#the one Queer Person of reference was probably Leliana

[catebees]

Still thinking about Marian and her way to approach her own feelings.

She was always too busy, "introspection is for the rich folk who have fuckall to do all day. I've got fields to till" (or whatever, I still don't know what she'd do in Ferelden, definitely not mercenary work).

Because of this she very rarely knows what's going on in her head. For most of the time it was a constant whispered uneasiness, like an ache in your bones that will never really leave if you keep breaking your back. And it's not like she can stop, so like. Why address it. It just became background noise.

I wonder how different it would all have been if she had had the tools to figure it out sooner. If she could have been more comfortable in her gender identity, if she could have understood earlier what exactly she wanted and what she could give.

She doesn't realise she doesn't want to be a "woman" until inquisition. "I thought it was normal to dislike being called a lady." Everybody called her Hawke for so long and that felt so good because she was almost a thing, Just A Person. Bull and Krem just look at her like 👁👁

And the same thing goes for romance. She always had people she found interesting and wanted to get to know, people she wanted to impress. She definitely craved some sort of intimacy but never really knew how to get it. A bit of bread shared in the shade with the farmers or a cold drink after work, a job well done, laughter, a slap on the back - that went a long way. That was enough.

The first year in Kirkwall was pretty much the same, the people were different but the beats were there. She probably picked one or two interesting people of the group to exchange looks with and have something to talk about.

Then Varric comes around. Then Merrill and Isabela, Fenris, Anders, Sebastian. That empty space gets filled. And it stays like that for years. And she would be satisfied. Except that this time she gets picked. And when she looks across the table Fenris looks back and it's not some almost-stranger. With them, she could never imagine anything happening. It was a past time. She would always fold before anyone could take her up on her offer.

Fenris chips away at her defences without her noticing, and the same happens to him. And at one point they realise that they can't stay apart.

When I say at one point I mean extremely late. With all that happens in Kirkwall there's no time to stop and figure out what this sort of feeling means. Fenris is the one who initiates things and when he leaves, all she worries about is his wellbeing.

Years later, he is the one asking to try again. And that's what makes it all starts to make sense. "So this is what it feels like to be happy". Which is extremely dangerous.

I said it before but Marian thinks she's cursed. Not like "a witch put a spell on me" but "From Clear Evidence, everybody I love gets taken away from me." It doesn't help that the city is also Disaster Central.

(At one point she develops a sympathy for Saemus Dumar. Nothing romantic, he's much younger than her, but she likes him. Maybe she sees some hope for the future in that kid. She maybe talked with him twice but every time she sees his about she hopes he has a nice day. When he gets killed she wonders if she somehow brought that on him.)

So she never tells Fenris she loves him. They start sleeping -just sleeping- together and it's so obvious how much they care for each other.

The sex is there. It's nice, it's fun. It's a way for Fenris to savour his freedom and to replace bad memories with much sweeter ones. Secretly, she's also conditioning herself. Replacing her first reaction to love with happiness instead of fear.

Some mornings when they're in their new little home in Ferelden, Bethany will go out early with Peach and stay in town for a while. The house is small and they all sleep in one room. When Marian wakes up Fenris is sitting at her side with breakfast. Sometimes they thank Bethany for the privacy. More often they let the hours go by in bed, finally being allowed to slow down.

[veridium]

the good, the bad, and the dirty

GET ON YOUR SUIT & TIES YA’LL BECAUSE WE’RE HEADING TO BEST-DRESSED HELL! IT’S GOING DOWN!

the start of this all // the previous episode  

Special thanks to Panic! At The Disco for this segment song title reference. Oof. 

--

The weekend is as it’s always been whenever she goes home: a brain-washing initiative for a Neo-Stepford Wives way of life. While she hides in her childhood bedroom playing “Beverly Hills” on blast to drown out the noise on the other side of the door, the night of the gala rolls around whether she likes it or not. If it wasn’t for Ellinor’s text updates about her weekend with Rutherford tol and Rutherford smol, she probably would have swan dove into her family pool from her second floor mini-balcony just to scare the shit out of her parents. Again.

