Cassandra: you cannot sit there and tell me the Champion is innocent
Varric, having 1000 flashbacks all at once, including to the time Hawke decided to start a game called ‘strip fighting gangs at night’ where they’d scour the city for thugs at night, and the one who got the least kills had to lose a piece of clothing. Until they were mostly all fighting in their underwear and aveline took them in for 'Indecent exposure’: I don’t know if innocent is the right word
I worked a cash register in a crappy grocery store on Friday the 13th, the day the schools got word that they were going remote because of the virus.
There were horrible people. I don’t need to go into details because we’ve all heard them or read about them or experienced them firsthand.
But most people were just scared and anxious and trying to take care of their families in spite of bad local and state and national leadership and terrible messaging and limited personal resources. They were intense, but understandably so.
My bosses weren’t great, not on any level, from CEO to shift managers, but that’s not news, most of us have been exploited and abused in our jobs before and during Covid.
We weren’t allowed to wear masks because the store thought it would freak out the customers. Some people quit on the spot, but precious few because it’s not the kind of job you work if you have a ton of options. A woman came through my line and she was wearing a cloth mask with a pretty botanical print. I complimented the design and we bonded over love of fabrics and crafts. She asked about the store mask situation, I explained store policy, she shook her head, left with her groceries, and I kept working the endless line. She was back four hours later with a mask for me. She’d gone home, put away her perishables, sat down at her sewing machine, made a mask for a stranger, and then gone back out into crazy traffic and crowds, just to find me and give it to me. She gave it to me in front of the floor manager, and explained to the manager that she was worried about the employees, and my boss had to let me wear it (out of a weird mental loophole of ‘customer is always right’ even though no other employees were allowed to wear one that day and for a few weeks afterward, which sounds insane, but it’s true).
Another woman had come through with a ton of cheese, really cool fancy stuff. I’m in the cheese fandom so we had a good time chatting. She left with her groceries and I kept working the line. About an hour later, she was back in my line again with more fancy cheeses. I rang her up, bagged her food, handed it to her, and she handed the bag to me and said “This is yours, I’m grateful for all the essential workers but I don’t know how to tell you guys or keep you safe, so I’m just doing this.” She’d put her groceries in her car, gone back into a madhouse, picked out cheese for an anonymous cashier, and WAITED IN LINE FOR AN HOUR so she could give it to me personally.
Toward the end of day, after credit card machines had gone down five times in as many hours (do you know what it’s like a for an entire grocery store to go cash-only for overlong periods of time on March 13 with a building full of scared customers? Do you know how funny or charming or lighthearted you have to be with that many intense people on the verge of freaking out? Sometimes being a cashier is like being a goddamm standup comedienne or therapist or surrogate mom I swear). Anyway, a guy came in toward the very end of my overtime and the card reader went down again and this customer didn’t freak out. He started SINGING. He stood there and sang to me until the computers came back online. I’ll never forget him or his sweet voice or that moment in time, ever.
I know things are bleak right now. I know they’re going to get worse. But I see acts of bravery and kindness all day, every day. Every. Day. People are channeling their despair into personal outreach that doesn’t get witnessed by many people because it’s usually one-on-one type stuff. I do a ton of climate & political stuff, as well as all my odd jobs, so I see a lot of different demographics in a lot of different situations, all of them stressful, and yes, there are sociopathic assholes in all of those settings, but there are ALWAYS always people being good and brave and looking for ways to connect or care for or support other people in a myriad of ways.
I don’t believe in very many things at this age but I will go to my grave defending the goodness of humanity. We may be isolated, we may be headfucked and heartbroken, but we are still fighting the good fight. That’s as real as all the bad stuff.
there’s an educational trivia game at the citadel on the exhibits on different planets called “Dog or Not?” that shows pictures of various four legged mammals and asks if they’re a breed of dog.
it was mainly for kids to learn about the diversity of earth’s flora and fauna but it became popular with adult aliens too and had to be shut down after almost causing no less than three diplomatic incidents.
they brought it to the nexus and it’s caused two more so far
“That’s definitely a dog.” “Incorrect. This is actually an animal called a ‘raccoon’” “What? No! It’s got the ears and the tail!”
“Okay, okay, I got this. That’s not a dog. It’s way too big it’s uhhh I think humans call them bears.” “Incorrect. This is a dog breed called a ‘newfoundland’”
And when it becomes such a cultural obsession that they run tournaments and the final rounds are displayed live on the worldswide hologram system …
Somewhat cocky contestant (who heckles the others for wrong answers) looks at the hologram on display: “I’ve read up on a lot of Earth animals, even visited the Earth zoo, so you can’t fool me. It’s a picture on a farm so that’s the first clue. It’s white, fluffy, got a sloping forehead and no distinct… muzzle.. if I do remember the term correctly. It’s most definitely a sheep.”
