littlegreengirl (littlegreengirl) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-03-04 13:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, gaila, montgomery scott, varric tethras |
“Can I get sommat tae eat or not?”
Who: Scotty and Cass (Gaila)
What: Arguments and drunk men
When: Day after shenanigans at the coffee shop
Where: Mad Dogs and Englishment
Rating: PG-13
Status: Part 1 of 2 (complete)
That morning, Scotty had managed to finagle a ride from Faiza from his old delapidated garage thing. If, by finagle, one might mean he more or less asked, and then threw a big bag of tools and another bag of clothes into her car, and then got in so she could drive him there. But it was a matter of the utmost importance! He had to talk to Varric about new run down garage thing nearby, or there’d be no place to build a battle robo in. Besides that, they were going to tear down the old garage according to the notice they’d posted, so he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
The ride had mostly consisted of his usual Scottish ranting and ‘instructional pointers’ on proper engine maintenence. Of course, all that really meant, was he had ended up going :| lots at the good doctor lady. She had forgotten to change the oil regularly, and therefore he had her pull over and was driving because she temporarily lost her rights to (and it lets him drive the car bwahahaha!). Ahem.
Finally they pair arrived at Mad Dogs, so Scotty gets out with a slightly exasperated sigh of disappointment (how could you! poor car! let me hug you!). He went to work fetching his bags from the car, and mindfully told her while doing so, “The car'll need tae be takin' in an' if they try tae change the oil out cold on this model, then it's a bad place tae take it. Shite, just bring it back here tae me an' I'll dae it, everyone else'll dae it wrong! Dunnae forget!”
Engines. They are serious business. Scotty pointed at her after his bag of tools went CLATTER CLANK and other bag went THUMP on the sidewalk. What? He can’t point at her and carry both of those heavy bags at the same time. He’s not bloody superman!
The doctor carried cards. Really. It was simply a quick and convenient way to hand out contact info! She handed one to Scotty with a wan smile, "Just ring me when you're settled, duck."
She walked around, hugged him, then slipped back into the driver's seat. The door shut, and the little porche drove off.
Well, she was a huggily sort. He had given her a one handed shoulder pat during the hug, really swift-like, patpatpatpat! He mouthed the word ‘dunnae forget!’ and then took the card, giving it a looking over. “Aye, I’ll do that.”
Simple enough! He waved at her from the sidewalk as the car went vroom off into the distance, with twiddly fingers of cheery bye-bye-edness! Then it was into the pub he went, dragging the bags along with him the entire way. Those tools are heavy, all right?!
The noise woke Cass from a reverie. She'd been thinking about life in general. She wasn't happy. And seeing the Scotsman that vexxed her made her even less happy. Her voice took on its native Irish lilt before she could stop it, "Oh what the shit now?"
“GET BENT!” he shot back at her, with a sidelong glare. What sort of welcome was that? It made him cranky. But that patch of bad emotional weather passed just as soon as it had started, and he suddenly didn’t sound very cranky at all, but rather very inquisitive. “Varric 'round?”
Trying to ignore the oncoming headache, she waved a hand and pointed towards the back, "Get that crap out of here! That way!"
“HOLD YE'R ARRRRRSE! I'm gooooo~eeeeeen! Bugger!” He already was lug dragging himself and his bags back there. And now it’s back to being hellishly cranky again. She was in fine form today, he decided. If by ‘fine form’ he might be thinking instead ‘utterly bitchy as usual.’
“Asstard.”
“Yer mouth's a bawbag catcher,” he instantaneously replied without truly thinking about it (ye auld mouth shot off!), as he's walking and not looking back her at all.
His insult seemed to strike a nerve, she stared at him in complete shock, her face growing redder by the second. Cass grabbed a tray and flung it like a frisby at the back of his head!
She shoots, she scores! He was whapped, but it was lower than the back of his head. Lucky for him! Instead it made contact dead center, between his shoulder. He stopped abruptly in a ‘oh nae she dinnae!’ way and turned to face her, his entire face scrunched up in uncontainable Scottish fury.
“AIIIIEEEY WHAT'RE YE DOO~EEN THEN?! DUNANE YE KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT VELOCITY AND SUCH! NAAWT ENOUGH LIP ON THE TRAY TAE MAINTAIN LIFT! Also? I'd bet ye were tea bagged in school by the footie ball team. For lunch money.”
Oh yes, he went there. And because it was his tendency to blow off steam by mouthing off, loudly, and then letting things settle back into a lull, he let it go by sticking his tongue out at her. Neener neener.
