fadewalk | RP In the Tavern: Open to Everyone

The Herald's Rest was mostly dark and silent, except for the fire lit in the great hearth casting flickering shadows about the walls, and the blue glow emanating from a certain apostate sitting before the fire next to Marian Hawke.

Anders took a deep breath and the fade cracks receded from his skin. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and cradled a mostly-empty mug of some piss-quality ale in his free hand.

"Sorry," he said, yet again. "We've all but given up Justice's return to the Fade being a possibility. Really, I think he expected to die when I did. Seeing as I didn't, that leaves us both in a bit of a lurch." He looked into the flames with a frown.

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Isabela heard a crack in the wood above and looked up to see shaggy blonde hair duck out of sight.

Hmmm, interesting. Not interesting like my Tevinter friend but still interesting.

She skirted around a few tables and headed up the stairs, heavy boots falling as softly as she could manage in such creaky old boards. She could slip into stealth but she didn't want to spook whoever was up there, and she had a suspicion about who that someone was.

"Anybody interesting up here?" She called out, hands out and away from her daggers. "Come on out of your hidey hole and let's talk. I don't bite-well, most of the time - and you shouldn't be up here alone. All the drinks are downstairs."

Sera could see Isabela head for the stairs and dithered like an arse, just sat there, trying to decide if she should scurry back into her room and push that chest in front of the door. The one full of all the stupid armor that the Herald had made for her over the past year. Right heavy, when it was all added together.

There were two Dorians and a Varric trying to eat that bloody bottle he had and a Hawke-who-should-be-dead, and this bloody pirate with no trousers was the only one who looked halfway normal.

"Drinks might be downstairs, but I don't know shite about drinking with the likes of you." She shifted onto the railing, crouching on the balls of her feet. She could drop down, or spring catty corner to the stairs that led further up. She got a shiver about having to get that close to creepy Cole's creepy corner, but she didn't think he was there. If he was he'd be spooking all over. "What if you're a demon? I've seen pictures, what desire demons look like, not far off, ennit?"

Isabela couldn't help the smile that flourished on her face. She's quite charming, she thought, and nimble. Always a good thing.

"Are you telling me I'm as pretty as a desire demon? Oh, sweet thing, what a door you've opened." Isabela stopped, cocked a hip, smile still plastered on her face. "I must admit, a desire demon's bosom is a tad more impressive...not much, but a bit. But you'd know that if you'd ever actually seen a desire demon, so there go my suspicions about you,"

"They really are quite marvelous, if you can resist the whole temptation thing." She winked. "Which I've always had trouble with."

Quicker than any eye could follow, Isabela's hand flashed, something silver there, then not. Instead, the dagger she'd pulled spun across the floor until its' tip embedded itself in the wood below Sera. "So while I'm flattered by the comparison, I can guarantee you I'm no demon. That blade has killed a hundred men, and a thousand more demons."

Sera kept loose as she listened, watching pirate saunter and flaunt and talk. She snorted at the word "bosom", a crooked smile breaking the scowl she'd been holding.

But the knife? She could appreciate it, knew it wasn't aimed for her, but still made her bloody nervous to have things thrown at her by pirate ladies, pretty as sinning, talking about being tempted by ruddy demons.

She sprang forward, a tiny viper lashing out, tumbling through a roll that brought her within arms reach of the taller woman. "You're right ballsy. Might maybe take you up on that drink, yeah?" She ducked her chin, smirking as her fringe fell heavy on her forehead.

All this talk and talk and talk and so far no one was fighting and Sera would have felt better if there were demons at this point because nobody could just hang around with nothing to do in bloody demon town, but at least with this one there'd be a stories.

She cracked a wider grin. Probably dirty stories.

Isabela smiled at that, the expression lighting up her eyes. Oh, she liked this one. Sassy and smart, not the least bit stuck up.

"Maybe you should," she said, crooking a finger at Sera until the elf started to follow. "Now, let's see. No wine for you, I'd wager. Ale's too much of a manly drink." She snapped her fingers and turned halfway down the stairs, eyes tracking Sera's every move.

