#(yes i stole the title from a FOB song its middle school again i guess whatever)

[selenelavellan]

That Ultra-Kind Of Love

(Technically a Continuation)

Dirthamen is @feynites

Selene is half-asleep and fumbling with the coffee maker when Des wakes, coming up from behind to wrap his arms around her waist.

“This is very complicated.”

“Have you even had coffee before?” he mumbles into her cheek.

“Haleir used to bring me some back from his trips,” She admits, feeling her stomach twist just at the mention of his name. “But maybe I should've given him more credit for doing so.”

Des scoffs. “I guarantee he never brewed it himself. Here, let me help you...”

Selene watches as Des rifles through the kitchen cabinets, easily navigating past tools and devices she couldn't even guess at the purpose of right now, until he flips the switch at the base of the coffee machine and it begins to whir and steam quietly.

“See? Easy.” He grins, pulling her back against him.

Selene gives him a half-hearted smile in return. “Thanks. I'll...get the hang of things. Eventually.”

“There's no rush. You only arrived last night, it's not as though I expect you to get it immediately. That's what I'm here for,” he promises, fingers gliding over the small of her back reassuringly.

Selene nods, leans her forehead against his, and lets out a long breath while the room fills with the smell of the hazelnut coffee.

It's barely been 8 hours since she showed up at his door. Out of breath and still wearing the ceremonial robes for the bonding ceremony, hair braided back and strewn with flowers, face covered in paints. The blood of her intended still caked onto her toes.

There had been a moment of silence when it happened.

No gunshot rang through the air. One moment she was walking down the path towards him, and then suddenly she wasn't. There was just a hole in the center of his head and the life drained out of his eyes until his body crumpled to the floor. The blood pooled at her feet while she stared down at his corpse beside her.

She had to resist the urge to laugh with the relief of it.

A gift from the gods, she had thought.

It was terrible, of course. A terrible, tragic attack on their clan. The hunters had dispersed immediately in search of whomever had shot Haleir. To take their vengeance, to punish the person who had interrupted their ceremony, to whoever had thought to ruin what was supposed to be a day of celebration.

But Selene hadn't felt a loss when it happened. Had only felt the burden of her fathers final wish fall from her shoulders, could only see her freedom and possibilities stretched out before her.

She had dropped the bundle of flowers in her hand, and run to the city as quickly as she could, the note Des had left her with his address still tucked safely away in her pocket.

To her credit, she had only gotten lost twice on the way here.

A door clicks open behind her, snapping her out of her memories as she turns her head to greet Des's roommate and employer.

“Good morning,” She greets, bowing her head respectfully. “Thank you so much for letting me stay here last night.”

The man blinks slowly, the look of someone who would rather still be asleep falling away from his face as he seems to take a moment to recall who she is and let her words wash over him.

“It was no problem,” he assures her. “Is...that my shirt?”

“Ah, yeah,” Des admits. “Her clothes still had blood and gunk on them, so I borrowed one from you. I'll take her shopping for some new things today so it won't happen again.”

“...It is no problem,” Dirthamen repeats, clearing his throat slightly. “We do, however, have work to do today.”

“Booooo,” Des pouts, propping his head up on Selenes shoulder to look at Dirthamen directly. “You have work everyday. Miss one; the world won't end.”

“While that is true, there are meetings today that other people would be inconvenienced to reschedule.”

“So inconvenience them! You're the big, powerful, important guy. Put yourself first for once; blow them off and go shopping instead.”

Dirthamen tilts his head “That sounds less like putting myself first, and more like putting you first.”

“Ah, but Selene needs an entirely new wardrobe. Shirts, pants, dresses. Frilly Underthings,” Des says in a tone that she knows means his eyebrows are wiggling. “I know you like frilly underthings.”

That, at least, seems to give Dirthamen pause.

“Seleeene,” Des drawls. “Would you mind trying on frilly underthings and expensive dresses for our patron today to say thank you for letting you stay here?”

“If that's...what he wants,” She agrees tentatively. “Wouldn't it be better if you tried them on though?”

