The Kirkmall

It’s a little bit silly, communicating with flowers, but on the other hand, it’s kind of exciting, too.  Playing at a bit of clandestine romantic communication.  You have a feeling Merrill’s going to be absolutely delighted by it, too, even if she doesn’t get the hidden meaning behind it.

Then again, maybe she does, and just didn’t say anything?  She did very specifically tell you that he was very careful about the flowers.  Dropping a hint?  You have a feeling there’s a lot more going on behind the innocent smiles than she lets on.

And, you know, if he didn’t actually mean it, you’re just being nice and sending him some flowers back.

It’s about an hour until your break, so you have some time to figure out what you want to send back.  You can stop at the flower shop on your way in to meet Dorian.

What are you going to send?

White camellia, jonquil, chamomile flowers, white ivy.  Gracefully elegant and lightly scented.  Meanings: You’re adorable, affection returned, patience, affection.

You’re ambivalent, there’s so many possible choices, and possible combinations of choices, but eventually you think you have something.  Hopefully they have all of the flowers you need.  By the time you have it all sorted out, Kitty slumps out of the back with a bottle of ‘water’ and a frown and waves you off.

You tell her you have an errand to run, but as always, she doesn’t seem to mind if you’re a few minutes late or early, she just tells you not to take forever.  From what Sera’s told you, she’s probably just glad to have someone reliable and low-drama.

As you head out into the cold and across the street, you remember the protest that you noticed this morning.  That’s the closest entrance to the flower shop, so you have to go right by it.  Despite it, the lot is basically full, and people are constantly leaving and entering the mall in a steady stream, even into Valmont’s main entrance.   The protest seems to be fairly peaceful, if noisy, though you see a few officers lingering off to the left, talking.

One of them, red hair peeking out from under her hat, gives you pause.  Oh, hey, it’s Aveline!

Now that you’re close, you can see what the protest is all about.  Wages and unfair firing practices, it seems.  You don’t know a lot about it, but now that you have more information, you could probably find out some things online.

Flower shop, lunch.  But we can duck out of lunch early to come back around again, try to figure this out.

You navigate your way past the crowd of protesters and into the side entrance, rather than braving the main entry of Valmont.  You’re grateful you have, because as you duck inside into the blast of warmth and the glitter of the beautiful decorations overhead, you realize that in the store is…chaos.

That’s all you can describe it as.

From where you are you can see one of the myriad check-out kiosks, being manned by a single flustered woman under verbal assault from maybe a dozen people.  The normally pristine floors to either side of the walkway are strewn with discarded garments, hangers.  Normally the signs of holiday shoppers would be cleaned up by discreet employees, but not today, it seems.

It’s almost shocking, Valmont is one of those places you never expect to see in such disarray- the kind of place you go to buy a single piece of makeup, or pick hopefully through the sale shoes, but not actually shop at.

The cafe is still staffed, though, you see Briala briefly behind the counter as you pass by it, heading southwards towards the fountain, and beyond to the flower shop.  It’s a bit of a trek, weaving through holiday shoppers, but eventually you make it.

Luckily Merrill’s still there, when you burst through the doors into the humid heat of the shop, and she fixes you with a surprised stare, hands full of scissors and half-curled ribbon, glitter in her hair.

You want to get this made and delivered quickly, but you’re sure they have a million orders.  Still, she delivered Solas’ right away, maybe you can find a way to get her to do the same for you?

How would you feel about playing cupid again, Merrill?

Her face lights up instantly.  Yep, that did the job.

You outline your needs quickly, and she goes delving into the coolers to see if she has what you need.  Sadly, the ivy doesn’t seem to be available- maybe if you had more time to hunt you would have been able to find something.  She does have white camellias, absolutely gorgeous cream-shaded white blossoms with lots of dense petals.  Jonquils as well aren’t difficult to find.  

You noticed when you were researching, but apart from the leaves they look a lot like daffodils, but white petaled with pale yellow trumpets.  The leaves are quite different, though.  The chamomile is something you’re worried over, but luckily they have those as well.  Just no white ivy, which is a shame.  She does add some neutral greenery and such to make it uniform and aesthetically pleasing, a pretty white bouquet with pops of yellow.

You spring for the vase, because he did, might as well, right?  It’s not grocery store carnations cheap, but you end up spending more than twenty five bucks on it.

Still, well, you can’t put a price on oblique, archaic flirting, right?

Ugh, it might make me late, but I have to think of SOME kind of thoughtful note, like his.  For the love of god, just tell me how he reacts when he gets it!

Merrill seems amused by your vehemence, giggling as she hands you a card and a pen.  You give her a flustered smile, and then start wracking your brain for the right thing to say.  Simple is good, right?  Something neat and simple that conveys your sentiments without being…you know, over-enthusiastic.  Which, you are enthusiastic, but you don’t want to come across…

Maybe you should just relax and give it a shot.  Deep breath, and write.  You’re good at this, you write.  You can do this.

Solas, 

Thank you for the flowers, and the sentiments, both brightened up my day.  I hope this does the same for you.  There’s no need for apologies, though, or second chances at first dates.  

