Juliet glanced at her watch. The bartender noticed.
"He's late?"
"She," Juliet said absently. "My best friend."
"Ah. Figures. I mean, no one would want to keep you waiting. If it were a date, I mean, a man would be stupid to be late … er. You know what, I'm just going to go wash some glasses over there," the bartender said, blushing a bit.
Juliet found herself smiling at him—he was cute, despite the verbal fumbling. "Naia's chronically late. I love her anyway." Juliet herself was obsessively punctual, but it was hard to be mad at Naia. She always had a good reason—and she always showed up eventually.
Sure enough, twenty seconds later the door burst open to reveal a red-haired elf dressed in jeans and a puffy coat, a messenger bag slung across her body and her pale cheeks pink with the Denerim winter cold. "Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!"
"Not to worry. I just got here," Juliet said. It actually wasn't a lie. She'd learned that if Naia said eight, she would arrive no earlier than eight-thirty. Eight-forty-one wasn't bad.
Naia sighed, pulled her messenger bag over her head, tore off her coat, and thumped down onto the bar stool next to Juliet's. "You would not believe the day I had." Belatedly, she peeled off her gloves and dropped them on top of her bag.
"A brass knuckles kind of day, apparently," Juliet said, noting the pattern of bruises on Naia's right hand.
"Shianni called. Some humans were hanging out near her shelter and harassing the people staying there—pushing them around for fun, throwing a few punches if anyone protested." Naia flashed a grin at the bartender. "Lemon drop, please!"
The bartender smiled back—you kind of couldn't help it when Naia smiled at you—and busied himself mixing vodka and lemon juice. Naia turned back to Juliet. "So, of course …"
"You went to the shelter. You walked in and out until they picked a fight with you. They got violent, you returned the favor, and now they're missing some teeth."
"You know me too well." Naia brightened visibly as the bartender slid her drink towards her. "Thanks!" She pushed some battered bills across the bar to cover the tab.
Juliet shook her head and sipped her single-malt. "You know assault is illegal, I assume."
"I know it. Whether the Guard knows it is another question. Shianni filed three reports! Oh, wait, I forgot. Now that you're gone, the Guard doesn't give half a damn about elves." Naia scowled. Most people would have thought the frown was just a temporary blip in Naia's cheerful temperament, but Juliet knew better. That diamond-bright smile belonged to a very angry woman.
You couldn't pay attention in Denerim and not be angry.
"You know I'd go with you on these kinds of things, right?" Juliet asked.
Naia shook her head. "No way, Hawke. It's one thing if I get arrested, but if you get arrested …"
Juliet sighed. "Yeah. I know." They might figure out I'm a mage. Yay.
"Right. And then I'd have to find a new partner and I just don't have time for that right now," Naia said, finishing her unspoken thought. "Besides, I barely broke a sweat on this one. I even let them keep all their teeth. That's good, right?"
"I'm proud of you, Naia Tabris," Juliet said, only half-ironically. "So. Why did it absolutely have to be this bar, all the way across town from my nice warm apartment on this lousy evening?" It wasn't a bad bar, as bars went, but it didn't strike Juliet as anything special—cute bartender aside.
Naia arched an eyebrow and pointed across the room. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Juliet noticed it.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Come on. You never do it!"
"That's because you always promise me you'll pick something slow and easy to sing, and then I wind up standing there trying to keep up with some squeaky-voiced diva. No karaoke and that's final!"
Naia pouted, her eyes wide and her lip trembling ever-so-slightly. It was a look that should have broken hearts.
Juliet started laughing. "You're the worst. No. But if you want to make an idiot out of yourself I'll happily watch."
"Hawke. It's me. When have I ever not wanted to make an idiot out of myself?"
By nine-thirty almost every seat in the bar was full—apparently Naia wasn't the only person in Denerim who thought it might be fun to beat the cold with bad singing and booze. Naia was now on the stage for the second time. She'd taken her first turn with a group of university students, all male, who had recruited her to sing the female vocals on a cheesy-but-classic duet. This time it was just Naia, hamming it up as she sang along to a fast-paced pop song. She'd gotten the other patrons clapping to the song's beat. That was Naia for you. Juliet was rather proud that she'd resisted Naia's begging this time.
