(Prompt ~ There's something you should know, in case I don't come back. Isabela, Merrill, Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, and Edrear. NSFW )
"Penis," Isabela repeats for the eighth time.
She, Merrill, and Hawke lose it yet again, drowning in laughter. Fenris merely scoffs at their ridiculous amusement at the mention of such a word. All four utterly drunk and swimming in their loss of inhibition. Not that Isabela had much to begin with. And, Varric watches with a shake of his head. No one could hold their ale quite like a dwarf, he is still sound. Still sane.
It is their usual night for Wicked Grace which has brought them together. Edrear taking part by pairing with Fenris who would play as a team so he could join them. Beneath the table the elf's finger would trace the symbols of their cards into his left palm. They would then take turns deciding which course of action to take. But, a twist in their usual rules was inducted. The losers of every round had to down their cup. And they kept the rounds coming, no matter how far things went. Eventually ending their game with this heavy stupor as they couldn't get past the distraction.
Normally, Isabela was the one to let loose and drink herself silly. Not much concerned with her friends there to watch her back. Merrill would have a drink or two, wary of the consequences of indulging in too much. It had only taken a single hangover to teach her how to limit herself. Edrear was, typically, a light drinker. Just a swallow here or there to unwind, but ensuring his mind never fogs. And, Fenris would drink until he is warm, not drunk. But, just enough to let go a little, enough for the world to sway a touch when he walked. Yet, not every game. Only every once in a while did he let himself be steeped in wine or ale. Tonight, however, they all surrendered to the addition in their terms of conduct, and all were lost.
Varric decides it is time to guide his friends to their homes to sober up in safety. Of their group, Isabela was still a capable fighter, even while compromised by whiskey. And Fenris could still unleash a thrashing, so long as he was pointed in the right direction. The elf is pretty much unstoppable, no matter what happens to him. But, Hawke and Merrill were utterly defenseless. So, he would be taking them to Edrear's estate first, before one of his headaches can arise. Take the brooding elf home next. Lock Merrill securely in her hovel in the alienage on the return trip. And end up back at the Hanged Man with Isabela in tow, who also rented a room there. That way, they aren't overwhelmed should they run into trouble. Maker knows the walk will do them some good.
He gathers them up, ignoring all protest and marches them out the door. Well, as close to marching as he can get them to manage. Careful not to let any of them fall down the stairs or stumble over tables on their way out. Varric gets the feeling his experience is akin to sheparding children as one would try to wander or another would attempt to get into something they shouldn't. He promptly wishes Edrear's dog were present. Maybe the mabari had some herding instincts he could have made use of.
Far more concerned with saving them from peril as they trudge onward and keeping an ear for danger, he did not truly hear what was said in their slurred banter. He is caught off guard when his charges suddenly swing off in the direction of the Chantry. Hazardously climbing the steps, despite Varric's best efforts to round them all back up once more.
"This is a terribly foolish idea," Fenris drones as they all breach the doors.
"Exactly the point!" States Isabela, "Let's do it and see what happens."
"Surely, a little extra tribute to the human's god won't hurt. I'll bet he will like that we are thinking of him."
Merrill's big mossy green eyes smile in the most giddy fashion. Happy to help honor human 'tradition.'
"Sebastian is going to make target practice out of us."
Edrear says pulling free from Varric's grip at his wrist as he trips over his own feet.
"That's where your part comes in. You'll keep him preoccupied while we make the tributes," Isabela winks.
She produces two ink wells she had snatched from Varric's desk, offering one to Merrill.
"And Fenris can keep watch for the Grand Cleric."
They step inside, walking down the entry hall in disasterous fashion.
"I will not," he objects, "At most, I will only watch as you two get yourselves thrown in the barracks for the evening."
Varric is cursing his luck, giving up on faith and struggle. He does not know exactly what they are up to, but, he is now curious. At least this should make for a good story. So he let's them carry on.
"By the Maker, whatever you're going to do, at least make it worth all this frustration. You people are impossible to slow down once you set your minds to something, you know that?"
He gives an exasperated sigh.
"You're truly going to let them do this?" Broody questions.
"Let them!" He facepalms. "More like avoid getting trampled."
Hawke and Isabela snicker while Merrill tries to give Varric a hug to soothe his irritation. The gesture is hardly comforting, but very humorous as she nearly tumbles over when she leans down.
