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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
- 99
- 100
Notes:

An early Christmas goodie for all my faithful readers.
A very silly fun chapter for all those who are dying to know what really happened at the Gnawed Noble and how Alistair got his griffon tattoo on his buttocks.

"Hot in here, isn't it?" Zevran grins.
With some effort I manage to nod. My hand reaches for yet another of these ridiculously thin and high glasses attached to an even thinner stem that ends in a flat foot. Leliana calls it a champagne flute. It is filled with a yellowish liquid that reminds me a lot of... uhm... piss... sparkling piss. The taste is equivalent to its looks.
This is my sixth glass... or my seventh... and I still feel far too sober. Next time the tray passes by I take two glasses at once because that's when Rori emerges from the changing room - alright, it's more Leliana shoving her while Rori desperatedly tries to hide behind the curtain.
"Now what do you say?" Leliana chirps, dragging Rori along.
"Caramba!" Zevran exclaims, nudging my side. "Alistair, my dear friend, you are some lucky bastard! Finest Orlesian lingerie on a beautiful Fereldan rose. International understanding can be so easy."
Rori is breathtakingly beautiful - despite her face burning red with embarrassement and the fading bruises still visible at her thighs, arms and neck. Her vulnerability just makes her even more beautiful. I want to smother her with hugs and kisses and tell her everything will be alright and I will protect her from every harm. On any other woman her attire would look like she'd stumbled right out of the Pearl. On Rori it's just...
Excuse me while I gawk.
She wears a black laced bra that has a very interesting push up effect and a wisp of nothing that Leliana graciously calls smallclothes. Well, small it is.
Like my own garment. But at least it's not as small as the elf's. He calls it a thong. I never wanted to know such things exist.
How I got here? Didn't I mention?
Well, Rori doesn't fit into her underwear anymore and so she decided she needed to go shopping. As practical as she is when it comes to her outfit, she has a thing for Orlesian lingerie. Nothing I complain about - although the bras are awfully tricky to open. Anyway, she dragged me to this shop where she bought her kitten costume and that's where we ran into Leliana and Zevran. Or they ran into us. We didn't even know they were here when we entered the shop - more like when Rori shoved me in - because apparently there's a back room. And that's where we are now.
There our rather tipsy and half-naked companions teamed up with the clerk - I still don't know if this person is a man or a woman despite him... her... wearing almost nothing. And I always thought Morrigan's way to dress was scandalous.
"Gorgeous!" The clerk claps his/her hands at the sight of my thoroughly mortified fellow Warden.
Rori just grabs the thin glasses from me and downs one after another, pulling a face at the taste.
"Would you like to try..." the clerk suggests.
"NO!" Rori squeaks. "I take this one, thank you."
"I could show you our special collection."
Rori and I shriek "NO!" same time Leliana and Zevran go "Yes!"
Unfortunately Rori and I aren't quick enough so the clerk with a wide dirty grin locks the door before we as much as picked up our pants and then we find out that there's a back room behind the back room.
"Maker preserve me!" I gasp while Rori starts looking around for her lock picks. If she doesn't find them anytime soon, I will kick down the door.
"Fereldans are so finnicky!" Zevran rolls his eyes as he saunters past us into the... whatever. It reminds me of Fort Drakon, to be honest. There's a whole lot of things attached to the walls that look like they could be hurtful. Whips and some kind of paddles and floggers and long sticks and a whole shelf with... err... golem control rods. The... uhm... clothing is mostly leather. Very shiny leather.
Leliana squeals in delight at the sight of a pair of boots that reach mid-thigh. They are black and shiny and have very thin, very high heels... To me they look like an instrument of torture. Or a deadly weapon. I bet you could stab someone easily with that heel. And I very much doubt it fits with the official outfit for Chantry sisters.
"That has a hole." Rori mutters as she holds up the smallclothes the clerk shoves into her hands. There indeed is a very prominent hole at the very place where there shouldn't be any hole because that's the part that would mostly require covering.
