There's a reason the Frostback Heralds are nicknamed "Bull's Chargers," and it sure as hell isn't their defensive playing style. That boldness might serve them well this season… or it might not.
Satinalia is coming up this weekend, with a hockey match at the tail end.
"Go easy on the partying," says Bull, as they exit the rink after practice. Training drills have left the players weary on their feet, and they're eager to head back to the locker room—much more eager than they are to hear this latest instruction.
Krem, the team captain, lets out a groan. "Aw, coach, but we already got a keg!"
"You can celebrate later. And save some for me!"
There's a cheer. Meraad considers his plans, what might be possible. It doesn't take long to decide.
The espresso machine gurgles and hisses, and the scent of freshly ground coffee mingles with those of toast and scrambled eggs. It's been an hour since Cassandra flipped the cafe sign. Even though it means she has to wake up in the dark, she loves the opening shift. The way the first rays of dawn illuminate the cafe floor. The lull before the rest of the town throws off sleep and the day begins to unfold. For now, she has only this one set of tasks before her, and she's fully confident in her abilities.
Cassandra jumps in surprise as Cole appears next to her with a breakfast plate. The new kitchen hand is… odd, but quick and neat and eager to please. The boy moves as quietly as a wraith, and has eyes nearly as pale as his skin. She's noticed him dropping breadcrumbs for the sparrows that fly in through the open door. He sweeps up the remainders at the end of each shift, so she supposes it's all right.
"Whose order is it?" Cassandra asks.
Cole peers out at the handful of customers. "He won't eat fried eggs. He burnt the kitchen that way once, when he stood on a crate."
"Ah. I see." (She doesn't, actually.)
The bell jingles, and Cassandra compulsively watches the door.
This time, she's rewarded.
Meraad ducks under the doorframe and walks up to the counter.
"Hey, Sera."
"Hockey guy! The usual for you, yeah?" The young elf gives him a toothy grin.
"Yep. Thanks."
Sera mashes the register keys. "Want to talk to your girlfriend?" She cackles.
Meraad shoots her a nonplussed look and goes over to the pickup area. He catches Cassandra's eye, and a smile passes between them. Despite what just happened, it still feels like a secret, this moment. A pulse of warmth spreads through Meraad's chest.
"Undergraduate spies." Cassandra shakes her head. "She has a whole network. Be glad they spared us from their pranks."
He watches Cassandra pull the espresso shot; it's kind of mesmerizing. As she's pouring it into a cup, he clears his throat.
She glances up.
"Dorian's organizing a Satinalia party this Friday. It's not a big thing, just at a restaurant. Do you… want to come with me?"
Cassandra blinks. "Yes."
"Great!" He looks delighted and a little relieved.
They stare at each other for a moment before Cassandra remembers what she was doing. She adds too many pumps of caramel to the cup, then the steamed milk and foam.
When she gives him the latte, his large hand brushes against her smaller one. She briefly runs her fingers over his, sliding them across the peaks of his knuckles, the valleys in-between. His nails are trimmed short with smooth edges.
Meraad's breath hitches. She swallows.
"I'll text you the details."
He makes room for another customer, and before she knows it, he's gone.
The wind outside is bracing. Meraad takes a sip of his latte as he walks towards the wood-and-stone buildings clustered in central campus. The coffee is delicious, as always, but otherwise kind of pointless. He has no idea how he's going to concentrate.
His first seminar is something about the relationships between the Grey Wardens and various societies in southern Thedas. He spends most of it thinking about Cassandra's mouth.
The second one deals with Antivan maritime trade. He tries to listen. All he can hear is Cassandra's voice, rich as velvet.
Her touch sent a shiver through him.
Friday can't come fast enough.
It takes Cassandra a little while to realize the ramifications of what she just did.
What was I thinking? I'm terrible at parties!
She snaps the lid onto a takeaway cappuccino.
They're full of small talk and unspoken rules. Everyone is trying to be witty, and I never know what to say. And then Leliana tells me I look like a thundercloud and tries to get me to dance.
She uses steamed milk to draw a rosetta on a latte.
What will he think of me then?
She fights the urge to sink to the floor.
Instead, she takes out her phone, types a quick message to Josephine, and hits send.
Friday is finally here, and Meraad is deciding on his outfit for the night. Like most Satinalia parties, it's a masquerade, but Dorian said not to bother with full costumes this time.
The prospect of seeing Cassandra makes him want to throw something on and rush over to her place. He has to force himself to slow down and make a few decisions.
Meraad goes through his closet and drawers, which are half-full of basics, his old hockey stuff, and a few pieces of formal wear. He pulls on a t-shirt and blazer and a pair of jeans, then tries on his mask; it's the same one he wore to that wild party with his new student cohort last year. Apparently he looks good in sunset colors. He hopes Cassandra will agree.
Okay. That works. What about his hair? Meraad combs it out, then ties it in a knot, sleek and dark. Nice.
Before heading downstairs, he rinses with a capful of mouthwash that burns his tongue. He checks his horns in the bathroom mirror, rubs some balm at the base to keep them from itching, and gives them a quick polish. Back in his early twenties, he had them cased in a silverite alloy by a skilled Tal-Vashoth in Ostwick. Cost him a month's salary. He should probably get them touched up soon, but that can wait. For now, he looks good and feels confident.
All right. Here goes nothing.
Cassandra undoes the top few buttons of her shirt and strings a pendant around her neck. Amethyst, to match her painted mask.
She wiggles into a pair of tight black pants, props a mirror on a stack of books, and does her makeup while trying to stuff her anxiety into a tiny box.
Even if Meraad is still interested after tonight, how serious does he mean to be? Maybe it's too soon to consider, but Cassandra knows what she wants from a relationship, and she doesn't want either of them to waste their time.
She sighs. Josie will be at the party. She's hosted plenty of them herself. What was that advice she gave? Follow along with the banter and laugh when the others do. Make observations (try some humor!). Be diplomatic if you disagree. But whatever you do, don't try too hard. Do what feels natural. Your honest self.
Right.
This is hopeless. In a few hours, they can commiserate when Cassandra falls flat on her face.
At least for a while, it was lovely.