Participants:

Carver_icon.gif Carys_icon.gif Varric_icon.gif Bethany_icon.gif

Scene Title Can I Walk You Home?
Synopsis Carys and Carver are worse than 15 year olds at prom. Carys gets Carver work. And Bethany is generally a very good sister.
Location The Hanged Man/Lowtown Slums
Date 18 Solace 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Rain. Drunken flirting by hopeless fools.
Logger Carver

For The Hanged Man, today is pretty quiet. No one is even fighting at the moment. A card game in the corner, some dice near the front, but it's mostly just quiet drinking. Which suits Carver just fine. He just wanted some time out of the house he's sharing with way too many people. And he had a little spare coin from one of his last jobs. Some ale wasn't out of place. So he sits near the bar, obviously Ferelden. He has yet to find anything of higher quality than his issue as a man at arms had been, so he's kept it.

Hey, people, did you know someone opened up a damn cloud outside? No? Well, they did. And guess who got caught in it? This chick. This chick that pushes open the door to the Hanged Man looking like she might've been on the receiving end of the whole bucket-over-the-door prank. Save, buckets usually don't carry the amount of water that it seems has been dumped on this poor woman's noggin. She is SOAKED. To the point that, as she walks to the bar (which strangely enough /does/ seem similar to stalking), causes her armor to squeak uncomfortably. Her hair's fallen out of it's bindings and has pretty much just clung to her face, leaving only just a bit here and there for her to be able to see where the hell she's going. She takes a seat, not caring who she may be bugging in the process, of if she's somebody's new drinking neighbor, and folds her hands on the table. "Put me in a coma," she grumbles from behind that veil of clingy curly hair to the bar tender. "Oh. It's rainin'," she oh so helpfully adds.

Carver doesn't actually mind unexpected drinking partners, generally. And with this woman looking like a drowned rat, he really can't hold it against her. "So it seems." He says with a small laugh, "At leas you're inside now." Amused, Carver punctuates with a drink of ale bitter enough that its obvious in its very aroma.

Carys glances upwards towards the ceiling. "Well, here's t'hopin' this place keeps it's roof kept." At this point she finally yanks the gloves off her hands and uses her fingers to push her hair out of the way. She does this with a flick motion that runs the risk of flicking water about. A customary 'Sorry' is given when something that smells appropriate of turpentine is placed before her. And like her usual MO - thinking doesn't happen before she takes the shotglass and tosses it back and then… promptly facefaults on the bar-counter. "Okay, I said 'coma' not 'dead'," she wheezes between coughs.

"Around here, that seems to be the same thing." Carver says with a laugh, reaching over to pat Carys on the back in the sort of comraderie that only comes with sitting together at a bar. But he's Ferelden he's used to rain. It didn't seem people were quite as accustomed up here.

There's a cough or three afterwards, and she allows the backpatting (apparently she's not as prickly as people invading her personal space as some - goes with the lifestyle). "Yeah, but what if I /want/ t'enjoy the murdering hangover in the mornin, right?" She flashes a grin towards the man here. "Usually don't get gales like this," she tilts her head. "Which…might've already passed." Kirkwall! IF you don't like the weather, wait five minutes! "Ostwick's like that," she points out, half-randomly as she taps her glass to get a refill. "Gonna make for a slippery walk home, that's for sure. Hope y'don't have far t'go." They likely have similar accents, but Carys's is tempered by having already spent time in the Free Marches - and she kind of half-assed speaks anyway. "New here?" She indicates the bar in general - which could also be a way to suggest the city-state itself.

"Little more than a year." Carver answers. Seems either his accent is stubborn or he's fought to keep it unaltered by the hard R's and unrounded vowels of the Free Marches. Finishing his drink, he waves down another. "I'm Carver, by the way." He says easily. Seems the youngest Hawke sibling is in a decent mood tonight. That's something, at least.

