going on for a while.  Sera is complaining at the top of her lungs, gesturing wildly while the other person standing behind the counter is rolling his eyes and leafing through a catalog.

You watch her yell at him for a few seconds about some sort of scheduling conflict, hard to tell between all of the swearing, until she finally notices you’re standing there.

“You.”  She accuses, pointing a finger in your direction, “You are friggin’ late!”

“I got distracted.”  You say, glancing sidelong at the elven guy behind the counter.  He briefly looks up at you, one eye peering through his tumbled white hair, and then sighs heavily and turns back to the catalog.

You wonder if he bleaches it.  He must, his eyebrows are darker.

“Get her out of here, please.”  He demands, gravelly voice dripping with weary annoyance.

“C’mon, let’s go.”  Sera declares, ducking around the counter and tucking her thin arm in yours, “Fenris I’m takin’ fourty five, cos’ I’m starvin’.”

“I genuinely do not care.”  Fenris replies, giving a faint snort when Sera flips him the vee.

You let yourself be dragged out of the shop by the arm, by really your only friend you’ve made in this city so far.  There hasn’t been time to get out and meet people, not really, but it seems like that might be starting to change.

Sera’s dragging you along, but she still looks annoyed with you.

Aw, don’t be mad.  Dinner’s on me, okay?

“Good.  Better be.”  Sera says, continuing past the food court as you make your promise.

You’re not sure why at first, the mall’s huge and you’re still not used to it, but the further you go, the more clear it becomes just where she’s taking you.

“Oh no.  Not again.”

“Yes again, this place is great!”  Sera says with a grin, grabbing your arm again as you escape her.

With a sigh, you let yourself be dragged down and around a corner, heading for a looming storefront with a glaringly candy-colored neon sign.  Balloons cluster around the entrance, and past it is a tiled corridor plastered with flyers, leading to a front desk.

Freddy Fennic’s Funtime Pizza Arcade.

She’s brought you here a few times now in the past less than a month you’ve been living here, and you’re starting to think she only does so she can destroy you at video games.  Since you’re not here for a ‘Funtime Birthday Experience’, the bored girl at the counter waves you through, and you head out into the arcade.  Flashing lights and a hundred electronic noises, bursts of music and violence assault your senses as you wander through, the prize counter reigning from the back wall, festooned with stuffed animals and toys.

The Fennic himself is nowhere to be seen, but Honey Halla is being assaulted by a group of little kids over by the skeeball.  Somehow the person in the oversized mascot costume manages to pick you two out, and she waves a mitt over at you.  Sera returns the gesture, you a little less certainly.

“Is that Bethany?”  You ask her, and she lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“Prob'ly.  C'mon, friggin’ starvin’.”  She demands, and you follow her past the arcade into the dining room.

Oh no.  More holiday music. This time in high-pitched squeaky cartoon voices.

As if you needed another reminder that it’s almost Satinalia and you have exactly one (one and a half if you count Bethany- but you think she’s just that nice to everyone) friend in this whole entire city.  If you’re lucky, Sera will drag you to a party.  She’s a tornado, but a nice one.

You settle into a booth with plasticky vinyl cushions, the kind that’ll cling to any exposed skin until you manage to peel yourself away.  Easy to clean up, but gross.

“Oh look, it’s you two again.” A voice says from behind you, vaguely annoyed.

You turn to watch as Carver Hawke wanders over to the table, pulling a small menu out of the pocket of his apron and throwing it at the table towards Sera. His blue eyes are irritably tired, but you don’t think you’ve seen him crack a real smile yet.  You also don’t know if he hates you or not- maybe complaining is just how he enjoys himself or something.

“It’s my birthday.”  Sera says with a smirk, dragging your attention away from contemplating his frown.

“It’s not your birthday,” Carver says, sharply, “and it wasn’t your birthday last week, either.”

“Gimmie the birthday song!” Sera demands, cackling gleefully at the dead-eyed look Carver gives her.  "Don’t make me call your manager, yeah?  Sing for me already!“

Carver stares her down for maybe ten seconds, until Sera gives in and starts cackling, slapping her hands down on the table.  He sighs, and offers you a menu as well, a little bit more politely than the one he flung at Sera.

“I hate you so much.  Do you want a pizza or not?”

