"Hawke!" Anders' deep voice roared from the kitchens.
Marian visibly jumped, sending order forms fluttering from her binders and landing on the flour-dusted floor. There was a clatter of trays, and the dramatic stomp of Anders' booted feet began to grow louder as he made his way towards the front shop.
"Oh God," she cringed, stooping to collect her fallen papers, "please don't tell me they've been at it again this morning?" Marian cringed and did her best to hide herself behind Isabela's tiny-waisted body. Her cinched red apron not helping Marian's cause in the slightest.
"Oh sweetheart, do they ever stop?" The traitorous woman laughed, leaning the curve of her hip against the register, and deliberately making herself impossible to hide behind.
"The sexual tension between those boys is thick like… like, like fucking bread dough, I don't know bakery similes. The point is, one day we'll arrive and they'll be licking frosting off of one another," her eyes brightened with unrepentant glee, "We need to hold a work party. With alcohol!"
"Not now Isabela," Marian shushed from behind a cheerful looking standing sign. 'Bianca's' curled in elegant red lettering above a lace-fringed frosted cupcake.
She heard his thudding footfalls crescendo before she peeked over the ridge of the sign to see his stubbled face, flushed an angry red, "Hawke."
"Oh darnit," she sighed, straightening up from her hiding place, "yes Anders?"
Anders' sleeves were rolled up to just above the elbow, his sinewy forearms clenching and unclenching at his sides, framing the colourful splotches of icing that spotted the front of his white uniform.
"I can't do it Hawke. I can't work with that… that-" Anders took a deep breath that did nothing to calm him, "that animal that insults my craft by calling himself a baker!"
"What did he too this time?"
"He moved everything! I had made up three batters this morning. I got here early-" Anders was pacing now, more flower puffing off of his uniform in clouds to settle on the floor, "-and I worked very hard. You know I work very hard! I always do. And he moved all my things and now I don't know which one is which, and I am going to have to start again from scratch! And he took the good mixer when he knows I need it for the Fischer's wedding cake order at three."
"Did you taste them?"
"I- what?"
"You know, the batters. Taste them? If they are different then taste them."
-Anders was good at what he did. He was the best. Customers flocked for miles for his cakes and pastries. It's magic. So even though he could be high maintenance, and illogical at times, they really did need him.
The problem was, Fenris was the best at bread. No compromise. So it fell to Marian to mediate so she could have both of their brilliances in her store. Maybe there was something to that frosting licking idea. Ugh, actually no. Just no. And certainly not in the kitchen where food happens.-
"I suppose I could do that," Anders muttered darkly, nostrils flaring, "but Hawke, it's the principles of the matter! I have the right to a harassment free workplace! I do not need this stress. You promised this would stop happening."
Having burnt himself out sufficiently, Anders slumped against the counter, and Isabela moved in to give his shoulders as reassuring a squeeze as she could manage while stifling her chuckles.
"I'll talk to him about the mixer, Anders. Will the batters be alright?"
Anders nodded forlornly, and Marian let herself wander back towards the kitchen. She found Fenris at his usual workstation, kneading dough with unnecessary force.
"Fenris?"
"I moved his things because they were everywhere," he said shortly, throwing a handful of grains into the mix.
"He didn't leave them on your bench again, did he?"
"He did. He is a slovenly pig. I do not know why you keep him hired. I need a clean work environment or I cannot bake. He has no respect for personal boundaries," granted, Anders was a bit on the overzealous touchy side of the respect-others'-boundaries spectrum, but it didn't help that Fenris' idea of appropriate personal space wouldn't fit into the whole kitchen.
"I know Anders is messy-"
"The girl is no better. Worse even, I should think," he said, never taking his eyes from his work.
"I know Anders and Merrill are not the neatest bakers," Fenris let out a low huff of air, clearly objecting to bestowing his title on the two of them, "I will talk to him about the mess. You know he just needs a gentle reminder sometimes."
Fenris huffed again, "they should be leashed."
"Now, Fenris-"
"I want the sign changed."
"What?"
"The store's signage, there is a picture of a cupcake. There is no picture of bread, which is out main seller I'll remind you. I want there to be bread on the sign with the cupcake."
Marian dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was far too early for her to play nursemaid, "but Fenris! Cupcakes are pretty! Bread is just gonna look like a brown lump."
"I feel marginalised."
"Listen, I'll talk to Varric. But that cupcake is iconic, and it was around before you or Anders. It's nothing personal. But I promise to ask, okay."
Eyes still on his work, Fenris nodded.
"Now Fenris, will you let Anders use the good mixer today? He has to have that cake order done by three and his temper tantrum is putting us behind schedule."
Fenris broke the prolonged eye contact that he had been holding with his dough and finally met Marian's geze with his own. He had wide eyes that still managed to cut like steel despite their forest green hue, "I do not need the mixer today. He may take it back."
"Then why did you-" Marian began, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "Oh never mind! It's fine. Thank you, Fenris! I'll let him know to stay on his side of the kitchen."
