Wednesday, the 7th of Umbralis
You spend your morning on campus with Dagna, being hustled around and chattered at. It’s a bit bigger than your old university, but there’s plenty of maps. Dagna’s hilarious, and good company, making what could be a boring tour a lot more interesting.
Although the library’s open, and you get to poke around and ooh and ah, you can’t do much more than that just yet. Need all your identification, and it’s not quite time for that yet.
Boo. It’ll be the public library for you for a bit longer.
Once you’ve figured out where all the buildings you need to know are, you spend some time chatting with Dagna, and you’re feeling more comfortable, it’s a bit past noon and you’re starting to get hungry.
Dagna’s still got work to do, so you say your farewells and head back out from her lab to the parking lot.
As you’re pulling in to park, your phone starts ringing, and you let it for a couple seconds until you turn off the car. Fishing it out of your pocket, you glance at the screen. It’s Sera.
“Hey. How’s work?” You ask her, tucking it into your shoulder as you gather up your stuff and open the door.
“Stupid.” She replies flatly, and then sighs when you laugh, “Swear it, I swear it I’m quittin’. Friggin’ hate the mall.”
“Just another week.” You tell her placatingly, locking up the car and heading around to the front of the building, “Hey, don’t forget, it’s snowing tonight. A couple feet, maybe!”
“Ugh.” Sera declares, and then adds suspiciously, “Why you sound happy about that?”
“Because.” You say simply, and then laugh at her sound of disgust, keying open the front door and slipping into the lobby, “Are you on lunch?”
“Yeah. Fenris finally got in, pain in my arse, but he’s better ‘en some.” Sera says, and then you hear her slurping on her straw.
“I like him.” You say, musingly, “Sometimes I can’t tell if he likes me or not, th…”
Your mail box opens, keys swinging from the slot as you pull it open. Not much today, just a couple of pieces of junk mail.
And a large, thick manila folder, halfway folded to fix in the box. It doesn’t take more than a glance to realize you recognize the handwriting. Your stomach plummets.
You just stare at it for maybe thirty seconds, until someone abruptly whistles in your ear, deafeningly.
“OW! What?” You ask, ears ringing.
“Trying to talk to you!” Sera retorts, irritably.
Sera he sent me something again. It’s in my mailbox.
Sera goes quiet for a second, and you resist the urge to slam your mailbox closed.
“Well?” She finally asks, and you can tell she’s trying to hide her excitement, “What is it?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t touched it.” You reply, and then add a little sarcastically, “I’m fine, by the way.”
“Sorry.” Sera says instantly, a little chagrined, “But really…”
To be fair, she’s not hassling you to open it open it, which you realize must be hard. Steeling yourself, you tuck your phone back in against your shoulder and tug it out. It is a folder, but one of those big ones, with a flap that ties down with string, and it’s been sealed up with tape and addressed like a letter, stamps and all.
At least he didn’t put it in your mailbox himself? That would be worse.
It’s heavy. Not like the pictures were, nothing as obvious as that, but it’s clear there’s a couple things in here. Probably all papers, though, you don’t see anything lumpy.
“Hey?” Sera finally asks you, a bit more hesitantly this time.
“I’m okay.” You assure her, hoping it doesn’t sound like a lie.
Give me a minute to get upstairs, and I’ll open it.
You can practically hear Sera being impatient as you lock up your mailbox and head upstairs, the folder barely fitting inside your purse. She doesn’t say anything, but you can hear her chair squeaking, foot tapping…
“All right, all right already!” You finally say, pushing into your apartment, “Are you going to explode or something?”
“No.” Sera retorts, and then gives a loud sigh, “C’mon. Bet it’s more pictures. Better be.”
“I don’t think it’s pictures.” You reply, heading for the couch as Fen bounces over to attack your shoelaces.
Puzzled by your not stopping to greet them, the cats trail after you. You’re a bit preoccupied, though, setting the folder across your knees as you plop down, glancing at the front again before turning it over.
“Huh, that’s weird.” You say, glancing over the address, “It’s not just to me, it’s to me and…Jenny Archer? I don’t know anyone named that, do you?”
“Oops.” Sera replies almost instantly.
“Oops. Great, oops. Why oops?” You ask, maybe a little louder than necessary, “Who the hell is that?”
“Well, it’s anonymous, yeah, but you gotta have a fake name to be anonymous.” Sera replies defensively, “It was th’first name I thought of! Besides, only my friends know it…you know, the friends I told you about.”
“Yeah, your friends. With the stalking and the weird Fen’harel worship and the raging against the machine. Hey, the guy sending me creepy mail has infiltrated your weird internet friends! That’s great!” You say, voice rising, “So what, he sent us those pictures and then he’s been tracking what we do with them? That’s not creepy at all! Not in the slightest!”
“Calm down, yeah?” Sera replies, a little bit taken-aback.
THIS IS ME BEING CALM.
“Don’t have t’yell at me!” Sera replies, almost in a yelp as you shout into the phone. “Frigging just open it, yeah? Just makin’ it worse!”
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes for a second. She’s right. You’re psyching yourself out. Fingers find the edge of the tape and pick at it, peeling it away from the envelope. You ball it up, and then toss it on the floor to distract Atisha from her whining about not being picked up. She goes scampering after it, and Fen chases her.
The string unwinds easily, and you push up the flap of the folder, glancing inside.
“There’s…some envelopes.” You tell her, pulling them out, “A couple big ones, a letter-sized one…they’re all numbered.”
“Well, open th’first one.” Sera demands, and this time you let it slide.
The first envelope is the small one, and you’re not surprised when you flip it open that it’s a letter. Of course it is. You start reading it out loud, rather than clamming up.
Wifey,
You did okay.
I’m not super happy that you went and told you know who after I specifically told you not to, but hey, you’re lucky I’m not the one making the calls right now. Trust me, if I had my way, you wouldn’t be involved.
I meant that in the nice way, not the threatening way, but feel free not to believe me. I wouldn’t.
My friend would like your help. I said you wouldn’t be up for it, but they think otherwise. So, I’m sending this to both of you, because I believe in the power of peer pressure.
