Work Text:
Tonight, as far as Taako is concerned, is an unmitigated disaster. The dining hall is fuckin’ packed courtesy of it being an exam night. And not just any exam night. No, it has to be the first exam for fuckin’ evocation 101, AKA the first college exam for approximately 400 first year students. All of whom seem to have decided to show up at this exact place at this exact time, shaking off umbrellas and rain coats rendered necessary by the raging thunderstorm outside. And rendering the tile floor a minefield of puddles to slip in. Ren’s already mopped up at least twice.
They’re also absurdly understaffed in terms of student workers. And listen, Magnus might be worth at least three incompetent freshmen, but even he is having a hard time keeping up. Taako’s half inclined to think that the freshmen in the dining hall are draining the milk and non-alcoholic Redcheek apple cider at an unprecedented rate just to see Magnus replace them, hefting 43 lbs of liquid into place. Add to that, Lup isn’t even here either, given that she’s a TA for said evocation 101. Taako’s sure she’s taking advantage of the short window of time before the exam to engage in one of her favorite habits: staring longingly at one Barry J. Bluejeans, denim-clad necromancy grad student extraordinaire. Also the only person in Faerun who can (and does) match Lup in pining without doing a damn thing about it. Tragically, Taako can’t even return the favor in kind and ditch her to proctor a massive freshman exam, considering his TA work is for transmutation 213, which is primarily populated by sophomores and a much smaller class overall.
And finally, not to point fingers, but someone (the student manager on tonight’s shift, Lucretia) had attempted to replace the ketchup for a dispenser that was so empty that pressing the lever only resulted in some pathetic wheezing and spattering of ketchup droplets. The key word being attempted. For all her experience, Lucretia had somehow managed to escape ever replacing one of these fuckers. Long story short, that particular clusterfuck had ended with both Lucretia and Taako (student supervisor for the night and reporting to Lucretia) looking like a murder scene and in sore need of a shower less 15 minutes after opening. Taako knows with truly indignant certainty that he even has ketchup in his hair and that he might never forgive Lucretia.
So, all in all, complete disaster, Taako thinks decisively as he sweeps up the tragic remains of the third salad of the night that someone dropped on the floor. And if you’ve ever attempted to sweep up spinach that’s been drenched in Balsamic vinegar and olive oil, you’d likely be inclined to agree. At least the implacable onslaught of hungry first years is guaranteed to slow to a trickle by 7:15, when the last few will be sprinting out the door, having not realized that McDonald Hall is a 15 minute brisk walk away on a good day, let alone in this weather. Fuckin’ amateurs.
“Having fun?” Taako looks up to see Merle working his way through the salad line.
“If you drop a single spinach leaf, I will end you, old man.” Taako replies, entirely serious. Okay, 80-20. Listen, Merle, or Professor Highchurch if you have the misfortune to be in either his conjuration or botany courses, is pretty tolerable as far as professors go. He’d helped Taako and Lup to apply for (and get, natch) some of the IPRE’s hella coveted arcane sciences scholarships when they’d been trying to solve the insurmountable problem that was how to even afford university. If you could ignore quite possibly the worst healing a cleric has to offer, you’d quite like him. Up until you found out about the plant thing at least.
“Oh, no intention of that whatsoever.” And fuck, how did Merle manage to make that creepy? It must be the eyebrows. “You look like one of Barry’s experiments gone wrong.” He says, with exactly zero tact. Merle is the one member outside the necromancy department who sits on Barry’s thesis committee, given that his project requires some conjuration work as well.
“It’s called fashion.” Taako replies, deadpan. Dammit, he’d been able to switch work shirts, given the store of them in the office, but the splatters of ketchup on his pants don’t look exactly artful.
Magnus walks by, headed into the office. “Taako! Merle!” Taako’s not sure if it’s the ketchup pants or sheer exhaustion that keeps Magnus from pulling him into a hug. He’s got a propensity to do that at the least opportune times. Merle holds his salad in front of him like a shield, no doubt to ward off a hug as well. “Like three of the sodas are just dispensing seltzer now, so I’m gonna head down and switch those out.”
