"Way to screw the proverbial pooch, Varric," she says, plopping back into her vacated chair. Her weary tone takes most of the sting out of it though.

"What? Even I could tell he wasn't going to be interested." Varric tips back his pint and takes a deep draw. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"This is why I'm the closer and you're the money."

"It's not my fault you didn't tell him before he ever came here. They usually have some clue." Varric hums and pats her hand again. "I really am, though."

"I know. I screwed up, too. Pushed too fast. Scared him off. Which is really sad," she mutters, leaning back to rub her eyes, careful of her mascara. "He woulda been perfect."

"Who woulda been perfect?" says Blackwall, turning a chair backwards to straddle it.

"This guy she was reeling in," replies Varric, pushing over two stacks of money. "You and Buttercup."

With a grim nod, Blackwall pockets their cuts. Then he jerks a thumb toward the stage. "So, who's the ringers?"

They all turn to look. Varric heaves a great sigh. "Last minute replacements. The Wardens didn't bother to show. Bugged out, from what I hear."

"What? Why?"

"Flakes flake. That's how it goes."

"We could have done another set, Varric," admonishes Ellana, with a frown.

"No. You gotta build up a hunger in these kids for your sound. You don't want them to get tired of it. So you just give them a taste, at first."

"Sounds like you're slinging dope," says Blackwall, with a judicious sniff.

Varric laughs. "Principle is the same. Only this is a less destructive addiction we're trying to build."

"Tell that to the Darkspawn, or the damn El'Vhen." Blackwall snorts.

Ellana just keeps herself from touching the vallaslin over her one eye. They note her sudden stillness though.

Blackwall reaches out to touch her shoulder. "Sorry, El."

"It's fine. You can't choose your parents, right?" If her laughter is a little brittle, they don't comment.

"Right," says Varric. "If you could, I'd have picked a pair with less … beardy-ness."

"What's wrong with beards?" asks Blackwall, giving his a stroke.

"My mistake. Beards are great. I should have said 'dwarfy-ness.' Mine suffered from extreme traditionalism. Sometimes, I think dad still believes he's going to fall up into the sky. It's embarrassing." Varric sighs. "But then again, that's what parents are for. To be embarrassing. Forever."

"Where's Cass?" asks Ellana.

"Babysitting Cole, as per usual." Blackwall shook his head. "That kid …. If he weren't such a great drummer …."

"Aw, Cole's great. He gives us that proper mystical vibe." She wiggles her fingers over the table.

"He's not human."

"Neither am I," she reminds him.

Blackwall snorts. "You know what I mean. It could be trouble if the government ever figured him out."

"The Magical Possession Prohibition Act doesn't apply to him. He's not possessing anyone." She put her hand over the grumbling human's forearm. "Look, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 'Kay?"

He shrugs. "You're the boss. I'm going to go see a man about a horse."

Then he gets up and leaves Varric and Ellana looking after him. The dwarf laughs and says, "Where do you find all these characters, Ellana? Blackwall, who should be off somewhere wrangling cattle or leaning on wooden posts looking all rustic. Cassandra, a sharp woman with an even sharper tongue, babying a spirit. Sera. Cole!"

"I know right? They're my band, though. I love'em. I'd kill for them, if they asked."

"Remind me never to get on any of their bad sides. Anyway, here's you, Cass and Cole," Varric says as he shoves three piles of wrinkly bills at her.

She picks them up and pauses. "Huh, Cass's seems a little light."

"She owes me," said Varric, lemon-sour. "She knows for what."

Well, if Cassandra has a problem with it, she can take it up with Varric. Ellana shrugs and stands. "I'm gonna go talk to these fuggin' new guys."

"Just can't help making friends, can you."

"Nope. It's how I do."

"Don't ever change, Rosy."