She gets ready on her own, much to her Mother’s taste for opulence. A red, strapless velvet gown is her piece meal: not nearly her style, but not completely out of left field. When you can’t go black, you go red. Its ruching onto one side gives her a good illusion of a hourglass figure...or so Josephine recommended. She curls her hair and pins it to fall on one shoulder. Red lips and eyeliner sharper than her stiletto heels, and she’s done for caring. Traffic will be hell anyway, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t have her own way of escaping the evening. When she arrives and hangs up on her bluetooth call with Ellinor, the first presence she encounters is her Mom’s of course, because they had spent so much time apart. A whole hour. 

Her Mother spends the brief time they have convened on the sidewalk in front of the doors to do the following: side-comment about her dress, wonder why she did not ride with them, and tell her not to do ‘unideal’ things since she is running for Mayor in the Spring so the family has to look presentable. Her step-father, Fred, comments that she cleans up nice, but it too scared of her wrath to do more. She will enter in after they do, to not risk an over-attached link; her preference, not theirs. While she stands off to the side of the main entrance and security detail, she can hear the music: smooth jazz, live, by the echo of it. Which means people will pretending they like jazz, know jazz, go see jazz. Fantastic; as if she wasn’t striving to puke into a ficus during the event anyway.

Then, as if her Champion on a shining Honda bike, Theia pulls up to the valet. She’s wearing a perfectly fitting pair of black straight pants and a matching blazer with a white pressed button-down shirt on the inside. A deep purple pocket square and black matte dress shoes cap off the outfit.

“Josephine work her magic on you, too?” She says with a laugh on her lips when she jogs up.

“Pff, yes, thankfully. You look...like you’re about to buy the entire gallery and tip the man...shit.”

“Yeah well, I gotta polish up once in a blue moon, right?”

“Ugh, a Blue Moon. That sounds so good right now.” Olivia slouches and leans against the cement block planter behind her, full of tropical plants that were undoubtedly planted mature rather than grown. Everything pretty and worth time was purchasable like that.

Theia smiles, and leans next to her. “Hey, come on you fembot. It’ll be over before you know it. Let’s go before we’re not fashionably late anymore. I have a beautiful woman in a pretty dress to see and feel undeserving of.”

--

The place is a madhouse. Whoever said “little Board gala” was lying out their ass. Oh, wait, it was her Mom. They enter on the first floor, but the locus it down a central, rather wide staircase made of glass and metal. People walk down is as if they’re floating down from on high -- and they probably believe it. At the base is a couple of photographers for local press, and a red carpet. A corny, overdone red carpet.

“God,” Olivia mumbles as they come down the walkway towards the stairs. “I match the carpet.”

Theia chuckles. “No, you out-do it. Come on, keep up the pace.”

“Theia, I’m in heels, and I’m tiny. Your step is four of mine, okay?”

“Then chop chop, miss!”

She elbows her in the side a bit, before rounding the open corner. The lights shining down from the tall ceiling up three floors are yellow and warm, but it doesn’t smooth over the icey, artificial feel of it all.

Elbowing through a few groups of people they stand at the top of the stairwell.

“Ready?” Theia sighs under her breath.

“No,” she responds. Then, with futility, they both start descending. Slow, not for the sake of her enjoyment, but for her shoes and gown skirt. Everything is bad as it is, until out the corner of her eye, a certain head and face flag her vision down like nothing else. Black hair. Pointed, strong nose. Oh God. Oh no.

“Shit,” Olivia curses low, veering in close to Theia. “Theia, I have to get out of here.” They’re still walking to save face, but she wants to run in the opposite direction and never return.

Theia looks out, searching. “What, what’s going on?”

“She’s here.”

“She?”

