Author's Note:
I blame this on binge watching Master of None with Aziz Ansari (hiiiiiighly recommend) and re-watching Obvious Child (Jenny Slate is a Goddess). This is my first, SI MI PRIMERO, Dragon Age Fic. So, that means, take it easy on me! I've got tender soft baby writer skin for confidence! I really want to focus on the importance of platonic love, chosen family, and the plain shenanigans of trying to be an "adult" when you still feel like a wee child in the world but you have a business card.
I do love feedback and even suggestions for how you think things should go or what you would want more of. For me, AU's are fun because it brings freshness to the characters and themes we love. And I'm a sucker for the modern disillusioned romcom, no shame in my game.
I've also posted this on archive of our own if you would rather check it out there: /works/5235920/chapters/12076358
The song here is Busta Rhymes, Gimme Some More, off the album: E.L.E. (Extinction Level Event): The Final World Front. Now that's a title.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, or Busta Rhyme's Discography.
It was one of those days where after hitting the snooze button ten times, you might as well just turn the alarm clock off and have a late morning, or in Afie's current case, a late night.
The elven woman in bed was hungover, again. If she didn't live in a glorified cement hole she might be worried about disturbing her neighbors with the constant alarm siren, but then on second thought, she wouldn't have cared even if someone was lying right beside her. The amount of scotch she had consumed the night before had robbed her of both her sense of timeliness and compassion.
She had been in Kirkwall only two months, but most of her nights had involved some type of libation, whether alone or with others. It was her way of not completely focusing on the existential crisis that had overtaken her. Her apartment was now a perfect representation of said crisis. Afie's past apartments had been spotless, but now her place had glasses left on every surface and cigarette butts crammed in anything with an opening. Afie Surana had fallen far when it came to home decor; in two months she had gone from elegant rustic to minimalist squatter's den.
Her apartment was an actual studio, with no repurposed beams or power washed exposed brick. She used to have an apartment right on the river in Val Royeaux, with white floor to ceiling windows and a wrought iron balcony. This place wasn't all bad; it had a certain brutalist industrial quality that any dystopian cyberpunk fan would appreciate. It even had beautiful solarium windows along the back wall though there were no windows anywhere else. The very pretty windows were a pain when it rained, which in Kirkwall was more frequent then not, but the sound of water dripping into buckets had become soothing to her.
She cracked an eye open to see the alarm read 4:00 PM. "Fuck," she swore, scrambling out of piles of blankets to run towards the shower. She realized right before entering the bathroom that there was no time for water to hit her body. She spun on her heels to practically leap at her dirty clothes bin and grab the clothes on top of the pile. Her nose gave them a quick once over; they smelt like cigarettes and sweat that was likely not her own, it would do just fine for where she was going. In fact, she knew Varric would prefer her outfit today. He often told she was the most finely dressed and coiffed bartender he'd ever employed, and to dial it back. The "I woke up like this" unkempt and grungy look was more edgy and in line with the unofficial uniform.
She got herself in front of the bathroom sink and decided not to wash her face. Her makeup from last night had actually stayed put, cat eyes and all, so she might as well work with it. She took a hand towel with water and fixed up where it had smeared while sleeping headfirst in her pillow. She sighed in aggravation realizing her white satin pillows were now probably covered in makeup. Afie used to be able to have nice things, but two months in Kirkwall had made her a destructive force towards all things expensive and delicate.
Her foundation would cover up the tired bags under her eyes, and the hickey that had still not receded from a couple nights ago. Antivan men love to leave a mark. She didn't need any questions about her love life from her co-workers or the patrons. They were already far too curious as it was. She had the whole mysterious newcomer thing going on already since she refused to answer any questions about her past. She had dealt with far too many older elves, both at work or even just in her local grocery line, asking if they could set her up with someone. They all said things along the lines of a pretty girl like you should have a steady man. She didn't need any help finding a man, there were men aplenty in her line of work and in line for her, and to her preference there was nothing steady about them.