People deserve to hear. They’re not going to, unless you come help us.
No threats this time, I promise. At least from me. My friend? Well, just stay out of their way and do what you need to do, and there won’t be any problems at all.
Have fun!
P.S. Bring backup. You might need it.
You’re regretting reading it out loud now. Peer pressure, huh? Well, you guess that means whatever’s in here, it’s something Sera won’t be able to say no to. What an asshole. Him…or his friend, anyways. You can only assume he means…
The second envelope tears open under your thumb. It’s large, document sized, and what slides out of it has you momentarily, blindly confused. Four more envelopes, heavy and glossy. White with reflective gold and silver decorations, the scrolling script across it proudly proclaims it to be the 30th anniversary.
Thirtieth anniversary of what?
Setting the other three aside, you slide open the strange envelope, a handful of other documents inside spilling out. The first one is a map, the second a schedule, the last one a card. You already know what it is by then, but when you flip it open it only confirms it.
You’re holding four invitations to the Halamshiral Gala.
The, several tens of thousand dollars a head, red carpet, ‘for charity’ celebrity back-patting, Valmont family Halamshiral Gala. And you have four invitations to it. In your lap. Your lap now holds more monetary worth than you make in two or more years. You could go to college for the next decade on that money, you could…
“What IS it?” Sera demands, impatiently.
What the FUCK?!
It takes you a minute.
Sera’s not feeling very patient, but she mostly just yells the word ‘what’ at you over and over while you curse and freak out and try not to hyperventilate. Eventually, through the cursing, you manage to tell her what it is, and the ‘what’s turn into ‘no frigging way’s and other assorted expressions of disbelief.
You both do a lot of yelling.
“What’s the rest?” Sera finally manages to get out, as you dump the invitations out of your lap and onto the coffee table.
“I don’t know, I don’t…” You say, stammering, hands shaking a little as you go for the third envelope. You tear it open, and give a disbelieving laugh as a small plastic card slides out into your fingertips, along with a sheet of paper. “It’s a…it’s for plane tickets, it’s a freaking gift card. Holy shit that’s a lot of money.”
You’re not sure, at this point, if it’s getting worse or getting better, but all you know is that you’re pretty sure that’s enough for tickets around the holiday, yeah. Also, you now know they make airline gift cards…in very large denominations.
You toss it down on the table, feeling very weird about handling so much money. Yes, it’s not actual money, like cash, but…Maker’s balls that’s a lot of money.
Luckily, shock’s handily taken over, and the fourth envelope doesn’t send you into heart palpitations.
“And…hotel.” You finish, sinking back in your seat, staring at the paper in your hand as it trembles, “Two rooms, already paid for. And, in case you were wondering, no, it didn’t work. One of them is under your actual name.”
Sera’s silent for a couple minutes at last, and you just sit there shaking, feeling Fen kicking the side of your shoe as he wrestles with your lace.
“So…when we leave?” Sera finally asks, hopefully.
The first night on the hotel reservation is Thursday.
“Next Thursday.” You add, before Sera can get too worked up, “This is insane. There’s four. Why are there four?”
“Did say bring backup.” Sera reminds you, and then gives a small curse, “Knew they wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t let those rich tits sit all smug an’ mighty. I knew it, didn’I? Something’s happening.”
“I don’t get it. What do you mean?” You ask, setting the hotel reservation down on the pile, staring at it.
“Why they sent you the pictures. I didn’t get it, but I do, now.” Sera says, a bit too smugly for your taste.
“They. More theys.” You mutter, reaching up to rub your forehead. “Sera, make this make sense. Please.”
“It was a test, wasn’it? Now they know you’ll help tell people, brilliant, really. Don’t know why he didn’t just send it to me, though…” She says, trailing off to a murmur before perking up again, “Doesn’t matter. Somethin’s happening at the stupid party, and he wants us there so we can make sure they don’t cover it up. We’re gonna make sure, whatever happens, people find out.”
“Fen’harel. You think Fen’harel invited us to this overpriced party.” You say flatly to Sera. “This is all some big conspiracy thing and we’re just there to be witnesses? You really think he’s going to swoop in, go ‘these assholes are pretending I made this dumb art’, destroy the system, name you his sidekick, and then swoop back out into the night to come back from his retirement or something?”
“He wants us to help.” Sera insists, voice almost breaking. “Really help. Us.”
Right. Peer pressure.
Ugh, I’m going to need a dress.
“Won’t regret it. Promise.” Sera tells you fervently, starting to speak again when she’s abruptly interrupted.
You can’t make it out, little more than a mumble, but you have a pretty good idea she’s being told to get her ass back to work. She sighs in your ear, heavily.
“Shut up!” Sera orders, and even though you know it’s not for you, you wince slightly, “Be right…yeah, I said I will! Not gonna believe…”
“Sera, no!” You say desperately, cutting her off, “No, not yet. Not your internet people, not anyone else, either, okay? We’ve got to figure this out.”
“All right, all right…” She says distractedly.
“Sera!” You repeat, more firmly.
“All right!” She says, and then heaves a long, heavy sigh, “All right. You win. Keepin’ my mouth shut.”
“Thank you.” You sigh.
“Gotta go. Come bring it by, I wanna see.” Sera says, and then abruptly hangs up on you.
She only sounded a little annoyed. You understand being excited, but you really don’t need the whole universe finding out about this. Setting down your phone, you pick up the invitation you opened again, examining it.
Is it legitimate? You really have no way of knowing.
Somebody might, right? Who, though?
Let’s text Dorian. We need help.
At a complete loss, you open your phone and start texting Dorian. Sure, you told Sera not to tell anyone, but let’s be honest, she’s doing stuff that you’re not even clear about, and you just don’t trust that it won’t end up all over the internet.
You just have to figure out if this is some sort of weird prank or not.
At least he’s thought of something. You hope it’s actually something useful, but anything reassuring will help at this point. And it’s a good point about the hotel. You take care of that right away, using the information that was tucked into the envelope.
The woman on the phone when you call is quietly, crisply professional, and she easily confirms both the hotel room, and that the payments have been handled. She won’t give you any more information than that, though. Not about who paid it, even though you try.
