Fanfiction: Giggles
Fanfiction: Giggles
Fan fiction challenge prompt [3] :Alistair can't hold his booze
The plot bunny ate my head. I'm not really satisfied with it, but at least drunk Alistair is kinda fun.
Writer Sheryl Chee has said that when going out for a drink Alistair would "have half a pint and giggle uncontrollably for the rest of the night. I did not know that when I wrote this…
“Why can’t I be drunk all the time?”
It had probably been a rhetoric question. It was difficult to envision a drunk Alistair, especially since his special brand of humour made him seem a little intoxicated at all times.
But it seemed Oghren had taken Alistair seriously. That one little comment, and the next time they made camp the dwarf walked over to Alistair with a flagon of wine under each arm.
Allira was watching them from afar. She grinned a little when she saw the exchange, and then went back to polishing her bow. Since Oghren did not pass her again, she came to the conclusion that whatever he had proposed to the young templar, had been accepted.
They recaptured her attention a while later, when sounds that could be mistaken for song started. Alistair could probably carry a tune, but that was when sober. Oghren sounded like someone was slaughtering Bronkos.
She did actually consider cutting in then. Not that she had any idea of what it felt like to be drunk, but because she guessed that he would regret this in the morning.
She rose and walked over to them. The man and the dwarf were sitting at the ground, and had dragged forth a tree log to lean against. Alistair had his arm around Oghran in drunken camaraderie and Oghran was still trying to sing.
When he saw her, Alistair grinned hugely.
“Oh beautiful fountain of inspiration and…wisdom, have you come to grace us with your presence?” he slurred, drooling a little.
Allira could only stare. Was this the man that blushingly had given her a rose and talked about licking lamp posts instead of sex?
“Err, hello to you too Alistair,” she answered brightly. Hearing a snicker, she turned to Oghren who grinned back and wiggled his fingers at her.
“Oghren, you’re not half as drunk as he is, are you?”
“Nope, can’t say I am.”
She looked at Alistair who was smiling at her, possibly in what he would consider a charming manner. It looked ridiculous and his mouth was hanging open. She fought hard with herself not to admit that he looked rather sweet.
“Won’t you join us, oh tempestuous beauty and killer of darkspawn? We could play one of those games where everyone takes their clothes off?”
Raising her eyebrows Allira stared at him. He would pay for that. No special reason, he just…had to pay.
“Oh blast it. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway,” she finally huffed, and walked away again.
She settled herself in her old spot next to the fire and reached for her bow again. If stupid Alistair wanted to get stupid drunk with a damned dwarf, he very well could. It was not her mission in life to save him from stuff like that. Indeed it wasn’t!
Some more time passed and then she heard it.
She had never dreaded the roars and raucous laughs of the darkspawn, she had faced dragons and Revenants without flinching. But this was a sound that she had never thought she would hear in her lifetime, nor had she ever wanted to.
Alistair was giggling. Like a little girl.
Usually when he laughed, it was smooth and perhaps a bit throaty. Yes, she had noticed, she admitted to herself. She might even have shivered or experience a little flutter in her stomach. But this sound, this was an abomination of a laugh; of any sound of merriment.
“Oghren, you even tell better dirty tales than Allira!” she then heard him exclaim, followed by more giggling.
She had had enough of this, she was going to bed. And perhaps moving her tent a few extra feet away, too make sure she was out of earshot of the drunken frolicking. And then the next day, she was going to confiscate all the liquor that Oghren was carrying around, and force him to clean his armour with it.
And then she would make sure that Alistair stayed sober for the rest of his days.
Much later, Alistair was only a bit confused at finding a warm sleeping body already occupying his bedroll. It smelled nice too. And clearly a warm and nice-smelling someone was preferable, than to sleep alone? It was quite logical.
He was asleep as soon as he had wrapped himself around the warm body.
Allira woke because she was too warm. It had rarely happened before, and the reason was obvious and impossible to ignore.
She was lying very close to someone warm. It was a person, she gathered, because it was making softly snoring noises. This someone had also clasped her quite tightly to itself. She was laying on her side and the other warm body was spooning her closely.
When she wriggled a little and looked down, she could se the arm wrapped around her middle. She recognized the hand. After all, she had been looking at it covertly every chance she got.