Fenris nodded once in agreement before returning to his task, and Marian slumped back toward front shop, making sure to move the mixer to Anders' bench so the boys wouldn't have to interact any more than was absolutely necessary today.
A whirlwind of dark hair and bright knitwear rushed past her, swinging a shapeless tote bag that slammed into Marian's arm as she struggled to cart the heavy mixer across the kitchen.
"Oh, sorry! I'm so sorry, Hawke! I didn't mean to!" Merrill's distinctly accented voice rushed from her in a breath of strung together apologies. It was almost too much for Marian to keep up with, "I'm late, you see, and that's why I was moving so quickly. I know I'm not supposed to run in the kitchen but I didn't want you to be mad and I-"
"Its fine, Merrill," Marian winced. She eased the mixer onto the bench, and began massaging her bruising arm. "Jeez, what are you carrying there? Bricks?"
"Yes," Merrill answered without so much as blinking.
On Marian's side of the interaction a long, stupid blink was all that she managed. She stared dumbly for longer than she was proud to admit, wondering why the naïve, waif-like girl would be carrying a bag full of bricks to work.
"Hawke," Merrill spoke clearly, as though she were explaining something very obvious to a child, "I walk to and from work every day. Look at me. Of course I put rocks in my purse."
"Oh," Marian managed. Merrill always had a way of surprising her like that, "right then. Well I'll let you get started then."
Merrill seemed to slip back into herself then, "Oh sorry! Yes. I'll be quick!" she promised, before dashing off into the closet sized staff-room.
Hawke checked her watch quickly. Mikey Mouse's gloved hands on its face told her that it was nearing opening hour. Mikey looked a lot more cheerful than she did about it, but he always did.
The front bell rang and amiable chatter filled the front of the store. Hawke rounded the corner to be greeted by Isabela's behind, her upper body draped casually across the front counter and her uniform unfairly accentuating her figure.
Beyond her, Marian could see the stout head and shoulders of Varric, the store owner.
"Ready to tell us who she was then?" Isabela practically purred, "Must have been one heck of a woman to keep a handsome man like you pining for so long."
Varric barked out a mirthful laugh. The man was less than 5'1 and he embraced it as part of his extensive charm. Varric was one of those people who was larger than life, and what did height matter to a man like Varric? Besides, Marian was pretty sure some women were really into chest hair.
"Rivaini," Varric began affectionately, "I really shouldn't be demeaning Bianca by talking about her in a common bakery. But, since you asked so nicely. She was the love of my life. Lived next door to me until I was 13 and she was 17. Exquisite. French. Nicest set of buns I have ever seen on a woman."
Isabela arched one sardonic eyebrow.
"It's a bakery," Varric prompted.
"Not your best."
Varric let out a mock sigh, "I know, I know. I'm still half asleep. Forgive me this one."
"Still better than the one where you were a hopeless vagabond youth who ran away to join the Circque du Solei and Bianca was a contortionist unicyclist whose dying words to you were either 'bake' or 'brake.'"
"We locked eyes as it happened. I had to follow the dream she had for me. I had to."
Marian and Isabela met each other's gaze before a synchronised eye-roll, and Varric let out another hearty bout of laughter before waving them off and shuffling off to the staffroom, Marian's binders tucked beneath one arm.
The bell chimed again, and a fiery red headed woman shoulders her uniformed-body inside.
"We open yet?" Aveline asked "It's a quarter to." She had her eyes on her watch as she spoke, punctual as ever.
"Oh sweet thing. Would I keep you waiting?"
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the concept of a schedule is foreign to you, Isabela."
"Oh I'm very flexible, big girl."
Aveline turned her attention to Marian, "No offence Hawke, it's a high standard business you keep here."
Marian deflected with a smile, mumbling something about 'usual orders', and began to fumble with the coffee machine. Coffee was her one weakness in this place. She lacked Beth's natural talent and apparent imprint upon the old machine. Maybe that was because Marian didn't know how to clean it.
She burnt her hand on the scalding milk, and vehemently wished Bethany were here, for about the eighth time this week, and it was only Monday.
Aveline's eyes narrowed at Marian's appalling technique, but she kept her lips pursed around any criticism. Instead she said, "Beth still sick?"
"Yeah, but she'll be well enough to come in tomorrow. Doctor says it's just the flu."
"And that brother of yours?" Marian didn't think it at all possible until she saw it, but Aveline's eyes definitely just became narrower.
Aveline was a long-time family friend of the Hawke's. She had been four grades ahead of Marian in school and had made sure to keep her firmly in line, and well protected from bullies. She was overprotective like that. Security suited her.
"Er, Carver's fine. I think… I don't know, you tell me." Marian laughed nervously. Carver was a good kid, really. But he wanted bigger things than to work at a bakery. Unfortunately, he sometimes found those things in the wrong places and with the wrong crowds.
"Haven't seen him around lately," Aveline mused, "That doesn't mean he hasn't just gotten smarter though. As smart as Carver and petty crime can get, I mean."
Marian could help but chuckle at that, and she tried desperately not to spill Aveline's coffee as she slid it across the bench. Isabela wrapped a danish in a brown paper bag and sat it beside the coffee.
