Isabela's POV

"How ya feelin', Rivaini?"

"Not too bad, Varric. Why do you ask?"

"I nearly called the cops on you last night."

"Really? I don't remember Hawke or I making that much noise."

"Exactly. I thought you were dead."

"Good to know a lack of screaming is cause for concern around here."

"Don't blame me for your vocal cords. Anyway, are you willing to spill some details? My serials are getting stale."

"In that case… Have your typewriter at the ready, dwarf. I've got the most delicious tale to tell…"

Oh, Halloween; or, as I like to refer to it, Gay Christmas. A time for slutty attire, cross-dressing, slathering on makeup, playing pranks, getting completely shitfaced, and experimenting with your sexuality. It's the most wonderful time of the year. Brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it. I had a party lined up three months in advance. So when my girlfriend asked for help with her costume with just over a week to spare, I was all over it. But the time constraint put a damper on the quality of my assistance. I can work some makeover magic, but despite popular belief, I can't work miracles. Thus, I called the only person more stylish than myself: my tailor. And we headed over to the shop that Thursday evening.

Cassandra whined the whole ride over. She assumed I was taking her to some stuffy old man with more hair in his ears than on his head, and that he was going to make all sorts of sexist comments, and grope her while taking measurements, and blah blah blah. When I finally pulled in front of the store, I realized she was still talking.

"… I really liked the Muppets rendition of 'the Emperor's New Clothes', but don't try that trick on me. And I know that a birthday suit isn't even an actual suit, too, so- " She mumbled, mostly to herself.

I tilted my head to her, blinking curtly. "Why would I drive halfway across town to get you naked, when I could easily do that at your dorm, my apartment, the bathroom of the movie theater where we saw Machete Kills-"

"Hey! I thought we promised not to talk about that!" She snapped, turning to stare wide-eyed at me. I could see a blush beginning to form on her face and I couldn't help but smile. She's so adorable when she's tries to act prudish.

"Oh, do have some faith in me, sweetness. We're only here to help you out with your Halloween costume; I promise. Though, I do think you'll like my tailor. He's quite the character." I patted her cheek, then we shuffled out of the car.

"I'll take your word for it." Hawke sighed as I walked up to the parking meter. I searched my bag, but was fresh out of change. Lucky this one's not digital. I looked about, and when I didn't see any cops, proceeded to bang on the thing with my fist. My girlfriend gazed at me like I was crazy. "What are you doing?"

I continued to hit the top of it, looking for the sweet spot. "Feeding the meter," I grunted.

"With your fist?" She asked, dumbstruck.

I gave it another whack and saw the dial begin to move. I continued until it showed an hour remaining. That should be plenty. I turned around, shaking my tender hand. "If it looks stupid, but it works, then it's not stupid." I informed my winger very matter-of-factly. She kept glancing at me, then the meter, then me again. Impatient, I gestured toward the door of the shop. "Shall we?" Cassandra just shook her head in disapproval and reached for the handle, holding the door open for me.

"After you, Miss Demeanor." She said with a grin. I ruffled her hair as I passed, waltzing into the building as if I owned the place. Which, I kind of do; 20%, at least.

You see, this place used to be called 'Robes by Jean Luc'. But Jean Luc was a prick. We met during an exceptionally dry party aboard my late-husband's yacht. The stick up his ass must have had its own zip code. He spent 30 minutes insulting the stitching on my dress and (arrogantly) telling me how to shop. I would have told him to fuck off, but Luis was standing right next to me, giving me that 'be nice or I'll make your life miserable' look (as if it could get much worse). This man's only saving grace was his apprentice, a handsome man by the name of Michael. He was sweet, and better yet, he didn't critique me. He was probably too busy eyeing my chest. Or maybe his pants were just cut that way…

Anyway, Jean Luc had a shop up in Kirkwall, and rumor had it that his apprentice was trying to buy him out. So, after inheriting the Verduzco estate and moving cross-country, I went to check it out. It was atrocious. The suits were gaudy and old-fashioned, I actually saw corduroy somewhere, and most of the customers could qualify for early-bird specials. And Michael was there, a fake smile pasted on, practically kissing my feet and begging me for a loan so he could get rid of his boss. I liked the guy and I had cash to burn. I bought out Jean Luc's 75% of the business and shuttled him to Paris for an early retirement. Michael was so grateful. He spent a week thanking me. Vigorously. And once he got the place renovated (so long, ascots and ruffles) and hired new staff, he was able to buy more portions of the store. Now 'The Proper Penguin', as it was renamed, is a busy one stop shop for weddings, proms, and business men of all ages.