I’d much rather take a first chance at a second date.

There.  Short, sweet, a little bit cheeky.  No need to go overboard with it, right?  Pleased with yourself, you sign it with a flourish.  Despite Merrill’s curiosity, you tuck away the card into its small envelope, and slip it into the bouquet.  All paid up, and only running a couple minutes behind, you’d better get moving if you don’t want to annoy Dorian.

You give Merrill your thanks and say goodbye, and she promises she’ll deliver it as soon as she gets a minute.  You don’t know how long that’s going to be, but now you’re not going to be able to stop thinking about it!  At least she is delivering it for you, which is already above and beyond.  No point in badgering her for a time.

Text Dorian quick that you’re on your way, and get a move on.

You hustle, and luckily end up being only about ten minutes late to meet Dorian.  He already has his food, and a table at the edge of the chaos, so you find the shortest line at somewhere that looks edible and get yourself something, too.  Part of you regrets that you didn’t bring one of your packed lunches, but maybe that’s a little bit weird?  

You get through the line quickly, a couple bucks poorer, and finally settle yourself down at the table across from him.  Not a cheap day but it’s not like you’re spending like this every day.  You’ve been careful, and you didn’t really do a lot over the weekend that required money.  Heck, even the date you went on was free!

“The people watching is abysmal today.”  Dorian claims as you settle down, reaching for his drink, “Too crowded, everyone’s unpleasant before the holiday.”

“I don’t get the same kind of holiday shoppers across the street.”  You say, feeling very relieved by that, “Maybe a couple more jerks than usual.”

“What, no rush to buy Satinalia sex paraphernalia?”  Dorian asks you with mock shock, and then smiles sardonically when you laugh around a bite, “Shocking.  Why were you late?  Those protesters weren’t bothering you, were they?”

I was buying flowers.  Someone sent me some this morning.

“Really?”  Dorian asks with obvious intrigue, leaning forward a little.

Well, you did already bring it up.  Quickly while you both eat, you tell him about it.  To his credit, he only smirks once or twice while you speak, keeping his comments to himself until you finish.

“I knew I was right about you.”  He says, giving a small, amused laugh, “That is absolutely perfect.  Ridiculous, it’s even better than I could have anticipated.”

“It’s only a little nerdy…”  You protest, and then sigh and admit when he raises an eyebrow at you, “It…okay, yes, it is.  You’re right.  But it’s also really romantic, right?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Terribly quirky and romantic.  I’m practically writing the screenplay as we speak.”  Dorian replies, and then laughs when you scowl playfully at him, “How do you feel about being played by a twee wide-eyed ingenue?”

“No thank you.”  You say tartly.

“A bit too on the nose?”  He asks, and then laughs again as you threateningly crumple your napkin.

“You’re just jealous.”  You accuse, and then grin as he looks offended, “You know you are.”

“I’ve always wanted to be seduced with semaphore.”  He says with a theatrical sigh.

I’d ship it.

“That was terrible.  Never speak to me again.”  Dorian says to you flatly, but you can see the edge of a smile he’s hiding.

“Oh come on.”  You reply, grinning when he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, leaning away from you.  “Oh come on…that was funny!”

“My ears have been violated.”  Dorian retorts, and then narrows his eyes slightly, “Damn, is that the time already?”

You follow his gaze across the busy, noisy food court to a clock over the entry into the mall, and grimace.  Grabbing your last bit of food, you chow it down quickly.  Your drink can come back with you to work.

“Break’s always too short.”  You mutter, swallowing and continuing, “My fault for being late.”

“You had a good reason.”  Dorian says, waving his hand dismissively.  “I don’t think I would have been able to resist, either.”

“So you’re just calling me a nerd to deflect, huh?”  You ask, and grin when he scoffs at you.

You both gather up your trash and head for the nearest bin, but pause next to it.  There’s an exit behind you, it’s probably faster to go through the parking a lot a little further, rather than trying to head through the mall.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asks you curiously.

Somebody’s got to sell dildos, or the people may riot.

“That is not a riot I would ever be interested in seeing, that’s for certain.”  Dorian says with a hint of amused disgust, and then waves a hand dismissively.  “I’ll text you.  Enjoy your Orlesian period-drama courtship.”

“I’ll see you later!”  You call at his retreating back.

He quickly disappears into the crowd, and remembering your earlier plan to go see if there’s any flyers or anything at the protest, you head back out to the parking lot.  

Instantly your nose is hit with the smell of snow, sharp and freezing in your nostrils.  You pull your jacket a little tighter, and pick up the pace across the lot, burrowing your chin down.  No actual snow yet, but the sky is heavily overcast, and with the sun going down in an hour and a bit, you wouldn’t be shocked if it’s snowing by the time you’re out of work.

The protesters are still there, and maybe even a bit more of them now.  The police have put out a line, and they’re not toeing it.  Things are still calm for the most part, but when a girl obviously on her way to work at Valmont scurries into the store, there’s a bit of shouting after her.