"And here is the matching bra," the clerk chimes giddily.
"It has two holes," Rori observes, staring wide eyed at the piece of clothing that actually only consists of strings.
"Oh, now that would come in real handy for you and Alistair when you vanish behind the bushes again," Zevran remarks merrily. "Look, here, these pants come with a flap at the crotch..."
Rori turns a brighter shade of pink. "Errr..."
"And for the gentleman." The clerk waves a piece of leather at me.
"Mine has three holes," I mutter, examining the shiny smallclothes. "Two at the back, one at the front." Why would anybody want to wear smallclothes that don't cover your hindquarters but have the buttocks sticking out? And what is that round opening at the front... oh... OH!
"Awesome!" Zevran cheers at the sight of the... thing... in my hands. "Do you have that one in S?"
"Strategic withdrawal," I mutter at Rori. She is already armed with her lock picks.
"Thank you for shopping with us!" the clerk happily calls after us when we flee from the room hurriedly. We both grab the last champagne flutes on our way out, wishing they were filled with something stronger. "We will deliver your purchase within fourteen days."
The door of the shop closes behind us. Rori and I look at each other at the same time with relief. We escaped certain death by a whisker.
"Do I want to know how you got to buy that kitten costume?" I ask, my voice shaking.
"I can't remember half of it." Rori whispers, wide-eyed and shocked. "Did you... were there... did you see anything of... uhm... interest... you know..." she adds in a very small voice as we cross the market place.
"Well, they still sell kitten costumes..." I grin.
"They also sell corsets for men," Rori replies sweetly.
"Little beast."
When we arrive at the Gnawed Noble we're both already a bit tipsy, despite the fish and chips we added to the champagne. We both needed something decently Fereldan after fleeing the Chambers of Horror. I feel much better after some plain fare while Rori got rid of everything exactly in front of Goldanna's door about two minutes after she had wolfed it down. Well, she keeps saying Goldanna makes her want to puke...
"Very innovative, making a place for idiots to gather where they won't be underfoot." Sten greets us when we join our companions inside the tavern. The Qunari looks as if he's planning the invasion that will rid us of all our hideous habits and chaos.
"Nobles all around the world are all the same. Drinking overpriced swill and talking about their clothes." Oghren grunts as he suspiciously eyes the shiny glass the waitress puts down in front of him.
"Ahhh, plum wine!" Wynne rubs her hands giddly before reaching for the crystal decanter that arrived with the glasses.
"That's quite an important topic. Fine feather make fine birds," Leliana chirps joyously, snatching the filled glass from Wynne. She feels completely at home here. "Look at what that woman's wearing! Is she drunk or does she just have bad taste?" Leliana wrinkles her nose at the sight of Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine - according to Rori's Who's Who in Ferelden - wearing a bright green... err... It looks as if someone sewed very wide pants and a blouse together, a bit like the things babies wear, and decorated it all with too much flitter quillings.
"Birds are never fine," Shale booms. "Evil beasts of the sky, that's what they are. The sister should stop talking about them. Better challenge someone to arm-wrestle me. That would be fun."
"I very much doubt we can find someone stupid enough..." Rori begins, her voice fading when her cousin James bursts in through the door, wearing a rather revealing bright red woman's dress.
"That bitch stole my clothes!" he whines as he slumps down next to Rori, a sour look on his handsome face.
"Who?"
"Isabela!" Jamie sulks, crossing his arms in front of his chest sullenly. He reeks of booze worse than Oghren. "At least red is my colour." He admiringly runs his fingers across the satin of the dress.
"Lost a game of Wicked Grace, my friend?" Zevran chuckles, ruffling Jamie's brown hair. Any closer and the elf is going to sit on his lap.
"Maybe you have more luck with arm wrestling?" Shale suggests hopefully.
James beams stupidly, a gleam of drunken mirth in his dark brown eyes. "Sure, why not?"
"Uhm, Jamie, she's a golem..." Rori points out.