She felt her stomach grumble with hunger, but she knew she had no food in her stomach or in her place. The leftover building like stack of Thai food boxes on her kitchen counter spoke to her lack of groceries. She peered into the takeout boxes to see if there was even a half a roll to stuff in her mouth, but her shame was met with nada. She grabbed her ox blood leather jacket hanging on the front door and her messenger bag on the armchair. Her look had never really included wearing a leather jacket or even jeans every day, but riding a bike necessitated it. She had friends who could ride a bike in a sundress and flip flops, but she wasn't that confident in her biking abilities, especially since she couldn't shake the Orlesian habit of doing everything while smoking.
Her bike was waiting for her outside, a small pink road bike that her self-proclaimed bike expert of a friend had found for her. The hot pink had thrown her off at first, she was not a pastels type of girl, but she fell in love anyway and dubbed it Bubblegum. In a whiskey and blunt induced stupor she had let Harding, her new probably too young for her co-worker and friend, dye her hair pink to match the bike. It didn't look bad on her, it was less hot pink and more pastel, but shit wasn't she too old to have crazy colored hair?
She grabbed a spliff from the front pocket of her jacket, and took a long drag. She was probably also too old to get high before work, but it wasn't like a real high, she could get the same feeling from spinning around to hit a piñata. She had become pretty skilled at riding her bike with one hand, while the other held something smoking, whether a cigarette or a coffee cup. Afie didn't care about the time crunch, she needed to smoke this before entering the bar otherwise she would puke at the first scent of alcohol she served. It would be better for the general public if she was a wee bit sedated. She could bike just as fast with one hand anyway, that is if she skipped a couple if not every red light in her commute.
She was still getting used to biking in Kirkwall; one couldn't help but feel they were taking their life in their hands each time, but it was the best way to get around. In Val Royeaux, she had taken a taxi to work or a very clean metro, but she didn't have the funds for either currently. If she did ride a bike in Val Royeaux it was on beautiful flower lined bike paths set aside from actual traffic. Bubblegum had been a great way to discover the city and enjoy the sights, even if it involved cranky Kirkwall drivers. She sped off towards downtown; her headphones turned to full volume. She could make it right on time to the bar if there was no construction in her way.
Y'all knife ears had enough?
Gimme some more
The wind on her face cooled her aching temples and with a swallow she regretfully realized her teeth felt like they were covered in a thick film. Afie Surana knew she had truly fallen from grace at that moment. She had gone from never forgetting a monthly teeth whitening to not even prioritizing brushing them.
Y'all knife ears want the wild shit?
Gimme some more
She had entered one of the main downtown intersections when it happened. There she was feeling like she was flying down the bike lane and not hearing a damn thing with music blasting in her ears, when she hit something very bone shatteringly solid. Her eyes went black for a second; an explosion of pain met with a cool numbness swept over her. When she came back to the world of the living, she was being held up by a man as though she was a fainting woman in a silent film. She spotted Bubblegum below her, bent and broken on the ground. Her mind was back in focus and it screamed CAR DOOR.
It was a car door; some damned idiot had opened his door while she was coming down the lane! She hit it full force and now her ears were ringing and her adrenaline was shooting out of her in flames. She realized that the idiot in question was holding her up, and with all of her shock and adrenaline she yanked herself out of his very warm and strong arms.
"You fucking arsehole!" she screamed, looking at her bike in horror. "You can't just open your damn door in the lane! You could have kill someone!..Me!...You killed bubblegum!" She knew every point she made, and yes including accusing someone of murdering a bike, was completely justified. The way she saw it she had hit her head really fucking hard, so language choie be damned. She yanked her headphones off that had stayed on by some Andrastian miracle. They were still playing music.
Everybody spread love
Gimme some more
The man's face went from worry and concern to utter bewilderment and indignation. "Excuse me? Your headphones were blaring, I can hear them now! You're not even wearing a helmet! You seem to want get yourself killed biking with one hand and smoking a cigarette! And my child is in the car, please mind your mouth."
Afie held back a snarl, this guy was a real dickhead, but he actually looked familiar. That face and his voice were so recognizable to her, but in her fury, she pushed it far away. He looks like an L.L Bean model that must be why I recognize him. He's got the perfectly clean flannel shirt and leather chukka boots and the practical faux rugged jacket. Generic wanna be carpenter or lumberjack or whatever fucking good looking bastard.