“She...she who--”

“Oh, shit. That’s her, isn’t it. Here, take hold of my arm.” She doesn’t wait for Olivia to do it, and takes her hand and hooks it under her arm, now looking like she’s escorting her. Olivia pulls back but then, as if on tragic cue, the woman she believes to be the one woman she never wants to see again looks up.

And then their eyes lock. Her heart stops, and her weight falls heavier onto Theia as she gets them down the stairs. It’s like she’s out in the open for a sniper to take her out, elevated above it all on her way down from the bullshit, wealthy heavens. It is a horrible, agonizing few seconds, before she breaks her stare and gazes down at the remaining steps. She’s too far away to see details, but her pristine, but slightly sullen complexion is enough.

People stop and stare up at them, and photographers pine mindlessly. They’re beautiful, well-dressed, and daughters of prominent families. Both rejects of the silver-spooners club, though, for different reasons. They stand together respectfully and wait for the fanfare to pass as it always does after a half minute; afterward, it’s a swift pull to the underside of the stairs and out of sight.

“Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to be here!”

“How did you know? Did she say as much?” Theia follows and stands tall while Olivia paces. Steady for her, as a friend would want to be. But in the moment she wishes Ellinor was there to match her pitch of over-worrying.

“I did--well, like, okay,” she pivots around, “the game was this weekend. The jocks party like heathens. She should be there. Ellinor said--” she stops herself. Ellinor did not say, either way, for sure. She just took the conversation for granted. She pulls out her phone and starts texting like a mad-woman:

--SOS. Cassandra is here!!!! I am losing my mind!!

Theia takes her phone just as the message sends, intervening. “Olivia, get yourself together.”

“No! No no, this is not ‘get together’ time. This is panic ti--”

“It is not! You are going to walk out there and mingle, and be hot, and not back down! Come on, you look dressed to kill. Now is the time, if there ever was one.”

A half-second of deliberation, then… “Nope! Running! Gonna--gonna r-r--”

“Liv!” her hands go to her shoulders. “You have been given a golden opportunity. The queers above have granted you this one fleeting moment of brilliant karma. You, alone, have the power to slay your demons once and for all. Are you going to cower and hide, or are you going to own it?”

Shit, that was a good speech. Olivia holds her breath and bites her lip, trying to man-up. Woman-up. Person-up. Literally anything at this point would help.

“Ugh, fuck,” she continues breaking her promise not to cuss excessively. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, take my arm again, and let’s go.”

As they re-emerge, Olivia can’t help but scoff. “You’ve been watching too much Downton Abbey with Josephine, haven’t you?”

“Agh, no! Just work with me. I have to find a way to challenge her to a duel, anyhow.”

“Jesus. You have been watching it.”

--

They disburse into the crowd, and Olivia does her best to mingle with meaningless manners to everyone she rubs shoulders and elbows with. Some County Commissioners, a few old people, and some young. It was exhausting, but by the end of the first hour, she had hope. Only one more, and she could free herself. Eventually they did run into good company: Josephine, in a dress just as, if not more beautiful than expected. Purple, matching Theia’s pocket square, and sequined mermaid style.

“My dear,” Josephine said coyly, as Theia left Olivia’s arm for hers. “Traffic wasn’t too much, I hope?”

“Not at all,” Theia kissed her politely against her cheek, hand gentle on her bent elbow, “I just had to persuade Olivia not to run away before she could leave her glass slipper.”

Josie giggles, and turns her attention to their third-wheel. “So, has it been bearable?”

“Not really,” Olivia says as she snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and his tray. It’s her third serving in the last hour or so. Theia turns to Josie and whispers something in her ear, all discrete and sexy. Fuck it all, they look so good together. When Josie’s happy face adjusts, she can only hope for the weak alcohol to start kicking in.

“I see,” Josie muses, “I should have known something was afoot when Lelian--”

“Who, now?” Olivia looks and interrupts, more on edge.