"She's a girl!" James Mac Eanraig corrects her, breathing the sour stench of ale into our faces. "Puny version of a golem."
"You do recall you just got defeated by a girl playing cards?" I wonder out loud.
James waves me off. "Cards, that's where a girl can win by cheating. Arm-wrestling is something totally different. It's for real men." He rolls up his sleeve and wiggles his fingers testingly. "Ready for your defeat, rocky maiden?"
"There's no fool like a drunken fool. My mother told me that once and I see 'tis true." Morrigan sighs. For once we do agree.
"James..." Rori grabs her cousin's arm and tries to drag him away. When that doesn't work she offers to buy him as many drinks as he can drink before passing out. The ultimative proof that blood is thicker than water.
James wags his head. He's not hopeless it seems as he's at least considering. That's when Oghren shouts: "HEY! LOOK AT THAT CRAZY NUG-HUMPER ARM-WRESTLING A GOLEM!"
Within the blink of an eye we have a mostly male, mostly drunken audience and Zevran spontaneously starts a new carreer as a bookie.
"He won't, will he?" Leonas Bryland asks worriedly.
"Never, doesn't have the balls," Bann Franderel of West Hill laughs.
"WHATCHA SAY MY SON DON'T HAVE NO BALLS, YA DUNG BRAINED GOAT HERDER!" Angus Mac Eanraig roars.
"James...," Rori beseeches her cousin but now of course he is stuck. They'll call him a whining sissy for the rest of his life if he backs out now. It's a male thing. Reason got nothing to do with it.
"Shush, lass." Jaime shoos her away, all cocksure. He rests his elbow on the table and locks eyes with the golem. Shale's hand closes around his. James' head becomes very, very red by the effort to endure the pain and suppress a scream. He lasts about three seconds. Then... well, let's just say: Don't try this at home, kids!
Or anywhere else.
Not that anybody pays much attention to Jamie's crushing defeat, his personal Ostagar. Okay, Vaughan Kendells does pay far too much attention, fascinated by what happens to Jamie's hand and arm... Did I already say not to try that at home? Most other nobles are involved in a brawl that started between Angus Mac Eanraig and Bann Franderel when the later replied: "Like father, like son."
Now Mac Eanraig is determined to show anybody that he has balls the size of a prize.winning pumpkin.
He punches Franderel straight in the face and the bann gets thrown backwards, knocking Bann Darby's drink out of his hands and spilling it all over Bann Loren's fine linen shirt. So Loren shoves Darby and he swings his fist against Loren, Loren slips and the punch hits Esmerelle instead. She comes upon him like a fury. Then some personal guards feel somewhat oblieged to their lieges and while James still rolls around on the ground, whining and clutching what is left of his arm, the whole tavern is involved in a decent brawl.
Well, not Rori and I. We sit savely under a table and as we got nothing else to do anyway, we canoodle a bit. And a bit more. Much more. No! Not that much more! Maker!
Before anybody gets killed, Rori - much to my dismay - decides we've done enough fraternizing and canoodling and has Shale shake a barrel with champagne before punching a hole in. The assembled nobility of Ferelden gets all showered with Orlesian swill. That's a cool down for the firebrands.
Standing on the table that has given her cover, Rori whistles on her finger. "Listen everyone! Let's storm the wine cellars! Charge it to Prince Alistair's bill!" She slaps my back, I grin foolishly and wave, looking like a complete retard.
There's a roar from several throats and the thundering of even more feet clomping off towards the wine cellar. I'd love to go, too, because I feel I'm still far too sober to endure this, but Rori drags me along to talk to all those who stayed behind and obviously won't be impressed by a free drink or two.
Arl Bryland, sitting with Bann Alfstanna, looks as if he dearly regretted not having followed the mob into the cellar."Alors Papa, you cannot expect me to appear at the ball in these rags!" his teenage daughter cries. "Je ne suis pas tendance!"
"Don't worry, Habren," Rori smirks. "There's not going to be a ball."