The scent of sandalwood welcomes you inside the store as a perky cashier asks how your cousin's surgery went and if that promotion came through. A red carpet runs throughout the store, making you feel like a celebrity as you browse. On the right, formal wear is separated into 5 large racks; shirts, jackets, vests, pants, and tuxedos. A mirror spans the wall, so you can match colors before making any decisions. In front of the racks are assorted ties, handkerchiefs, and even suspenders (if you're into that sort of thing). But the left side of the store sets it apart from most: shoes. Not just any shoes, either. This is some fine quality footwear. They're made by virgins in the high Pyrenees or some shit. There are also watches, wallets, belts, hats, umbrellas, cologne, and even fancy socks; all neatly put on display.

Once you figure out what you want, you can either go straight to a dressing room, or see about a fitting in another room. You get all dolled up, step outside, and do your little turn on the catwalk (the space between the dressing rooms and the viewing benches, where all the ladies ogle you). But if you're still not satisfied, Michael will double-check your measurements, head to his workshop in the back of the store and tailor your suit to perfection.

I used to spend hours on those viewing benches, waving at the fresh meat as it passed by, all wrapped up and ready to be served. I should have my own undressing room, by now. Maybe I could show Hawke into one of those rooms…

I was rocketed back into reality by a familiar voice shouting, "Isabela, my love! How've you been?" There was Michael, all 6'1" and 200 plus pounds of metrosexuality. He was a big man, with wide shoulders, a broad chest, and a sizeable skull. He always reminded me of a mastiff; rather large, incredibly strong, but ultimately kind-hearted. He had this fastidiously trimmed beard that made him look both professional and playful. He was always immaculately dressed, today in a dark grey three-piece suit with a lilac shirt. He strode over to me, immediately clasping his large hands around mine and enthusiastically kissing my knuckles.

"I'm averaging 10 orgasms a week, so I really can't complain." I smiled up at him. My girlfriend stopped memorizing her surroundings to shake her head and gape at me.

"'Bela! That's kind of personal, don't you think?" She gritted, pointing her thumb toward our host. I only chuckled, retrieving my hands to wrap an arm around her waist.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. We're all friends here." I assured her, then gestured between the two of them. "Hawke, this is my tailor, Michael Teague. Michael, this is my girlfriend, Cassandra Hawke." He glanced at me, smiling halfway as my winger offered him a handshake.

"Girlfriend? Well, then it's an extra special pleasure to meet you." His hand dwarfed even hers as he pressed a kiss to the back of her palm. She blinked silently as she drew back. His eyes wandered a bit from her face, lighting up in recognition. "Now, I'd know that neckline and slim notch lapel anywhere. Isabela had that custom made. It's an honor to see it worn so well. That collar looks marvelous on you." Oh, I highly doubt he was actually looking at her collar, but I could hardly blame him for ogling my lover's chest. I do it all the time.

Hawke just about stuttered, giving him a shy and awkward smile in return. "Um, thank you. For the compliment. And the jacket."

Teague bowed his head, a hand on his chest. "I'm glad she convinced me to make it. I like a challenge."

"Oh, bullshit. You could be on Savile Row if you wanted. Turning men's wear into women's fashion must be a walk in the park." I reminded him, poking his ribs. The tailor only shook his head. I looked back at my girlfriend. "He absolutely sucks at taking compliments, but his work is fabulous. Peaks, shawls, notches, pleats, ruffles, cuffs, single-breasts, double-breasts; he's done it all."

"My career choice sounds so much dirtier when you say it like that." He chuckled. "But I doubt the two of you are here just to shower me with praise."

I patted his cheek. "Unfortunately, no."

Cassandra began to scratch at the back of her head, shuffling anxiously. "I need your help with a Halloween costume. I need a jacket, pants, a shirt, suspenders, probably some boots-" She counted on her fingers and continued to mutter until Michael held his hand up to stop her.

"Whoa. Slow down, sweetheart. What or whom are you trying to emulate?" He asked, minor amusement in his voice.

My current lover cleared her throat, beginning again slowly. "Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly, or Serenity. Either way, it's the same outfit. But I want to make it-"

"More feminine?" He assumed.

"Not by much, but yes." She nodded, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

Teague stroked his chin, then smiled. He poked me on the nose, then crooked his finger toward my girlfriend. "Follow me." He nearly skipped back to a fitting room. He reached into the desk within, grabbing out measuring tape, a small notepad, and a pencil. I had to gently push Hawke into the room and onto the platform. She was so busy trying to figure out what he was going to do that she didn't notice I didn't close the door. Not that it mattered. It was after hours, and no passersby could see anything through the mannequins in the window and the half dozen displays between the fitting room and the sidewalk. Michael turned his attention back to her, smiling politely. "I'm going to need you to take my… your jacket off." She groaned, but complied as he helped her out of the article.

