"You know," Varric drawls over his hand of cards. "Stilts are simply excessive."
The scruffy pilot peers at the dwarf from beneath the brim of his hat, hoping the conversation will evaporate if he simply stays quiet.
It doesn't work. "You're already taller than most patrons here, given that you're still standing and all."
"Stilts?" Joker asks while searching the bar for a seat relatively cleansed of piss and vomit.
Varric lays down his bet and fakes a long pull from his mug. "Long pointy things sprouting out of your arms?"
"Crutches." Joker corrects. "Crutches of plus five cunning, if you believe the ass I got them off."
"Dexterity man, myself." Varric teases, scooting over to provide a vacant seat; oblivious to the inebriated patron he bumps off the bench. He flags Norah down for another drink as the human deflates into the seat next to him. "What brings you to our fine establishment?"
"Model paint. It's getting harder to find the good kind. Banned on more civilized planets and all." He scowls. "Stupid EPA."
"Ah. That'd be Martin." Varric nods, placing his final bet. "He's in the back."
Joker arches an eyebrow when Norah hands him a drink with a flirtatious wink. "Did she just…?"
"Padded livery, odd colors, new ship in port, the hobble… She thinks you're a war-torn veteran, searching the stars for soft hands and a new muse to carry you into battle." Varric scoops up his winnings from across the table. "Best to avoid eye contact, unless you really want to be tossed out the airlock again."
Joker frowns, mid sip. "How did you know?"
Varric slides a sovereign over to Joker and slaps him on the shoulder before hopping off the bench. "I'm Commander Shepard and this is my favorite bar in the galaxy."