Carys lets out a bit of a laugh-it's light and unmocking-at the time frame. "Longer'n I have!" she says,t he grin she's sporting now sneaking into her tone as whatever stormy mood she walked in has started to fade. She downs the second shot with less dramatics (IE: no coughing) and she offers, "Carys. Pleased t'meet you, Carver." Her nose does wrinkle slightly, a physical indication she's turning the name over in her head. However, perhaps thankfully, no commentary is forthcoming. It's probably a nickname.

"Oh, really?" Carver asks, sounding interested. Maybe it's the ale talking, or maybe he's just really amused by the sopping wet woman beside him. "How long have you been in the city?"

Holding up a hand, she counts on her fingers… and answers his question with a "… dammit, my fingers are prunin'." She wrinkles her nose and then she looks to the tender, "Somethin' not so coma-inducin'." She fiddles with her fingers for a few moments then it seems to dawn on her that she was asked a question that she didn't /quite/ answer. "'bout a month an' a half. Came by way of Ostwick. Don't go there, it's boring."

Carver laughs, shaking his head. "Is it? I'll note that. Though, I don't think I'm going to be travelling much of anywhere any time soon." He says. Kirkwall has only just recently started to feel even the smallest bit like home, and even then, that was a stretch. Leaving now surely wouldn't help his predicament.

Her nose wrinkles. "I might stick around. Place looks like it could use someone' like me," she absently notes, leaving off what someone 'like her' really is. A mug of mystery liquid is set before her and she sips this experimentally befor taking another drink. "I guess Kirkwall's okay. Kind'a… gloomy, though."

"Tell me about it." Carver says, sounding as bitter as his ale. "The place is a Maker forsaken mess, is what it is." It seems he's going to let he comment about 'people like her' lie. Maybe he didn't notice it, maybe he's just taking her word for it.

Crossing her arms and leaning against the bartop, she eyes him with a curious tilt of her head. "You sound like you got /stories/ of this place," she points out. She notes the bitterness and the comment about it being a mess and she takes a stab, "You a guard?"

Again, Carver laughs, and shakes his head. "No." He answers simply, "Mercenary at best." And oh Maker does he sound bitter about that too. Which, as he's sitting there in military issue, is likely unsurprising why.

Carys's brows arch upwards and then she thumbs behind her, upstairs and hopefully towards one of the suites. "There's this dwarf who's hirin' for a Deep Roads expedition… You should check t'see if he's still got room on the sign up sheet." She pauses. "I mean, if Deep Roads is your thing. There's /stuff/ down there, yanno. Darkspawn, funky lizards… Giant…" She pauses and gulps loudly, her already pale skin seeming to blanche further and she takes a drink from her mug, and squeaks out "Spiders." She ahems then and goes back to conversational tone. "But yeah, you should totally check it out if it's up yer alley."

"Oh, is there?" Carver says. For a moment, his gaze sort of glazes over with memory. It sets his jaw stiff, but he comes back to reality only a moment later. "Likely not a terrible idea." Because, well, the Deep Roads did tend to pay off. Terrible, awful things, but he'd fought Darkspawn before… Right?

EAsily distracted yes, oblivious? Not usually. When Carver seems to display the expression of taking a trip down Memory Lane, Carys's brows arch upwards slightly and she kind of tilts her head as if to watch his features a bit more closely. It lasts maybe a blink of an eye, but she notes it. "Giant mutant Spiders bug me too," she says, and there's a chance she's deliberately focusing on the creepy eight-legged fearks instead of something that would make more sense for a Ferelden native in Kirkwall. Like, y'know, Darkspawn. "Yea but…um…" She snaps her fingers then yelps when it turns out snapping fingers while fingers are all soft from water kind of makes it sting. While shaking her hand now, she continues, "Um… um… Varric. Yeah, that's his name. Varric Tethras. Hangs out up there - look him up. Way I look at it, considerin' the destination, one can never have too many people who are halfway decent at swingin' a giant chunk of metal." She then claps her hands. "An' it gives me someone else to hide behind." Yeah, she owns up to that /now/, but that grin she gives could suggest she may just as likely to be Leeroy Jenkinsing it as well.

