Who: Hawke & Isabela, with Bethany near the end What: A petrified statue of a certain Knight-Commander greets Hawke in the early morn When: This morning Where: Their flat above The Hanged Man Rating/Warning: Language, innuendos, the usual Status: Complete!
It was actually a normal day, all things considered. Right? Isabela woke up, threw a short robe in a rich purple (it had white lace, it was incredibly classy when she sort of overall erred on the side of not) over her matching silky purple nightgown and went to the toilet to do all those standard morning things. You know, things - wash her face, comb her hair, brush her teeth, debate whether she wanted to wake her sleeping ball n’chain up with a blowjob or just spank his bum a few times. Maybe play a game where she sat on top of him with a knife strapped to her garter and waited to see how long ‘til he noticed (these were the types of games dirty rogues played).
Eventually, she decided on none of the above and went to the kitchen of their flat above the Hanged Man to prepare breakfast. Yes, Isabela was actually cooking - come on, she did it sometimes! Just not all the time, because she had a life and it was more fun to watch Hawke do it, while wearing an apron. Sometimes only the apron.
Dog got his usual stinky fare for the morning meal, and Bela set out to prepare a rather tasty bread omelet or two for the humans. It was exactly what it sounded like - bread, cheese, veg, chutney - and tended to be popular street food in India. It was all going nicely, yes? She had breakfast sizzling in the frying pan, what a dutiful wifey she was...
Of course, it was possible she’d go to wake Garrett up and get distracted with his dick, leaving breakfast to get cold. But she’d have to see - you had to put a lot of spice into married life, really, she considered herself an expert at it already. “Right, Dog?” she asked out loud, looking around for that hairy beast. The mabari, not her husband.
Garrett had been asleep, mostly. Sure, the intoxicating smells of breakfast food wafted through the flat and tempted him to roll over and wake up - but closing a bar was sometimes tough work, and kept him up at all hours in the night. Especially when patrons had no sense of any bloody goddamn decency and went exorcist all over the men’s bathroom. He’d found that lucky gem during his closing duties and no plonker had the nerve to at least tell him beforehand.
But, overall, he’d argue the drunken messes at The Hanged Man were arguably less disgusting from what he’d once dealt with at The Rear End - a humorous blessing from the Maker, perhaps?
Regardless, it meant that he was a stubborn imprint in that warmth of a bed he shared with his plundering wife. Coming in and out of his slumber was something of a natural thing when Bela woke before he did, and he tossed and turned some now that she wasn’t taking up most of the bed (Hawke often found himself on the edge much thanks to her shameless hogging, and his eye cracked for a second in view of the bedroom and -
This greeted him. A petrified statue of one that was once human, and it throbbed with a subtle but angry red glow, heat radiating from it.
“What the fuck!” came his startled, snarly cry and just like that, he went from embracing the pillow while he laid on his stomach to upright, on his feet, ever so threatening and alarmed in standard boxers. “Why does this keep happening to me?!”
First the tomes and demons, now - Meredith?
Difficult to miss the shout of pure horror that came from the bedroom, wasn’t it? Isabela could only imagine what that was. Here she thought that everything that could have crossed over from Thedas already did - well, there was a Breach, so perhaps they were owed a Blight next. That would just be the cat’s pyjamas.
At any rate, she moved the frying pan off the stove and went to go see what all the commotion was about - only to find Garrett in his underwear and standing off against what looked to be a petrified corpse. Not just any petrified corpse, but one tainted with red lyrium - it was why no one wanted to move the dead former Knight-Commander from the Gallows, where she/it remained. No one was that foolhardy (besides, who would touch Meredith even when she was alive?).
“Well, at least she didn’t come with that awful armor - it did nothing for her shoulders,” Bela noted, though of course dared not move closer to where the latest generous dream ‘gift’ was. “What are we supposed to do with that thing??” Thank the Maker the crazy cursed Templar is gone! A catchy song in Kirkwall, but unfortunately, they weren’t so lucky right here in Orange County.