Josie raises a brow. “I...uh, nothing. Nope. Nothing.”

“Josie…” Olivia dreads, “what haven’t you told me?”

“I have not kept anything from you! But I am not responsible fo--”

“Josie!!”

The voice that could summon Olivia’s wrath comparable to a thousand suns comes from behind her. In an instant, she evaluates the surroundings for potential sharp objects to use. But it’s not fast enough for darling Leliana, as she appears. They grow their mingling circle to accommodate her.

“Leliana,” Theia nods tenuously, “so good to see you.”

“Theia!” Leliana smiles, before bending forward and kissing her on either cheek. Theia looks nervous, but humors her Parisian attitude. “You look stunning. I am so glad you could make it here.”

“Yes, well, I don’t miss an opportunity to support Josie, or her sister. By the way, Josie, where even is Yvette? She owes me my CDs, still.”

Josie folds her arms and snorts. “I’m afraid she is somewhere flirting with a classmate. Something Lucian, Lucas, I have no idea. It is her night to peacock.”

“So it is,” Leliana adds, before she looks at Olivia, blinking and shaking her head as if she had just appeared out of thin air. Maybe it was her quiet brooding. “Olivia, my goodness! I didn’t even notice you, you are stealthy in a crowd.” She’s wearing a knee-length, black dress. Chanel, maybe.

“Yes, I am, Leliana. Thank you for noticing.” Not stealthy enough, evidently. She isn’t safe from the same double-cheek-kissing, and she survives it with less grace than Theia mustered. But, when it’s over, it’s nothing but glee for everyone else.

“How wonderful. These events can be so boring.”

“They can, indeed,” Theia takes Olivia’s glass before she can knock it back like the inner bar blonde she is. “You are flying solo tonight, Leliana?”

Theia I am going to murder you in your sle--

“Hah! Oh, no, not this time, actually. She’s...hm, let me see!” she looks back over the crowd behind them. At this point, Olivia is praying for the rapture. Something, anything apocalyptic. Or a guy. A guy Leliana has brought as arm candy, named Cliff, who studies kinesiology and loves snickers. “Oh, yes! Hey, over here!” she waves.

Olivia, who has had her shoulders and chin tucked for self-preservation, locks eyes with Theia. She has that same look on her face as she did when she was giving her the pep talk: carpe diem, bitch, it’s time to handle it. Josie also looks at her, more sympathetic than motivational, but they both look away as the person Leliana’s flagging down like a plane draws closer. And so, with a deep breath and raised head, Olivia peeks back over her shoulder to behold her undoing.

A black, long-sleeve jumpsuit, with a plunging neckline that goes to the top of her ribs. Simple, fitted well, and so flattering on her figure. Black oxford-style shoes with a slight heel. Her hair is shiny and soft-looking, so much so she wants to run her fingers through it the second she sees it. For the second time, they lock eyes, and it’s in passing again. But when Cassandra looks at her the whole room becomes abysmal.

“Ah, there you are,” Leliana’s voice echoes from miles away, as if Olivia is underwater. It’s too much. It’s too good. She looks away fast, back to her friends, while Cassandra arrives between where she stands and the redhead ruining her life.

“Theia, I’m unsure if you’ve met Cass--”

“Cassandra Pentaghast,” Theia says, vaguely threatening as she holds Olivia’s champagne to her own lips, “no need to say.”

Leliana doesn’t miss a beat, glossing over the interruption. She places a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and it inspires Kill Bill sirens in Olivia’s mind that are near-deafening. “Remember I mentioned her? Josephine’s girlfriend,” she adds.

Cassandra’s chin lifts, her tone changing, becoming more interested. “Oh. Yeah?”

Josephine bunches her shoulders all cute and clever, “the one and only, finally in the same place at the same time.” At that, Theia grins and nudges her with affection. Easy, and complete. They fit together.

