The Kirkmall

The bus drops you off across the street from work just a little early, the Hanged Man looking especially dingy in the bright sunlight.  It’s still locked up tight, and won’t open until noon.  The traffic’s fairly busy right now, so you head down to the intersection and wait at the light instead of skipping across.

Work is in a small strip mall called, unsurprisingly, Evergreen Place.  It’s as if they pull names out of the same hat they use to name apartment complexes and housing developments.  There aren’t many shops in the strip mall, but there’s a block of more shops to either side of it- this is prime real estate, next to the Kirkmall.

Amusingly, Desire’s Dungeon is trapped smack dab between a first aid training center and the DMV, bright pink and garish flanked by two staid and dull looking storefronts.  

A porn shop wasn’t exactly what you were looking for when you moved here- but hey, it pays a decent amount more than minimum wage and it’s owned by a woman.  Obviously there’s some creepy customers, but one of the neighbors has proven to be protective.

Kitty isn’t in, so you unlock the shop and head in on your own.  Weird having been given keys so early, but considering there’s only three employees besides the owner, it made some sense.

You get in, and get settled.  No drawer yet, but you can at least get ready.  There’s a pile of boxes waiting to be broken down, so you start in on that.

When the front door chimes you glance up, but it’s not the owner getting in yet.  An older woman, white hair twisted into a knot enters the store, her polo shirt emblazoned with the training center logo.

“Good morning, dear.”  Wynne greets pleasantly, “In by yourself this morning?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I think Miss Kitty will be in soon.”  You say, matching her smile with one of your own, “So I won’t be by myself for long.”

“Good.”  She says, nodding, “You still have my number, don’t you?  If anyone bothers you young women, you can call at any time.”

“Yep, got it in my phone.”  You confirm.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.  Don’t hesitate, if you feel uncomfortable, just call.”

Thank you!  It’s nice to have someone looking out for me.

“That’s a good attitude to have.”  Wynne says approvingly.

“Yeah, I’m not too proud to admit it’s nice to have someone watching my back.”  You say, smiling and nodding back when she does.  “Miss Kitty will probably be in soon.”

“Which means I should probably be going.”  Wynne replies, a small purse of her lips momentarily souring her expression.  “That…woman…Well, I’m glad she treats you well.”

“She does.”  You confirm, and then lift a hand in farewell as Wynne turns to head back out of the store again.

It’s hard not to smile a little when the door opens before she reaches it, and Kitty strides in, sunglasses perched on top of her unnaturally ginger hair.  The pair eye each other, giving one another wide berth as Kitty steps in, and Wynne heads out into the parking lot to go back next door.

Not to make too much of a pun about it, but they sort of look like an unfriendly pair of cats staring each other down.

The door chimes shut, and Kitty rolls her eyes and wanders to the counter with a noisy click of her heels.

“Is that old biddy bothering you?”  She asks, voice a husky little purr.

“Nope!  She just wanted to make sure if I was here alone, I could call her if I needed help.”  You tell her.

“Nosy old bat.  That’s why we have the bear spray under the counter.”  Kitty sighs, and then lifts a hand with a jangle of her bracelets and waves it in the air.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’ll get you a drawer!”

When you first started working here, you wondered why the shop was even open before noon.  Who goes to a porn store in the morning?

As it turns out?  Quite a few people, and not just people shopping for stag and doe parties.  Weird, but hey, you’re not here to judge.

You’re just here to sell it to them.

As always, you have to remind Kitty three or four times before she sends you to lunch at last.  It’s now two in the afternoon.  You have a reminder on your phone to stop at the hardware place to fix your bathroom door, but you can do that after work, or on the way back to the shop if you want to eat something besides leftover pizza.

What should we do?

Heading out of work, you cross the road again.  Better not to leave it for later, you might not feel up to going out later.  If you run late, your pizza is waiting in the fridge with Miss Kitty’s vodka.  The hardware store is in the same parking lot as the Hanged Man, but much further down.  You have to pass the auto shop to get to it, and for a second you’re tempted to pop your head in.  In the end though, you’re on a mission, and they said they’d call you when your car was ready.

The hardware store is a mom and pop sort of place, rather than a chain or one of those huge home improvement joints.  It looks really old, but well-kept, the sign hand carved wood.  Probably by the same person that made the furniture sitting out front under an awning.

It looks hand made, and a glance at one as you approach the door proves it’s priced like it, too.  Ouch.  Still, the honeyed wood is tempting, and you glide your fingers over the arm of a rocking chair, satiny smooth against your skin.

The front door opens under your touch, the smell of raw wood and hot metal hanging in the air with the dust.  The floor is smooth concrete, stained by a mosaic of faded blotches, decades of old spills.

“Be right with you!”  A gruff voice calls from the back of the shop, over the clatter of lumber.

“I’ve got it, thanks!”  You call back.

It’s not hard to find your way around, though the aisles aren’t labeled.  The door hardware kits are next to the bins of nails and screws, a dozen or so hanging up.  With relief, you look them over and realize they are almost all the exact same size.  Standard, then.

