Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" Bodyswap extravaganza
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:11:53 UTC
OP, I apologize in advance for this. I started typing and crazy things came out.
**
Nothing good ever came out of the Black Emporium. She ought to know that by now - Xenon had an invisible statue of naked Andraste for crying out loud, not to mention that box that screamed at you and that mirror that could take your wrinkles away.
Okay, well, maybe there was nothing wrong with the mirror. But the rest of the stuff… And it wasn’t like Xenon helped the situation at all, the creepifying desiccated old mage (she thought) who sat there in the midst of all his cursed treasure like some kind of disgusting old dragon. He was only too happy to help his “clients” get themselves into trouble.
Really, though, they ought to have learned their lesson about coming into that place. After all, it wasn’t as though it hadn’t caused its share of horrible misadventures. Like the time Fenris turned into a cat for two weeks, or when she and Merrill had imbibed what they’d thought were healing potions, only to be transformed into tiny pint-sized versions of themselves. The elven couple who had adopted her in the alienage had been shocked to find the Champion of Kirkwall sitting half-naked in the ruins of a crib one morning, but they’d been surprisingly graceful about it.
So why did she keep going back there? She was going to blame it on morbid curiosity; the same morbid curiosity that made her stop and pick every lock on every chest they ever passed by, nevermind that the same pair of torn trousers kept cropping up, along with what seemed to be the same rusty spoon and moth-eaten scarf. Not to mention the plethora of shit that belonged to other people that, being the nice person that she was, she felt compelled to return.
Why, she didn’t know. The Champion gets no props for returning scarves to whores. Just saying.
All she’d wanted was something to make everyone get along. Just for a day. For an hour even. She was just so tired of the bickering and the tattling, and if she was honest, she was just a little bit tired of everyone coming to her with their problems. She could barely find time to save blasted Kirkwall from itself with all the errands she was running for everybody else.
When Xenon suggested something he called the Incense of Empathy, she really should have just said no. She should have thanked him sweetly, maybe stopped off at the mirror to take care of that pesky line between her brows that kept coming back, and then run screaming for the hills, arms flailing and daggers flying every which way.
Instead, she paid for the little box, took it home, and used it.
This, in case anyone ever wondered, turned out to be the height of stupid.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 2/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:14:56 UTC
Sorry for the numbering fail right off the bat. (What is this I don't even...)
**
The second before Fenris woke up, he knew something was wrong. His house smelled wrong, the blankets smelled wrong, and more than anything else his head felt wrong. It felt sort of… fuller… than usual.
THAT’S BECAUSE I’M IN HERE TOO, YOU FOOL.
He was not particularly proud of the squeak that came out of his mouth - his but not his - and he bolted out of bed only to trip on what seemed to be an excess of fabric wound around his legs.
Why was he wearing a dress? Moreover, why was he in Anders’ clinic?
THAT REALLY ISN’T THE QUESTION YOU SHOULD BE ASKING.
That voice, that voice, so familiar and yet so… so…
“Justice!” he snarled, picking himself up out of the filthy dirt on the clinic floor and whirling around, and around, and around, in an attempt to get a fix on which direction he ought to aim his irate comments at the spirit who seemed to be echoing from… inside his mind. “What are you doing in my head?!”
I THINK THE MORE APPROPRIATE QUESTION IS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ANDERS’ BODY?
There was a long moment of silence, and then the bed burst into flames.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 3/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:19:22 UTC
Aveline had never enjoyed sleeping alone. Oh, that was nothing she’d ever share with any of her friends, of course; they all thought she was the rough tough guardswoman from Ferelden who didn’t take any crap off anyone (and that was true, naturally), but there was just something about waking up next to someone else that got her whole day off to a good start.
And even Guard-Captains had mornings when they didn’t want to get out of bed.
She rolled over with her eyes closed to throw an arm over Donnic, murmuring happily and snuggling into his warm back.
And then another arm flung itself over her and her eyes shot wide open. There was something soft pressing against her back that she had a sneaking suspicion were a pair of breasts, which was made only more alarming due to the fact that she - and the breasts - were both naked.
The body she’d flung her arm over was not, in fact, Donnic. It was an elf with tanned skin and a tasteful assortment of tattoos that she found herself admiring for a moment before she woke up fully to the fact that the arm flung over what appeared to be a sleeping Fenris was not, in fact, her arm. It was a great deal more tan, sleeker, less muscled and with fewer freckles.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
That was enough to get everyone moving, and Aveline turned to look over her shoulder just in time to see a similarly naked Hawke go flying off the bed, disappearing over one side in a tangle of covers.