You have a feeling pushing might get you in trouble, so you drop it at that, and end the call.
Well, it looks like you’re heading back to the mall.
Okay. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge, let’s take that.
You just grab the bottle of wine out of your fridge. Not like you had plans for it, anyways. Have to smuggle it into the mall, but that’s not really a problem. Your laptop bag fits everything, and you tuck all the papers back away very carefully. Very, very carefully.
You’re carrying so much money in that bag right now that you may as well be in a heist movie.
There’s no way to not be nervous about that much money, but maybe it’s good. You would rather have it with you than leave it at home, though. The bag sits next to you on the drive over, and immediately goes back over your shoulder when you park across the street from the mall.
Kitty won’t mind, and there isn’t any parking to be found across the way unless you circle a few dozen times.
You head in with a hand always on your bag, but duck around the building instead of forging through it. It’s actually faster to go all the way around the mall, rather than try to cut through.
When you duck into House Pavus, there’s what you assume is a bridal party in trying on their tuxes. You say assume, because they’re all wearing matching bright purple bowties. Well, to each their own.
Dorian is standing behind the counter talking to a sheepish-looking girl, who seems relieved when he stops at the sight of you.
“I feel like I should have hired a bodyguard just to walk me in.” You tell him, clutching the bag a little tighter.
“After what I’ve seen in the last twenty minutes, I don’t blame you.” Dorian says, gesturing for the girl to go back to her register, “Let’s go into the office, there’s something I need to show you.”
“This is a family business, right?” You ask him, giving the girl a small smile before following him through a door.
“Yes and no. My father has other concerns. He may look down on it, but he certainly doesn’t look down on the money, I can tell you that much.” Dorian says, a hint of scorn in his voice as he settles into the chair behind the desk, “Hopefully this year I can find a laboratory position, like Dagna, and leave retail behind.”
Your response is silenced as he turns the computer monitor to face you, and you wander over to join him.
“Lady Rochelle duBois. Compulsive social networker. I knew someone would have the need to show off their invitation.” Dorian says, gesturing to the picture on the screen.
Reaching down, you open your bag and fish out one of the heavy invitation packets. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but you’re not sure why at first.
“Wait, isn’t she that Orlesian girl with the reality show?” You ask, gently opening the envelope and drawing out the contents, setting them down on the desk.
“Yes. And a title, which somehow makes the crassness less crass. Or more aspirational.” Dorian replies, reaching over and carefully picking up the invitation, glancing at you when you sharply inhale, “Relax, would you, you’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry.” You apologise, glancing at the picture again, “It looks right to me.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Dorian agrees, switching tabs to another one, “This one is being scalped for sixty thousand dollars. Someone sent all their money up their nose, I’d wager.”
“Sixty…” You start, and then cut off, shaking your head rapidly, “Is there someone I can call, do you think? Whoever runs this event, they can confirm it, right?”
“I would imagine there must be.” Dorian agrees, turning over the invitation, “Not certain where, though we can likely find it. What are you going to do if they are real?”
Panic.
“Dramatic. Let me know if I need to find you a fainting couch.” Dorian says to you, pulling the computer screen back around, “You are going to have to explain this entire story to me while I try to find this phone number or contact. You would think there would be something…”
You drag out the bottle of wine from the bottom of your bag, unwrapping it from the grocery bag you used to keep it from getting your papers damp. It’s a screw top, which makes Dorian sigh, but you notice he doesn’t hesitate to pour himself a coffee mug of it. Your coffee mug is painted to look like it’s wearing a tuxedo. Cute!
While he hunts, you talk, and look at pictures on your phone. Not many people go taking pictures of their invitations, but luckily there’s still some people in the world hungry for the attention.
You can’t find anything that indicates yours are fakes. Which could just mean they’re really good fakes. Still, it’s comforting.
“This is all starting to sound rather like some sort of big public spectacle, isn’t it?” Dorian asks you when you finally run out of breath and story.
“I’m still not completely getting it.” You admit, “Why me? Why Sera? Why any of this?”
“Perhaps he’s tired of being retired. Perhaps he engineered this entire thing to plant a very large middle finger in the middle of Celene Valmont’s soiree.” Dorian replies, absently, “It all makes some sense, doesn’t it? Making a fool of her. Making an example of her for his glorious return.”
“Really. Then what about the gallery?” You ask, uncertainly, “Why go to all this trouble? It seems pretty roundabout. Why her? There’s plenty of awful people out there.”
“I have no idea. It does seem a bit petty, doesn’t it? Set her up into thinking she has a famous artist in her pocket, and then publicly humiliate her? Good timing for it, though, with the protests. People will be listening.” Dorian says, shaking his head, “As for the why you, I’d assume because you’re convenient. Sorry, dear, you might just be an easy to manipulate witness to make sure it ends up plastered all over the internet.”
“Well, I’ve proved I’ll do it, haven’t I? With the pictures?” You reply, a bit morosely, staring into your wine, “Sera thinks we’re going to go be badass vigilantes helping kick ass with Fen’Harel, but he’s probably just using us.”
“That’s what it generally comes down to, yes.” Dorian agrees, “At least you’re getting a vacation out of the deal? If you know what you’re getting into with both eyes open, it’s not really so bad.”
Ah well. Subterfuge can be fun, and if nothing else, it’ll be a really great story some day.
“That’s optimistic…” Dorian murmurs, fishing out his phone, “You can’t really decide if you’re excited about this or not, can you?”
“I keep bouncing back and forth between ‘woah this is amazing’ and ‘everything is going to burst into flame’.” You admit, watching him curiously, “Did you find something?”
“Yes. Hush.” He orders you, dialing a number, “Drink your wine and watch a master at work.”
You obediently sip your wine, curiosity keeping you silent for the moment. Dorian stares at the wall as he lifts the phone to his ear, free hand idly tapping on his desk.
“Yes, hello. Cecilia was it?” Dorian asks, managing to sound both annoyed and harried, “I apologise. I’m Lady duBois’ assistant. She’s in a complete panic, and I was hoping you might have a way for me to set her mind at ease.”