You pull the cheapest one down, which still looks nicer than the one on your bathroom door currently.  It has everything, latch plate, knobs, and when you shake it, it rattles.

It has the screws, too.

“You have the tool you need for the job?”  A voice asks from behind you, slightly out of breath.

You turn, the bearded man gazing at you crossing his arms over his broad chest.  He looks, you think, exactly like someone you’d expect to find in a hardware store, oddly enough.  His hands are weathered and calloused, there’s squint creases at the corners of his eyes, and he’s wearing, amusingly, a flannel shirt.

Philips screwdriver?  Nope.  

“That’d be the one.”  He agrees, voice a bit more friendly, “Over this way.  If you’re planning to keep that knob for more than five years, you might want to spend a bit more.”

You follow after him, glancing down at the package in your hand.  Five years?  It’s just a one year less, actually, and you still don’t know the city well enough to know if you can do better.

“A lot can happen in five years.”  You say, “It’s just an apartment.”

“Ah.  And you’ve got to fix the door yourself?  They ought to be paying you.”  He says, and then chuckles roughly, “But I appreciate wanting to get things done yourself.  Make sure they’re done right.”

“And not have to wait forever and a day to get it done.”  You agree, turning down another aisle behind him.  

“That too.”  He agrees, pulling down two different screwdrivers.  “Both of these ought to serve you well, miss.  Can’t go wrong keeping one in a drawer just in case.”

“I’ll take the rubber one.”  You decide, accepting it from him, and then watching as he puts the other ones back on the shelf.  “The linoleum in the kitchen…it curls up a bit at the edges, where it touches the cabinets.  Is that something that’ll be a problem?”

“Shoddy work.”  He says with gruff disapproval, shaking his head.  “As long as there’s no leaks, or underlying issues, it shouldn’t, I suppose…but I’d rip that right up.  Could cause problems or get worse.”

Wanna come over and look at it for me some time?

There’s dead silence after you speak, and you start to think you’ve made him angry.  Luckily, he finally gives a faint chuckle, and turns to head towards the front of the shop.

“Been a long time since I’ve had an offer like that.”  He finally says, voice wry, “I think if you have something that dire that needs looking at, miss, you’d best contact your landlord.”

“Not up for the challenge?”  You ask, and he laughs again, this time a bit less stiffly.

“If you do too much work, they’re not liable to thank you for it.”  He says, subtly changing the subject, “But if you take some pictures of the problem, and the floor underneath where it’s pulling up, I might be able to tell you how you can fix it without doing too much.  Anything more than that, best to call someone who owns the place.”

He steps up and behind the counter, holding his hand out for the things you’re carrying.  You pass them over, and then dig out your bank card while he rings you up.

We have time enough to go to the mall, maybe stop to say hi to someone.  Let’s say goodbye and head to Antediluvia

You finish checking out quickly, now equipped with everything you need to fix that damn bathroom door, all on your own.  Blackwall turns to hand you your reciept, and you realize he’s given you some sort of card along with it.

You turn it over in your fingers, curiously.

“Miss Josephine over at Montilyet’s helped me set up a website.”  He informs you, sounding a bit embrrassed, “Couldn’t tell you why, never use the thing, but that’s what people do these days.  Got an email on it there.  Sending me the pictures of the damage would be easier than bringing them in, I suppose.”

“Oh!  Thank you.”  You say with a smile, tucking it into your bag with the screwdriver and knob kit.

“Make sure you take clear ones of the places where the linoleum’s pulling up, and what’s underneath.  Can’t see if it’s damaged unless you do that.”  He instructs, “And then I can tell you what you need to fix it.  Still think that shouldn’t be your responsibility, though.”

“I hate waiting for them to get around to me.”  You say, with a helpless shrug, “It seems like they just painted the walls before I moved in, not much else.  Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.”  He says, and then waves goodbye as you head back out to the parking lot.

You’re a little hungry, and pretty undecided on what to do, but the mall is right there, looming in front of you.  You give in to temptation, and head on in.  The quickest way is to head through the food court, so that’s the entrance you take, next to the seafood place.

It’s crowded.

That’s the first thing you notice, when you push in, a taco place to your left.  Every small shop has a line, and most of the tables are full.  Fried food, salt, grease, the smell of burgers and a hint of spice, there’s hundreds of different things cooking all at once, but oh man…the lines.

You finally decide to keep going, wending your way southward and towards the mall proper.  It’s almost unfair, though, that they put the cookie place and the pretzel place opposite each other right before you had back out into the shops.  The smell carries, all sugary yeasty goodness.

Hard not to give into temptation, but luckily the line at the cookie place is also massive.  Not quite as big as the guy behind the counter in the blue checked apron, though, a stern-faced, huge qunari.

He kind of dwarfs the shop he’s in.  You wonder briefly how he can even move around in the cramped space.  At least he doesn’t have horns to catch on things, you suppose.

While you are pondering qunari and cookies, your feet seem to have taken on a life of their own, taking you to the right.  It’s the blaring music from Jenny’s that snaps you out of your reverie, and you blink rapidly.

