A/N: So this was originally supposed to be very short but expanded. A lot. I'm wondering if I might not make this into a longer piece. Reviews are always gratefully received!

The bar was seedy, like most college bars - dark and smoky and full of annoying freshman who were jubilant at their first chance to drink legally in their lives.

Merrill wound her way through them, twisting her scarf nervously between her fingers. For all her disdain of the freshmen, she rarely came in here either. She didn't do a lot of drinking. For one, she was light as a feather, and also she didn't like the taste of it. If it hadn't been for Isabela, she wouldn't have come in here at all.

It was a strange friendship - based on a one-time occasion where Isabela, sitting next to her in economics, had snorted loudly in exasperation and threw down her pencil. "Well, fuck this," she said. "I don't know what a price ceiling is and I sure as hell don't know how to find one." Merrill, even though economics was an option for her (she was studying natural sciences), understood the concept of price ceilings and explained it to her well enough. Isabela was pleased, and they began sitting together more often. Merrill was overawed by the brash-mouthed, heavily-pierced girl who simply radiated sex. Isabela thought that Merrill was adorable and sweet, and had nicknamed her Kitten right off. And when she had discovered that Merrill didn't have plans for Friday night (who did? She had so much to study…) she had insisted that Merrill come along to the Hanged Man. "Study later," Isabela said airily. "You've got all Saturday and Sunday. Fridays are for getting mortal."

So here Merrill was, and there was probably going to be drinking involved and maybe even dancing. She was a fair dancer, but never when she was drunk.

"Kitten!" Isabela shouted. She was sitting on a bar stool with a very large margarita in her hand and a dark-haired man was sitting next to her with a Corona. Merrill winced at his taste. "Kitten, over here."

Merrill came up, and the bartender leaned over. "What are you drinking?"

"Umm…"

"Get her a margarita for now, Corff," Isabela ordered. "Until I find out what you like to drink."

"I'm not much of a drinker," Merrill admitted. "Once, when I got drunk, I went outside in the snow and started to climb a tree. I ended up falling out of it and breaking my wrist."

"Not many trees around here," Isabela said easily. "But that's good. The more crazy things you do when you're drunk, the more fun you're having!"

"Until you wake up in a hole somewhere missing your pants or your shirt. Or both," added the guy beside her dryly. Isabela beamed. "That's how you know it's a party! Oh, I'm dreadful. Merrill, this is Carver. Carver, Merrill."

"How're you doing?" he asked, extending a hand. Merrill shook it awkwardly. She was almost half his size; he was wearing a muscle shirt under an open button-down that….really accentuated his abs. Oh my.

Corff passed her a margarita. "Thank you." Merrill dug in her purse for her wallet, managing to dig it out and pass him a few bucks. Isabela dragged over a stool with her foot. "Have a seat, sweet thing."

"Thanks. I like your boots," Merrill said. She was wearing ridiculously impractical but very stylish thigh-high boots.

"You're sweet."

"So how do you two know each other?" Carver asked, taking a swig of his Corona.

"Economics class," Isabela sighed. "If it weren't for Kitten I'd have dropped it already."

"Economics is shit," Carver agreed. "I don't know why you're taking it if you're majoring in creative writing."

"Are you?" Merrill hadn't known that. "What do you write?"

Isabela leaned back on the bar and gave her a knowing smirk. "If I told you, Kitten, I'd make your ears blush. Maybe I'll show you some of it sometime, if you think you can handle it."

"She writes smut," Carver said, taking pity on Merrill. "Even had some of it published, didn't you?"

"Poetry in Porn," Isabela said, checking her cell. "Not exactly my best, but hell, if it sells. Oh look, Varric says he can swing by."

"Do I know Varric?" Carver asked. Isabela shook her head. "He's in acting. Did you see the theatre group's production of Romeo and Juliet last week?"

"The one that had all the purists shocked because Romeo went shirtless through the whole play?"

"That's Varric."

"Hell." Carver took another drink. "I have to meet this guy."

"His chest hair stole the show," Isabela purred as she sipped her margarita. "Aren't you going to drink, Kitten?"

Merrill still had three-quarters of her margarita left and she wasn't exactly chugging it down. "I'm just taking it slow."

"We've got all night!" Isabela threw her arms out expansively and splashed Carver with some blue curacao. "Oh, sorry, baby."

He dabbed ruefully at his shirt. "At least it's blue. Sort of matches, don't you think?"

"It goes really well with your eyes. The stain, I mean. They're both very bright blue." Merrill decided that she needed to drink more if this was what was coming out of her mouth. Carver looked at her with a surprised gaze. "Thanks, Merrill."

