Down, down, down and…ah…
The wonderful delicacies of the Hanged Man never lead me astray. I give my head a rough shake. The swill burns like Hell on the way down. I trail the rim of my abused mug with my dark-skinned fingers as I gaze around the tavern. From what I've gathered, its dank, ratty, musky, and stank of sweat and desperation. Not a bad place to crash a ship in. Kirkwall reminds me of a bottled-up Ferelden with its simple, boring fashion, declining politics, and watered-down criminals who couldn't tell their ass from their elbow*.
The tavern door opens with a bang. I glance up and see—lo' and behold—Lucky the Simpleton and his gang. I sigh and return to my drink, hopefully the idiot isn't sniffing for me.
For his own sake.
But, as fate would have it, his boys waddle on over and surround my seat, a weak attempt at intimidation. I take stock of the situation and decide that I'm already bored. His two lackeys are a foot or so behind my back, cocksure and amateur, weapons sheathed. Lucky himself is going for the casually dangerous look, awkwardly lounging on the bar beside me.
He stares at me with a glazed look in his eye, not an uncommon occurrence when dealing with sex-deprived men. Well, that's a lie. Open ogling happens with just about all men, and most women. I ignore him and take a swig of my ale. This goes on for a minute or two.
Stare, drink. Stare, drink. Yawn, yawn, yawn.
Eventually—finally—Lucky speaks, leaning closer to leer at my breasts.
"You owe us, Isabela," he growls. He's referring to the coin I promised him in return for information on the Relic. He failed to deliver, so I remind him of what I said two nights ago. I take another sip first.
"Well Lucky, I'll tell you what," I say slowly, to give him time to understand. "Since the information you gave me was worth nothing…"
Pause for effect.
"That's what I'll pay you." I grasp my mug to take another drink when he slams it back on the bar with one greasy hand. Big mistake number one.
"Me and my boys will get our money's worth, bitch," he snarls. Big mistake number two. Up until this moment I hadn't spared a glance at the sewer rat, but now he has my attention. I almost feel sorry for the poor sot. I roll my head to meet his watery eyes and coo.
"Oh you poor, sweet thing." I lean close to him, my lips inches from his. He hesitates, mistaking my glare for a smoulder. Idiot. I grab his wrist that still covers my drink, yanking him closer. He stumbles and I grab his stringy hair, pounding his ugly face once, twice on the bar before releasing him. He falls back on his arse. Not so lucky then.
One of his boys wraps his arms around my waist and arms, stupidly not bothering to reach for the blades strapped to his back. He lifts me from the floor while his buddy reaches for a bottle on a nearby table.
At the corner of my eye I see a woman, a dwarf, an elf, and a man. The woman is watching our little brawl with a smirk.
Lucky's goon raises his bottle over his head with a grimacing snarl, returning my attention to my predicament. I buck my head and with a crack of my captor's nose breaking, I'm free. I crouch swiftly and grunt number one smashes the bottle over the head of grunt number two. I rise from my crouch and punch grunt number one's face. Twice. A swift knee to the balls, and he's down.
Lucky, finally recovering from my first blow, goes for his broadsword. I slide one of my daggers from my boot and rest the tip snuggly under his chin. Lucky blanches, apprehension in his eyes. I allow myself time to soak in the look on his face before speaking.
"Tell me, Lucky," I stare deep into his eyes. He doesn't mistake my glare this time. "Is this worth dying for?"
He backs off, his goons staggering after him. I follow his head with my blade until he scurries out of the tavern. I lean against the bar with a chuckle, admiring my work. I see the woman again, watching me with renewed interest. I smile and take another swig.
"I didn't think so."
I meet the woman's eye for just a moment before turning back to the bar. I wait, until I hear the distinct sounds of chain mail boots on the wooden floor. I grin into my mug. This is the chance I've been waiting for. The woman and her entourage reach my stool and I start before she does.
"You're new around here aren't you?" I turn to face her and continue without waiting for her obvious answer. "Keep your wits about you. Your nothing but tits n' ass for the men in this place and they won't hesitate to grab at both."
The woman smirks again but her overall expression is open and friendly. I get a closer look at her and her group. I recognize the dwarf, Varric I think his name is. The elf has a face full of tattoos and a stick growing out of her back. An elven mage then. The man is also a mage, with a cuddly-looking cloak of feathers. I wonder how many birds he had to kill for that. Mages are the most peculiar of creatures.
"Speaking from experience are we?" the woman says, bringing my attention back to her. She's a pretty thing, with an impressively large sword peeking up from behind her shoulder. Hmm. I chuckle appreciatively.
"After a few broken fingers here and there, they got the idea."
I curtsey, not exactly knowing why. "I'm Isabela." I hesitate. "Previously Captain Isabela. Sadly, without my ship the title rings a bit hollow."
"Marian Hawke," the woman offers with a slight incline of her head. A familiar greeting.
"You're Ferelden, aren't you?" I inquire. She raises one sharp eyebrow and I clarify. "You have that look about you. I was in Denerim not too long ago."
I think back to the tasty Warden my old pal Zev introduced me to and examine this...Hawke again. Yes, she could work.
"you might be just what I'm looking for to solve a little problem I have," I begin.
Hawke frowns comically. "Can't anyone fix their own lives around here?" she drawls. I smirk.
"Must be something in the water," I say with a shrug. Her eyes glimmer with amusement, and I'm suddenly sure we'll get along just fine. Time to tell my mini life story—without discriminating details of course.
"Someone from my past has been pestering me. I've arranged for a dual." I pause. Hawke says nothing, so I go on. "If I win, he leaves me alone. But I don't trust him to play fair. I need someone to watch my back."
She scrutinizes me curiously, and asks a few questions. Easy enough, until she asks about Lucky. But after a few innuendos and a subtle change of subject, she knows to leave well enough alone.
"I think I can manage watching your back," she decides. I grin and let my eyes enjoy her body. Very pretty indeed.
"I'll bet," I purr. A little flirting never hurt anybody. I swagger past her,—careful to sway my hips—relaying instructions. She turns to watch me leave and I smile again.
This'll be fun.