Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a long time, too long perhaps, since Solas last walked the streets of Kirkwall. It was the end of spring, the air filled with a lush warmth that almost excused the overcrowded streets of the city state, and all the smells that came with it. It was the smell of the ovens, of marinara sauce and cooking cheese, that snagged on his senses. He knew this street well, even though the faces of so many of the restaurants on this street had changed, some buildings were gone entirely, others turned into apartments or new business. He knew to dodge the particularly slick electrical grates, that on dewy mornings like this they could be traitorous under foot. It had been many years since he had sold Piehold, the pizza shop he opened near to Kirkwall's Circle University, but it was still a tacky shade of green. Repainted, of course, to keep its bright facade against the bleaching of sun and wind and storm. He grimaced a bit at the colour, wondering how they could have found that shade of paint. Perhaps Piehold was the only reason the green still sold, maybe Wynne had bought out the stock of it after she'd bought the business from him. He sighed at the cracked, dirty sidewalks, glad he'd worn his travelling shoes rather than the his preferred leather loafers. Switching his satchel from one arm to the other, he pushed open the door, blinking against the brightness inside.

They had replaced the lights, and what had once been a small stage was now a bar, a woman in dark makeup was wiping out the glasses, content to ignore him as she worked. The murals he'd plastered to the walls all those years ago remained, and in fact seemed in better condition than he'd expected. As if somebody had been tending to them. The other walls were different, though. Whereas he had originally painted them a mild, sandy colour, somebody had gone over the old paint with a striking cyan. It nearly pained him to look at, especially with such bright spotlights shining on everything. The soda fountain was in a new spot, and hosted new flavours, but it seemed like the same old ice bay on top. He struggled to avoid frowning at the old ovens, the space around them simmering with their heat. He had hoped... well, perhaps it was too much to expect the ovens to be replaced. They were large, heavy, expensive. They would be too great a burden to move. The greatest surprise came from the wall above the cold line. It was different, of course it was different, but it was what had been painted on the walls above the cold line that most interested him. Great steady swaths of black and blue and green listing off the various toppings and deals. The were offering a special on a pint of Starkhaven Gold Cider, and that part seemed chalked in. Interesting.

"Oh! I didn't hear you come in," A chirping voice called as he approached the counter, "Hello," she said, wiping her hands against her apron, "are you ready to order?" 

Even in the modern age, it was rare to see a Dalish clan member in the city, the curly handwriting on her nametag labeled her "Merrill", he tried not to spend too much time tracing his eyes over her vallaslin, instead offering her a tight smile. 

"I have not been to Piehold in many years, much has changed since last I was here. Has the menu changed greatly?" He asked, returning his gaze to the wall of toppings behind her. 

"Oh, yes, we did a big renovation about five years ago, I think? I was still new then, that was when Jospehine bought this shop from Wynne and Varric helped her open a new one downtown. It's amazing how much busier we've gotten, maybe people like the bright colours? Although we have some really great regulars who are in here all the time and they're great at spreading the word and bringing friends. We got so many fancy types in here when Ms. De Fer started taking her lunches here, too, and it's just been great to be so active. Oh! But I'm rambling, sorry, I'm not sure if our menu has changed much," she turned then to look at another Dalish worker behind her, their hands steady as they spread cheese over a large pie, "if you want to try ordering something, I'll see if it's on the menu. If it's not then Lavellan probably knows how to make it."

He smiled, a bit amused, at the open energy of the woman in front of him. His eyes flicked back to the topping list for a moment. They still had all of the components, even if it was no longer on the menu, he could instruct them himself. Simple enough.

"I would like to order a personal 'All new, Feta for her', if you please."

Merrill scrunched her eyes at the screen a moment, finger poised as it flicked over the hot keys. 

"Oh, wait, I know how to make that," the other worker - Lavellan - chimed, their accent smooth and lovely. 
"Merrill, just ring up a personal 'Bait and Swiss', they're the same price." They said, smiling at him broadly, "It's a shame they took the 'Feta for her' off the menu, it's always been a favourite of mine."

"Truly?" he said, happily surprised. Even when he had still owned Piehold, the All New, Feta for Her rarely sold, he'd kept it on the menu specifically because it was his own favourite. If Wynne had stricken it from the menu... 

"Have you worked here long, then?" He asked of Lavellan, handing Merrill his debit and nearly wincing when her eyes went wide at the gold printed card. 

"Only two years, but I came in as often as I could when I was still in college. I... needed a break from the work I was doing before, and I've always liked it here," They answered with a shrug and a smile, grabbing down the personal skin and the docker. 

"Then I hope you continue to enjoy it." Solas said, scribbling out a tip equal to that off the bill, mildly perplexed when Merrill's eyes didn't go wide at that. 

