"All we need is Andraste’s tits, and we’d be at the Hanged Man." Who: Fenris and Varric What: Stuff! When: Recently. Where: Hawke’s comedy club, because Fenris never leaves or something. Rating: Uh. PG13 for Andraste's Sacred Boobs? Status: Complete!
Aside from that strange outburst of... whatever the hell it’d been, things seemed to have slowed down dramatically. Fenris had never known things to be so quiet, and Hawke herself seemed to actually be behaving - or, well, refusing to get out of bed - that made things all the stranger, really, but he knew better than to comment.
He’d ended up at the club early, yet again. It’d give him time to prepare for the inevitably terrible ‘comedians’, at least...
Varric had missed going out. Really, he was getting domesticated, which he didn’t really mind, per se, but sometimes, a Dwarf just has to go out. He thought he could pester Hawke, or Elf, so dropped into the comedy club. Which found him heckling the man up on stage. “My mother’s bloomers told better jokes! Hah!”
Who else would heckle them in such... interestingly unique ways? All it needed was a reference to Andraste’s Fabled Golden Knickers (or her Knockers) and things would’ve been just as they were in Kirkwall. Fenris chuckled and made his way over to the dwarf. “Varric. I’m surprised I’ve not seen you around here all that often.”
“All we need is andraste’s tits, and we’d be at the Hanged Man.” Varric sighed in reminiscence. “How are things, Elf? It’s been awhile.”
It was almost like the dwarf had read his mind. “If you can devise some insane scheme that might get Hawke out of bed, things would be... normal. I suppose.”
As normal as things could be when you sometimes glowed in the dark, and your girlfriend was a mage who sometimes threatened to set people on fire - you know, the classic Hawke diplomacy.
“What’s bothering her?” Varric asked, tilting his head in thought. Clearly, there would need to be an adventure.
An adventure of epic proportions, considering Hawke hadn’t really been up and around since... well, probably before Christmas. “If I knew, I’d be finding a way to help. For all her good traits, Hawke has never excelled at feelings.”
Or telling anyone about them, it would seem.
“Here’s the plan. We’ll need a bucket of ice water and a barrel of ale, and someone to be the designated driver.”
Fenris could only arch an eyebrow. “Dare I even ask how all that fits together?”
“The water is to wake her up, the ale is to get us all drunk, and the driver is to drive us all over town.” Varric explained. It made perfect sense!
Perfect sense to a dwarf perhaps. And Fenris had thought Merrill’s plans could be strange. “I’m imagining that the ice water would just make her threaten to set us all on fire. Yet again.”
“Dwarves are hearty folk,” Varric assured him, even if he hadn’t turned into a dwarf just yet. He might have lost an inch though, or Fenris had gained one. He preferred to think of the latter.
Really, it was probably a mixture of both. Elves were kind of tall in their dreams... or, at least, they were compared to dwarves. “Even if she burnt your glorious chest hair? Or worse, Bianca?”
“I’d cut that bitch.”
Fenris chuckled. “I’m sure she wouldn’t really. Threatening Bianca might be a last resort if you kept trying to get her up, though...”
Then again, this was Hawke. Hawke probably thrived on doing unexpected things.