Cross-posted to AO3 as taslin_strider. I'm experimenting with new things in this fic. Some of the drabbles are over 100 words (forgive me!) but I've tried to stick as close as possible to that goal. It's a fun challenge.
I might change the title later, once the story starts to shape up. Right now it's a reference to Cassandra's romance quest. That scene, you know the one.
Feedback is welcome. I'd love to hear what you think!
Cassandra likes her espresso. She's honing her technique. Between work, grad school, and fencing, there isn't time for much else. She wishes there were.
Tuesday morning, the assistant hockey coach orders his usual. It's full of caramel (ugh). His deep, warm voice carries over the chatter and her heart pounds. Meraad.
She makes the horrible drink, wondering why he likes it.
"Thanks, take care," he says. His eyes are so kind.
"You, too."
Courage!
She smiles slightly.
He looks startled, but smiles back. One of his incisors is crooked.
Cassandra begins another order and runs her tongue over her teeth.
The rink is covered with ice shavings and trails sliced by skate blades. Meraad stays after practice to talk with Bull about the upcoming game. They sit in the bleachers under the fluorescent lights and go through their notes, coach and assistant.
The Frostback Heralds had a wobbly start this season, but they still have a chance to make the championship tournament. Where, of course, they'll face the Red Templars from Corypheus University.
"To old rivals," says Bull, toasting with paper cups.
The hot cocoa slides down Meraad's throat. He thinks of someone, then gets up. "Shootout, boss?"
"You're on."
Cassandra parries and ripostes. She aims for Leliana's shoulder, misses, and feels the swift jab of an epee in her side. Completely unguarded.
"That is why you are captain this year, and I am not," she says afterward, in the changing room.
Leliana's copper hair is plastered to her forehead. She folds her sweaty uniform, grimacing. "We all have rough days."
Cassandra snorts and packs her helmet into her duffel bag.
"Maybe you just need to trust your instincts."
"My instincts to be rash and impulsive?"
Leliana shrugs. "You're more direct than me. I like that."
They push open the gym doors, facing mountain peaks wreathed in sunset.
Cold, clean autumn air gusts through the dining room window, sending a lightning streak up Meraad's left hand. He drops the red pen with a grunt of pain.
He shouldn't have messed around on the ice after practice yesterday. It's easy to forget why he ended his professional hockey career, since the nerve injury doesn't bother him unless he overtaxes himself. Temptation.
The pile of midterm papers waits patiently as he massages his hand. Being a TA this semester is an energy sink, but to be frank, he needed more on his resume.
These days, it doesn't hurt as much to think long-term.
Friday night means wine and movies. Cassandra knocks on the apartment door and Josephine pulls her in for a lavender-scented hug. From the kitchen, Leliana shouts a hello.
They talk through an Antivan action movie and devour an Orlesian-style roast chicken. Midnight comes and goes, and they sprawl on the sectional in a tipsy haze. Josephine untangles the recent drama in the International Relations department. Leliana shares travel photos from her long-distance girlfriend.
Cassandra sips her wine and holds a small secret close to her chest, until her friends notice (oh, but of course) and pry it out of her.
Meraad enjoys working here. There's that vanilla smell of old paper, and the aisles aren't too cramped for his large frame. It's a respite from grad school and hockey.
He finishes shelving a book—no ladder necessary—and turns beet red.
It's the barista from down the street. Cassandra. Her caramel latte is the best damn coffee in Thedas. She seemed oddly cheerful last Tuesday.
"I'm looking for the romance section," she stammers, scratching her short hair.
When he rings her up, there's a shy pause.
"Hey, do you—"
"Would you want—"
Five minutes later, she leaves her number on the back of a bookmark.
