Chapter Text
Everything felt puffy and wrong. She couldn’t feel pain, just that strange numbness like one gets at the dentist… but everywhere. Especially her face and neck, but really everywhere. She couldn’t open her eyes. Was she awake or dreaming?
She heard voices, a door opening and steps rushing across a linoleum floor.
“Ksenia Gilabel, fuck, you look a mess,” Astarion’s voice was welcome relief, a friend in her fear and confusion. Confirmation that she wasn’t dreaming. But he sounded upset. She hadn’t heard that waver of genuine fear in his voice in years, nor her full name. Not since she pulled him from that awful home where he was being forced into sex work to pay his ‘love’s’ bills. “If he weren’t in custody already, I’d be hunting him down. See how he likes having his face re-arranged. He missed your eyes, though. Nothing can defeat the protective layers of cheap black eyeliner.”
“... Star?” she forced the word out through the sandpaper tunnel her esophagus had become. She tried, God she tried, to open her eyes. She managed a flutter before light brighter than the sun lanced agony through her mind
“No, Zen, don’t open your eyes,” frustration tinged his words, did she do something wrong? Was this her fault? “They said you have a concussion.”
“... wh’happened?” She remembered pain and darkness, panic and fear, but the details eluded her.
“That bastard Aradin showed up at The Harpers is what happened,” Astarion spat, his anger ratcheting upward with every word, “couldn’t take ‘you’re dumped’ for an answer, no, no, he had to make a scene and fucking bottle you at work. He sliced you up like a summer ham before we could drag him off. Jen called the police, he’s locked up. You’re safe. But…”
“Bu’...?”
“But he cut you up. A lot. There will be… scars.” Astarion had scars too. He knew the pain of being mangled by the one you thought loved you.
“Cig’ret,” she tried to tell him about her other scars. Why hadn’t she told him before? Shame shouldn’t matter between them, not after what they had been through. Years of friendship shouldn’t matter… but it did. She had been so embarrassed. Aradin hadn’t seemed so bad at first. Someone who loved her, who liked listening to her sing and play guitar. Someone who liked putting his cigarettes out on her upper arm when she came home late from a shift or didn’t cook what he wanted for dinner.
“Yes, I know, they told me,” Astarion sighed, “I wish you told me. I could’ve taught him not to hurt you. Asshole… You missed exams. You’ll have to re-take those.”
U-O was where Aradin was. Was where he would be again once he made bail. There was no way she was going back to campus. She couldn’t even go home, she’d been living with him for six months. He’d go straight there the moment he got out. She didn’t get the keys from him when she kicked him out that morning. Yesterday morning? How long had she been out, fuck she’d missed exams, how long?! Not that it mattered. Aradin would still have the keys. He was still on the lease.
“Well, at least I get to return one favour today,” Astarion said, his cool hand patting hers hard enough that she could feel it through the cotton-batting of whatever drugs they had wrapped her in. “Jen and I have already been to your flat. Packed your things and moved you out. By the way, that van Minsc drives is disgusting. You would think someone trained in food safety would keep his vehicle in a better state but–”
“Where?”
“Hm? Where what?” Astarion asked, forgetting the topic at hand in the depths of his complaints about The Harpers cook.
“Where… go?” Ksenia asked again, struggling to get information to penetrate the fog of her mind.
“It will be just like first year, roomie.”
Three Years Later…
“Whoops!” Ksenia cried out as she dove for the falling pet carrier. She caught it just before it hit the ground, the hard plastic case easy to hold in her arms but the living animal within shifted its weight constantly. No wonder the thing had fallen. “Caught you!”
“Oh, Tara, thank the gods,” a frazzled voice declared, “My Lady, you are my hero.”
“This is Tara?” Ksenia asked, still peering at the carrier in her arms. Men carrying boxes and furniture moved past her, but she hardly noticed them. There was a cat and it might even let her boop its pink little nose. She looked inside the bars on one side of the carrier, Tara was a medium-haired tortoiseshell with bright yellow eyes. She didn’t look overly phased by her near-brush with the concrete sidewalk. “Hello, Tara.”