Glancing up, it’s the Antediluvia sign you see overhead.

“Oh!”  You hear a voice, surprised and a little quizzical, “It’s you again!  Hello!”

A glance to your left meets Cole’s eyes, across the length of the store.

“Hello!”  You greet, turning to face him, “I’m just wandering on my lunch break.  It’s already almost three, and the lines are still awful!”

“Everyone’s going shopping.”  He says, gaze moving from you to the steady stream of people passing by the shop, “Sometimes even here!”

It’s hard not to laugh at that, but you think he didn’t mean it as a joke.

Is it just you today, or is Solas in?

“Just me today?  There’s a lot of people here.”  Cole replies, uncertainly, looking past you out into the busy mall.

“I meant working.  Here, today.  Right now.”  You say, clarifying with a smile.

“Oh!  Here working in the shop!”  Cole says, understanding fading to a thoughtful voice, “Solas was here in the morning, but now he’s gone.  He left when I got here.”

It’s disappointing, but you keep your smile, giving a small nod of your head.  Cole nods back, and you stare at each other for a couple seconds.  When it becomes clear that he’s probably not going to give you much more, you try again.

“Is he going to be back today at any point?”

“Probably, yes.”  Cole agrees, and pauses just long enough again for you to feel a little awkward, “It is his shop.  Did you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, but not for any real reason.  I just enjoyed talking to him.”  You tell him, surprised when that makes him smile, broadly, “That makes you happy?”

“It does!”  Cole says, smile fading again, voice slowing thoughtfully once again, “I don’t know…when he’ll be back.  Maybe in the evening?”

“I’m done at work at six thirty, maybe I can stop by?”  You suggest, and then nod back when he nods vigorously at you.

“That might be a good time.”  He agrees,  “He has things to do during the day.”

 I’ll come by around then.  I’ll bring a treat.

“That’s very…kind of you.”  Cole says, with some surprise, “Thank you.”

“Sure!  No food allergies, or…”  You start, and then smile when he shakes his head, “All right, cool.  After walking through the food court like that I’m kind of craving a tr…”

Your phone beeps at you, and you pull it off to turn off your alarm.  Right, back to work.  You say your goodbyes and head back out into the mall, avoiding the food court and leaving out of the northwest exit this time.  You hadn’t noticed it before, but this way you walk past what must be the ‘Montilyet’s’ you’ve heard about a couple times now.

It’s a pretty little chocolate shop, all white and gold, with two women working inside.  They look a lot alike, probably sisters.  The older one is berating the younger exasperatedly when you head past, continuing on towards the big Orlesian department store that anchors this exit.  No Zevran, it looks like.  He must not be working there today.

It looks nice, if kind of pricy.  The sort of place you go and buy yourself one or two little things when you’re having a bad day.  Or, if you’re lucky, the kind of place someone buys you a present from.

Leaving the mall behind, you make your way across the street and back to work, where Miss Kitty is sitting behind the counter doing her nails and arguing with one of the regulars.  Yes.  Regulars.

The porn store has regulars.  Go figure.

You get back to work after a hurried slice of cold pizza, stocking shelves and hoping you don’t find opened packages hidden on any of them.  All in all it’s a busier day than usual, but not nearly as busy as the mall.  Wait until the week of Satinalia, though, Kitty says.

At five thirty, Sera gets in, and your shift starts winding down.  You start getting ready to head out, remembering your promise to Cole.

Just say goodbye to Sera and go to the mall.  You can always text her later.

Remembering what Sera had said about Cole before, that he was ‘creepy’, you decide that maybe it’s not better to ask.  You’d rather be a little uncomfortable yourself than put anyone else in a position like that.  Besides, he might not even enjoy himself.  You don’t even know what the party’s going to be like.  Knowing Sera, at the very least it’s going to be loud.

Saying your goodbyes, you head out of work and across the road, returning yet again to the mall.  Seems like you’re always in and out of there, but from what you can tell, that seems to be a case for a lot of people who work around here.  It even has a movie theater.

You can see it across the parking lot, sign bright neon that beckons.  The Paragon’s a pretty good sized theater.  Right now they’re showing a few interesting movies.  Maybe on Wednesday after you pick up your car, you could see a movie.  Gotta be careful on the budget, but a midday matinee won’t break the bank.

You can either head to the northeast entrance, by the food court, or the northwest entrance again, over by the department store, Valmont.  It’s pretty chilly tonight, breath fogging as you head through the parking lot.  People seem to be leaving, rather than arriving, and it’s starting to clear out.

Let’s go to the food court.  I’d rather pick up cookies, it’s easier on the budget.

Cookies will have to do.  It’s not really a fancy enough occasion to splurge on chocolates, even if it is tempting.  The food court isn’t as bad as it was at lunch, but still plenty busy.

You pass through without too much fuss, cheeks flushing warmly as you adjust to the change in temperature.  Going to need to pull out the gloves and scarf soon.

