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Library, Sunday

Despite the fact he way or may not have gotten fired on Wednesday, though he pretty sure it'd been a case of not, Face was back behind the desk today. Though in between checking and stacking books, he made a point of scrubbing out the coffee pot.

Just because Barry hadn't been responsible for the island going weird, it didn't mean that the pot was safe.

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"I am fairly certain that is not what true poetry sounds like," Cassandra said.

"It's blank verse," Face deadpanned.

"Beautiful and terrifying maiden,
Do not turn your anger on me,
I am not a deer."

"It is not only your messages that are ridiculous," Cassandra said firmly, "But you aspire to that title in its entirety."

Not that she didn't look charmed.

Face just grinned at her. Because he had no shame. "If you'd prefer non-ridiculous poetry, I'm pretty sure we have some of that here."

Cassandra smiled slightly. "...Perhaps," she said. "I rather like poetry. The grand romances, especially."

Not something she was generally inclined to admit.

It wasn't like Face was going to judge. "The ones with similar themes to your books?"

"Yes," Cassandra said. She rubbed the back of her neck. "But also the rather more... intimate ones."

"Oh, those." Face was still not judging, even if his ears were a touch pinker. "I think we have some of those. Yes."

And now Cassandra's face was flushing. Wonderful.

"...But the former will suffice, if you insist on finding any," she said quickly.

Face was very studiously ignoring any blushing going on. "I can just point you in the right direction, you probably have a better idea of what you like."

Cassandra sighed. "I prefer it when it is something we can talk about it afterward," she admitted. "Most do not take me seriously when I admit to liking these tales and poetry."

"Why not?" Face asked. "There are far worse things to be a fan of."

Tetran Cowell holodramas, for example.

"I am a warrior," Cassandra pointed out lightly. "There are assumptions."

"Well that's stupid of them," Face said. "People are allowed to have more than one interest."

Cassandra smiled. Then she realized she was smiling perhaps a bit too much, and she glanced down at the floor as she cleared her throat.

Then she looked back up. "What do you like best?" she asked. "...In your books."

Face scratched his neck as he thought about it. "I like humour." Try to contain your surprise, Cassandra. "Heroes who get by on their wits without being complete dicks about it. Oh, and women who know how to handle themselves."

He's propose to Agent M on the spot if she wasn't fictional.

Poor Agent M probably got that a lot.

"You like joking heroes? I am not surprised," Cassandra said. "I suppose those are worthwhile, as long as their wits do not get in the way of getting by."

She had only limited tolerance with people who wouldn't get on with it. Which was also a huge surprise, truly.

Face was shocked by that revelation, indeed he was.

"I do like them to be competent tricksters," he said. "As oppossed to just confidence tricksters."

He thought he was punny.

You were ridiculous, Face.

"There is a difference?" Cassandra asked dryly.

Just wait until you meet Varric, Cassandra.

"They're both likely to con you, but one of them will do it for great justice."

You mean that fateful day where she would throw a book at Varric's head, wait until it dropped into his lap, and then stab it?

"Or they could consider speaking and acting truthfully," Cassandra said, "If justice is their preoccupation."

And she'd wonder why he'd lie about where his BFF was after that.

"Sometimes you have to be sneaky to get justice." Said the guy who fully intended to join the Rebellion as soon as they'd have him.

Well, if he had any respect for justice and all things true and good, he wouldn't have let himself be put off by such a small matter.

"I would always prefer the truth," Cassandra said. "Andraste would protect the truly righteous."

Oddly enough, most men have a lot of trouble thinking about justice and things good and true when people were stabbing at their laps.

Sadly, Face wasn't in a position to point out that Andraste wound up rather...broiled. "Who?"

"Andraste, the Bride of the Maker."

It was strange, whenever she was confronted with the notion that no one here but Anders knew of her.

"She who returned the Maker's attention to Thedas with her song, and freed us of the Tevinter Imperium."

And then wound up broiled because her husband was a prissy asshole.

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