#Doris is very polite and bakes a great sacher

[greypetrel]

'also ask me about Doris the Rage Demon' cit

Sooo 👁️👄👁️ now I'm curious?

Hello! 💜✨

GLAD YOU ASKED.

Doris is a lovely Rage Demon who just wants a family of her own and lives in the stove. Please picture her speaking with the exact voice of Doris Day. Fic under the cut! (the title is an attempt at Genitive form. I tried studying Irish with failing results, if you read it and notice a mistake please let me know!)

Bean Chullen

BOOM.

It came from the kitchen, just after a quick spike of mana, and it made him jump on the armchair he was sitting on. The house wasn’t so big -or at least, it was a big complex, but most of it was still under a work in progress of renovations and repairing, the inhabitable part itself, by now, wasn’t so big. Nor they needed much more except from the spare bedroom Aisling insisted having, and keeping always ready should someone came by. He should have heard if someone had made it through the dutch door in the kitchen, Cullen Rutherford, ex Templar, ex Commander of the Army of the Inquisition, thought, old paranoia quickly building up while he jumped over, caught a spare sword he kept by the door -just in case- and strode to the kitchen. He should have heard footsteps, the hinges of that door always complained noisily… Yet…

He opened the door abruptly, guard held high and ready for the worse, just to be met with a lot of black smoke fuming out of the oven, and the green eyes of his wife, crouched down on the ground with her hand around her head, glaring with pure scorn towards the unhinged, crumpled door on the front of the stove.

It didn’t take long to guess that what had just happened had been but the latest battle in the ongoing war between former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan and the “Stupid human stove” as she called it.

“Are you fine?”

“Yes. But your evil contraption is cursed.”

She declared, voice as scornful and offended as her face was, raising up from her curled up position on the floor just to stride angrily at the window to open it. He did the same with the door, abandoning the sword against the wall -he knew she didn’t want it on the table- and opening the top half. The hinges whined noisily, putting him at ease that yes, any intruder who tried to sneak in through the back garden wouldn’t be able to enter unannounced. Checked that, he kept on, trying to follow Aisling’s logic in a particularly out of the box line.

“I don’t feel anything from the oven, what kind of curse it is?”

“Good, that must be lyrium effects being finally over. I guess there’s a Rage Demon inhabiting the thing.”

He stopped mid-motion, an empty tray in his hand he wanted to use to sweep out some of the smoke staying perfectly still as the ex Commander looked at the ex Inquisitor. Wife who was as serious as in any war council preparing big operation and reporting this and that activity of enemies, crazy mages, bandits, demons and so on and so forth.

“Really.” He asked, perplexed.

“Yes, it’s the only possible explanation. A Rage Demon. They’re in love with you, moreover.”

“That’s very unfortunate, I happen to be married.”

She kept on grumbling, her cheek getting a little pinker at the remainder, snatching a towel from the back of a chair and waving it through the smoke, trying to make It flow out the window quicker. He chuckled, finding it adorable as he helped her, doing the same with the tray.

“That’s the point. They’re obviously communicating their hate for me. They’re very jealous and are trying to get rid of me. Like in that song with Páidín and his wife. That’s why I can’t make the damned thing work.”

She explained, as it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. He knew she was frustrated at herself, it didn’t mind how many times he told her he didn’t mind doing the cooking, she wouldn’t just let it go without a fight. She quickly got a couple of basics of the stovetop, but the oven and baking failed her completely, too used to cooking on campfires and limiting her skill to very basic survival.

He tried not to laugh when, satisfied with the smoke being partially cleared out of the kitchen, she rolled the towel around her hand and slipped it in the oven, to retrieve a baking tray full of… What looked like very flat coals, so black they looked almost blue and still faintly fuming. He wanted to assume they were cookies, but with her professed love for orlesian tiny cakes, he couldn’t really say. He had a grasp of what really happened, but had to ask.

“So, the Demon made the oven explode?”

A moment of silence. The tray with the maybe-cookies, maybe-cakes, was carefully placed on the table in the centre of the room. She looked down at its content, taking her time to answer.

“Love?”

He coaxed her, getting closer and leaning on the table, just beside her. She scoffed.

“… You said it would have taken but few minutes to bake cookies. Well, it didn’t, when I checked they were still raw, so I used magic to speed it up.”

Another moment of silence. He tried, he really did, to rein himself in, be as stoic and composed as years of Chantry training taught him, remember every Chantry Mother who scoffed or scolded him to keep a straight face and perfect posture. But he wasn’t a Templar anymore. Hadn’t been for enough to succeed.  He started to laugh. And couldn’t bring himself to stop.

She blushed till the pointed tip of her years, now directing her best scolding glare at him.

“It- It wasn’t supposed to explode! I just wanted to raise the temperature!”

He couldn’t reply, tears coming to his eyes and cheeks starting to ache. She stomped her feet, blabbered something in Elvhen he didn’t grasp fully -something something cursed shemlen devices something- in that tone of voice he knew wasn’t offense but embarrassment, and marched to the door.

“W-wait, where are you going?”

“Building a fucking campfire that makes any sense! You and Doris figure it out by yourselves!”

“Doris the Demon?”

“Yes, she’s a good demon, she wants to start a family and likes the colour pink, she’s great at cooking. But she doesn't share, so I have to go. You two have fun, I’m building a fire-pit.”

And so, in the next days of renovations and works around the farm, they built a fire-pit that Aisling deemed of a decent enough size for any medium elven clan, lined it in stones and added some benches around it. Even Sera, when she stopped laughing her ass out at the explanation that there was a demon living in the stove now and courting Cullen, decided it wasn’t half a bad idea to have some safe place for bonfires. Dagna was granted to use it for experiments, and everyone was happy.

Doris was allowed to stay in the family, provided she behaved. And she did, as Aisling never again tried to bake unattended after the door of the oven was repaired.