He strode off to his favourite seat, then, pleased to find it in the same spot as it always was. The table had been replaced at some point, but the bright green upholstered bar stools seemed the original ones,and a bit worse for wear. He set down his satchel, pulling out the book he had brought with him. A History on Thedosian Delicacies, the newest tome by Brother Genitivi. The familiar smells of Piehold coaxed his anxious heart, the nagging strain of what he was in Kirkwall to do. The sounds of the kitchen behind him were distinct, and welcome. The tumbling sounds of mixers and vegetable slicers occasionally interrupted by a muttered shite, and cocks that he found himself gently amused by. He noted, too, that they had at some point replaced the speaker system, the music now evenly distributed throughout the restaurant. A gentle mix of rock ballads filled the air with the heady smell of pizza, and outside, it began to rain.

A little more than ten minutes into his book, Lavellan appeared, Apron crisp and white sinched tightly at their waist, slender arms corded with muscle carrying the tray of his meal with ease. They set it down before him, eyes dancing with their smile, "I hope it remains to your liking." 

"Thank you," he answered earnestly, "I am sure it's perfect." 

Chapter Text

Varric strode down the street, humming a bit to himself and nodding to those he made eyes with as he passed by. Parking, he'd said to Josephine, we need parking if we want more foot traffic. He glanced at some of the crumbling buildings, the near-ancient waterways and dusty roads. She was right, as she almost always was in that patient way of hers, there was simply nowhere to put it. Parks, outlying school buildings, and other businesses were all that surrounded the Circle Piehold location. Open for nearly twenty years, it was a crowd favourite among locals. With things settling down in the south, however, a lot of those locals that it relied so heavily upon were leaving. In droves. He could hope a place might sell that could allow him to build a small parking lot near enough to Piehold to be helpful, but the expense could be astronomical, and it was too slim a chance to build any plans on. Besides that, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he had the heart to tear down any of Kirkwall's old buildings. The city was a mess, he knew it was, but it was his home. There was too much history, too much life, for him to ever fully support any of the "renovation" projects the city council toyed with. Tax dodges, for the most part, and none of them would be any help to the people in Kirkwall who needed it. Thankfully, few enough had gone through, and it wasn't difficult to convince to Viscount to sign in the Historical Preservation Act to keep the really old stuff safe. Still, he thought with a frown as he walked into Piehold and shook the rain off his jacket, they needed a way to get people in.

At current, there were two people sitting inside eating. The amount of blue paper tucked into the cold line meant they had plenty of deliveries to run, probably thanks to the fact Merrill was working today. People loved her, sometimes tipping two or three times the amount of their bill just because they liked her so much. He smiled at her and waved to Lavellan. He was lucky, he realized, to be here today. Vivienne De Fer, one of the cities foremost council members and a prominent business woman herself, was already in for lunch. He usually got here too early to see her, but maybe she'd have some ideas on improving foot traffic. 

"Morning, there, highness," Varric said to Morrigan, earning the flat but amused stare she always gave him when he used that nickname.

"What'll it be this time?" She asked, setting down the immaculate glasses she'd probably only been wiping out to kill time. That new kid in the dish pit, Cole, was damn good at his job, Morrigan was probably bored to tears right now. 

"Just a can of tomato juice," Varric answered, holding his hands up with a smile. 

"I'll send Merrill the order, she can bring it to you with your usual."

"Thanks," he said, stuffing a five dollar bill in her tip jar before he strode to the elf in question, "Morning, Daisy!"

"Varric!" Merrill exclaimed with a squeal, earning a startled glance from the man sitting in the corner. He was new, Varric noted, nodding once as their eyes met. The man quickly returned to his book. One of Genitivi's new prints, one Varric had decided to pre-order just so he might have something to talk to Lavellan and the FoH about when he was here. Varric wondered absently if it was better or worse to be bald in the rain, scratching at his stubbly chin. The man held himself with as much pride as De Fer, and was almost as well dressed. The clothing he wore had a charmed kind of shabbiness. An old but well cared for suit set, checkered greens and browns, as if he let it wear a bit specifically so that it might seem cheaper. He hand an artists hands, Varric saw the curve of them, how they cradled his book, as he slipped Merrill a twenty and told her to keep the change with a wink. That pie he was eating... it was one Lavellan made for themself constantly, but he couldn't remember the name of it. Feta something. 

"Morning there, Iron Lady, how's business?" He asked Vivienne, leaning against the booth opposite of her and inclining his head.

"A, Varric Tethras, needing more inspiration for your serials? I'm afraid I'm booked for the afternoon," she said, angling her fork back towards the colourful salad before her, "but I'm always honored to share lunch with a dear friend." 

"You and I eat lunch together and you'll miss all of your appointments," he answered, smiling broadly, "besides, you hate the smell of my usual". De Fer was often regarded as cold and aloof by most of the people who thought they knew her, but she was a good woman, and Varric trusted her above any other politician he knew in the council. Save maybe the Hawke family, if any of them ever bothered to show up. 
"I just wanted to run a quick request by you."