That tray making contact had really hurt, though. She’s got some power in her swing, he thought, and reminded himself it wasn’t best to stick around a pissed off woman, in case she picked up something else to throw at him. So off he goes, hauling balls to Varric’s office door, as swiftly as his Scottish legs can carry him, while toting his luggage!
The Irishwoman blew her top, screaming in rage, "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" It was every argument she ever had with her mother or the nuns in school and it got under her skin and burrowed there.
He still got last word in, heh heh! He heard the scream of rage and snerked, rounding the corner so he was down a corridor and safe away from any projectiles. He found the door to the office, as every good manager and owner of an establishment has one, and banged his fist upon the door until his hand ached. It was being done to the jaunty rhythm of shave-and-a-haircut, just to make the pounding a little less obnoxious. But the sooner he was let in at this moment? The better.
Obnoxious went into overdrive on the ‘two cents’ part, however, because this was an increasingly desperate situation. To his dismay, there was no answer, and the owner was apparently not in. Safe haven? Denied.
Damn. Now he knew he was going to have to make nice. Scotty glared at the door as if it had commited some great betrayal, and gave it a light knuckle punch one last time before he turned to address the harpy with hair the color of fire.
“CASS!!!!!!! HE'S NAE HERE!!!” he shouted, tacking on a sullenly spoken, “An' I'm hungry.” You know, just for good measure so maybe that might explain his crankiness, and she’d forgive him.
Her teeth ground as she stared at him in silent fury.
Rather uncermoniously, Scotty dropped both of his bags RIGHT there by the door. Time to face the music, no matter how terrible it might sound. He came out around the corner, leaning down to swipe the tray up off the floor in mid-step. He slowly, deliberately walked toward her, came to an abrupt halt, and held out the tray like it was a peace offering. But that is not all. Oh no! For in order to make nice and light of the situation, Scotty felt it necessary to hold out the tray and bonk her with it on the top of her head with it. He did so very, very lightly, because she is still a girl. And it is not right to hit girls, at all. See? His mum did teach him a few things!
“I'm hungry,” he repeated, in a low murmur. “Sandwich? Here's ye're tray back?”
Cass picked up the tray, it shook in her hand and then she snapped it in half, “I DON’T TEABAG!”
Eeesh! Talk about volatile! Wee firecracker, this one was! He leaned back a little with a half sneer curling at his upper lip and one eye scrunched tightly shut.
“Say it, dunnae spray it? Though I'm sure ye're probably familiar with gettin' sprayed on.” Oops, there went his mouth again. He was the king of insensitive commentary, on occasion. He held up both hands as though to ward her off and make nice, as well as to stop her so he could explain. “It's a only joke, lass! Dunnae take it so seriously! Ye work in a pub!”
The woman didn’t seem to be listening. She looked more like she was going to punch him.
Well, if she did, she did. He only stood there, waiting. But when some men are hungry, they require sustenance, and thus look to women to sling it in front of their faces. Right? Right. Otherwise, they would die of starvation. Of course, he didn’t really BELIEVE that, but he also kind of liked seeing her riled up now and then. At least she was paying attention to him and not making oogly eyes off at Varric. Who wasn’t there, but if he had been, she’d probably be ignoring him right now. As usual.
Why wasn’t she moving? He exhaled sharply out of his nose. He waited some more. He even raised both his eyebrows way up as if inquiring if he had to go tap his finger on a wristwatch, or punch a clock, so she got the idea that time was a’ticking away.
Still no go. So he tried plain english (or as plain as a Scot can get), “Can I get sommat tae eat or not?”
"Eat me, you bastard!" She stormed off, making all sorts of crashing and banging in the kitchen. She came out a moment later, "What do you want?!"
“SANDWICH! AN' DUNNAE SPIT IN IT!” was the hollered back response, followed with a much softer spoken, “Ye got ham?”
Scotty was not the most covert of persons. To prove that point, and that he was never a graduate of ninja school, he poked his head around the door into the kitchen. At first it was only to make sure she didn't sabotage his food. But it was quickly becoming a form of entertainment, because she was doing it wrong, according to every technical detail he knew about sandwich construction.
“Butter the bread,” he pointed out, helpfully. “An' mayonnaise. Dunnae let the lettuce get wilty. Here, I'll do it. Ye're dooooo~eeen it wrong, lass.”
