Another night at the Hanged Man, another night of Anders losing spectacularly at Wicked Grace. Justice wouldn't let him cheat anymore, but Varric and Isabela had no such scruples. He knew they would, more often than not, find a way to give him back his money, but it was still somewhat frustrating to never win. Ever. He was so focused on trying to make a good hand out of what he had been given that he didn't notice an addition to their small party, at least, not until a flying bundle of doom hit him in the back of the head.
He whirled around in his seat to see his attacker, and came face-to-face with a pissed off Hawke, who then proceeded to throw another cloth-covered square projectile at his head.
"Hawke!" he yelled, practically diving out of his seat to avoid being hit. "What in the Void are you doing?"
Hawke elected not to answer, and again threw...something at him. Ducking under the table, he seized one of the fallen parcels. Upon inspection, it proved to be a copy of his manifesto stuffed into a dirty sock, his dirty sock, it seemed. Above him, Isabela and Varric were laughing hysterically as Hawke yelled at him.
"Fifteen copies, Anders!" she shouted at him, lobbing another at his head when he dared to peek out of his refuge. "Fifteen copies of this damnable thing stuffed everywhere in the bedroom! And when I finally managed to ferret them all out, do you know what happened?"
Anders had crawled out on the other side of the table, hopefully safe with it between himself and Hawke.
"Love, I'm-" He was cut off by another flying copy of his manifesto. Maker, did she bring all fifteen?
"Shut up! I tripped over a pile of your dirty socks! I almost broke my neck, Anders!" She started throwing the copies at him again, and yep, he could see that she had a veritable stack of them next to her.
Anders was running around Varric's suite; dodging incoming manifestos while trying to get his irate lover was no mean feat, after all. He finally managed it, though, grabbing her arms to keep her from launching something else at his head...or hitting him.
"Love, I'm sorry," he told her, refusing to quail under the force of her glare. "I'll go home and clean them all up, ok?"
"You're damned right, you will!" she stated, pulling her arms from his grasp and marching down the stairs and out of the Hanged Man.
Anders sighed, running a hand over in face. Behind him, the raucous laughter had calmed somewhat, although Isabela was still giggling like an idiot. Varric walked up to him, still chuckling, the bastard, and put a hand on his arm.
"Fearless Leader's in a bit of a mood, huh?" he asked, giving Anders a consoling pat. "You'd better get going, Blondie. I don't envy what waits for you if you keep her waiting."
With a long-suffering sigh, Anders waved farewell to his companions and headed out of the tavern.