I don't own Bioware or the Dragon Age series. Or, sadly, any of the characters.
But it's my story, and I can do what I want. XP
"What the hell am I doing here?" Hawke leaned up against the wall, a red plastic cup of cheap beer in hand. I don't do sororities. The music was loud and people were passing out in all corners of the large house. She could barely hear herself think over the thumping of the bass and the cacophony of high-pitched voices. Free beer and drunk chicks? Sure, that's how they get you in the door, but then you get stuck in their Twilight Zone, and it's all over. This was not her usual scene; in fact, she never went to any parties that involved college students and alcohol. But upon returning home after her first year at Kirkwall University, her sister had chastised her for 'not getting the full college experience', whatever that meant. So after returning for the fall, a cute TA told her about a kegger at one of the sorority houses and she felt obligated to give it a try, boldly going where she had never gone before. But the 19 year old Cassandra Hawke didn't drink, didn't smoke, and absolutely loathed dance music, calling it 'cholesterol for your ears'. She had wandered around the party for an hour already, barely sipping her beer, and decided that it might be a good time to escape the estrogen cloud. But as she set her drink down and waltzed toward the foyer to make a hasty retreat, a voice rose out above the ruckus.
"That's alcohol abuse, you know?" Hawke didn't recognize the melodious voice, and turned to put a face to it. She swung around, and her eyes just about exploded from their sockets. A woman stood holding her misplaced cup (always mark your cups, people), nothing but tan skin and curves. She had jet black hair that ran to her shoulders, hoop earrings, and the most amazing amber eyes that shined even in the dark of the room. Her dark mahogany lips had a natural pout, and a gold labret piercing poked out from beneath. As Cassandra's eyes naturally progressed southward, she took note of the large gold choker before drowning in the abundant chest that was barely covered by a white blouse. It left little to the imagination, just like the black pencil skirt that was much farther up her thick thighs than any designer had intended. It quickly flicked through her mind that the lady was a solid 25 (in more ways than one). Had she the time to stare longer, she also would have noticed the four-inch black leather 'fuck me' heels the woman was wearing, making her six feet tall. But she was raised not to stare, and diverted her eyes back to the woman's piercing. At least I'm looking at her face. That's got to count for something, right?
"I don't really drink," was all she could blurt out before nervously messing up her short black hair. If I had known someone like this would be here, I would have changed. Having not been given a dress code, she kept on the same rugby gear she had worn from practice earlier. It was relatively clean, at least.
The other woman grinned and sipped at the nearly full cup, her exquisitely manicured nails clear even in the poor lighting. "So I've noticed." She roamed her eyes head-to-toe over the sophomore. "You're just a tad out of place." She leaned casually against a table, the moonlight catching the glint of her eyes.
Hawke gulped and scratched her temple. "I don't really do parties either." She stuttered as she gave an awkward smile.
The mystery woman took another sip of the drink, transferring more of her luscious dark lipstick on the rim of the cup. She had a wicked look in her eyes, and it made the younger woman nervous. "What do you do…?"
She smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, sorry. Hawke." She shook her head, frustrated at the inability to form proper sentences. "My name is Cassandra Hawke. But my friends call me Red." She gestured to her own outfit. She wore a red, white and black polo, black shorts, and matching knee-high socks. She had changed out of her cleats, at least, and wore black sneakers. "I'm a rugby player, mostly."
"Isabela Rivaini." The elder informed her as she held her hand out, and chuckled when the other woman didn't know what to do with it. A bit clueless, but at least she isn't stuttering too much or waving her arms about like a choking mime. Fucking teenagers these days. She gestured to Red's cheeks. "Can't say I've seen many women in this area sporting facial tattoos and piercings."
The rugby player gave her a puzzled look before reaching an epiphany. "Wha- Oh! It's paint! I did it for a match once, and now it's kind of my thing." She smiled and pointed to the dark red curves adorning her cheeks and forehead. She didn't take the time to wash them off before going to the dining hall, and didn't stop home before the party. The tops of her ears did, in fact, have circular barbells, and her nose had a simple red stud, the spoils of a somewhat rebellious summer during high school.
The tanned woman frowned and set down the now empty and lipstick-covered red cup. "That's a slight disappointing. I like tattoos." She practically purred her words, and Cassandra shook her head to cover up a nervous shiver.