The line at the cookie shop is short, and you’re to the head in no time.  The same man from earlier is still standing at the counter, arms folded over his chest as he stares at a departing customer.  When you reach the counter his attention turns to you, expectantly.

“Hi, can I get a half dozen?  Chocolate chip.”  You say, assuming it’s better to be generic.

“Yes.”  He says in a dark, rumbling voice, and turns to pick them out of the case.

And…that’s about the extent of the conversation, you find, the rest of the transaction short and efficient.  By the time you realize it, you’ve paid and turned away.  You glance over your shoulder once as you head off, and then shake your head and continue on.

Well, you have cookies now, and somewhere you need to deliver them.

On the way there, you sneak one out of the bag to nibble on.  Still just a little bit warm, chocolate chips still melted in the middle.  Perfect.  Better to have one now, rather than risk them getting cold.  

Letting the crowd pull you along, you turn the corner.  Are there already more Satinalia decorations than there were this morning?  There must be, and people are putting some up even as you watch.  A thin elven man with grey hair is arguing with an older blonde woman in a mall security uniform as you pass by lights being strung in the main thoroughfare, and you give them a wide berth.  

Still, their arguing is loud and animated, and you watch curiously as she leans in, shouting down at him.  You can’t make it out over the noise of the crowd, unfortunately.

“What is so fascinating, I wonder?”  Someone asks, close enough that you practically jump out of your skin.

Spinning on a heel, cookie in your mouth, you glance up and realize you’ve nearly wandered past your destination.  Solas is watching you from the entrance of the shop, curiously, a load of leather bound books in his arms.

“Mmfh…”  You mumble, and then reach up and free your mouth as he lifts his brows, and you turn and gesture with the cookie back at the bickering.  “That.  They’re really going at it.”

He steps out of the shop and glances over your shoulder, confusion immediately replaced by a very faint smile.  He chuckles, shakes his head, and then steps back towards the store again.  You follow.

“Ah, yes.  A common sight.”  He says, moving to the shelf he was filling, “Security and administration do not see…eye to eye.  And Meredith enjoys shouting.”

“And they just yell at each other in front of everyone?”  You ask, wandering over and offering him the bag as he frees his hands.

“They do.  I am certain there is some valid reason for disagreement, but the public display is a bit…”  He trails off as he glances aside, looking down into the bag.

“I told Cole I’d bring him something.  They’re still warm…”  You say, cajoling as you give the bag a little shake.

“Thank you.”  He finally decides, selecting one two fingers.  “Cole should be in the back, he will be out in a moment.”

I brought them for both of you, sort of to say thanks.  I really enjoyed talking with you last night.

“That is very kind of you to say.  Most people do not consider what I have to say particularly valuable.”  He says, sounding guarded, “I enjoyed it as well.”

“I haven’t lived here for long, so maybe I’m just hunting for friendly conversations.”  You explain, and then add with a small laugh, “But I really just like talking to people in general, so I guess that’s not a good excuse for poking around.  I just really like hearing people talk about things they’re passionate about.”

“Curiosity is a trait that should be indulged.  Those who lack it are sadly often wholly uninteresting people.”  Solas says, breaking a piece from the cookie.

“And I guess being curious means you meet more…”

You’re interrupted by the sudden raising of voices, and you turn to watch as the pair of people you saw arguing just before storm past the shop.  The elven man is staring straight ahead, stony-faced, and the woman is chasing after him, still orating stridently.

“…Is a security hazard!  Blocking my cameras with that utter nonsense will lead to…”  You manage to hear, before they are swallowed by the crowd once again.

A man chasing after them pauses, looking rather harried, smoothing a hand over his tousled hair.  He’s wearing a security uniform as well, but seems pretty mortified by the fight.

“Never a dull moment, Cullen?”  You hear Solas call from behind you, and the man glances over.

His gaze settles on you, and he returns your smile distractedly, attention moving on to Solas.

“She hates the holiday.”  He says, and then sighs and rubs the back of his neck,  “Only going to get worse, I’m afraid.  Have a good night, Solas.”

“And one to you as well.”  Solas says.

Cullen glances at you again, nods and forces a smile, and then continues on his way, picking up to a slow jog to try and catch up.

“Funny, the chaos of the mall doesn’t really seem to suit your shop.”  You say, turning back to the quiet, dimly-lit oasis of calm. 

“I enjoy the contrast, and there are always people to watch.”  Solas says, voice mild, and then taking on a bite of sarcastic amusement, “It helps that the shop is not terribly popular.”

I’d much rather talk to people than watch them.  Sometimes I get lucky and meet someone like you.

It’s strange, when you say that, for a second Solas freezes.  It’s so quick that you almost think you imagined it, the wariness in his blue eyes gone as soon as it appeared.  Still, the smile he gives you isn’t quite genuine, subtle as it is.

“If that is true, you have an uncommon interest in early historical artifacts.” He says, pleasantly neutral, “What is it you do?  I don’t believe you mentioned it…”

He leans against the counter, arms folding comfortably.  The posture is relaxed, and he’s not frowning, but the unease lingers.  You must have said the wrong thing?  But he doesn’t seem angry, just…

Suspicious.

