P I R A T E •⋮ ♛

I got a request for some Hawke and Isabela, I couldn’t help but oblige. 

"I don’t know why they thought putting it on the Wounded Coast. Really, that was just poor planning. Why can’t ships ever wreck at the really nice beaches? It’d make things so much more convenient."

Stepping over the final body of a bandit, Hawke ignored the odd sort of gurgling noise the corpse made as it’s final breaths were taken. Stupid bandits. “—Do they ever learn that if your enemy was much stronger than you, retreat was possible?”

Was he rambling? Yes. Did Hawke particularly care? No, not really. He felt like a small child on Satinalia, waiting for gifts to appear under their tree. He couldn’t be more thankful for a break from all that… champion-ing. And what a better way to spend it than to go treasure hunting down on the coast? There were plenty of beached ships eons old, but no one ever dared touch them for the fear of walking corpses beneath the deck. Isabela had taken up him up on his little proposition when no one else wanted to. And while they were both capable of handling themselves, Hawke supposed taking a few poultices along just in case hadn’t been a bad idea.

     She heeled the corpses of bandits over and over again, listening for the quaint jingle of personal success, satisfaction, and possibly what would garner her a meal later on in the evening. Honestly, shouldn't they have know better by now? Sputtering into the sand whilst bleeding upon rock to stain the ground beneath them had become a common sight for the she-pirate, almost enough to give cause for an eye roll. They all died the same.

     How boring.  

     "No, because if they did, how would we ever get our reputation up," a sly grin passed over her face, trotting over crags and cracks of fissuring beach rock to catch up to her mage companion with little effort. Graceful and as powerful as the ocean she was, sea-worthy legs and fury alike and nary an ounce of forgiveness in her marrow for those that ceased to respect her.  "Do you really think they sat around and said, if we have to wreck we need to pick the most inhospitable beach possible? Because really, that's wonderful planning. I'd do that. Though I'd never wreck in the first place." That's a lie.

     The noise of his finding pricked in eardrums, echoing out the sweet sound of finality. Crinkling the bridge of her nose, Isabela glanced up to match the gleam of his eyes, following the gaze with a lecherous vigor. "King's Card? Now that's a name... You know, I could make a bad betting pun but I believe horrible jokes are your department," a cluck and laugh passed cinnamon lips and she sauntered past him, inspecting as her head nodded towards the broken ply wood and cedar.  

      —Oh. 

            The pieces of the picture were all coming together; albeit unpleasantly. Crates of objects left deliberately unmarked, a less-than-courteous looking crew, the way this woman spoke— he’d only heard that confidence once before, and it could only mean she was a pirate. Fenris, for one thing, was in no position to explain his situation to her, nor did he want to. Why he’d said that was beyond him; his impulse was going to turn out to be his worst enemy if he didn’t do anything about it.

             Another moment wasted just staring blankly at the woman, and he regained his wit; though the same couldn’t be said for his dignity. 

            It was, essentially, quite the tale— maybe he could lie his way out of it? If he could bluff through the entire story, or even just replace bits and pieces, there was a chance he could make it seem a bit less… Criminalistic. Something told him that she’d know better, though, and that same instinct also left him making a mental note never to try and best her at any game involving cards.

          An unwelcome though regarding the explanation of his free passage came to mind— she could easily make a fair bit of money upon selling him back to his former master, or anyone, for that matter. It would be fate’s way of laughing at him in the harshest degree. The Lyrium was worth a fortune, and Maker willing, she’d overlook that fact.

"I’ll tell you, although it’s bound to take up a good chunk of your time."

           Ah— there was his way out. She seemed to be an important woman, if her job led her to inspect the cargo. Obviously, one such as herself would have other duties, or so he hoped. If he could just find a way to have her let him off the hook alive, it would be enough. Fenris had not come this far only to be, ever-so-heroically, slain whilst trying to escape a crate of wine. 

     The liquid brogue of his timbre broke her concentration, blade slipping lax between callused digits with harmless wrist support. Unfolding events played before her eyes -- it could end several ways, though the two extremes both spelled their intent out in blood. Hers or his, though she's apt to avoid either prospect with vigor.  

     A pink tongue ran taut against her lips and the pirate broke for a pause, sunkissed shoulders rolling with a sneer upon her visage before relaxing.

      "Hardly average if those markings are any indication," with gesture of a blade she made note of the slithering tattoos of silver that line his biceps and neck. How odd. It was nothing she had ever seen before her in travels and looked beautiful beneath the tawny hue of his flesh. A sort of writhing magic beneath the sinew that spelled out as much agony as it did loveliness.  

     She scoffed, tongue clucking. What fate had brought such a creature to shiver beneath the deck of infamous ship? Perhaps a trialsome one and not a voyage to take lightly by any measure. To steal away in a ship of unknown origin was a bold move indeed and if the Maker saw fit, a deadly one.  She understood running away, escaping that which seemed impossible and refusing to look back no matter the threat that posed before her.