Hawke frowned as she concentrated on the cheese tray. These parties were deadly dull, but they did have fantastic food. The only hard part was deciding which to try first.
Suddenly, Isabela burst out laughing and poked her in the shoulder. "Hawke!" she said, cackling madly. "Look at that turnip!"
"What about it?"
Merrill gasped. "It's exactly the same shape as a...a..." she leaned in and whispered, turning red. "The same shape as a...thingy!"
"Oh, Kitten, you got one!" Isabela crowed. "I'm so proud of you."
Hawke moved closer to the vegetable tray. Sure enough, it did bear quite a resemblance. She could think of a few men of her acquaintance who would be jealous.
"How appropriate," said an Orlesian-accented voice from behind her. She turned to find a man hanging over her shoulder. He wore a thin mustache and a sneer, and his gold-embroidered brocade suit made him look as though he'd been upholstered, rather than dressed.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Hawke, raising a challenging eyebrow.
"Pah! I would not expect a Fereldan to understand. You are too thick to appreciate the subtlety of the Game."
Hawke crossed her arms. "What would I possibly not understand?"
"You may have won the hunt, but you are still a Fereldan turnip, and you still smell of dog."
"You keep calling me that. I don't think it means what you think it means."
"It means you are bulbous, covered in dirt, and have the brains of a root vegetable."
That did it. Dog smell, she could take. She was usually covered in dirt. And if she was bulbous, it was in all the best places. But noone got away with calling her stupid.
She slung a friendly arm around him, ignoring his affronted snort, and pinned his arms to his sides.
"Merrill, grab that turnip. Isabela, fetch the book," she said, and began to march him to a more secluded spot.
They kept going until they reached a small nook, surrounded by shrubs and hidden from sight. Hawke held the noble in place with one arm.
"You have one chance to take it back," she warned. Behind her, Merrill brandished the turnip. "Otherwise, we'll show you exactly where you can shove your Game, your snobbery, and your fancy suit."
He sneered again, even more impressively than last time. "You wouldn't dare, Fereldan dog! I am third cousin twice removed to the Empress Celene herself! You will cause an international incident if you..."
"Okay, enough," Hawke interrupted. She took the book that Isabela was holding and flipped some pages.
Isabela grinned. "I knew that book would come in handy someday! And you were so dismissive when I bought it for you. 'That's a hundred too many,' you said. Ha!"
"You were right. I'll never question your taste in literature again, at least not for a while. Merrill, his pants, if you please."
A surprised yelp reverberated around the garden. A few of the milling guests looked up, then shrugged and went back to their Anderfels ham. It tasted of despair, and they had their own problems.