You make a quick, curious inquiry at the very edge of the crowd, but it doesn’t look like there’s any information to be had on hand.  No flyers, nothing to tell you any more than the signs and shouting do.  A woman does grab your hand and scrawls a web address across the back of it.  

Maybe that’ll give you a bit more information.

You hustle back to work after that.  Even having warned Miss Kitty, you don’t want to be late.  After being in the holiday shopping crowd, you’re grateful now more than ever to have the place.  Occasional perverts and all.

Settling in and getting back to work, the rest of your shift passes uneventfully.  

Too uneventfully.

Nobody texting you about some flowers you may have sent uneventfully.

You regretfully go to clock out when Tor gets in, taking your sweet time about it.

 Let’s go to the mall.  To um…shop.  Browse.  You know.

After tucking your flowers securely in your car, you head back to the mall again, feeling brave.  The lot’s full, so you’re glad you didn’t bother driving, and as predicted, the snow’s starting to come down.  Big, light flakes, and they melt when they hit the ground, but it’s really pretty.  All the lights are bright, the theater’s marquee especially, in brilliant green and blue.

Valmont’s the easiest entrance, so you head for it again, skipping the crowd going into the store and ducking around to the side.  The chaos inside the store is worse now, but there seem to be more employees actually manning the kiosks.  Maybe they brought in people from other stores.

The cafe’s closed, when you pass by it, but the gallery is open, a few people wandering through it.  Vivienne’s nowhere in sight, but maybe that’s for the best.  She was helpful, but you were there under false pretenses.  Probably not the best way to strike up a friendship.

Reaching the main thoroughfare, you turn at the roaring fountain, heading on down.  You could fib to yourself, but there’s no way you’re not going to Antediluvia.  

There’s a couple customers, you notice as you approach, peeking in through the window for a moment.  You can’t really see Cole or Solas, and are forced to duck into the shop.  Wandering in, letting your eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside the store, you blink and glance around.  People browsing, but no, no sign of…

“Oh!  Hello!”  You hear just to your left and startle, turning to face Cole.

He just popped out of nowhere!

“You scared me!”  You accuse, slapping a hand over your heart, and then laugh, “Hello.”

“You’re here!”  He says, obviously quite happy.  “We were wondering.”

“I…am.”  You agree, fishing out your phone when it beeps at you.  It’s from Merrill.  “Sorry, just a sec, Cole.”

“I have to go help someone.”  He tells you reassuringly, and heads for the counter.

You open the text message from Merrill.  It just says ‘I’m sorry.’.  Before you can reply, you get about six more in succession.

Well, that’s reassuring.

 Text her back.  What the heck is going on?

Okay, whew.  You thought it was something a lot worse.  At least that relieves your mind about a lack of texts.  Though he hasn’t texted you now, so…

You glance up, noticing Cole’s nearly done with his transaction, and wander towards the counter.  He meets your stare curiously, giving you another smile.

“What was that about wondering where I was?”  You ask him, curiously.

“Wondering…mind wandering…”  He murmurs under his breath, and then brightens again, “Oh yes!  Merrill said you worked in the morning, but what morning and how long I didn’t know.  I said I would ask, but Solas said he would see, and not text.  Does he text you?”

“A little?”  You say.

“He’s never texted me.”  Cole says, sounding vaguely shocked.

“So what you’re saying is he could have texted me, but he popped across the road instead to see if I’d gone home, while I was coming over here to see him.”  You conclude, ignoring the fact that you could have texted him yourself.  “That’s…”

“At the moment, I believe I am leaning towards ‘absurd’.”  A voice supplies from behind you.

Ah.  There he is.

I was going to go with ‘sweet’, myself.

As you speak, you turn to face him, the slight red flush of his cheeks standing out sharply.  Cold, not embarrassment, but it does look like he didn’t bother with a coat.  It’s tempting to reach up and warm them up, but you keep your hands to yourself.

“Your interpretation is a bit more flattering.”  He says, but smiles, inclining his head to you, “But it seems you are determined to flatter me today, deserved or no.”

“I think I get to decide that, not you.”  You reply, playfully, “I already told you the apologies weren’t necessary.”

He pauses for a second, glancing to his left and then stepping aside of the counter, gesturing lightly towards you.  You turn your head and give Cole a quick smile before following him.

“This isn’t a terribly good place to talk.”  Solas tells you apologetically as you join him near the bookshelves, “I must at least pretend to run a business.”

“I was happy to see people were here.”  You admit, and then tilt your head as he chuckles faintly, “A weird thing to say?”

“No.  I appreciate the enthusiasm.”  He reassures you, still smiling faintly, “I suppose it is a good thing, I just prefer it to be quieter.”

“Solas, that’s no way to run a business.”  You tell him in a mock-serious voice, and he laughs again.

He seems like he’s in a really good mood for once.  That’s a nice change of pace and pretty damn welcome, especially if you assume it’s because of you.

“Would it be over-eager if I asked when you might be available for the second first, or the first second date, as you put it?”  He asks you.

Would it be over-eager if I said tonight?

