romdeau | a fishing date;

"As entertaining as that may be, I'd rather you stay dry. And you might actually hurt yourself, doing that."

She snorted quietly. "I wouldn't have minded calling him Killer. I think she was afraid for my social life. 'Lovely to see you this evening, sir. Have you met my Mabari, Killer? He'd love to meet you.'" It would have been terribly entertaining. "Max is simple enough that he'll come when I call and it doesn't sound too stuffy at the end of the day. ...Though, he does answer to a myriad of other names. I think it's the tone."

Hawke reached over to pat his shoulder as though she was sorry for him, but the grin at her lips said otherwise. "Need to build up a tolerance to that. Just a little." Although...seeing him intoxicated might make for some fun memories.

"This is why I'm perfectly content in what armor I have, frankly. I don't envy you." She took another drink. "Two weeks with other refugees and a Mabari down in the cargo hold. It was a nightmare." At least misery loved company. She and Aveline bonded for those two weeks. "I would rather not repeat the trip at any point. Really." She wasn't necessarily seasick but there were too many people, too many smells. It frayed her nerves more than anything else. "Let's stick to boats, you and I."

"It would have been the perfect way to drive away unsuitable suitors," he said. "Anyone who couldn't handle that would hardly be worth your time, right?" Still, he could see her mother's concern and why a more...mature...view prevailed.

"Oh? Do I now?" He shot her a mock suspicious look. "Are you planning to liquor me up on a regular basis?" He took a swig from his bottle almost as though to punctuate the query.

"That does sound like a nightmare. I like your plan. No ships for us," he said, reaching to clack his bottle against hers. "Boats all the way." He settled down a little further against the pack so he could tip his head back without completely craning his neck. "Aside from the initial unpleasantness of the bait, I have to say crabbing is the way to go."

"I agree entirely. Maybe I'll start doing it now, even if those propositions have dropped off." Without her mother to set her up with the sons of the nobles in Kirkwall, she didn't have to worry about needing to entertain anyone. And if anyone wished to pursue her on their own... Well, it was highly possible that they were frightened by how she dealt with the Arishok.

She lifted a brow. "You have nothing to fear from a few extra drinks, I swear," she assured with a smirk. "If I invite you to Wicked Grace, then you can be wary." Isabela had a way of robbing people blind while they were distracted with their drinks.

"No ships," she agreed, tapping her bottle to his. "I could list so many other, unpleasant things I'd rather do than spend another two weeks in a crowded cargo hold." Hawke glanced at him, following his gaze up. She took another long drink of her ale. "It's relaxing, certainly. I was afraid we'd be stumbling over ourselves out here."

"Is it a relief? I'd think it would be. Marriages in the Marches...well, I suppose for nobility it's about the same anywhere you travel, about convenience and resources, influence and position. If you happen to be able to tolerate one another, that's a happy coincidence. Otherwise, you have at least two estates and never have to see one another except when an important occasion calls for it." He could no more see her actively choosing that life than he could imagine her in an Orlesian gown with ribbons in her hair.

"Ha. Your Wicked Grace sessions have a reputation preceding them." More accurately, Isabela's and Varric's, but Hawke's name was mentioned just about as often in certain circles. "I know to be wary of those."

It was very rare that he could even see the stars clearly, much less take the time just to look. The smoke from the ever active foundries lingered in a thick cloud over Kirkwall. Even in Hightown the stars were dimmer than out here past the city and its narrow, stone crowned streets. "No stumbling," he said, glancing at her with a fleeting smile. "That was part of my criteria for the outing. Along with no spiders, no blood--at least not ours--and no need to constantly look over our shoulders, either for bandits and ruffians or gossipy Marchers with nothing better to do than stir trouble for dog lords."

She smirked almost bitterly into the darkness. "And here I am with all the resources and influence I could ask for. Marriage for convenience is out, it seems." And thank the Maker for that. "I don't think I'd want to marry anyone who thought of me as a filthy dog lord behind my back, anyway." She leaned back against the bench and cast her gaze upwards once more. "Perhaps my parents ruined me in that regard. If I was to marry, I wouldn't want it to be any less of a partnership than what they had." Even if it was a foolish notion.