"Mind my mouth? Mind my fucking mouth? You nearly kill someone and you are concerned your child may hear, oh dearest most gentle Maker, some bad language? Go take Driver's Ed after you leave your PTA meeting or wherever the hell you are going that is so important!" She held her cigarette in a clenched fist, and considered trying to salvage it because Maker did she need more of it, but chose to throw it on the ground to stamp out with her foot.
"You're littering," the man said with complete seriousness.
Afie was done. This guy was just another urban yuppie who thought the world revolved around them and their kid's organic lunches and everyone gets an award dance recitals. He also was what Afie had come to know as the HotYoungDad. He was tall, muscular, broad shouldered, and had a chiseled jaw with the perfect amount of stubble. His accent said Ferelden, and that with the full bodied blonde hair and non-ruddy but still light beige complexion, pegged him as one easily. She went to school with many privileged Ferelden men and he would have fit right in with them. It was a bit of a leap, but his dad handsomeness combined with his lack of concern for bike regulations had Afie concluding this man was the worst person in the whole entire world. He cared more about littering than killing someone. He was that guy. The guy who would send a latte back if it didn't have enough foam…that fucking guy.
After stewing in her HotYoungDad hatred, a frenzied panic took hold of her. Work! I have to get to the bar I'm going to be so late! She grabbed her bike from the ground but it was in no state to be ridden. She mournfully stared at Bubblegum like a fallen comrade before dropping it back on the ground to sprint to the nearest subway opening. She could hear the man calling her, and it almost sounded like he was saying her name, but she ran down the subway steps without turning her head.
When she got onto the subway car, she realized blood was trickling down her face. She was more banged up than she had initially realized. While a few people looked to her in concern, no one had yet to make a comment, probably because she was doing her best to look unapproachable. She wished she had been born with chronic bitch face, but she been cursed with the opposite, a chronic cute face. She had these damn dimples and big brown eyes that just made her face scream I'm a harmless little woodland critter, come talk to me! If there was something to get used to in Kirkwall it was the friendliness of strangers. She was more used to an urban populace that would walk over or even step on a dying man if he was in their path. In terms of social faux paws, it was worse to be late to the Opera than to have blood on your shoes.
She felt a scream worthy pain in her left arm. Damn it! I have to go to the hospital. She got out her phone and texted Varric, taking a selfie to go with her message. She was happy, because she possessed a sick sense of humor, that the photo showed a clear blood trail from her forehead down to her chin.
A: Yup, it happened, got into my first bike accident. A very HotEvilDad almost killed me opening his door in the bike lane. Can I go to the hospital, please boss?
The "please" was a joke, but Varric's message came back immediately.
V: Holy shit what a maniac! Go to the hospital and please tell me you got the asshole's license plate? Do you want to come here first and get a ride?
She texted him back that sadly she hadn't gotten down the plate. She did remember his car though, it was a silver mini-van. She let Varric know that she would get there fine by subway, He started texting her all sorts of messages about coming over and calling friends who would find the creep…it was too much to handle and she ignored them. After several stops she got off and started the ften minute walk down the block to Kirkwall Medical. She texted while she walked, which she knew was stupid considering what multitasking while traveling had just gotten her into.
A: Tabris, my Taby-cakes, I am going into Kirkwall Medical, free for dinner in two hours?
T: I'm actually not there today, but why you are at one of my places of work and not say your place of work…where you should be working. I was going to visit you later for a free drink or three.
A: Don't be too alarmed but I hit a car or it hit me either way I'm banged up a bit.
T:…
A: People generally don't like blood and asphalt in their beverages, no matter how cute I might be.
T: WHAT?
Her new like in Kirkwall had its up and downs but now it had finally drawn blood.
Thoughts?
And yes, I did actually take the slur knife ears in this story and use it as a sort of reclaimed slur. Yup. Where fantasy and my work as a critical race scholar come together to be really corny.
Fun Fact: Bubblegum is actually a cameo, from my bike, that has never been destroyed by poor bike lane etiquette. It is actually a bike specifically for petite women, it's not only short height wise but length wise and with the handlebars (closer together then regular bikes). I also have had this happen to friends riding in urban areas. Watch out folks!