Carys and Carver are chatting at the bar. Carys looks like a drowned rat. She also has just commented about Varric; he's apparently the current topic of conversation. That is until Carys gets distracted by her drink and it suddenly tasting weird and Carver got distracted by something other than Drowned Rat Thieves bitching about her drink.

Speak of the handsome devil, you'll see his chest hair. Varric returns to the bar from his suite at just about the time he's mentioned. It's like magic, if dwarves could do magic. He glances about the bar and then heads for a spot near Carys and Carver. "Well hello there, Jenny. I see you have company today." Which is a tease about her having company today, really.

Varric gets a doubletake when he shows up and Carys actually looks surprised. "Where'd you…?" She stands up on her stool and glances around as if she could figure out what corner Varric was hiding in. "Huh." She pauses and then announces, "Choclate cake!" But alas… unlike dwarf mentioning, chocolate cake does not randomly appear. Sigh. Settling back down on her stool she does her good duty for the day. "It's rainin' outside. Or it was. It might'a stopped now it got me all soaked."

But more to the point, she nods. "Yeah, that's Carver," she says this quietly so she does not bother the other Ferelden in his conversation, which seem to have suddenly become of import for the young man. "He said he was a Mercenary, so I was tellin' him about your thingy in case you need more, y'know." She flexes her arm. "Muscle."

Varric laughs. "You need a towel?" Without waiting for an answer, he nods toward one of the servers to indicate the drenched thief. "Well, maybe I should give you a recruiting bonus if you're gonna bring in hires for me. We could still use a few people to swing swords at scary things. When you're friend over there is done talking, we should talk."

Yay Towel! Somehow it seemed to have failed to dawn on her to get one of these! "I dunno," she notes whoever's got Carver's attention. "Mine are /totally/ bigger." Is this said to herself? To Varric? To the bartender? TOWEL! She towels her hair dry. Problem is it's wet, and it's curly so when she removes it she has HAIR EVERYWHERE. "… I don't think it works for me," her eyes cross as a curl falls on her forehead and against the bridge of her nose. "Oh /totally/," she says more on topic to Varric. "Way I see it, more people who can do that, the safer everyone is. So… Yeah, no, don't worry 'bout recruitment things. Bein' safe should, theoretically, it's own reward." She pauses. "Or…somethin' like that." But it seems that she's genuine about waving off any monetary thanks for turning people towards Varric.

The conversation was relatively short. Carver making a pass, girl in passing humoring him, and then letting him down gently. Eh, such was the way sometimes. And as she makes her departure, Carver turns his attention back to Carys. Who has acquired herself company. Carver blinks. "We wouldn't have happened to have summoned the very dwarf you were talking about, did we?" He asks, laughing quietly.

Varric nods to Carys. "Suit yourself. I'm all for not getting eaten by anything." When Carver speaks, the dwarf grins. "Junior, I'm the only magic you'll find in the entire race. I heard you were interested in hiring on with us. Jenny here seems to think you'll help us not get hit by ugly things who want to eat us."

Carys just shakes her head at the whole random chick thing. Boys, go fig. And hers are /still/ bigger. "This is Varric," she answers Carver easily. "And this is Carver." See? She can do Introductions. And she just gets this little impish wrinkle of her nose to go with her grin at the nickname Varric's taken to calling her. For some reason, this just tickles her fancy /way/ too much.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've fought Darkspawn." Carver says, and then nods when his introduction is given. Though he hadn't quite managed to conceal the wince at that nickname. Had Bethany stuck a sign on his back that reads 'baby brother' or something? He wouldn't put it past her. Or Kailen, for that matter.

"Junior, I'll take 'have fought guys bigger than me and won', but if you've taken on Darkspawn and won't wet your pants? I'll hire you." Varric isn't going to explain the nickname, he never does. He gives them out and they stick "I'll at least pay for your ale, Jenny. I can't let it be said I don't pay people for their services."

