Mar. 1st, 2013

questionablewit: (business)
[personal profile] questionablewit
Kirkwall nights are never quiet, particularly in Lowtown. But as Kirkwall nights go, this one isn't bad. Hawke's spent a pleasant evening at the Hanged Man, laughing and drinking piss-poor beer and getting the pants beat off of her (almost literally) by Isabela, who's better at cheating in Wicked Grace than she is. So she's in a fairly mellow mood as she starts her walk home.

Because Kirkwall nights are never quiet, she's not drunk, and she's visibly armed and armored. Because she's Champion, not many people bother her. There are always a few lowlifes around who never learn, who have a vendetta or want to make a name for themselves by trying to take down one of Kirkwall's more visible residents. But no one seems inclined to try tonight.

Hawke's almost sorry. At this rate she'll make it home, go to bed, and the entire day will have passed without anything noteworthy happening at all. That's a rare thing and perhaps she should appreciate it, but Hawke hates being bored. Her eyes dart everywhere as she walks the streets towards Hightown, glancing at rooftops and down alleyways. Admittedly, that's less her looking for something of interest and more prudence. One reason Hawke manages to stay alive is that she puts some effort into being aware of her surroundings.

Besides, she might be wrong about the night not being noteworthy.
questionablewit: (clear gaze)
[personal profile] questionablewit
Hawke would never have believed there'd be a time when she would miss the junkstation. How do you miss a place held together largely by duct-tape which could fall apart at any minute, leaving you floating in the Void?

Answer: by going to ground in a similarly ratty (with some actual rats, or at least rat-like rodents, which at least keeps Teo happy chasing them) colony, except in this one they have to live in a state of constant paranoia because the Fay'lia are after them. Brilliant. It was perhaps inevitable that the Fay'lia would get around to destroying Senburu-Trati'salan, but the way they enjoy finding and squishing the refugees who made it out is almost insulting.

Still, there are...compensations. For one thing, the food's better here (which isn't saying much). And Hawke has no complaints about her company. Except perhaps exhaustion.

Bigger bed than she had on the station, too, which is fortunate. Hawke stretches her arms above her head, musing. "How long have we been here now, blue eyes?"

Never did find a more creative nickname. Hawke really should be ashamed of herself.

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