“And uh, exactly why does cha’boy have to know?”
“Because Ren might just have spotted a certain hot music goth, and I might just have promised him that I’d bring out a carton of that chocolate chocolate chip raspberry swirl ice cream when I was stopping Robbie from trying to steal the orange sherbet again? It’s a shame that he’ll be waiting for forever while I deal with those sodas. If only someone else could do it.”
Taako takes a deep breath. And then a second. “Magnus. Listen. I am covered in fuckin’ KETCHUP.” He nearly shrieks. Taako estimates that half a dozen students in the vicinity jump. Plus that one enchantment professor no one likes.
“I thought you said it was fashion,” Merle offers unhelpfully. Taako glares daggers at the dwarf, and he walks away chuckling. “I’ll tell Dav you said hello.” He calls to them as he leaves. How Davenport, head of the illusion department, tolerates Merle, Taako will never know.
“And that’s my cue.” Magnus disappears through the office door to grab the key to the downstairs storage rooms, and Taako catches a glimpse of Lucretia frantically typing up the week’s announcements for student workers. No doubt reminding them that they have to make sure shit’s at the correct temperature so nobody dies. Also to keep an eye out for the fuckwit who’d attempted to put peanut butter in the waffle maker. He’s half hoping Lup will be the one to find them, because, given his own allergy to the stuff, that would be a hell of a show.
“Dead to me. Dead. To. Me.” He mutters, glaring at the now closed door as though he can see Magnus through it. All right, probably not dead. Taako is, however, more likely to tell Julia about that time Magnus got fuckin’ blisters from slicing bread of all things freshman year. Because, given how the rest of the night is going, even just seeing hot music goth is guaranteed to be another catastrophe of truly epic proportions. And he’s wearing ketchup pants. Great. Just fuckin’ great.
Taako dumps the spilled salad into his compost bucket before washing his hands and grabbing a new pair of gloves. He should probably add Ren to his shitlist as well, since the two of them definitely coordinated it. Teaching her how to clean the soft serve machine sounds like excellent and incredibly petty payback. Plus she should know how to do it anyway, since Taako has, uh, exactly zero doubt that in two years the sophomore will be runnin’ this shit.
Taako ducks into the freezer and, cursing extensively under his breath, locates hot music goth’s preferred flavor of ice cream hidden behind three rows of French vanilla. Taako sincerely hopes that he hasn’t disappeared into the night since Magnus promised him ice cream. That would, mm, suck. Then again, so does seeing him when he doesn’t look… well, his patented Taako best.
Taako crosses the wide, loud room and ducks around the corner to where the desserts are. Sure enough, hot music goth is still there, somehow managing to make uncomfortably standing around look attractive.
“Hey, uh, one order of chocolate chocolate chip raspberry swirl right here.” Taako holds up the carton of ice cream, trying not to turn the same exact shade of red as the raspberry laced throughout the ice cream. Fuck, had he really said that? That was fuckin’ terrible.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” Hot music goth seems to turn red as well. “I thought, uh- never mind.” He coughs, while Taako pulls off the lid and the paper lining before setting the sizable carton in the freezer. “So, uh, busy night?”
Taako snorts. “What was your first clue, homie?”
“Well, uh, I guess, guess I walked right into that. Uh… is his name, the other worker, is his name really Maggie?” Hot music goth asks. Taako looks at him sideways before remembering that sure enough, shortly after he and Lup had started calling Magnus by the nickname, he’d changed his nametag.
“Nah, ‘sa nickname, my dude.” Taako hesitates. “Hey, thug, what’s your name? ‘Cause, uh, as you can see, cha’boy’s Taako, and uh… I don’t know yours.”
“Yeah, I know you’re Taako…” Hot music goth looks down at Taako’s own nametag as he speaks. “From TV?” He sounds confused, and fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Taako had forgotten about that joke. Taako’s trying to think of what to say to unfuck this situation (or sink into the floor as quickly as possible; he’s got to know at least one spell for that, right?) when hot music goth seems to realize that he hasn’t answered. “Oh, right, um, I’m… I’m Kravitz. Pleasure to meet you.” He sticks out his hand to shake before seeming to remember that Taako is wearing gloves. “Oh, sorry.” He starts to lower his hand, which is fortunately when Taako’s brain resumes functioning.