"Girls!" Arl Bryland groans. He obviously is used to the cat fight taking place. "Good to see you, Rori. You have my deepest sympathy for what happened to your parents. I never had a better friend than Bryce. He was a great man."
"Thank you, Uncle Leonas," Rori whispers hoarsely.
"There's always a ball after a Landsmeet," Habren sneers, sticking out her tongue at Rori.
"Girls!" Bryland sounds desperate.
"Ugly duckling like you of course wouldn't know," Habren keeps bawling Rori out. Their fathers used to be best friends, the daughters are archenemies. "Have you ever tried to do something against these freckles? It looks as if your face was sprinkled with something unmentionable..."
"... cute," I complete Habrens sentence, earning myself the widest grin I have seen on Rori's face for days. She even squeals a bit before kissing me with such a fierce passion, she leaves me completely breathless. Several flutes of champagne and some glasses of plum wine and I couldn't care less about any audience.
What can I say? I'm a daredevil. ROOOAR!
My ravishing ginger is so prettily flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a bit touseled, I just have to kiss her again. And again. Maker's Breath! We go on like this, we better should get a room!
"There's rumours about a Theirin prince," Habren goes on sourly, talking loud enough for the whole tavern to hear. "They say he's handsome. And he could become king. I do have to be the most beautiful woman at the ball. Don't you think a king would make a suitable husband for me, Papa? Kings are rich, aren't they?"
"Don't bother," Rori grins, her arm wrapped around my waist, mine around her shoulder. "He's a man with exquisite taste."
"In that case, it is you who shouldn't bother," Habren hisses and Rori looks like the cat that swallowed the pigeon.
"Habren, may I introduce Prince Alistair Theirin to you?" she says so sweetly, her words sound sticky.
"Didn't you say, he has exquisite taste?" By the look on Habren's face, she's about to scratch Rori's eyes out and the other way round.
"GIRLS!" Arl Bryland and I cry in unison, both equally exasperated.
"Habren, mon coeur, why don't you go shopping?" Bryland sighs, reaching for his purse.
"There's nothing interesting there! Denerim is such a backwater!"
"There has to be something you want. You always want something," Bryland mutters resignedly.
That's when Habren spots Shale. "OHHHHHHHH! PAPA! Regarde donc!" Bouncing giddily, Habren Bryland squeals girlishly and points at the golem. "A real golem! I want it!"
"Shale's not for sale," Rori sighs.
"It belongs to you?!" Habren Bryland is outraged. "Papa! Why does Rori Cousland have a golem and I have none? I WANT A GOLEM! NOW!"
"Why is it so noisy? Does that insipid soft flesh-creature want to arm-wrestle me as well?" Shale booms. "If not, can I crush its head?"
"Unfortunately no," Rori sighs.
"I could rip out its arms instead?"
"Habren, mon coeur, maybe another puppy is a better choice," Bryland squeaks.
Leonas Bryland has my deepest sympathy. I buy him a drink. He looks as if he needed one. It's Leliana to solve the problem for us, engaging Habren in a conversation about footwear and Orlesian fashion. And we finally can talk about politics!
Huh? No, I'm not drunk. A little tipsy, that's it. After Habren Bryland politics sound like a vacation. At least as long as it's talking to Arl Bryland and Bann Alfstanna. Ceorlic, well, that's a different story.
He completely ignores me when Rori joins him and Arl Wulff to introduce me.
"You're being very foolish. Why would Loghain leave half our own army to die when a Blight threatens? I take him at his word: The battle could not be won." Ceorlic barks at Rori when she tries to open his eyes about the Hero of the River Dane. "I would rather see Anora keep the throne, myself. Better it passes to the Mac Tir line than to some by-blow."
"The by-blow is right here, you know," I mutter. "And there's nothing wrong with my hearing. I just wish people would stop acting as if I wasn't there. It's quite annoying."
"You want attention? What have you done to deserve it, boy?" Ceorlic spits at me.
