Authors Notes: This is a long delayed fill for a Carver/Isabela story request by SuperWaspKing from 2015. Sorry it took so long! I had a lot of fun with this piece. This takes place after the banter with Isabela and Carver about him visiting Faith in the Blooming Rose. I've built on Faith's character from my Samson story, and it was a blast to include her in here.

The title is based off the Sia song "Big Girls Cry".

Carver put down his glass. The Hanged Man smelled disgusting so in dire need of a drink, The Blooming Rose was the next best option. The beverages and nibbles were more expensive, but he preferred the cleanliness and the lack of stupid people. With Garret gone he could focus on developing a life of his own, just like Ostegar over again… only it wasn't quite the same. His mother still worried about Garret, and then the comparisons started. "Oh, I do hope Garret is alright. He always knew the tricks to get the mould out of the sink pipes. Why didn't you ever learn how to do that, Carver?"

There was no escaping it.

"Is that… yes?" A familiar voice perforated the light chatter around the Rose. "No? Great, you didn't have your eyes the wrong way round, Isabela, it is little Hawke."

Carver felt heat rise to his face in anger, something that the subdued tunes of the bard couldn't lessen. That wasn't just anybody, it was….

"You try, but you'll have to try harder for me stop hating you, Isabela," he grumbled, "It's Carver. No more 'little Hawke'. I am not so little."

The Rivain pirate sat down next to him. He looked up at the table to avoid peering at her bare thighs.

"I wasn't trying to make you, although I saw you were trying to show off how not-little you are to a certain someone."

With each word uttered, her voice lowered to indicate secrecy, and Carver had to lean closer to hear.

The youngest Hawke gave an audible groan. "You think you know everything. Do you ever stop?"

"Only if there is reason to," she mumbled, crossing her arms, "After all, you know, I know. There's no point hiding it. I saw you leaving…"

Carver finally met Isabela's brown eyes. She was evidence that a pretty face sometimes didn't accompany much else… but trouble. "Look, I get enough teasing from… just about everybody. Don't tempt me to walk out that door."

"I get it." Isabela balanced her elbows on the table. "The intimidation and pressure, the family politics, all tosh. You mean from your brother… or your mother? Or your-"

"All of them." Carver snarled, taking another sip of his drink, only to find it is empty. "I came here to get away, and what do I get instead?"

"Me?"

"You." There was a pause between them. "You don't know anything."

"You've already made a terrible mistake. Waving a challenge in front of me like a flag means I'll take it. You're a lonely boat waiting to be ransomed, and I happen to like stealing," she cooed, leaning closer, "If I guess right, and you're completely wrong, will you entertain me for the time it takes you to drink a glass?"

Carver sat back in his chair and surveyed Isabela carefully. "If sex isn't part of it, maybe."

Isabela laughed. "Carver, you do know how to make a woman feel special."

"Good," he said, trying to smile, "We can feel not-special together."

The Rivain woman looked over at where Madame Lusine was taking coin and pointed somewhere in the distance. "See that one?"

Carver turned his chair around to see where she was looking. On the other side of the room was a woman who might have been Isabela's older sister to one not so familiar with their differences, like the straighter, darker hair, brilliant blue eyes, and expertly done makeup. He much preferred the woman's modest attire of stockings and lengthy skirt, niceties Isabela would probably find chastising.

"You just saw her, didn't you?" Isabela guessed, "Tried to get her to love you, I suppose?"

Carver went pink. It was embarrassing enough that the rogue teased him about his Rose visits in front of his brother, but bringing it up again with some semblance of accuracy was unnerving. "How do you know that?"

Faith was the only person he had seen in the Rose, and she was deliberately chosen from the lounge after spending a good few minutes introducing himself to every worker there at the time. She'd been leaning against a table and flexing and extending her fingers, as though the joints had been failing her.

"Hey," he said, "Who's the worst, most repulsive bloke that's seen you?"

Faith had peered down at him with an odd scrutiny before smiling. "Hello, sir. Why do you ask?"

"Trying to figure out who won't be bothered by me," Carver said, sheepish.

Almost in interest, the woman stepped forward and brushed something off his shoulder. "Answer your own question, and I might be able to help you."