"Awe, Varric. Being short is not so bad. Think of all the places you can easily hide in while planning surprises."
Even Fenris is laughing now. But, Varric just stands rigid, his eyes so very unimpressed.
She turns and follows Isabela into the shadows after releasing him, both waiting for Edrear to lure Sebastian away. Who is, as usual, saying his nightly prayers at the foot of Andraste's statue. Hawke turns to Fenris who is poised firm, a frown to his face and his arms crossed. Deeply expecting this to end very badly for them all and land them in a cell for the next day or so. Yet, too invested to leave and let them doom themselves, escaping the same fate.
"There's something you should know, in case I don't come back," he states in mock drama, "You're my favorite. Don't tell Varric."
"I'm standing right here," Varric reminds him.
Edrear blows a kiss Fenris' way, who only rolls his eyes. And, with that, he is off to neutralize Sebastian.
"Hawke," exclaims the Chantry Brother as his friend approaches, "I did not expect to see you here at this hour. What brings you to the Chantry?"
"I guess you could say, I've come to realize that some of us need special guidance in our lives," Edrear grins, "Particularly away from mischief and sin."
Sebastian is left oblivious to the subtle jokes being given at his expense. He does not understand how accurate those words are, or see the hint that is placed within them.
"Of course," replies choir boy, "How can I help direct you?"
Hawke tries his best not to rock side to side, giving away that he is wasted by drink. As though it will work despite the pungent aroma drifting from his breath. At this, he does not manage to fool Sebastian. But, the Brother takes it in stride, putting forth patience as the Maker would have him do.
"Perhaps we can go somewhere a little more private? I would not like unwanted ears listening to my confessions."
Sebastian smiles and places a hand to Edrear's shoulder, walking with him to a more secluded spot. And, away from the site Isabela has chosen to mark with her artwork, and Merrill's accents. Never noticing Fenris or Varric, who aren't in immediate view, as 'he leads' Hawke away. The plotting duo takes their cue, both women stepping from the shadows, ink wells still in hand.
With no moment wasted, they dip their fingers into the ink and trail them across their targets. Shaping the lines into what they intend. For Isabela, these are symbols that ring out her desires for pleasure. She makes sure to leave them on the Andraste monolith and across the railings and pulpit. Merrill is adding dotted flowers with smudges on the bottom of the banners. A garden to go with their suns. And, then Isabel lays eyes on the greatest prize of them all. The Book of Chants.
She cannot help herself and tosses open the cover. Adding, at random, to the pages of script. Merrill takes notice and comes to join. And they paint until their sources of ink run dry. At last, they step back to admire their work. Well, nearly fall back onto their rumps, more like. Their prank has been completed, but, it is now that the tables turn.
Despite Fenris' warning that he would not keep guard, he has been on watch until now. But, all at once the alcohol has made way to his bladder. He ends up dismissing himself to find relief, unable to wait. Varric following to make certain he is alright. There is no one to warn them of a Chantry Mother and two Sisters drawing close.
Worse yet, Merrill is suddenly heaving, her stomach determined to purge its contents all over the tiles at their feet. The rucuss draws the Chantry women to the pulpit, when Merrill finally hurls in her nausea. Much to their horror. Isabela wraps her arms around the Dale, easing her close. It does not take long for the three nuns to take notice of their black handiwork. One faints dead away, and the Mother begins screaming, furious. And when Varric and Fenris return, that's what they find.
The commotion resonates through the Chantry, starting Sebastian. Who is summoned by the yelling to investigate, Edrear following at his heels. They had been discussing one lame topic after another, no real confessions. Just anything to keep him from discovering the plan. Hawke is trying to think up some good excuse or another with every step. Knowing for certain they are in a world of trouble.
Sebastian gawks for several moments when he sees what has been done, his blue eyes just utterly lost. He cannot believe what he is seeing. He quiets the good Mother with a gentle touch to her back. He turns first to Varric and Fenris.
"In our defense, we told them not to. In fact, I did everything I could get this lot home without disaster... I'll admit that I failed."
Varric puts up his hands in surrender. Sebastian turns next to Merrill and Isabela.
"In our defense they did not try all that hard," Isabela scoffs.
Finally, he turns to Edrear. Waiting for his reasons to be pardoned. As their eyes meet, Hawke can see that he has gone cold. The kinship between them weighs heavy on Edrear's shoulders. His caring a strong shaming voice in his mind, scolding him for the hurt he's helped cause.
