ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-02-23 21:13:00 |
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There were a lot of changes going on in the Hawke family, and he’d hope money would help dissolve lot of their stress (at least it did, financially), but new problems rose - the possible death of someone close to him, his mother’s suspicious suitor and now Bela’s…question? It spurred out of nowhere, and he didn’t particularly care to discuss personal matters like love (which she instigated, curiously enough) over something so impersonal like a social network. It didn’t seem appropriate. So sayeth the one that was often inappropriate about a lot of things, but Garrett had the ability to draw the line somewhere. Transition of management from Midna to him was seamless. He’d gone through a round of fresh hires when it came to dancers to replace those couple sour apples, Bela had helped fill in the spots he left vacant at the bar, and he’d been keeping a close eye on budget numbers and liquor inventory. Next project on his list was to find a prime location and building for The Hanged Man, a medieval-inspired watering hole with a couple rooms for lodging. It was personal for him and Bela, being the only two of their merry band of misfits that were here - perhaps they’d meet the rest, and like in Kirkwall, they’d at least have that place for fond memories, old and new. But something had clearly been bugging his pirate queen, and he’d arranged for her to come see him at the prime location of tits and chicken. In one of the back rooms, meant for private dancing but it was a slow night, and it wouldn’t be needed. It’d be a good place to talk, and he waited with his cocktail next to him as he played a game on his phone. It was about collecting pussy. And by pussy, really, it was just a cartoon cat game where all you did was take care of cats. Isabela hadn’t had any dreams comparable to the disaster that was the wreck of the Siren’s Call, in Kirkwall, fleeing a Qunari warship - dreaming all of that, the weight of it fell on her like anvils and knocked the wind out of her. She would have been gone, never to dream beyond, if Hawke hadn’t come for her at the airport. Since then, her dreams had been of him, with him, as they formed sort of a cohesive unit with the same ones they were naming drinks after in this world - they took care of business, supported each other, tried to build a life. All the while the unease of the stranded Qunari felt like a thorn in everyone’s side - or like a badly fitted thong up the buttcrack, constantly there and uncomfortable. But still, she’d met Hawke at the Hanged Man a few times. They’d talked. This was after they’d slept together, mind you, just a brief little fling at his new manor - new old, since apparently it once belonged to the Amell family or something. Just now he could actually afford to live there, with the money earned from the Deep Roads expedition. Bela came by to occasionally carve penises into his stairwell but other than that... They kept their conversations to the Hanged Man, and she was beginning to feel things for him. Or at least, to appreciate that he didn’t judge people - which was either good or bad, because she personally deserved a lot of judging. Perhaps they all did, that merry band of misfits. Nobody’s hands were clean. Because of it, Bela was afraid of taking whatever she felt for Hawke a step further - she knew what she was, knew she’d made mistakes, and they’d molded her into the person she became but was she a person good for him? Probably not. Entering the back room at the Rear End, she was going to do a little bartending later so she was dressed for the occasion - corset and leather trousers, goods on display because the tip jar always overflowed when her top did. Sorry to interrupt his collecting pussy game, but she settled right there in Garrett’s lap, straddling him with very little fanfare. “You’re not going to fire me, are you?” she asked, draping her arms around his neck. “I swear I haven’t been taking sips here and there from a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. Much.” Well, hello miss. His game was put to a stop with a pleasant interruption and he discarded his phone, somewhere atop the plush seating, and loosely looped his arms around her. “We had a discussion about drinking the merchandise, didn’t we?” That eyebrow raise made him look almost serious. Except for the gentle press of lips he gave her, anyway. Nothing savage or hungry, just small and tender. Bela seemed alright. But he also knew lighthearted comments and jabs towards random nonsense was a way to deal with more pressing matters. Lucky them, Hawke had moments where he didn’t mind cutting through the bullshit to get right the core of the problem - sometimes jokes could be put to rest. Temporarily, of course. “I think we should talk about what you said? Because something’s bothering you, love.” “Must we?” Isabela groaned, her nails scratching lightly on the back of Garrett’s neck. Oh, balls, they probably should. And she doubted that he’d let her get away with rubbing his face in her tits until he forgot all about why ‘talking’ was a good idea in the first place. Maker’s ass, she was bad at talking. Or generally