Chapter Text
Dorian Pavus was running out of time. He had to get the arts and crafts supplies back to his classroom before Varric brought them all back inside. His fourth graders were going to make the best non-denominational holiday cards in the school, and for that, they needed near-lethal quantities of glitter.
He had completely legitimate reasons for running this late, of course: Theron had been using bad words and had to be taken to the office, Monica had been caught infringing on Clea’s intellectual property during coloring time, and to top it all off he’d had to help Emmauld find Monsieur Lapin for the third time that day, because there was no way Emmauld was going to recess without his rabbit. The point was, he was late, for reasons entirely valid and entirely not his fault, and so he took the last corner near the principal’s office a little faster than he should have.
He was not watching where he was going when he bumped into a stately-looking Qunari woman holding a lunchbox. Well, bumped was a mild term for it. Collided, maybe. Or crashed. Slammed might be a bit much, but sue him. They were working on synonyms this week.
The metal lunchbox banged painfully against his ribs and he dropped everything in his arms as he slapped a hand over his mouth in order to not curse. He couldn’t very well ask his students not to say things that he didn’t, after all.
The glitter went everywhere, and Dorian cursed anyways. The red went mostly down Dorian’s front, the green and silver spun off somewhere to his right, and the blue, gold, purple, magenta, and white hit the bulletin board to his left, exploding in a shower of color.
The only thing in the entire hallway not covered in glitter was, inexplicably, the woman he had bumped into. Aside from a light dusting of teal on her curled horns, she appeared entirely clean.
“I’m so sorry--” Dorian began.
The woman let out a low chuckle and extended her hand to pull him upright. “It is quite all right. You seem to have taken the brunt of the damage, at any rate.”
Dorian sighed as he allowed the stranger to help him to his feet, the movement dislodging a small secondary avalanche of magenta from his shoulders. It sparkled in the fluorescent hall lights and Dorian spared a corner of his brain to hope Ms. Montilyet didn’t have the yearbook camera today; she had a clear line of sight to him from her desk in the front office, and he had a stern-yet-kindly image to protect. Or he used to. There was a lot of glitter lodged in his mustache. “Very true. I’m Mr. Pavus. How may I help you?”
“Call me Tama,” the woman said, “and no need. I am simply bringing lunch for my son, lest he forget to eat again.” She held up the metal lunchbox. Now that it was not being used to indent his ribcage, Dorian noticed Drog the Dragon emblazoned on the front and gave the container a fond smile. Drog had been off the air since Dorian was a teenager, but he was pleased to see that the cartoon dragon had become retro.
“What grade is he in?” Dorian asked. “The fourth and fifth are at recess now, but the younger children should be in their classrooms. I can help you find him, if you want.”
“It is all right. I will simply drop it by the office.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble for me to--” it was trouble, actually, he was still running massively late, and the only person who had memorized the entire school roster was Principal Charger. Still, it was the polite thing to do and he was also a little inexplicably invested in keeping this woman happy. He didn’t have a sound logical reason for it, but his gut told him it was extremely important.
“I am very sure. Thank you, Mr. Pavus.” She brushed some glitter off of his shoulder. “Are you perhaps Dorian Pavus?” she asked.
Dorian nodded cautiously.
“My son speaks very highly of you. You keep him on his toes.”
Dorian tried to keep his surprise from showing. He thought he had met all of his students’ parents at the last parent-teacher night. He would certainly have remembered Tama. “That’s very kind of him. What did you say his name was?”
“I did not say,” she said, and then vanished into the office.