Hawke’s heart was, well, it was beating rather fast because the sight of what had once been the Knight-Commander, now deceased by preserved in what was lyrium tainted by the blight sitting ever so casually in the center of his bedroom. Its dank, looming presence was fit in the Gallows since it was equivalent to a sewage system and yes, alright, he did once whip his cock out and piss at it (FROM A DISTANCE) after a night of heavy intoxication with Varric (it was a dare), but -
Oh, hell.
“Why can’t I just wake up to your tits in peace,” he growled, pinching his nose as his eyes clenched shut there for a second. Too early to have a headache but life wasn’t fair, was it? Dog was huffing and puffing beside Isabela, knowing and sensing what that was. “That’s just what we need, traces of red lyrium in Orange County, because we all know the possibilities always end in such a good note here.”
Well, destroying it like they’d done with red lyrium deposits was an option.
Dog’s hackles had risen, and for a good reason - that thing was straight out of nightmares. Even Bela gave a bit of a shudder, petting the warhound’s brindled fur and scratching behind his ears. “Tomorrow you can wake up to my tits in peace,” she said cheerfully - well, she hoped so, anyway. It’d be just their luck if something else terrifying reared its (literal) ugly head. “Should we...blow it up? Stick it in the fireplace? Freeze it? I suppose that means actually moving it...”
Again, the red lyrium. But it wasn’t like they had many other options, besides destroying good ol’ Meredith again. They couldn’t just leave a dead Knight-Commander in their bedroom - it didn’t match the ambiance, for one thing. For another, it smelled utterly rank.
Rank and the literal remains of the batshit Knight-Commander driven absolutely mad. Perhaps there should have been a smidge of sympathy for the woman - the lyrium had done a number on her, sure, but she was the definition of a blatant thundercunt with how she ran Kirkwall with the treatment of mages. But Maker, he had no desire to see what was left of her here - not ever.
“Coffee first,” he grumbled under his breath, and Hawke was never one to really fit the ‘cranky’ descriptor but boy, the blood mage was rather cranky. With odd priorities for the moment, because fuck you, Meredith, you were not putting a damper on his morning routine! Absolutely not!
Aside from the morning sex, he supposed, because he didn’t care for that particular kind of audience. Bela was probably on the same boat.
A careful tiptoe around their latest troll gift, and he leaned to press a kiss against his wife’s cheek. “Good morning, love - I would have said that first if, well, we weren’t so unpleasantly surprised.”
There was no way on this Maker-forsaken Earth that Bela would put on a sex show with a dead Templar in the bedroom. Most people would also, likely, need a minute to recover from such a traumatising sort of thing - waking up to that and all, and thus associating a red lyrium-tainted corpse with the deed, but not this rogue Admiral. She’d be back to fucking her Champion’s cock as soon as possible, trust her.
“Good morning, kitten,” she chuckled, turning her head to plant one on Garrett’s mouth. He was far from a kitten, but it was simply an affectionate nickname of hers. “I got the gist, so it’s alright. I made you breakfast though - let me put on a pot of coffee, and we can figure out what to do with our unpleasant guest.”
Already, her mind was kind of churning with ideas - this could be dangerous because consider the source.
Letting out a cackle, she flipped on the coffee pot to begin brewing something robust and strong for them. The bread omelettes hadn’t gone cold either, brilliant! “Is it awful that I want to invite people over and just have Meredith on the sofa or something, like it’s completely normal? Just to see their reactions?”
Ohhh, now there was an idea. Imagine having Trevelyan over for scones and having him sit next to that thing! They’d be cleaning turdlets crapped out of fear but Hawke thought it was worth it. “You’re positively brilliant,” he chuckled, groggily brushing his fingers through the bush of his beard. “And an absolute goddess, I can probably stomach the thought of it in our bedroom with sustenance in my system.”