bad at expressing feelings without getting tongue tied. She distracted herself with scratching through her manfriend’s beard instead, grooming carefully and in a calculated way, as if trying to imagine what he looked like without it. Odd, no doubt. “Mm, you know. Just when I start to sort of like you people it hits me that we’re probably fucked, and not in a kinky way. That and everything’s my fault - do a bunch of bad shit, get tired of it, try to do something good and then do something else bad to save your own ass from being skinned because you really sort of are rubbish at doing good things. Fuck up lives of everyone, forever, carve a few dicks in the staircase belonging to this fellow you like shagging a little. The end. Varric should write a story about all this - he is, isn’t he?” There was a draft of a manuscript called ‘Hard in Hightown’ but she wasn’t sure if that would ever be printed or not. Tough to tell, but it’d sell like hotcakes, wouldn’t it? That was a mouthful, though Hawke listened intently. He’d been well aware of her insecurities about this entire thing, the dreams and all - he had to track her down at the airport to keep her from making a stupid decision, Maker’s sake, and he was expecting a shitstorm in the horizon. At least he now knew why the Qunari continued to plant their happy grey assholes in their own private little corner. Watching, waiting, biding their time, glaring at others uncomfortably. But things were at a stand still, and most of of what he’d been seeing behind closed lids was him stuck solving other people’s problems (all while dealing with the fact Carver went Templar). “We’re a resourceful bunch,” he reminded her, and took her hand so he could kiss along those knuckles - they were dainty, feminine, but Garrett knew Bela could hit like a truck. “Whatever happens I’m sure we’ll handle it, somehow. Perhaps it’s a moot point to insist this, but you shouldn’t worry too much about things you can’t control. What happens with us there doesn’t define what happens to us here.” That, and he believed Bela would do her best to do the ‘right thing.’ Whatever that was. It was a complicated concept, but he didn’t seem all that worried. Could be his confidence or a trickle of denial, who knew. Isabela would do the right thing, but she wasn’t about to even begin to explain what that meant - nor would she accomplish such feats overnight, either. All she did know was that she wanted to keep her promise to Hawke here - the one she made to him that fateful night, when she’d almost fled; it felt like just yesterday. “I promised to come through for you, remember?” she said, squishing his cheeks between her fingers. It was a playful gesture, but she meant the seriousness of her words. “I may not be some goody-goody and I may be a pain in the arse, more trouble than I’m worth, but I will come through for you. Because you were always on my side. I never really...had that before.” Belief was a powerful thing. Knowing that someone did believe in her went a long way. And one day, she may even forgive herself too, for all that she’d done. She couldn’t erase it, but she could make peace with it - and make peace with that person who had changed into the woman she was now. Perhaps someone who had changed for the better, even. Oh, hell. Was that cheek squishing necessary? Made it rather difficult to say anything, but he supposed Bela needed something to occupy her hands with while discussed the more serious topics - it wasn’t something they did too often, and it wasn’t an element she seemed all that comfortable with. But they’d talk about it, like the adults they could be from time to time. “I trust you,” he assured after he managed to pry her fingers from squeezing his face. Hawke kissed her palm and kissed her wrist, too, all before scooping her closer within those bearlike arms of his. Like Carver, he was a tank. Perhaps would have made a good swordsman like his brother if magic didn’t course through his veins. “And I’d hope you trust me too. Doesn’t matter how many coins come pouring out of my bum, Bela, I’d still love you. I do love you.” What was the point of pussyfooting around it? He was awfully smitten with her in Thedas, she knew that, and if they were taking the next step of giving her a key to whatever place he’d have alongside The Hanged Man, he wanted to know that he was serious about this. That no matter what came their way here and there, mistakes or no mistakes, he’d still treat her like her own nipples were made of gold themselves. “Of course I trust you.” There was no question about that - Isabela knew she could trust him, knew that she felt safe in his arms and all of that rubbish. Instead of squishing Hawke’s (adorable, scruffy) face, she placed her hands on his shoulders, smoothing and fanning out over his shirt, a few times, as if to centre and calm her fried-eggs mind. Not that she was nervous about saying those little words, about having this conversation, but... She sort of was. It left her open and vulnerable and she had never really given herself like this to anyone before. The one time she had, in her dreams, the fellow had foolishly asked for her hand in marriage - that just meant shackles. It meant she seized up and ran. But whatever