I tapped my finger impatiently against the side of the monitor, belying the aggravation behind the false grin plastered across my face. Maker's breath, I thought to myself. I had made the call to manchester for a simple price check five sodding minutes ago. How long does it take to double check an SPL ticket? I started with a jolt. Maker's breath? I was using swears from video game lore now? Man, I think I've been playing World of Thedas too much lately, thought with chagrin and grimaced inwardly.

I was always the obsessive kind, and World of Thedas had become my most recent obsession. Over the past few weeks I had clocked in an embarrassingly high number of hours playing. Not that I would ever admit that it was embarrassingly large, of course. Besides, it was holiday time, and other than working I didn't have much to do. All of my friends had gone back home to visit their families, or were too busy hanging out with each-other to spend time with me.

So after work, I would grab a blanket and wrap myself up in a cocoon in front of the computer and spend hours upon hours minmaxing and reading up on lore. In retrospect, I think I actually spent more time reading up about the game than actually playing. And apparently, I'd even taken up swearing like the characters do in-game.
I snorted and the customer raised an eyebrow questioningly. Or was it, in inquisition?

I fumbled around words, mumbling something about how a large department store like ours was the epitome of a bureaucracy, and nothing could ever be done simply. My explanation seemed to assuage the customer, and I went back to tapping the side of the monitor whilst awaiting a return call from the manchester department. There was quite a queue starting to form behind the customer I was serving, because the higher-ups, in their infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be a good way to cut costs by having a limited number of staff on, despite the fact that it was one of the busiest times in our week.

Protocol demanded that I calmly and politely ask the customer to step aside so that I may serve someone else while waiting for manchester to get their nug-humping shit together, but protocol be damned to the blasted void. I was supposed to have clocked off fifteen rutting minutes ago, but my replacement had still yet to arrive. I wanted to go home, have a shower, maybe a decent meal of something other than corn chips and salsa for once, and change out of my wholly unflattering work uniform. Preferably in that order, too.

But Andraste's grace was not with me today, it seemed.

I opened my mouth to apologise for what seemed the umpteenth time to the customer in front of me, but was rudely interrupted by a horrible, blaring "blargh" sound that signified that someone was attempting to call my register. I noticed before I picked up that it wasn't manchester calling me, but the homewares manager.

"Register 3," I said in my most appropriately asinine tone.
"Yeah, it turns out that those sheets are from last year's stock. Just give 'em to the customer for $10 or so. Reason code 6," came a brusque voice before hanging up.
A truly genuine smile came upon my face because finally, the Maker had heard me, and finally the situation had been resolved. I explained the resolution to the customer, facilitated the rest of the transaction, and was about to sign off when my phone blared again. I furrowed my brow in consternation before picking up. The supervisor on shift always scared me a little, and judging by the fact that it was now eighteen minutes past the end of my shift, I figured that no good could come of this conversation.
"Marian," came the slightly distorted but still vaguely disapproving voice. "Grace just called and said she missed her bus so she'll be about half an hour late. You mind finishing up the rest of the hour?"

Did I mind? Did I mind? I had a raid to get to! It was the first time that my guild was going to attempt the new tier's content! I had stayed up until odd hours of the morning, and the scant few minutes of my break, reading up on the encounters. Andraste's overgrown armpit hair, I minded!

"No, it's okay," my traitorous mouth lied.

I looked at the time on the voice-over-IP phone dock. Thirty-nine minutes to go. I can do this. Having worked at the aforementioned department store for nearly two years, I had long since figured out that it took, on average, three minutes to serve each customer. That meant that I had approximately thirteen more customers to serve.
Customers one and two were served without too much fuss. Then customer three came along with the testers from the cosmetics department and I had to reach for the the much aggrieved phone. Again.

I attempted to call the representative from the cosmetics department. No answer. I attempted to call the representative from the nearby ladies wear department. No answer still. I took a deep breath, attempted to smile towards the customer in a consolatory fashion, but it just ended up as a grimace, and called my supervisor. I can't do this.
"Hey, could you please page someone from cosmetics for me?"