Trivia host (attempting to hide their joy at finally being able to tell the contestant they’re wrong): “I’m sorry, that is a dog called a Bedlington Terrier. It is actually bred to look like a sheep, but notice the lack of keratinized tissue coverings on the extremities that make contact with the ground. You missed quite an obvious difference there.” (after the contestant stutters a bit and protests about dogs made specifically to look like not-dogs) “Let’s take it to the judges then” (after consulting small podium-top hologram of judging panel, now grinning and dripping with sarcasm) “Awwww…unfortunately it is a dog and rules of the game do not allow us to award partial credit… toooooo baaaaaad” (super cheerfully) “aaand… next image please!”
Shepardloves “Dog or Not?”. The human crew never misses a tournament airing. They get it on a vid screen in the mess hall and all crowd around. Some people bring blankets and pillows. Some make snacks to share. Eventually it becomes like a Superbowl party.
Dog or Not becomes a sort of inside joke on the Normandy, one that the non-human crew members still kind of get - they’re always invited to the viewing parties and sometimes sit in - but don’t really understand. Tali especially doesn’t understand when a snickering Shepard elbows her and, pointing to a varren being taken for a walk, asks, “Hey, Tali - dog or not?”
“That’s…that’s a varren, Shepard,” Tali responds, bemused. “You know what a varren is.”
Shepard is still giggling, and Kaidan, who heard the exchange, joins in.
-
Liara, Ashley, and Shepard go to recover the lost data drive at Admiral Hackett’s request. They eventually find themselves surrounded by the strange monkey-looking organisms.
With a straight face, Ashley comments, “Wow, sure are a lot of dogs on this planet.”
Shepard doubles over. Liara isn’t sure whether or not to laugh. She’s watched “Dog or Not?” before, so she knows these creatures aren’t dogs…right?
-
Garrus accidentally joins in on the fun after they discover a new species on a fog-covered planet. They’re bright red, they have carapaces, and they breathe fire. The team is examining one’s corpse when Garrus asks hesitantly, “So…is that a dog?”
Shepard’s head whips up and they stare at him for a full five seconds before breaking down. Garrus has to half-carry a wheezing, crying Shepard back to the shuttle. Jack’s eyelashes are wet from her own mirth.
-
They’re driving full speed over the scorching desert of Tuchanka. They’ve just called Kalros, the mother of all thresher maws, to deal with the Reaper destroyer in their way. All faces are pressed to the windows to see the fight.
Kalros bursts from the sands with an unearthly screech and tackles the Reaper. The two grapple in the sands, both representing the might of organic and synthetic, respectively.
“Garrus,” Shepard says in a low, awed voice.
Garrus has been around Shepard for too long not to know when they’re about to make a joke. “Shepard, I swear on all the spirits of Palaven - “
“That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.”
Garrus quietly regrets all his choices that led him to this moment, then sighs. “Which one?” he returns.
I have never played a Mass Effect game, yet this was very amusing.
In my freshman year, my great grandma passed away. She never threw out or sold anything worth keeping if she could help it, having grown up in the Depression, so when she passed, my grandma suddenly inherited a lifetime’s worth of treasured items. She distributed most of them to her kids and grandkids, saved some sentimental items, and donated most of the clothing and trinkets to charity. I got back the stuffed leopard I’d given great-grandma in the hospital; the fur was still as soft as it’d been when I bought it. One of the biggest things she had to sort through was jewelry. For a year after my great-grandma died, my grandma was setting out organized rows of costume jewelry on basement tables and chivvying her granddaughters to take what they wanted.
And then, after all the choosing, she snuck me into her room while my cousins picked through wristwatches. On her bed were two small jewelry boxes: an old wooden one, and a cushioned one in white pleather.
“I brought you in here because if I gave these to your cousins, they’d sell it. I don’t want these sold. Do you understand?”
I understood.
This is the story of the biggest lie my grandma ever told her mom.