“Yes,” the voice answered, just as the cat let loose an adorably tiny little meep, “my love, my everything, my Tara.”
Ksenia looked up as she got back to her feet, taking in the man who was speaking to her on the narrow sidewalk in front of the row of brownstones she had only seen the interiors of in magazines. His arms were full of boxes, the top of which Tara’s case had quite recently tumbled from just as Ksenia was walking by. But this man was no mover, he was moving in. She was surprised he was helping move his own things; anyone who could afford to buy or even rent in this block was someone who didn’t have to do their own labour. The stack of two cardboard moving boxes he was carrying were each labeled Library in a precise hand that seemed to make a sharpie into a calligraphy pen. He had nice arms.
Ksenia avoided looking at his face. People always stared at hers and she hated watching them map her scars with their eyes, watch the initial horror and disgust morph into pity. She had seen enough of him as she had walked down the street towards him, anyway. The man was tall-ish, taller than her anyway, with lightly greying dark hair that was long enough to be worn tied half-up in a bun that could only be called neat beside her own hair. He had a close-trimmed beard and wore nice-looking clothes, even on moving day. Nice-looking clothes that really outlined a fantastic set of shoulders.
“I’d offer to help more,” Ksenia said, carefully placing Tara’s carry case safely on the sidewalk at her feet, “but I’m gonna be late for work. She’s safe and that’s what matters, right?”
“Oh, but you’re bleeding!” the man exclaimed.
Bleeding? Ksenia looked down at her legs and, yes, there was quite the tear in her black leggings, revealing a freely bleeding scrape on her knee. She felt the sting of it the moment her eyes landed on the injury. Fuck, did she have a spare pare of pants at work? She’d have to hide behind the bar all shift.
“So I am. It’s nothing,” she dismissed. It did hurt, but it was worth it to save a cute kitty.
“Can you work like that?” the man asked.
Ksenia shrugged, “have to. Rent doesn’t wait for scrapes. Welcome to Rivington, anyway.”
“Where do you work?” His question set her eyes narrowing. She finally looked at the man’s face, trying to figure out his intentions. His warm, brown eyes were nothing but open and honest. His face looked too young to have earned the grey streaking his temples. He was, Ksenia was a little surprised to realize, pretty handsome. And there wasn’t a hint of disgust or horrific fascination in his expression. Not even a hint of pity. It was decidedly odd.
“I’d like to thank you, in some way,” the man explained, shocking Ksenia as he maintained eye contact that didn’t once waver to look at the scar spiderwebbing across her right cheek.
“The Harpers,” she answered honestly. If he was moving in, he’d find the pub eventually anyway.
“I believe I’ve heard of that establishment,” the man spoke slowly, clearly trying to remember where he had heard of her home-away-from-home. “A pub, is it not?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, pulling out her phone to glance at the time. Late for sure unless she rudely cut off what may be a good future tipper. “Mostly. I really gotta go, Mister–”
“Gale. Gale Dekarios,” the man answered, pausing for a moment after giving his name for reasons Ksenia could not possibly understand. When she didn’t react, he went on, “and thank you again for rescuing Tara. I owe you.”
“You do not, it was nothing,” Ksenia insisted, beginning to jog down the street. The Harpers was easily still ten minutes away; she had to pick up the pace. “Goodbye Tara!”
Ksenia jogged down the street, then ran as hard as she could once she was out of sight. Her non-slip shoes pounded the pavement as she flew past the fancier stores that kept opening in Rivington, closer and closer to The Harpers and the University of Oghma beyond. She hated them all, from the little boutique that sold nothing but fancy oils, spices and crackers to the more sizable lululemon. Three years ago, those stores had been much lower class, and with much lower rent. Along with the apartments above them. At least the buildings looked entirely different than when she lived in that strip as a student. It was easier to ignore bad memories when the neighbourhood looked so different it may as well be a new town.
The Harpers looked different as well. It wasn’t the same pub it had been three years ago. They had a sidewalk patio now and a small extension that allowed them to expand the business from pub to cafe. You could see the beating heart of downtown Baldur’s Gate, just across the wide and busy Chionthar river, from the second-floor rooftop. Business was good, especially as Jaheira owned not only her business, but the building. They would never be pushed out by higher rent.