After a brief game of phone tag with the cosmetics department, customer three was served. Then customer four was the type that I dreaded most. Teenagers. I barely suppressed a shudder.

Blergh went the phone. My supervisor told me to go down to the lay-by department to take their half-hour break, which would mean that I would be finishing ten more minutes later than the hour that I was asked to stay behind for. One again, my mouth betrayed me, and my response was a docile "sure".

At this rate, judging by how my day was going thus far, I would also end up missing my bus and therefore be late to the raid. Andaste's dimpled butt cheeks. I wished that whoever thought up the concept of layby-ing items would choke on a bronto cock. I snorted at that mental image and a little girl who I was passing looked at me strangely.

"Mommy," she began to innocently inquire. "What's a bronto cock?"

I picked up my pace before my blighted day could get any worse, strutting my way across the store. Of course, according to murphy's law, I encountered two customers who needed help finding their way around before finally making my way to my destination. I nodded to my friend behind the lay-by counter, mumbled about how I was there to take their break, and made a dash for the area at the back to hide from any potential customers.

Once safe from prying eyes, and glancing around to ensure that I was alone, I pulled my phone out of my bra "pocket". I glared at it when I saw that it was oscillating between no signal and one bar, and prayed to the Maker that my text would go through.

omg, my text began. having literally the worst day at work. Probably going 2 b late 4 raid.
And Maker's breath, go through it did. Even the response from Varric, our raid leader, came through too.

It's okay, Hawke, the reply began. Ever since Varric found out that my surname was Hawke that was what he called me, even when all my other guild mates just used my character name "Kirkwallchamp." It was a homage to my favorite wallop team. Lame, I know, but I was never very good at making up character names.

Jnr. said that he couldn't make it either, so we'll need to pick up another anyways.

I groaned and banged my head on the wrapping bench in front of me. My brother and I never really saw eye-to-eye, but Maker's breath, could he game. I gave up the number of times that Carver had carried us through a boss encounter. Whenever we had to ask for some random player to replace him, it never ended up well.

My shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. Sod customers. Sod my colleagues. Sod everything about Maker forsaken sodding retail work. I just wanted to go home and unwind and maybe poke fun of Aveline's quaint dating traditions, maybe shamelessly flirt with 'Bela. Blast it all into the void.

That's how my friend found me when they came back from their break, a few minutes early. Shamelessly sobbing into my arms behind the back of Layby, mumbling eccentric obscenities about brontos and nugs. I was so deeply wallowing in self-pity that I nearly missed the magic words "… said you can go now."

My reaction was almost comical, in a way. I instantly stopped sobbing and perked up, pumping my fist into the air, a huge shit-eating grin on my face. Things were finally starting to look up for me at last. Or at least they were, until I stopped by the break room and saw that the vending machine was out of order.

My one desire, okay, one of my immediate desires, was for a caffeine and sugar hit before braving public transport. I sighed deeply and grumbled and groused all the way through collecting my belongings and walking towards the bus stop. It seemed that the Maker had finally taken some pity on me as the bus did not arrive late, nor did it arrive early. It arrived precisely when it was meant to.

However this meant that I had to look like a deranged lunatic and make a mad last-minute sprint towards the closing doors of the bus.

"Hold up," I breathlessly shouted, winded from the exertion of the only time I had physically exerted myself that week. It seemed that the man getting on the bus at the time had heard me, as the doors of the bus reopened to grant me passage.

I nodded at the bus driver in thanks while I dredged around in my backpack adorned with nerdy patches and badges for my wallet, and I spared a glance for the magnanimous soul who prevented me from missing the bus. My cursory appraisal of him revealed that he was culturing the "carefully unkempt" look, complete with scraggly stubble.

In retrospect, he was kinda cute, but I was too preoccupied to appreciate him fully.

"Thanks," I huffed out, still winded from what felt like an olympic hundred metre dash. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he nodded his response.

I lurched when the bus pulled forward, and ended up toppling over and falling face first into his chest. My eyes bugged out a bit when I felt the way in which his chest was corded with wiry muscle, but it was mostly due to the embarrassment of invading his personal space in such an intimate manner.

