two.
[ The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the occasional crash of glasses and muffled thump of fists being thrown with raised emotions. Ah, it's just like home.
Naturally, having wished up a good hearty stack of currency, he's booked himself out a nice private booth in the back of the place. About six mugs of slightly-less-shitty ale with Hawke, it's time for the real talk. ]
Alright. I take it you've got some horrible secrets to unload?