“I believe the two negate one another.”  Solas says, turning his attention towards the front of the shop, past your shoulder, “It would have to be later, rather than sooner, I cannot leave Cole in the shop alone with this sort of traffic.”

“I figured as much.”  You reassure him, “Mornings at my work aren’t exactly early mornings.”

“I believe I discovered that today, yes.”  He says, shaking his head when you laugh, “Imagine, that communicating so inefficiently might have some drawbacks.  Shocking.”

“They’re beautiful, by the way.  The flowers.”  You say, with a small smile, “And I loved it, inefficiency and all.  Obviously.”

“Consider the sentiment returned.  I can’t say I’ve ever been given flowers before.”  

“Happy to be your first.”  You say, hiding a grin.

He fixes you with a slightly sardonic look, which you keep a straight face through until he finally lifts his eyebrows.  Giving in, you laugh, and he eventually chuckles and shakes his head.

“Are you amenable to a fairly late dinner?  If not, there is generally something to be seen in the city, no matter the hour.”  He asks, rather than rising to your bait.

That’s fair, he probably has to go back to work.  He did ditch the shop to try and find you, after all.

“Dinner would be fine.  I eat lunch pretty late, and I can always nibble a bit beforehand.”  You agree, giving another nod of your head.

“Perfect.  I should have everything locked up at about ten.”  He says, taking a half step back.

I’ll get out of your way.  See you later, I’ll pop by around ten.

You say a quick goodbye to Cole and then head out, into the massive holiday shopping crowd.  It’s not a pretty sight tonight, as everyone’s rushing to finish up.  It seems like presents are a big deal here in the city- you wonder how much of that is tradition, and how much of it is pressure from the people who make money off of it.

Once you’re in the thick of the chaos, you just let yourself be tugged along, barely hearing the holiday music, deafened by chatter and arguing.  It’s hard not to get lost, adrift in it, without somewhere in mind to go.  

You make it back to the fountain, finding a clear spot for a second to take stock.  It’s only seven, you have about three hours to figure out what to do with.  The kittens have crunchies, they’re not going to be starving to death (even if they don’t get their wet food until late), you don’t have anything you need to be doing tonight.

Theirin’s, the other nearby department store isn’t as upmarket as Valmont, but it’s nearby and not nearly as trashed.  You don’t exactly have plans apart from the Hawke family get together, but you could go look at the holiday clothes, or poke around at the sales.  You could go bother one of your friends at work- but you have a feeling right now that’s not a great idea.  They’re probably all really busy.

You could go to the craft store near your house to think about masks, or go to that thrift store Fenris mentioned.  Did you want to pick up some things for the clothing drive?  You did do your part, but you can still do more.

You’ll still have time to go home, probably, you do have a while, but if you go somewhere else first, there might not be enough to do everything you might want to.

We have been meaning to go to the craft store.  Now’s a good time.

Escaping from the holiday mall nightmare, you head out into the parking lot again, and from there, across the road.  Extra careful, because you really don’t trust this traffic.  Taking note of it, you wonder if you might need to leave a little early tomorrow to make sure you get to work on time.  And definitely Thursday and Friday afternoon- you can’t even imagine how bad it’s going to be.

The craft store is close to your house, just down the road a ways…and is also extremely busy.  You’re not sure what you expected.

Even though a lot of people buy their masks, making them is a tradition, too, and lots of people make decorations and things.  At least there’s parking, though it takes you a couple times through the very small lot before you find it.

You’ve done some mask browsing, done some thinking, looked at what’s popular.  You’re about as prepared for this as you’re going to be.  You take a deep breath, and head in through the front doors.

Your senses are assaulted.

Glitter and fabric dust hang in the air, with the scent of eucalyptus, laqueur, and wicker.  There’s lights strung up on the holiday aisles, silver and gold, shining off of beaten metal candlesticks and wind chimes, beaded garlands and holiday tableware.  Then, of course, there’s masks.  Rows and rows and racks of them, from full-face to domino.  Orlesian style, the currently popular filigree, Antivan masks, Nevarran…

You assume the finished ones are for people who come into the craft store, get overwhelmed and promptly tap out.  You can understand why they might. 

All you can see is the finished ones, but considering how much of their money must come from the holiday, you assume they have the things to make them, as well.

You just have to figure out how much work you want to do.

We don’t need to get overzealous.  Let’s go look at the undecorated masks.  We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here.

Focusing, blocking out as much of the distracting chaos as you can, you start wending your way towards the back of the store.  You pass by the rows of glassware, the silk flowers, the baking things before you find the mask next to the jewelry supplies.  Luckily (or maybe unluckily), you’re not going to be relegated to only the domino or the full-face.  There’s lots of different styles and designs.

They even have animal ones with little beaks and noses and ears and things.

Most of them are plain white plastic, but there’s also some fabric and plaster ones.  The heavier ceramic ones look like they’re meant for wall decoration than anything else.  Eventually you select one, checking a few in the mirror screwed to a shelf before you settle.

Now you’re left with the hard part.  The next aisle over has kits divided by color or theme, with small swatches of fabric, beads and rhinestones, feathers and flowers and…you know, all of the things you might need to put together a mask.  You pick up one curiously and look it over.  It seems to have everything you might need to make a peacock mask.