“Yes, please.  Sera gets to order, because I was late.”  You say quickly, and then immediately regret it as she grins ferally at you.  "As long as it’s not hot peppers again.“

“I’ll take pity cos’ you’re payin’.”  Sera tells you, and then turns to Carver, thumping an elbow on the table.  "Give us a big one, half peppers an’ sausage, an’ I need a soda.“

“Well, I guess that’ll be my lunch for a while.”  You say, not too grudgingly.  Their larges are large.  You did say you’d pay, though.  "I’ll get the same as last time, so…“

“Uh huh.”  Carver interrupts, writing it down without you needing to specify.  "Got it.“

He remembers?  Well, that’s a surprise.

It’s my birthday today.  Where’s my song?

“I thought you were the nice one.”  Carver says, sighing as Sera starts snickering again.  “I’m not singing the stupid song!”

“Oh come on.”  You cajole teasingly, and he grumbles and swipes the menu out of your hands to turn and stalk off.  “I swear, it’s really my birthday, Carver!  Where’s my happy birthday song?”

He turns to glare at you as he walks backwards through the swinging door into the kitchen, and you flash him your most winning smile.  Doesn’t look like it worked, though.  

“I think he’s mad at me.”  You confess to Sera, who’s pulled out her cellphone to type away.  “It was just a joke!”

“Carver thinks everyone’s pickin’ on’im.”  Sera replies distractedly, typing for a few more seconds before glancing up.  “You got Saturday night off, yeah?”

“Yes, I work in the afternoon.”

“Good, there’s a thing.  You wanna come or what?”

“A…thing?”  You ask, curiously, “What sort of thing?”

“Just a party thing.  You know.  Noise, maybe a fight or somethin’.  People bein’ stupid.”  Sera says with a grin.  “Ain’t much fun unless there’s somethin’ to regret, right?”

Sure, it’s a date.

“A…”  Sera starts, trailing off for a moment and then continuing with a bluster, “Ha ha, real funny.  Anyways, it’ll be a good time.”

You notice she’s speaking a little faster than usual, and it takes you a second to catch up, as she wanders off into describing what sort of ‘mess’ they got into last time.  She’s still chattering away when Carver stops to drop off the drinks, but by the time the pizza comes, she’s starting to run out of steam.

“That…is disgustin’.”  She informs you, as the pizza is laid out.  “It’s all vegetables.”

“And fruit.”  You remind her, tearing off a slice of the vegetable and pineapple pizza you prefer.  “You had onions and peppers yesterday at lunch.”

“Yeah, on a friggin’ steak sandwich.”  She says, and then tears off a giant bite and keeps talking, “Anyways, everybody’s goin’ be there on Saturday.  Even th’Big Hawke.  You met them?”

“Sera, I haven’t met barely anyone.”  You remind her, reaching for your soda.  “Before today, the only people I knew were my landlord, work people, and the people you introduced me to.”

“Before t’day?”  She asks, voice muffled by pizza.

“I was just talking to some people around the mall.”

“Like who?”  She asks, squinting one eye and reaching for her soda.

We just waved, but that weird shop next to yours, the guy working there?  He seemed kinda…odd. What do they even sell?

“Weird?”  Sera asks distractedly, but quickly corrects herself, nodding with a quick swing of her hair, “Right.  Ant-eluvians or whatever.”

“That’s the place.”  You agree, picking at the crust of your pizza, eyeing the rest of the pie.  Yeah, you can probably make your half stretch for a couple days.  Which is good, your car needs a lot of work.  “I couldn’t tell what they sell.”

“Old shite.”  Sera says succinctly, and then grimaces, “They’re both weird.  Creepy, one of ‘em, though, looks at you.  That one’s Cole.  Don’t bother talkin’ to him, he’s a nutter.”

“Both?”  You ask, reaching for your drink.

“Yeah.  Guy that owns th’place is a real wanker.  Don’t even bother.  Shame, some of the stuff is kinda…cool lookin’, but if he sees you lookin’, he’ll come over an’ start goin on an’ on.”  Sera says, lifting a hand and waggling her fingers against her thumb.  “Blah, blah, blah.”

“One of them looks at you, and one of them talks?”  You ask, trying not to grin as she rolls her eyes, “That’s your problem with them?”

“It’s friggin’ boring!  Oh, this is a million years old and they found in such and such with…ugh!  I’m gonna put myself t’sleep just thinkin’ about it!”

“Then you’ll be late getting back to work, better not do that.”  You say, reaching for your wallet to pull out your card.