Mainly the coffee, too, and he fished through their stainless steel fridge for a bottle of Bailey’s. It’d be his creamer. There was no way in the depths of the Andraste’s cunthole he’d not have his caffeine spiked after the way he’d woken up - because really now. “I can ask Zatanna to do her teleporting thing and whisk it away, but destroying it - it does seem like the best option. I’d rather not take a gander at siphoning the red lyrium out. It has to go somewhere. Best to blast it to hell.”
Granted, the traces of it weren’t as potent as it could be. It wasn’t as if being exposed to it for ten minutes was going to drive the sanity from their minds, but overall Garrett was of the opinion that tainted lyrium wasn’t a matter to be joked about (at least while it was in his bedroom) and needed proper annihilation before it started growing in places.
“Though,” he voiced after a minute of thought, drumming his fingers atop the kitchen surface. “How hilarious would it be if we just left it in certain places? We can put it on Alistair’s couch or in Max’s bathroom and record their reactions somehow.”
The trolling possibilities were absolutely endless, but then there was that nagging need to be a responsible mage. Bugger.
“I am a goddess, aren’t I,” Isabela smirked, using a spatula to flip the breakfast she’d diligently prepared onto a plate, and handing it over. “Eat this first, gather your strength to look that bitch in her direly-in-need-of-moisturiser face, then we’ll blast Meredith to hell. Again.” Technically they already did it once - the red lyrium certainly helped with that though, so it was kind of like her own undoing. This was why you shouldn’t mess with Thedosian crack, kiddos!
Now, for her chance to pour some coffee. Bela added a touch of Bailey’s and by a touch that clearly meant a quarter of the bottle - she wasn’t in the mood for a dainty splash or two today. “In the fireplace, then?”
They did have one in their cosy flat. “Or the ovens, downstairs?” she pondered. They were bigger, and she wanted someplace contained for the blasting. Mostly Bela was just worried about the smell.
It was as if Meredith was doing everything in her absolute power - even beyond the grave - to crush his playful side! The Knight-Commander was never a fan of his humor in Kirkwall. Then again, she wasn’t a fan of an apostate, but Hawke’s image as ‘the Champion’ was an important one to maintain for the city’s morale. Couldn’t touch dat ass as the youth said these days.
Ah, well. He’d at least take pictures and send a mass text and play a game to see who could identify her first. That’d be a hoot. “Either one could work, though the latter means we have to actually carry her a longer distance,” he sighed, taking an appreciative sip of spiked coffee - mmm. Maker, he needed this. And that omelet too, which he was beginning to stab with his fork as he stood (too jittery to sit down and truly enjoy the meal). “Perhaps we could cut her up? It’d be easier to transport her that way.”
What a macabre subject to discuss over breakfast.
In the name of Andraste’s sagging arse, it was like they’d just committed a murder - burn the body? Cut it up first? They were headed straight for a true crime television special at this rate. “Good idea,” she laughed huskily, taking a bite of the bread omlette - she too was standing up and eating, because a leisurely breakfast at the table was obviously out of the question, but these were meant to be eaten on the go anyway. “Chop her up, like firewood, then bring her to the flames.”
Eeeech. Her liver was quite steely or else Bela would advocate getting drunk for this - then again, perhaps it was best to be sober while transporting a Knight-Commander separated into chunks.
“You’re the one with the magic, you start the fire - I’ll do the chopping. I’ve got the knives, after all.” It’d be a rather gross task, but they were a team. Long, long ago - in a world called Thedas - she’d trusted Hawke to protect her, and that was a monumental thing. In turn, she also told him she’d come through for him, and she meant that. Both then and now.
Such heartwarming teamwork, the pirate queen and blood mage. A couple that diced up and burned a petrified red lyrium statue of a once batshit templar was a couple that stayed together. Hawke washed down the omelet with the rest of his coffee and pulled his phone from the charger - he’d left it in the kitchen because he did not want to be disturbed after the night he’d had - and prepared the camera. “Give me a second first, let me -”
He’d been on his way to their quarters when his sentence was interrupted. Dog’s leg was up, in the prime position to urinate on the Knight-Commander leftovers.
