Fair warning, if you are an Isabela fan, you are probably not going to likethis.

It was sickening, in Isabela's opinion. Hawke was monopolizing all of the delectable elf's time and attention, and he never even once glanced her way or responded to any of her advances with anything but a long-suffering tolerance.

They just needed to bed each other, and then Isabela could have her turn with Fenris. Well, maybe more than just a turn. The way he swung that giant sword around was just tantalizing. The splits in his jerkin teased the eye with flashes of taut bronze flesh, and she had long determined that she wanted to bed him. She had hoped to get him before Hawke to get on the other woman's nerves, but such was life.

Anders came to her and did that thing with the electricity whenever he got too frustrated with Hawke's lack of attention. Normally, getting a good lay on the regular would keep her happy, but knowing it was because he wanted someone else… The extra sting was that it was Hawke. Hawke the Goody-Good. Hawke who never let Isabela lift the undeserved wealth from the prats in Hightown, and stopped bringing her on jobs when she figured out that Isabela was pocketing small bits and bobs while they were in the mansions. Isabela's share of the Deep Roads money was enough to keep her room paid for and the ale coming, but she wanted more. If she didn't get to go on jobs, she didn't get a share of the money. No extra money meant no Blooming Rose, and nothing to set aside for a new ship. Damn Hawke for keeping her from work over a few pieces of easily fenced trash that the knobs in Hightown never noticed where missing anyway.

"Andraste's knickerweasels. Hawke, when have you had time to get better at Wicked Grace, what with moving up to Hightown and meeting with the Viscount and such?" Anders groused as Hawke giggled and scraped up the winnings from the hand.

"Just lucky, I guess!" Green eyes sparkled with mischief as the mage kicked back, leaning on Fenris's shoulder as the rest of the table groaned and quipped at her.

Maker's balls, if she had to listen to 'Hawke this, Hawke that' any more, she was going to scream and throw a tankard at someone's head. Even bedding Carver wasn't an escape, since he would still bitch endlessly about his sister. One would think that becoming a Templar, making the choice for himself and flaunting it in front of his mage sibling would pull his head out of his hindquarters, but no. Before and after, 'Marian this, Marian that'.

Isabela shifted in her seat at the table, waiting for the rest of the crew to place their bets for the next round. She would normally be leaving to go bed the prat to get under Hawke's skin, but every time she mentioned the oaf, Kitten got the saddest look on her face before seeing her off. Poor girl was stuck on the absolute worst man for her, but Isabela reluctantly stopped visiting him so she didn't hurt Merrill's feelings.

Gulping down a mouthful of swill, the pirate narrowed her eyes at Hawke as she leaned her shoulder against Fenris's again. Any time Isabela attempted to touch him, even just by brushing by, he tensed up and got all prickly. She grimaced to herself. Was she jealous?

The ugly feeling in the pit of her stomach grew stronger when Fenris leaned in to hear something Hawke murmured to him. It was ridiculous. He'd tire of Hawke and her limited charms soon enough, and then Isabela would have her turn, she was sure of it. There was no reason for her to feel this way. The two pairs of green eyes across the table met and something sparkled in Hawke's as a gentle smile crossed her face.

Oh. OH.

Stupid, stupid girl. You didn't fall in love. You took what you wanted from men and women, and then left while you were still ahead. Isabela took another swig, hiding a smug grin. Hawke the Perfect was setting herself up for heartache and pain, and when the time came, Isabela hoped she would get to rub her face in it.