"There's Varric," Isabela, said, waving. Merrill followed the direction of her gaze and spotted a very short guy in a crimson shirt strolling towards them.

"Rivaini!" he said. "Guinness, please, Corff."

"Rivaini?" Merrill asked, surprised.

"That's my last name, Kitten. Varric, this is Carver and Merrill." Varric shook Carver's hand and made a short bow to Merrill - a charming, old-fashioned gesture.

"I'd pass you a stool but I hate to see you climbing up on them," Isabela laughed. "Screw you, Rivaini," Varric said. "You're gonna make me feel self-conscious." He did have to climb up a stool, but Merrill thought it was rather cute. After all, she was so short she'd had to make an undignified little jump to get up on her stool.

"So you're Merrill, are you?" Varric said once he had mastered his stool and obtained his Guinness. "Rivaini's been talking loads about you."

"She has?" Merrill said, surprised. "Nothing bad?"

"Kitten, you know I adore you," Isabela said, leaning forwards and kissing her on the cheek. "And your fashion sense. I want that scarf."

"But if you say that you got it at Forever 21, I'm going to throw up," Varric said. Isabela's eyes went wide. "That refuge of fake bohemians? Never!"

"Great acting in that play, Varric," Carver said. Varric toasted him. "It was all my chest hair."

"Have you named it yet?" Isabela polished off her margarita. "Kitten, drink up. I remember you saying that you wanted to once, but you were high and drunk, so I don't know if you remembered."

"No, that's one thing I don't remember. Anything else that was supremely humiliating that night?"

"You named your cock, as I recall," Isabela said dreamily. "I think it was 'Champion.' But don't feel bad about it."

"Oh, I remember that. You named your tits too. You said you didn't want to be outdone by me."

Merrill was busy quietly choking on her margarita. Carver shot her a sympathetic look. Isabela started laughing. "Heartbreaker and Backstabber, wasn't it? That was a good night. We should head out to that club tonight."

"Not to interrupt this cozy session," Carver said, "but did you forget that Merrill and I are here?"

"What? You should come too! Varric will drive, won't you, Varric?"

"Resident DD and purveyor of humiliating stories, at your service, Rivaini."

"Oh good. What say, Kitten?"

"I still haven't finished my drink. And I have to study chemistry for Monday…" Carver leaned over and lightly pushed her shoulder. "Oh come on, Merrill! It'll be a good time. I think I know the place they're talking about. The Pearl, right?"

"That's the one," Isabela said. "So chug, Kitten."

"I don't really like the taste of blue curacao," she admitted. Isabela frowned. "Oh, sweet thing, you should have said so! Here, let me finish it. I'll buy you something real nice at the Pearl."

Merrill gladly handed over the margarita. Isabela knocked it back in two swallows. Merrill expected her to tip off the stool at any time, but she seemed fine. "Right, finish that Guinness and let's go."

Varric left it on the table. "Hell, if I'm driving…" He hopped down from the stool and fished around in his pockets for his keys. "I'm parked near Education."

"Oh good, that's only five minutes." Isabela slid down languorously, shooting a come-hither look at a pretty redheaded girl sitting over a glass of wine with her friends. She blushed.

"Who's that?" Carver asked. He held out his hand to Merrill as she climbed down. She took it and thanked God that she wasn't a blusher.

"Leli. I've been trying to get her to sleep with me for weeks now. She's a bit of a tease."

"Because you're always so coy, Rivaini." Varric marched out of the bar and into the hazy evening air.

"I play it any way I need to," Isabela shrugged. She shivered and pulled her arms across her chest. "Ooh, it's cold out here.""It is November," Carver said. "A teensy wrap dress isn't going to keep you very warm."

"But it's black!" Isabela said mournfully. "Isn't that supposed to keep heat in?"

"It absorbs heat," Merrill said absently. The stars were out already; it looked like it was going to be a beautiful cloudless night.

"Exactly," Isabela beamed. "The science major backs me up!"

"You're in science?" Carver asked her. "What field?"

"Natural sciences. What are you taking?"

"Kinesiology."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh wait - didn't I see you on the basketball team?"

"Kitten, we don't speak of that," Isabela said, making a shushing noise. "That's his older brother on the team."

"Garrett," Carver said sulkily. Merrill decided to keep her mouth shut - she put her foot into it far too often.

They reached Varric's car. He drove a black SUV, a surprisingly large car for someone his size. Isabela noticed it too. "Hey, Varric, compensating for something?"

"I don't think the Champion likes your insinuation, Rivaini," Varric replied, unlocking the doors. "Pile in, everyone."

Isabela claimed shotgun - Merrill and Carver got in the back. It was really dark; really dark and private. She fiddled with her scarf rather than look Carver in the eye. Which was silly, really.