Aveline was already sipping her drink before she had her change on the bench. She made a strangled choking noise into her paper cup, "Uh, Hawke! You expect me to pay for this swill? Have you even used the coffee machine before?"
"I was going to give you the services discount!" Hawke whined. She knew what she had done, there was no point in denying that the coffee was bound to be truly awful.
"You have to give me the services discount. It's not a favour."
"Yeah, alright. It's on the house then," Marian grumbled.
"Forget it, I don't want it," but Aveline left more than enough change on the counter to cover for her drink and pastry, "I'm going to be late if I waste any more time with you two. See you tomorrow."
She waved as she left, giving Marian no time to object.
Aveline's back stiffened when she turned to see the door being held open for her by a dark haired man the black uniform of the plaza's cleaning staff. She was not the kind of woman that you opened doors for. On her wedding night, she had carried Donnic back down the aisle.
But she was a woman of manners nevertheless- "Thank you, Sebastian," she answered curtly– a woman who certainly knew how to make those manners sound like they were a curse.
"That's no trouble Aveline. Have a quiet day I hope."
Isabella growled low next to Marian, "that accent is wasted on him," but she still pushed back her shoulders and leaned forward over the register.
"What can I get you, Choir boy?" she purred.
"Oh, that's okay Isabela. I'm just here to check the bathrooms. Oh and if you've got any boxes I'd be happy to take those to the recycling for you?"
Anders rounded the corner then, carting a stack of flattened boxes which he ceremoniously dumped in the front shop, Thanks, Sebastian."
"Is that all of them, Anders?" Marian prodded.
That Anders wouldn't look at her confirmed her suspicions before he even opened his mouth, "Well I don't know about Fenris' side of the kitchen," he huffed, "I'm not allowed to set foot over there."
"Please go and get Fenris' boxes for me. He keeps them in a stack just outside the pantry."
Still stomping, Anders left grumbling something about 'injustice.'
"Oh Hawke, I almost forgot," Sebastian began, and she knew he hadn't forgotten at all, "did you have a think about coming to the Church fundraiser on the weekend? I told the Father that you would tend the baked goods table."
"I'm so sorry Sebastian, It totally slipped my mind. I already made plans for the Saturday."
"It's on Sunday afternoon, Hawke."
"Oh darn, well I've got something on then too. Anyway, we're a bit busy this morning so I can't really talk right now," Marian was a poor liar. Her idea of faking business involved examining each object on the front counter, and then running a cloth over the fingerprints she had left. This lasted for about five full seconds before she knocked over a bottle of hazelnut syrup.
Isabella whooped with laughter.
"See Seb? Really busy. I'm sorry."
"If you'd like I could get that for you, Hawke?" Sebastian asked.
"No, no, that's fine," Marian flicked the gloopy syrup off her feet only to send a dollop onto Isabella's red uniform, "just please go clean the bathrooms."
"You're sure?"
"Yes! We're fine."
"Okay, I'll be back in a jiffy then," he said before shuffling off.
"Oh my God, Kitten! Could you be any less tactful?" Isabela giggled.
"Shut up Isa," Marian said, towelling the worst of the mess off her shoes, "you know I can't think on my feet. You could've made something up for me!"
It was then that Anders tried to stride past again. Unfortunately, with his eyeline crowded with the cardboard he was carrying, he slipped ungracefully in the syrup and fell on his ass with an undignified cry. Cardboard sailed into the air.
Anders grunted as he shifted himself onto his elbow, cowing beneath the two women's laughter. Anders' was an easy face to read, and right now it was telling Marian that the only thing Anders had hurt was his pride.
"Even my bruises have bruises," he whined.
She put a hand out to help him up, "I won't tell Fenris."
The syrup had soaked into his trousers, and now the fabric was clinging to his ass.
"Oh Anders," Isabela teased, "look what you've been hiding from us beneath those baggy trousers."
Anders jumped and put both hands protectively over his behind. He was blushing furiously, opening and closing his mouth in horror.
"Go get cleaned up, Anders," Marian giggled.
He managed a nod before retreating, both hands still clasped behind him. Isabella's eyes followed him teasingly. Marian nudged her with an elbow just as the bell chimed above the door to usher in a group of regulars, "I am going to have to clean this up by myself aren't I?"
Marian was already plonking herself down on the floor with the paper towels.
"Unless you want Choir boy to do it?" Isabela whispered, already moving to greet the customers. She ushered them around the mess of cardboard, apologising with bright laughter. From her seat on the floor Marian could see right up Isabela's skirt.
The speakers out back turned on and the shop filled with something indie or poppy, she had no idea which. It is accompanied by Merrill's loud and tuneless humming. The whole store smelled like baking bread, even if her immediate surroundings are cloying with hazelnut.
Marian writes 'Bianca's' in syrup on the floor tiles, and then makes a handprint on Isabella's apron, who swats her away.
"Make me coffee, Bela. I need it," Marian receives another good swat for that. She probably earned it.