The back room of the shop opens, and Cole finally emerges, dust in his hair.  He seems surprised to see you, though you did tell him you were coming by, and you return his wave, lifting the bag.

“I brought cookies, Cole.”  You tell him, and he brightens, wiping his hands on his pants and wandering over. “Two of them are for you.”

You take  the opportunity to grab another one for yourself, which leaves one in the bag.  You offer the bag over to Solas, who is still watching you with an inscrutable look on his face.

“I promise, it doesn’t bite?”  You say teasingly, smiling in relief as he pushes away from the counter and moves to accept it.

Still, he seems to be waiting.  Oh, right.  The question.

“I work across the street, at Desire’s Dungeon?”  You say.

I just need something to get me through for a while.  I’m transferring to the university here in the spring to finish up, I’m studying (library science)  

“Though I just really have a passion for organizing pornography.”  You say, deadpan, “It’s more difficult than you might think!  Never know the right place for things to go and…crap, that was an accidental double entendre.”

You finally manage to get Solas to smile, bringing with it a subtle relaxation that eases the tension in his posture.  It’s hard not to wonder what you said to make him react like that, but at least you seem to have somehow made it through blind.  He’s sort of hard to navigate.  Like there’s a lot going on under the surface.

“Three hundred and six.”  Cole interjects, voice thin and faraway, “Point…seven?”

You turn to look at him as he takes a bite out of one of his cookies, chewing contemplatively, and then staring at the piece in his hand.

“Why do you know…”  You say, interrupting yourself with a shake of your head before the question can escape and actually get answered, “Never mind, it’s probably better not to ask that.”

“You are likely correct.  I suppose that may explain the rampant curiosity.”  Solas says, with a touch of humor, “And the endless questions.”

“All right, those?  Those are your fault.”  You counter, lifting a finger, “You like to talk.  So don’t act as if it’s completely my fault.”

“I am merely answering your questions.  In full, as is only polite.  A terse response would hardly do the subjects justice.”  He says, voice dryly amused, “Though it seems there is a modern trend of being far too busy to listen to anything not boiled down to a singular, one-dimensional catchphrase.”

“So you’re saying you prefer communication with more…nuance?”  

“There must be a balance, of course, you must still have something to say and be comprehensible, in the end…but yes.”  He says, “Subtlety is a lost art.”

And would you say you’re an artist, then?

“I believe I would say that, yes.”  He agrees, with a leisurely half-smile, “Unfortunately, it is one of those arts that requires a suitable partner.”

There’s a bit of tension in the air again, but this time it isn’t exactly unpleasant.  It’s more the kind that makes you want to draw it out, find the right thing to say to keep it going.  Warm in the pit of the stomach tension.

“It’s a shame that it’s such a difficult thing for you to find.”  You agree, keeping your voice as light as you can manage, “I’d imagine practicing alone is pretty unsatisfying.”

“Like dancing!”  Cole interjects, sounding rather pleased, though it fades quickly, “Though people like to dance alone.  Perhaps it’s not the same.”

You blink and turn your attention to him, meeting his smile.  You can’t help but return it, a small laugh in your voice.

“I don’t know.  Dancing alone and dancing with someone else are pretty different.”  You say, and he gives a faint ‘hmm’ under his breath.

“It is almost seven thirty, Cole.”  Solas says mildly.

When you glance back at him out of the corner of your vision, the smile is still there at least, even if a bit faded.  His announcement, though, draws your attention to your phone, slid out of your pocket to glance at it.

No messages, but he’s right, it’s almost seven thirty.

“Thank you for the cookies.  I should go finish opening the boxes, so I can go home.”  Cole says to you.

“You’re welcome, I figured this time if I was going to distract you in front of your boss, I’d at least bring a bribe.”  You say, and then laugh at Solas’ faint scoff.

We should wait for Cole and head out with him.

“You mind if I hang around for a couple minutes, and see if Cole will walk out with me?”  You ask Solas, though he hasn’t seemed to have minded you hanging around so far.

“Not at all.”  He says, extending a hand towards you.

It takes you a second to realize just what he’s indicating, and you glance down at the cookie bag still in your hand.  You pass it over to him, with a nod of thanks, and he moves to throw it away behind the counter.

“So next time I come by to bother you, should I bring a bribe again?” You ask teasingly, eyes curiously fixed on a book he pulls out from under the register.

“You are welcome, with or without them.  Provided of course you continue to treat my employees with respect.”  Solas says, opening the book in his palm and leafing through it.

“I hadn’t planned on anything else.”

You assume he means Cole, because you sure as heck haven’t seen any other employees.  Solas eyes you in silence for a few seconds, before nodding his head with a faint smile.

It’s not surprising he’s the protective sort.

When Cole ducks out of the back, he seems surprised that you’re waiting for him, but willing to walk together.  Most of the shops are still open, but there aren’t many shoppers left.  At least, not until you’re almost to Valmont.