Des grins the grin he uses when he knows something he doesn't want to share. “I wouldn't worry about it so much.”

The two of them glance over to where Dirthamen is still standing, deliberating with himself.

“Well...” He finally decides. “It seems I have been outvoted.”

–

“This seems like a lot,” Selene muses, looking at the bags of clothes lining each of her arms. “Are you sure this is ok?”

“He can afford it,” Des assures her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Carrying all of it through the mall may be another issue,” Dirthamen notes, his own arms equally laden with garments. “I feel as though you should also be carrying these things,”

“I have to keep my hands free,” Des argues. “I'm your body guard; I can't be bogged down by bras if your brother pops out of a dark alley or something.”

“Your brother pops out of dark alleys?” Selene asks.

“Not usually. He's much more likely to simply let himself into my apartment, or office.”

“Which is why I have to spend my days watchful, and very, very close to Dirthamen,” Des gloats. “It's an awful burden of course, spending all day and night with a gorgeous elf like him, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice.”

“And the salary,” Dirthamen adds.

“Well, I do still need to make a living.”

Selene ponders over their conversation, flexing her toes carefully inside her new sandals.

She should probably get a job, right?

That's what people do in cities?

And find somewhere to live, too. Dirthamen is being kind for now, but she'll need to have a plan for when his kindness runs out. She can't just run out into the night every time she needs to uproot things.

Well...

Technically, she supposes, she could.

But she doesn't think she'd like to leave Des behind without a way to find her.

“I should get a job,” She muses aloud, causing Des and Dirthamen to stop both their conversation and stride.

“What are you qualified for?” Dirthamen asks.

“Well, I was a healer back in the clan. Never got my vallaslin though...”

“You never got your vallaslin because your father was an ass who would never admit you were better than he was,” Des scoffs. “Do you want to be a healer?”

“I don't know,” She admits. “I never really considered doing anything else. What are my other options?”

“You could do what I do,” Des offers with a grin. “We could double team Dirthamen all day long. And nights too, of course.”

Selene watches as Dirthamen's face turns a pale pink and he draws one hand up to cover his mouth, nearly stumbling over his own steps.

“I don't think I'd be very good at fighting,” She admits. “Do you have any health concerns I could help with?”

“Not at the moment,” Dirthamen manages.

“There's no rush to get a job anyways,” Des assures her. “You can stay with us as long as you need. Dirthamen's a great sugar daddy.”

“I am your employer,” he asserts. “There is nothing untoward about our relationship. Please do not tell her that I am paying you for sexual favors.”

“Worried what she might think if you were?” Des teases. “Don't worry, Selene already knows what I'm like in bed. No money required.”

Dirthamen seems to stumble over his own tongue for a few moments, while Selene drifts off, still trying to decide on a possible way to spend her upcoming days.

At the very least, it's comforting to know that they're willing to share their home with her.

–

Selene sets out the next morning, wearing one of her new sun-dresses and a pair of lace-up leather sandals, to explore the city.

Des had handed her a cellular telephone, in case she might get lost or simply wish to speak to him. It is very nice, and she keeps it safe and sound inside of a small purse they had convinced her to get the day before. Eventually it will also hold her identification and other things people are apparently required to carry with them once Dirthamen has completed some sort of paperwork, but for now it's just holding her phone, a smaller pouch of money in case she gets hungry or would like to buy something, and a small tube of a sweet smelling substance that goes on her lips.

Before long, her stomach is growling and with the smell of fresh bread in the air, her feet pull her through a nearby door. A bell jingles softly overhead, drawing the attention of the woman behind the counter.

“Welcome,” She calls out, magazine still open on the counter before her.

“I was hoping for bread...?” Selene tries, walking towards the counter and opening up her coin purse. “How much of this do I give you?”

“Well, that depends on which type of bread you would like,” The woman replies, walking over to a glass display case. “We've got loaves of white, herb and cheese, sourdough, rye, marble rye, baguettes, bagels, donuts, all sorts of different pastries...”