“Dog! No! Down, don’t put your mabari cock anywhere near that thing!” Andraste’s tits, he never thought those words would ever come out of his mouth but, well, there you have it. Garrett’s life. A trainwreck of hilarity and tragedy. Dog whined but listened to his master and went elsewhere to pout - generally by the door because his owners still had to walk him for his morning shits and piss. “Bloody hell, but with the coast clear now…”
Let the camera focus. Get the right angle, the right lighting, and he snapped some pictures away of the angry figure. Some regular, some with with the snapchat app (it’s how he and Bethany communicated, shush) so Meredith could fashion a crown of daisies around her head.
Technology really was grand, wasn’t it?
The poor warhound! He really did need to take a piss, didn’t he? “Hold it in your bladder for a little while longer, Dog,” Isabela told the mongrel (alright, he was a big pile of goop, that sloppy-tongued creature), and she had to roll her eyes when she saw Hawke snapping photos of the corpse in their bedroom.
“A sexual bonus for you if you make those photos into a virtual Christmas card for our dear ones,” she snorted a laugh, and went to retrieve her knives. Hm, the Backstabber ought to do - her beauty of onyx and aurum, and what a sharp blade it had. “Alright, let’s do this. I need to chop her up and...ugh.”
Well, at least these mostly-skeletal remains would be easy to hack through? Small favours.
Ohhhh, not a terrible idea. There really was a special place reserved for them in hell if Isabela was even suggesting it and Hawke contemplating it, wasn’t there? “You make it so hard to ever deny you anything with bargains like that,” he chuckled, and pulled a shirt over his head - he needed some decency if he was to step out of the safety and comfort of their flat to downstairs. Bethany had opening duties today, so she was probably already below prepping the garnishes for the day.
But before going down? He’d gone to the kitchen to pull out some rubber gloves - the ones he used while doing dishes and scrubbing toilets, because the fucker was a domestic god - and brought it to his wife. “Take any precaution. Including rubber gloves. And a towel over your face because I don’t want you to breathe in anything funky, Bela.”
It was probably unnecessary but he wouldn’t risk it. It didn’t hurt to be careful, did it? “I’ll set up the fires downstairs - good thing we invested in one of those industrial ovens?”
Otherwise this would be a little more difficult. At least this way the fumes would be released outside. Sorry, climate change, but it was necessary.
“Rubber gloves,” Isabela lifted an eyebrow when she was handed the precautions - but alright, no argument. If it made Hawke feel better then she’d do her butcher work wearing latex and a towel over her face. She found one in the clean laundry basket of clothes and things still needing to be put away, and held it up to her mouth while gripping the handle of the Backstabber in her other hand. “Alright then, I’ll see you downstairs - Maker, this day has already been too bloody bizarre.”
With that, she decided to just go for it - and really give the old Knight-Commander bat a piece of her mind, a really good stabbing. First, in typical zombie apocalyptic defence strategies, she went for the head. Dust flew up, Bela coughed, and she didn’t even want to know the chemical components of what that was when Meredith’s head rolled onto the floor.
Hack, hack, hack - hands then arms, feet then legs. Her torso chopped right down the middle, split in half like this rancid bitch was an avocado. Then, as quick as she could, Bela stuffed all the pieces into a laundry bag, gratefully pulling the drawstring. Whew.
She waited ‘til she got downstairs, the bag hefted over her shoulder. “Have you got the ovens ready, love?” Bethany was probably wondering what the fuck was going on by now, though likely Garrett already explained this latest adventure.
Bethany was wondering what the fuck was going on, actually, so good call there Isabela. The Hanged Man wasn’t open yet so there was no other witness to this mess than the Hawke Family - and she was so casually filled in with Garrett’s nonchalant explanation about the entire thing that she was left with a jaw hanging, because what.
It’s not like she was oblivious to all that went on around here (on the contrary, the twins were very aware and even wanted their own set of dreams), but the fact that their morning was about to include burning pieces of a fossilized dead person in the bar’s oven like this happened on any day that ended in Y.