There’s a place full of people, weirdly enough, and it doesn’t have a sign.  That’s strange enough, as is the fancy dress and glasses of what you assume are wine everyone has in hand.  You pause for a second, and when he notices you have as well, Cole doubles back to join you.

“There’s new paintings.”  He tells you quietly.

Finally you spot the sign, if you can call it that.  What you thought was a decorative edge on the bottom of the windows proves to be words, in a scrolling gilt script.  La Galerie Royale.

“I think I’m underdressed for the occasion.”  You joke, and then shake your head and continue on your way, “It seems like a big deal, though.”

“It is.  I heard.”  Cole confirms, glancing over his shoulder once, “They thought he was gone, but he wasn’t.”

“Who, the artist?”  You ask, shivering as you push open the door with your shoulder, hit with a blast of cold air.

Damn, it’s chillier out than you thought.

“Yes, Madame’s pleased.”  Cole says, and then abruptly gives a faint ‘oh’, pulling ahead of you across the parking lot, picking up his pace.

He must have caught sight of his bus.  You hope you didn’t make him miss it.

You start jogging after him, only to realize when you pull up next to him again that he was running towards someone.  While you’re trying to catch your breath, he’s digging out a wrapped sandwich and handing it to a homeless man resting against the wall of the Hanged Man with his backpack at his feet.

Once the brief transaction is finished, you and Cole continue on to the bus stop.

“Do you do that often?”  You ask curiously, once you’ve both settled down at the bench.

“Yes.  It doesn’t cost very much.”  Cole says, pulling his backpack around and unzipping a pocket to fish out his bus card, “Are you going home now, too?”

I was going to stop in at the Hanged Man first.   Can I give you my phone number?  Then I can text you to talk, instead of bothering you at work all the time.

Cole seems delighted with the request, and you exchange numbers quickly.  The night is pleasantly clear, which may explain how cold it is, but light pollution blocks out most of the night sky, reflecting off the few clouds there are.  Still, the moon is bright, and the sting of frost in your nostrils is bracing, not unpleasant.

You talk for about ten minutes, about nothing in particular, watching cars go by and listening to the occasional burst of noise from the bar behind you.  By the time Cole’s bus comes, and you say goodbye, you’re ready to get in out of the early winter weather.

The bus rumbles off, and you rise to your feet.  The entrance to the bar is just a half block left of the bus stop, close enough that the cigarette smoke tends to linger.  There’s a couple people outside having a smoke, but none of them even glances your way as you move to push into the bar.

The Hanged Man is not quite what you’d call a dive, maybe just because it’s a little bit too big to be one.  The ambiance fits the bill, but it’s a cozy sort of run-down grunginess, where things are worn in, not trashed.  Sound and warmth hits you as you push through the door and enter, the smell of grease and stale beer in the air.

If you want healthy, this isn’t the place to be.

This time of night it’s a decent crowd, noisy but self-contained, people clustered at tables or sitting at the long, scarred bar.  You don’t see anyone you recognize besides Varric, the owner, who’s sitting alone at the very far end of the bar with a laptop and a beer.  He looks busy.

While you’re observing the crowd and feeling your nose go from chilled to ‘oh no it’s going to start running’ warm, there’s a sudden, noisy crash, and a man at the bar goes spilling over his stool, landing on the floor flat on his back.  You’re not the only one who jumps at the sudden noise, stopping to stare at the sudden flurry of movement.

The man’s friends (you assume), all jolt to their feet, staring at a dark-haired woman sitting at the bar with a mug in front of her.  Casually, she releases the fallen stool, moving her foot away.  

It’s about to get heated, but the woman doesn’t seem flustered, picking up her beer.

This could be interesting, let’s get a seat at the bar and watch.

Feeling brave, you decide to head on over to where the altercation is.  There’s three of them, and one of her, and there’s a bouncer at the door.  Maybe you can at least keep an eye out unless you need to call someone over.  Or, you know, stick your nose in and give her some verbal backup?

This might be a terrible idea.

You find a stool two down from the woman, trying not to crowd too close in case people start swinging.  By the time you get there, the man on the floor has scrambled to his feet, the others starting to crowd her space.  She’s still drinking, but it spills to the ground as one of them grabs her elbow, and yanks on it.

You see the bouncer start to move, but he’s not quite quick enough.

You’re not sure quite what’s happened, until the man is flung into your side, slamming into your shoulder and then slumping over onto the ground.  You wince, and nearly lose your seat, but a hand grabs your upper arm before you can topple over.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”  The woman says, shaking her other hand, the knuckles bright red from the impact.

Glancing down, you realize the man collapsed at your feet is bleeding from the nose.  Still stunned, you look up again, and meet a wide, friendly smile.  Your eyes shift up, and realize the third man is reaching for the woman’s shoulder.  Not sure if the bouncer is going to make it in time or not.

You barely have time to react.

Look out!