Those are handy!  If…a little pricier than picking things out yourself.

No way.  We can look at them for ideas, but how is that any different than buying a pre-made mask?

Your quest for the perfect fabric, sparkly bits, trimmings and trappings and ribbons and bobs takes a considerable amount of time.  You spend some time hunting on your phone, look at the pre-made things, even flip through a few instruction books.  

It’s your first real big Satinalia to-do, after all, and you want to do it right.

By the time you figure it all out, and have all the possible things you might need, the store is getting ready to close.  You hop to the register and make your purchase- it should probably be your last big purchase of the week.  Craft stores are not cheap.  Between eating lunch out, buying flowers, this trip, and going out tonight?  Well, at least you have food made for the week.

Next week is the holiday, too!  You should definitely be careful, so you can have some fun money for it.

Luckily the registers aren’t too clogged, and the ride home is short.  When you make it back to the apartment, flowers tucked securely into the crook of your arm, the your phone is reading about eight thirty.

Fen meets you at the door, but you’re expecting it, and use your foot to catch the kitten and nudge him back inside as you scoot in.

He is offended, and tells you so, loudly.

“Nice try.”  You reply, and then head to the kitchen to feed them.

After that, shower and get changed.  Your stomach can wait an hour and a half, can’t it?

Once the cats are covering their whiskers in goopy gravy and unidentifiable meat bits, you pop into the shower.  Nice to feel refreshed after a day of work and some shopping, though you have a sneaking suspicion that some glitter from the craft store will be hanging around.

After you dry your hair and pick out something to wear, keeping in mind that you have no idea where you’re going (and considering the first date, you can’t even really guess), you go nice but sensible.  

The kittens are cleaned up, and then you realize your shirt has gotten covered in cat hair, so you quickly change it again.  Whoops.  Probably one of those things you’re going to have to get used to as a new pet owner.

By the time you’ve managed the first round of getting ready, it’s basically time to go.  No chance for second guesses.  You grab your purse, say goodbye to the terrible twosome, and head back for the mall.

It’s snowing again, but unlike the previous two flurries, it seems to be sticking.  The slush has turned to ice, and the air is frigid, freezing your nostrils and chilling the tip of your nose.  You’re extra careful on the drive there, but luckily the roads aren’t bad.  At least not yet.

You’re grateful all over again that you sprung for the new tires when you got your car fixed.

The mall parking lot is not entirely empty when you arrive, but people are heading out, not in.  You slip in only a scant minute before the main entrances are locked, and hustle against the ebbing tide to make it to Solas’ shop.  At the intersection by the fountain, the last of the retreating shoppers pass by you, and you’re left alone.

The main thoroughfare is empty, and most shops are closing their metal gates.  It’s a bit jarring, almost spooky.

“I’m sorry, miss, but the mall is closing.”  A familiar voice says from behind you, “You’ll have to do your shopping to…”

Turning around, you face Cullen, offering him a quick smile.  He blinks in surprise, and then chuckles and reaches up to rub the back of his head.

“I’m just running to meet Solas.  Promise.”  You assure him.

“I’m supposed to be clearing people out.  You can’t meet him in the parking lot?”  Cullen asks you with a sigh.

He looks tired.  And stressed.  Mall security around the holidays must be hell.

You okay?  You seem a little rough.

Cullen actually seems surprised for a moment, before finally managing a faint smile shaking his head slowly.

“It’s  kind of you to ask.  A good sleep should take care of it.  A week or so, ideally.”  He jokes, and then sighs again and waves a hand at you, “All right, all right.  Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”  You promise, giving him one last smile before turning to continue on your way.  “Have a good night!”

“And you as well.  Tell Solas I say hello.”  Cullen replies.

You can hear him faintly muttering something under his breath as you retreat, but can’t quite make it out.  Probably for the best.  Poor guy.  You hope he actually manages to survive the next week or so.

Approaching Antediluvia, you’re grateful to see the security gate is still up.  You peek around the edge of the doorway, grinning as you catch sight of Solas.  Well, now you know why there’s an armchair behind the counter.  He’s sitting in it, reading, one elbow propped up on the arm.  

“This is the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever seen.”  You tell him scoldingly, still peeking around the doorframe.

Deliberately, he doesn’t look up, but adjusts his glasses and then turns a page of his book.  He manages to keep a straight face until you laugh, and then you see the faintest hint of a smile.

“Then I suppose I am fortunate no one can fire me.”  He says, closing the book with one hand and an emphatic thump.

“Cullen says hello.  He tried to kick me out of the mall.”  You straighten up and enter the shop proper.  “Luckily I’m charming.”

“I’m certain that’s skill, not luck.”  He says, and before you have a chance to reply, continues, “Do you have any driving preferences?  If you are more comfortable taking separate cars, we can certainly do so again.”

You take a second to think that over, as he puts the book back on its shelf and then goes back to the counter to get his coat.

I have no idea where we’re going, it’s probably just easiest if you drive.