Alistair.
Perhaps not so surprising, after all. One tent might look alike to another when it was dark and you had had too much to drink. Yeah, that was probably it. She sighed, and then wriggled a bit more to see if he would let go.
But it didn’t seem like it. In fact, his hold only tightened and he burrowed his nose into her hair with a very content sigh and a murmur.
Then it happened. His hand rose from her stomach and trailed an intimate path over her hip, all the way up her side, and then skimmed over her breasts to come back and rest on her stomach. Another content sigh followed.
Was he awake? He was never this forward, or anything remotely this physical with her otherwise? He had to be asleep. Her hammering heart agreed with her. The implications of him being awake and doing that were…something for another day.
But still, she had to be sure.
“Alistair?” she said.
The only answer was another soft sigh and a shuffling noise as he tried to move even closer to her. She wiggled a bit more, frustrated that he was asleep, and that she couldn’t move, and that he obviously had mistaken which tent he was in. Botheration, why couldn’t he just tell her he liked her and be done with it.
Then she felt something hard against the small of her back, and nearly yelped in surprise.
Well. Perhaps he did like her after all. But however interesting the situation was, she knew she had to get out before things got even more interesting.
Summoning all her strength, she pushed back at him, until she felt his weight shift, and he fell back on his back, releasing her.
At the same moment someone with heavy plate boots kicked one of the tent poles, making the whole structure tremble and wobble. Oghrens raspy voice was heard, in what was obviously a bad attempt at a stage whisper.
“Hey, Alistair. I think I helped you to the wrong tent last night…Does Allira know you’re there?”
Alistair woke to screams and raucous laughter. The tent, which bedrolls he did not recognize, nor did he remember how he got there, smelled pleasant, like flowers. When he crawled out, the world was a mad place and he realised that his head hurt immensely.
Their brave and fearless leader was only dressed in her shift, and was hunting Oghren around the camp, screaming bloody murder and throwing things at him, while he laughed so much he could hardly run. The others were watching, in various degrees of undress and fascination, only Zevran and Leliana was laughing. Wynne was scowling.
With a groan, Alistair fell back into the tent.
He was never going to drink again. It made the world too interesting.
Fan fiction challenge prompt [3] :Alistair can't hold his booze
The plot bunny ate my head. I'm not really satisfied with it, but at least drunk Alistair is kinda fun.
Writer Sheryl Chee has said that when going out for a drink Alistair would "have half a pint and giggle uncontrollably for the rest of the night. I did not know that when I wrote this…
“Why can’t I be drunk all the time?”
It had probably been a rhetoric question. It was difficult to envision a drunk Alistair, especially since his special brand of humour made him seem a little intoxicated at all times.
But it seemed Oghren had taken Alistair seriously. That one little comment, and the next time they made camp the dwarf walked over to Alistair with a flagon of wine under each arm.
Allira was watching them from afar. She grinned a little when she saw the exchange, and then went back to polishing her bow. Since Oghren did not pass her again, she came to the conclusion that whatever he had proposed to the young templar, had been accepted.
They recaptured her attention a while later, when sounds that could be mistaken for song started. Alistair could probably carry a tune, but that was when sober. Oghren sounded like someone was slaughtering Bronkos.
She did actually consider cutting in then. Not that she had any idea of what it felt like to be drunk, but because she guessed that he would regret this in the morning.
She rose and walked over to them. The man and the dwarf were sitting at the ground, and had dragged forth a tree log to lean against. Alistair had his arm around Oghran in drunken camaraderie and Oghran was still trying to sing.
When he saw her, Alistair grinned hugely.
“Oh beautiful fountain of inspiration and…wisdom, have you come to grace us with your presence?” he slurred, drooling a little.
Allira could only stare. Was this the man that blushingly had given her a rose and talked about licking lamp posts instead of sex?
“Err, hello to you too Alistair,” she answered brightly. Hearing a snicker, she turned to Oghren who grinned back and wiggled his fingers at her.
“Oghren, you’re not half as drunk as he is, are you?”
“Nope, can’t say I am.”
She looked at Alistair who was smiling at her, possibly in what he would consider a charming manner. It looked ridiculous and his mouth was hanging open. She fought hard with herself not to admit that he looked rather sweet.