You watch him curiously, glancing from him to the invitation. What could he be up to?
“She was so excited when she received her invitation, that she of course shared it with her many, many fans on the internet…” Dorian pauses, and then laughs, just a bit derisive, “Yes, she does love to share. Someone informed her, however, that the pictures she shared might have made it possible for someone to counterfeit her invitation. It’s the card that’s to be brought to the door, yes?”
You watch as he reaches over for the item in question, flipping it open with his thumb as he gazes down at it.
“All right…” He murmurs, turning the card over, “Yes, I see it there. Oh, that’s quite clever. Thank you, Cecilia. You’ve saved me from the worst sort of headache. Yes. You too.”
It’s hard not to say something, but you manage to wait until he hangs up the phone.
“So?”
“Scan code.” Dorian tells you, flipping over the card to show you the back of it. “Down there in the corner, it’s camouflaged. Clever of them.”
“So they are real. Thank you, Dorian.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat, “Or at least, we won’t know for sure until they throw us out at the door if they’re not.”
“Seems to be the case.” Dorian agrees, tossing the card down, and reaching for his wine, “That’s the best you’re going to get.”
I should tell Solas about this, I think. He knows Felassan, after all.
You finish piling copious thanks on Dorian, drain your wine, and then gather up all your things again. Even with everything in their envelopes, and closed up tight you still can’t help but clutch the bag to your chest as you head out into the crowded mall.
You know he’s busy, he told you as much yesterday, but you have a feeling he’ll understand. Cole is manning the shop, but taking care of a customer when you enter. You wait, patiently, arms clutching the bag of more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.
It’s a bit intimidating even now. Not something you’ll get used to in a hurry.
“Are you all right?” Cole asks you immediately after the customer turns away from the counter, his eyes searching your face.
“Kind of? Don’t worry.” You assure him, forcing a smile, “Is Solas in the back? I know he has a lot to do, but I really need to talk to him.”
“He is. Getting things ready for shipping.” Cole says, nodding his head, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“Thanks, Cole.” You say, giving a small nod of your head.
“You’re welcome!” He calls after you, as you head over for the door.
You knock on it twice, and then open it a crack, shifting your bag to one arm as you peek inside. You can’t see much, that shelf in the way, but there’s less boxes on it now. Craning your head to the side, you peek between two of them into the office slash storage room.
“Solas?” You ask, hesitating before actually stepping in.
You hear a faint laugh, ending in a sigh. He sounds so relaxed you almost feel bad showing up like this with such a big problem.
“If you continue to not text me before stopping by, you can hardly chide me for doing the…” Solas starts to reply, stepping around the end of the shelf to face you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, glasses on top of his head. He stops when his eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head to the side, “Is something the matter?”
“Is it that obvious?” You ask, and then manage a smile of gratitude as he steps forward and gets the door the rest of the way for you, “Hi. Sorry, I know you have a lot to do.”
“What is wrong?” He asks succinctly, instead of answering your apology.
Just give him the letter from your bag to read.
Letting yourself be drawn in through the doorway, you unbuckle your bag again and sort through the envelopes. Apparently sensing your tension, Solas doesn’t comment, just takes it from your hand when you offer it up to him.
The door closes behind you, and you follow him into the office area as his hand leaves your elbow to open the envelope. He draws out the letter and sets down the envelope on his desk, but doesn’t open the letter immediately.
A little confused, you watch him hunt through the piles of paperwork and labels, glancing around yourself at the chaos. Tidy chaos, everything neatly stacked, but boy, there sure isn’t a lot of room back here. Not with all these additional boxes.
It takes you a minute to figure out what he’s looking for, but finally you figure it out, giving a faint laugh despite your tension.
Solas glances at you, and you point to your forehead.
“You saw nothing.” He informs you, making you laugh again as he reaches up and takes his glasses off the top of his head, pulling them on.
Silently you wander over as he leans against the desk and unfolds the letter, loosening your grip on the bag. He’s already frowning, but his free arm reaches for you when you move in close, and you lean against his side. His hand rests against the small of your back, comfortingly.
He’s silent, for so long that you’re starting to feel uncomfortable.
“What help is he looking for?” He asks simply, at last.
“The letter came with four invitations to Halamshiral. Including travel and accommodations.” You say, “We assume just…like the pictures.”
“Are you all right?” He asks quietly.
Stuck in unreality right now? Everything’s bizarre.
“Would you like to know what I think?” He asks, giving a faint ‘hmm’ when you nod vigorously.
The arm around you tightens into a proper hug, and you lean in to return it, closing your eyes for a second. It’s helpful, especially since your mind has been going a mile a minute for a couple hours now. Especially since he’s so calm, it’s very soothing. His sweater smells like dust right now, though. You try not to sneeze on him.
“To be quite honest, I believe that attending would only escalate this situation. It may be better if you simply forgot that you ever received this.” He says.
“I can’t let Sera go alone.” You protest, “And she is going to go. She really wants to do this.”
“Did she receive anything herself?”
“No, but…I already told her.” You admit, and then add, “It is sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity, Solas.”
“With a great many strings attached.” He points out, and you hear the rustle of the letter again, “As much as I would like for you to be dissuaded, I cannot lie and say I believe you are in any danger.”
“Well, you obviously don’t know Felassan as well as you thought.” You point out, giving a faint laugh, “He just enjoys art…”
“In retrospect, poorly phrased. It seems there are a great many things I should have known that I did not.” Solas agrees, voice for a moment dark, and then sighs again, “Am I going to be able to convince you that this may be a terrible idea?”
I’m already convinced that it is. I’m still going.
“That will keep you cautious.” Solas says, though he doesn’t sound very happy about it, his voice more flatly neutral than calm, “Have you guaranteed the authenticity of it all?”
You may as well tell him what you’ve been up to. As you explain, he releases you to put the letter back away, and then examine the other things as you pull them out. It’s not a terribly long story, all told, but by the end you’re feeling a bit more on the ball.
You’ve been handling this all well, you think. As well as anyone could be expected to, despite the minor freak-outs.