Cass glared at Scotty. She was in the process of slapping heart attack levels of mayo in the bread. She smacked his hand, "I know how to make a hero. Get out or no extra meat!"
Ouch! Scotty glared a little and shook out his hand. “No need tae get violent!”
“CHEESE!” he yelled that out before she smushed anything together like bread over the fillings. “If ye've got eggy stuff, slap some of that on there as well. ONIONS. Oh, dunnae forget onions. Wait! Not raw. Cooked kind.”
That last bit was just to get up in her grill, so to speak, and...well, actually, some caramelized onions on a sammy might not be too bad, come to think of it. He’s not going to have too much longer to think about that, though.
A mayo slathered slice of bread found itself slapped into his face just before she shoved him out of the kitchen and slammed the door.
He stood there, with mayo face, but somehow managed to look like he was above having mayo face, and nothing of the sort had happened to him. Even as he was grabbing a bar towel and scrubbing if off.
“What'd I do naa~oow?” He threw the towel aside and kicked the door a little bit with a foot. Then, just to really get her goat, he shouted out, “DUNNAE SPIT IN IT! And I want crisps!”
Just because he knew that door did not have a lock so the waitress could come and go, he pried the door open and peeked through with one eye, to see if she was within view. He was in luck! This would either make her really angry or be totally amusing mostly to himself. He pressed his lips through the crack in the door, careful to keep a foot and both hands against it so she couldn’t slam the door, puckered his lips through the crevasse, and said in a low hiss of doom, “Criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiispsssss.”
One of the woman's eyes twitched. Her sandwich making skills were under attack. She added about five layers, angrily, like she's attacking the sandwich as she makes it. She even tenderized the roast beef. With her fists.
“I hope ye dinnae put the mayo an' the butter on the same sides, they've gae to be opposite! NAE BEEF! If I'd wanted cow on it, I'd have...okay then, I'll eat it.” It was too late, she’d already thrown it on despite his protests, and so it wasn’t like anyone had to twist his arm to get him to put it in his mouth and start chewing.
"I Know what I'm DOING!" She all but shoved the sandwich in his face.
Scotty caught the sandwich before it landed on the floor, or worse, on him. Though if it did land on him, at least then it was salvagable. He could pick the pieces off and eat it, still!
“Ye forgot the crisps. An' I need a drink.” He smiled at her, questioningly.
“The crisps are cooking.”
“...why're ye cookin' crisps? If I'd wanted CHIPS I'd have asked for them.” He stared at her suspiciously, sidelong, like she’d gone all sorts of crazytrain. “Dunnae ye just have the wee packets?”
He made a rippy open with fingers motion, while staring at her, to get his point across. Baggie of potato chips, yes? Did he have to speak slowly as well, like he had when he ordered the coffee? Wait! Maybe she sliced some really thin potato slices and threw them into the fryer for him. He suddenly looked thrilled! Aww, she didn’t ignore him entirely. How thoughtful!
“I dinnae know ye cooked yer own crisps here. That’s brilliant!”
She threw tater chips in his face, then disappeared into the back, grabbing a bottle of aspirin and popping a few.
With a fumble, Scotty managed to finally grab hold of the bag of tater chips, and went running off back to his chosen table. He dropped them down and jogged back, because a very intrigal component was missing.
“Drink. Pint's fine.” Scotty stared at her, utterly straight-faced. He waited in such a manner, that it seemed a cricket would start chirping in the background, any second.
Pointing at the table, she said, “Sit, I’ll serve you.”
Scotty continued with the cricket chirping stare. Though, this time, he held out his hand. Why did she have to make things so difficult? Couldn’t she see he was just trying to save her a trip there and back again?
“I think I still know how tae walk,” he insisted, hand still held out like he’s using signlanguage. And that sign language says ’Put the drink in this good hand here, see?’
Nothing happened. No drink was placed in his hand. So he wagged it. It flapped around like it was made of paper, making a flappy noise. He even wriggled his fingers.
Then he wagged his whole arm around.
Followed by flapping his arm wildly, like a one-winged bird about to take off. His hand looked like it had become some weightless floppy thing, in need of perhaps an anvil to weigh itself down.
“I’ll bring you your pint,” She said, as though speaking to a 3 year old, enunciating every syllable. “Go. Sit. I won’t spit in it on Varric’s honor.”
“BAH!”
“You can’t be back here! Health reasons!” She shoved him out bodily, then walked to the bar to pour him the drink.
A drunkard leered at her, “You gots sweets on his!”