"I have assembled an army. that's more than Loghain has managed," I retort before I can even think about it. Whoa! What do they mix with their plum wine? Liquid boldness? "Err... with Rori's help. And that of..."
"And nothing you will ever get done without help," Ceorlic snorts.
"Your lands are right next to Loghain's, right?" Rori asks sweetly. "If I was in your situation and didn't have no balls, I'd also side with Loghain. Boy! I'd probably wet my pants only thinking about what Loghain would do to me if I objected."
"You don't have balls, kitten," I grin.
"Well, good my lands aren't next to Loghain's, right?"
We leave a fuming Ceorlic alone and join our companions. Wynne, Zevran, Leliana, Oghren and a freshly repaired James are engaged in a game of Wicked Grace. James is naked again - much to Zevran's delight. Oghren wears nothing but his smallclothes. Wynne... MAKER! I don't want to stare but I can't help it... She wears bright red knitted smallclothes. Small like real small. Rori would look very sexy in those... but Wynne... Would you want to see your granny in sexy underwear? Would you even want to imagine?
"One more game and I finally get to see that magical bosom, my darling Wynne," Zevran chortles. Seems the clerk found the three-holes-smallclothes in S. Maker's Breath! My nightmares have just gained another aspect of immense mind-shattering horror.
"Maker! Zev! You didn't really buy that thing!" Rori squeaks, ogling the elf wide-eyed. I quickly cover Rori's eyes with my hands.
"I'm out," Wynne smartly decides. Instead she empties the rest of the decanter and orders more plum wine.
"Oh, come on! One more game! Only one! Did I mention my mother died when I was a baby..."
"Dude, I do need a drink now," Rori mutters. "And Zev needs some pants. And Wynne needs a dress and Oghren needs to change his smallclothes more often than once a month."
"You had enough drinks," the totally sober Qunari lectures her. He sits there with Shale and they are both so motionless, I poke Sten to see if he has turned into stone and next there's a stench that makes me choke.
"Do you smell that?" Rori asks, sniffing the air. "Maker! What is that stench?"
"I swear I didn't take off my boots!"
"That's no smelly socks, it's..." She inches away from Sten.
"C'mon. Who ate the cabbage?" Oghren presses himself in between Rori and the Qunari and nudges Sten's side with his elbow as if they were best buddies.
"Why ask me?" the Qunari asks indignantly.
"I guess you thought we could all share in the bounty?" Oghren grunts, utterly amused. He even inhales deeply, fanning the foul air towards his flared nostrils.
Sten sighs exasperatedly.
"Stand up to it, you giant ass!" Oghren roars for everybody and their dog to hear. "You've birthed a cloud to be proud of!"
"Humph." Sten doesn't look proud. He doesn't have much of a facial expression but I dare say that is a blush. A very bright one.
"I hope you've thought of a name," Oghren chortles. "Whew."
Sten is saved... or maybe it's Oghren being saved according to that look on the Qunari's face... by the return of Angus Mac Eanraig, rolling a barrel in front of him.
"Oh, is this a South Reach Blosom 9:07 Dragon?" Wynne exclaims at the sight of the brand on the barrel. Her voice is quite slurry already.
"Very much so," Bann Mac Eanraig confirms. "Would the lady have a drink with me." The lady would. She takes his outstretched hand and - still only in her knitted underwear - rises from her seat, giggling like a young girl when Mac Eanraig goes on: "A wonderful wine and the company of a beautiful woman. What more can a man wish for?"
Zevran sulkingly watches them leave. "What does he have that I don't have?" he wonders out loud. "He's twice my age, fat with a peg-leg and one eye missing... It has to be his titles."
"Or the fact that he invites her to a drink before he asks about fondling her bosom," I observe.
"Alistair, me dear friend, I've never thought this day would come, but you could indeed be right!" Zevran muses after downing another glass of that awful plum wine.
Shortly after Wynne has left with Angus Mac Eanraig, the rest of the by now very drunken nobles returns from the wine cellar and marches towards my table, roaring at the top of their voices:
"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fe-ellooooooooow - and nobody can deny!"
