pirate.

“I find myself curious.  You don’t really seem the type to want to be a templar, of all things.   Do tell me, though, did they make you take a vow of CHASTITY? If so, more’s the pity.  Many women do love a man in uniform.”

sailing is like SEX. do it wrong and it’ll make you sick. but do it RIGHT, and there’s no feeling in the WORLD like it.

which is why i’m finally here after three fucking months 

The Hanged Man was dark, filled with the scent of piss and booze and sweat and smoke, but it was as much of a home as she had away from the sea.  She tossed her drink back, grimacing at the taste.  Alcohol wasn’t necessarily supposed to taste good, but it seemed the ale at the Hanged Man was purposefully disgusting.  Oh well.  It was packed as always and she reveled in the heat and testosterone.  It was her element.

Her eyes roamed the crowd, looking for her friend.  The word still felt foreign on her tongue; to have friends, not just friends but a family...it almost made the thought of running seem like a bad one, but if there was one thing she had learned at an early age, it was that attachments were dangerous and love was a fool’s errand.  Still, though, it was hard to deny she’d come to care for them, especially Fenris.  There was a weird sort of understanding between them, one that someone like Hawke or Merrill or Varric could never understand. 

At least your mother loved you.

They were both children of the darkness inside of them, bruised and broken beyond recognition, and there was some twisted sort of comfort in being able to mutually exist with one another.  And he liked to drink.  

An elf after my own heart, really.  

She spied him across the tavern and waved him over, a smirk on her lips and Backstabber and Heartbreaker strapped to her back.

“I’m glad you’re here.  It’s been terribly boring without you here for me to try and guess the color of your undergarments.”