Fenris, who had dived over the side of bed for cover, now poked his head up over the edge of the mattress and stared at her as she frantically yanked the comforter around what apparently was her naked body. “Isabela? Are you okay? What are we doing in Hawke’s room? Did I get drunk again? I got drunk again didn’t I. That would explain why I’m naked and in Hawke’s room. Only… why do I look like Fenris?”
There was only one person who babbled like that. “Merrill?” Aveline chanced guardedly, but the elf was no longer listening to her, distracted by Fenris’ tattoos and the way they seemed to curl all around every body part, turning around in circles like a dog chasing its tail as she tried to get a look at the backside of her - his? - body.
“These are so neat! I wonder if I can make them- ooh!” Merrill cooed as the lines of lyrium along Fenris’ arm lit up.
The repeated litany was coming from the other side of Hawke’s bed, and since Aveline had never once in her life heard Hawke pray to anything (though the rogue had a stunning array of epithets involving Andraste’s various body parts), she knew that could only be… “Sebastian?”
“Isabela? What’s going on here? Why am I naked? Why do I have breasts? What kind of foul blood magic is this?!”
“This isn’t blood magic,” Merrill chirped pleasantly from the other side of the room where she was standing naked in front of Hawke’s mirror and flexing Fenris’ biceps. “I would know.”
“But… I… What? I don’t understand!”
“Everybody just shut up for a minute!” Aveline ordered, holding up her hand - Isabela’s hand - for silence. The order did not come out with the steely force she was used to, and she was taken aback by it for a moment before she forged ahead. “I’m not Isabela, I’m Aveline.”
“Oh,” Merrill said, “That explains it.”
Aveline decided she didn’t really want to know what explained what, and moved the conversation right along. “That,” she said, pointing to naked Fenris who was still admiring himself in front of Hawke’s mirror, “Is Merrill. And you, Sebastian, seem to be in Hawke’s body.”
“Oh,” he said in Hawke’s voice, sounding very small. “I see.”
“Look!” Merrill exclaimed, making the lyrium markings all across Fenris’ backside light up. “I’m a firefly!”
Sighing, Aveline slapped the palm of her hand into her forehead.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 3/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:22:33 UTC
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Andraste’s face, staring at him from across the room with beady eyes peering out of a belt buckle. It was enough to make him scream like a little girl.
He’d done it. Somehow, some way, he’d slept with Sebastian. That was the only way Anders could reason out waking up half-dressed in what looked to be a Chantry cell, with Sebastian’s armor laying draped over a chair.
He wasn’t sure whether to be proud of himself for getting the stalwart Chantry brother to break his vows, or supremely disturbed that he didn’t remember a single thing about it.
That was too bad, really. Sebastian was incredibly attractive, if you liked the sanctimonious, better-than-thou types.
Anders had done it with Templars. There really wasn’t much he could say for himself at this point.
There was a sudden knock on the door that sent him flying out of bed, looking for his clothing. Where were his robes? Where were his robes?!
“Brother Sebastian? Is everything alright?” A voice called through the door, and in a panic Anders threw on the first thing he found - one of Sebastian’s shirts - and looked around desperately for his boots, his staff, anything. Where was all his stuff? “Brother Sebastian? We heard a scream.”
“Um, uh, yes! Everything’s alright, sister. Just a bad dream.”
It was a bad dream, in fact. The voice that came out of his mouth wasn’t anything like his own, and all of a sudden he had an accent.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 5/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:25:51 UTC
Damn you numbering fail! Previous part is part 4. This is part 5. Welcome to part 5!
**
“What’s wrong honey?” Donnic said, looking confused and a little hurt at the way his wife was hiding most of her pale, naked body behind a pillow.
“Donnic. Riiiight. Okay, here’s the thing, guy.” Varric had decided to tread carefully; it’d been quite a while since he was in one of these sorts of situations and-
No, scratch that. He’d never been in this kind of situation. There wasn’t once in his life that he could remember waking up a) in the body of a human, b) in the body of a human woman, c) in the body of a human woman who could kill him with her bare hands, or d) next to the husband of said human woman with the death grip.
There was a reason he was a one-crossbow man. This shit was complex.
“How surprised would you be to find out that I’m not Aveline, I’m Varric?”