"It's still fun," she laughed. "I just wouldn't recommend it to 'beginners', is all. Worse, you might be there when a fight breaks out. You'd think we were idiots."

She returned the smile, setting her drink down between her feet and settling back on her hands. "High standards! But it worked out, didn't it?" Hawke sound immensely pleased. "Now we'll just hope that these cretins actually bite. I'll see you cook one to perfection yet, ser."

He stayed quiet for a bit, carefully considering whether he wanted to speak what came to mind or reserve it. He decided that while it might be bold and a little forward, that was somewhat mitigated by the fact that it was true. "Selfishly or un, I'm glad to hear that. It would make outings like this very awkward with a jealous suitor breathing down my back."

He laughed. "Yes, I suppose we can't have the Knight-Captain setting a bad example for his subordinates. Bar brawling isn't an approved recreational activity, yet honor would demand that I not abandon you lot."

He looked around, just able to see the tips of the marsh grass waving over the view from the sides. "Much better than I could have planned. No rain, no sea monsters or swooping dragons. The night is young, though. I could be speaking too soon." He polished off his bottle and set it aside where they wouldn't risk turning their ankles on it later in the night. "You've set yourself a challenge." He leaned forward to reach for the brandy. "Are you ready for some of this?"

She turned to look at him, slowly smiling. "I wouldn't do that to you, even if I didn't like whomever was pursuing me." The smile grew sharp at the edges, a little wicked in design. "Besides, that would give Varric an excuse to put you into one of his stories as the knight the hero goes off to have midnight trysts with. It would all be very romantic." And embarrassing.

"Oh, come now. You would be a perfect example. With that armor on, you could flatten any one of them with one strike," Hawke admonished with a playful nudge to his side. "You'd be a perfect addition to our motley crew."

No rain, no monsters, no trouble, and a friendly captain of the Templars to share her evening with. What could be better? She was grateful the darkness hid the look in her eyes when she nodded. "More than ready. Are you, though?" If it was a challenge he wanted, she would be all to happy to oblige. "You can't blame me tomorrow if it bowls you off your feet."

"A romantic Templar. Maker preserve us all," he murmured. "That would be quite the switch of expectations, wouldn't it?"

He snorted wryly. "Oh, sure. Let's teach the impressionable minds that might makes right, and that if you can crush them, it's because they were asking for it."

In answer, he unstoppered the bottle. The rich scent immediately enveloped them, promising warmth and a smooth finish. "I would never blame you for my own folly." Tipping his head back, he took a swallow and closed his eyes while it went down. It was everything he recalled about the drink. As long as he also remembered it had a bigger kick than the smoothness seemed to show, he felt he wouldn't make an idiot of himself. He offered it over to her.

"A romantic Templar who engages in bar brawls. It would be the best thing to hit the shelves since 'Hard in Hightown'. If you ever get bored with hunting mages and restoring order, you could consider it."

She chuckled, picking up her bottle of ale and finishing it off. "Only the drunk and disorderly. And the thieves and the murderers."

Hawke watched him drink, almost expecting him to react poorly to the drink. Eyes alight with mirth, she raised an eyebrow when he passed the bottle and she took a moment to savor the scent. It'd been at least six months since she'd tasted Antivan brandy, the drink expensive enough that she never felt the need to go get any until Isabela brought it around for their weekly game. "Well, I did bring the temptation itself," she said in reply, just before she took a slow sip for herself. It went down smoother than she remembered and then burned at the end, a tingle that had her smiling.

"You know, the first time I heard that title, I didn't think it could possibly be a real book." The recruits whispered about it when they thought he was out of earshot. It amazed him how deaf they seemed to believe the officers were. "So what would ours be called? I'm almost afraid to ask."