Carver thought for a moment. None of the others had responded like this. "I'm one for women – but my last encounter was after Ostegar, some girl I'd spoken to once or twice. I thought it was fine, but she… didn't for some reason. Explaining wasn't worth the trouble."

"Her loss." Faith didn't hesitate with the deduction, though nearly lost balance and gripped a surface behind her. "My worst times involve those who don't respect my limits, or can't figure out what they want."

She looked down at Carver like asking a question, a challenge of whether he would be one of these customers.

Carver felt his palms get sweaty. He knew exactly why he'd entered the brothel, but it was daunting to verbalize it in his own head. After all the stress of arriving in Kirkwall, with very little appreciation for his part in keeping his family alive, he was dead set on his wants –that he sought to get pampered, spoilt and he'd get murdered by darkspawn before not listening to her. "I, uh, don't think you have much to worry about then."

"My room is upstairs," Faith said with an obligatory smile and a small, uneven curtsy, "It's free if you're interested."

The youngest Hawke sibling wasn't immediately sure why he walked up those stairs, but it had something to do with the prostitute's confidence. It was an obscure display of poise, a presence that could be misinterpreted for apathy if the wrong questions were asked. He learned later that she had an established reputation. Only two or three other workers had been there as long as she had.

"I know the insides and outside of the Rose like my own mouth."

The typical Isabela-esque response to his question snapped Carver back to the present, and the sexualized longing for Faith transformed abruptly into distaste.

How can she say that like it is something to be proud of? He wondered.

"That's disgusting."

"Only to some," she said, and she moved in closer to Carver's ear, "You wouldn't be able to guess just by looking, but Faith and I are good friends."

"I don't believe you." Carver countered, "She's the sort of person who wouldn't like you."

"And yet you do," Isabela said softly, which shut Carver up; "A friend of Faith's is someone she stops fake smiling around. You can't expect or want to get anything else, or so help you. It won't happen, like how your brother won't stop getting the admiration and trophies, but it's lucky that the fantasy of being important doesn't matter to me. I know what you don't because after three sessions she stopped pretending and putting on a pretty face."

The youngest brother observed as Faith walked back up the stairs, accompanied by another customer, a woman of all people. Maker, there were not many Rose workers who were open to both male and female patrons.

"Now I'm revolted because I've touched somebody you've dirtied," Carver said, "I don't so much care how pretend her smiles are. I made her laugh once. A real one – don't you try convince me that's nothing."

"So I won't," the woman agreed. Interested, she interlocked her fingers, "There you go. You've impressed me. Part of my charming self is surprised, but then again you are a special sort of asshole. Faith's got that same sense of humour, got a thing for prats with enormous heads, and not even that kind of head."

"How did you get her to stop pretending?" Carver wondered, feeling both sad and happy at the ever looming notion that he was wasting his time trying to get Faith to like him – Rose worker or not.

"The same I do with almost anybody," Isabela said, "I am straightforward, I joke, I don't make a gigantic mess out of everything with feelings and conundrums. I told her the truth of why I want nothing more than that, and she was honest with me too."

"That says a lot about you," Carver said, "that Faith only likes people who are shallow, fickle and are content to open their legs. Maybe it's a good thing she works here."

"Exactly." Isabela gave a wide smile, almost sounding proud of him. "So was I right earlier? About your wanting to get her to love you?"

Carver sighed. "As much as she can, which - don't be stupid. I know it can't be much." He wiped the sweat onto his trousers. "I'm so sick of being in the shadows of other people that I –don't you dare tell my brother, or anybody– like attention."

"Ah, but I can give you plenty of that," Isabela said, "If that is what you want, and we don't even have to do it here."

He didn't like the way she looked at him or the way she touched his leg.

"There! You bring everything back to sex, Isabela!" Carver shouted, which probably sounded ridiculous in the middle of the Rose, "How many times… Maker, stop."

"That wasn't what I meant," she acknowledged, picking up Carver's drink in her hand, "I want to play a game. Are you up for a little fun? Truth or Dare sort of fun?"

"I hate that game." Carver screwed up his face. "You won't change my mind."