"By all means, darling, whatever can I do for you?"

"We're looking to increase foot traffic down here. Isabella can only run so many online ads and block parties down here, and the last one had the cops all in a fuss." Varric answered, shaking his head at the memory. "I thought maybe trying to improve parking availability would help, but Ruffles doesn't think its doable, I was hoping to pick you brain for a suggestion or two?" Vivienne had helped them arrange more than one promotion or banquet, had recommended them for catering at various parties and meetings a few times too. Plus, she was one of his favourite people to bounce novel ideas off of. 

"I see... give me some time to consider it, my dear, and I'll give you or Josephine a call." She answered with a nod, eyes already shining at the prospect, the challenge it could offer her. 

He nodded his thanks and sidled up to the counter, chatting with Merrill and Lavellan as they worked, slinging dirty jokes and friendly jabs at Sera when she emerged from the kitchen to deliver a few tubs of freshly sliced tomatoes to the coolers. She stuck her tongue out at him and pouted a bit in De Fer's direction before swiping one of the cookies out of the dessert tray and scrambling away. He shook his head at her, still laughing, and accepted his pie from Lavellan with a smile. They always packaged it to-go for him, in case he needed to dash out at any point to keep an appointment or answer a call at his publishing house down by the Hanged Man brewery he co-owned. The Hanged Man provided them with most of their beers and ciders, but the Hawkes' friend Sebastian had been able to help them settle into a few deals with Starkhaven's brewers. He'd still needed to find some way to thank Choir-boy for that. 

He took a booth towards the back, near the kitchens so he and Sera could shout at each other if she needed somebody to shout with. He dug in happily to his pie, the tangy flavour of the mustard and pepperoncinis always felt like really waking up to him.

"What is that?" The stranger in the corner asked, probably noting the smell. He seemed genuinely curious though, whereas most people just seemed disgusted by the combination. 

"We call it 'Family Mustard', it's a special Buttercup - uh, one of our prep cooks - came up with a few years back. I can't get enough of it, I'd probably eat it for every meal if my friends weren't so healthy. What's yours?" He asked with a jerk of his chin. 

"Ah, it is an older item that used to be on the menu. 'All New, Feta for her'. Olive and garlic oil base, feta cheese, chicken, both pepper types, and onions. Yours?" The man had an accent kind of like Merrill's, but he spoke with such a... gravity? Gravity and elegance? Can people be sad and fancy at the same time Varric wondered, wiping his mouth.

"Pesto sauce, mozzarella, onions, pepperoncinis, garlic, and then the crust gets coated in mustard before and after its cooked, don't make that face, I swear the flavours work well together." Varric punctuated his point by taking as big a bite out of his next slice as he could manage. 

The stranger smiled, chuckling a bit, "I will take your word for it, then." 

"Varric Tethras, I help run the finances of this place and a half dozen other local businesses. What's your name?"

"Solas, I am... in town for a conference. Although I am not a stranger to Kirkwall, I once spent a great deal of time here. Did you know Wynne, then?" Varric spent enough time around Leliana to recognize when people were dancing around something they knew. He wondered why Solas bothered, but didn't think too deeply about it.  

"Not too well, but I helped her and Ruffles work out the deal here. She decided to sell and move closer to her son after her health took a turn."

Solas' eyebrows shot up a bit, "I was... unaware she had a son," he's eyebrows inched closer together, "Ruffles?" 

"Right, it's a nickname, sorry. She's the newish owner, Josephine Montilyet. You might see her name in some of the papers and local business gazettes, good business partner, nice lady. She keeps an office in the downtown location, since that one tends to need her closer more often."

"And you keep an eye on this one?" Solas asked.

"Not really, it's just a bit closer to my publishing house than the other one. Lavellan is the general manager here, and the Front of House manager does most of the paperwork." Varric refrained from adding the details about Iron Bull and Fenris, who managed the delivery teams and kitchens respectively. He was a little surprised, if he admitted it, that the FoH wasn't here right now. Maybe they finally decided to take a break rather than act like the restaurant was about to face the hordes of the ancient blight at any point. Iron Bull usually worked the evenings, Lavellan could handle his "chargers", the drivers, well enough in the comparatively slow mornings anyways. Fenris, he noted, was laughing about something in the kitchen. Probably whatever special Sera had concocted for the week. The damn things were sometimes ineffable, but for the most part her combinations were weird but delicious. He knew De Fer always loved them, though he wasn't sure if she'd ever said as much out loud. 