“I should not have been concerned you would be credulous, I apologize.” Solas finally says, when you run out of story, turning over the invitation in his hand to examine the back of it.
“I may have a tendency to be a bit too much so.” You admit, and then give an exasperated sigh through your nose, “I’m sorry for walking in and dumping this on your lap like this, I just value your opinion. And I’m trying to not be naive, not about this.”
“I was overdue for a break, I have been working since rather early.” He replies, folding up the invitation and returning it to its envelope carefully, “Though admittedly this is slightly less pleasant than your intrusion yesterday.”
“Intrusion!” You laugh, relaxing a little at his faint, sly smile, “I was invited to that nap, sir.”
“Consider it a standing invitation.” He declares, and then sobers, smile disappearing, “And on that subject, if you are determined to go, what will you do?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, accepting the closed invitation back from him, and turning it over.
“A plea is not a summonses. You say you are determined to go, and I respect that, but the larger question is what will you do while you are there?” He replies, voice mildly thoughtful, “We can both make the assumption, an assumption you are obviously meant to draw, that this is Fen’harel asking for your help. I realize you consider his work important, and while what is being asked of you is…of minimal danger, it is not without it. You are also being handed a great deal of power.”
“Power?” You ask dubiously, glancing up at him.
“Yes. You are being given the power to determine what the public will see of whatever happens that night.” He points out, voice calmly neutral again, “If you are indeed there to serve as witness to the world beyond the insular elite, you are the lens through which history will see it.”
Then I should make sure people know the truth. I don’t even know if he actually has anything to say, or if this is just petty vandalism, but people deserve to know either way. History can do the judging, I’ll just make sure they have all the info.
“Unfortunately, it isn’t always so simple, but…you are correct.” Solas finally says after a few seconds of contemplative silence, “Sometimes the truth can be unkind, but it is far better than leaving people ignorant, or blindly accepting the world they see.”
“Some people won’t see it even if you slap them in the face with it.” You point out, and then smile at his small chuckle, “Like you said, not so simple, but I can at least try. Trying matters.”
“It does.” He agrees with you, and then sighs, “Well, it sounds as if your mind is made up.”
“Until I find out how much a dress is going to cut into my budget. And shoes.” You agree, and then laugh, “Have to at least be able to fake fitting in.”
“You are attending with Sera, do you think that is possible?” Solas asks, and then smiles faintly at the look you give him, “She isn’t terribly interested in fitting in.”
“Sera doesn’t fit in, she fits out.” You say, and then grin when he raises an eyebrow. “She does what she wants without thinking about how it looks, which means it usually works for her.”
“Hmh. The appeal of an iconoclast. I suppose I can see it.” Solas replies, diplomatically.
I realize it’s a bit soon, but if you can somehow find the time…it would mean a lot to me if you would come with. Like I said, I really value your opinion, having you there would help.
“I…” He begins, and then pauses. You wait a couple seconds, until he laughs faintly and meets your eyes, “I was about to ask for time to think, yet again.”
“Only have so much of it, but you’re more than welcome to what we can afford.” You reply, lifting your shoulders in a small shrug, “I realize it’s a lot to ask.”
“It is a great deal to ask of you.” He says, glancing down at the invitation in your hands.
You follow his gaze, leaning against his side again as you contemplate the envelope. You guess that’s true, but on the other hand, you’ve been given plenty of outs. And still, the unique opportunity of it all…and, well, the excitement is something that shouldn’t be ignored.
“I think the good outweighs the potential bad.” You say at last, glancing up with a smile as his hand settles comfortably against your hip, “Really. Take all the time you need. You know, within reason.”
“No. If you will indulge what is perhaps…a mildly inappropriate sentiment, I believe it would make me feel more comfortable with the idea if I agreed to go.” Solas says, and then gives a laugh under his breath again, shaking his head, “Honest, but perhaps a bit inappropriate, yes. I apologize.”
It’s only inappropriate if we both think it is. And I don’t think it is, I’m glad you care.
“You are, as always, very tolerant of my fumbling attempts to navigate this.” Solas sighs, and then leans down.
You meet the kiss, warm and soft, leaning in as he lifts a hand to cradle your cheek. Well, it’s soft for a second, but you get a little closer and things get a bit more…intense. He has a way of kissing you that makes you lightheaded, desperately finding an outlet for all that impulsive passion he keeps accidentally letting out. His hand stays gentle this time, but there’s tension in his fingers that you can feel against your skin, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you in against his body.
When it breaks, it’s because you both need to breathe, foreheads bumping together as he breathlessly laughs. You take a second to catch your breath, cheek still tilted into his palm.
“I…do have to work.” He says, regretfully, “I only have until this evening to get these packages out, the office closes at five.”
“Sor…” You start, and then wrinkle your nose as he taps his thumb against your lips.
“Not even remotely necessary.” He murmurs.
You’ve got dinner taken care of, right? Especially if you’ve been here all day.
Solas smiles, and turns his head slightly to kiss your cheek. It’s a bit more intimate than that gesture usually would be, all wrapped up in each other, and with the way his lips linger before he pulls back.
“Thank you for being concerned about me.” He replies, releasing you.
“That isn’t an answer.” You accuse, smiling when he laughs, “Solas…”
“I will find something.” He promises you, stepping back around the desk, “I can be somewhat…particular about what I eat.”
“So what you’re saying is I should pick you up a bag of dollar sliders.” You say, grinning at the flat look he gives you, “Not in a burger mood? How about those giant burritos? They’re the size of babies, Solas.”
“Get out of my store.” He orders you, fighting back a smile when you laugh again, “Are you going to see Sera?”
“I think so, unless her store is packed.” You agree, navigating the field of boxes, nose wrinkling when you disturb some dust, “I think I needed some grounding before going to face her enthusiasm.”
“Good luck.” He says, without a trace of irony.
You reach the door, and he pulls it open for you, glancing over your shoulder to scan the door before glancing back down at you.
Call me later?
“It may be somewhat late,” He warns, and then finishes when you nod, “But I will.”
“I understand. You have work.” You say, and then stop, suddenly worried, “Oh! But what about the shop next weekend, I didn’t…”
“Let me worry about that. I said that I would join you, the logistics are my responsibility ” He says when you trail off, leaning in to briefly kiss your forehead.