“You’re likely correct.”  Solas agrees, slinging his scarf around his neck, and then buttoning up his coat as he moves for the front of the store.  “How are the roads this evening?”

“Okay?  But the sidewalks are ice.”  You say, musing it over, “If we’re going somewhere with less traffic, I’d be careful.”

“Are you looking to find out where we’re going?”  He asks.

You duck out of the shop with him, a little puzzled.  You consider it while he pulls down the gate, and then fishes out the giant ring of keys to lock it.  How he finds a single key in that mess, you don’t actually know.  

“Oh!  If we’re going…”  You finally say, and then laugh, “I wasn’t, but, well…”

“I’m certainly fine with ruining the surprise if you would prefer that I do.”  Solas tells you, tucking the keys back into his pocket.  “I’m actually not quite certain yet if you enjoy them or not.”

I’d hate to ruin your mysterious persona.  You’ve obviously worked hard on it.

“It does seem to be working for me, wouldn’t you agree?”  He says in response, so bland that you have to check to make sure he’s not offended.

You can see it, just the hint of a smile on his lips that grows when you scoff noisily.  Impulsively, you tuck your hand into his arm as you both turn the corner, heading towards the exit.  He doesn’t resist, but adjusts his stride to make it a little less awkward.

“You’re doing okay.”  You tell him.

This time he laughs.

Thankfully, and unsurprisingly, his car is basically spotless.  You’ve definitely been in worse.  Also, somewhat amusingly, it’s about as old as a car can get without edging into collectible.  This is definitely not a classic, more like something a sixteen year old would get for their first car.  But, you know, clean, and well maintained, and actually in good shape.

You’re pleased to see the flowers you sent him are carefully tucked on the floor of the back seat, between two boxes of books.  Nice and secure.

He’s a good driver, if maybe a bit less cautious than you’d anticipate with the weather.  Not enough to make you white-knuckle the door or anything.  Your curiosity is growing, but you manage to contain it as you head away from downtown altogether, towards a part of town you’re wholly unfamiliar with.  

“Where are we?”  You finally ask, unable to handle it any longer as you pass by what looks like a warehouse complex, behind massive fences.

“Ah, of course.  You still don’t know the city that well, do you?”

“Not much opportunity for exploration.”  You say, watching as warehouses give way to more ordinary commercial buildings, “Soon I’m going to have school on top of work.  Still, we’re working on getting to know each other, me and the city.”

“Well, I’m happy to introduce you to a new part of it.”  Solas says, gesturing with his chin to the left, “I used to live in the area.  Just in that direction.  Some old friends of mine still reside here.”

“And own businesses here?”  You hazard, and he smiles, “Ah.  Well, that explains why they’re open so late.”  

“They are always open this late.  It looks a bit run down to a casual observance, but beyond it in the other direction is the theater district.”  He explains, pulling over to the side of the road, neatly parking between two fairly close-together cars.  “Late nights are expected.”

How long did you live here?

“A good few years.” Solas says with a thoughtful air, stepping up onto the curb and offering you his arm.

You take it and follow, and don’t release it afterwards.  He didn’t seem to mind before, and he doesn’t mind now.  Snowflakes are still falling, swirling in the street lights as you navigate the slippery, cracked sidewalk.

“I like my neighborhood, but it’s not long on personality.”  You admit, gazing into the windows of what looks like a wine bar as you head up to the corner, “Everything’s very…square.  Square and brick.”

“Personality often comes with a hefty price tag, these days.”  He agrees, as you both pick up the pace, crossing the street.  “I have heard the prices here are steadily creeping up.”

“That’s a shame.”  You say sympathetically, glancing across the road at a row of tightly-packed red brick houses, “This seems like a nice place to live.”

“A good neighborhood makes up for cracks in the ceiling and leaks in the pipes when you are young.”  He agrees, and then gives a small shake of his head, “Sometimes it’s better to let go, however, than to force a place to grow with us.”

“Is that why you moved away?”  You ask, letting him nudge you to turn a corner, your attention pulled to a sign hanging within sight of the street, “You grew away from it?”

“Better I do so than try to force it to conform to me.”  He says simply.

The sign looks to be wood burned, lit by a twist of fairy lights around the fence that surrounds the lot.  It hangs from a curving wrought iron post, leaning over an open gate.  The sidewalk splits off to a poured concrete path, crossing a very small lawn of paving stones worn by time and cracked by stubborn plant life.

The building beyond looks like it was converted from a house into a place of business, warm light spilling from its front windows, a couple small round tables on its covered porch.  Even from here, you can hear the faint sounds of conversation and laughter.

The sign reads ‘Suledin’.

Well, now I’m more intrigued than I was before.

“I am pleased to hear it.”  Solas says, pushing the gate back for you, and then following.

You mean to say something, but once you both head up the stairs and he gets the door for you, you’re momentarily silenced.  The interior, for the chatter you hear from the street, is surprisingly small.  You might say cramped, but there’s actually only four tables on the first floor.  From the volume level, you have a feeling that up the staircase on the far left is more seating.