“Won’t you join us, oh tempestuous beauty and killer of darkspawn? We could play one of those games where everyone takes their clothes off?”
Raising her eyebrows Allira stared at him. He would pay for that. No special reason, he just…had to pay.
“Oh blast it. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway,” she finally huffed, and walked away again.
She settled herself in her old spot next to the fire and reached for her bow again. If stupid Alistair wanted to get stupid drunk with a damned dwarf, he very well could. It was not her mission in life to save him from stuff like that. Indeed it wasn’t!
Some more time passed and then she heard it.
She had never dreaded the roars and raucous laughs of the darkspawn, she had faced dragons and Revenants without flinching. But this was a sound that she had never thought she would hear in her lifetime, nor had she ever wanted to.
Alistair was giggling. Like a little girl.
Usually when he laughed, it was smooth and perhaps a bit throaty. Yes, she had noticed, she admitted to herself. She might even have shivered or experience a little flutter in her stomach. But this sound, this was an abomination of a laugh; of any sound of merriment.
“Oghren, you even tell better dirty tales than Allira!” she then heard him exclaim, followed by more giggling.
She had had enough of this, she was going to bed. And perhaps moving her tent a few extra feet away, too make sure she was out of earshot of the drunken frolicking. And then the next day, she was going to confiscate all the liquor that Oghren was carrying around, and force him to clean his armour with it.
And then she would make sure that Alistair stayed sober for the rest of his days.
Much later, Alistair was only a bit confused at finding a warm sleeping body already occupying his bedroll. It smelled nice too. And clearly a warm and nice-smelling someone was preferable, than to sleep alone? It was quite logical.
He was asleep as soon as he had wrapped himself around the warm body.
Allira woke because she was too warm. It had rarely happened before, and the reason was obvious and impossible to ignore.
She was lying very close to someone warm. It was a person, she gathered, because it was making softly snoring noises. This someone had also clasped her quite tightly to itself. She was laying on her side and the other warm body was spooning her closely.
When she wriggled a little and looked down, she could se the arm wrapped around her middle. She recognized the hand. After all, she had been looking at it covertly every chance she got.
Alistair.
Perhaps not so surprising, after all. One tent might look alike to another when it was dark and you had had too much to drink. Yeah, that was probably it. She sighed, and then wriggled a bit more to see if he would let go.
But it didn’t seem like it. In fact, his hold only tightened and he burrowed his nose into her hair with a very content sigh and a murmur.
Then it happened. His hand rose from her stomach and trailed an intimate path over her hip, all the way up her side, and then skimmed over her breasts to come back and rest on her stomach. Another content sigh followed.
Was he awake? He was never this forward, or anything remotely this physical with her otherwise? He had to be asleep. Her hammering heart agreed with her. The implications of him being awake and doing that were…something for another day.
But still, she had to be sure.
“Alistair?” she said.
The only answer was another soft sigh and a shuffling noise as he tried to move even closer to her. She wiggled a bit more, frustrated that he was asleep, and that she couldn’t move, and that he obviously had mistaken which tent he was in. Botheration, why couldn’t he just tell her he liked her and be done with it.
Then she felt something hard against the small of her back, and nearly yelped in surprise.
Well. Perhaps he did like her after all. But however interesting the situation was, she knew she had to get out before things got even more interesting.
Summoning all her strength, she pushed back at him, until she felt his weight shift, and he fell back on his back, releasing her.
At the same moment someone with heavy plate boots kicked one of the tent poles, making the whole structure tremble and wobble. Oghrens raspy voice was heard, in what was obviously a bad attempt at a stage whisper.
“Hey, Alistair. I think I helped you to the wrong tent last night…Does Allira know you’re there?”
Alistair woke to screams and raucous laughter. The tent, which bedrolls he did not recognize, nor did he remember how he got there, smelled pleasant, like flowers. When he crawled out, the world was a mad place and he realised that his head hurt immensely.
Their brave and fearless leader was only dressed in her shift, and was hunting Oghren around the camp, screaming bloody murder and throwing things at him, while he laughed so much he could hardly run. The others were watching, in various degrees of undress and fascination, only Zevran and Leliana was laughing. Wynne was scowling.
With a groan, Alistair fell back into the tent.
He was never going to drink again. It made the world too interesting.