Sera, as if on cue, came bursting out of the kitchen with the specials board, and a written copy to pin onto the cold line for when it was ordered. She never wore an apron, and today was clad in a pair of neon yellow leggings and a red flannel top over her work shirt. Both were already covered in food bits and stains. They never kept to too strong of a dress code here, but maybe he should encourage her to start wearing an apron. For her washing machines sake, if nothing else. Fenris followed her out not long after, dusting off his flour coated apron and tugging a bit at the neckline of his brown and green Piehold shirt. The logo, the simple rendering of a mage whose staff ended in a slice of pizza holding their hand out towards the sky, was also painted on the sign outside the door. A design the original owner had apparently doodle on a napkin once and decided to make official. 

"I see, it is good to have a strong team in businesses such as these, I imagine." Solas returned with a nod, eyes trailing the kitchen pair for a moment before he returned his gaze to his book. 

Varric nodded, even though he knew Solas wasn't looking, and continued to devour his own pizza, letting his hands flick over his personal tablet as he read through the mornings emails and schedule. He heard De Fer bid Lavellan a good day at some point, and not long after the rain stopped. There weren't many conferences happening in town this month, and Varric wondered which of them Solas was here to attend.  

Chapter Text

It was shaping up to be a rainy, quiet day in Kirkwall. Hawke was wiping down the counters for the fifth time that hour, bored as can be. The only thing Hawke really had to look forward to after the lunch rush was Aveline's eight pie order, one she made consistently before the softball team she coached at the community center had a game. That order didn't need to be prepared for another hour, though, so away they toiled, hands beginning to prune from the sanitizer water they used on the tables. Hawke looked out at the rainy days, begging the clouds the open and invite summer, when Piehold tended to be busier. Bethany and Carver worked at the downtown location, Carver as a delivery driver and Bethany at the store front, and they always seemed exhausted from the business when they got home. 

Hawke was lucky if they didn't fall asleep on their feet. 

The slow, silky voices of the rock ballad playing over the speaker didn't help. Maybe they'd go in the kitchen and steal some eggs, just to drop them on the ground for an excuse of something to do.

Fenris would probably be annoyed by it though. 

Sighing, Hawke walked over to Lavellan, who was scrubbing down the sides of the ovens with a weird sort of fervor that they supposed could get them through anything. Likely had, given what Hawke knew of Lavellan's work before. 

"Your energy is always inspiring, where do you even find it?" Hawke asked, tracing their hands over Sera's newest combination. Hardboiled eggs... on pizza.... why did Fenris approve that?

"I suppose I just like being here." Lavellan answered, wiping their brow. 

In the time since they started working here, Lavellan's arms had slowly been peppered with more and more burn scars from the oven. Although, they'd had a few stark scars before, so maybe they were glad to have something new covering the old ones. Hawke certainly felt that way sometimes about their own scars. Lavellan shrugged, and said to them a bit coyly, "If you're so bored, there is a city council meeting in... a half hour," they squinted at the clock over their shoulder, "maybe you could attend this one?"

"What's the point? Besides, you need my help with Aveline's order." Hawke shrugged tightly, they never liked politics much. 

"They're voting soon about what 'to do about the alienage', whether to tear it down or turn it into a living sort of museum, I hear." Lavellan answered, quietly. 

"The vote for that is next tuesday, and I'll be there. Merrill's coming with me. Carver will be covering her shift though, sorry."

Lavellan just nodded, looking out the store front windows at the rain swept streets beyond. Lavellan often looked out the windows, a sort of dreaminess taking over their gaze. Maybe they liked being here, but it always seemed like there was someplace else calling to them. Tugging at their heart. Maybe it was just the journey, the winding road, that called to them. Hawke could understand that, better than they knew how to express, and often found their own gaze tugging south, to the home Fenris once asked them if they missed. And they did, they missed Fereldan terribly, and felt constantly guilty that nobody remained to tend to their father's grave. Kirkwall was their home now, as much a part of them as their hands. They breathed out in a great woosh of air, setting the towel back into the bin and washing their hands again. 

"Ah, here we go, finally something for you to busy yourself with," Lavellan said, teasing, as the door opened. 

Hawke wasn't sure if they'd ever been so happy to see Dorian and Cassandra before in their entire life. Sure they were friends, a bit, but today those rain gilded faces felt like salvation. Cassandra, as always, stomped to a booth near to the soda fountain, a smile and nod shared with Hawke and Lavellan each as she went by. Dorian made a great show of looking over the toppings board, crying out in dismay at Sera's special. 

"Fasta vass, hardboiled eggs, sausage, basil, and fresh tomatoes? What sort of combination is that?" He shouted towards the kitchens.

"It's breakfast!" Sera shrieked back.

In the same moment Dorian turned back to counter, an exaggerated roll to his eyes, a slice of tomato smacked right into his cheek. Sera cackled distantly, throwing her arms up and yelling out her victory. Dorian dramatically clutched at his face, yelling to high heavens about a fatal blow, tell his mother he loved her, as he slowly dropped to his knees. Cassandra laughed with some reserve from her seat, and Lavellan's shoulders were shaking as they tried to keep quiet. Hawke cackled loudly with Sera, grabbing a towel from the dispenser to hand to Dorian as he rose and approached the counter proper. He wiped at his face gratefully as Hawke disposed of the tomato slice. 