"Shirt, too," I advised them once the jacket was hung up. Two sets of eyes found mine, but said nothing. "Why are you both staring at me? I want her top fitted." I insisted, crossing my arms underneath my breasts.

Cassandra raised her eyebrow to me, but still pulled her 'Hello, my name is Dovahkin' t-shirt off over her head. "Since when are you concerned with my costume?" She asked sarcastically as I licked my lips. I heaved a nonchalant shrug.

"You owe me. This is simply the most appropriate form of restitution." I reached into my purse to dig out some pieces of paper. "I've got some wonderful designs drawn up." I winked at her, watching her exhale gruffly as I waltzed over to Teague's desk, laying the sketches out for him to inspect. The tailor put a finger to his lips, holding each page up and mulling it over before setting it down again.

"Mmm. That could work." He admitted, his head turned downward, deep in thought. "And may I say those heels are delicious." He pointed out, placing a hand on my hip. I looked down, tilting my ankle to appreciate my own footwear. His hazel eyes gleamed flirtatiously for a moment before a throat cleared behind us.

Hawke stood red-faced on the platform, holding her shirt over her chest. "Um, hi. Half-naked lady over here." She waved anxiously, causing me to chuckle.

"We didn't forget about you, sweetness. We're just collaborating." I smirked at her before turning back to Michael. "One word: cleavage. Lots and lots of cleavage. Everything's got to be form-fitting. I want this costume practically painted on." I gestured dramatically toward the ceiling, then clenched my fist.

Our host laughed, tenting his fingers. "Excellent! You're a genius, Isabela. A beautifully filthy little genius." He exclaimed, kissing me on the forehead. I swatted playfully at his chest.

"Aw. You've missed me, haven't you?" I grinned coyly.

"That I have, deary." He smiled back, leaning into me as we faced the desk. "You know, if you and your girlfriend are ever in need of some company, I'd be more than happy to come by…" He tried to drape his arm over my shoulders, but I winced and stepped back.

"Ow. Watch the shoulder." Again, two sets of eyes stared blankly at me. I unbuttoned my coat, slipping it down to my elbows, exposing an angry, red bite mark. "You'd better hope this doesn't scar." I pointed accusingly at Cassandra, shaking my finger.

My girlfriend just smiled smugly, tossing her shirt at me. "Oh, come on babe, we both know you're not actually angry at me. No one could be angry after a performance like that." I eyed my girlfriend, my arms crossed.

Our host busied himself hanging up my jacket and her disposed shirt. "Don't stop on my account."

"This smug little pup fucked me to a faint. And, in the chaos, left me this particularly painful bite mark." I continued, my lips pursed in contempt.

"Impressive!" Michael jumped a bit, nodding proudly at Hawke, who took up inspecting her nails and feigning disinterest. The tailor turned back to me, tucking his fingertips into the pockets of his vest. "Does this bump me down on your top ten list? After that escapade at the casino, I think you mentioned I was in the top three…"

My winger became immediately re-interested, pushing her hair back. "Wait. Top ten list? You two had a thing?" Her eyes widened and she twitched a finger between the two of us. Teague was the first to answer.

"Yes, we've had some… interesting times." He recalled rather vaguely, holding his palms up in surrender. "But no worries, my services are no longer required. Obviously…" He added, under his breath, approaching her with measuring tape in hand.

I turned back to my sketches, eavesdropping as the two got a little more acquainted. I waited for Hawke to growl or threaten. "I know you have history, but do you mind toning down the flirting? 'Bela gets mad when I get possessive, but it's hard not to when I keep imagining the two of you groping each other." She groaned lightly, causing me to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. "And… try not to stare at my burn." That stopped me from chuckling. Instead, I sighed. From smug to self-conscious in under two minutes. She's such a woman.

"I can appreciate that." Michael obliged, and I could hear him scribbling to mark down measurements. After a few seconds I heard him set his pencil down. "You're a gorgeous woman, Cassandra. I would never insult you or try to steal your girlfriend." He admitted in earnest. "Though I would be hard-pressed to say no to a threesome." My ears perked at that. I whipped around, leaning against the desk to wiggle my eyebrows at my girlfriend.

She gulped, glancing between two equally suggestive smiles. "I… Urm. Thanks? And, no, thank you. You're very nice, but you're, well… male." She scratched at the back of her neck, clearly unsettled. The tailor just shrugged, not looking the least bit deflated. I heaved a sigh, a little disappointed.

"You don't know what you're missing, Hawke. Teague is nearly as good as you. Though, I do have to give him extra points in the kink department. Even if his tendency to suck toes does take some getting used to. My feet have missed all the extra attention, though, I think. He gives the best foot rubs…" Cassandra coughed loudly into her fist.

"Anyway! Time for a subject change." She demanded, looking down to our host, who was taking her inseam. "Where are you from, Michael?"