Scotty blinked at the drunk. “EHHH?” Probably just shooting his mouth off. He gave him a dirty look and then started to follow Cass.
“Oh, there's no napkins either. Ye're a really bad waitress, ye know that?” he totally said that like blurting out the obvious here. It was an undeniable fact. The sad part of it, is that he doesn’t think he’s being rude. He thinks he’s being informative.
The waitress gave him a death look of beady eyes and screeched, “There is a napkin dispenser on your TABLE!”
O RLY? Scotty ran, fetched it, brought it back, and plonked it down next to her. Like a magician, he pulls out the one napkin left in there, and proceeded to wave it around like he is waving bon voyage to the Titanic with a lace hanky. All that was done while staring at her dryly.
Just to clarify? He helpfully pointed out in an equally dry voice, “Oh. Look. It's empty.”
In case he wasn’t enough of a smart ass about it either, Scotty made a show of blowing his nose into the lone napkin, crumpled it up, and then pinched it between two fingers before dropping it into the nearest rubbish bin. That done? He held both hands up and outward. Voila!
She shoved napkins down his shirt, then started cleaning the bar, ignoring him. Except for a glare every now and again.
Scotty stood there for a few token seconds and then shrugged one shoulder like that works well enough. Problem solved! He took the napkins out of the inside of his shirt, turned, and headed back to the table. He sat down like his butt was going PLOP on the chair.
Oh noes. He forgot something. He needs to be helpful again. Open mouth. Calling out nao.
“Drink?!” Persistent lil bastard, innit he? “I'm sitting, can I have one NOW? Or is it back to ignoring me?”
“One bud lite.” The waitress deposited a glass on the table and glared at him.
“OCH! THAT'S NAE REAL!” What was this fresh new travesty, placed before him? Dammit, why's it got to be lite beer?! This was unacceptable! He glowered up at her in outrage! “Real beer, and real gude pint, means ye cannae see through it. Oh look, I can see through this!”
He picked it up and looked through it like it was a telescope.
“It's like I pissed in the pint glass,” he said, like helloooo? Then he grinned up at her. Sarcastically.
“You asked for a drink, you didn't say what you wanted to drink! We had extra on tap.” They didn’t use to stock bud lite, but the profit margin was decent, so Varric had stocked up. It wasn’t a good seller here; people had gotten used to the good stuff. She’d been trying to get rid of it all.
Scotty groaned a little. Do not like.
“I'll drink the piss.” He visibly shuddered. “Cannae let any liquor go t'waste.” For someone who seemed so concerned about wasting any booze (no drop left behind!), Scotty was just sitting there, staring at it. Like a man, condemned.
For her part, Cass looked pleased.
Well doesn’t she look smug, he thought to himself with a frown. He took a drink, frowned just in case she didn’t note his displeasure before. Well, it wasn’t SO bad. Or didn’t appear so, because he apparently got over it after giving her a pointed split-second look like DUNNIT DO THAT AGAIN PLS.
Everything good? Good. He dug into his food, nomnomnom. And he was drinky drinking! And yes, he checked to make sure she didn't spit in it before he took the first bite. That stuff goes through an inspection. Always.
Mischievously, she started to walk away, calling over her shoulders, “Watch out for the pepper.” She hadn’t put one in. But his reaction should hopefully be worth it.
There was a pepper? EMERGENCY SITUATION! RED ALERT. OPEN SANDWICH AND REINSPECT!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fortunately for everyone involved, this crisis situation was a false alarm. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, so is left lobbing a bead-eyed squint of doom at her, like she has tarnished the once sturdy construction of his sandwich with her silly games. A quick reassembly job and he was back to eating, albeit eating like he had a vendetta against sandwiches, everywhere.
As she walked past the bar, the drunk smacked her in the ass. She turned around, “Hey!”
He gave her a leer, “Yoush pretty girl. Got a..dates tonight?”
Was that drunk idiot starting to hit on her? Scotty kept a sharp eye on him to make sure there wasn’t any funny business about to happen. Oh the hell with that.
“Hey!” He pointed at the drunk as a warning. “Hands off. Even if she’s a harpy, she’s still a lass. Try tae be polite.”
As if egged on by Scotty’s words the man lunged forward, hands grabbing onto Cass’ breasts and squeezing delightedly. He was rewarded with a tray to the face, the sound reverberating through out the bar.