The tables are mismatched, but all bare wood, highly polished and as scarred and full of personality as the floors.  Visible behind a long counter separating it from the dining room, you can see directly into the kitchen.  By which you mean what looks like two people working in a fairly cramped space. 

The lighting is low, and warm, and the decor seems to be primarily books and prints of old documents.  Curiously you examine one in passing as he leads you towards the kitchen pass.  You can’t read it easily, the script is ancient.

“Where in Thedas have you brought me?”  You ask him jokingly, and then take the menu he hands you, pulled out of a small rack on the wall.

“Take a look.”  He invites you, and then finally releases your arm, pulling away.  Rather than look at it, you watch him as he leans down, resting an arm on the wall, calling into the kitchen.  “The service here is abominable.”

You hear a gasp, and then a laugh, and before you realize what’s happening, the kitchen door is thrown wide, and a woman with short, gray-streaked brown hair has surged out and thrown her arms around his neck, dragging him down.

“Solas!”  She exclaims, a little bit chidingly, “You can’t even call?”

“I am sorry.”  He says laughingly, not the least bit repentant, and then straightens up, disentangling himself.  “Sophia, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

Introduce yourself, it’s only polite.

You step forward and introduce yourself, finding your hand clasped in two warm ones, a searching gaze examining your face.  She has a particularly piercing pair of eyes, but she never stops smiling.

“Wonderful.  Wonderful to meet you, have you here tonight.”  Sophia decides, glancing from you to Solas, and then laughs.  She has a warm, flowing voice, something comforting about it.  “What an unexpected pleasure.  We’ll tuck a table in for you.”

You notice, as she releases your hand and turns back for the kitchen, that there’s hints of faded tattoos at both wrist and neck, mostly hidden by her chef’s jacket.  Funny, more than curious, she looks like she could be anyone’s older aunt, but it seems like she has more of a colorful past than you were expecting.

A lot like…hmm.

“You two used to get up to trouble?”  You tease, finally glancing down at the menu.

“I have absolutely no idea where you might have gotten that impression.”  Solas replies, so flatly that you know he’s hiding a smile.

You might have something to say, but your attention is captivated by the small menu.  It’s…weird.  At first you’re not sure what it’s all about.  The offerings are strange, and don’t hold to any cuisine or theme, until you notice one unifying theme.

They’re all, for lack of a better word, old.  Basic ingredients, a lack of pretense and fancy preparations.  No mention of foams or drizzles or anything you might expect from a place like this.

“I’m a little confused.”  You admit.  “What sort of food is this?”

“Variations of the oldest recipes we could find.”  Solas replies, a light touch at your elbow drawing your gaze up, as he moves to one of the documents on the wall, “Sophia and I both share a love for old books, her taste just leans to the…practical.”

You take a second to give the page on the wall a closer look, behind its protective glass.  It’s old Ferelden, archaic spelling and illuminations making it difficult to read.

That’s…fascinating, actually.  You found all of these, in books?  Are the books they have here some of them?  Can I see them?

Maybe you’re a little bit overenthusiastic, but Solas just seems pleasantly amused by it.  

“Considering some of the books are over a thousand years old…no, not exactly.”  He tells you, “Copies, yes, but seeing the originals in person would be…”

“Amazing.”  You say with a faint sigh.

“Difficult.”  He finishes, not able to hide his laughter any more, “She still collects older recipe books, but the ones on the shelves are not irreplaceable.  The ones the actual recipes being used have been gleaned from are.”

“What did she study, then?  Did she go to culinary school, or did she study history, or…”  You muse, letting him lead you over to one of the shelves.

Solas seems to not have any problems just reaching up and taking a book off the shelf.  You suppose they do seem like close friends, you doubt she’d mind.  Despite his claims about them not being irreplaceable, you still take it with extreme care as he hands the leather-bound book to you.  It still looks old, but is definitely printed, not hand-written.

“No, academia has never been a part of her learning process, to my knowledge.  She simply…learns things she wishes to learn.”  Solas replies thoughtfully, “The structure that some people require to educate themselves can be stifling for others.”

“I think I’m grateful there’s no Orlesian court food on the menu.”  You murmur, distracted by the book you’re leafing through, “Those poor little birds.”

“I…ah, yes.”  Solas says, a bit apologetically as you close the book and hand it back, “An interesting culinary tradition, but not always pleasant.”

“Honestly, even despite that I’d probably sit there and read it through dinner, which is why you just need to take it away from me.”  You tell him, lifting your hands and taking a step back from the bookcase, “You’re tempting me to be horribly rude.”

“And yet even with your distraction, I have a feeling the conversation would still be more pleasant than most.”  He replies smoothly.

Shameless flatterer.

“I only speak the truth.”  Solas says, gently nudging your elbow with a hand as he steps around you,  “It is sincerity, not flattery.”

“Well, I’m sincerely flattered.”  You reply playfully.

You follow his light direction, turning to watch as a young man unceremoniously sets a table against a wall, dropping it from over his head.  Letting go of your elbow, Solas goes to get one of the chairs being pulled in from outside, leaving you to wait near the table.  You try to stay out of the way, as they return with the seats and tuck them in.  You offer a quiet thanks to the young man, who just flashes you a grin and goes clomping for the kitchen.