He nodded slowly, shifting so that he was leaning partially on his hip and facing her more. He propped his arm on the bench seat now at his side, elbow bent and tucked to hold some of his weight on his forearm. "I suppose that wouldn't be an awful message to send the recruits, particularly when they join the drunk and disorderly ranks." Just because they weren't supposed to do it didn't mean they didn't. It wasn't like at the tower where a dangerous lake kept them in check.

"And I succumbed to it." He watched her take the drink before answering the smile with one of his own.

Edited (This time without the angsty icon. Oy.) 2012-08-05 05:41 (UTC)

"You're not the only one. I thought Varric was joking about it." And he wanted her to even have a copy. "I still don't know what that title even means." 'Siege Harder.' It was a ridiculous name for a book. Hawke chuckled quietly. "I don't have a creative bone in my body. I don't know what it would be called. Something equally strange for a title, like 'Well Met by Moonlight.'" And Maker help her that Varric never heard a word of any of this.

"There you go. You join the trouble, you get treated like them. Unfortunately, the Hanged Man isn't safe enough of a place to give practical lessons to anyone." If recruits were punished right there, or at the Blooming Rose, they could run into the same trouble as before...just like Keran and Wilmod.

She took one more slow sip, savoring the taste, before she surrendered it to him. "That you did. I'll apologize for that if you're sprawled in your seat in the morning," she said with a grin.

"So what you're saying is you're not the one to ask for a summary." He snickered. "Just the thought of being a topic of thinly veiled fiction, that sort of fiction, has me squirming and praying to the Maker I can keep him convinced I'm one of the most boring men alive."

He had to agree with her there. Anything that might have started out as discipline was likely to escalate to a full blown brawl. Knowing his luck, that would be the night a paranoid blood mage decided to hole up in the back, thought the Templars had come for him, and summoned five shades and a pride demon to keep them away from him.

"I'll do my very best not to disgrace myself." He took another swallow, savoring it, and lowered the bottle to rest on his thigh. "It's very good. Thank you for bringing it. And for coming. I'm having a good time."

"Maker, no. I'll say this: Varric is an excellent storyteller. But the way he writes some of his stories... He knows his audience. He knows he can sell those book to every lonely man and woman in all of Kirkwall. He strings them along." She smirked. "But don't worry, I don't think he suspects you of being anything special so far. Hopefully."

She smiled as he drank, leaning back and making herself a little more comfortable. "Think nothing of it. Drinking alone is a sign of larger problems, or so I hear. Besides, it's a special enough occasion for it." He did get all of this together on his own. She wanted to repay him for that.

"And you're handling it well, too. Good for you," she teased lightly, leaning against his shoulder.

"Oh, well, if we're lucky, even if he figures it out, nothing truly untoward will happen until the fifth or sixth sequel. Just...lots of brief meetings and...Andraste's ashes, I don't know. Flowery words?" He knew he was probably being naive. It wasn't so bad when it was deliberate.

"I've heard the same. It's less cheerful at the very least." His smile widened for the assertion that it was a special occasion. He had tried to make it something different from dinner or a walk.

"Tell me that when it's time for me to stand up again. That'll be the real test." He shifted to give her the inner curve of shoulder rather than the harder outer cusp, nothing coy or sneaky in the way his arm came to rest around her shoulders as a result. He once more offered over the bottle.

"Even if nothing did happen...that's not Varric's style." Flowery words. Yes, that was a little naive. "Let's just say that each book can be considered stand alone, even if he does write a sequel." That was probably about as subtle as she could be. "Confiscate a copy from one of your recruits and skim it over."

Hawke smiled right back, though she offered an ineffectual shrug. "If you ever feel the need to drink heavily and you have no one there to share it with, come find me. Simple as that." Whether this progressed or not, Cullen was a fine man and friendly. She wouldn't mind seeing him for a drink and small talk, especially if it kept the man sane and content in some fashion.

"Before you sleep, if you sleep, I'll make you walk. Just in case," she promised, taking the bottle from him. She offered him an approving grin before she had another drink from the bottle. "Oh, but that does taste nice at first. How some people can drink all the time, I'll never know."