Mouth opened and eyebrows raised way up, Scotty had been about to get up and put a stop to that, but it appeared Cass had things under control. It appeared to be the case, but he was on pause to make sure, and asked her through a mouthful of sandwich, “Dib ye gets ‘em, Cass?”
The man didn’t seem dissuaded. He grabbed her again, “You know you're easy. Seen shome of your guysh.”
Oh that had it. He gulped down that bite of sandwich and rolled his eyes, while standing up, and started to make his way over, very quickly. Before Cass could do anything, he held up one hand to her as though excusing himself and asking for just two token seconds of everyone’s time. And, as he got within arm’s reach, Scotty clenched a fist, drew it back, and punched the drunkard right across his drunk face. Right hook, for the win!
Rage button pressed, Cass lifted up her hand, fingers in claw formation, just as Scotty punched the man’s lights out. She stared in abject shock.
Scotty brushed his hands together. Good riddence!
“I'd suggest ye not get up an' jus' sleep it off there,” he grumbled at the passed out drunk on the floor, then took it upon himself to borrow one of Cass’s trays and clocked the guy with it, just for good measure. Done and done. He went shifty-eyed and handed it back over to her.
“I had it!” The woman couldn’t really help herself, she felt the need to defend herself, even from someone...defending her. She stared at him a moment, then in a calmer voice, said, “Thank you.”
“I know ye likely did, but I wasn't about tae sit there on me arse an' do nothing.” He stared back at her. “Just hit him again if he gets back on his feet.”
Scotty suddenly smiled at her as though he were silently asking if she’d like the next turn, if the drunk pervert woke up and wanted a round two.
Deciding that, in this case, he’d temporarily made up for his words earlier, Cass poured him the good whiskey. He deserved that much.
Well this was an unexpected turn of events! He blinked a few times, staring down at it, picked it up and knocked it all down in one go, making the OH THAT'S GOOD BURN face.
That was sweet. He leaned in, lightly pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger, turned her head a little and pecked a fleeting 2.5 second kiss against the side of her cheek. There, mabye that would help to prove that not all men are assholes. A flash of a cheeky smile at her, and Scotty kicked the drunk's leg just to get that point across. He then headed right back to his seat and his sandwich. Food! Nom nom nom!
Once, Varric had pulled her out of a job where she had been spiraling down into terrible things. She could handle herself, why did men have to think they wanted to save her?
Well, if was any consolation? She’s on her own now. He decided he wouldn’t be intervening unless she asked for it. In fact, as far as he was concerned, he was just warming the drunk up so - if he tried anything else - she can clean his clock. Just to make sure that stayed according to plan, though, Scotty was eyeing the drunk every now and then, but was otherwise chewing on sandwich pretty sedately. Well, that is to say, he was also drinking his beer and eating his crisps as well. Rinse. Repeat.
She gave him a glare, then poured herself a long cool one to drink
He finally finished the sandwich, which was GOOD, by the way, but found he was already bored by watching the drunk. Luckily (or unluckily) for him, someone had left something that had to be Cosmo nearby. And for lack of reading material, Scotty picked up the magazine and started reading about what sort of odd shite women think men are thinking about them, when they could just bloody well ask and find out, and not have to waste money on shite magazines like this. He idly munched on potato chips while reading about some sort of girly rot they get down there. Well, it was a bit offputting, but it’s not stopping him from idly munching on potato chips, either. He flipped a page. Crunch crunch crunch.
Pretty soon, the food was polished off, as well as the beer. And he had just about had enough of that magazine, too. He stood up with that stupid girl magazine in one hand and his pint glass in the other, making his way over to the bar, stepping over the drunk like he was part of the furnishings. Stupid girl magazine. It was such a waste of recycled paper and reeked of perfume. Plonk goes the pint glass down, so everyone who was not out like a light, could see it was empty.
“Be a bonnie lass an’ fill it again, would ye?”
Well, maybe he should give that magazine another looking at. The girls were pretty, the knickers they were wearing weren’t too offputting, and he did have a wait, because he couldn’t expect Cass would be as expedient in her waitressing duties as she had been when giving him the whiskey for punching a drunk in the face.
Scotty flipped back through the magazine, turned it sideways, looked thoughtful, and then put it rightways again. Oh, right, he’d better tell her while he was at it, “An' if ye want tae kick him a few times tae feel better, I wouldn't stop ye at all.” He was being very productive today. Go him!
Finishing her own drink, Cass came over to fill his thingie. His glass. Not his thingie. What was she thinking? She did kick the drunk on the way over.