“Is that - is that really??” Bethany’s coherence lacking when Bela came in with the bag, clearly.
Poor Bethy. May she never actually bare witness to any of the clusterfuck they dreamt. That was Hawke’s wish, considering he didn’t want to see how a death from being crushed into gravel by an ogre would translate over. “Ovens are lit,” he nodded, taking the weight of the bagged remains off his wife. Might as well just toss it all in because no one could pay him or suck his dick enough to have him reach in and toss every diced up limb into the fires. “Any last words before we end this?”
Sister Hawke raised her hand. “I’m not cleaning up that oven, Garrett, that’s all you. I’m not participating in the illegal disposal of remains.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re acting like we murdered her.”
“Technically, didn’t you guys?”
Hawke squinted. Bethany wasn’t exactly wrong, he supposed.
“Oh, well, you know,” Isabela shrugged cheerfully, scooting on over to the sink to scrub her hands raw, with plenty of soap and hot water - because despite having worn gloves for the chop-chop-chopping, she still felt gross. “We murdered so many people that night, kitten, the details are a bit fuzzy. Though I suppose her end would have been less awful if she wasn’t rubbing her twat all over red lyrium deposits. Cest la vie, as they say?”
And really, Meredith would have obviously ended them all if she had her way - Bela proudly fought on the side of mages for that epic battle, even if she’d wanted to throttle hippie terrorist Anders for his ‘bold plan.’
Now that her hands were clean and Meredith was in the oven (RIP), besides feeling like Hansel and Gretel’s witch, Bela thought they ought to move on. “Should you give it an extra blast with magic, Hawke? The sooner she’s nothing but air pollution, the better.”
Oh, well, if they murdered so many people that night. Bethany’s response came in the form of a defeated sigh, because she bloody well did not know what it was like to experience what they did in their dreams - but seeing such strange things come from it, it still felt oddly surreal.
Though she did want to stay for the little display of magic at the very least. Maybe it was the dormant mage blood that piqued her interest.
“Planned on it, love,” Hawke grunted, tossing a bag o’ diced Meredith into the oven. Conjuring the element of fire came quickly behind it, flames licking the air from the tips of his fingers, which formed a small and more tossable sphere to throw in. It wasn’t anything too catastrophic but enough to speed the process of turning it all to ash quickly, and then he immediately shut the hatch door to let it all disintegrate in a contained space.
Phew. He reached to wipe his brow. “I’d say give it at the very least ten minutes? I’ll be back down to clean it up, though I have a hard time deciding if I prefer cleaning this over drunk vomit all over the bathrooms.”
Seriously, someone up above must just like him getting on his hands and knees scrubbing things.
“That was brilliant, love,” Bela grinned, giving her mage hubby an ass-grab (since he was still in his boxers and all, easy access) of appreciation. “Ten minutes. I’ll go get dressed and bring Dog out, he’s probably about to take a piss all over the floor.”
And the last thing they needed was to have to clean up dog shit in addition to Meredith residue. What a morning! Could they not have another one like this for awhile?
Bethany got a hug too, a squeeze when Isabela wrapped her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Just nod and smile, sweetling, we don’t understand it any more than you do.”
“Nodding and smiling’s about the best I can do,” Bethany replied with mild exasperation, but smiled nonetheless at her sister-in-law’s gesture. “I’ll continue my job without further distractions of the otherworldly kind, I hope?”
Garrett peaked through the glass window some to see how well it was all going - nothing awry, thank the Maker, things burned as they should. “We make no promises, Bethany,” he replied as his eyes traveled to his sibling, sighing. “Balls, fine, we’re all awake and are now forced to be productive. I’m taking a damn nap after all this is done, I swear it, don’t even wake me up if the Blight happens.”
But the unspoken rule of all that, of course, was ‘Bela is more than welcome to awaken me sexually.’ Hawke figured it was understood, he just didn’t need to say it in front of his baby sister, alright?