"I've...actually heard. It would probably hold off at least until mid-book and not before the characters were thrown together in dramatic circumstances and dire need." He tipped his head back and looked up. "Sometimes it's easier just to feign ignorance." It definitely would be if he ever learned he was inspiration.

"That's kind of you. I'll make a similar offer with the caveat that it's better to send a messenger, particularly at night. Sneaking into the Gallows to drink with me wouldn't be the smartest move. Much better to have me come to you." He squeezed her shoulder. "And you needn't worry about what you might say. I'd never use anything that came out during intoxication against you or your friends." He meant it, his gaze sincere and direct.

"Sleeping on a date? Let's hope not. I don't think I'd ever live down that embarrassment." He shook his head. "I don't, either. After a while it doesn't taste good anymore. That's not touching on how it makes you feel. I particularly hate when my nose gets numb."

"Yes, something like that. He might use the same formula in his other stories but I've been lucky enough not to know." And she'll continue not to know unless she one day discovered he'd written something more about her somewhere. "If it helps, I won't tell you if there's something one day about you. I should think you'd be safe, especially since we're being discreet."

"But where's the challenge in that? It would be much more interesting to try to sneak in." If she was feeling particularly self-destructive, that is. She turned to face him and smiled, reaching up to squeeze his hand briefly. "Likewise. You have my discretion and my silence." He had the upper hand; with Anders and Merrill always around, he could easily speak to Meredith and see them taken to the Circle. She trusted him not to do so.

"You did say you had a lower tolerance. I wouldn't hold it against you," she promised gently. "I think the numbness is the point, obviously." She tipped her head back against his arm and smiled. "I've never heard about it making someone's nose numb, though."

"That sounds like the perfect plan. Keep me in the dark." If he was extra lucky, he wouldn't hear it from the recruits, either. Of all the things that were important for him to know, that wasn't one of them.

"Interesting is one word for it," he said a little dryly. He squashed the curiosity about whether she could do it, half afraid that if he expressed it she might see it as a challenge and get herself in trouble. "I'll remember that." He didn't make drowning himself in drink a habit, unsure if he'd ever take her up on it. It was nice to know it was an option.

"Really? For me that's one of the first signs I've gone too far. My nose gets numb, and then my lips. Next I start to slur. It's all downhill from there." He spared a thought to how nice it was, sitting like this, and another to how odd it was to be readily touched. People didn't typically touch Templars. Templars didn't usually touch each other. The armor on duty precluded it, and off duty they still maintained their distance habitually.

And hopefully no one would put two and two together about a Templar being involved with the Champion.

"I'm guessing that 'suicidal' is another word you're thinking," she said with a wicked smile. She'd try but she probably wouldn't get very far. She wouldn't allow herself to get caught by any means. What excuse could she possibly give? Even if she said she was trying to see Bethany, she'd just endanger her sister.

Hawke regarded him a moment before she took the bottle once more. "My feet get tingly when I've had enough. I laugh too much, but that might simply be because of my choice of company." Varric could always make her laugh. "But then the slurring starts." She took another small sip, closing her eyes. "I don't usually go that far, thankfully. If I start, you'll have to ignore everything I say."

"I'm just glad you said it instead of me," he said with a grin. "If they realized who you were, they probably wouldn't kill you. It would depend on who got to you first and what they thought you were trying to do. On the positive side, I'd probably be called in first to deal with it rather than Meredith.

"If you get giggly, I won't say a thing." There was something about his expression that said that might not be entirely true. "I think the trick is just making sure we're at the same level of intoxication. Then neither of us will be in any position to judge." They also might not be in any position to get the traps up or steer the skiff, but that was far enough away he didn't have to give it much thought.

His thoughts drifted to something else though, and he looked back up at the sky to avoid having to look at her directly for the question. "What would you have done if I had agreed to your proposition on the spot?"