“Ugh, yeah, better be gettin’ back.”  Sera agrees, and then gives a sigh through her nose, “Before Fenris starts bitchin’.”

“And I should be getting home.”  You agree with a sigh yourself, glancing at your phone.  “Almost seven, and I still have to take the bus.”

“Yep.”  Sera agrees, and then waves both arms at Carver across the dining room, “Oi!  You want a tip or not?”

 I can squeeze in a half hour before the bus comes.  Maybe walk around some more.

You walk Sera back to Red Jenny, leftover pizza secured, but sadly with no bouncy balls in your pocket.  Well, there’s always next time.  Work is just across the road, after all, in a strip mall dwarfed by the massive beast that is the Kirkmall.  Close enough to pop over on your lunch break, provided the food court’s not too busy.  When you’re not long on time, though, the Hanged Man is in one of the satellite buildings at the edge of the parking lot- closer, if not much in the way of edible food.

French fries are a food group, right?

You say your goodbyes at the front of the shop, pausing to put a reminder in your phone about Saturday night, and then turn to head down the wide corridor again.  She has to close up shop.  Better not distract her.

It’s kind of funny, the guy behind the counter at Antediluvia is still standing exactly where you left him when you passed by earlier.  This time, you lift your hand first, and he returns the gesture, giving you a hint of a shy smile.

“It’s…Cole, right?”  You ask, taking a couple steps into the odd shop, “Sera next door is a friend of mine.” 

“Oh!  Yes.”  He replies, sounding simultaneously confused and delighted, “That is my name.  Hello.”

“Hi.”  You say, and you share a smile for a few seconds, before your attention is drawn to a nearby display case, curiosity overwhelming.

When Sera said ‘old stuff’, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but this glass-topped case seems to hold jewelry.  Admittedly, kind of weird jewelry, pendants and beads and things that look ancient, but recently put-together.

“They call it reclaimed.”  Cole volunteers vaguely, and you startle when you glance up and realize he’s only a few feet away.

When did he move?

“Reclaimed?  You mean like…old things made new?”  You ask, looking back again, examining a silvery, mosaic inlaid pendant.  It’s beautiful, but looks heavy.

“Yes…and no.  Small things, forgotten things that would be thrown away, or put in a box somewhere.”  Cole tells you,  “There are people who take them, and take care of them.  They’re old…but new again.”

“And care is taken that they remain as unchanged as possible.”  Another voice interjects from across the shop, sonorous and richly-accented.  “Hence reclaimed, and not ‘refurbished’.  They are remnants of history, and are priced accordingly.”

The last two words are leaned on, pointedly.  Ouch.

You glance away from Cole to meet a pair of eyes, a tall elven man standing across the room with an open book in hand, just past the door that must lead into the back of the shop.  He meets your eyes for a second, and then inclines his head and turns to Cole.

“I would like to close up shop shortly.  Please see to your tasks as soon as you are able.”

You watch, a little bit confused, as he opens up the door and paces back through again, closing it firmly behind himself.  Okay, so…

You feel a little unwelcome all of a sudden.

Tasks?  Is there anything I can help you with?

“You want to help?”  Cole asks you, sounding very surprised, “Thank you.”

“Sure, why not?  I want to look around a little, but I don’t want to be in your way.”  You say, glancing back towards the back room again, “It seems like I am.”

“No.  Why…?”  Cole asks, turning to wander back to the counter, “Oh, because Solas was angry.  He isn’t angry with you.”

You follow after him, inhaling the scent of old books.  Leather, the tiniest hints of mustiness and decay, old ink and paper.  It’s nice, and the dim lighting you thought was weird actually kind of works.  All the display cases have their own lights, after all.

The one you’re passing by now on the way to the counter holds tiny statuettes.  You recognize a few of them as being old Ferelden.  How?  Dogs, of course.

“He’s angry with someone, then?”  You ask, pausing when he does, and leaning in to read the list he’s picking up.

“Some people are very rude when they come in to shop.  It bothers him because he cares very much about the things, and other people do not.”  Cole says, setting the list down and stepping around the counter, “It makes him happy when people care.”

“Do you like working here?  He sounds like an exacting boss.”

“He’s nice to me.  Not everyone is.”  Cole says, “Do you want to dust the cases?  Then you can look.”

“Sure.”  You say willingly, accepting the rag he hands to you.  “That I can do.”

