#I AM SO SORRY I CANNOT FIND THE READ MORE BUTTON IN THE EDITTOR

[blondepomeranian]

For the writing prompts: #3 and/or #53 for FenHawke please!

Ask and you shall receive! One at a time, however. :)

#53 first. It’s… different from short works I normally post on here, however maybe not so different from Dinner at Hawke’s in terms of style. A while back I made a joke that I have two different styles with zero in between. They go by AngstyFeelings McPurpleProse and Punningby TheSeat O’YerPants.

Prepare to meet the latter.

Prompt #53: “I’m flirting with you.”

There are a set of rules writtenin the backroom of the Hanged Man. At one point they had hung in the main areaof the bar, but the years of getting literally and figuratively spit, stomped,and vomited upon forced it into hiding. This helped to an extent—a spine worksbest when not exposed to repeated damage, after all.

Somewhere on that list is a linescrawled with a few rips on the downstrokes. Although originally an act of a be-swindledvandal, once the tavern owners read the ad-hoc addition, they found themselvesunable to object. They figured it an appropriate amendment… and fair warning.

And if you look closely at thewooden pillar where the list once hung, you can see the same angry lines etchedin the wood itself. In the right light, it reads:

DO NOT BET AGAINST THE RIVAINI BITCH.

  No one in Hawke’s motley circlehad ever been in the back room of the Hanged Man, nor had they seen the warningcarved in the pillar.

All the better, so when Isabelajabbed a finger at Varric over a game of Wicked Grace, he was none the wiser.

“I bet,” Isabela started with herharbinger, a wink in her eye they thought to be related to her hand. “That Ican end Hawke’s dry spell.”

Varric snorted, drawing a card.“You already barked up that—well, climbedthat tree once, Rivaini. Plus, I don’t think she’d—”

Isabela rolled her eyes with ahuff. “Not personally. What I mean isthat I bet I can get her and Fenris back together—physically, to start,anyway.”

“Andraste’s ass dimples…” Varricgrumbled at his new card, quickly addressing Isabela to hide that fact. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

“No,” she answered with a toss ofher hair. “But it’d be fun.”

And in this, she wasn’t wrong.Word of her bet spread like fleas across their group, everyone but Andersitching to try their own plan or to watch the plans of others flourish orflounder.

Although initially objecting tothis ‘invasive tomfoolery’, Aveline shortly thereafter concocted her own plotto reunite the two.

She was voted ineligible within aminute.

“Nice night for an evening,”Donnic reminded her.

Merrill and Sebastian voiced their own ploys thatwere laid to rest after some deliberation. Too chaste, or too obvious, or toocomplicated to come to fruition.

With a resigned sigh and openpalms, Varric admitted that he had no plan of his own to counter Isabela’s bet.“Fenris—well, they separated for reasons I was told in confidence. While Ithink the little dance they’re doing is stupid at best and toxic at worst…Hawke’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

Then, he added to his owndamnation: “That said, I still don’t think it’ll work, but I can’t wait to seeyou try.”

So, sink or swim, they all agreed—naively,foolishly, and in some cases, begrudgingly—be onboard with Isabela’s scheme.  

   The rule etched in the woodenpillar was covered by a flyer for the new entertainment at the Blooming Rosewhen they met the next week for cards.

Everyone but the two in questionreceived very specific instructions prior to the meeting—where to sit, what todrink, what to wear… Isabela was worrisomely thorough.

“I know, I know,” Isabela bemoaned theatrically. “But our usual card table gota bit smashed by this unruly fellow who could handle losing a bit of coin butnot a single drop of pride without a raising a storm. Just be thankful theydidn’t give us the glass one, trustme.”

Once everyone had taken theirassigned seats—leaving Fenris and Hawke strategically adjoined at acorner—Isabela began shuffling the cards.

“Now, seeing as it’s my birthday, I say we do things a little differently this week.”

Seated on opposite end from Hawke,Merrill whispered to Aveline next to her, “Do people in Rivain celebrate theirbirthdays twice a year? That seems a bit unfair to the rest of us.”

Aveline replied, “Don’t worry. Itcan be your birthday again next week.”

Dealing the cards in singles insteadof pairs, Isabela continued, “I got special permission from the owners to playthis game, so none of you are allowed to leave until you play at least a fewrounds. Captain’s orders.”

