Predator
'Marlowe Dumar.'
'Drink,' Hawke said, slamming the tankard down on Isabela's side of the table with a sly smile.
'You did not. When?'
'Forget when. Why?' Varric shook his head in disgust.
'Knight-Captain Cullen.' Isabela rolled her eyes.
'Oh, please.' Hawke snapped her fingers for more ale. 'We fuck every Tuesday, though he likes to pretend we're making love. He goes to confession on Wednesday mornings. Sometimes, if he's been a particularly good boy, I let him confess to me. On his knees.'
Varric made a noise that was evocative of vomiting.
Isabela sighed. 'Everyone at the Rose including Serendipity.'
'Are you going to ask me any hard questions? Drink.'
'Seneschal Bran,' Varric interjected.
'Drink. He talks to me the way he does because he doesn't want anyone to know.'
‘The Arishok,’ Isabela said, with something of a sigh.
‘You know how I won that battle. I told you. Drink.’
Varric muttered something under his breath.
'Divine Elthina,' Isabela said at the same time Varric added, 'Meredith.'
Hawke leaned back in her chair and picked up the handles of two tankards. Then she pushed them over to her companions.
'How do you think I'm still here?' Her mouth was a wide, beatific smile.