Denerim, The Blight
The teryn's guards were in the backroom of the tavern. Delia bit her lip wondering how she could get in to filch it. Sure, she could just charge in and threaten them but she wanted to keep her identity quiet. Zevran suggested bribing the waitress so they could drug their drinks but that would leave another witness and Delia did not want her larceny to be a problem at the Landsmeet. No, she was going to have to do something else.
"I need a disguise," she told Zevran.
"A waitress?" he suggested. "Or how about a prostitute?"
"Maybe the prostitute would work." The beginnings of a plan took hold. "But we don't have enough time to go traipsing around Denerim putting together a disguise."
Zevran mused a moment. "Do you still carry around your wedding clothes?"
Delia grimaced, "Yes, they're in my backpack. But they're rather proper looking. I can't imagine any prostitute would get much action in them."
Zevran pulled her into a backroom. "We'll fix that. Put it on."
Delia put on her wedding dress, fortunately she had washed out the blood stains long ago. Zevran pulled out his dagger and with a big grin started to remodel her togs. The highish scooped neck became a plunging v-neck. He hoisted the dresses corset up so that it pushed up her breasts. Granted there wasn't much there to push up so Zevran reached inside and used some extra fabric to pad out the bottom of her breasts. It was surprising how much more... present they looked.
"How the hell do you know how to do this?" she asked. She admired her more generous bosom in the mirror.
"Part of the training, my dear." He eyed the dress then sliced it up the side on both sides so her legs would show when she walked. Next he pulled her hair out of her braid and he fluffed it up so she looked like she'd just gotten out of bed. "Wet your lips."
She moistened her lips and struck a seductive pose. "Think this will do it?"
Zevran smiled slyly and pulled her to him. "It's working on me."
She laughed. "Well, hopefully they don't have any better taste in women than you do."
"I think you just insulted yourself... or me, I'm not sure which." Zevran rummaged through his pack and pulled out a vial. "This should do it. Pour it into their pitcher of ale and they should be snoring long before they find out your breasts are mostly stuffing."
Delia plucked the vial out of his hand with a saucy look. "I think I can handle this."
"I'll be watching, just in case."
Delia opened the door to the backroom and wove her way up to the bar. Her hips swishing and her gait unsteady. She leaned heavily against the bar.
"Oy, barkeep! A pitcher of your finest ale."
The barkeeper recognized her, she'd been doing some less than legal favors for him over the last few weeks. He ran his eyes across her chest.
Delia tilted her head, trying to meet his eyes. "Eyes up here, mister," she hissed.
"Uh, oh sorry, Warden. Um, what's with the ..." he gestured at her outfit. His eyes once again drifted to her chest and refused to budge from the artfully arranged mounds, barely constrained in her dress.
"A... job," she spoke softly. "You need to forget you saw me here today? And I really do want that pitcher of ale." She pushed an overly generous stack of coins to him.
"As you say, Warden." He regretfully tore his eyes away from her hillocks and filled a pitcher full of ale. "Glass?" he asked her.
"Yes."
He filled her mug with beer from the pitcher, nearly letting it overflow, his eyes were otherwise occupied.
The moment he stepped away, to work on something else, she dumped the contents of the vial into the pitcher. She picked up the full glass of ale with one hand and the pitcher with the other and swayed to the backroom with Loghain's guards. She stepped into the room and none of them even looked up at her, they were deep in conversation. Delia bit her lip a moment.
"Eeeeee!" she squealed with a loud, high pitched sound. "Oh Andraste's tits, look what I've done!" She looked down at her chest, she had sloshed a little ale on the bare expanse.
That worked. All three of the men were now looking at her. She smiled drunkenly at them. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a-botherin' you gents. I was just sent here by Sanga."
One of the guards smiled broadly. "Sanga? Well... you're a pretty one. I don't recall seeing you at the Pearl."
"I'm new, just got here from Highever. But that's not here nor there, sugar. I've sloshed on myself. Could I borrow your napkin?"
One guard got up to give her his napkin. She looked at him helplessly, her hands filled with her own mug and the pitcher. "Would you be a dear?" She thrust her chest out at him.
"Certainly!" he said eagerly. He gently daubed at her chest with the napkin.
"Thank you! You have a nice way about you," she complimented him. The guard blushed and sat down with his mates.
"Well, don't mind me. I'm just here to meet someone. Robert." She tottered on her feet a bit for good effect.
"Why don't you sit with us while you wait, the guard with the napkin suggested."
"I won't be bothering you?"
"No, of course not," another insisted.
"Well then, please help yourself to the ale. It's good. Sanga sprang for the best. If Rutherford is late, he'll just miss out!"
"Didn't you just say his name was Robert?"
"Did I? Well, now that I think about it, I don't rightly recall his name. Hm, it's going to be hard to meet someone whose name I don't even know. Well, never mind that." She poured some of her ale into all their glasses, fortunately they had nearly emptied them.
"Since it's his coin, let's toast to this missing Robert or Rutherford," one of the guards raised his mug.
Delia giggled and clinked glasses with the men. "Drink up, lads. I think Richard would have wanted you to be happy with his ale and his wench."
"To the dearly departed, Richard!" One of the other guards toasted. "May he not find his way back to the tavern."
The third guard had been sitting in a corner looking distinctly sour. "Good ser, you haven't touched Rutherford's ale, I think he'd be displeased."
"I don't drink with knife-eared whores," he sneered at her.
Oh dear, Delia thought, this one would be challenging. The other two men seemed to be racing each other to the bottom of their mugs. It would be a problem if they passed out while their friend stayed awake.
"What do you do with knife-eared whores, then?" she asked provocatively. "It would seem I have some free time, perhaps you could show me."
The other two guards were beginning to slur their speech and nod. She had to get him out of there now. She stood up and extended her hand. "Come on, sugar, this one is on the house."
The third guard's mouth twisted. "Whores don't give it away." Then he seemed to notice his two friends on the verge of passing out. "You've poisoned them." He stood quickly, his chair falling backwards, and drew his weapon.
Delia pulled a dagger from a sheath strapped to her leg. "It would have been much easier, shem, if you'd just had the ale. Now I have to get unpleasant." All signs of her drunkenness were gone. She stood in a fighter's stance, waiting for him to advance. "You know, the last man who called me a knife-eared whore died tragically."
Delia caught sight of Zevran sneaking into the room, behind the guard. She'd need to hold his attention.
"I'd so love to gut another worthless shem. You all squeal like pigs when you're stuck. Would you like to see?" She feinted towards him, her dagger lashing out at him. He easily parried her but his attention was completely on her and Zevran's blow to the back of his head was a complete surprise. The grumpy guard crumbled to the ground.
"It was working so well and this one just had to ruin it all."
"Tsk. There's one at every party," Zevran said.
"What do we do with him?" she mused aloud. "He could identify me."
Zevran shook his head. "I think he needs to go for a swim. His friends will wake up and assume he stole the crown."
Delia sighed theatrically. "When will the killing end?"
They set to work and took Loghain's crown. Zevran dug out another musty old wolf pelt and laid it over one of the slumbering guards. They toted the unconscious grumpy guard out of a back window and weighted him down with some rocks and threw him in the river.
As they were walking back to the Arl's estate they nearly ran into Eamon. Zevran quickly pushed her against the side of a building and kissed her, obscuring their faces.
"It is disgusting how these creatures rut in the very streets of Denerim," the Arl commented sourly as he passed.
Delia peeked out from behind Zevran and saw that Alistair was walking with the Arl. She hid her face again and they waited until they had passed.