Ksenia burst through the doors, breathing heavily, and took a moment to re-tie her dark hair, pushing the sweaty mess out of her face to create more of a ball-of-mess at the crown of her head.
“Soldier,” Karlach saluted from behind the bar-slash-cafe counter. She was with a customer, so Ksenia moved through the pub, noting the few customers sipping coffee or eating their pre-made sandwiches or pastries, heading for the back.
“There you are, cub,” Jaheira announced from her place at the prep station, her tethyrian accent thicker than usual today, “I wondered if you forgot your shift.”
“Me?! Worry about your own memory, grandma,” Ksenia smiled at the owner of The Harpers, her boss for six years and more. “Minsc is supposed to do more prep, what are you doing?”
“I am keeping my business running,” Jaheira replied succinctly. She stopped cutting onions to squint at Ksenia. Under her hair net, the silver clips she wore in her grey-blonde hair glinted in the light as she moved her head this way and that, taking in Ksenia’s face. “Here, let me see…your eyes, did the liner last this ti– no. Could not survive even one bus ride.”
Ksenia wiped a finger under one eye, it came away streaked with black. “Ugh. I saved a cat. Wrecked my pants and, I guess, my face.”
“But you saved a life,” Jaheira smiled, crows feet crinkling at the edges of her hazel eyes. “Clean yourself up. Make Karlach serve the tables until her shift is over. Unless you have a change of clothing?”
“Nope.”
“Ah, then it is what it is,” Jaheira shrugged, picking her chef's knife up to resume prep work, “text Astarion to bring you something later.”
Ksenia found her keys, unlocked the back office and got herself ready for her shift. Some quick work with a wipe turned her face from makeup-accident to her regular rockstar-smudged-liner. The First Aid kit that lived in the back office – note to self, restock the office kit – cleaned up her knee. She sent a quick text to Astarion requesting he bring her a change of clothing later. She even managed some quick surgery with a roll of electrical tape. From a distance, you couldn’t even tell her leggings were a complete write off.
“Think it’ll be busy tonight?” Ksenia asked Jaheira when she exited the office and locked it up behind her.
“Moving weekend,” Jaheira nodded to herself. She had moved on in her prep work to the press that turned potatoes into french fries. One press and she winced in pain; her hands weren’t up to this sort of thing anymore. Ksenia moved to take over the work. Potato in, press hard, french fries out. Never one to sit on her laurels, Jaheira moved on to another part of prep that she could do. “Classes start next Monday. Some of the kids will return to us, some will be new. We will see more and more this weekend.”
“Jen won’t like the loss of her wine nights,” Ksenia giggled. “Unless all the first years are taking sommelier classes, Sunday Night karaoke will be back.”
“What did you sing at the last one?” Jaheira asked, “for three weeks she has not stopped complaining. She goes on and on about what you made her listen to.”
Ksenia took a breath and started singing in the gentle tone usually reserved for use by douchebag guitar-bros in the quad, “I like big butts and I cannot lie. You, other brothers, can't deny. When a girl walks in with an itty-bitty waist, and a round thing in your face…”
Jaheira laughed as Ksenia continued her song, an acoustic re-writing of a 90’s rap song they both knew, though Jaheira was probably there when it was written. The door to the kitchen swung open and Karlach stuck her head in, “Zen, I’m getting slammed out here!” she declared before rushing back out.
Ksenia abandoned prep and ran out. A line had formed at the cafe counter, Karlach was just settling herself behind the espresso machine preparing someone’s drink. Ksenia set herself behind the cash and lost herself to the ebb and flow of service work. It was hours later when Karlach’s shift was almost over and Ksenia was crouched behind the counter stocking fresh milk, dairy and non, into the fridge. She was singing to herself, as she almost always was.
“And maybe you should sleep, and maybe you just need a friend as clumsy as you've been. There's no one laughing, you will be safe in here…”
“Zen!” Karlach hissed, leaning over the counter holding a bin full of empty plates and mugs destined for the kitchen. “Customer!”
