Drabble-For-Spare-Change: "Not For A Bag Of Gold"
Here's the first Drabble For Spare Change I agreed to do after I jingled the coffee cup yesterday. Thank you, camwyn, for your kind donation. Here's your drabble (more like a ficlet, 505 words) on the prompt, "Fenris in a party hat."
Title: Not For A Bag Of Gold
Author:
spiderine
Rating: Let's call it PG because I'll be damned if I ever write anything rated G
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Summary: Pride, dignity, and Wicked Grace
Varric Tethras was proud to be a dwarf. Truly, he wouldn't change it for a bag of gold. Well, maybe for a very large bag... No, no, not even a mound of gold would make him change; the very fact that he considered it even for a moment was evidence of the mighty dwarven blood that ran through his veins.
He certainly would never be an elf, not for a dragon's horde. Especially not the morose, irritating, double-blighted elf stalking up the hill to Hightown. He did, however, wish for legs long enough to keep up with him. That didn't mean he was trotting, though. Or jogging. He was simply walking briskly. With dignity.
"Cheer up, elf. You're almost done."
"You said the same thing at the Docks. You saw how the Qunari guards laughed."
"I saw how I had to stop you from charging them with sword swinging and tats blazing, puppy-eyes."
Fenris whirled to face him. It made the pom-pom atop his hat bobble happily. "I do not have puppy eyes," he said through gritted teeth.
Varric didn't even try to keep a straight face. "You nearly started a war because you were embarrassed. Can't you take a joke?"
"I was not embarrassed. I was humiliated." He sighed dramatically. "Qunari do not joke. I had to save face. By denying me that you made me look even weaker."
Varric quirked an eyebrow. "The, ah, hat's getting a bit wobbly there, elf. The only things holding it up are those ears. Want me to give you a hand tying it back on?"
"If you even think of giving me a hand," Fenris snarled, "I will take that hand off at the wrist." The small conical red hat he wore slid over one eye. He pushed it back and moved to yank it off, but Varric held up a hand. "Nuh-uh, elf. You know the rules. You lost; you have to wear the hat from the Hanged Man to the Docks and all the way to Hightown."
"You cheated!"
"You wound me!" Varric cried with one melodramatic hand to his heart. "Are you calling me a cheater?"
"I am calling you a dwarf!" Fenric said, pom-pom quivering in indignation. He snatched the hat from his head and threw it to the ground.
"Through and through," said Varric. "And you, serah, are a sore loser." He held up one finger. "First mistake: you played Wicked Grace against a rogue." A second finger. "Second: you were drunk." A third followed. "And you bet truth or dare."
"I am never playing cards with you again."
"Boo hoo. It's called Wicked Grace, elf. If you win wickedly, you have to lose with grace. And you with the grace? Not so much."
Fenris turned his back and continued marching stoically up the hill, but not before crushing the cheerful little hat underfoot. Varric called after him, "Tonight, double or nothing?"
Fenris neither paused nor turned around, but the haughtiness in his voice was apparent when he replied, "You're on."
Also on AO3
This entry was originally posted at http://spiderine.dreamwidth.org/553534.html. There are
comments over there. I've disabled LJ's Facebook and Twitter cross-posting idiocy as much as I can, but if you're especially concerned, feel free to comment there.
Title: Not For A Bag Of Gold
Author:
spiderine
Rating: Let's call it PG because I'll be damned if I ever write anything rated G
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Summary: Pride, dignity, and Wicked Grace
Varric Tethras was proud to be a dwarf. Truly, he wouldn't change it for a bag of gold. Well, maybe for a very large bag... No, no, not even a mound of gold would make him change; the very fact that he considered it even for a moment was evidence of the mighty dwarven blood that ran through his veins.
He certainly would never be an elf, not for a dragon's horde. Especially not the morose, irritating, double-blighted elf stalking up the hill to Hightown. He did, however, wish for legs long enough to keep up with him. That didn't mean he was trotting, though. Or jogging. He was simply walking briskly. With dignity.
"Cheer up, elf. You're almost done."
"You said the same thing at the Docks. You saw how the Qunari guards laughed."
"I saw how I had to stop you from charging them with sword swinging and tats blazing, puppy-eyes."
Fenris whirled to face him. It made the pom-pom atop his hat bobble happily. "I do not have puppy eyes," he said through gritted teeth.
Varric didn't even try to keep a straight face. "You nearly started a war because you were embarrassed. Can't you take a joke?"
"I was not embarrassed. I was humiliated." He sighed dramatically. "Qunari do not joke. I had to save face. By denying me that you made me look even weaker."
Varric quirked an eyebrow. "The, ah, hat's getting a bit wobbly there, elf. The only things holding it up are those ears. Want me to give you a hand tying it back on?"
"If you even think of giving me a hand," Fenris snarled, "I will take that hand off at the wrist." The small conical red hat he wore slid over one eye. He pushed it back and moved to yank it off, but Varric held up a hand. "Nuh-uh, elf. You know the rules. You lost; you have to wear the hat from the Hanged Man to the Docks and all the way to Hightown."
"You cheated!"
"You wound me!" Varric cried with one melodramatic hand to his heart. "Are you calling me a cheater?"
"I am calling you a dwarf!" Fenric said, pom-pom quivering in indignation. He snatched the hat from his head and threw it to the ground.
"Through and through," said Varric. "And you, serah, are a sore loser." He held up one finger. "First mistake: you played Wicked Grace against a rogue." A second finger. "Second: you were drunk." A third followed. "And you bet truth or dare."
"I am never playing cards with you again."
"Boo hoo. It's called Wicked Grace, elf. If you win wickedly, you have to lose with grace. And you with the grace? Not so much."
Fenris turned his back and continued marching stoically up the hill, but not before crushing the cheerful little hat underfoot. Varric called after him, "Tonight, double or nothing?"
Fenris neither paused nor turned around, but the haughtiness in his voice was apparent when he replied, "You're on."
Also on AO3
This entry was originally posted at http://spiderine.dreamwidth.org/553534.html. There are
comments over there. I've disabled LJ's Facebook and Twitter cross-posting idiocy as much as I can, but if you're especially concerned, feel free to comment there.