The door opened just as Naia reached the bridge, admitting a blast of frozen air, a small flurry of ice, and a dwarf in a battered leather coat. Instead of keeping up with the music, Naia paused and pointed towards the entrance.
"Ladies and gentlemen, forgive the interruption, but something very exciting just happened. Please direct your attention to the man who just walked into this bar. You know him as the bestselling author of Hard in Hightown and the just-released Hightown Confidential. The man, the legend, Varric Tethras! Get up here, Varric."
Varric didn't even take off his coat before leaping to Naia's side. "You'll have to sing the high notes, Sparks."
"Just try to keep up," Naia said, tossing him a second microphone as the bridge wound to a close.
Juliet shook her head, smiling, as the two of them launched into the song's final verse, swaying back and forth to the beat.
"Not one for karaoke?"
Long years of practice enabled Juliet not to jump out of her seat. In fact, she didn't even turn around, which she thought was rather slick of her. "Why, Detective. Please, do interrupt my evening out with my friends." She gestured towards Naia's abandoned seat.
The elven detective sat, making no more noise than he had sneaking up on her. He brushed a bit of snow from the shoulder of his black wool coat. "Just thought I'd say hello. But please, if I'm unwelcome, tell me to go."
Juliet gave him a flat stare. "Would it do any good if I did?"
"It might." The detective's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Stranger things have happened."
"Oh, let's just get this over with. What can I do for you, Detective Leto?" Juliet leaned back in her seat and sipped her drink, which was mostly melted ice now. She quietly gave thanks that she hadn't ordered a second. She needed to be on her toes with this one.
Detective Fenris Leto was one of the Guard's rising stars, a Tevinter immigrant with a disturbing life story that the local papers gleefully recounted every time he made a collar. His silver hair and lyrium tattoos had been the result of a Tevinter magister's experiment. A sick experiment, but a successful one if his ability to rip out peoples' hearts was any indication. He was known around the Guard for being a fierce supporter of Councilwoman Meredith Stannard, and absolutely single-minded about mages and magic. Juliet found it more than a little hypocritical that he was willing to lock up people with far less dangerous abilities than his own.
Also, it was completely unfair that someone who hated magic so much had those looks and that voice. It felt like half the people in the bar were staring at him. Juliet couldn't blame them.
The detective pulled off his gloves and tucked them away in a pocket. "I was hoping to speak to your friend up there, in fact."
Warning bells went off in Juliet's head. Did those creeps at the shelter file charges? "Oh, really?" she said, faking nonchalance as best she could. "Well, the song is almost done. You should know that she's very shy these days, though. Won't say anything without Varric in the room. You're lucky you caught them together."
The song ended; Naia and Varric took sweeping bows before handing the microphones off to a group of giggling women who looked just a bit too young for this bar. Juliet made eye contact with Naia and shook her head slightly, trying to warn her off, but Naia practically bounced back to the table when she realized Juliet had company.
"Detective Leto! What a nice surprise," she said, pulling over a nearby chair. "Look who's joining us, Varric. You two should sing a duet."
"Not a good idea, Sparks. We wouldn't want all of the women in the place swooning," the dwarf drawled.
"And many of the men," Juliet added. "Don't limit your appeal, Varric."
Varric grinned at her. "Excellent point as usual, Hawke. So, what does Mr. Congeniality here want?" He gave Leto an unfriendly look. The message was clear: You're in my seat. Scram.
Leto ignored Varric's sarcasm. "Miss Tabris. Would you mind if we talked for a moment?" Juliet waited for him to get out his notebook, but it stayed hidden.
"Of course not," Naia replied. "Varric might, though. Lawyers are so fussy about these things." She flashed him a smile.
Detective Leto did not smile back. "I understand you've had an interesting afternoon."
Naia gave him her most innocent, puzzled look. "A fairly usual one, actually," she said, idly examining a hangnail. "Why do you ask?"
"Just out of curiosity, naturally," the detective said dryly. "I also noticed that a couple of humans were taken to the hospital in the alienage after they ran into trouble outside your cousin's shelter. But of course, you don't know anything about that."
"I'm going to direct my client not to respond to your insinuations, Detective," Varric interrupted.
"Very wise of you," Leto said with a nod.
