#isabethany

btw i eventually got around to writing this.

@dadrunkwriting

“Hey!  You there!”

“Shit!  Drop your staff!”  This from Isabela, whose ability to spot a templar seemed to have gained equal ground with Bethany’s older sister in a matter of weeks since they’d started spending time together.

Though Bethany’s instinct for running was well-honed, she did think to protest the loss of the staff--it was a good find!  Still, she couldn’t rightly run and hide it.  She tossed it into the nearest alcove and hoped to the Maker it might still be there by tonight.

If Marian were around, she’d likely have picked it up before Bethany had time to miss it.  But it had been weeks and she was still in the Deep Roads somewhere, and Bethany was really starting to worry...

“Oh, for--we’ll get you another staff, come on!” Isabela grabbed Bethany by the hand and pulled her into another alleyway Bethany had never even seen before.

38. A person’s weight as they lie on top of you

i am t r a s h I literally got all squeaky just thinking about this okay anyway on we go.  @dadrunkwriting

Though Isabela was no stranger to sharing a bed, she had never particularly cared for it.  She supposed if she had her druthers, she’d sleep as she had when she had a ship, in a sprawling bed that was just a little too soft, and sort of closed in around her when she really got comfortable, and she’d be so comfy-cosy that she wouldn’t feel the aching abyss of loneliness on either side of her.

As it stood, sometimes being cramped up against some unfortunate lout was preferable to facing the sound of your own thoughts.  She didn’t do so well with love and affection, after all, so what good was sharing a bed for anything other than avoidance?

Her first reaction when she trod reluctantly towards the waking world on this particular morning was one of hazy confusion.  There was a weight on her.  Sort of all over her, actually.  But it wasn’t unwelcome.

She hadn’t quite managed to open her eyes when she felt the little tickle of hair falling on her bare shoulder.  A person.  Cuddling her.  She could feel the arm and the leg positively draped over her.  Where was Isabela’s arm?  Wrapped around...?

Some people took to court life like a duck to water, gliding through the pomp and the ceremony without so much as a second thought, coming out the other side smelling like roses and gold. Some people even enjoyed all the airs and graces, the gossiping and the falseness. The power-play, the rumor mill – it was intoxicating. Bethany shifted from one foot to the other, grimacing as her shoes pinched her toes and her dress-robes were tight enough to cut her off mid-breath: she was definitely not one of those people. Her brother, however-- he was on the far side of the ballroom pressing the hand of some dusty matron to his lips with a winning smile. She could hear her piercing explosion of fey laughter even over the music and struggled very hard to not pull a face.

Instead, Bethany swirled the last mouthful of wine around her glass before swallowing it; this was his hunting ground, the Champion of Kirkwall. He was all but made for court life – certainly more than she was, at least. Her shoes didn’t fit, her robes didn’t fit, she didn’t fit. No-one wanted to talk to her, the mage sister of some jumped-up thug, on leave from the Circle for her good behaviour (nevermind the half-dozen Templars than stood sentinel around the room), beyond a cursory greeting - the jumped up thug himself at least had some interesting stories to tell. If anyone did want to speak to her, there was invariably only one topic of conversation, and there were only so many times she could tell semi-scandalised nobles about the time Garrett wet himself at the Chantry in Lothering because he was too embarrassed to leave during Chant. The band struck up a jaunty tune and she sighed as much as her robes would let her.

"May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?"

Bethany half-turned with a frown that melted seamlessly into a laugh, “Isabela!”

“Who? ‘Tis no-one but I, the infamous and devastatingly handsome Captain Revaud of the Felicisima Armada,” the Rivaini said in an exaggerated purr as she dipped into a deep bow. Bethany had to stop herself from giggling - she certainly looked like a proper captain: her hair was pulled up and under a charming tricorn which was tipped low to hide her face, and instead of her dress she wore a smart tailcoat of navy blue with bright brass buttons and white leggings. She made a handsome sight.

"Oh Captain, my mistake. It would be my pleasure," Bethany simpered, knowing the part she had to play. She extended her hand which Isabela grabbed and in a fit of passion, kissed her hotly on her knuckles, then again on her palm, her wrist. She smiled and Bethany could feel her pulse flutter under those lips.