This could be fun, but she wasn't about to let her guard down.

"There's this divine drink made with honey, berries, and just a splash of whiskey. You'll love it."

Not bothering to see if the elf was still following her, Isabela sauntered over to the bar and started pulling bottles out and inspecting the labels. "No. No. Ugh, definitely not." She finally plunked one down with a grin, the bottle's label peeling and aged. "Antivan whiskey. You can't get better."

Isabela saw more than Sera's eyes tracking her now. Well, there were worse things than being the bartender. "Who's up for shots?"

Well the view wasn't shite, certain as sunrise. Sera followed Isabela down the stairs, wishing just a bit they were going up instead. Because reasons. When she turned, Sera's eyes jerked up to Isabela's face, and she just grinned, impudent, toothy for a moment, before hopping two steps down, two footed, looking a bit like a duck.

"Go on then." She followed, keeping a wary distance as she padded by the strangers, gave the two Dorians a wide bloody berth, because nothing Dorian loved so much as his own stupid face, and if they started kissing she'd sick all over their sparkly shoes. She hopped up onto the end of the bar, letting her feet dangle and drum against the side, thump-thump as she watched.

Shots? Sera could do shots. She hadn't since that last dragon the Herald had gutted, but Antivan whiskey probably wouldn't make her eyes go all noodly as fast as whatever pissy swill Bull liked. "You want to waste the good shite on me, I'm game, yeah?"

Well, didn't that beat all.

Sera had downed three shots in a row. Oh, she'd matched the cheeky elf drink for drink, but it was not without consequence.

The edges of the room were pleasantly fuzzy and Isabela had moved from behind the bar to its' front, now just half an arm's length away from Sera. Oh, she'd missed this, drinking and talking and...

Flirting. Shit. Was she flirting with the elf? Was she actually flirting or just making eyes at her?

Shit.

Best get on with the show then. The warmth in her belly was egging her on, giving her wicked little thoughts she tucked away like sweets in a pocket, saving them for later.

"So tell me, sweet thing," Isabela purred, tracing a finger over a knot in the wooden top of the bar inches from Sera's knee, "you're the first elf I've seen here, other than Fenris and he's off busy doing...well, whatever Fenris does. But you're not like him. You're not like any elf I've ever met." She grinned. "I like that. Would you run away if I said I liked you?"

Sera's eyes watered as that last shot went down wrong, and she coughed, quick hard, and deep in her chest. She blinked at Isabela, bleary, smile gone goofy and sideways. Pissed, and not in the normal, I'll kill your bloody shite face way. The funner kind.

"Fenris? All white hair and face like the bottom of a boot someone stepped in horse shite with?" Whatever that meant. Grimacey, maybe. "He elfy? Doesn't look too elfy, even though he's got that squiggly Dalish piss all over him." She rubbed the heel of her hand against the bridge of her nose, squinting one eye at Isabela. "You looking to diddle stuckup dirt eater who wants to moan 'Elgin'halla'lath Creators' in your ear? Cause that ain't me, yeah?"

She wasn't even looking at Isabela by the end of that sentence, staring up into the rafters with a little frown, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth. Herald was elfy, a bit, maybe. She'd been the Inquisitor so long, it was hard to think about her as all forests and halla and all that piss. She shook her head, and hiccuped, reaching all fat fingered and listing for the bottle, leaning across Isabela to do it.

"No, sweetness, I want someone real." Isabela didn't move as Sera reached across her. She smelled like whiskey and honey and something...oh, something real underneath that, as real as the smell of sea and salt and sun-drenched sand was to Isabela.

It was certainly the realest thing she'd felt since landing in the Fade, or wherever the fuck they were.

And she wanted. She wanted suddenly and fiercely, and this little slip of an elf who didn't act at all like an elf was tugging on her. Making her want. Making her need.

Isabela's hand shot out, long, calloused fingers wrapping around Sera's wrist. The touch gentle but guiding, bringing the mouth of the bottle to Isabela's lips. The last drops hit her tongue, hot and spicy and perfect.

And the bottle crashed to the floor.

(Opening up a private thread for us, lovely! We can continue from there.)