she had with her apostate mage worked, and he had never asked for anything she wasn’t ready for - he’d always been patient. “You’re mad,” she grinned, and cupped his face this time. Gently, as if admiring him. “So am I, though. I love you too, Hawke, no matter what comes out of your bum. Gold coins might be nice but you’re way more important.” Whoosh. She’d finally gotten it off her chest. Felt kind of relieving, actually. Mad? Perhaps, but at least she agreed he wasn’t alone in that mindset - and her response wasn’t anything he had even expected, not at all. The last thing Hawke wanted to do was rush her, or pressure her into anything she wasn’t ready for. Isabela was a free spirit. Wild and unpredictable like those eastern seas she sailed across. Loving her meant accepting you couldn’t tame her and damn anyone who even tried, though he could argue that’s what he loved about her the most. Part of him was tempted to be a shit (pun somewhat intended) and challenge her on the ‘no matter what comes out of your bum’ statement, but he behaved. Mostly. It was still a rather serious discussion they were having here! He laughed a bit, pressing his palm against her cheek. “A little scary for a moment there, wasn’t it?” Putting yourself out there like that. It was the first time he’d done it. It’d gone much better than expected, thank the Maker’s mantits. “You know we’ll still take this our own pace, our own way.” He loved her, she loved him - Hawke was more than okay with that, and all he needed right now. Bela shifted on his lap a little, a to and fro wiggle, as if trying to get even closer. It didn’t seem possible, not with clothing between them. “A little,” she sighed, but facing your fears was important - everyone had fears, of a sort, it was simply that holding them back and not letting them cramp your lifestyle was what gave you strength in the long run. Love did too, in its own way. “It was never because I was afraid of love, not really. I felt like I was ready. But I was just afraid I’d hurt you, after...that being exactly what I would never want to do.” Her fingers stroked his hair as she leaned in to touch foreheads, like transferring breath and life force; it was mostly to be lulled by the breaths Garrett took. Too bad there was work to be done, or else she’d probably shag him to death here in the back room of the tits and chicken place. But speaking of people getting hurt, emotionally or otherwise. “Are you still afraid something’s going to happen to Bethany?” Bela had this absurd idea that she’d hurt him, which still perplexed Hawke - sure, it’s the ones you love that could hurt you the most but he didn’t think she would intentionally do anything to stomp his somewhat fragile heart into millions of pieces. He trusted her, sometimes things happened in relationships and it wasn’t always smooth sailing but he knew they’d tackle it, together, like all long-standing couples tended to do. Though the word ‘relationships’ to be associated with her, more than officially, was something he found particularly funny. The intimacy of closeness was nice - even with clothes on, what a bloody miracle. It served as some sort of comfort anyway, for the next topic. Garrett bit back a sigh. “I stress about it on a constant basis,” he deadpanned. All sorts of dream bullshit paralleled to this life, why wouldn’t it translate to him losing his sister? Bethany was his heart, and having seen a version of her in some far away world get crushed into the ground over and over wasn’t something he could ever forget. “The future isn’t set in stone, but it’s only fitting for things to go to shit right after things have gone well.” Unfortunately, that was probably true. Besides, Garrett had lost her in the dreams - he’d lost Carver too, in a sense, when he joined the Templars. Obviously he wasn’t going to turn his brother in for being an apostate but there was just still something different about the dynamic, even Isabela noticed. So much more of a chill present, and he didn’t even really talk to Carver much anymore, despite Templar Hall being right there in Kirkwall, somewhat close by to the manor. It made her wonder just what was next when it came to Hawke’s family - he didn’t seem to be lucky in that respect, not at all. “I wish I could do more, besides bonding by way of keeping an eye on her,” she said, fingertips caressing through his hair - and down over his face, a light brushing as she watched with Cleopatra gold eyes, a worried expression in them. “I’m here if you need anything - at least we can face the uncertainty together.” Bela didn’t get along with her own sisters, had essentially shunned the whole unit in general, but she knew how important family was to her companion here. Family was everything to him. It wasn’t picture perfect, everyone had their own bloody problems and he and Carver didn’t always get along well, but the ties were solid. He’d become something of a fierce protector over them after his father’s passing - he felt the responsibility of needing to take that mantle and make sure they were well before he did anything for himself. Getting the twins situated with their education, making sure they lived somewhere secure and not so infested with black mold had been his priorities, first