dragon age :: tuesday prompt fest
i.
Ander's crush on Karl
At seventeen, Anders is tall and gangly, not yet grown into his own skin. But his smile is disarming, tempering his clever, acid tongue, and there is a certain draw to him. And he knows it, you can see that he knows it in the casual quirk of his lips, leaning with his hip against the door frame. He looks at Karl through his lashes, long and feminine, his gaze all false innocence and light.
But Karl has seen his kind before--used to be his kind, not so long ago as he'd have you think--and he knows well enough to avoid that particular brand of trouble.
ii.
Best Day Ever
"I'll make you a list," Hawke says, slurring slightly. Varric raises a curious brow, the tip of his head indicating that she should continue. And so she does: "One, my mother made a dozen blueberry biscuits, and I broke none of my teeth when biting into one. Two, I gave Aveline a kiss on the cheek, and she turned the color of a ripe tomato. Three, Isabella and I felled three bandits today, and now I'm beating her ten to nine. Four, I didn't even break a sweat. Five, I went to the clinic anyway, and Anders did that thing with the tingling and the warming. Six, though I suspect he realized that the jam on my arm was not actually blood. Seven--"
The dwarf cuts her off, laughing: "Alright, I get it, you've had a very good day."
"The best day," she corrects, then downs the rest of her ale. "Which will get even better once you've refilled my mug."
iii.
Anders, Aveline - Family
"You're lucky, you know."
Anders' voice comes from behind her, soft and bitter. She'd nearly forgotten the mage was there, he's been so quiet since they left the Hawke's estate.
"And how's that?"
"They love you," he says, and she slows her pace, allowing him to catch up, their strides falling into sync. "The Hawkes, I mean."
"And I love them. I suppose that does make me lucky." She gives him a sidelong glance, his face impassive, unreadable. "What makes you say so?"
"It's not often one gets a second chance at a family."
Aveline's back stiffens, face heating. She says, colder than she intends, "It happens more often than you think. Some of us just have the good sense to welcome it when we see it."
iv.
You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter
Hawke loved her father. One of her earliest memories is sitting in his lap as he conjured a tiny, glowing ball of witchlight, the amber orb dancing along her nose, twisting between her fingers. When she's scared--and she does get scared, though she's long ago learned to hide such weakness--she remembers his large, soft hands, the deep timber of his voice singing her to sleep.
But sometimes, watching him heat a pot to boil with a touch of his finger or teaching Bethany how to conjure witchlight of her own, she would wonder: Why would her mother take such a risk?
Before the twins, she remembers her father standing in the field, raising his arms high above his head, rain beating against the ground in a tight circle around him. That year, the crops had flurished, but the Hawkes were well gone before the first seeds had sprouted.
Bethany once said that Anders reminded her of their father, and Hawke sees some truth in that. Perhaps it's what leads her, despite her better judgement, to read his manifesto, to help him secret the mages out of the city.
It is something else, she knows, that leads her to gather the ingredients for a potion whose true nature she suspects, to distract the Grand Cleric will he plants his poison--something else that she is unwilling to name, but she no longer questions her mother's risks.
v.
Does it make you feel more like a man?
The crack of his hand against her face is sharp, shocking them both to silence. She does not raise her hand to her cheek in surprise, does not let tears well in her eyes. Her gaze is stony and cold, her mouth a thin, firm line. The mark on her cheek is angry and red, and he thinks he can feel the heat coming off of it, though of course that's ridiculous.
"No more," she says, her voice hard and dark. "We will do this no more."
It does not cross his mind to apologize, to stop her as she stalks out of the room. Not a second after she's left, Bethany peers around the doorjamb, eyes wide and curious.
"Is everything okay, Carver?"
vi.
Giving them what for
"And don't come back, you stinking, scurvied bastards!" Hawke shouts, shaking her dagger after the retreating bandits.
"That's telling them," Varric says mildly, shouldering Bianca.
Hawke grins, face streaked with the blood of said scurvied bastards. For good measure she adds, "And tell your mothers I said hello!"
vii.
Horse blood
"And they drink it?" Hawke asks, nose wrinkling. "That doesn't seem sanitary."
Fenris shrugs, unperturbed. "It's a delicacy, said to undo the ravages of time.
"Well that sounds unlikely."
"Some are so desperate for its restorative powers that they bathe in it, soaking for hours until their skin turns red."
For a moment, her eyes go wide, picturing such a sight. But then she catches the faint shadow of a smile brushing across the elf's lips, and her hands go to her hips.
"Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Fenris?"
Ander's crush on Karl
At seventeen, Anders is tall and gangly, not yet grown into his own skin. But his smile is disarming, tempering his clever, acid tongue, and there is a certain draw to him. And he knows it, you can see that he knows it in the casual quirk of his lips, leaning with his hip against the door frame. He looks at Karl through his lashes, long and feminine, his gaze all false innocence and light.
But Karl has seen his kind before--used to be his kind, not so long ago as he'd have you think--and he knows well enough to avoid that particular brand of trouble.
ii.
Best Day Ever
"I'll make you a list," Hawke says, slurring slightly. Varric raises a curious brow, the tip of his head indicating that she should continue. And so she does: "One, my mother made a dozen blueberry biscuits, and I broke none of my teeth when biting into one. Two, I gave Aveline a kiss on the cheek, and she turned the color of a ripe tomato. Three, Isabella and I felled three bandits today, and now I'm beating her ten to nine. Four, I didn't even break a sweat. Five, I went to the clinic anyway, and Anders did that thing with the tingling and the warming. Six, though I suspect he realized that the jam on my arm was not actually blood. Seven--"
The dwarf cuts her off, laughing: "Alright, I get it, you've had a very good day."
"The best day," she corrects, then downs the rest of her ale. "Which will get even better once you've refilled my mug."
iii.
Anders, Aveline - Family
"You're lucky, you know."
Anders' voice comes from behind her, soft and bitter. She'd nearly forgotten the mage was there, he's been so quiet since they left the Hawke's estate.
"And how's that?"
"They love you," he says, and she slows her pace, allowing him to catch up, their strides falling into sync. "The Hawkes, I mean."
"And I love them. I suppose that does make me lucky." She gives him a sidelong glance, his face impassive, unreadable. "What makes you say so?"
"It's not often one gets a second chance at a family."
Aveline's back stiffens, face heating. She says, colder than she intends, "It happens more often than you think. Some of us just have the good sense to welcome it when we see it."
iv.
You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter
Hawke loved her father. One of her earliest memories is sitting in his lap as he conjured a tiny, glowing ball of witchlight, the amber orb dancing along her nose, twisting between her fingers. When she's scared--and she does get scared, though she's long ago learned to hide such weakness--she remembers his large, soft hands, the deep timber of his voice singing her to sleep.
But sometimes, watching him heat a pot to boil with a touch of his finger or teaching Bethany how to conjure witchlight of her own, she would wonder: Why would her mother take such a risk?
Before the twins, she remembers her father standing in the field, raising his arms high above his head, rain beating against the ground in a tight circle around him. That year, the crops had flurished, but the Hawkes were well gone before the first seeds had sprouted.
Bethany once said that Anders reminded her of their father, and Hawke sees some truth in that. Perhaps it's what leads her, despite her better judgement, to read his manifesto, to help him secret the mages out of the city.
It is something else, she knows, that leads her to gather the ingredients for a potion whose true nature she suspects, to distract the Grand Cleric will he plants his poison--something else that she is unwilling to name, but she no longer questions her mother's risks.
v.
Does it make you feel more like a man?
The crack of his hand against her face is sharp, shocking them both to silence. She does not raise her hand to her cheek in surprise, does not let tears well in her eyes. Her gaze is stony and cold, her mouth a thin, firm line. The mark on her cheek is angry and red, and he thinks he can feel the heat coming off of it, though of course that's ridiculous.
"No more," she says, her voice hard and dark. "We will do this no more."
It does not cross his mind to apologize, to stop her as she stalks out of the room. Not a second after she's left, Bethany peers around the doorjamb, eyes wide and curious.
"Is everything okay, Carver?"
vi.
Giving them what for
"And don't come back, you stinking, scurvied bastards!" Hawke shouts, shaking her dagger after the retreating bandits.
"That's telling them," Varric says mildly, shouldering Bianca.
Hawke grins, face streaked with the blood of said scurvied bastards. For good measure she adds, "And tell your mothers I said hello!"
vii.
Horse blood
"And they drink it?" Hawke asks, nose wrinkling. "That doesn't seem sanitary."
Fenris shrugs, unperturbed. "It's a delicacy, said to undo the ravages of time.
"Well that sounds unlikely."
"Some are so desperate for its restorative powers that they bathe in it, soaking for hours until their skin turns red."
For a moment, her eyes go wide, picturing such a sight. But then she catches the faint shadow of a smile brushing across the elf's lips, and her hands go to her hips.
"Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Fenris?"