The words are out of your mouth like a reflex, knee-jerk fast and practically stumbling over each other.  The shout seems to do more good startling the man than warning Isabela, because she’s already released you and turned by the time the first syllable is out of your mouth.

It’s over so quick that you’re dazed, a hit to her shoulder not stopping her knee to his groin.  From somewhere else in the bar another bouncer shows up, and as you watch, and the woman flops down on her stool rolling her shoulder, the men are more or less dragged off.

Well, the third one is still rolling around on the floor, but you’re pretty sure they’ll get to him in a second.

The dark-haired woman reaches for her sideways drink, peering into it and then giving a disgusted sigh.

“Isn’t that always the way?  So bloody inconsiderate.”  She asks you, her eyes shifting over as she flashes you a broad smile, “What are we drinking tonight?”

What would you like?  It’s on me.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”  The woman says, gracing you with a warm, lazy smile.  “In that case…”

“Caging drinks already, Isabela?”  A pleasantly rough voice asks, one of the toppled stools pulled upright again with a clatter.

You give a small wave to Varric as you lean around Isabela to glance at him.  He gives you a nod, and then a brief once-over.

“You okay?”

“She’s fine, and I did not cage, Varric, she offered.”  Isabela says, before you can speak up for yourself, “Some people are just kind and generous.”

“And some people just don’t know better yet.”  Varric counters, seeming completely unworried about the fight that just happened in his bar.  “Or don’t know you well enough.”

Isabela just grins, and turns her attention back to you, tilting her head to the side with a swing of her earrings.

“Rum and lime juice, please.”  She says, and then flashes you an impish smile, “It’s like a daiquiri, without all that sugar getting in the way of your alcohol.”

“That, and a beer, please.”  You tell the bartender, not really trusting the look of the shelves.  The beer should be good, right?  That’s almost all anyone’s drinking. 

It’s a beer and whiskey sort of place.

“Get me another beer, too.”  Varric orders, folding up his laptop and setting it down on the bar.  “Isabela, you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?  I should at least pretend like I care in case the cops come around.”

“Just some hurt feelings.”  Isabela says slyly, glancing down and flexing her bruised knuckles testingly, “You know how sensitive men can be.  Big babies.”

“Right.  I’ll believe that one…”  Varric says, trailing off with a sigh, “You can’t keep doing this.  I don’t want to have to tell you not to come around, you know that.  You almost got people hurt.”

They did start it.  She was just defending herself!

Isabela laughs at your words, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Varric gives a weary sigh and shakes his head.  As a glass is set in front of Isabela, she lifts it in salute to you, and you raise your beer to clink against it.

“See, Varric?  Nothing to get in a fuss about.”  Isabela says, giving you a slow, subtle wink with a tilt of her head to hide it from him.  “Anyway, it’s over and done, and you can bet they won’t be running crying to any police.”

“Somehow, that’s not a bet I’m feeling up to taking, Rivani.”  Varric says, and then leans forward to speak to you, “Settling in okay?” 

“I think so.”  You agree,  “Apartment’s still a bit of a mess, but at least I’ve got hot water and a place to sleep.”

You take a tentative sip of your pale beer, fingers leaving marks in the condensation on the sides of the pint glass.  It tastes…unexciting, which is probably best for your wallet. If you keep up the spending, you won’t have anything at all left for this weekend in the fun budget.  It’s really not that big of a budget.  You should probably start cooking at home.

“Better than some.”  Varric agrees, giving a faint sigh.  “Rough business, your car breaking right after you move in to town.  But hey, like I told you before, Bull and his crew won’t cheat you.”

You didn’t meet Bull, when you took in the car to Chargers.  A man named Rocky was the one who handled it.  Taciturn, but it seemed like they knew what they were doing.

“As long as I don’t need a new transmission or something, I’m happy.”  You say, and then laugh, “…The car’s worth less than a new transmission would be, so I might be stuck with buses if that’s what it comes down to.”

“Isn’t that the way of it?”  Isabela asks, cupping her fingers over the rim of her glass as she observes you, “So you’re new in town, are you?”

“Of course she is, she hasn’t been warned about you yet, Rivani.”  Varric says wryly.

Warning?  That’s only a yellow light, and we all know those just mean ‘go faster’.

“You.  I like you.”  Isabela says, laughter warming her voice as she lifts her glass in salute to you.

“And that’s when I remind myself never to drive with you.”  Varric says dryly to you, shaking his head and shifting his attention to Isabela,  “All right, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.  Don’t forget to call Hawke.”

Hawke?  You wonder which one it is.  You’ve know Bethany and Carver, of course, but the third one remains a mystery.  But as far as you’ve been able to ascertain, everyone calls the eldest by their last name, not the twins.

You haven’t heard many stories about them, but it sounds more like legend than truth every time you do.

“Right, right.”  Isabela dismisses, waving a hand in what you assume is farewell.

“Have a good night, Varric.”  You say, smiling when he shakes his head at you, “What?”

“Don’t get in over your head, it happens far too easily around these troublemakers.”  He says, picking up both his beer and his computer, “Trust me on that one.”

