A/N: ...complete title of this fill being "This is the worst day ever / Why do these things happen to me?", this is my first offering to the kinkmeme. The plotbunny didn't stop gnawing on my brain until this came out, I can so totally relate to Hawke sometimes. Poor dear. XP
Prompt:Some character- any character/characters has something break. I don't want a lot of angst, just simple frustration over whatever-it-is being broken. No Merrill-mirrors or plotty objects- just something simple. Cursing, flailing, and roping in other characters to fix it would be nice too. Crack is good because Anon would like to sympathize and laugh at/with said chararacter(s). Multi-fills are love :D
The day started off like usual. She ate breakfast, brought Crixus out for his daily jaunt around Hightown and took a bath. Hawke was now in front of her boudoir, brushing her hair when the ivory comb she used to vanquish the tangles from her hair snapped.
Oh well, they had plenty more of those. She'll just have to ask for another one and hope that Mother doesn't remember that this was the third comb she broke in two weeks.
#
They were searching the docks for a ship spotter when the leather that held Hawke's hair snapped, unraveling the bun that kept her hair away from her face. She huffed and attempted to blow an errant lock of hair away from her eyes.
"Hey Varric, do you have a spare leather tie I can use? I'm starting to think the Maker is punishing me by destroying anything I own that's hair-related."
#
As the day moved on, Hawke wished that she never said anything about the Maker punishing her. Why? Because almost everything she says becomes true, that's why. "It was supposed to be a joke, I swear!" She exclaimed, wincing as Anders applied a bit of salve on the thin gash across her face. Hawke had to sit on her hands to prevent herself from shaking her fist at the heavens. "If you can hear this you freaking Maker you, I hate you so much right now with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. I sincerely hope you get crotch-itch soon, you smarmy little bastard." She was inspecting a bow for Sebastian when the string snapped and the mental image of her mother saying you break it you buy it in a sing song voice didn't help at all. Dammit.
Not only did Hawke bring the wrong and supposedly for-display-only greatsword that day, said weapon also managed to break in half after smashing a thug encased in ice. Someone managed to destroy the buckles that held her breastplate together as well. "If someone wanted me to fight in the nude they could have just asked," she scoffed and sent a glare at Isabela before the pirate could say anything. Now she had to walk home in the linen shift and leggings she wore underneath her armor because somehow, the leather straps that held her cuisses intact got covered in ice and became brittle to the point that they fell from her thighs when she stood up. (Anders was completely innocent, he promised. Isabela saw his frosted fingertips behind his back and approved heartily.)
And if that wasn't enough, the rest of her right boot managed to separate itself from its sole.
Right, time for a lot of pints at the Hanged Man after borrowing some of Isabela's decent clothes. That is to say if the woman had any clothes that didn't have her breasts hanging out for all of Kirkwall to see.
#
She stepped out of her companion's room wearing a white poet's blouse, a pair of trousers and capulet boots. Isabela did have decent clothes without gratuitous breast exposure, who would've known? Hawke made her way across the tavern to where her friends were starting their weekly game of Diamondback and plopped down a stool, waiting for Varric to deal her hand.
She suddenly found herself lying prone on the floor with an aching bum and a bump on the back of her head because the stool she was sitting on broke.
"Andraste's motherfucking flaming ass, that is IT!" Hawke leapt to her feet, picked up the broken stool and tossed it out the nearest window. She flopped onto the floor and started to roll around in frustration, babbling about how everything she touched that day broke and that she's a hundred percent sure that the Maker was getting His revenge for all the past invectives and blasphemies she had uttered throughout the years.
Varric was urging her to stand when a burly man burst through the doors of the tavern. "Oi! Who threw that chair out of the window? They're in a whole world of pain right now!"
Hawke got up, strode over to the man and landed a mean right hook square on his jaw. Nothing like a good old bar brawl to release all that aggravation.
#
"Stop right there dwarf. Are you telling me that the Champion of Kirkwall threw a tantrum like a toddler just because the stool she sat on broke?"
"I shit you not Seeker, and that chair wasn't the only broken object that night. Anders had a lot of patients in his clinic the morning after."
Cassandra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe killing the dwarf was the better option after all.