Ksenia shot up, a smile plastered on her face, ready to apologize to… Gale Dekarios. Gale Dekarios wearing a different set of pants and tshirt, whose hair was still a little damp from a shower. Gale Dekarios who continued to have really nice arms.
“Oh, hello,” she said instead, blinking in surprise at the man she hadn’t expected to see again for weeks, if ever.
“Hello, um… Zen?” He said, breaking eye contact to glance at her chest only fast enough to determine she wore no nametag.
“Ksenia,” she corrected, giving her full first name though she wasn’t sure why. His own politeness demanded equal manners from her, she supposed. “‘Zen’ is easier.”
“A beautiful name,” he smiled guilelessly, “I said I wanted to thank you. For saving Tara.”
“You did thank me,” Ksenia looked at the man, confused, “you said ‘thank you’.”
“Basic manners aren’t enough to replace what you ruined to save her,” Gale tutted. He put a red plastic card on the counter and slid it in Ksenia’s direction. The small white dot in the middle of the card, broken by a red squiggle, gave the cards origins away.
“Gale, I assure you I didn’t ruin a pair of lululemons saving your cat,” Ksenia pushed the card back with a laugh, “these were thrifted. And you don’t owe me anything, honestly. Buy yourself a snack and tip well, ok? I don’t need–”
Karlach re–appeared, snapping up the giftcard before either Ksenia or Gale could do anything about it. She flipped it over to read the other side, her honey-brown eyes widening in surprise. “I got this,” she informed Gale, “I’m about to clock out anyway. Zen, you’re a… what, 6? You’re tiny. Probably a 6. Be right back.”
“Karlach, no wait!” but it was too late. She was gone. Ksenia was stuck behind the counter alone, with a handsome not-yet-customer who loved cats and, apparently, grand gestures. A crash came from the kitchen, followed by Jaheira shouting at Minsc. Ksenia had to finish switch over, their small dinner menu would be on offer in an hour, when the bar opened. Customers would be coming in soon.
She felt awkward, standing there with Gale. She hadn’t accepted his thank you gift, not really, and was starting to feel a little bad about it. She could practically hear Astarion hissing in her ear about not looking a gift-legging in the mouth. “What’s your drink? Let me get you a coffee, at least.”
“I thought this was a pub,” Gale looked around, noting the wall of alcohol bottles behind her and the small cluster of beer taps beside the coffee machines.
“It’ll be a pub in an hour,” she explained too quickly, nervous about whatever Karlach was doing at lululemon down the street, her mouth took off at a gallop when she was nervous, “we’re too dead during the summer to serve all day long. The kitchen and the bar open at five. Right now, it’s fancy coffees and whatever’s left of the pastries. I think I have a blueberry muffin and a croissant left. You look like a cappuccino-kinda guy. Or fancy tea. It’s fancy tea, isn’t it?”
“It is, however, a cappuccino sounds lovely,” Gale smiled. Again, his eyes held hers. It was intense and weird not having her face gawked at. She got started on the cappuccino, ducking her head to avoid looking at him, but stealing little peaks. He still wasn’t staring at her scars, not even when he thought she couldn’t see. She was halfway through making his cappuccino when he asked “what happens to this place at five?”
“Depends on the day,” she answered, raising her voice over the sound of steam. Cappuccino ready, she handed it to him over the counter and nodded towards a nearby table. “Dinner menu is on the table, if you’re interested.”
He took the mug she offered and wandered over to the table. Instantly, he was fully concentrating on the tiny flip book that lived on every table, his attention rapt as he read every word. Ksenia wasn’t sure why, but she hoped he liked the menu. Maybe he’d stay for a meal. Maybe they could talk a little and he would keep looking at her like her face hadn’t been shredded by a… well, no matter. It wouldn’t help to think about that. She was at The Harpers, there was a panic button behind the bar that would summon the police in less than five minutes. She was safe.
“Wine tasting and karaoke,” Gale mused, pausing to sip his coffee, “and delicious coffee. None of which really goes together, does it?”
