It always smelt so bad here, and yet she found herself returning time and time again. And if it wasn’t for the provocative stories of the pirate woman, then it most certain was for the wild tales of grandeur from the top-side dwarf.
"Varric!"
The name left a prickle in her skin; almost like goosebumps. An excitement that wasn’t like any other, and she wasn’t sure why exactly. Maybe because he exposed his chest so often? Or maybe… it had something to do with his chest hair? Isabela had commented on its seducing affects before, perhaps it was happening now?
And they said dwarves didn’t know magic!
"You aren’t busy, a-are you? I mean, if you are I could come by another time! Not that I want to leave, but I just—- isn’t today just beautiful?"
[It was sure not the smell of dead rats, and stained environment, that kept the dwarf here, in Hanged Man. Occupying, killing time in the bar, kept him as close to stories worth telling forth. Rumors, and cherished drunken talks, they were all on his fingertips in here. Knowledge, stories —— they had power in them. Time slowly passing by; as he sat next to a stranger, over-hearing their conversation of Templars growing restless. All for naught, when the bright, docile elf loudly announced his name. Oh, for Andraste's tits, Daisy!]
“Daisy...” [He sighed, between pressed teeth, but it was hard to stay mad at her for a moment longer.]
“I was, but not anymore. . .” [Commenting on it, as he side-eyed the stranger leaving the Hanged Man. Oh, buggers, it was done now. No need to cry over spilled beer.]
“Well, I can make time for you any day, you are my favorite elf after all, the Broody-pants being the second one. And if your definition of beautiful is the smell of piss and drunken fools, then, yes.”