She trails off as Selene bends down to look closely at the offered items. They all look appetizing, and her stomach is growling again and the woman, at least, is being very patient while she tries to make up her mind.

“That one,” Selene finally settles on, pointing to a small sweet looking item with some sort of filling and a strawberry on top.

“A wonderful choice,” The woman smiles, carefully sliding the pastry out of the display and onto a paper plate. Selene reaches for her coin purse again, and the woman shakes her head. “My treat.”

Selene thanks her, and sits down at one of the small tables in the back corner. The pastry is sweet but light, flakes falling onto her robes with each bite. After a minute, a large grey man with horns steps through a small door, whisking the elven woman that had helped her up into his arms.

“Anyu!” He declares joyfully “I discovered the secret to the filled pretzels! Add it to the menu! We'll have people here in droves!”

“Just as soon as I test one,” She assures him. “We have a customer, dear.”

The man turns, horns knocking a few brown packages off of the tops of the cabinets with the movements and Selene wonders for a moment how someone of his stature even fits in a room with ceilings this low.

“Oh, you're eating the strawberry Canelé! Those are Anyu's favorites too, did she talk you into it?” he laughs, striding through the small shop and swinging an extra chair around to her table, sitting down comfortably across from her. “She's always selling them as fast as she can this time of day so that I'll make a new batch that'll still be warm for her to bring home with us. You'd think she would just ask, but old habits die hard I guess. That's alright though, I love her anyways. She's wonderful you know.”

Selene nods in agreement, mouth full of the pastry in question and just a little out of sorts at the sudden intrusion.

“So what brings you to our neighbor hood? Shouldn't you be farther uptown, dressed like that?” He continues, gesturing to her outfit. “What brings you to our little corner of the slums?”

She swallows her mouthful quickly, managing a polite “I'm looking for a job, actually.”

“D'you bake?” The man (Kaze, he introduces himself as) asks eagerly. “I could really use a prep chef.”

Selene thinks back to her own attempts at making breads and sweets back with the clan; over-risen dough from her body temperature, burnt rations,  dried fruits that hadn't sunk to the bottom of her creations so much as tried to burrow an escape tunnel to freedom.

“No. No, I do not,” she decides. “Sorry.”

Kaze frowns, briefly, before perking back up. “That's alright, no harm done. What sort of job are you looking for then?”

“Mm...an apothecary, maybe? I was a healer, back when I was with my clan.”

“Oh, you're Dalish?” Asks the other elven woman.

Selene hums in affirmation.

“Incredible,” She muses. “We didn't have many of those in Val Royeaux. Somehow I thought it would be even less likely to run into one here.”

“Not many Tal Vashoth in Val Royeaux either,” her husband points out “But there's the clinic nearby, right?”

“Ah, yes!” Anyu declares. “The free clinic is always looking for more help. The poor dears are always overworked. You could check there, certainly.”

Selene nods in agreement as she finishes her food, and Anyu helpfully supplies her with written directions to the local clinic.

Selene thanks them for their help and happily strolls through the streets with the paper until she comes upon a rather run-down looking installment in the line of buildings bordering the street. The address matches the ones she was given, and when she steps inside she's greeted with the familiar scents of healing salves and disinfectants.

“Excuse me,” She says to the dwarven man seated at the front desk. “I'm looking for a job?”

“Are you certified?” He asks in a bored tone. “We don't pay certification rates here.”

“Oh, uh...”Selene blinks. “I don't think so? I used to be a healer back with my clan. I was told you were looking for people to help out...”

“Wait one moment please,” he sighs, picking up a large, bulky looking phone and having a quiet conversation before hanging it back up. “Room four.”

Selene blinks again, confused by how quickly this seems to have gone, but nods and heads dutifully down the hallway until she spots the corresponding number.

Inside is a worn out looking horned woman sitting in a chair and drinking coffee that looks as though it still has grounds floating in it.

“You must be the new girl,” She smiles. “Could you cover my shift for an hour or two while I nap in the back? I've been up for nearly 40 hours straight, and I don't want to endanger the patients.”