“The University dictates our actions,” Ksenia shrugged, beginning to clean the coffee machines in anticipation of shutting them down for the night. “We wear a number of hats. The cafe is a new addition, actually, used to just be a pub. Jen had the idea for the wine nights. They’ve been doing alright. I guess wine is expensive? I don’t know wine. Karaoke is monthly in the summer and every sunday once the U-O kids show up. They’ll split a single order of fries and drink themselves stupid, but it’s a fun time and we’re a drunken stumble away from the dorms so no one does anything too foolish.”
“I’ve never lived so close to a university before,” Gale mused, flicking back through the little booklet, “it makes sense that the students would take over the area.”
“I hope you’re renting, then,” Ksenia chuckled, “you might be looking to move in a year.”
“I am–”
“GOT IT!” Karlach shouted from the doorway, triumphantly holding up a small red-and-white totebag. She stomped up to the counter and thrust the bag at Ksenia, “go get changed, Soldier, you’ve got a long night ahead of you.”
Ksenia took the bag and opened it, intending to look inside. Karlach’s loud voice stopped her.
“I gotta go, Zen, so get changed fast, ok?”
Karlach had two jobs and some side hustles, all to pay off her student loans. She couldn’t afford to be late to her work as a personal trainer at Wyrm’s Rock Fitness. Bringing personalized fitness to the monied type who could afford brownstones or any home-ownership at all tended to come with an absolutely ruthless sense of ownership over the service class. She could easily lose a client if she was a minute late, which was highly unfair. Out of respect for Karlach’s time, if nothing else, Ksenia quickly marched herself to the back office. She got changed quickly, growing instantly enamoured with the black leggings Karlach had selected for her. They fit well and were very soft. They had pockets. Multiple pockets. Two little side pockets that could hold a phone or a debit card and ID. The price tag, however… the price tag was wild. It was three weeks, maybe four, of groceries. On a single pair of pants! Gale was going to get free coffee for the rest of the semester. It was the least she could do.
She stuffed her torn leggings into the office garbage can, then returned to the bar and the prepwork for dinner. Karlach had set herself down with Gale and was chatting with him.
“Oh, yeah, you gotta come to karaoke night, even if you don’t sing!” Karlach was telling Gale, who was listening to Karlach with the same intent expression he wore when he read, “students come, sure, but so do locals. And Zen sings. That’s always a treat. You’ll meet people. It’s awful being new in town, not knowing anyone. You’ll know folk right quick you come here on Sunday.”
“Karlach!!” Ksenia whispered, glaring at the woman, “you have somewhere to be.”
“I do! See you tomorrow, Soldier!” Karlach stood from her seat, saluted and left.
“That should be my cue to leave as well,” Gale said, glancing down at his now-empty mug, “it’s been a long day and I need to check on Tara. I’m glad I could replace your leggings. Thank you for accepting that.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Ksenia stumbled a little over her words. “Thank you. A lot. They’re really nice.”
“I will see you later, Ksenia,” Gale murmured, looking her dead in the eye while he said it. Then he was gone. Ksenia wasn’t sure if she wanted everyone to look at her like Gale did, or if she wanted Gale to come back so she could have his eyes, and only his eyes, on her again.
*****
The rest of the week passed quickly. Tuesday and Wednesday were a blur of serving latté’s with increasing numbers of espresso shots to harried University employees preparing for the start of school next week.
Thursday was a day like any other; Ksenia arrived at The Harpers far too early for her shift, setting herself in the back office to do some admin work on her laptop. She paid some bills, ordered supplies and emailed Cal and Lia who had worked in the kitchen last year. Were they coming back next week and did they want to work again? She debated reading the small pile of resumes that had begun to appear just the day before as more and more students returned to the area, many looking for work. She decided against it. Instead, using her own shiny new student card to send a print order – ten percent student discount – to Sundries, the U-O bookstore, merch store and printshop. It was time to replace the worn little menu booklets and make some flyers to advertise around campus.
“What are you working on, cub?” Jaheira's voice interrupted her, “you haven’t started classes yet.”
“I’m working on The Harpers,” Ksenia replied with a smile.
“Don’t behave like you own the place,” Jaheira grumbled, “I’m not dead yet.”
“Retired, Grandma,” Ksenia corrected, “and I’ve been paying your bills and doing supply ordering for two years now. Even before you sent me to school last year.”
