Oh, you are so lucky she loved liked you, Varric. “Sass, too,” Hawke shot back, grinning. “Can’t forget the sass.” She could breathe a little easier, now. Things had fallen back into a more familiar rhythm, and it felt right. It felt better.
“Second only to your chest hair.” Good. Yes. Drinking she can do. Drinking she can definitely do. “Yes there is.” And then she smirked and added, teasing, “And I do hope you mean that literally.”
"So sorry, milady," he demurred faux-respectfully, with a hand to his chest and a fake supplicating little bow. "I'm afraid we're fresh out of ass-labeled chairs."
He kicked the one next to him out from the table a little, and slid a tankard in front of it. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the regular kind."
Hawke heaved the most put-upon sigh she could muster, mock-disappointed. It was only ruined a little by the amusement in her eyes. And the fondness. “I suppose that will have to do for now.”
She sprawls easily in the chair he kicked out for her beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She should probably move it, scoot to an appropriately friends-distance, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out for the tankard he offered.
They started drinking, that old familiarity sinking in again. At some point in the evening, after they both had a couple drinks in them, they moved to Varric's rooms, which were much warmer, better-smelling, "and less filled with handsy drunks," as Varric put it.
Less filled. Not devoid of them entirely. He gave a trademark Roguish Wink at that.
Once up there, once settled in at his table (him in his glorious chair at the head of the table, her in the chair nearest), Varric put down his tankard, looking serious. As if this was the right time of night to start talking business.
"Actually, there is something we need to discuss, Hawke."
Varric went to a side table and pulled out what looked kind of like the piles of scrolls and maps and figures they used to plan the Deep Roads expedition. He plunked the pile down and unrolled a large map of what looked like a mansion of some kind.
"We need to be prepared for what's ahead, Hawke," he said seriously, his hands splayed to keep the map open. "Duke Jackass de Montfort's salon is only a few weeks away. I've done my best," his tone became doubtful, "but that only leaves us so much time to figure out what to steal."
That earned him a smirk and a playful “Promises, promises,” as they made their way up to his rooms. They were comfortable again, and that’s all Hawke wanted. Wanting anything more was foolish, and she wouldn’t risk this. Risk them, their friendship. She couldn’t.
She’d lost quite enough in Kirkwall, without losing him, too.
Leaning back in her chair, she took a drink, watching him thoughtfully over the rim of her tankard. “And where he’s keeping it. Somehow I doubt Orlesian storage habits are any less annoying than the Orlesians themselves.”
Varric nodded, looking aggrieved and offended. "It's their own faults if they get robbed blind, really."
They spent a few minutes going over the drawing of the estate. Varric kept dipping his quill into a well of red ink and circling spots that were likely to have valuables. "I know a guy who used to sell this putz- well, he sold a lot of things," Varric said blithely, explaining how he knew what the dude might have.
And all night, he kept stealing glances at her. When she wasn't looking, when she was drinking or laughing or leaning over to look at the map and her hair fell into her eyes like that. It was a shock just how hard the news of Fenris and Hawke had hit him. Varric had thought he maybe had a slight case of 'wow she's pretty huh' and nothing more, much like Merrill's cute little crush. But hearing about Hawke with someone else - something actually believable and credible (given the glances and the flirting and how they'd looked at each other and) - had struck him like a blow to the chest.
Now that he realized just how bad he had it, the dwarf couldn't stop looking at her.
“And they’re going to, naturally.” Hawke knew Varric. Knew he had every intention of doing exactly that. As best he could. And who was she to stop him? No, she would be helping him. Delightedly. And given that things tended to go to hell in a handbasket when they were involved... she would take what delight she could get.
And if it involved indulging Varric a little, well... he was a friend. Friends did that.
Leaning over the map, making careful note of everywhere that he’s circled in red ink, as well as entrances and exits and windows, all the usual sorts of information needed when planning a theft, she huffed a breath, blowing loose strands of hair out of her eyes and happened to look up. Happened to catch Varric looking at her.
She didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. She’d never seen it before. Her fingers stilled on the map. “Varric?”
Varric blinked. Shit, she caught him staring like a damn teenager. His brain launched into bullshit mode as easy as breathing, and his expression cleared into one of those snapping-out-of-a-daze looks, followed by a smirk.