"What brought you to the alienage hospital, Detective? I was under the impression that you avoided our grimy little corner of the city. Did you lose your way?" Naia asked sweetly.
Leto's face twisted with distaste. Juliet recognized that expression—Naia was right but he didn't want to admit it. "I've been placed in charge of a new task force on crime in the alienage."
"So from now on, Shianni can call you when someone shows up at her shelter black-and-blue and terrified?" Naia said. "Detective, that's just lovely of you to take an interest. It's almost as if the Guard is considering enforcing the law for crimes against elves!"
Hawke smothered a laugh. Leto's face darkened. "Things are about to change in the guard, Miss Tabris. I assume you heard about our new Guard Captain?"
Naia shrugged. "Heard there was one. Don't know anything about him."
"Her. Aveline Vallen," Juliet said. "Hired out of Highever. Councilman Guerrin swears she runs a clean Guard." She snorted softly. "Of course, the Council said that about the last four Guard Captains."
"Do you think it's us driving them bad?" Naia mused. "Or do they just start that way?"
Leto sighed. "Believe it or not, Miss Tabris, Guard corruption cuts both ways. There are more than a few patrolmen who've made sure that reports about you go unnoticed. But Guard Captain Vallen doesn't strike me as the type to allow favors for anyone. As someone who has admired certain aspects of your, er, work, I'm advising you to stay on the right side of the law from now on. And call me the next time someone gives your cousin trouble." He pulled a card out of his pocket and slid it towards Naia. She took it with a raised eyebrow, but didn't tear it in half, as Juliet almost expected her to do.
"I appreciate the warning, Detective," Naia said, sliding the card into the pocket of her jeans. Her voice actually sounded sincere.
Leto nodded his head. "Miss Tabris. Miss Hawke. Counselor Tethras. Have a good evening." He stood and slipped away, his boots barely making any noise against the floors as he walked.
"Nice seeing you!" the dwarf called after him. The elf gave a slight wave, but didn't turn around.
"I cannot believe you slept with that guy, Hawke," Varric muttered as he sat down.
"Thank you, Varric. I'd almost repressed that memory," Hawke growled.
"I can believe it," Naia said, watching the silver-haired elf depart. "He has his moments—like now, for example. That was actually decent of him. Besides, he's messed up but he's hot. Three drinks into a solstice party and I'd have slept with him too."
It had only taken two drinks, but Juliet decided not to correct her friend. She wondered if the night would have ended the same way if Naia had been at that party instead of her—if the detective would still have slipped out at two in the morning after telling Naia that sleeping with her had been a horrible mistake.
"Your taste in men baffles me, Sparks," Varric said. "That one's so covered in spikes he's like an angsty porcupine."
"Mmm. Irresistible," Naia said playfully. "Another round?"
"Whiskey," Varric said—predictably, for it was his usual order.
"I'm good," Hawke said with a little wave.
Naia nodded and leapt up to get the bartender's attention. She returned only a moment later, emptyhanded.
"Hey, where's my drink?" Varric said with a mock scowl.
"Coming. The bartender was backed up, said he'd bring it over. Ah, here we go."
A triple whiskey and a lemon drop were quickly lowered to the table. "Thanks, kid. What do I owe you?" the dwarf asked, turning his attention to the bartender.
"On the house, if I can get your autograph," the bartender replied. He pulled a battered paperback copy of Hard in Hightown from the back pocket of his jeans.
Varric's eyes lit up. "A fan! Sure, kid. Who do I make this out to?"
"Alistair."
Varric pulled a pen from his pocket and scrawled something in the front cover before handing it back to the bartender. Naia couldn't see what he'd written, but whatever it was, it made the bartender laugh. "Thanks. Maybe next time I can get you to sign Hightown Confidential for me."
"Remind me to tip that guy generously," the dwarf said as Alistair returned to his post, the book tucked carefully under his arm. "Good taste in literature should be encouraged."
The three of them sat drinking and talking—and, occasionally, singing—for another hour, watching the parade of karaoke singers become progressively more drunk as the evening went on. Several more people came up to the table to tell Varric that they loved Hard in Hightown. That had been what Naia wanted, of course. Varric was always subdued after visiting his brother in the asylum. Naia had hoped this would cheer him up: alcohol, awkward singing, and Hard in Hightown fans. It seemed to be working.