“Ah, yes, my little cub all grown up and going to school–”
“Back to school,” Ksenia muttered.
“–which reminds me. We need to go over the schedule,” Jaheira went on, blowing past Ksenia’s muttered words without a care, “what class do you have next week?”
“Classes. Two this semester,” Ksenia responded, pulling up the email the school had recently sent her about her classes as a ‘mature’ part-time student. She read the information out loud as she put it into The Harpers’ shared calendar. “Business Accounting 2 on Tuesday afternoons and Ancient Civilizations 1 on Thursday morning.”
“Your wise and wizened elder I may be,” Jaheira replied with a quizzical expression on her face, “but The Harpers is not an ancient civilization.”
“I had to take an elective and it seemed interesting.” Ksenia shrugged.
Not music?
Jaheira didn’t ask but Ksenia felt the question hover in the air all the same. No, not music. Not again. That dream was over, sliced out of her by the jagged edge of a broken wine bottle. She was going to learn taxes and payroll and become the next owner of The Harpers when Jaheira finally decided it was time to hang up her apron and hairnet.
“I will not listen when you complain about writing papers,” Jaheira shook her head, folding her arms across her chest, “now, the breakfast rush is over. Karlach is up front. Go, go do this work out there so I can go upstairs and rest.”
“Yeah, go have your nap, Grandma,” Ksenia told her boss, unplugging her laptop and preparing to continue working on the administrative needs of The Harpers while doubling as a backup server.
“You would need naps too, if you had to wrangle Minsc every night,” Jaheira told her, moving to the back door of the kitchen and the exterior staircase that led to her apartment above The Harpers. “I would not have a grey hair upon my head if I was not forced to work with that man.”
Ksenia just laughed at the oft-heard complaint as she pushed herself through the doors. She knew Jaheira would as soon get rid of Minsc as she would shut down The Harpers. Complain about the place though she did, Jaheira loved it just as deeply. It might not be want she had wanted with her life, pub ownership was the dream of her sadly departed husband Khalid, but with inheriting the place – and Minsc, it seemed – after Khalid died in a car accident fifteen years ago, it seemed that keeping her husband’s dream alive kept her alive, too.
As she passed by each table on her way to the front counter, Ksenia did a quick inventory of which tables were taken and how much coffee they had left in their mugs. For some reason, Karlach was practically vibrating at her station, constantly shuffling from foot to foot, fiddling with her earrings, or sweeping her half-head of red-streaked hair over her shoulder again and again. Ksenia wondered if she had got a trim or something and wasn’t comfortable, then she realized what might be making Karlach so excited. Gale was sitting at the table closest to the counter, the table Ksenia herself was hoping to occupy. He had his own laptop out and was furiously typing away, ignoring the mug and half-eaten danish set beside his mouse. He was in more-than-nice-looking clothing this time. A sort of office-y button-up shirt that was crisply, almost magically, white and ironed to within an inch of its life. It lacked a tie and he had his cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. His focus was exclusively on his work; he didn’t notice Ksenia walking past the table to set up her laptop behind the counter.
“Soldier,” Karlach said with a little salute, barely a touch of her finger to her forehead.
“Tables 4 and 5 will need to be bussed in a moment,” Ksenia said absentmindedly as she focused once more on spreadsheets and inventory. “Grandma is having her nap.”
“Oh, Grandma,” Karlach grinned, “wish I could have a nap. It was super busy this morning.”
“Ah, hello Ksenia,” Gale’s voice interrupted her conversation. She looked up from her laptop to see Gale using his very nice arms to put what looked like a five dollar bill into the tip jar.
“You didn’t order,” she stated flatly, skipping pleasantries in her confusion.
“I’m only hungry for wifi,” Gale answered with a self depreciating grin. “I can’t seem to get set up at home for two weeks, at best, and the school hasn’t finished renovations on the building where they’ve decided to put my office. I’ve spent the morning tipping Karlach here for access to the internet.”
“Oh! Oh, you work at the school. I didn’t know,” Ksenia exclaimed as understanding dawned, “we offer free wifi, but thank you so much for tipping. What are you doing at U-O?”