“You should trust him, because half the time it’s his fault.”  Isabela tells you slyly, and then laughs as Varric scoffs and strides off for the stairs, her voice lifting, “You know it’s true, Varric!”

You both watch him disappear, Isabela’s lazy chuckle still warm in your ear.  

“It is true.  Varric has much better stories than most.”  She says, propping her chin up on her fist as you turn to look at her.

A bit close for casual conversation, but not uncomfortably so.

I find it hard to believe he’s more exciting than you are, though.

“You are adorable, aren’t you?”  Isabela says, lifting her glass and bumping it briefly against your nose.  “And correct!”

“I try.”  You say with a little grin, wiping the condensation off the tip of your nose, “Good to know I didn’t fail this time.”

“Oh, no, you’re doing excellently.”  Isabela says approvingly, tapping fingers against her cheek, “You know, if it weren’t for Varric, I don’t think I’d bother coming around this side of town.  It’s all a bit too clean.”

“Too clean?”  You ask, glancing over your shoulder at the rather dingy bar.  “I guess I understand what you mean.  This place doesn’t quite fit in with the department stores and the chain restaurants.”

“No.  And that’s why I like it.”  Isabela agrees, grin deepening a bit, “They’ve been trying to drive him out for ages.  Haven’t succeeded yet.”

“Miss Kitty says the same thing, actually.”  You say, lifting your beer for another sip.  “Property values or something.”

“You know Kitty?”  Isabela asks with surprise, and then chuckles when you nod, “She’s been thirty five for fifteen years now, I’d wager.”

“I would not take that bet.  I work for her, actually.”  You say, nodding your head as Isabela raises an eyebrow.

“So you stick your nose into bar fights, work in a sex shop, and can buy a girl a drink without being an ass about it?”  Isabela asks rhetorically, and then lifts her glass to you, “Be careful, sweetheart, or I might throw you over my shoulder and take you home with me.”

And if you’re not careful, we won’t make it that far.

Isabela laughs, warm and rich, leaning back from you to toss back the last of her drink.  You follow suit, or at least try to, tilting back what remains of your neglected beer.  While you’re drinking, she slams her glass down on the bar with a loud ‘clack’, drawing the bartender’s attention.

“Varric is buying our drinks tonight.”  She says, with a smirk.

“I said I would…”  You start, a subtle nudge to your ribs silencing you.

“Varric’s got it.”  She replies, and then gives you a small wink, “He owns the place, it costs him pennies to your dollar.  Maybe I’ll save that drink you owe me for another time.”

“Another time?”  You ask, trying to hide your disappointment.  

Maybe you misread her?  It’s not as if she’s been subtle, but you…

Isabela laughs, abrupt and boisterous, and you glance up just as her fingers tuck under your chin, not much more than a small caress, not holding you in place.  Her hand is warm, skin a little calloused.

“Don’t pout.”  She orders, eyes gazing into yours, so close that the tip of your nose bumps into hers.  “You’ve already charmed me, there’s no need to twist the blade like that.”

“I’m not pouting.”  You deny, and then laugh along with her, rolling your eyes at yourself,  “Okay, maybe I was a little.”

“You’re a terrible liar, leave that to those of us with the skill.” She says, fingers retreating as she pulls back, dropping to the floor.

You settle back in your seat and watch her, a bit twisted up (and maybe not just in the stomach).  If this is some sort of game, nobody ever taught you the rules, and she doesn’t seem the type to play them.  Does she?

She takes two steps away, and then glances over her shoulder at you, fist resting on her hip.  Your eyes meet, and the bit of uncertainty fades away.

“Well?  Are you coming or not?”  She finally asks, a cocky grin on her lips.

Yes

Without further ado, you take Isabela by the arm and join her on the way out of the bar.  This wasn’t exactly what you were expecting tonight, but sometimes life is like that, and you have to just let the chaos drag you along for the ride.

And she is chaos.  You’re not even sure where you end up (you assume it’s her place), but before you’re in the door clothes are hitting the floor and her mouth is on yours.  Not that you were expecting a grand tour and a cup of tea, but you weren’t expecting to be practically knocked off of your feet, either.

Luckily there’s a bed to catch you when you fall.

You aren’t quite sure if you’ve ever had an evening quite this wild, and not just the coming home from the bar with a girl you’ve just met.  You’re no blushing virgin, but it seems there’s always new things to learn.  You try to give as good as you get, but you have a feeling most people have trouble keeping up with her.

After a few savage, satiating hours that leave you pleasantly exhausted, you remember that you do in fact have work tomorrow.  When you mention it, after the afterglow has been sufficiently enjoyed and all body parts have been accounted for, she suggests calling you a cab.  It’s not unfriendly, but it’s certainly casual.  Not freezing you out, though, because she steals your phone and puts her number in it, and gives you a kiss or three before you go.

You take the hint, and don’t push it or ask to stay.  She seems to appreciate that you don’t.

All in all, an enjoyable evening.

End of Day 2

You have no time to do anything extra today.  Good night!

We will see you tomorrow.