"I am sorry," he offers first in regret, "I admit to everything. I accept my share of the blame. I will do my part to set things right. You have my word."
Sebastian can see his earnesty. After all these years, the brother has learned just how deep Hawke's empathy can go. And he realizes this mess was never meant to hurt. Still, his disappointment is thick and his his forgiveness a bit slow.
"This copy of The Book of Chants was a relic that has been in this Chantry for generations! It was special to the people here! And, now, it is ruined!"
Edrear says nothing, but bears the thrashing without complaint. Listening as his friend lets loose his wrath in a torrent of rants, educating them on the value of everything they have defiled. The Mother, meanwhile, revives the fainted Sister, happy to have these ruffians get reprimanded. And just waiting for Elthina to be brought into this. But, surprisingly, Sebastian does not decide to simply rat them out.
By the end, Merrill is crying and telling Sebastian how sorry she is. She only wanted to make the Maker smile. Isabela is submitting to her fate with a sigh, there is no where to run and no way to dodge the consequences now. She tries to comfort Merrill who is now babbling about how she never meant to throw up too. Varric is offering to write them a new copy of The Book of Chants, every word exactly the same and accounted for. Without a fee or any sort of payment. Fenris is adequately scowling, neither claiming innocence or guilt. Whether or not he had anything to do with it, he was present and therefore will be subject to the coming effects of their actions. And Edrear is already asking what Sebastian would have them do to correct their mistake. And assuring the Brother that Fenris and Varric are without blame. Vouching for their lack of involvement.
"I think," states Sebastian, "Isabela can tend to scrubbing clean our statue of Andraste and the pulpit and railing back to perfection. And Merrill can settle down to soak and wash the banners clean. Hawke, you can clean up her accident."
"So we all clean up and go home. Seems a fair punishment to me," Isabela chimes hoping that's where it ends. It doesn't.
"I will tell Elthina the Book has been damaged by slanderers, as it has, but mention that a friend of mine has volunteered his service to publish a new one for us as a favor to the Chantry. I will personally bear responsibility for that, as it was my failing to take notice of this plot before it got so far. The Book has been due for replacement for some time.
However," he shoots a stern look to all of them, "I also think, for the next few months, we have ourselves some gracious volunteers for service to the Chantry and community. Some tender souls to help tend to the sick and the lost. And I expect to see them at every sermon during that time. Including one extra special lesson in humility tomorrow afternoon. We can all pray to the Maker together as penance."
Isabela is gaping, her expression all shock. Fenris gives an exasperated sigh, knowing his days will be busy for a long while to come. At least he will not be locked in a cage, he thinks. Varric is insisting the others owe him, putting a permanent ban on the new version of Wicked Grace. Merrill begins asking if the Maker wouldn't mind a Dale talking to him, since her people have their own gods. And Edrear is just nodding in agreement, willing to do this if it means this whole incident will go away. And everything will be as it was again.
Sebastian is well aware they are all drunk, and knows they are not at their best. He recognizes the mischief as a joke, not malice. He's been a misguided young man who's made similar mistakes before, and thus reserves judgement. His own past is not very amiable. But, through patience and mercy, he was tempered into a better person. He hopes extending the same courtesy will uplift his friends as well. Thus, he believes his decision is the best course of action.
"Brother," argues the Mother, "We cannot just let them get away with this. This should be brought before the Grand Cleric immediately!"
"Dear Mother," he answers, "The Maker tells us we should be willing to forgive. My companions are clearly out of sorts, not truly themselves at the moment. If they are willing to make up for their wrongs, is it truly necessary to condemn them? Is that not what repentance is all about? I beg you to give them your mercy. Is it not what the Maker and Andraste would have us do?"
She opens her mouth to retaliate but finds nothing to counter with currently.
"Very well. But, if it is not restored with utmost perfection, care, and efficiency, I will have no choice but to tell the Grand Cleric everything. Am I clear?"
"Of course."
The Mother and both Sisters carry on with their duties, leaving Sebastian to fetch basins and rags for the offenders. And he gets them to work the moment they are gone, bringing them everything they need to complete their task. Isabela stares at the bucket by her feet, her eyes still wide.
"I have to pray! You're going to make me come to church and wear a proper dress! Shit, I'd rather be in prison!"