“All right.” You agree, dropping it despite the worry, “I’ll talk to you later.”
Normally you’d stop and chat with Cole a little, but he’s actually quite busy. Not that the store is fielding anything compared to the other shops, but there’s some people browsing books and things. No matter what Solas says, it is nice to see them in the shop.
Next door, however, is another matter.
You’re clutching your bag again the instant you walk into the mess of teenagers and confused-looking parents, hugging it to your chest protectively. The place is a mess, even with three people behind the counter.
Sera, amusingly, looks less annoyed and stressed than she usually does, like she’s feeding off of the chaos. When she catches sight of you, she lifts both arms and shouts a hello over at you, drawing far too many people’s attention.
“There you are! What took you so friggin’ long?” She asks exuberantly.
I was next door. Would you like to know what I was doing, Sera? Would you?
“Euuugh!” Sera declares disgustedly, practically cackling.
“Do you?” You repeat, barely hiding a grin, “Because I’m willing to…”
“Shut up.” She demands, “Frigging disgustin’, you are.”
Somehow she’s still checking people out while yelling at you. It’s beautiful to watch, like some sort of ballet or performance art. No one has ever scanned clip on nose jewelry with such grace. You realize Fenris is working, too, when you hear his very distinctive noise of world-weary scorn.
“Sera, I don’t understand what exactly is wrong.” You say, pretending to be puzzled, “I thought you wanted to know.”
“Oh I know.” She retorts, shaking her head violently, hair swinging, “I know. You were shaggin’ an egg.”
You’re not sure what’s worse. That it’s mean, or that it’s hilarious.
“Be nice.” You protest, trying not to laugh so hard that the back of your sinuses hurts.
“Egg-shagger.” Sera replies flatly.
Well, I guess the yolk’s on me!
Despite protestations of disgust, that has Sera laughing and cringing all at the same time. You can’t help but be pleased with yourself. It’s not often one gets to pull off a double pun-tandre.
You haven’t gotten off scot-free with the distraction, though, someone from the back of the store yells over at Sera, who rolls her eyes.
“Five minutes, yeah? Almost done.” She says aside to you, and then goes back to focusing on your work.
Without anything else to do, Fenris also being too busy to chat, you wander into the very tight aisles while clutching your bag. The lava lamps are good for a gander, and they have an interesting selection of giant inflatable penises. You never knew that one could have a selection of giant inflatable penises, yet here we are.
Getting jostled by teenagers eventually starts losing its appeal, and you duck your head down and forge your way out through the video game t-shirts to wait out front. Whew.
Deep breath.
Listening to your stomach growl, you watch the crowds and listen to the faint strains of holiday music, chin tucked against your bag. You’re starting to almost daze off when your shoulder is abruptly jostled.
“Show me!” Sera demands noisily, still in the middle of unbuttoning her work shirt.
Hell no. Come over to my place, I’m not pulling this stuff out in public!
Sera complains and fusses at you a bit, impatiently, but she finally gives in. She knows where you live, so it’s not much trouble to just head home and let her make her way there behind you. By now your stomach has gone from rumbly to out and out bitching, but you’ve got pre-made lunches in the fridge, and you did eat out one day this week, so there’s extra.
You make Sera read the letter first, before you give her the bag and let her sort through the rest, explaining the fruits of your afternoon’s hunt. The hotel is real, the invitations are real as far as you can tell, and a quick jaunt to the airline’s website on her phone while you eat proves that the card is good.
She wants to buy tickets right then and there, but you’re not quite ready.
“We have four.” You point out, stabbing another piece of chicken, scooping up some rice and beans. “Solas is coming…”
Sera groans, glancing up from her fiftieth examination of the invitation with narrowed eyes. “Really?” She asks exasperatedly.
“Yes, really.” You retort, gesturing with your fork, “He’s smart, okay? And I like having him around. Besides, he can probably help make sure we don’t do anything unsafe.”
“Only you’d get a frigging once in a lifetime chance like this an’ worry about bein’ safe.” Sera grouses, and then sighs, “Okay, then four?”
I don’t know yet. Do we need help, or should we just invite someone along to enjoy it?
“Don’t know. Good question.” Sera says contemplatively, carefully putting the invitation back away, “Bit of a big thing to just hand someone, innit?”
“I mean, yes? You’re right at that. I guess it should be someone who won’t sabotage it, at least.” You say, a little dubiously, “Do you know anyone that knows photography?”
“No. Yes. Maybe?” Sera says, obviously thinking, fingers tapping rapidly on the counter, “Anders’d help. Specially if you pushed the cussin’ the system bits.”
“Dorian’s really smart…” You say, lips pursing together, “He really helped me with the invitation stuff.”
“Yeah, but we need people who want to smash it up, don’t we? Ready to fuck it up.” Sera says, slamming both elbows on the counter, “People who want to…wait!”
“What?” You ask, uncertainly.
“Hawke.” Sera says, simply.
That sounds like a recipe for disaster, and I don’t even know Hawke that well
“Kind of the point.” Sera says, a bit gleefully, “Fuck ‘em over good, right?”
Right. Well, it isn’t a surprise that you two have…different ideas about how this should go. Or will. Maybe it’s not such a surprise that Felassan handed the information to you.
Do you really want to take a heavy hand, though? She might be a bit too enthusiastic, but she isn’t necessarily wrong.
“We’re there to witness it, Sera.” You say, doing your best not to sound judgmental, “To…I don’t know, make sure people see it, not to ‘fuck things up’.”
“Can do both!” She declares, a bit belligerently, “This is a big friggin’ deal!”
You sigh, dropping your fork on your plate, trying to gather your thoughts. This is big, and dedicated to it or not, you don’t know nearly enough to go running headfirst into it tearing things down.
Bending down briefly, you scoop up Atisha as she cries at you and tries to climb up your pants, tucking her under your chin and scratching her ears as you think. She immediately starts purring, a rumbly vibration that you can feel in your fingers.