“Nice to meet you, Theia,” Cassandra finally says, calmer in tone. “I have heard good things about you.”

Theia gives a pointed look back. “Wish I could say th--”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’m too much of a bragger,” Josie, again, softens the blow. “Uh, Theia, why don’t you and I go see about the chocolate fountain I hear is in the east lobby? I’m starting to get hungry, anyways.”

Olivia feels herself go pale, and she looks up, like a light bulb goes off. Her way out is granted, or so she thinks. “Good idea--”

“Oh, I can bring you back something!” Josie smiles, taking Theia in her arm and turning away, “you do not worry about exerting yourself in those stilettos!”

Olivia gives a pained exhale, thinking she’ll just follow anyway. Fuck manners. But then, she’s called by her temper.

“So, Olivia!” Leliana catches her mid step. She turns back to see them both standing to themselves like tall beams of rich snobbery, Cassandra looking reticent while Leliana’s enthusiastic as all hell. “I hear your Mother is running for Mayor in the Spring?”

She swallows hard, and straightens up. Think tall, be tall, take the chance. Make Theia proud before you kill her for all this. “Yes, she is. She’s very excited about it.”

“That is impressive. Running against an incumbent in her own party, no less.”

“Well, Republicans do love plurality of choice, do they not?” she clutches her bag with both hands.

“That’s  true. Interesting times. Did you know Cassandra’s cousin will be running for the Democratic seat?”

Cassandra speaks, but is interrupted. “Leliana, that is--”

“It’s all rather hush. Your family is so reserved with their plans. It’s a wonder how they have so much going on.” An awkward half-pause, before Olivia turns more to Cassandra. Their eyes lock, and she softens.

“That is exciting, I’m sure. Congratulations and good luck to your cousin, Cassandra.”

“It..it’s no big deal. Political offices are common trappings in my family.”

Olivia fakes a grin, but her sheepish response is usurped.  “Modesty,” Leliana remarks, hands going behind her. “Even with such a recent victory under your belt, no less.”

“Leliana…”

“No,” Olivia interrupts, trying harder, “I heard from Ellinor. You won the game! That is good.”

Cassandra looks back at her, somewhat surprised looking. “It was...it was--”

“It was harrowing, to say the least. A nail-biter. But Cassandra’s been practicing so intensely, and she was a master on the field. Carried the team, if you ask me. It was so special to watch. tout à fait le spectacle!” quite the show. Lord, this woman was working the Francophile angle. It was so painful. So, so painful. Olivia’s eyes glazed a bit, and she let a breath out her parted lips.

“Leliana, really, that is quite--”

“Agh, If you’ll excuse me, both of you. I...I have to make sure my eye makeup hasn’t sweat all over my face.” She looks to both of them, slanting her chin fast before seeing herself away. Behind her, she swears a faint “Olivia” is spoken, but she doesn’t heed it. Ejecting herself into the crowd. Cutting through the legion of people in black blazers and multi-colored gowns she finds a corridor, where a less-dramatic staircase is found behind an exit door. She climbs up one, two flights, heels clicking furiously until she enters the floor. It’s part of the gallery, more desolate with every turn she makes into it. She comes across an offshoot room, wide but not long, where an artist’s works line the walls with a bench in the middle of the floor. It’s white walls, industrial lights above her head, and impressionist-inspired portraits. She’s panting, out of air beneath her tight dress and the spanx. Fuck spanx.

She walks to the far corner of the room and stands in front of a painting, a woman in a black dress with a low back, sitting at a round table. There’s fruit in a bowl, of course. Always fruit in a fucking bowl. A game plan has to be made while she catches her breath. Just as she’s about to get her phone out to call Ellinor and signal her retreat, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Shoes hitting the concrete floor back in the main walkway. Closer, and closer.

“Olivia?” Her voice. It carries well, in the gallery’s cavernous architecture.