and foremost. And he’d gotten there. Certainly accomplishments to celebrate, if there wasn’t that impending black cloud hovering over him. An innocent venture to have his fortune read had become potentially life-changing, and Zatanna had been looking into things more to see if she can get a better idea of the who and the how, but the future was a fickle, elusive thing. Always changing, always catching you by surprise. “Best thing we can do is keep an eye on her.” Hawke exhaled through his nose. “I do appreciate you helping me with that. I think she’s gotten rather sick of me at this point.” And he’d been getting on her nerves plenty. Bethany humored him within reason, she was also of the patient sort, though hers ran out quicker than his. Bela’s touches were soothing, however. He turned his head, nuzzling into her hand. “Don’t take me off guard by dying either, would you? All this ‘I love you’ stuff is very touching, I’d rather things not go to shit by that omen of death being yours.” “Oh, she is, she’s plenty sick of you,” Isabela teased - but she said it lightly, a fondness to her tone. At least she gave Bethany a chance to vent a little, away from her protective brother. Bela supposed she couldn’t blame Hawke - watching someone you love die after an ogre-smash was certainly no easy thing to deal with. “I was going to take her sailing next, but we all can go if you’d like. Perhaps enjoy the pleasant weather once we actually get a bit of it.” When it wasn’t doing all sorts of bizarre Biblical things, from tidal waves to blood rain (or was that frogs?). But Bela herself had no plans of dying anytime soon. Andraste’s bejeweled twat, it wasn’t her time yet. “I’ll still be around to make life interesting for you,” she promised, giving him a smack of a kiss on the mouth before standing to adjust her corset top, and make sure there was just the right amount of tit spillage going on. “You need me a little, I think.” What a tease. Hawke finally sighed, but his fond was smile - so was that quirked brow. He didn’t know how he’d even handle this without that attractive scoundrel’s presence, and regretted that she moved away. He could technically bring her back onto his lap, make her spend some recreational time with him, but… A certain someone with faded, regurgitated rainbow colors for hair burst in, fresh from the piercer with another lip ring that looked mighty red. “Do you mind here?? I have like, drinks that need to be made, boss’ pet.” Oh for the love of fuck. “And there’s toilets that need to be scrubbed when you’ve a mouth like that,” he snapped irritably, rubbing his temple. Could they avoid a catfight for the night? That’d be lovely. Less paperwork, no massive migraine. Being called the boss’ pet made Isabela see red, a wash of it in her vision - but she just told herself that the pukey rainbow bint didn’t know any better. Definitely didn’t know who she was dealing with. “Get out of my way before I stab you,” she warned, picking up a stapler; the makeshift weapon fell open for emphasis, revealing a long, shiny silver row of what would be painful embedded in skin. “Or I’ll staple your diseased twat closed, understand?” It wasn’t even playfully fun banter like it was with Aveline - they just traded insults, they never really threatened to kill each other. Much. Most of the time? But really, she just wanted the nosy idiot to fuck off so she could give her poor, headachy boyfriend (such an awful term) a proper kiss goodbye. Because it’d be ages before she got to shag his brains out again. At least three long, hard hours. Nope. No point in biting back a shit-eating grin, because Bela’s threat was beyond attractive and resulted in what was perhaps a semi-boner (he was wearing jeans, which made it a little more difficult to tell thank fuck). But if the trollop there was going to come in and get nasty, his pirate queen did have the right to defend herself - and Rainbow Brite here would definitely be banished to the bathroom stalls cleaning up all sorts of suspicious messes. “Think about the worker’s comp paperwork you’d be making me fill out,” he quipped after the cocktail waitress fled with her tail between her legs. From behind her gave her neck a kiss, and his arms went around her waist to help quell that rage. A little hug in which he swung side by side. “I love youuuuu.” He was helping. Really, he was. Oh, Maker’s morning wood. Garrett was just the biggest doofus, wasn’t he? Isabela let out a long sigh, but it was obvious she was only teasing. “You’re awful,” she said, her hands rubbing over his arms - then she got to his hands, and moved them up so they were cupping her breasts. She’d let him cop a feel before she had to go do actual work. Because as Rainbow Bint said, there were drinks that needed to be made - hopefully ones she didn’t spill. Why did she still work here again? What a fucking incompetent cocktail waitress. “I love you, you idiot.” Turning in his arms, she kissed him again, long and semi-sweet (like chocolate chips) for the road. Of course she had to give his bum a pat too, more like a grab, before she left. Promises for later, you see. Because the nights were always long when you had to be concerned with things like blood rain. And the OC in general. |