“Of course!” Selene says. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“Well, we're a free clinic, so we don't charge for services, but we do keep a log so make sure to get the patients name and date of birth for filing purposes. Most of the supplies are in the cabinets on the walls around you, aspirin and sedatives are behind lock on the mirror. If you need to write a prescription, send them up front; Vegor handles all of that, he's got the license and lawyers for it. Past that, if you have any issues, knock on door two, Saarah should be available if you need an extra pair of hands. Let's see, anything I'm missing....” She muses. “Oh! I never got your name, dearie.”

“I'm Selene,” She says, holding out her hand.

“Taasha,” She introduces back, shaking the offered hand. “Thanks again for your help. There's some coffee and water in the break room if you need it.”

Selene nods in understanding, and Taasha takes her leave for some well deserved rest.

Selene haphazardly rifles through the cabinets, trying to figure out where precisely everything is, and reading labels on medications and tools with words she's never even heard of.

It's not quite the same as she's used to, she realizes too late as she hears Vegor calling out “Room Four!” and the doorknob next to her turns.

“Hello there!” She greets quickly, standing from where she had been knelt down “What brings you in today?”

The elven mans eyes rove over her; a bright blue beneath golden locks as he lays back in the patients bed and holds up a heavily tattooed arm laden with still-smoking burns.

“I got attacked by an asshole, and my arm still feels like its on fire. You got any painkillers?”

She offers him two aspirin and fiddles with the lock on the mirror before handing them to him along with a paper cup of water (which he takes with a look of disgust and “are you fucking kidding me with this”) and takes a closer look at his arm. Poking and prodding, and gently testing for responsiveness. When he recoils at a light push, she lets out a breath of relief; no major nerve damage, then.

“It's your lucky day,” she hums, touch drifting down to lift his hand, which is heavy with thick rings and old scars “Burns are practically my specialty.”

“It would've been my lucky day if I hadn't been set on fucking fire.” he shoots back. Selene laughs, taking it as a joke. “Well, yeah, I guess that's true.”

She looks over his burns carefully, pouring a slow healing spell into a familiar salve as she rubs it into his skin, and watching as the redness begins to decrease. The pattern on his arms begins to make sense again; there are wings going down each one, and she's careful to make sure not to disrupt the artwork as she goes.

“Shit,” The guy croons as he watches. “Usually they just toss me a bottle of lotion and kick me out.”

“It's no trouble,” she hums. “Wouldn't want you walking around with broken wings, right?”

“I dunno, it's kind of metal,” He muses.

Selene blinks.

“Your tattoos are made of metal...?”

His eyes narrow. “Is that a joke?”

“If it is, I think it's on me.”

He sticks his nose up in the air, regarding her once again. “Of course. I'm particularly gifted with observation and people, after all. I'm sure you could tell.”

Selene nods in agreement, but thinks that if he were really so talented with people, its unlikely someone might've purposely set him on fire. Still, he's her patient, and it's good to keep things pleasant and civil in this sort of environment. “All done,” She announces as the final threads of ink rejoin along his forearm.

“Thanks,” He mumbles, rubbing and poking at his arm, as though making sure it isn't some sort of trick. “You got a name? Think I'll request you next time I come by too. You do good work.”

“I'm Selene,” She smiles, making a note of the procedure and materials used on the nearby notepad. “Oh! I'll need yours too, come to think of it.”

He grins down, hand accidentally landing on top of hers. 

“It's Falon'din.”

--

Falon’din is also @feynites

#an au with no name #deselene #dirthalene #selene lavellan #'hmm yes this is mine now' he seems to say #awkward #(to...put it lightly) #idk i just thought it'd be interesting to have them meet on terms that don't involve the usual person #anyways this is FINALLY written jfc it took forever and far too many drafts to be satisfied with #(yes i stole the title from a FOB song its middle school again i guess whatever) #(Last Of The Real Ones fits Des's vibe to a Tee and you can pry it off his playlist over my cold dead corpse <_<) #roommate au