"Hm? Oh, sorry, Hawke. Just wondering how you humans get anything done with those long arms and legs everywhere. You people are like spiders in skirts."
Of course, what came pouring out of his mouth was the stupidest shit in the world, but Varric didn't always have control over how his brain handled the on-the-fly falsehoods. It was a little like trying to control a stampede of wild horses. Sometimes masterful deceptions happened, and other times he insulted Hawke by calling her a spider.
Hawke just staaaaaaared at him for a long moment, her lips pressing together in that way they did when she was doing her very best to not laugh outright at her friend. “Spiders. Really, Varric?” There was no hiding the amusement in her voice, or in her eyes. “I’m hurt. Incredibly hurt.” Except not so much; she was too damn amused to be hurt.
Varric put a hand on his chest in mock horror. "I am dreadfully sorry, messere, please- accept my apologies."
By way of apology, he offered her a random sweet sitting on the table (what was it, one of those weird Nevarran candies Isabela stole the other day?), as if it were some kind of precious jewel. When Hawke reaches for it, he's going to quickly turn his hand to grab hers, and kiss the back of it like some kinda gentleman, all bowing and scraping and ~repenting~ for his insult.
“As you should be,” Hawke replied, and then she heaved a mock-put-upon sigh. “I suppose I can accept your apologies. This time.”
Reaching out, she moved to pluck the offered sweet from his hand... only to be caught by surprise as he grabbed her hand in hers and kissed the back of it. Oh. That was... unexpected. She wasn’t blushing, she totally wasn’t blushing. He was just... being Varric. Putting on the most arch expression she can muster, she nodded. “That’s better,” she retorted, reaching over with her other hand to snatch the sweet and pop it gracefully into her mouth.
“Of course, serah,” he groveled insincerely, grabbing a candy for himself.
Resuming the conversation after that was fairly easy. The topic drifted and wove in and out of Chateau Haine, wandering over the drinking habits of nobles and if what Aveline has under her armor was just more armor. Eventually they were discussing the particulars of Meredith and Orsino’s torrid love affair in between laughing at weird fan mail for Varric.
“I’m not saying he’s the top there,” Varric explained, leaning back against the table. Ignoring how close her knees were to his. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be doing all the angry slamming.”
“Maker’s breath, Varric, that isn’t a mental image I need,” Hawke managed through her laughter, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And it’s definitely not one I wanted. Ever.” She grabbed her tankard and downed the rest of its contents. “I don’t think there’s enough ale in the world to scrub that image from my mind.”
Varric tries valiantly for the deadpan serious shit, but an incredibly undignified cackle bursts out of him. As always, he's incredibly pleased with himself, and delighted by his own jokes- though not half as much as he's delighted by the disgust on her face.
"Not enough ale, but maybe some weird fan mail," he says conversationally, taking a swig of ale and picking a random letter off the table. Without looking at it he wings it at her. This game is fun: open the weird fanmail, see if it's an uninvited critique, a marriage proposal, or someone swearing that they actually saw Donnen Brennokovic in Cumberland the other day, seriously!
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2017-11-23 06:41 am (UTC)lovedliked you, Varric. “Sass, too,” Hawke shot back, grinning. “Can’t forget the sass.” She could breathe a little easier, now. Things had fallen back into a more familiar rhythm, and it felt right. It felt better.“Second only to your chest hair.” Good. Yes. Drinking she can do. Drinking she can definitely do. “Yes there is.” And then she smirked and added, teasing, “And I do hope you mean that literally.”
no subject
Date: 2017-11-24 06:33 am (UTC)He kicked the one next to him out from the table a little, and slid a tankard in front of it. "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the regular kind."
no subject
Date: 2017-11-24 06:48 pm (UTC)She sprawls easily in the chair he kicked out for her beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She should probably move it, scoot to an appropriately friends-distance, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out for the tankard he offered.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-25 01:52 am (UTC)Less filled. Not devoid of them entirely. He gave a trademark Roguish Wink at that.
Once up there, once settled in at his table (him in his glorious chair at the head of the table, her in the chair nearest), Varric put down his tankard, looking serious. As if this was the right time of night to start talking business.
"Actually, there is something we need to discuss, Hawke."
Varric went to a side table and pulled out what looked kind of like the piles of scrolls and maps and figures they used to plan the Deep Roads expedition. He plunked the pile down and unrolled a large map of what looked like a mansion of some kind.