Hawke, already a few sips in,raised her glass. “Aye aye, Captain!”

The torchlight of the tavern made Isabela’seyes glint like rubies, her grin swelling like a storm on the horizon. “Youlose, you drink. You curse, you drink,” she ordered, “You blush, you drink.Catch someone staring at you, they drink. But! If you wink at them, whoeverlooks away first has to drink.”

The remaining cards in her handthundered down on the table, her hair rolling like storm clouds over hershoulders. She flashed them a wicked look.

“Alright swabs and strumpets. Thename of the game tonight? Naked Grace.”

   The first couple rounds came andfell like torrents. Between Hawke, who couldn’t bluff with the heart she woreon her sleeve and lover’s wrist, and Fenris, the perpetually card-cursed, itdidn’t take long before the drinks seemed to go down just the same.

“Now, isn’t this just delightful!”Isabela crooned from under Varric’s overcoat, Fenris’ tunic, Merrill’s scarf,Aveline’s headband, and a crude imitation of Hawke’s bloodswipe she’d drawn onwith lip-paint. She kicked up her heels onto the table, Donnic’s shoes flimsilyslipped over her own boots like a child wearing who’d dressed themselves fromtheir parent’s closet.

As the next wave of stolenclothing and begrudging swallows made its way around, Fenris voice caughtHawke’s attention.

“Hawke.”

…Eventually.

“Hawke.”

Her blue eyes snapped into focus,swerving until they crashed into his. “Caught you staring,” he said with aneffortless wink. “Drink.”

Oh, Maker have mercy. She could feel the blood risingto her face. Clutching the edge of the table, she steeled herself and held hisgaze. “No, no, I’m not looking away, see?”

But he wouldn’t back down thateasily. “Nor am I, but I wasn’t the one caught staring in the first place.”

And neither would she. She leanedcloser with a sultry grin to try to catch him offguard. “And if I was?”

Fenris held her gaze evenly withthe ghost of a smile that she wanted to punch as she felt her cheeks burn.“Then, drink… twice.”

Reaching blindly for her drink,she sputtered, “Damn you and your, your stupid—”

“Thrice, now.”

Hawke looked away and swiped ather glass. Taking a swig from her mug, she held up four fingers, swig, then three, swig, then two, until her middle finger was the only one leftstanding.

   Another hour passed. Or maybe two.Hawke was so busy keeping track of the drinks she had to take and the clothesshe had to take off that she had completely lost track of time.

Though she’d been stripped of hershirt, she’d briefly earned one back in the form of Varric’s overcoat forfeitby Isabela to Merrill who then lost it in a gamble. Briefly, as not long after she’d gotten it, she lost it again byway of shedding it due to the alcohol’s warmth.

Everyone else was in a similarstate of disarray—save for Isabela, of course, and Sebastian, having heeded hersecret instructions to him to wear as much rings and baubles as he could manage.Oh, and how everyone devoured the juicy idea that Sebastian had outwitted her!—thathe could strip himself of those in lieu of making himself indecent.

To match the heart of gold, Isabelatwirled Sebastian’s ring of silver around her finger. “Give it another hour more,at most. Get enough alcohol into anyone and shove ‘em up next to their crush,they’ll all revert to horny teenagers within the hour.”

Sebastian just snorted inresponse. “Precisely why I abstain.”

Fenris remained clothed in hisleggings but for the saving grace of the occasional barmaid swinging by tocheck on them. Hawke—both thankful and not that the corner of the wooden tableobstructed some of her view—used this to her advantage. She could now spot ablush more easily, watching creep up his chest, shoulders, and neck before itwould reach his face, she found out. Not that she’d been looking.

Despite that his lousy luck onlygot worse the more drinks he had under the belt he no longer had, Fenris hadnot completely surrendered to Hawke’s onslaught of “Drink!” accusations, no matter how well deserved each one was. Hestill could parry her on technicalities—in particular, her sloppy winkingtechnique.

“That is a blink. You blunk botheyes.”

“I blinked both eyes.”

“So you admit it. Drink.”

Hawke slammed a fist onto thetable. “Bloody hell, you can’t play that card like that!”

Despite it all, Fenris laughedout, “But it is the only good card I have!”