She looks to her shoulder, but keeps her back to her. “Oh, hey,” she then turns. Her hand rubs her arm. God, she looks so beautiful. Tall, statuesque, with muscled curves she wants to get lost in. It’s been a week and she’s starved like a year without crumbs.

“Hey,” Cassandra looks anxious, like she hadn’t planned this all through. “I...I’m sorry for Leliana being all...”

“What? No, don’t be. I’m not...that’s not at all why I’m up here. I just needed air. I get flustered in crowds.”

She nods abruptly. “I-I do, too.” Her hand hooks onto her elbow. “You...I almost didn’t recognize you. You look…”

“Yeah, I know.” Fuck. She shakes her head and corrects herself. “I mean, I...thank you. And don’t worry, I don’t hate your date, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s swe--”

“Date?”

She flinches. “I...I just figured...”

Cassandra’s awkwardness melts, and she rolls her eyes and looks away, shaking her head. Everything about her says ‘unbelievable’ with frustration. “Leliana and I are not dating.”

“You...you aren’t? B-but,” she turns to face her head on, hands falling to her sides. “I thought when I saw you both at the coffee shop that morning, I…”

Cassandra steps forward. “She and I, we…” she chuckles drily, “we go to--”

“The same church. Got it.” It always...goes back...to church. She sucks her teeth for a moment, regaining her composure. Everything in her heart says leap forward, make right what was wronged. But her mind says spare more heartache. More awkward silence passes between them, before Cassandra takes another step closer.

“Is that why you’re acting like this?”

“Me? Cassandra, you have been just as aloof as I have.”

“I was trying to respect your space. You were the one who called for it.”

“Yeah, well, you said you agreed and you wouldn’t have time.” Her shoulders go back as argumentative confidence settles in. She’s good at picking fights. Not so much at...well, most other things. But if there was ever a good hail mary for her in a tough situation, it was a sparking conflict. “Um...you know, like I said, no harm done. I was going to get back to the party anyways, find my Mom, she’s--”

“You’re going to leave again.”

She blinks and looks up from her attempt to walk away, and Cassandra is staring at her. Decisive, and impatient. One might even suggest fed up.

“I…”

“You are doing exactly what you did the first time.”

Her cheeks heated. “I beg your pardon?”

A humorless smile. “You think you have it all answered again, and you’re running. You won’t let me explain, because you don’t care. You just want what you want when you want it, and when you don’t, it’s nothing.”

“Ohoho, oh no, you don’t,” the earrings come off...metaphorically.

“Then what’s the truth? Because from where I stand, you’re booking it fast for a woman in heels and a gown.”

“I’m a dancer, I’m used to being on my toes.”

Cassandra folds her arms. “Olivia.”

“Cassandra.” She matches her tone, but staring at her is breaking her apart. “You...you think what happened could just happen and I would not want space?”

“And what exactly happened, in your opinion?”

“You wouldn’t...you just…” she struggled, waving her hand at her side. “You have been making me do all these things, and chase, and I don’t know what I’m chasing! That’s what happened!”

Cassandra stares, a brow raising, but otherwise dead-pan. She then comes even closer. They are now only a couple yards apart when she stops, looking clever again. Clever and infuriating.

“Let me ask this, then: which one of us has initiated all our plans thus far?”

Olivia pouts and stomps her heel, arms crossing. She does mental math: the concert, the coffee date, the Church...thing. The pho outing. The work night in her office. Shit.

“I, uh...y-you.” Dammit. She can’t look her in the eye.

“And who has taken the other to various places that are important to her, so that the other can really get to know her, and perhaps even trust her?”

“...You.”

“And who has--”

“You, okay. You. Fine. Whatever it is, it’s you. I got it.”

Cassandra’s gaze lowers to the floor, and her hands go into her pockets. Shit, the jumpsuit has pockets.

“I think you have miscalculated just who has been doing the chasing.”

“Really?” Olivia rebuffs, “and what exactly are you chasing for, then? You...”

“I what?”

