“Varric,” Hawke whispered, “what’s the appropriate time for hitting on a woman who’s husband just died?” Fenris gave her a disbelieving look.
“Well,” Varric looked as though he was contemplating this, and then turned to Hawke, “never.”
“Never? That’s not fair,” Isabela said, watching a video of a kitten. “Any time is appropriate if you’re good enough.”
“Ok,” Varric reconsidered his stance, “maybe three years.”
“What is wrong with all you, I’m trying to sleep and we’re at a fucking funeral,” Fenris hissed from the pew behind them.
“What if you’re like, I don’t know, really good at oral,” Hawke said with a shrug, Fenris audibly groaned, making the priest look up at him, they all froze and waited for him to start again before continuing. “You’re all going to fucking hell,” Fenris said. “Especially you Hawke.”
