For TheBearMuse.
Prompted by thebearmuse "You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."
She couldn't recall exactly how she managed to get home…or more importantly, who drew the short straw of being tasked to walk her home. Oh, but wait. Nope. She knew exactly who it was. How could she have possibly forgotten that sweet, delicious baritone — that thick, rich brogue? Oh, Maker, if voices were food, his would be the darkest Antivan chocolate truffles.
She giggled at the thought, but it sounded so ridiculous that she'd never admit to it.
"But maybe I'll tell him. What do you think?" she asked, grinning madly while she leaned toward the potted shrub she was addressing. "He probably doesn't have the best impression of me at the moment though. Tch, who asked you? What do you know? You're just a dumb plant. No, I'm sorry. You're a good house plant. The best house plant."
With an awkward pat on one of the leaves — which, in all actuality, was more of a hand missing the leaf entirely and nearly bringing her entire body down after it in the process, she bent slightly at her waist with the full intent of launching herself forward into the main hallbecause that's just how walking worked, duh, and nearly tripped over her own two unusually incompetent feet as well as…an arm?
That was odd.
A decapitated head lay a few feet away from it, warming itself comfortably against the brightly lit fireplace.
Two things here are not like…anything else in this house. Make that three.
The consistency in which she was discovering random body parts strewn around the hall and…the stairs and…the upper hall was more than a bit disquieting. Did she accidentally go on a killing spree while in her drunken haze? Did she somehow miss the turn to her mansion and wander up to Fenris' mansion instead? Why were there only right arms and no left arms lying around? Above all else, this was the thing that vexed her the most.
She found the answer sitting in front of the door to her room, tail wagging excitedly at the return of his mistress.
"You," she began, pointing first at him, then to herself, then back at him for good measure, "you and I need a good, long talk about…all this." Her arm waved out back toward the hall, but she paused mid-movement as a thought suddenly occurred to her. "You didn't…did you?"
The most faithful, trustworthy, and loyal hound in all of Thedas with the deepest sense of affection for his mistress woofed in affirmation, and Hawke groaned, long and loudly. The kitchen. The kitchen. It'd be a miracle if Orana stayed on after this.
The good terrible, TERRIBLE news was that her drunken haze was now successfully cured. With her new found sobriety tucked under her belt and her most favoritest hound at her heels, she headed back down the stairs. "Come along then. We've got some cleaning to do.
Good dog."