“...Make no sense, Cassandra! You’re all intentional, and you have your rules, but you don’t say anything about what they’re supposed to be accomplishing? I have no fucking idea what you want from me. You think I’m the demanding one, but you’re the one who has all the hoops to jump through with nothing promised on the other side. So what’s up?.” Her voice echoes a little too well, and she hopes they are alone wherever they are in the ridiculous building.

In the wake of her temper, though, Cassandra only frowns and looks to the floor. Pensive, as her eyebrows twitch up. Her lip rolls inward.

“You know, Liv, I don’t think the problem is my ambiguity. You’re too smart for that. I think you knew what I wanted; I think you’ve always known. You’re just upset that you can’t call the shots, even if it means the chance at being treated how you should be treated without having to spell it out or dictate it.”

Ouch. 

“...And how should I be treated, then? Like a virginal Princess? To be brought back to the good side from her tawdry exp--”

“Like a person who deserves respect and genuine care as to what her ideas, concerns, and interests are!” her voice lifts, but not in volume. More...in depth. “Do you really think you objectifying me like that is going to resolve the issues you have with objectifying yourself? That every time something goes astray, you can just blame it on my background, when you know so little about it other than what I have so cautiously shown you?”

Her vocabulary, her passion, has and always will get the best of her. Olivia deflates underneath her puffed up chest, now hollowed out and losing the hunger to fight. Cassandra is right, she is not always the most articulate. However, when she is it cuts to the bone. Clean, and merciless.

“I’m not trying to do any of that,” she says, stoic but losing grip, “I’m just trying to do what’s best for me. And from the sounds of it, you have been very mistaken in your understanding of who I am.”

“Oh, have I?”

She swallows. “Yes.”

“Don’t be ridi--”

“Bullshit! You don’t get to call me ridiculous. You don’t get to show up here out of the blue, have your friend torment me on your behalf, and call me ridiculous!”

“I did not come here to torment you, I had no idea you would even be here! You said you hated these kinds of things.”

“I do! I hate them, but my family has me on a leash called ‘tuition.’ What’s your excuse, huh? Needing to show off on the town after your big soccer...thing?!” she bitterly remembers she’s inept at sports. Inept at women, too. It’s a match made in hell.

Cassandra stiffens, and takes a beat. “If it’s anyone doing the tormenting, Olivia, it’s not Leliana. I would look in the mirror for that answer.”

Olivia’s eyes narrow into a hostile, acidic glare even she can feel burn. “How dare y--”

“No, you know what,” Cassandra sets a foot back, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did think I had found someone who turned out to be anything but who I thought they were. I’ll save you the trouble and see myself out. I know how it tortures you to be the first, anyways.” Unadulterated sarcasm. It cuts even deeper than her words.

“How can you--”

“No! Enough is enough. Now maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a taste of what it’s like when the person you can’t get out of your head for some God forsaken reason...ugh, forget it. Have a good night.” She continues back-stepping, hands with palms flat in Olivia’s direction. Olivia’s heart goes quiet again with the hope that maybe it’s all a dream, or Cassandra will come back around the corner and take it all back. But she doesn’t wake up, and Cassandra doesn’t come back. From the distant end of the floor, the fire escape door opens and shuts.

She wants to say goodbye, or mingle to keep up the charade, but coming down the stairs she can’t bring herself to rejoin. She can’t show her face, smiling and graceful, when she feels this way. So, she gets off on the first floor, and heads for the exit. There, she waits like a scorned Greek statue in her pretty gown for her car to be brought around. There’s no messages on her phone, not even from Theia or Josie. They must be having a wonderful night. Good, they should.

She drives off with all her masterful disregard for speed limits. When she brakes at the first stoplight she plugs in her phone to the AUX cord and puts it on one of her weird Spotify Daily Shuffle playlists. The first up is The 1975, “Somebody Else.” She leans forward onto her steering wheel and bursts into tears. Luckily, her last-minute stop before she drives home is nearby. She stops at the Trader Joe’s, strutting with wrath inside in her gown. 