"Right well, two slices of pepperoni, pineapple, and extra cheese, please. Oh, and maybe a few of those delightful cinnamon coated breadsticks. Two drink cups as well, if it isn't any trouble." Dorian said, smoothing out the crinkled collar of his short sleeved, button up shirt, Cassandra nodded her approval and then returned her attention to the book in front of her. Hawke was still mildly surprised whenever the two of them came in together. They knew that the pair were friends, albeit ones who picked at each other every so often, but they could feel comfortable around one another, evidently having met in the same book club. 

"The club is coming by soon, Bull included," Dorian said casually as he handed over his card, "do prepare yourselves for the onslaught." 

Hawke nearly wept with relief for having something to finally do. 

Chapter Text

The dishpit at Piehold was small, two 'n a half sinks, a mostly automatic dishwasher, lots of shelves.

So on slow days it was fine, on slow days the kitchen could relax just a bit about their dishes. 

Until things go tits up and over, that is.

Fenris was choppin' away, earphones in as he worked at cutting mushrooms. Sera was manning the dishpit, shirt soaked and stained with sauce and grime and cheese from the water spraying back up at her. She didn't mind it. She'd rather be wet all over than just a little wet, the plasticky aprons they had for dishwashers to wear were older than she was, and were all cracked and thin where most peoples waists were from bein' tied over and over again. Which meant when you wore them now, you'd be dry everywhere 'cept right there. And right there happened to be crotch-region for most people. 

It got real chafey, real fast. 

So she worked in what she had, and didn't particularly care how much soaked through her clothes. Varric made some vague allusions to ordering new aprons when she told him why, but she was used to this now. 

Besides, that plastic shite was gross. 

Other than that working in the kitchens tended to be pretty mundane, boring, same thing every day. Wash those pans, wash these pans, bins next. Plates, glasses, pitchers, forks and knives too sometimes. Why would you eat pizza with those? Whatever, she thought, she didn't care. Just got antsy when she had to wait for them to finish running so she could wash somethin' else. Face guards might be nice, so that when she's washing out the bottles and pans the water can't shove itself up her nose when she sprays stuff at the wrong angle. 

Doesn't matter.

Case in fact, the kitchen was small, but it worked. It was cramped and hot, except when it was too cold, but it worked. It could... maybe stand to be a little bigger, just a tad. In some spaces she had to tilt sideways and squeeze through because of all the shelves and racks shoved into everything to put dishes on. Bull could barely fit in it at all, he made it a point to not pass through the kitchen unless absolutely necessary, in fact. Maybe if he lied down sideways in it he could reach either wall. She could almost touch the ceiling, if she jumped. Which Fenris would usually ask her not to do, cause it made things shake and that could make something fall and get someone hurt. He also told her not to climb up the shelves to put things away, but it took too long to go all the way downstairs and grab the ladder or stool. The chairs from some of the smaller tables out front might work, but most of the time they just skidded and slipped across the floor and made her feel like a hockey puck or somethin'. She asked Bull to put that stuff away for her sometimes, but he had to stay out front with the drivers more often than not, so she made do. Today was one of those days, he had a six hundred dollar delivery that was gonna require two drivers to deposit, plus three deliveries on campus to the frats, and a two pie order for Aveline's team at the rec center. He was busy, and she had things to do! Who even needs a ladder anyways. Sera clambered up the shelves, perched herself on the second or third one up, and began unloading meat pans at the top. All well and good.

Til suddenly there was some sorta creaking sound, and then something cracked.

She yelped as she teetered backwards, and had just barely enough time to jump down and smack her hands into the shelf to catch it before the whole thing toppled over and smooshed her into the one across from it. Fenris cursed, some Tevine phrase he usually reserved for when a new hire cut themselves bad, and rushed over to help her. Pans and bins and lids went scattering across the floor, and the shelf shivered and rocked in their grips as they sought to re-stabilize it. 

"PISS," she yelled, ducking as a stack of metal tins came crashing at her. 

It wasn't long then before Lavellan and Bull, and some bald feller who'd been hangin' about lately, came rushing in, the latter staying at the entry way and casting worried eyes about the scene. Bull swore and grumbled, and went to shoving the shelf back up against the wall. 

"The nails keeping it against the wall have ripped out..." Lavellan murmured, peeking at the damage from under his arm, "it's been unstable and rusting for a while, we probably should have found the time to replace those bearings..." they continued, tutting at it. 

"Are either of you hurt?" Lavellan asked, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pouting. They always wanted to blame themself when this sorta thing happened, it made Sera's stomach hurt. 