No, we can’t do both. We focus on one thing, Sera, and we do it right. We make sure none of this gets buried or destroyed. Not this time.
Sera is silent for a few seconds, staring at you curiously. You return the look, still scritching the happy calico kitten.
“What?” You finally ask, just a little awkwardly, “I just think that…we have a chance to do something here, Sera. We just can’t waste it, you know?”
“No, I…” She says, and then laughs, nodding slowly, “Y’right. The whole friggin’ problem, innit? Nothing there, nothing to tell us what truth is. Shit’s gone, it’s just…”
“Gone.” You finish, and then sigh, letting Ati down, crouching down for a second so she can go to find and attack her brother, “You don’t have to prove yourself, you know. Not to me, not to…him. If there even is a him. He only seems perfect because he’s not real, you know.”
“Shut up.” She replies, a bit weakly.
“I just mean that the idea of a person…well, that’s not a person. Making an idea of a person’s always going to disappoint you, Sera.” You say, apologetically, “If there is a him…”
“I’m not stupid.” She tells you, lifting a hand to rake back her hair, “I think about it, y’know. Why they gotta drag you? Why all…this? Why lies an’ games?”
I just don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.
“Yeah, that’ll work.” Sera says, a little sarcastically, “Walk up to ‘im, ‘scuse me, what the frigging hell?’.”
“Yep,” You say, “maybe that’s what I’m going to do.”
“I don’…” Sera starts dubiously, and then frowns and falls silent.
You watch her for a couple seconds, finally speaking up again when it seems like she’s not going to say anything more.
“Who said we were on his side, Sera?” You ask her, smile widening as she looks back up at you, “Who said we have to be?”
“No one. Sort of.” Sera replies, some of her frown disappearing.
“Exactly. We’re not going there to kiss his ass, Sera.” You say, nodding her head as she grins, abruptly, “We’re not going there to wander around like wide-eyed idiots, oohing and aahing.”
“Fuck that.” Sera replies, a little bit belligerently, “S’what they expect, innit?”
“We haven’t proven otherwise.” You say, and then shrug a little, “But going in there expecting that he’s the good guy, and everyone else is the bad guy…well, it’s not that simple, is it?”
“Got to have a side,though. Not his, not theirs, but there got to be one.” Sera says, a bit uncertainly, “Otherwise what’s the point?”
Keeping your mind open and not being blind isn’t working against him. Unless it is…in which case, is his a side worth being on?
“No. Guess not.” Sera says, and then sighs exasperatedly at you, “Why you gotta make it all complicated? We fight the bad guys.”
“Because it is that complicated. Sorry, Ser.” You say, grinning as she sighs again and thumps her head on the counter. “I’m your designated buzzkill.”
“Yeah.” Sera agrees flatly, scoffing when it only makes you laugh, “Pain in my arse, you are.”
“Somebody’s got to do it!” You agree cheerfully, and then step back when she swats blindly at you. “Well, don’t fight me!”
“All right, if you gotta be annoyingly sensible, I guess you might as well figure out who we’re taking.” Sera says, raising her head with an exasperated look, “Not saying you’re right, right? Just saying…you’re in charge of logistics or whatever. I’m…what’s the word.”
“Delegating?” You ask, and then smile when she nods, “Okay. Fair enough, delegate away. You’re going to need a dress, you know.”
“Get out.” Sera says sourly, “What, all ruffles?”
“Or spangles.” You agree, and then laugh as she frowns even deeper, “Just nothing too frilly, or we won’t be able to move if we need to.”
“Oh yeah, because that’s th’problem. I love ruffles too friggin’ much.” Sera says, rolling her eyes.
“I’ve got faith in you. You have style.” You tell her, confidently, “You could probably show up in a garbage sack and make people buy it.”
“Garbage sack, eh…” Sera says musingly.
Great, now in six month everyone in Orlais is going to be wearing garbage bags.
That gets Sera cackling, which is relieving. Nobody enjoys being a buzzkill, of course. Sensible is a nicer way to say it, but she does keep getting excited and then you pull the rug out from under her. Obviously not that much, though, because you’re still going to Orlais.
You didn’t expect her to hand off picking the fourth person to you, but it’s nice that she did. It means she trusts you, even though she doesn’t get along with Solas. It’s something you’re going to have to think long and hard about.
Later, though.
You spend an hour or two chatting and bullshitting until she has to go meet some people. You’re invited, but you decline this time considering the day you’ve had and plans you’ve made, promising her you’ll go out soon. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to mind. It seems like she’s starting to accept that you’re doing your own things sometimes, not just tagging along with her.
If the shop’s closing again at ten, you probably have a while before Solas finds the time to call you. It’s been a very draining, exciting day, and some downtime is probably deserved.
Long bath. Whole nine yards. All the scrubbing and face junk and some music. & We should get some writing done.
You are smart. Grocery staples shopping provides some ingredients for easy body care stuff, especially with the internet to give you some recipes. You toss together a couple different masks and a quick scrub, grab all your favorite bath things, and settle in for a long soak.
The cats, who have yet to see a proper bath, wander in to check things out, Fen sticking his face into your oatmeal and honey mush, and regretting it. Atisha just does her usual thing and cries at you, demanding to be picked up.
Baby doesn’t know what she’s asking for.
You reach down to offer her a drippy hand, and she starts rubbing her face on it until she realizes you’re wet. Utterly offended, she sneezes on you, and then zooms out of the bathroom to attack her brother as if it was his fault.
She’ll forgive you eventually.
You soak and try to help your skin recover from the winter, until the water starts to get uncomfortably cool. Feeling much better for it, you drain the water and get into some pajamas before you settle in to write.
It’s hard to think about something besides what’s been going on today, but eventually you start to relax. Relaxing and being productive at the same time is a good combination, if tricky to manage.
You’ve almost lost track of time when your phone rings, and you glance at the clock on your computer. Quarter after ten. Well, who else could it be?
You answer the phone, and bring it to your ear.
“Good evening.” You greet, shifting your phone so you can save your work.
“Ah, you survived.” Solas replies in your ear, warm and amused, “I had wondered.”
And you have, too! Look at us, fulfilling the basic requirements for staying alive. Go us.