Oh well if she wants to fill his THINGIE? Ha ha! He sat the magazine down on the counter.
“Likely going tae have a rough edge about ye an' be angry until ye do something about it, like hit him. Dinnae mean tae steal ye thunder,” he pointed out, and lightly kickle kicked the drunk bum in the shin. “Unless he's dead, an' then we're both buggered.”
Well...shit. She didn’t want to go to jail. She’d read about what women did in jail! Granted, it was one of Varric’s stories and had her questioning her sexuality by the mid way point, but that ...might actually be the point. Regardless, she had no desire to be anyone’s bitch nor experiment with a bunch of lonely women. She quickly rushed over and checked the man’s pulse, sighing in relief.
“I was about tae say, I dinnae hit him THAT hard.” No way did he want to get tangled up with the law again. At least he had his citizenship, thanks to a series of very odd fix-it jobs, but still...he swore there was a ‘three strikes you’re out’ thing on this side of the pond, and he’d been trying to keep his nose relatively clean, ever since. This was a bit troublesome, but at least the guy was breathing. And it’s not like he didn’t deserve it, for the most part. Oh, hey! Maybe if they put him outside!
“Ye want me tae drag him out tae the curb, or did ye still want tae have at him?”
She looked at Scotty, then looked at the man, then lifted her heeled foot up and smashed it on the man’s junk.
“Oh and if this' yer magazine, it's wretched an' written by eejits. Oh. OH.” He winced. Horribly. What to say, what to say. He decided to just go with the obvious. “Aye, he'll be feeling that when he's awake again.”
“Okay drag him out. And its a a good magazine!”
“It’s rubbish, except for the advertisements for knickers.” That was the truth. Scotty grabbed the guy by his ankles and starts dragging him to the door.
“Its..education.”
“No, ye end up in a university for an education, lassie. If ye want tae know something about men, jus' ask them, maybe? Duh.”
Cass laughed, as if that idea was ridiculous.
Nope! Truth! Scotty kept scoot scooting the drunk out the door after using his butt to open it. Scoot scoot, drag drag! He disappeared outside for a moment and reappeared, with a huge smile on his face.
“..thanks.” Grudgingly. As if she couldn’t be shitted to do anything more. She got him another whiskey, “Truce?”
Scotty only waved it off, meaning it was no large matter to be further concerned with. Wait? Was she plying him with beer? That made everything better! Yay, uber beer! And, to be fair, he didn’t mind the pale ale either, just took mild offense to the lite part, which he blew way out of proportion, just to be a bastard. He had given here a blank look as he was raising the pint glass to his lips, like he didn’t understand what she's asking for a truce for. A long drink and he raised his eyebrows a little bit, staring back at her.
“Since when were we at war?”
“..since we first met?” Cass shook her head. Did he have alzheimers?
Scotty shook his head at her like she's a little off and took a very, very long drink. Oh wait, she’s still staring at him, and she looks like SHE thinks HE’S a bit off. He sputtered in mid-drink, and then thought it best to explain.
“No...I mean...it's fine, lass. Ye dunnae need tae call for a truce...”
“So we're still at war?”
“I didnae think I was doin' anything outtae the ordinary. Well?” He thought on it. “Let's pretend we are. No one's got tae know any different.” He made a little toasting motion with his pint glass.
She liked this idea. Like a fun little ruse. She gave him a brilliant smile, “... so we give them something to talk about.”
“Exactly!”
She smacked him. Helpfully.
“Ouch. Next time, ye get tae hit 'im.” One hand rubbed where she whacked him one on the arm. “Anyway. Any idea when Varric will be back again?” See? He could ask for stuff and not be asking all shitty-like, since there's no one else around.
“He had a ‘thing.’” She replied. That thing wasn’t her, it was vexing. And a little heart breaking, “So sometime tonight.”
“Ahhhh. He won't be back for hours. I was hopin' tae see if I could get in that garage that's real close by. Ye've got the keys for t'back room?” Scotty was under the impression that Varric was probably 'entertaining' someone somewhere. “I need tae crash.”
Cass hesitated. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spend any more time in his company. She was still upset over earlier and would probably be for awhile. Until she snapped at him over it in three weeks or so. “He left me the keys to the garage.”
Scotty blinked and stared at her like the answer didn’t register. Or, at least, it didn’t until he asked her, “Nae shite?”
He switched from unsure to looking elated in under five seconds.
“BRILLIANT!” He raised his arms up like he was cheering and there was some massive win going on.