Fenris surveyed her, then the kitchen, "I think we're both fine," he said, wiping the back of his arm across his brow. Sera's palms felt sweaty, the skin there too tight. She muttered an apology, looking down at her mismatched boots and the yellow, polka dot socks beneath them. 

"No don't be Sera, they've been coming out for a while, Jospehine and I'd been holding out hope they'd stay put long enough for clean-up day next month. I'm sorry, we should have acted sooner. You could have been hurt, are you sure you're alright?" Lavellan asked, checking her hands and cheeks and being undeservedly fussy. "Go and get some water, both of you, Bull and I will clean up and finish prep." They decided, nodding to themself once and frowning at the wall for its betrayal. 

Bull squeezed into the kitchen, patting Sera on the arm as he went by, and began scooping up the fallen dishes and tossing them into the sink. The bald man at the door was still staring, his gaze darting about the kitchen, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. With a deep breath, he stepped out and returned to the papers and pie sitting at his table. Fenris led Sera out by the wrist, gently, and sat her down at the employee break booth in the far corner. He came back with two cups of water before she even properly registered he had walked away, and she avoided meeting Merrill's curious and worried face. 

"I didn't think you'd be heavy enough to pull it down, maybe we should stop buying you so many pies." He said, dry and even. 

"Can it, that was bad and you know it." Sera frowned down at the water cup in front of her, "how mad d'ya think Josie will be?" 

"Probably not at all, I doubt Lavellan would even give her the full details on it, if they thought it might get you into trouble. Right now I'm more worried about the foundation... if those cracks in the basement have made it up into the walls, then it could explain why the nails gave out so much sooner than we'd thought they would." He sat sideways in the bench, resting his legs across the length of it, one of his feet set to bobbing up and down with the music playing in the store. 

"...I'm sorry," she said again, wringing her fingers. 

"I know," he shrugged, "I'm not angry." 

His eyes were bright, vaguely amused, mostly worried. His posture was easy, loose, he held his water cup right at the rim with only two fingers and his thumb.
She believed him. 

"Well... okay..." 

Chapter Text

It was a cold, crisp morning as Vivienne De Fer made her way through the old, cobbled streets of Kirkwall. She owned a few successful, if small, tea and coffee shops, some boutiques, and a relatively well-known investors company. Her own businesses kept her busy enough, but what really required the most of her attention was her position as Kirkwall's City Treasurer. The Kirkwall economy was dismal, the fact that it could be survived was the best she could say about it. After her time as a banker reforming Ostwick's debt system, and then correcting the Montsimmard approach to small business lending, she had moved to Kirkwall for the prospect of a new challenge and cheap real estate. It was in desperate need of her help, and she was thankful for the chance and ability to do something to help people. Kirkwall, however, was set well within it's stagnation. She had made some progress in the Business Owner's Coalition, but could do more in politics, her degree from Ostwick's Circle University in political science would not go to waste. So, she had run for the position of Treasurer, and was doing everything she could to improve things from the ground up.

The sharp sound of her heels echoed down the streets, it was quiet this morning, puffs of smoke sailed high on the wind from chimneys. She looked down a street to her right as she grew closer to her destination, and smiled at the open doors of the Fereldan Food Bank. The Hawke family had helped to establish it, and she assisted them in keeping it running. And in opening seven other locations spread throughout Kirkwall's Lowtown. The eldest Hawke child, as loathe as they were to admit it, had a good sense for politics. They were charming, and offered a steady, reassuring presence. The title of "Champion" may be an heirloom of the ancient days of Thedas, but it remained an honor, and one Hawke had well earned. She did hope they would attend the next council meeting. Perhaps she'd need to ask them directly, however. 

The door to Piehold jangled as she pushed through it, breathing in the steep scent of ale and marinara. Many of Vivienne's colleagues were downright shocked she took her lunch here every day, most of them only left Hightown if absolutely necessary, and didn't understand the charm and comfort that cheap food, made with love, could really offer. She smiled to Lavellan, who waved gently to her before returning to the pie in front of them. Recently another gentlemen had taken to eating his lunches here as well, and she recognized him. Solas, one of the Evanuris family sons out of Tevinter. What stake he had in Kirkwall she did not know, but she had no doubt he was here for the Marcher Anniversary Conference in a few weeks, during which time most of the cities elite and business owners would convene to discuss re-zoning of some of Kirkwall's oldest districts. There was something to be said for pride in ones history, but it did tend to be... over zealous, in Kirkwall. Hightown wanted to tear out most of Darktown, replace it with tourist destinations and high rise condominiums against the coast line for their out-of-city friends to summer in. At current, Vivienne was not certain which plan she favoured. New construction projects could prove most beneficial for Kirkwall's economy, but it could be short lived. There were very few investors in the idea so far, and she could not condone destruction that did not provide permanent and total benefit. To destroy so much of Darktown would upset the balance the impoverished who lived there worked so desperately to achieve. Furthermore, much of the homeless population in Kirkwall lived within those decrepit buildings and ruined waterways. Until the Viscount and Council approved her and Hawke's plan to offer new, sustainable housing for them, she would not be able to agree to the plan. 