The look on Donnic’s face moved from confused to disbelieving to annoyed and finally, to Varric’s relief and the stalwart guardsman’s credit, to acceptance. “Why do I feel like Hawke has something to do with this?”
“This is Kirkwall. When doesn’t Hawke have something to do with it?”
“Hey Varric?” Donnic said a moment later as they dressed in silence.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 6/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:29:32 UTC
Her feet didn’t touch the floor when she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Instead, they dangled about a foot from it, and she kicked them in the air, fascinated by the movement.
It was almost as fascinating, she had to admit, as the fabulous wealth of chest hair that sprouted all over her torso. Luxurious chest hair. Thick chest hair. Soft and silky like the fur of one of those posh Hightown dogs that shit all over everything, only better because it undoubtedly was Varric’s chest hair, and everyone in Kirkwall knew that the dwarf had the manliest chest hair to ever manly Manly-town.
Or at least, Isabela thought they should know. If they didn’t know, she intended to show them.
But, after all, first things first.
“Oh, Bianca,” she purred, disturbed and aroused in equal measure at the way her words sounded coming out in Varric’s voice. “I’ve been waiting a long, long time.”
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 6/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:36:40 UTC
BRB write!anon, first I must resurrect myself for I am ded.
In particular of all of these Varric with Donnic and Isabela with Bianca are my favorites, but they're all hysterical. Please to be giving us more sweet, sweet crack.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 6/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 05:48:53 UTC
This is HILARIOUS. Like can't breathe, tears rolling down my cheeks, uproarious. I am hard-pressed to choose a favorite, but Aveline, Sebastian and Merrill waking up in bed together as Hawke/Fenris/Isabela might take the cake. Though the rest were all epic as well.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 6/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 11:19:40 UTC
HAHAHA! Author!Anon will you marry me? Seriously though, this is hilarious! Fenris with a full head, Anders "sleeping" with Sebastian, Merril flexing in front of the mirror! Maker, I think my head may explode! I'll be here, eagerly awaiting more.
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 6/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 13:21:54 UTC
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I JUST PEED MY PAJAMAS LAUGHING
I LOVE THIS FIC AND THE AUTHOR!ANON AND OMG EVERYTHING IS RAINBOWS AND BUTTERFLIES AND THE SWEET SWEET SCHADENFREUDE OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO *offers plates of cookies, babies and the whole Internet to auth!anon*
Re: Everyone/Everyone "Sometimes these things just happen?" 7/?
anonymous
June 19 2011, 15:53:02 UTC
Somehow the best decision they could come up with amongst themselves was to stay put at Hawke’s house until help arrived. Or, at least, until Hawke came back in whatever body she might happen to be wearing at the time and Aveline could strangle her to death.
It was a little alarming, the way no one but her seemed to be bothered by this turn of events. Merrill was still upstairs, modeling Fenris’ body for herself, and Sebastian had disappeared for a disturbingly long time into the washroom. He was probably crying. At least she hoped he was crying. If he wasn’t crying, she really didn’t want to think about what all of those strange noises coming through the door were.
To make matters worse, the flimsy material that passed, apparently, for Isabela’s smallclothes kept riding up uncomfortably. She’d helped herself to a pair of Hawke’s pants to put a stop to this madness, but there was nothing to be done about the breasts.
She’d always suspected there was some sort of padding hidden in the Rivaini’s clothing that turned Isabela’s assets into, well, assets, but no, no. She was wrong. Isabela apparently was just blessed with the best pair of tits this side of the Minanter.
Just one more reason to hate the bitch.
She’d been sitting downstairs in the foyer for about an hour, fuming and drinking, and then fuming because she was drinking and it was still fairly early in the morning which only lead to more drinking when Sebastian ventured out of the washroom finally, wrapped up in Hawke’s robe, and ducked into the kitchen for a sandwich before disappearing back into the washroom again.
Eventually Merrill brought Fenris’ body downstairs (briefly; Aveline had to order her to go back upstairs and put on a pair of pants - what was wrong with the Dalish?), and half-heartedly Aveline watched her phase various body parts through random household objects.
At least until Merrill had gotten Fenris’ arm stuck through the door to the foyer and couldn’t seem to figure out how to get it back out again.
Aveline thought about helping. She really did. And then, uncharacteristically, just decided she didn’t care.