"Don't be so squeamish, we are practically, almost already playing it," Isabela said, getting up from her seat, "Come on. I'll get you another drink. We can play for as long as your pretty boy senses can't take it anymore."

Carver groaned, "Fine!"

He took the moments alone to calm himself down, listening fondly to the music in the premises. She returned with two beers, and Carver pulled his glass toward him with a thankful nod. Isabela moved her chair so she was directly opposite him.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

"Truth."

Not a moment passed until the Rivani figured out her question.

"Have you ever pranced about in your brother's underwear?" she asked, quite seriously.

"Shove you to the Gallows!" Carver shouted.

"Not a 'no', then?"

Carver turned red. "Sometimes mother mixed up who's belonged to whom. It isn't my fault!"

Isabela laughed. "My, that is embarrassing. You can't even do your own laundry. Your poor mother."

"Shut up!" Carver slammed down a hand on the table. "Your turn."

"Truth. Make it a good question though, none of this boring stuff."

The warrior was up to the challenge. "Have you ever fallen asleep while doing your dirty thing?"

Isabella nearly spat out her drink. "By Faith's heels, no. Of course not… I rarely sleep, and if I do, it is after."

"Somehow… never mind." Carver swallowed a gulp of his drink. "Dare."

"Dare? Oh, you'll regret this. Let's…. Grab that broom over there." Isabela pointed to somewhere behind the counter. "And prod Madame Lusine's wholesome ass with it."

"You want me to assault her with a ruddy broom?" Carver repeated, "That is a fool proof way to get me kicked out of here!"

"For a few marvellous seconds, yes… You'll only be in trouble for a brief moment," Isabela assured him, "No need to get so crass; I'll tell Faith I've been a terrible influence on little you. She'll help us out, I promise. Put it straight back after."

"I hate you."

"Did your brother not tell you - hate the dare, Carver, not the darer."

Carver sculled the last of his glass and nearly kicked his chair over getting out of it. "I still hate you."

Trying to act casual, but feeling suddenly paranoid that everybody was staring at him, Carver headed behind the counter, each step feeling heavier like he had cement for feet. Pretending to approach the lounge, he reached to his left and nicked the broom.

That horrid Isabela is going to be sorry.

The roughness of the wood felt like it might splinter his fingers, though he turned to Lusine, who was hardly paying attention from customers. "Sorry, I need to borrow this. Made a mess under my table. Give me a second."

"Where, ser?" Lusine retorted, "Don't strain your back. I'll get one of the mistresses to do it."

"I can't remember." Carver waved his hand around, as though drunkenly trying to pick out his table. As he did, he tried to aimlessly poke the brush like end to where he though Lusine's hips were, avoiding Isabela's watchful eyes with all his might.

"How much have you been drinking, ser?" Lusine drawled, obviously used to this kind of behaviour.

"Oh, a lot." Carver made up a story. Meeting the Rose workers eyes, he gave her thighs one last poke with the broom and put it back behind the counter. "Sorry. You're right. It's not my job. Get someone else to do it. Maker, I feel like I'm going to fall over."

Pressed to avoid a vicious yelling at, the man darted back to the table, where Isabela was too busy laughing. That was embarrassing but somehow exhilarating all the same.

"You better live up to what you said you would!"

"I will, don't stress," Isabela said, peering over of what could be seen from the lounge, "Dare me now. Show me your angry, revenge look, big and nasty."

"I'm already doing my revenge face," Carver told her, "But like most with me, I take it that's not enough?"

"I suppose not by my terms. Too bad." The Rivain pirate sipped at her drink. "Though you do give a better payback look than your brother. Maybe it is the lack of a beard that does it."

Carver grinned. As small as the compliment was, it still meant something. He pulled her glass away.

"I dare you to take off your underwear, to explain to Faith the contents of our dare, and let her know that I dared you to do it."

"You mean you haven't already seen my knickers?" Isabela teased, "That's a shame. I don't wear the same ones every day. First time for everything, isn't there?"

"I try not to look up further than your thighs... because I'm normal. Like most normal people," Carver mentioned.