"Ooh!" Isabela exclaimed as her phone dinged cheerily. "Anders says he'll come to the Pearl!"

"Isn't he that commie friend of yours?" Varric blithely ignored a stop sign and plowed on through the intersection.

"Sure is," said Isabela, tapping away at her phone. "Word of advice, you two, don't say anything that can be remotely construed as capitalist. He'll go crazy."

"But if I remember correctly, he drinks like a fish."

"And he gives the most amazing oral," Isabela sighed. "So I keep him around."

The Pearl was audible from three blocks away, a low, throbbing base. Merrill resisted the urge to cover her ears. She had very sensitive ears. Maybe she should have mentioned that to Isabela before she got dragged out here.

"There's UV lights in there, right?" Carver asked.

"Pretty much anything you want."

"Damn." Carver looked down at his shirt, where the blue curacao stain stood out against the white muscle shirt. "I'm taking this off. I'll just wear the button down."

"You could go shirtless," Isabela offered.

"And face down Varric's chest hair?" Carver shrugged out of the button down and stripped off the muscle shirt. Merrill tried very hard not to stare. "Do you do any sports, Carver?"

"Fencing," he said as he re-buttoned his shirt. "A bit of archery too."

"Mm, that explains those biceps." Isabela swung open the car door. "Come on, Kitten. Let's go and get you drunk."

The Pearl was an enormous nightclub - two stories high. It was covered in neon lights and there was a lineup that looked a mile long to Merrill. "I don't think we're going to be getting in any time soon, Isabela."

"Sweet thing, don't sell me short." Isabela shook her head and her black curls took on new volume. "I know the bouncers here."

"Know, or know?"

"Both, of course." Isabela walked up to the heftier, meaner-looking one of the two. "Hey, Castiel. Mind if we slip by?"

"Only 'cause it's you." He checked her ID and Isabela swayed past. Merrill was about to follow when Carver plucked at her scarf. "You might want to leave this in the car." He shot her an apologetic smile. "You'll probably lose it otherwise."

Without the scarf Merrill felt naked; she wore scarves every day. Without them, it was obvious just how slight her torso was. She was wearing a tank top, too, which just accentuated how skinny her shoulders were.

"You look nice," he said awkwardly. "Don't worry."

They all had their ID's checked, and followed Isabela down into the dark, pulsing atmosphere of the club. There were three bars on the bottom floor, with couches and mirrors strewn around. Merrill figured that if she were drunk, this would be a very, very confusing area. "Where's the dance floor?" she asked.

"They dedicated the whole top floor to it," Isabela said. "Glorious, isn't it? Right, what are you drinking?"

Varric ordered two beers, one for him and one for Carver. "If I know you, Rivaini, you're probably planning on drinking absinthe or something like that."

"Only if Merrill wants absinthe."

"Drink of artists and madmen," said a voice behind them and Merrill whipped around. A tall, dark blonde man was standing behind them. Isabela threw herself at his chest with a squeal. "Anders!"

"How did you get past those bouncers so quick?" Varric asked, impressed.

"Castiel owed me a favor," Anders explained. "Good to see you again, Varric."

"Likewise. This is Carver, and Merrill."

Anders waved at them. "Hey."

"So, Kitten?"

"Oh, I don't know…"

"I do!" Varric tapped on the bar. "Round of tequila shots. The best you've got."

"Tequila?" asked Merrill, slightly appalled.

"If I guess right, Kitten, you've only ever had the crappy stuff. You get a good tequila, it's like you're drinking sunshine. Liquid sunshine."

A tray arrived with five tequila shots on it. Varric passed two to Carver and Anders, and Isabela grabbed Merrill's. "Shot of sunshine, think of it that way."

Merrill grasped it gingerly. The glass felt damp, and the golden liquid was nearly overflowing. "Ready?" Isabela asked. "Cheers!"

Merrill tilted her head back and did her best to take it in one swallow. It burned as it went down, and she coughed involuntarily. Isabela slapped her on the back. A moment later, a warm, glowing flush spread through her. Her cheeks warmed.

"It is like sunshine," she said.

"I think she likes it," Varric said approvingly. "Another round!"

After three tequila shots, Isabela insisted that they all go up to the dance floor. Merrill found that the floor was moving in a very disconcerting way under her feet, but for some reason she wasn't especially bothered by it. She loved dancing! "Let's go dance!" she giggled. Isabela put an arm around her. "Kitten, you're too sweet."

They swayed up the stairs to the dance floor. Upstairs, there was a large, expansive floor with strobe lights, and three stripper poles on either side. Isabela squealed and ran straight for them.