She was starting to feel like a sailor marooned on a deserted island (not to mention the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking of things in terms of sailing analogies) when the door to the cellar burst open to reveal an irate looking Anders. The ends of his hair were smoking and the feathers on the shoulders of his robe had seen better days, and on the whole he looked like a bird that someone had rolled in dirt and then struck with lightning.
“This is a disaster!” he snarled, waving both arms in a way that did nothing to dispel his bizarre similarity to a bird. On cue, a shower of smoking feathers fluffed out around him and flew every which way, and he slapped himself in the face. “No, Justice, I did not ask for your opinion! You will be silent, or else I will-”
Aveline could only watch as Anders’ other hand reached out jerkily and lifted up to slap the other side of his face.
“How dare you- ow, ow!”
Justice had apparently decided to strike back with a vengeance. That was sort of funny, if you thought about it.
**
Nothing good ever came out of the Black Emporium. She ought to know that by now - Xenon had an invisible statue of naked Andraste for crying out loud, not to mention that box that screamed at you and that mirror that could take your wrinkles away.
Okay, well, maybe there was nothing wrong with the mirror. But the rest of the stuff… And it wasn’t like Xenon helped the situation at all, the creepifying desiccated old mage (she thought) who sat there in the midst of all his cursed treasure like some kind of disgusting old dragon. He was only too happy to help his “clients” get themselves into trouble.
Really, though, they ought to have learned their lesson about coming into that place. After all, it wasn’t as though it hadn’t caused its share of horrible misadventures. Like the time Fenris turned into a cat for two weeks, or when she and Merrill had imbibed what they’d thought were healing potions, only to be transformed into tiny pint-sized versions of themselves. The elven couple who had adopted her in the alienage had been shocked to find the Champion of Kirkwall sitting half-naked in the ruins of a crib one morning, but they’d been surprisingly graceful about it.
So why did she keep going back there? She was going to blame it on morbid curiosity; the same morbid curiosity that made her stop and pick every lock on every chest they ever passed by, nevermind that the same pair of torn trousers kept cropping up, along with what seemed to be the same rusty spoon and moth-eaten scarf. Not to mention the plethora of shit that belonged to other people that, being the nice person that she was, she felt compelled to return.
Why, she didn’t know. The Champion gets no props for returning scarves to whores. Just saying.
All she’d wanted was something to make everyone get along. Just for a day. For an hour even. She was just so tired of the bickering and the tattling, and if she was honest, she was just a little bit tired of everyone coming to her with their problems. She could barely find time to save blasted Kirkwall from itself with all the errands she was running for everybody else.
When Xenon suggested something he called the Incense of Empathy, she really should have just said no. She should have thanked him sweetly, maybe stopped off at the mirror to take care of that pesky line between her brows that kept coming back, and then run screaming for the hills, arms flailing and daggers flying every which way.
Instead, she paid for the little box, took it home, and used it.
This, in case anyone ever wondered, turned out to be the height of stupid.
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**
The second before Fenris woke up, he knew something was wrong. His house smelled wrong, the blankets smelled wrong, and more than anything else his head felt wrong. It felt sort of… fuller… than usual.
THAT’S BECAUSE I’M IN HERE TOO, YOU FOOL.
He was not particularly proud of the squeak that came out of his mouth - his but not his - and he bolted out of bed only to trip on what seemed to be an excess of fabric wound around his legs.
Why was he wearing a dress? Moreover, why was he in Anders’ clinic?
THAT REALLY ISN’T THE QUESTION YOU SHOULD BE ASKING.
That voice, that voice, so familiar and yet so… so…
“Justice!” he snarled, picking himself up out of the filthy dirt on the clinic floor and whirling around, and around, and around, in an attempt to get a fix on which direction he ought to aim his irate comments at the spirit who seemed to be echoing from… inside his mind. “What are you doing in my head?!”
I THINK THE MORE APPROPRIATE QUESTION IS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ANDERS’ BODY?
There was a long moment of silence, and then the bed burst into flames.
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And even Guard-Captains had mornings when they didn’t want to get out of bed.
She rolled over with her eyes closed to throw an arm over Donnic, murmuring happily and snuggling into his warm back.
And then another arm flung itself over her and her eyes shot wide open. There was something soft pressing against her back that she had a sneaking suspicion were a pair of breasts, which was made only more alarming due to the fact that she - and the breasts - were both naked.
