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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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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.)