Isabela and the Disappearing Trousers
“She was wearing them earlier,” Hawke muttered to Varric, her brow creased. They watched Isabela crow a ditty across the room, tankard raised, legs bare above her boots. “I know she was. And she didn’t disappear with anyone, so where did they go?”
“Took them off, didn’t she?” Varric’s glance at Hawke was more than a little amused. “This is the mystery our hero wants to solve, huh? Not what the Qunari are up to, or the templars…”
Hawke shook her head, ignoring the second half of his reply. “That doesn’t make sense. Look at those boots. Could you take off your trousers as an afterthought with those boots on?”
“Please don’t imagine me in those boots.”
For a moment, Hawke was distracted from her mystery. She looked at Varric and smothered a laugh, laughing harder when he glared. Varric in those boots—well, it’d be a sight worth remembering, that was for sure. When she’d recovered from the image, she sighed and propped her chin on her hand, continuing to watch Isabela.
Isabela liked clothes with laces on the outside. The trousers earlier had tied along the sides. Could Isabela loosen the ties, then pull off the trousers like a magic trick? She wouldn’t have to take off the boots…
“You look troubled.”
Hawke jumped at the sound of Aveline’s voice, deep and concerned. When had she come into the Hanged Man? Varric beckoned, and Aveline sat on the bench opposite. It didn’t block the view of Isabela, and the bare skin of Isabela’s thighs continued to taunt Hawke with its mysteries.
Where did my trousers go? that skin asked. My trousers are over the ocean… my trousers are over the sea…
“Very troubled,” Varric said, nodding solemnly. “Hawke doesn’t do anything by halves.”
“Oh?” Aveline said, looking at Hawke. “What is your twisty little mind working on now? Should I prepare the Guard?”
Varric began to laugh. Hawke nudged him, smiling reluctantly, and Aveline’s brows arched higher and higher.
“I think there might be a string of thefts happening around Lowtown,” Hawke said mysteriously. She glanced at Isabela, and somehow Aveline caught her meaning.
“Ah,” Aveline said. “Isabela’s disappearing trousers.”
Hawke waited. Next came the scolding, or worse, some harsh dismissal of Isabela’s habits. Hawke didn’t like it when Aveline showed that side of herself—but then Aveline mimicked Hawke’s posture, leaning on the table and watching Isabela, twisted in her seat.
“I’ve wondered about that too,” Aveline said. “How does she take them off, with those boots?”
Varric began to laugh again, and this time Hawke joined in.