The body she’d flung her arm over was not, in fact, Donnic. It was an elf with tanned skin and a tasteful assortment of tattoos that she found herself admiring for a moment before she woke up fully to the fact that the arm flung over what appeared to be a sleeping Fenris was not, in fact, her arm. It was a great deal more tan, sleeker, less muscled and with fewer freckles.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
That was enough to get everyone moving, and Aveline turned to look over her shoulder just in time to see a similarly naked Hawke go flying off the bed, disappearing over one side in a tangle of covers.
Fenris, who had dived over the side of bed for cover, now poked his head up over the edge of the mattress and stared at her as she frantically yanked the comforter around what apparently was her naked body. “Isabela? Are you okay? What are we doing in Hawke’s room? Did I get drunk again? I got drunk again didn’t I. That would explain why I’m naked and in Hawke’s room. Only… why do I look like Fenris?”
There was only one person who babbled like that. “Merrill?” Aveline chanced guardedly, but the elf was no longer listening to her, distracted by Fenris’ tattoos and the way they seemed to curl all around every body part, turning around in circles like a dog chasing its tail as she tried to get a look at the backside of her - his? - body.
“These are so neat! I wonder if I can make them- ooh!” Merrill cooed as the lines of lyrium along Fenris’ arm lit up.
Obviously this was getting her nowhere.
“Maker protect us, Maker preserve us, Maker protect us, Maker preserve us…”
The repeated litany was coming from the other side of Hawke’s bed, and since Aveline had never once in her life heard Hawke pray to anything (though the rogue had a stunning array of epithets involving Andraste’s various body parts), she knew that could only be… “Sebastian?”
“Isabela? What’s going on here? Why am I naked? Why do I have breasts? What kind of foul blood magic is this?!”
“This isn’t blood magic,” Merrill chirped pleasantly from the other side of the room where she was standing naked in front of Hawke’s mirror and flexing Fenris’ biceps. “I would know.”
“But… I… What? I don’t understand!”
“Everybody just shut up for a minute!” Aveline ordered, holding up her hand - Isabela’s hand - for silence. The order did not come out with the steely force she was used to, and she was taken aback by it for a moment before she forged ahead. “I’m not Isabela, I’m Aveline.”
“Oh,” Merrill said, “That explains it.”
Aveline decided she didn’t really want to know what explained what, and moved the conversation right along. “That,” she said, pointing to naked Fenris who was still admiring himself in front of Hawke’s mirror, “Is Merrill. And you, Sebastian, seem to be in Hawke’s body.”
“Oh,” he said in Hawke’s voice, sounding very small. “I see.”
“Look!” Merrill exclaimed, making the lyrium markings all across Fenris’ backside light up. “I’m a firefly!”
Sighing, Aveline slapped the palm of her hand into her forehead.
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He’d done it. Somehow, some way, he’d slept with Sebastian. That was the only way Anders could reason out waking up half-dressed in what looked to be a Chantry cell, with Sebastian’s armor laying draped over a chair.
He wasn’t sure whether to be proud of himself for getting the stalwart Chantry brother to break his vows, or supremely disturbed that he didn’t remember a single thing about it.
That was too bad, really. Sebastian was incredibly attractive, if you liked the sanctimonious, better-than-thou types.
Anders had done it with Templars. There really wasn’t much he could say for himself at this point.
There was a sudden knock on the door that sent him flying out of bed, looking for his clothing. Where were his robes? Where were his robes?!
“Brother Sebastian? Is everything alright?” A voice called through the door, and in a panic Anders threw on the first thing he found - one of Sebastian’s shirts - and looked around desperately for his boots, his staff, anything. Where was all his stuff? “Brother Sebastian? We heard a scream.”
“Um, uh, yes! Everything’s alright, sister. Just a bad dream.”
It was a bad dream, in fact. The voice that came out of his mouth wasn’t anything like his own, and all of a sudden he had an accent.
Reply
**
“What’s wrong honey?” Donnic said, looking confused and a little hurt at the way his wife was hiding most of her pale, naked body behind a pillow.
“Donnic. Riiiight. Okay, here’s the thing, guy.” Varric had decided to tread carefully; it’d been quite a while since he was in one of these sorts of situations and-
No, scratch that. He’d never been in this kind of situation. There wasn’t once in his life that he could remember waking up a) in the body of a human, b) in the body of a human woman, c) in the body of a human woman who could kill him with her bare hands, or d) next to the husband of said human woman with the death grip.