“Family?”  You ask, noting his resemblance to the woman you saw earlier.

“Nephew, I believe.  I haven’t seen him in quite some years.”  Solas says, getting your chair for you and then settling down himself.  “School holidays, more than likely.”

So many smaller places like this end up being awfully pretentious.  The relaxed atmosphere here is nice.”  You say, picking up the menu off of the table, giving it another look over.  “When you lived here, had she already opened up the restaurant?”

“Ah…no.  Back then we could scarcely afford hot water, let alone a business.”  Solas replies, amusedly dry, “Not to say those are unhappy memories, but perhaps less…comfortable.”

Nostalgia takes the edges off of memories, doesn’t it?

“More than it should, at times.”  Solas agrees with you, “But more often than not, it is welcome.”

You share a smile with him, and then turn your attention to the menu.  It’s hard to decide, everything’s so different and intriguing.  While you waffle over it in your mind, you listen to the quiet hum of people chattering, the ambient noise low enough that you can catch the occasional snatch of conversation.

It’s a comfortable silence at the table, which is nice.  Also nice to not be so nervous you fill it with chatter.  He has a way of setting you at ease, at least when he isn’t interrogating you.

“I wonder if I could ask you a question?”  He asks rather suddenly, drawing your attention back up to his face again.

He looks pensive, but not upset, just withdrawn.

“Sure, of course.”  You agree, setting the menu aside.  

“I was somewhat curious what came of the favor you asked of me.”  Solas admits, setting his own menu aside, on top of yours.

It takes you a second to remember what he’s talking about.  Right.  The other day you asked him to contact Felassan for you…well, for Sera.  And then the pictures showed up at your house.

With the scary note.

Stick with the facts, just tell him exactly what happened.

You tell your story, concisely, pausing briefly to order and make some pleasant small talk with Sophia when she comes out to check on you.  She doesn’t stick around too long, though, just brings you some water, gives Solas a small squeeze on the shoulder, and then scoops up the menus and retreats to the kitchen again.

It’s kind of odd to see him so casual with someone.  You’re used to him- for all of his friendliness with you- being a little bit distant.  A lot of it’s body language, though you’re starting to notice if you take the first step, he tends to reciprocate.  Like the arm-holding earlier.

Or, you know, the kiss.

When you finish telling the story as matter-of-factly as you can, Solas’ expression is hard to read.  He leans back in his seat a little, searching your face until you tilt your head questioningly.

“An unexpected outcome.”  He finally says, and then gives a faint ‘hmm’ under his breath, “Unsettling, I would assume.”

“A bit.”  You agree, and then give a small sigh, “There’s good, and there’s bad, I suppose.  Better to focus on the good, but…”

“It would be foolish not to feel somewhat unsafe.”  He says mildly.

For a second you’re almost insulted, until you remember that he’s probably just poking you again.  When you meet his eyes and narrow yours slightly, he gives you a slow, fairly humorless smile.

“And who, exactly, would have expected that of all things would happen?”  You retort, and then laugh faintly when he fluidly rolls his shoulders in a wordless shrug.  “I would think that you would have enough sense to let me know if contacting him might be unsafe for me, before agreeing to do it.”

“An excellent point.”  Solas says, smile a bit less flat, “You are correct.  I would apologize, but as you said, it was unanticipated.”

“You know him better than I do.”  You point out, and then search his expression, “So I guess you’d have to tell me if I should be feeling unsafe or not.”

“I believe caution is advised…”  Solas temporizes, before finally concluding, “But no, I do not believe you are.  I admit, I am surprised you are so composed about it.”

You might find it strange, but I honestly feel like I’ve helped do something good for people.  Added to the history.

Somewhat to your surprise, Solas gives a faint, sarcastic laugh at your words, almost a scoff, glancing aside with a lift of his chin.  Usually he’s so polite, the little slip seems a bit out of character.  When you tilt your head, he shakes his and reaches for his water, eyes still avoiding yours.

“It simply seems a bit naive, don’t you think?”  He asks you, “Is there actually anything of value to be found in a bit of vandalism?”

“Really.  You, of all people?”  You ask him, leaning forward a little as he shifts back in his seat, “There’s the same value as there is in anything we keep from being forgotten.”

“Some bits of old broken wall and a pile of photographs.  Is it really so important?  If it were such an important movement, something would have changed, don’t you agree?  All I can see is failure.”  He replies dismissively. 

Some people might be offended, but none of it’s aimed at you, not really.  Besides, he doesn’t sound angry.  You might think he’s being a bit stuffy and combative, but at least he’s not being condescending.

Yet.

“It has value.”  You contradict, “Both cultural and historical.”

“Why?  Because people say so?”  He asks you, resting his elbow atop the opposite hand, finally meeting your stare.  “Despite adding nothing, succeeding at nothing, it has value simply because people have romanticized a self-important vandal into being some…some hero of civil disobedience?”

Yes, that’s exactly why.