Masquerade at the Blooming Rose:
Her eyes were glittering. He was so close. So warm. And so there. Never in her wildest dreams had she hoped that the night would end up like this, especially after what Isabela and Varric had done.
But there she was. With him.
–
Sitting by her desk, Hawke rifled through the letters that had arrived that day. It was all seemingly non-important, but one envelope caught her eye. The paper was a deep crimson, with gold scrolling around the edges, a seal formed like a rose in scented, red wax in the middle. Gently opening and unfolding the letter, Hawke's eyes widened as she proceeded to read the message within.
"Mistress Caralina Hawke,
You have hereby been invited to the Masquerade Ball at the Blooming Rose the coming Saturday. You may bring up to three companions shall you so desire. I look forward to seeing you again Mistress Hawke, may you remember me as fondly as I remember you.
~ Jethann"
Groaning, Hawke put her face in her palm. Jethann. Had she know that her spontaneous decision to have a little fun with the elven prostitute at the Rose before going into the Deep Roads would have led to this, she probably wouldn't have done it. As she turned to throw the invitation in the fire, a gloved hand snatched it away from her. "Well well, now what is this?" purred Isabela. Hawke spun around, startled. "Wha...what are you doing in here? How did you get in?" The tanned pirate laughed softly and hung her arms around Hawke's neck, wriggling close. "You really should get better locks on your windows lovely one, they're all too easy to open." Licking Hawke's ear before moving away, the pirate seemed lost in thought for a moment. "So, are you going?"
Shrugging, Hawke moved the rest of the letters into a neat pile, sat back down, and pulled out a fresh sheaf of parchment. "I don't think so. At least, I see no reason to. I haven't been to the Rose for ages, and my little piece of fun with Jethann was a one-time thing. I truly do not see why he'd send me an invitation to something like this." She felt more than heard Isabela moving around the room before she settled, leaning against a pillar. As she made no further attempt at conversation, Hawke picked up her quill and dipped it in her inkwell. She had a letter to write to Hubert concerning the medical treatment of the workers in the Bone Pit that she needed to finish, and how to phrase "get them a doctor a bit more often you worthless piece of Orlesian shit" to sound a bit more understandable and palatable to the snobby twat, had been eluding her for days. She didn't realize Isabela had moved again until she once again had her arms around her shoulders, soft breasts pushing against the back of her head. "But, lovely, you need to get out more. It's like all the fun in you just flew straight out the door when you got back from the Deep Roads." Before Hawke could utter a single word, Isabela covered her mouth with a hand and continued speaking. "I know why that is. But even your grumpy little brother wouldn't want you to be all business and no play forever and ever. You haven't even gotten properly drunk since then, and I hereby declare that you need to. And no, the Hanged Man isn't good enough. This will be JUST what you need!"
–
Later that evening in the Hanged Man, Merrill found Varric and Isabela in deep conversation in Varric's suite. "I'm telling you Rivaini, if she ever finds out..." Coughing, Merrill decided to step into the room. It's not as if she wasn't invited, and she wasn't going to stand outside until they were done whispering about the Creators knew what. "Varric, I want a cushion. A fluffy one. Do you have one?" Leaning back and blinking, Varric looked over towards his door. "Oh, Daisy, there you are! Cushion? What for?" Isabela let out an un-ladylike snort, and purred. "Maybe a bee stung her behind and she needs something soft to sit on?" Merrills head whipped back and forth between them, obviously confused. Bee? What were they talking about? "Don't worry your sunny little head about it Daisy," Varric said. "Isabela is just in one of her moods. Come, sit, I'll get you some mead and a cushion."