Solas laughs quietly, bringing a smile to your lips. It’s a pretty nice laugh, especially when it ends and he breathes in. Okay, was that a snort? You’re not sure if that’s adorable, or nerdy. Or both.
“This close to the holiday, that may be a feat in and of itself.” He tells you, and you hear a faint, steady click that makes you think he might be driving.
That does sound like a turn signal.
“Are you breaking the law, sir?” You ask him playfully, and he laughs again, “I’m not going to put up with you endangering your life just to talk to me.”
“I am wearing an earpiece, both of my hands are on the wheel.” He promises you, “I did say late, but I know that you work tomorrow.”
“Not until two. Don’t worry about me, you’re the one working around the clock.”
“Except when I am napping.” He reminds you, a smile in his voice, “Though today, sadly, that was not an option.”
“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” You say, glancing down as the kitten in your lap starts uncurling, Ati showing her little fangs as she stretches and yawns, “What are your plans for the rest of the week?”
“Work, for the most part.” Solas says, thoughtfully, “Especially considering that I need to arrange some things for next week.”
Do you want to have a late dinner with me tomorrow? I don’t have long breaks, but it’s something.
“I believe I could manage that, yes.” Solas agrees, after a thoughtful pause, “As long as you had no plans to try and brave the food court.”
“Ick, no.” You say, giving a laugh, “It’d take half my break just to get food. I’ve been cooking for myself, mostly. I’d offer to cook for you, too, but you said you’re choosy, and I don’t want to make something you’d feel obliged to eat.”
Solas gives a low, thoughtful ‘hmm’ against your ear. It’s warm, and almost intimate, though you have a feeling he didn’t mean to go putting butterflies in your stomach.
“I do try to ensure people don’t feel obliged to bow to my…preferences.” He says, and then gives a sigh, “There is little worse than attending a dinner where absolutely nothing looks edible, and being required to force yourself to eat for the sake of politeness.”
Well, I sure hope you don’t think I look inedible, then.
You hear a sudden cough, more of a sputter, followed by a rough clearing of his throat. Cheeks warm, you grin, lower lip caught in your teeth as you wait. It takes a second, you hear him sigh, and then clear his throat again, more gently.
“I am driving.” He reminds you, voice a little lower.
“I’m just making conversation.” You say, as innocently as you can muster.
He’s quiet again, so long that you’re starting to worry that you actually have offended him.
“Making conversation,” He finally muses, “is that what you call that?”
“It’s a valid concern, you know.” You point out, “I’d hate to think that I do nothing to whet your appetite.”
It’s not just a flirt, it’s also something it’d be nice to know. Not that the way he kisses you hasn’t given you a clue, but for the most part, his hands are remarkably well behaved. The topic hasn’t come up before.
Even though you’re going on vacation together.
When he speaks again, though, you’re not feeling uncertain any more. In the quiet of your apartment, his voice is enfolding, a seductive murmur of sound that makes your stomach twist up.
“I assure you, when it comes to you, lack of appetite is the very least of my problems.”
Prove it.
The words should probably be challenging, confident, but they escape you at just short of a laugh. You hear him exhale, heavily, immediately afterwards. When he speaks again, surprisingly, his voice is a little strangled, rough.
“Stop.” He demands.
“I’m,..” You say, confused, “I’m sorry, did I…”
“I am driving.” He repeats, this time with a little bit more emphasis.
Well, you already knew that, it’s not like…oh.
You weren’t aware that you were that much of a distraction. Or that he was that into it. Being that you rather like him in one piece, you clam up for a few seconds, torn between pleasure and worry.
“I’m sorry.” You finally apologize, not feeling completely so.
“No. It is hardly your fault that I…” He says, pausing for a few seconds, before he finishes with a clear of his throat, “I enjoy your assertiveness, just perhaps not the venue.”
“Are you almost home?”
“Only a few blocks.” He promises quietly.
You both fall silent, contemplatively. For some reason you just don’t feel like ruining the mood with random chatter, and you don’t want to push him. It’s nice to just listen to him, the faint sounds from in his car as they filter through the headset. You’ve tucked your cheek atop a knee when you hear the jingle of his keys, and then a door slam.
“How far up do you live?” You ask, curiously.
“I have a house, if you can believe it in this city. Took me some years to get it livable, but I enjoyed the work.” He tells you, voice still not quite sounding comfortable, “It was fairly derelict when I purchased it.”
“Hmmh.” You say, listening distantly to various noises, “Yes, that sounds like you.”
“You know me so well, do you?” .
“Well enough for that.” You say, musing over his earlier words.
Assertive, was that what he said he was enjoying? Not for the first time, you’re aware that it almost feels like you’re capable of completely destroying his self-control on a whim. It’s kind of scary, but…
Exciting.
Are you heading to bed now? Can I come?
The sounds in the background are so muffled you’re not quite sure what he’s doing. Getting out of his coat and things, you assume, nothing interrupting the conversation, his voice close and warm.
“It is late.” He says, a bit more relaxed now, “As for the other question, I suppose it remains to be seen.”
“Naughty…” You tease, and then laugh when he chuckles quietly in your ear, “Here I was hoping I could get a standing invitation.”
“I would be happy to extend one, though you would have to choose. You cannot have both.”
“Both of what?” You ask, momentarily confused as you apparently lose track of the conversation.
“Standing, and the bed.” He replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice, just a bit sly, “It has to be one or the other.”
Oh. Hah.
Biting down on your lower lip, you grin, cheeks starting to feel a little bit hot.
“Or one and then the other.” You point out, quietly, “But I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
“There are…advantages to both.” He says, thoughtfully drawing out the words, a quiet murmur in your ear.
Well, you do love a good debate.
When everything has been thoroughly…considered, topics put to bed, so on and so forth, much to your pleasure, things don’t get awkward. You were a little worried, considering how things went before, but he doesn’t seem likely to go looking for distance from you again. Instead, you curl up in bed and have a bit of silly, affectionate back and forth before it becomes obvious he’s practically falling asleep.
You say good night, and then try to fall asleep yourself.
END OF DAY 11