Naia downed the last of her drink and gave Hawke a hopeful smile. "Juli-eeeeeeeet."
"No."
"Pleeeeeease?" Naia begged. "I'll pick a slow song. Something you know."
"No, she won't," Varric warned.
"Okay, no, I won't. But it will be fun!" Naia said.
Juliet's scathing reply was cut short when someone fired a gun into the ceiling.
Instinctively, the three of them dove below the table. The karaoke soundtrack continued in the background, but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of screaming.
Naia leaned out to try and get a good look. A medium-sized figure—probably human, though it was hard to tell under the heavy coat—was holding a pistol in his right hand. A dark scarf concealed the bottom half of his face, but his voice was absolutely clear.
"Everyone shut up!"
A second gunshot silenced the screaming.
"Much better." Slowly, the gunman extended his weapon and pointed it at the bartender. "Cash from the till. Now."
"All right. Let's go easy on the shooting. You'll get your money," the bartender said. He sounded much calmer than Naia would have expected. Not the first time someone's pointed a gun at him?
"I said now!" The robber advanced on the bar, his gun still leveled directly at the bartender's head. Only then did Naia notice a second robber, dragging a table in front of the door to prevent any escape through the front.
"The rest of you, wallets on the tables," the second robber yelled, pulling his own gun from his pocket.
"Varric, tell me you brought Bianca," Juliet whispered.
"I never leave her at home," Varric said indignantly. He jerked his head towards his bag.
"Naia?"
"On it," Naia said, pulling her brass knuckles out of her own bag. "Juliet, you get the attention of the guy at the bar so I can take him out. Varric, move around and flank the guy by the door."
Juliet nodded and slowly stood. She pulled her wallet from her purse and tossed it on the table, raising her hands obediently. Of course, Juliet with her hands raised could do more damage than Varric and Naia put together, but hopefully she wouldn't have to prove it tonight.
Slowly, Naia began creeping underneath other tables, keeping her head low and as much cover as she could between her and the robbers. The three of them had been near the back of the bar, so she had hope that they hadn't noticed her before she hit the floor.
"Hurry up!" yelled the first robber. Through the forest of table and chair legs, Naia could see him jabbing his gun at the bartender's temple. The bartender—Alistair, that was his name—barely flinched and kept his focus on shoving bills into a battered paper bag.
"He's hurrying," Juliet said loudly, stepping towards the bar. "Leave him alone. He's doing what you want." A slight prickle at the back of Naia's neck told her that Juliet was drawing her magic close, preparing to use it if things went bad.
The robber spun and leveled his gun on her. "Sit down and shut up."
"Okay, okay," Juliet said, perching on one of the bar stools, her hands still raised.
The gunman turned his attention back to Alistair. "Tips too, asshole. And if you don't finish in the next ten seconds, you're dead. Understand? Ten … nine … eight …"
Alistair moved over to the tip jar and picked it up.
"Seven … six …"
The countdown never reached five. Naia had successfully snuck under the nearest table, so she launched herself at the gunman. The robber barely had time to turn his head before she planted a hard kick at the side of his left knee. He howled in pain and tried to swing the gun around at her, but Naia was ready for that move; she stepped close, grabbed his right wrist with her right hand, spun inside his reach, and used her left elbow to strike him square in the gut before she flipped him over her back and onto the floor. The gun clattered to the ground several feet away from its owner.
The second robber turned to help—only to find Varric standing in his path. Varric racked Bianca with a grim smile. "Drop it, or I'll let Bianca here introduce herself."
"I suggest listening to the man," Naia said, claiming the first robber's gun and pointing it at his partner.
The robber's eyes darted around the room, and came to rest on—Alistair.
"Get down!" Juliet yelled as the robber fired over Varric's head.
Fortunately Alistair was already ducking. The bullet whistled through the air and shattered a bottle of vodka at the back of the bar. As glass rained down, Bianca's familiar boom split the bar; the second robber sailed several feet back before collapsing against the wall, his gun sliding from his now-limp fingers.
Absolute silence fell. Naia turned her gaze to Alistair, who was slowly standing up, trying to shake shards of glass from his hair without cutting himself.
You. They were here for you.
Why?
Judging from the baffled look on Alistair's face, he was asking the same question.