“Faculty of Arts & Science,” Gale answered, naming one of the larger faculties on campus. He didn’t give any more information and Ksenia didn’t ask. It wasn’t her faculty, she was under the School of Continuing Studies, taking classes that would enhance her business skills as opposed to working towards a degree. She didn’t want, or need, to pry. She had her own work and it was just as pressing as his, no matter what he was working on.
The battery indicator on her aging laptop dropped from eighty percent to fifty.
“Actually… if you’re working, can I share the table with you?” She asked, realizing her laptop could die on her any moment. She swiftly pressed the save button, “this thing’s battery is starting to go. You’re near the outlet.”
“Yes, of course,” Gale agreed. Together they moved to the table, Gale sitting at his laptop and beginning to work again, Ksenia setting herself up. She plugged her laptop into the wall, then her external memory drive into the laptop. It was time to add to the song collection.
“Before I forget; how’s Tara?” she asked, opening her browser and logging on to the KaraokeBARD site.
“Dear old Tara,” Gale sighed, sounding slightly frustrated but smiling with joy at the thought of her nonetheless, “she’s adjusting. Finally came out from hiding under my bed just this morning. She doesn’t take well to change; this is her first move in a long time.”
“Where were you before?” Ksenia asked, making small talk with half her mind as she scanned through the top hits listed on the site. She hit download on every one of them, whether she recognized it or not.
“Waterdeep,” Gale answered after a moment of silence.
“Oh, nice, I was accepted to the College of Bards back in the day. Chose U-O instead,” what in the world was K-Pop Demon Hunters and why were the songs in the English category? Didn’t matter. Download.
“Back in the day,” Gale repeated her words, scoffing lightly, “you’re a student now, are you not? What day did you used to have?”
“I’ll have you know I’m twenty-five and not a student, thank you very much,” she stuck out her tongue at him, proving how old and mature she truly was.
“Ah, yes, a mature twenty-five,” Gale rolled his eyes, the corner of his lip curling up in a half smile.
“You are a student,” Karlach corrected, walking past with a bin of dishes for the kitchen.
“Lying certainly isn’t very mature,” Gale tutted. Something missing in his voice, an absence of the tone of humour it had held up until now, made her look up from her laptop screen.
“Continuing education. Business classes,” she explained in curt sentences, a little upset to be called a liar, “I took four classes last year and will be taking two this semester. I don’t consider that being a student; I’m not in the dorms, I don’t have a full course load. I do have a student card and printing discount at the school. Which I shamelessly take advantage of for The Harpers. Don’t rat me out, Dekarios.”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” Gale replied, his attention captured once more by his laptop screen. He typed out a few sentences, then began clicking around with his mouse. “Fraud isn't–”
“Capuccinos on me, for the rest of the semester” she offered immediately, realizing she didn’t know this man and he could very well get her in trouble at the school. Stupid fool that she was joking around with a customer like this. Gale looked up from his laptop, a small frown darkening his face.
“I was joking, Ksenia,” he explained, “a printing discount is completely harmless. It’s not like you’re selling essays or something else truly egregious.”
“Ha, no. Not selling essays,” Ksenia chuckled at the very idea. No one would be buying her writing any time soon. She continued through the song list. Sabrina Carpenter, download. Lady Gaga, download. “A cappuccino does sound good, though. Want one?”
“Only if I’m paying,” he replied, reaching for his wallet.
“You’re still ahead of me,” Ksenia reminded him, “I know how much those leggings cost. I owe you.”
“What is business class teaching these days?” Gale shook his head in exasperation, “you won’t get anywhere giving things away to paying customers.”
“Not paying customers,” Ksenia rejoined, moving behind the counter and working at the espresso machine, “just you.”
He didn’t reply until she brought a mismatched pair of cappuccino cups to their table, choosing instead to focus on his work. When she placed his cup down by his right hand, he looked up, his warm brown eyes boring straight into hers. “Thank you.”
There it was again. That frisson of warmth that someone was noticing her as a human being, rather than a collection of scars. She smiled at him, a better smile than her usual customer service affectations, “you’re welcome.”