"Can't hold her back," Anders said admiringly. "So, Merrill, Carver, you go to university with her?"

"That's right," Carver said. "Where are you at? Or are you through?"

Anders shook his head. "I don't like big bureaucratic universities. I'm at the art college."

"That dive on the edge of town?" Carver said, a note of irritation in his voice. Merrill could hardly blame him. He had insulted their university…but it was all right. She loved him. She loved everyone.

"Yeah, that," Anders said, seemingly not at all fazed by Carver's annoyance. "Studying painting."

"That's interesting!" Merrill chirped. "Will you make me a painting?"

Anders, diverted, laughed. "What do you want me to paint?"

"Oh, anything. Nature scenes? Do you paint nature scenes?"

"I'd paint anything for you," he said, a warm tone in his voice. Merrill wondered why he should say that. It was very silly of him. What if she wanted him to paint unicorns? Or griffons? She'd always had a soft spot for fantastical animals, science student though she may be.

"Come on, Merrill, let's go dance," Carver said, tugging on her arm. She was whirled away with him, into the press on the dance floor. The last she saw was Anders and Varric going over to Isabela, and Varric climbing on to one of the poles.

She was very loose and fluid, probably because of the tequila, and Carver had a natural, athletic grace when he danced. She supposed it was because of all the fencing and archery practice he had. She got pushed around a lot on the floor, because everyone else was a good deal taller than her, but Carver managed to prevent her getting knocked to the ground or anything. After several fast-paced songs, a slow one came on. Without the base to keep a rhythm, she lost her pace and stopped and looked up at Carver.

He had very blue eyes. "You know, you've got very bright eyes," she observed. "Very blue. They're nice."

"Thanks," he said, a rumble of laughter behind his voice. "You probably had too much tequila, didn't you?"

"It was a lot," she said, unfazed. "I'm a lightweight."

"I can tell. You're very…small. How tall are you?"

"Five foot two." She suddenly found all the couples around oppressive. Why did they have to dance wrapped so close around each other? They looked as though they'd suddenly sprouted extra limbs.

"Oh. Wow. I'm six foot three."

"You're over a foot taller than me." She wondered how far she would have to reach to put her arms around his neck, like the other couples.

Her last boyfriend had been five foot five, so it hadn't been an issue. He had also been a jackass. She had clung to him because he was the last remnant of her small-town life that she had. Her parents had died, she had never had any siblings; and her aunt, the one that she had felt particularly close to, had died in a car crash. A car crash that was her fault.

She shook herself. She was getting maudlin. Perhaps she needed another tequila shot.

"You okay?" Carver said gently.

"Nothing another shot won't cure," she said. "Where's Isabela?"

He gestured. "Over there on the stripper poles." Carver laughed. "She looks like she's having fun, at least."

Isabela had kicked off her boots and was surprisingly talented on the stripper pole. She even hung upside down from it. Merrill didn't even know how to do that.

"I think you should sit down," Carver said. "You're looking kinda pale." He gently placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her out, pushing aside the taller people. They found a spot on a couch next to the stripper poles. Varric had already gotten tired of it and was busy drinking a beer and urging Isabela on. Anders had rolled himself a joint and was smoking.

"Kitten!" Isabela swung down from the pole. "Feeling all right?"

"She needs a breather," Carver answered. "It's a moshpit out there."

"Ooh, fun." Isabela swiped Varric's bottle and took a long drink from it. "We'll wait till you're ready to dive back in, Kitten."

"I know what she needs," Anders said, leaning forwards. He fished around in his pockets and came up with a joint. "Here you go."

Merrill hadn't exactly abstained from weed, but she didn't smoke a lot of it. However, why not? Just this once. She reached forwards and took it. Anders took out a lighter and lit it for her. She leaned back and inhaled.

"Feel like sharing?" Isabela asked. Varric was in the middle of a drink, but he snapped his fingers.

Anders doled out joints to the two of them, and then turned to Carver. "Want one?" he asked, the faintest sneer on his face. Isabela sat back with a look of delight that Merrill couldn't puzzle out. Carver shrugged. "If you can bear to let me have it."

Anders lit it and passed it to Carver, who inhaled deeply. Varric sank down into the cushions. "Ah, weed. Always makes me feel so tired. And content. If you don't look out, Rivaini, I'll be too sleepy to drive.""We'll get you out onto the dance floor before we leave," Isabela said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "That'll wake you right up."

Weed did make her drowsy. Merrill felt herself slipping sideways a little bit. She landed on Carver's shoulder. Normally, she would have moved immediately and apologized. But right now, she couldn't quite summon the energy or the willpower.

He disentangled his arm and put it around her shoulders.

So that was all right, then.