Before I can as much as protest or run for the hills, they lift me onto their shoulders and parade with me through the tavern.
"Help!" I mouth at Rori but she just waves, giving me thumbs up.
"They love you!" she shouts
And that's when they drop me.
"Ouch!"
"Hey! Don't kill him! He's the last Theirin!" Rori shouts after them when they pull me off the ground and lift me over their heads again. Some even think throwing me into the air might be a bright idea. The ceiling in this tavern is rather low, just in case I haven't mentioned yet. Unfortunately nobody cares or they don't notice, they are drunk as a lord. Many lords. A whole gang of them.
"OW! ROOOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
It's not her saving me, but Angus Mac Eanraig, equally drunk. His arm slung around Wynne's waist, he climbs onto the bar. Wynne grins sillily and waves, blowing kisses at the crowd when Angus Mac Eanraig declares his engagement to this lovely lady in knitted underwear. And then he kisses her, tongue and everything.
Ew!
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
She is old!
He is old!
The nobility is so busy cheering and applauding they all totally forget they just hauled me into the air again - so I slam onto the ground unbraked.
Maker! My back!
Angus buys everybody a drink. Rori and I are invited to sit with the happy couple and Angus toasts on Rori's parents until her eyes roll back in their sockets and she vanishes under the table.
I'd love to join her, but Angus and his buddies keep slapping my back, remarking on how much I look like Maric. Very drunk women of all ages slump against me and their hands are in places solely reserved to Rori. Maker's Breath! And she's not even there to save her. I nudge her with my boot but she's unable to do anything next to groaning. Then she becomes sick onto some very fashionable ladies' footwear and the groping squad disappears as quickly as they have come over me.
Still everybody wants to propose a toast to Maric, Cailan, Maric again and so forth. Arm in arm with my new best buddies, I sing The Soldier and the Seawolf until I am hoarse.
That's when Wynne has to ask Angus about the sea battle of Denerim and instead of just telling her, he insists we all show her.
"Alistair! You are Maric!" Angus drones and someone slaps a bread basket on my head as a makeshift crown and one of the curtains makes for an ermine coat. I get a loaf of Orlesian bread for a scepter and am relieved to hear that Maric and his soldiers await the Orlesian bastards at the harbour - where they never arrived. So I get to stand behind the bar while poor Rori has to play her mother and several young men get into a fight about who is to play her dad. In the end it's Zevran and first thing, Rori shoves him off her table ship into the sea.
I swear Shale grins as wide as a golem can grin when she shoves the tables around, mostly shoving them so hard, they crash against the wall or other ships and within no time at all, half of the Orlesian and Fereldan fleet is in distress at sea.
The leading Orlesian ship rams the bar and King Maric is forced to defend himself and his capital. Arl Bryland swings his leeks against me and I beat him with my loaf of bread.
Meanwhile Rori with a battlecry jumps from her table to Leliana's and smacks the bard with her celery blades. The sister has long ago lost her weapon and flees, jumping from table to table. She captures James Mac Eanraig's table only to have it shoved against the next wall by an overly enthusiastic Shale.
Merciful Andraste! Ain't I thankful, when Rori jumps over the bar and we do the Orlesian leave, crawling down the corridor on all fours towards the private rooms. I have the loveliest view with Rori right in front of me.
We collapse on the rug, a very dead bear, I on top of Rori and she all wrapped around me. Her lips taste of plum wine and I decide it's not as awful as I thought. Miscellaneous with Rori's own flavour of sage and peppermint and the velvety sweetness of her tongue stroking mine, plum wine becomes my favourite rapidly.
She mewls my name when I slide my lips down her neck to the hollow of her throat. Tearing at her blouse I reveal some really fine Orlesian lingerie. The wrapping pales in comparison to the content. The pearly paleness of her flawless skin feels smooth against my lips. Sucking the rosy peaks of her heaving bosom into my mouth, I make her cry in aching lust. She squirms beneath me, whining at my touch, so intense against her sensitive breasts.