From the other side of Hawke, cladin only his necklace and his stolen overcoat slung over his lap, Varric raisedhis glass. “Hear, hear! To Hawke, getting played like a fiddle there, and tothe truest statement I’ve heard all night.”

A few drunken cheers and a fewspills later, Hawke grumbled just loud enough for Fenris to hear. “I’d like toplay you like a fiddle.”

He leaned closer, the abundance ofale raising his eyebrow. “Oh? Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Hawke said with a grin assloppy as the bloodswipe she’d tried to wipe from her face. “I’m flirting withyou.“

Unable to react any other way buttruthfully, he smirked with a low hum. “Good.”

Hawke blinked—on purpose thistime. “Good?”

He nodded, rubbing his fingersover the red cloth on his wrist he’d sacrificed his undershirt for. “It is goodto know that—I was… afraid that you would not…”

“I have to pee,” Hawke said,grabbing his wrist under the table. “Don’t you?”

When he did not follow her as shegot up, she let his wrist pass through her fingers, looking over her shoulderwith a wink—that, again, was more of a clumsy blink.

Fenris watched as the Champion ofKirkwall sashayed over to the lowtown tavern washroom in nothing but her smallclothes and Varric’s boots.

Then, there was a nudge at hisshoulder. Donnic handed him his mug with a sly grin. “Drink. At least twice forthat.”

It was only then that Isabelareturned her gaze to the cards in her hand. “Well, shit,” she said, putting hercards facedown on the table. She took a shot, and then another, then slid theglasses at Fenris. “Since you couldn’t take off your pants the last round, youhave to go get us more drinks. Captain’s orders.”

“Fine, fine…” Fenris said,gathering as many of the shot glasses as he could carry, and then the mugs.

Varric laughed. “Damn, broody,they oughtta hire you for barmaid.”

“Wine glasses provide much more ofa challenge,” Fenris replied in an even tone, placing a remaining drink infront of Varric before heading towards the bar.

With a triumphant smile thatswelled like a wave, Isabela addressed the table. “Now just you wait. He couldn’ttake his pants off for the last round, but thisround…”

Though not without a few stumbles,he managed to make it to the bar and return all the glassware completelyintact.

“Another round for the table?”Corff asked, eying him. “Doesn’t look like youneed any more.”

Fenris nodded and felt the worldbob under him like a dinghy on open sea. “I… do not.” In his periphery, he sawHawke peek out of the door to the washroom, then slip back inside. “I really donot. In fact, I think I am going to be sick. Excuse me.”

No sooner had he entered thewashroom than he found himself pinned between Hawke and the wall—a veryfamiliar position. She had one hand on the wall, the other poised andhesitating, held at her chest.

“Tell me now,” she breathed, sobrietywashing over her face for the moment. “What can I… what are we doing, Fenris?”

The sound of the tavern had dimmedbehind the washroom door, nothing but a murmur under the pounding of theirhearts and the uneven pulse of their ragged breathing. In the stillness of themoment, he realized—

—wait, where was his shirt? Or hershirt? Or her pants, for that matter?

If he could not even remember theimportant, material things like where his shirt had gone, or why they were botheffectively naked in a filthy public washroom, then what did he need to worryabout remembering things fleeting and coy?

He put a hand on the small of herback and pulled her into him—chest to chest, skin on skin, his thigh cleaving inthe space between hers. “I’m flirting with you.”

And in the moment before her lipscrashed like a tidal wave against his, she said, “Good.”

  “Well,” Isabela wiped her hands onher sash. “It’s been ten minutes. I think it’s safe to claim a victory. Unless,Varric, you’d like to check on them to be sure?”

He heaved a sigh. “No… no, thatwon’t be necessary. I’ll know based on what kind of shitstorm this bringstomorrow morning.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Inthe meantime…” She picked up her mug, the lukewarm ale swirling halfway up theglass. “I’d love a new drink. Barely had to drink this one, you all were hoggingall the fun. You’ll pick up the tab, won’t you?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

“There’s a good man.”

  There are a set of rules writtenin the backroom of the Hanged Man. They now include two new rules written in atired, exasperated hand. The one details the expectations of paying and maintainingopen bar tabs, and the other…

The other can be found on a rough,metal sign hanging on the wall of the washroom. It is lined with conspicuouslysharp screwheads, and its hammered-out letters state:

FACILITIES ARE FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY, AND ONLY ONE AT A TIME.