"We need to be prepared for what's ahead, Hawke," he said seriously, his hands splayed to keep the map open. "Duke Jackass de Montfort's salon is only a few weeks away. I've done my best," his tone became doubtful, "but that only leaves us so much time to figure out what to steal."
no subject
Date: 2017-11-30 11:22 pm (UTC)She’d lost quite enough in Kirkwall, without losing him, too.
Leaning back in her chair, she took a drink, watching him thoughtfully over the rim of her tankard. “And where he’s keeping it. Somehow I doubt Orlesian storage habits are any less annoying than the Orlesians themselves.”
no subject
Date: 2017-12-01 12:31 am (UTC)They spent a few minutes going over the drawing of the estate. Varric kept dipping his quill into a well of red ink and circling spots that were likely to have valuables. "I know a guy who used to sell this putz- well, he sold a lot of things," Varric said blithely, explaining how he knew what the dude might have.
And all night, he kept stealing glances at her. When she wasn't looking, when she was drinking or laughing or leaning over to look at the map and her hair fell into her eyes like that. It was a shock just how hard the news of Fenris and Hawke had hit him. Varric had thought he maybe had a slight case of 'wow she's pretty huh' and nothing more, much like Merrill's cute little crush. But hearing about Hawke with someone else - something actually believable and credible (given the glances and the flirting and how they'd looked at each other and) - had struck him like a blow to the chest.
Now that he realized just how bad he had it, the dwarf couldn't stop looking at her.
no subject
Date: 2017-12-01 03:36 am (UTC)And if it involved indulging Varric a little, well... he was a friend. Friends did that.
Leaning over the map, making careful note of everywhere that he’s circled in red ink, as well as entrances and exits and windows, all the usual sorts of information needed when planning a theft, she huffed a breath, blowing loose strands of hair out of her eyes and happened to look up. Happened to catch Varric looking at her.
She didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. She’d never seen it before. Her fingers stilled on the map. “Varric?”
no subject
Date: 2017-12-01 05:13 am (UTC)"Hm? Oh, sorry, Hawke. Just wondering how you humans get anything done with those long arms and legs everywhere. You people are like spiders in skirts."
Of course, what came pouring out of his mouth was the stupidest shit in the world, but Varric didn't always have control over how his brain handled the on-the-fly falsehoods. It was a little like trying to control a stampede of wild horses. Sometimes masterful deceptions happened, and other times he insulted Hawke by calling her a spider.
Fuck.
no subject
Date: 2017-12-14 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-12-15 12:16 am (UTC)By way of apology, he offered her a random sweet sitting on the table (what was it, one of those weird Nevarran candies Isabela stole the other day?), as if it were some kind of precious jewel. When Hawke reaches for it, he's going to quickly turn his hand to grab hers, and kiss the back of it like some kinda gentleman, all bowing and scraping and ~repenting~ for his insult.
no subject
Date: 2017-12-20 10:56 am (UTC)Reaching out, she moved to pluck the offered sweet from his hand... only to be caught by surprise as he grabbed her hand in hers and kissed the back of it. Oh. That was... unexpected. She wasn’t blushing, she totally wasn’t blushing. He was just... being Varric. Putting on the most arch expression she can muster, she nodded. “That’s better,” she retorted, reaching over with her other hand to snatch the sweet and pop it gracefully into her mouth.
no subject
Date: 2017-12-20 05:49 pm (UTC)Resuming the conversation after that was fairly easy. The topic drifted and wove in and out of Chateau Haine, wandering over the drinking habits of nobles and if what Aveline has under her armor was just more armor. Eventually they were discussing the particulars of Meredith and Orsino’s torrid love affair in between laughing at weird fan mail for Varric.
“I’m not saying he’s the top there,” Varric explained, leaning back against the table. Ignoring how close her knees were to his. “I’m just saying she wouldn’t be doing all the angry slamming.”
no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 06:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 07:50 am (UTC)"Not enough ale, but maybe some weird fan mail," he says conversationally, taking a swig of ale and picking a random letter off the table. Without looking at it he wings it at her. This game is fun: open the weird fanmail, see if it's an uninvited critique, a marriage proposal, or someone swearing that they actually saw Donnen Brennokovic in Cumberland the other day, seriously!