I grind my hips against hers, making her feel her effect on me. My hands hastily pull at the waistband and breeches of her pants. At the same time I try to kick off my trousers, shifting and cursing under my breath as I fight with the garments. Flaps and holes certainly don't sound like such a bad idea anymore. Tossing aside boots and pants, I massage her buttocks, pulling her heated core against me, feeling her slickness rubbing against my manhood.
Rori's fingers entangle with my hair, one hand sneaking down my back and beneath my shirt. Her fingernails rake across my skin, digging into muscular flesh...
Maker's Breath!
"Alistair..." Rori sighs, wiggling in my embrace to stop me from mounting her.
"D'awwww..." I complain and she smacks the back of my head teasingly.
"One moment... I have to... be right back..."
Reluctantly I let go of her, watching how she fishes the chamberpot from under the bed and vanishes behind the screen at the other side of the room.
Lying prone, proped on my elbows, I'm so lost in my dreamy imagination of my immediate future that I don't notice how I doze off.
I wake to Zevran nudging my ribs with his foot. His face swims into view, everything is kinda blurry and I feel so dizzy my head is spinning.
There's this strange drawings on his face. The ones Leliana and Rori think are sexy. Not cute. Hot.
"I-I've been - hicks - thinking about those ink drawings, what did you call them? Tattoos?" I slur, poking the elf in the face. "Are you... -hicks - willing to do one?
"Oh-ho! You've decided to take the plunge, have you? What is a little pain, am I right? You are drunk enough, doubt you'd feel much anything. By the way, is there a reason why you are lying naked on a bearskin?"
"Dunno." I ogle the bear suspiciously. I also ogle my naked hindquarters. Where did my pants go?
"Where is Rori?"
"Dunno," I grunt, weakly pulling at the blanket on the bed to cover my nakedness. "I'm not worried about - hicks - that... the pain...," I go on while Zevran searches the room. "I think they look interesting, though I'd want mine...-hicks- smaller."
"She has passed out on the chamberpot," Zevran chuckles. "You're both drunk as a skunk, aren't you, my friend?"
"When can you do it?" I have no clue what Zevran is talking about. All I am able to concentrate on is those cool drawings. I want one. Something manly. Something...
"Not so fast, my friend," Zevran interrupts from behind the screen. When he reappears he cradles Rori in his arms. She doesn't wear any pants, her blouse isn't covering anything that requires cover and she is fast asleep. "There is an entire ritual to how this is done, do you not know?" Zevran goes on as he tugs Rori into bed. "First I need to bathe you in a mixture of olives and rosewater."
"You need to... - hicks - bathe me? That seems... -hicks - odd." Maker! I am feeling so awfully sick.
"No, no, no, not at all," Zevran grins.
"Since - hicks - when do you have a second head?" I wonder. "Is - hicks - this a trick?"
The elf sighs and shakes his two heads. I wish he wouldn't move so quickly. "It needs to be worked into your skin, preparing it to receive the ink. The massage is quite pleasurable, do not worry. You are in good hands."
"The... -hicks- massage? You're... having me on, aren't you?" I hiccup, regarding the blurry two-headed elf suspiciously.
"I might be. I might not be." The elf laughs. "Maybe you should wait until you are sober..."
"Nah - hicks - want it now..."
"Where would you want your tattoo?" Zevran asks curiously, rolling up his sleeves.
Oh, I haven't thought about that. I frown and seriously contemplate. Zevran nudges me again when my head falls to the rug and I begin to snore. "On my ar-hicks-s." I blurt out. Arms, yes, good place. Something manly on my manly biceps.
"Your arse?" Zevran wonders out loud. "Bold choice, my dear friend."
What!? "No, no, my ar-hicks-s."
Last thing I hear before I pass out, is the elf chirping merrily: "I hear you, my friend. Don't you worry, Zevran will take it in his skilled hands. The result will be most satisfying."
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In good times and in bad