“No, cool, it’s cool, Krav.” Taako says, yanking off his glove to shake Kravitz’s hand. “Ooh, uh, sure you need ice cream there? You’re already a popsicle.”
“Uh, poor circulation.” Kravitz looks like he wants to sink into the floor as well. Taako doesn’t want to know what’s redder, the stains on his pants or the color his face is approaching.
“Right, right… so, uh, crazy weather, right?” Taako jabs his thumb at the window, stepping back, realizing that Kravitz is probably just waiting to get his ice cream at this point.
“Oh, yeah, uh, especially since it was nice earlier.” Kravitz begins scooping ice cream. Shit, Taako had given it exactly zero time to thaw; it’s going to be a nightmare to scoop. “I’m just glad I didn’t get rained on.” Okay, actually, actually, this is good. This is great. Because even at this awkward ass angle, Kravitz’s arms (fuck, this shit is frozen) look really nice trying to scoop ice cream.
“Yeah, that cloak you wear doesn’t exactly look waterproof.” Taako adds before realizing what he’s said. Yep. Irredeemable gay disaster right here, everyone.
Kravitz, for his part, doesn’t seem to think it’s creepy and just looks embarrassed. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was that, um, noticeable.”
“Oh! Uh, nah, bone man, you’re… you’re good. I- we- we just kinda notice people who aren’t freshmen when they come in on, like, a regular basis. Different kinda vibe and all. Like you actually know shit.”
“Bone man?” By means of answer, Taako gestures at Kravitz’s whole outfit. Like, okay, listen, Taako can dig the whole goth aesthetic. Seems to be a family trait and everything. Kravitz just… takes it to the extreme sometimes. And Taako’s pretty sure that 99.9% of the time, he’s wearing a suit as well. “Oh, right.” Kravitz shrugs, unable to deny it. “Well, I, uh, actually live in the music dorm.” Which explains it. The music dorm has the misfortunate of being located near all of the freshmen housing. Freshmen housing that Taako has the misfortune of having his dining hall being located near.
“Oh, cool-” Taako’s just about to ask what Kravitz plays when the unmistakable sound of glass shattering into approximately seven million pieces reaches his ears. He grimaces. “Uh… cha’boy should… deal with that.” Cause goodness knows the last time he let Johann clean up any glass, he’d managed to cut himself, and Lucretia had to file an incident report.
“Right, right.” Kravitz has had more than enough ice cream scooped into his bowl for a while, even for the massive sweet tooth that Taako estimates he has. “So, um, hey, uh, when… when do you get off work?”
Taako blinks. No. Way. No way is Kravitz, this unfairly beautiful music major of a human being, asking him out. No way. “Uh, well, I’d let you put your number in my phone now, my dude, but that’d be a bad example and all, no phones on shift and everything.” Fuck if he isn’t taking every possible opportunity to fuck this up. “But, uh, break’s at 8, if you’re still around then. Could talk then.”
Kravitz unabashedly smiles, and Taako could swear that his heart momentarily stops. Shit, he’s gonna end up being one of Barry’s experiments if that keeps up. “I was planning on sticking around, see if the weather doesn’t get better. I’ll… I’ll talk to you at 8, Taako.” And Taako waves him off back to his seat, before going to deal with whatever chaos some dumbass freshman has wrought.
Okay, so maybe they’re understaffed, overworked, and just a bit overwhelmed tonight. Maybe their customers can be complete idiot wizards. Maybe Lucretia is going to get stuck with the cleaning bill on his pants. But it’s 7:10, and things are starting to calm down. So maybe he can forgive Lucretia for the ketchup and Ren and Magnus for conspiring. Maybe, no, certainly, he’s getting Kravitz’s number in just 50 short minutes. So maybe, just maybe the night isn’t an unmitigated disaster after all.