All the late night vegan Moms and 20-somethings turn to look at her, and watch her as she marches her way to the alcohol section. Her face was carefully wiped using the visor mirror before she entered, thank God, but she’s still choking back sniffles. While she stands in front of the menagerie of bottles she calls Ellinor, but nothing. Voicemail.

“H-hey, Ellinor. I’m on my way h-home. Things h-happened, and...look, I’m gonna pick up stuff and be back tonight. Maybe y-you’ll be a-awake. I...I love you…” she wants to say more, because the message thus far sounds pitiful, but she hangs up there. She grabs two bottles of mid-priced whiskey and marches, growling at the rum on her way out.

Whiskey and chocolate bars. Elitist, ‘ethically-made,’ over-priced chocolate bars, and she’s out onto the road. Her bags never left her trunk. They rarely ever do when she goes home.

--

She drives like a Bond stunt woman, but it gets her back faster. By the time she sets foot on the campus parking lot she’s listened to an entire 1975 discography.. The last 20 minutes were no music at all, which, arguably, is the most miserable. But she can’t keep crying while driving.

‘I think you knew what I wanted.’ Past-tense. It’s digging under her skin and driving her wild. 

It’s past midnight when she walks into the dorm, barefoot and with her brown paper grocery bag, and everything is as safe as it’s gonna get. Going to her door, a faint sound echoes into the hallway and makes her stop.

Crying...that’s gotta be crying. Olivia turns and jogs down the hall as her stomach sinks with an intuitive feeling that shit has hit the fan. Pressing her ear to the door, her worst fear is realized. Nothing can stop her from shoving a bobby pin from her over-sprayed hair and unlocking her way in.

When she does, it’s bedlam: Sheets tossed, pillows thrown around the room, her string lights on draped on the walls but nothing else. And Ellinor, on the floor, curled up and sobbing.

“Ellinor, oh my God!” she drops everything and falls to her knees, crawling over to her. “Ellinor, hey, hey it’s me…!”

Ellinor flinches, but keeps crying. “L-Liv,” she quivers, “I...I…”

“Shh, sh,” Olivia sits back and pulls her into her lap, wiping her hair out of her face. She’s choking back tears both of self-pity and sympathy, now. In no shape to be a friendly savior, but she’ll try. Ellinor gains enough coherency to roll over into her, shoving her face in Olivia’s stomach. More crying, for what feels like ages, as they hold onto each other.

Then, after some time, Ellinors inhales sharp and congested. “Y-you f-feel like a Build-a-B-Bear…”

Olivia lays her head back against the lower twin bunk wood. Her chin curdles, and she wipes her face. “Y-yeah, I do. It’s a whole t-thing.”

“Liv, I f-fucked everything o-over...and he...h-he…”

“He did what?” she looks down, her attentions all the sudden lethal. “What did that bastard do?”

Ellinor trembles in her shoulders and lays on her back, face up at the ceiling as she rubs her soaking eyes. Still in Olivia’s lap, where it’s safe. “He-he went to the p-party, a-and...wait, did you…” she peers over at the bags. “Did you bring something?”

“Y-yeah,” she rubs her nose, “I went and got our favorite thing.”

“Whiskey?” her nose and lip quiver.

“Yeah. And chocolate, to go...to go in between. Maybe we should just w-wait, wait just a little while to dive in, okay? Maybe...maybe drink water, or some...something like that.”

“Ugh, angel face,” she closes her eyes and takes hold of Olivia’s hand. “You don’t look too hot, either. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Shh, babe,” she sighs, before yanking her necklace off. “Don’t be sorry. It’s...it’s not your fault. We’re gonna be okay, okay?” she takes a breath, and looks at the clock on the dresser. The second catastrophic Saturday night in less than a month. They must be going for a new record.