Her position as Treasurer, thankfully, meant she had a great deal of sway over such endeavors. 
She would still need to win the Neighborhood Districts Manager over to her side... 

Vivienne shrugged off her overcoat, folding it before she set it gently on the bench of her favourite booth. 

What has Sera come up with for this week?  She wondered, approaching the counter to read over the specials board. 

Bacon, smoked gouda, goats cheese, caramelized onions, and apples. That sounds almost ghastly. 

Apples? Sera has, as usual, doodled the toppings of the pizza along the sides of the board. It would seem the chalk markers she usually uses are running dry, Vivienne will have to quietly purchase her a new set. She's given one of the apples in a lower corner a little face with wiry arms and legs, and it smiles out at Vivienne merry and colourful. Vivienne feels a gentle tug to her lips creeping upon her own face, and hums. Sera would seem, perhaps, to the casual outside observer, to be one of Vivienne's least favoured people. In reality, the young woman reminded her of many of the students she would help with financial aid at the Ostwick college, and frankly, Kirkwall could use the impatience and blunt-edge of Sera's temper. She was bright, and possessed a wealth of conviction. Her graffiti tended to be as bright and chaotic as her pizza displays, and filled Vivienne with a steady amusement. Besides, they had fun teasing each other, and it made Vivienne feel at home in this city.

Apples and bacon on pizza... ridiculous... She'll be trying it immediately, of course. 

"A personal special please, my dear." She says, as Lavellan wipes their hands against their apron and taps the register screen awake.

"Certainly, Vivienne, is there anything else you need this morning?" 

"No, thank you, please keep the change." Vivenne answers smoothly, handing the general manager a twenty with a delicate hand.

As always, they ask if she is certain. As always, she is, and they tell her she is too generous. So she assures them it is no trouble, and drops another bill in the tip jar when they turn around. 
She grabs herself a water cup from beside the drink fountain, as well as several napkins and fork and knife. She looks out the window, sighing at the chilled mist rolling through the streets, now. 

So much to do in Kirkwall, perhaps she should bring Sera to the conference, if only to distract the less equitable sorts while she gathered allies. 

So much to do, and so many people who do not have the means to wait for much longer. 

Vivienne De Fer will not fail them. 

Chapter Text

It was an early, foggy morning. The wind was gently pushing through the misty streets of Kirkwall, the humidity not quite slipping up yet from the coast. Lavellan took in a deep breath, savouring the gentle chill that worked its way through their throat. Kirkwall rarely got very cold, just far south enough to find itself frosty in the late winter, but not far north enough to remain temperate. The salt from the sea and the humidity that coupled it ensured things never turned much colder than that. They hummed, shooting their gaze up to the cloudy sky, thinking on the rain it promised, and where their clan would be about this time of year. 

A high, bell like voice called out from behind them, "Good morning!" 

"Good morning, Bethany. How are you?" They asked, setting to unlocking the door. 

The young woman hustled over, boots gently crunching against the cracked sidewalk has she came. Her tousled hair bounced with every step, rosy cheeks all perked and pretty as she smiled at them. She reached over, taking their coffee cup from them so they could push the door open and rush to the alarm in the back. 

"Just fine, it's been a while since I've been over here. Was it Zevran or Merrill today?" 

"Merrill, Zevran works the bar today."

Bethany tutted, flicking on the lights while Lavellan began setting stools down around their respective tables. A few moments of silence and Bethany reappeared beside them, passing them an apron and laying her scarf atop the break table. She was an easy person to smile at, Lavellan thought. Carver was too, when he wasn't trying to argue with anybody, but he always seemed a little socially uncomfortable. 

"I'll visit her later, bring her some soup," she said quietly, pinning up her hair. 

Lavellan commended her kindness with a gentle squeeze on the arm, before turning their attention to the rest of their opening duties. A few minutes in, Bethany yelled a reminder to clock on, laughing as they scrambled over to the computer. Things then turned into the steady, simple rhythm of setting up for the day. It could be monotonous, at times, a constant drone that left them alone with too many thoughts. Too much time to think them. Still, it kept their hands busy, and for the most part it was calm. The foundation was falling apart though, and the most recent crack in the basement seemed an omen. More and more things had begun to fall apart, and the intensity with which the FoH worked was finally understandable. It can be difficult moving calmly with the building you're in trying its best to fall apart. 

Fenris shuffled in through the driver entrance door, kicking mud from his boots against the frame as he did. The dark ball cap he flung off of his head and onto the break table trailed a surprising amount of water against the floor while he shucked off his jacket. At their reproachful expression, he laughed and began shaking his hair out towards them. 

"You better not get this cookie dough wet, Fenris." 