I mumbled an apology and scampered to one of the only free seats at the back of the bus. Much to my chagrin, my saviour-turned-tormentor followed, and sat beside me. He offered me his hand in greeting.
"Strider."

"S-so-sorry?" I oh-so-eloquently stuttered. I could feel my cheeks heating as they flushed with embarrassment. Andraste's floral shampoo, I swear I've never had such an embarrassing day in my life before.

"I'm Strider," he helpfully clarified for me.
"Oh," was my articulated response. He gazed intensely at me for a moment and I was temporarily mesmerised by the depths of his limpid cerulean pools before I remembered my manners.
"I'm Marian," I supplied lamely, gesturing at my name-tag awkwardly emblazoned across the breast of my work shirt.

"Thanks again for, you know, helping me with the bus."

"Sure."

"Hey, uh, sorry to be rude, but I need to make a few texts. But… thanks again, I guess."

I then devoted myself to my phone, partially to ignore the way that his thigh was casually pressed against mine and the way that the heat pooled in my belly.

Guess who's finally on her way home? This girl, was my first text to Varric.

How goes the search for pugs? I sent as an afterthought.

Good to hear. I was about to send out a search party. Still one short, was his response. Search party? Even though he lived on the opposite coast from me, I didn't doubt that he was actually capable of sending one out for me. Varric seemed to have a remarkably complex, and extended, web of connections. At times I joked with him about the reason for it being that he was in the mafia. At times he jokingly responded that it was true. At least, I think it was in jest.

Do I have time to grab dinner? Or will I have to subsist on partially-hydrogenated carbohydrates?
Grab some proper food. It wouldn't do to lose our off-tank due to malnourishment. We'll wait.
I was so enraptured in my conversation with Varric that I never noticed the lack of pressure on my thigh until I got up to get off the bus.

Huh, I thought to myself. Strider must have gotten off already. I snorted a little immaturely at that. I wouldn't have minded exchanging contact details to actually get him off.

I power walked from the bus stop to my apartment complex and started tapping my foot impatiently when the elevator wasn't automagically at the ground floor. When it finally arrived and the doors opened, my stomach let out a shamefully loud growl. The man that I recognised as one of my neighbours, Cullen, I think his name was, raised an amused eyebrow and I shrugged in chagrin.

As he stepped out, I was stepping in, and I accidentally brushed his rear-end with one of my hands.

"Sorry," we both said at the same time.

"No, it was my fault," I mumbled, not looking him in the eyes. But the elevator doors closed before he could respond.

I could swear that I had accidentally stepped into a wormhole in the space-time continuum because of how awkwardly long the elevator ride to my floor seemed. It was even more uncomfortable than the elevator rides in the game Majority Impact. My stomach was grumbling almost continuously now, and I was grateful that I was the only one in the elevator.

Once I reached my floor, I all but sprinted through the hallway to my apartment and fumbled with my keys before managing to successfully unlock the door. If I was in a better mood I would have found my inability to "stick it in" amusing. I didn't bother to kick off my shoes before I rushed into the kitchen, filled up the kettle and set it boiling.

I didn't have the patience to deal with anything that actually required preparation, so it was ramen noodles for the nth night in a row. I quickly sculled a glass of water to try and take the edge off of my hunger, and nearly dropped my glass when my phone went off and startled me.

Operation: Hard in Hightown is a go, was the cryptic message.

Hard in Hightown? Wait, what?

Colour me confuzzled, was my reply.

Wicked Grace has an operation in place to be the best wingmen ever and get you laid.

Fill me in on the details over mumble, I'll be on in a sec.

I barely waited for my noodles to cook properly before snarfing them down, the scalding hot water burning my tongue and throat. The empty carbohydrates did nothing to assuage my hunger, and I resigned myself to needing to break out the corn chips and salsa later. I was feeling so sorry for myself that I even pulled out a bag of sour gummy worms and pulled my "rainy day" vodka out of the freezer before trudging along like a woman on a mission to the computer.