"Probably. That's highly reassuring." Meredith would probably give her a thrashing for doing something so foolish at the very least, and that was provided she had an adequate excuse that didn't involve Bethany or Cullen. "Well, at least it's good to know there will always be one person who doesn't fall all over themselves for me."

She snorted. "If your nose and lips go numb, you won't be one to talk about being giggly." He wouldn't be the first or the last to tease her for it. "That's an idea. Spot each other, make sure no one's too far gone or too sober. I like that."

Surprised at the question, her eyes turned to his face and found his attention elsewhere, possibly on purpose. She looked back at the bottle in her grip. "Laugh, probably." She winced; that came out wrong. "Not at you. At myself, for thinking it was such a splendid idea to say right in the middle of the Gallows." It wasn't the ideal place to throw a proposition like that out in the open. It wasn't one of her smarter decisions. Something else was on the tip of her tongue and she debated actually saying it. She took another sip of the brandy and then set it down between her feet, keeping it still with her boots. "And I probably would have had to restrain myself from doing something even more foolish right then and there."

"I do my best," he said, still grinning. "Maker, yes. She's wonderful for reality checks.

"How would you know unless I told you?" If he was that far along, he'd be tipsy enough to say just that, though, and he knew it. "I could just...quietly go numb and tease you, and you'd never know."

That had him laughing anyway, unable to resist the chance to tease her now. "Oh, sure. Say that to a man then laugh when he agrees. How could that ever go wrong?"

The warmth in his eyes remained even after the smile faded, the corners of them still crinkled. "Maybe this is a better place for foolishness." Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted his hand to tip her face toward his and leaned to kiss her, a brush of lips that was shared breath and brandy touched. The tips of his fingers rested against her jawline.

"The true power of the Knight-Commander: unwavering disapproval." That, and her prowess in battle. Anyone would be afraid of facing her, mage or no.

"You'd suffer in silence just for that?" Hawke smirked. "There's a wicked streak to you yet, Knight-Captain, try as you will to hide it." Make no mistake about it, she was enjoying how forward he was being tonight, even if he was teasing. He was relaxed with her.

She laughed with him. "It wouldn't be with any intention to upset you, honest. But I would then be standing there, wondering, 'Well, what do I do now?' I couldn't drag you off somewhere, after all!"

Even with the talk, she still found herself surprised that he made a move first before she could. She tilted her head obligingly and leaned in to the press of his fingers as her lips pressed to his. It was a simple thing but no less exciting, a crack of his defenses that she could blame on the liquor. It wasn't a deterrent; she lifted one of her own hands to settle it lightly on his cheek in turn, the pad of her thumb resting on the curve of his cheekbone.

"Never underestimate that. Disapproval of that magnitude can move mountains, or at least motivate underlings to try." He snorted softly. Few were those who could withstand one of Meredith's glacial, withering stares.

Tellingly, he made no effort to deny any such wicked streaks, amusement evident. "True, and there's no such thing as a quick anything when it comes to plate mail's removal, even in part."

He kept it shallow, a warm, exploring press of lips to lips that lingered until he felt his breath catch. When he drew back it wasn't far. "I didn't think it fair that you had taken all the risk up to this point." He knew from personal experience it wasn't easy to express interest in someone. There was always the chance of rejection. Her words might have shocked him that day, but the interest was flattering. He had yet to find a reason to regret seeing where it might lead.

"Why do you think I avoid her when I can? If I stuck around too long, I'd find myself doing some improbable tasks because she asked me to." It was only a matter of time, she was certain, before that happened.

There might have been a hint of rosiness beneath her eyes, though that might just have been the brandy. "Then I would be barred from the Gallows until further notice, and where would that leave us?"

Even when they parted, her hand remained for another moment or two longer before she thought to move it. It did not stray very far, instead coming to rest on his shoulder. She swallowed the first quip that came to mind, instead meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'm not afraid of the risk." After all, she did not have a real position to lose like he did. "But you keep surprising me." He didn't reject her advances, didn't scoff when she invited him out.

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