"Eastern Oregon, originally. I'm the son of a pastor. I'm the eldest of four children; two brothers and a sister. I'm divorced. My favorite color is black. In the summer, I like to run along the beach. I'm a cat person-" He muttered as he worked.

"His penis is about as thick as my forearm…" I added, scratching distractedly at the scab on my shoulder.

"Isabela!" Two voices exclaime;, one in shock, the other in amusement. I'll let you guess from whom which came.

I shrugged, wincing as I accidentally poked the spot a little too hard. "What? We're all friends here, remember?"

My winger shook her head. "My turn." She remarked with a sigh. "I'm from Ohio. My father died in Afghanistan about four years ago. My mother sells crafts. The twins are my only siblings, and they're still in high school. My favorite color is red. I enjoy hiking, playing rugby, and watching documentaries. I've always been more of a dog person-" She continued as Teague took measurements for sleeves.

"And she has the sexual stamina of a prize-winning thoroughbred." I interrupted again, combing my hair back with my fingers. Cassandra stared at me, somewhat unamused.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Before I could reply, our host closed his notebook.

"I think I've got what I need here." He smiled, guiding my girlfriend off of the platform. "This is going to take a couple of days. I'm going to have to make a few calls to get a hold of the accessories, especially the boots and the holster." He addressed me as Hawke walked to the nearby coat rack, getting dressed.

I smirked at him. "What, you don't do leather?" I asked suggestively. That gained me a hearty chuckle

"You know I do. Up for a good lashing?" He offered, his voice deepening.

I grinned, but pointed to my wound. "Can I heal from this first?" We shared a smile, trying to decide which of us the tease was. Probably both. But Hawke approached, draping my coat gently over my shoulders and kissing my temple.

"I really appreciate your help, Michael. And I hope it's not too much trouble." She tucked her hands into her pockets, looking a bit shy. The tailor pushed himself between us, wrapping his arms around our waists.

"I never deny the requests of beautiful women." He grinned, leading us back toward the front of the store. "And Isabela always pays me handsomely for my time." He squeezed my side, winking covertly.

"Well, you are handsome." My girlfriend mumbled quietly.

I threw my head back in laughter. "Aw, look at that! You got Hawke to compliment you." I smiled, leaning into his ear. "Keep this up and that threesome is a sure thing," I whispered as we neared the cash register. I feigned a yawn as we separated, buttoning my coat. "But, I think it's time for us to go. I'm starving."

Michael grinned, reaching for both of our hands and kissing them. "Have a lovely evening, you two. I'll call you when the costume is ready."

"Thanks again. Good night." My girlfriend nodded her head before turning toward the door.

"Good night." I echoed, waving flirtatiously at him before joining Cassandra, strutting a little more slowly than necessary. Hawke was already buckled and ready to go by the time I slipped into the driver's seat. I started the car, looking sideways at my companion. "Was that so terrible?" I asked sarcastically.

She sat back, sighing. "I'll admit it; you were right. Your tailor is pretty awesome." I chuckled. He got a man-hater like you to call him handsome. I think 'awesome' is a bit of an understatement. My rugby player cleared her throat, trying to withhold a blush (that I've not once admitted to noticing). "So, anyway, what are you wearing for the Halloween party?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

I scoffed, downshifting for an upcoming traffic light. "I can't tell you that! It'd spoil the surprise."

"I hate surprises." She groaned, twiddling with her hair.

I turned my head to her, smirking as I cupped her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "Even when they involve me, in all my half-dressed glory?"

Hawke's eyes widened and she licked her lips. "… You know, surprises aren't so bad." Damn, you're easy. I chortled, granting her a quick kiss before returning my focus to the road.

"That's the spirit."

Author's Note:

Sorry, sorry, sorry that this took forever to post. I finally found a job, so I've been busy with that, and I'm still finishing all my crafts from the winter. And trying to keep my mother from buying more fabric. Seriously, her craft room is bigger than my bedroom. And today we spent an hour at the store just looking at buttons... and subsequently bought about three dozen different kinds.

Also, this chapter took a big longer because Mr. Teague, a very very good and very very friendly friend, put in tons of input because he wanted his character to be very much him. Which is kind of awesome. Because this story is just an abstract version of my life, and Michael is a huge part of my reality. We're just horny peas in a sexy little pod... Or bed, or couch, or shower. We're not picky. But expect to see him again, because he's the shit.

(In case you were wondering, yes, that makes me bisexual. But he's pretty damn feminine, and I'm really not. It's just like every lesbian relationship I've been in, except I don't usually pay for things. And we can flirt with waitresses together because neither of us gets jealous. YAY for my weird as shit life and my weird as shit boyfriend! I love you!)

Next chapter, a Halloween party! It'll be legen- wait for it... -dary!