Great-grandma’s birthstone was garnet, and she loved the look of the stones, but could never justify paying for some. Her husband worked constantly, and so did she, and new clothes for the kids was more important than jewelry at the time. When my grandma was 16, she saved her first paychecks to buy her mom a garnet ring for Mother’s Day; that’s what was in the wooden box. The original receipt, handwritten, was crammed into the lid. Great-grandpa saw that ring and teared up; he’d always wanted to get his wife something nice like that, but hadn’t ever had enough money for it. Determined, he vowed to change that. He set aside money for years, slowly, hiding it away in a box in the attic, vowing to buy his wife something she could always wear with her ring.
Time passed, and inflation happened, and he slowly squirreled money away in the hopes that jewelry might get cheaper again sometime. Time passed again, and age had little mercy on him. He got older, typed up a note, and placed in in the box, describing what the money was for; he knew his time was near. Under no circumstances was the money to be spent on anything other than giving his wife a nice gift. The letter read, “One day, my dear Ruth, you’ll have garnet earrings to match that ring.” It’s what great-grandma had always mourned missing; she had such a nice ring, and no good earrings to go with it.
Well, men don’t live forever, and when great-grandpa passed away, my grandma cleaned out her mom’s attic as she prepared to move somewhere smaller. Going through boxes of polaroids and paper clips, she stumbled on the box of earrings money, note and all. She stashed it with her coat, and after that day of cleaning, went to the jeweler before her mom could try and spend the money on something too sensible. She came back with the white pleather box; sure enough, still nestled inside that box were two clip-on garnet earrings.
”Mom never got her ears pierced, you know. That’s why it took so long to find a good pair.”
Once she’d gotten the earrings, grandma presented them to her mom, along with the note. The paper was obviously old and warped by moisture, but it was legible. My great grandma cried happy tears and treasured those earrings more than any other jewelry; the last gift her husband could give her. Decades after the fact, I’d seen her wear them to Christmas parties and worry over them, checking that they stayed on her earlobes.
There was never any note from great-grandpa. Never any box. Never any earring money. My great-grandpa had spent his saved money keeping himself and his wife confortable throughout retirement. To set aside hundreds of dollars, even a bit at a time, for garnet earrings, was never a thought that crossed his mind. My grandma had seen her mom, exhausted, wracked with grief, and lied through her teeth about where she’d gotten the money for those earrings. She faked the note and everything, making sure her mom wouldn’t wonder where the money came from, and never winced at the pinch in her own pockets. And she never told a soul, not even my mom, until great-grandma was safely and thoroughly buried herself.
Blackwall:What are you staring at? Cole: Your head. So many tangles. Knots. And that’s just on the inside. You need a hairbrush.
Cole:You’re thinking backwards. You don’t have faith because of the spirit. The spirit came because of your faith. It’s you. Cassandra:Thank you, Cole. I appreciate that.
Cole: The frame holds, hand at the waist moves as body and thought spiral Cassandra:Cole! Cole: Notes drip through the air. [humming] Cassandra: That’s not the song they were playing. Cole: No, but it’s your favorite song.
Cassandra: Cole, I found a locket on my pillow earlier… Cole: It was Anthony’s. Cassandra: It was my grandmother’s, actually, but it had Anthony’s portrait inside. I thought I’d lost it. Cole: You did lose it. I had to fight a rat for it. Cassandra: Oh? Thank you. Cole: He wasn’t a very big rat.
Cole:You’re happier now, Dorian. Dorian:Is that what that light, tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. Cole:Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian:But he did. Cole:Now you’re smiling! It’s good.
Dorian: Cole, the wooden duck I found on my bed… was that you? Cole: No. I’m not a wooden duck. Dorian: I mean did you put it there? Cole: Yes? I couldn’t find one with little wheels, though. I’m sorry.
Iron Bull: So how was Candy? You two have a good time? Cole: Yes. She danced. Then I untangled the hurt that made her angry at her mother. I helped her write a letter to send back home. She said I could call her Marguerite, the name didn’t hurt anymore. Iron Bull: Well, that was five royals well-spent.
Cole:The Iron Bull, in one fight, you let someone hit you so they wouldn’t hit me. Iron Bull:Yes? Cole: But you hate demons. Iron Bull: Listen, Cole. You might be a weird, squirrelly kid, but you’re my weird, squirrelly kid. Cole: Oh. Thank you. Iron Bull: Just don’t make it weird. No full hugs. Maybe a one-armed slap on the back… at most. Cole:All right.
![anavi-ivy:Sparkle my scenery [WIP]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/13d858269269125741a62cd1814eca56/db6e081ecf1f5248-44/s1280x1920/f23426bb22f805305e6883baa56e1f570864e8dd.jpg "anavi-ivy:Sparkle my scenery [WIP]")