There was a reason he was a one-crossbow man. This shit was complex.
“How surprised would you be to find out that I’m not Aveline, I’m Varric?”
The look on Donnic’s face moved from confused to disbelieving to annoyed and finally, to Varric’s relief and the stalwart guardsman’s credit, to acceptance. “Why do I feel like Hawke has something to do with this?”
“This is Kirkwall. When doesn’t Hawke have something to do with it?”
“Hey Varric?” Donnic said a moment later as they dressed in silence.
“Yeah buddy?”
“Sorry for grabbing your ass.”
“It’s okay bro. It’s okay.”
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It was almost as fascinating, she had to admit, as the fabulous wealth of chest hair that sprouted all over her torso. Luxurious chest hair. Thick chest hair. Soft and silky like the fur of one of those posh Hightown dogs that shit all over everything, only better because it undoubtedly was Varric’s chest hair, and everyone in Kirkwall knew that the dwarf had the manliest chest hair to ever manly Manly-town.
Or at least, Isabela thought they should know. If they didn’t know, she intended to show them.
But, after all, first things first.
“Oh, Bianca,” she purred, disturbed and aroused in equal measure at the way her words sounded coming out in Varric’s voice. “I’ve been waiting a long, long time.”
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In particular of all of these Varric with Donnic and Isabela with Bianca are my favorites, but they're all hysterical. Please to be giving us more sweet, sweet crack.
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Captcha: community eyounts
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Oh, will Justice protect Anders virtue? Oh the endless possibilities of lulz.
Will await more.
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No apologies necessary, AA! You are the paragon of awesomeness! And I love your swaps!!!!
Look! I'm a firefly! ROTFLMAO
please, ser, can I have more? ♥
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I LOVE THIS FIC AND THE AUTHOR!ANON AND OMG EVERYTHING IS RAINBOWS AND BUTTERFLIES AND THE SWEET SWEET SCHADENFREUDE OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO *offers plates of cookies, babies and the whole Internet to auth!anon*
Reply
It was a little alarming, the way no one but her seemed to be bothered by this turn of events. Merrill was still upstairs, modeling Fenris’ body for herself, and Sebastian had disappeared for a disturbingly long time into the washroom. He was probably crying. At least she hoped he was crying. If he wasn’t crying, she really didn’t want to think about what all of those strange noises coming through the door were.
To make matters worse, the flimsy material that passed, apparently, for Isabela’s smallclothes kept riding up uncomfortably. She’d helped herself to a pair of Hawke’s pants to put a stop to this madness, but there was nothing to be done about the breasts.
She’d always suspected there was some sort of padding hidden in the Rivaini’s clothing that turned Isabela’s assets into, well, assets, but no, no. She was wrong. Isabela apparently was just blessed with the best pair of tits this side of the Minanter.
Just one more reason to hate the bitch.
She’d been sitting downstairs in the foyer for about an hour, fuming and drinking, and then fuming because she was drinking and it was still fairly early in the morning which only lead to more drinking when Sebastian ventured out of the washroom finally, wrapped up in Hawke’s robe, and ducked into the kitchen for a sandwich before disappearing back into the washroom again.
Eventually Merrill brought Fenris’ body downstairs (briefly; Aveline had to order her to go back upstairs and put on a pair of pants - what was wrong with the Dalish?), and half-heartedly Aveline watched her phase various body parts through random household objects.
At least until Merrill had gotten Fenris’ arm stuck through the door to the foyer and couldn’t seem to figure out how to get it back out again.
Aveline thought about helping. She really did. And then, uncharacteristically, just decided she didn’t care.
She was starting to feel like a sailor marooned on a deserted island (not to mention the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking of things in terms of sailing analogies) when the door to the cellar burst open to reveal an irate looking Anders. The ends of his hair were smoking and the feathers on the shoulders of his robe had seen better days, and on the whole he looked like a bird that someone had rolled in dirt and then struck with lightning.
“This is a disaster!” he snarled, waving both arms in a way that did nothing to dispel his bizarre similarity to a bird. On cue, a shower of smoking feathers fluffed out around him and flew every which way, and he slapped himself in the face. “No, Justice, I did not ask for your opinion! You will be silent, or else I will-”
Aveline could only watch as Anders’ other hand reached out jerkily and lifted up to slap the other side of his face.
“How dare you- ow, ow!”
Justice had apparently decided to strike back with a vengeance. That was sort of funny, if you thought about it.
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