Isabela hunched at Varric's great table, lips stained with ink from her habit of licking her quill between sentences.
"Rivaini," Varric said wearily. "It's late."
"I know, I know," she muttered distractedly. "Just a little more. I've almost got Hawke to the point where she throws Fenris in the bed on top of Anders and makes them both—"
"Isabela!"
She looked up from the page and stuck out her tongue. "Don't give me that, Varric. You know how it is when you're on a roll. Just one more chapter. I promise."
Varric groaned and fell back on his bed. Void take Isabela and her friend fiction.