Hawke spontaneously broke into a fit of excitement. "I have a tattoo on my calf!" Without the slightest reservation, she pulled down her right sock, showing off the ink she had recently gotten. It was a large black bird, done somewhat tribal style, and it covered the side of her toned calf. "Most people think it's a hawk, but it's a phoenix, I swear." She pointed out before hiding the tattoo beneath her sock once more.
Isabela laughed and folded her arms under her bountiful breasts. "I don't know any rugby players. Do you have a special position or something?" The younger woman couldn't ignore the way she said 'position' in a totally non-sports-related way. Red ran her hand through her hair nervously. "I've never seen a match, so feel free to lie."
"I'm number 14, right wing." She turned a bit and motioned to the number on her back. "I'm in charge of getting the ball to the goal; usually by running like hell and hoping not to get tackled." She added humorously.
The other woman nodded casually. "That explains the track-and-field calves, but you're a bit skittish for someone who plays such a brutal sport." She grinned, lips pouting a bit.
"And you're a bit high-class to be at a kegger." Hawke slighted, a smile of her own forming.
Isabela chuckled. Maybe not so skittish, after all. "Touché. I come for the free beer and lousy pick-up lines. What brings you here?" She tilted her head curiously.
"The same. I've never been to a sorority house before tonight." She scratched her forehead, flecks of red paint coming off in her nails. "I figured I should at least attempt to get the 'full college experience'. Whatever that means. I mostly came to get a few phone numbers." She shrugged.
"That hasn't gone as planned." The classy lady smiled brightly. "You've been tromping around like a lost pup all night."
Cassandra blushed a bit with the realization that she had been under surveillance the entire evening. "And you've been watching me make a fool of myself?" She arched her brow.
"Hard to miss the wolf when it doesn't bother with sheep's clothing." She tilted her hand to the rugby gear, but her smile seemed sincere enough. The modern European equivalent of a gladiator with bright blue wolf eyes? Oh yes, I can work with that.
"Is that a compliment?" Hawke arched her brow again, still unsure.
"It was meant as one." Isabela's smile turned into a wicked grin, two perfectly white teeth taking a light hold on her puffy lower lip. I'm staring again!
She shook her head, eyes fixating on the wall behind the other woman's head. "Thanks, I guess." She pushed her hair back. "Anyway, its nice meeting you Isabela, but I've got to walk back to my dorm. I have a paper to start." Her feet didn't want to comply, so she stood awkwardly for a moment.
The older woman reached out and touched her shoulder, breaking her concentration and making their eyes meet. "Tell you what… Do you have a pen?" She smirked, her honey eyes practically glistening is the poor lighting.
Red instinctively patted her pockets, then dug around until finding a marker. "I have a sharpie?" She held it up to her acquaintance.
Isabela snatched it up casually. "Even better." She ran her hand down the winger's bicep before grabbing her wrist and uncapping the marker with her teeth. Cassandra stared blankly as the mysterious lady wrote across the inside of her forearm. "It seems your mission for tonight was successful. That's my phone number." She recapped the marker and put it in the outstretched hand. Large black numbers adorned the entire length from elbow to wrist. Subtle. "Text me. Or don't. Either way." Isabela shrugged. "But I think my charms should earn me at least a few words, don't you?" She brought back her wicked grin and winked at her companion.
The young woman gulped and stuck the marker back in her pocket. "Do you… want me to call you a cab? Or walk you home?" She asked, scratching her head while looking at the floorboards.
"I would, but my DD is around here somewhere. Perhaps next time?" The exotic beauty licked her lips none-too-subtly. This one might soothe my sweet tooth. Or compliment me into cavities.
Red nodded dumbly, her eyes transfixed on the contrast between the pink tongue and the perfect reddish-brown lips. "Oh… ok." She blinked a few times before giving a weak wave. "Well, good night Ms. Rivaini." She quickly turned and walked toward the door, eyes burning holes into her backside.
"Sweet dreams, Hawke." Cassandra almost stopped, turned around and begged the woman to take her home, or against the hood of a car, or practically anywhere. But, for some unknown reason, she closed her eyes tight and threw open the front door. She stepped into the September air, the cool refreshing her mind, and the quiet helping her throbbing headache. She closed the door behind her and took a few deep breaths, staring in disbelief at her ink-stained arm. "Sweet dreams?" Sure, you could say that.