I’m sorry people aren’t nice to you.  I like you, and I just met you!

“You do? I’m glad.”  Cole says, glancing up from the pile of dust he’s sweeping up, “It is all right, you know.  You don’t have to feel badly, I do understand.  Sometimes it’s hard when someone is…different.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean people have to be mean.”  You say, running the rag over the back of a case as you curiously examine the trinkets inside.  They don’t have much to identify them, just tags with numbers and where they’re from.  “Everyone can control how they act.”

“Yes.”  Cole agrees, more firmly, “They can.”

You work in comfortable silence for a little bit, enjoying looking through the cases as you wipe them down.  You wouldn’t call anything in here antique, not really.  It’s all much older than that, even if turned to a newer purpose.  Almost like a museum, of stuff for sale.

Allegedly for sale, at least.

“Cole, where is the…”  You hear, accompanied by the opening of the door.

It stops, short, and reluctantly you pull your gaze up to meet the accusing one fixed on you.

“She wanted to help.”  Cole says apologetically, and you give him a reassuring smile.

“I wanted to talk.  And look.”  You correct, trying to keep your voice friendly.  He’s not mad at you, Cole said.  “And he had work to do, so I thought I’d help instead of being in the way.  I’m just dusting.”

Silently, Solas holds his hand out for the rag.

 I was wondering if those masks in that case are supposed to be Satinalia masks?  I’ve never seen designs like that before.

“They are.”  Solas says, a little bit stiffly, taking the rag out of your hand when you offer it over, “The holiday is older than many people realize.”

“I saw a special on television last year.”  You say, turning back to look in the case again, “They said it used to be a Tevinter holiday.  Are they Tevene?”

“What many people do not realize is that many Tevene holidays are in fact co-opted from their original Elvhen roots.”  Solas says to you, this time sounding a little less stiff, “Not that the people of Tevinter are willing to recognize that, of course.”

“So they’re Elvhen?”  You ask, dubiously, “They don’t look that old.”

“These are not, no.  Leather would not survive that long, no matter how well preserved.”  Solas says, gesturing to the case as he finally approaches.  “What you have here…”

As he continues to talk, you take a second to discreetly glance at your phone.  Your bus is coming soon.  Real soon, actually, might have to make a run for the bus stop soon.  

Not a huge deal to miss your bus.  It’s really only eight o’clock, and it’s not like the porn store opens at the crack of dawn.  It’s annoying, because right now your commute depends on public transport, but with any luck that’ll be fixed on your day off.

Solas likes to talk, but he’s not doing it to hear himself.  The more questions you ask, the more engaged he is, the less oratory.  Almost friendly.  Still, though, you can see why he and Sera don’t get along, she doesn’t have patience for things like this.  But it is all interesting, if ridiculously out of your price range.

He explains different artifacts for a little while, and the people that used to use them, until Cole says he’s finished up the cleaning.  You almost want to apologize, but he seems pretty delighted that you’ve just been hanging around at all.

Cole seems really nice.

Still, as such things must go on a Sunday night, the mall seems to be closing down when it hits eight.  The first announcement interrupts a discussion about the difference between Avvar and Chasind designs, and Solas actually looks a little embarrassed.

“I apologize for earlier.”  He tells you, completely unprompted, surprising you into speechlessness, “I made an unfounded assumption.  Your interest is greatly appreciated.”

“It’s…okay.”  You say at last, “I guess this is kind of a hard spot to have a shop like this.  You must get a lot of annoying teenagers and tourists looking for the cheap souvenirs.”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”  He says, utterly flat, and then offers you the barest hint of a smile, “Thank you.  Have a good night.”

It’s a clear, but polite dismissal.  He probably wants to get home, too.  You say goodbye to Cole, and then head out of the mall, which is almost eerily quiet now, as stores close down their fronts and lower security gates.  The parking lot is quiet, the night is cold, sending a ghostly little shiver up your spine as you make your way across it.

At least the bus stop is out front of the Hanged Man, so the drunks having a cigarette outside will keep you company.

Luckily, you were chatting so long that the next bus is only ten minutes away.  Leaving behind the Kirkmall, you board it when it comes in, and head to home sweet home, still embarrassingly full of cardboard boxes.

END OF DAY 1

You spend some time unpacking, trying to make your small apartment look a bit more like a home.  It’s not much, but it helps you feel a little more settled in.

Good night, sleep tight.  Tomorrow’s another day.