His throaty chuckle and smirk had them rolling their eyes, but he promised to mop up before opening. A few minutes later Sera kicked her way in, setting an energy drink down and groaning loudly. 

"Why's it always got to start raining right as I'm leaving? How come it doesn't rain on you?" She griped, flinging a wet, accusatory finger at Lavellan. 

"Ancient Dalish Magic," Lavellan replied, trying not to laugh.

"Ugh! Don't start, I'm not falling for that again."

Lavellan laughed, Sera sticking her tongue out at them before moving into the kitchen. No, even on the slow days, this was better. There was so much energy in Piehold, it always felt so much closer than their work before. They loved the wilderness, they didn't think that could change, but wildland search and rescue was hardly a kind job. They knew, everyone warned them, that it would be hard work. That most of the people you found would likely not be breathing, if you found them at all. Still, it felt like a calling, asking those questions and making those journeys. Eventually, though, you become tired of all the sorrow, and the world begins to push away from you. The trees stop feeling like trees, the canopy of leaves close in like a tomb

Pizza was much kinder. 
Despite the ovens.
And Bull making fun of them for being short enough to get so many burns. 

An hour into opening, Bethany working steadily on the pans of large pies, everything was on time. Bull came in to check on any deliveries for the day and to review some applications, and it seemed like Fenris and Sera might finish prep early. 

Then, the most vicious sound Lavellan had ever heard in Piehold before rang out, completely drowning out any other sound in the restaurant. Bethany let out a startled shout, jumping back and away from the dough roller as it began to groan on itself. The sound wasn't wholly unlike the day one of the delivery cars backfired, the awful whine and twisting screech of the metal ringing in their ears as they made their way hurriedly to the machine. With a rising pitch and keen, the roller began to shake in violent tremors. Bethany had frozen entirely after stumbling back a few more paces, and as the roller began to rock itself backwards and forwards with the force of it's own breakdown, strange clicking sounds began to emanate from its space. Just as Lavellan was reaching down to unplug it from the wall, the plug sparked horribly, small embers shooting into the scrap bin below it. They managed to yank the plug from the socket, a horrible biting sensation snaking through their fingers as they did so. Horrifyingly the flour in the bin had ignited, and was beginning to smoke up and smolder from below the hummer cabinet. 

Kicking it out as they jumped up, they shouted to Bull - but he was already on his way with the fire extinguisher. The flames suffocated easily enough, although the smell was horrible. Worry set in, the roller was shot, and the socket on the wall would need to be deactivated while everything was figured out. A deep breath generally helped settle their nerves, but the stench of burning flour clogged in their throat like a physical block. 

"Bethany," they said softly, clearing their throat as they turned, "are you alright? Are you injured?" 

"I'm fine... that just scared me. That was awful, what even happened to it?" She asked, dusting her shaking, flour-coated hands off on her apron. 

"I'm not sure, I'll need to take it apart." 

"Are you okay, Boss?" Bull asked, setting the extinguisher atop the counter with a tinny thunk. 

Lavellan flexed their hand, it was tingling a bit, a little sore. Nothing permanent, they figured, and certainly not anything pressing enough to take their mind away from the dough roller. They glanced to the single set time of the day, the pretty blue ticket swaying mildly from the air of the heater. Fenris and Sera were poised at the opposite end of the line, past the ovens. Sera looked like she'd seen a ghost for how pale her face had gone, and Fenris' brooding frown was out in full force. Lavellan forced a smile to their face, a laugh to their voice, as they waved their hand and called out.

"We're alright over here, but we won't be able to do much today, I'm afraid. Fenris would you give Isabella a call, ask her to put out the word that we won't be opening until otherwise announced? Sera I'm putting you in charge of packing up the desserts that have already been made, so we can take them downtown," more quietly, they turned to Bull, "will you take the pans of dough we've already finished there, as well? I'm not sure how long this will take to fix and I'd like to avoid anything going to waste. I need to call Josephine and Warden... Bethany, go sit down for a little while, drink some water. I'll probably be sending you home soon." 

"I'm alright, I'll help Sera," she insisted, turning on a heel with a single lingering look of disdain for the traitorous machine. 

Bull tapped it with a knuckle, frowning at it, and then up at the hood as it dinged against his horns. They laid a hand upon the metal, surprised by how warm it was. Packing up the scraps and dough that would not go to use today, they decided to wait for the machine to cool down before they touched it again. Their hand continued to shoot through with little, tingling jolts that they could feel down to their elbow, a strange flicker in their skin. 

"A lot of the stuff in this place is well in need of an upgrade, anyways. You can slap some grease in there, shine it up all pretty, but it's an old machine. Been here since before the place was Piehold, from what Red's told me. We should just get a new one, maybe one you can actually see over," he said smoothly, nudging them in the shoulder. 

All Lavellan could do was hum in response, walking to the phones, and flexing their still jittery fingers.