"Yes, and you have an enormous head," Isabela said, "Lucky Faith. I'll bet anything she'll love to hear what you dared me to do."

"I'm not trying to impress her." As he said it, he saw Isabela jiggle awkwardly in her seat. Carver peeked down at her ankles and went red to see her underwear was the same blue as the jewel around her neck. He thought she obviously put more effort into her appearance than he did.

"You need to do more to fool me. We both know you are." She kicked her undies toward him. "You'll take care of these, won't you?"

"No, I think leaving them here makes me look shallow and fickle." Carver leaned back smugly in his chair and tried to fold the underwear with his boots.

"Well played, Carver." Isabela stood up like there was absolutely nothing wrong with being bare assed in a venue. "Guess it isn't much use if I sit down the whole time. Where's the fun in that?"

Without much of another word she strolled toward where Madame Lusine was. In those twenty or so seconds of movement her white tunic, already barely covering her, brushed too far up or sideways with each step. From sheer fear of Isabela being scolded, Carver suspected he felt more uneasy about the dare then she did. It was a relief when Isabela stood against a wall, though the fact she was without knickers would be obvious to anyone who offered her a second glance- which, Carver realized, was probably most.

He had to fight to keep his eyes on the staircase for when Faith was going to return, though until then Isabela seemed to make small talk with those who were walking past.

Filled with an unexpected clarity of thought, he pondered on Isabela's comment. There were ways in which Carver could beat his brother, though it might not be something he suspected. Ostegar had been a worthwhile experience. It had been a chance to build on his skills, a task his brother and family had nothing to do with. No feedback, no observations, no comparisons. What was similar to that in Kirkwall? Perhaps the Guard, but Aveline was already working there and Garrett visited too often.

He glanced up and spotted Faith and Isabela talking. The whore was nodding in understanding, giving a shrewd grin, though one of her eyelids was oddly heavy lidded.

Maybe she's tired of Isabela, Carver thought slyly.

A customer tapped Faith on the shoulder and she said something to them. Faith was about to leave when Isabela mentioned something that made the Rose lady laugh. For a brief moment, one of Faith's blue eyes met Carver's. There was little emotion to go with it, only the fading smile of a joke that had lost its novelty. Even that wasn't a polite smile, but a confidence that might be interpreted as apathy. It was a gentle appreciation.

Perhaps, hopefully, Isabela and Carver had made her night.

He averted his eyes when Isabela returned, "She says rubbing Lusine the right way will be as simple as getting me to take my clothes off."

"That's… funnily enough…" Carver started.

"Reassuring, I know," Isabela said, awkwardly squatting to reach under the table to get her underwear. Carver averted his eyes as she did this.

"I thought of something,"

"Only a little something?"

"Shove off. I'm thinking of joining the Templar Order," Carver said, "Figured that's something my brother will never do."

"Since he's a mage, I hope not," Isabela said, and her head reappeared above the table, "Though – ooooh, you haven't heard what the Templars call Faith? Cut Throat Courtesian hasn't crossed your petty ears?"

"No," Carver said, bewildered, "What does it matter what Templars call her?"

"I wouldn't want to contribute to the deflation of your ego, that might upset Faith more than she needs in this lifetime." Isabela balanced her glass in Carver's empty one. "I have another idea though. How do you like the plan of taking me back to your pretty Estate and you can complain about your brother as much as your heart desires?"

Carver found it incredibly hard to hate Isabela anymore. He smiled at her. "So long as I can lead. Mother wouldn't be happy if I lost you out there."

"Please do." The Rivain pirate got to her feet and gestured a hand toward the door. "If you're inspired to be a revenge inclined, pretty boy, truth and dare can get more knickers-off friendly, the best way to play it."

Sex again? he thought, though right now he didn't so much care if Isabela was joking. She'd given him an idea of what to do next with his life, and now she was giving him permission to mouth off about his brother as much as he liked. She wasn't so bad... only fickle and shallow. Isabela and Faith had probably gotten dirty with the entirety of Kirkwall. Now he was in theory part of that web.

That was something Garret hadn't done either.

Carver left his glass alone and departed The Rose happier than he'd felt when he'd walked in.