Carys lets out a whistle at the admission of having already taken on Darkspawn, but she does give a slight nod as if she was confirming to herself her suspicion of what caused him to pause prior. "Best I've done is taken on a bunch'a hungry people with knives." Her nose wrinkles here before she glances to Varric. "Okay, I won't protest you buyin' our drinks," she puts on her best 'IF I MUST' tone for Varric. Look at how put out she is at having to save money here.

Carver laughs. "Well, done that one too. But that was before the army." He says, shaking his head. Nevermind that Bethany was definitely not going to let him go alone. But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. "Are you looking for more hands? I have…" He pauses a moment, "Some people who might be interested. Or, at least, wouldn't be inclined to let me go without them." There's a smirk then to Carys. "Is it just the rain that drives you to drinking?"

"Don't worry, Jenny. If anyone asks? I'll tell them I forced you, kicking and screaming all the way to the ale tap," Varric assures, then laughs. "Well, that's more honest than most. I like you, Junior. The truth is I do have room for a few more and, if you know a staff-user or two? Well, I'm looking for those too. I'd ask for mages, but the circle isn't renting those out."

"I drink all the time. It's my hobby." Carys pauses. "It's a great way to meet interestin' people, don't you think?" She tilts her head at Carver and blinks those violet eyes once. But then she breaks her expression with that huge grin and a little laugh at Varric. "Oh wow, can you just see the contract if they did? You'd be readin' fine print until you died of old age."

At that question, Carver blinks. "Uh… Yeah… Actually… I know a couple." He says, punctuating with a long drink that finishes his ale. He waves for another. He had not been expecting that at all. But, well, if it worked out, it worked out.

"Well, then. You're just one big bundle of good news, aren't you Junior?" Varric laughs at Carys' comment. "And by the time you reached that point, they would have changed it three or four times. Well, if you'll both excuse me, I want to go write this down in the ledger before I forget." Like he ever forgets ANYTHING. "Why don't the two of you have another. Call it a signing bonus. You can sign when you're done." With that, the dwarf is off again. He's a busy sort of guy for as lazy as he tries to look.

Carver has some of the types Varric's looking for? Carys throws her arms in the air in a total WIN! Guesture, complete with 'Whoohoo!'. She scored! Point one for Carys. "Don't mind if I do," she says about having another drink and she's already got the mug filled by the tender and working on moving the contents to her blood stream. And no, there is absolutely no blinking or pausing or whatever about the fact they were talking about mages and Carver apparently knows a couple. Once the mug's half gone, she sets it down, lets out one of the most unlady like belches possible and then excuses herself in a very polite manner. "Take care, boss. Need anything, hollar!" She then beams a smile towards Carver. "See? Adventure abounds! Ain't it great?"

Carver nods. "Thanks." He thinks he's supposed to be thankful, anyway, but this was the Deep Roads they were talking about and Carver wasn't stupid enough to be excited. But needs must, and he couldn't handle living how they were right now anymore and expeditions like this were lucrative. "I'll find you when I'm done. Assuming I'm not at this to the point that I forget how to spell my name." He says, and continues with the drinking. "Great? Is that the word we're using?"

Varric laughs as he makes his way toward the back. "Junior, if you get that far in just come back to me when you wake up. This is my home." Literally. He lives there. "You got it, Jenny. If you find any more prospects, just bring them in." Well, things are starting to look more interesting for this little expedition.

Carys shrugs here but gives Carver a bright smile. "Could be otherwise. I mean… it's work. It gets you outta Kirkwall. Sure… you might get your /face/ eaten but… Meh. Details, right?" She then places her elbow on the bartop and props her chin in her palm, giving a pleased as punch expression.

"I suppose. It's pay, and that's really what I'm concerned with." Carver answers with a deep breath. "Though I could definitely use some time out of this city." Though he pleased little expression does draw his eye. A little like the way that he was distracted with that girl before. Maybe it's something about the now riotous curls? Who knows.

And Carys really couldn't care less about what her hair's doing right now. But it does have the horrible tendency right now of bouncing with every, er, bouncy move she makes. "He puts forth a good deal," she says of the pay. "Even offers a finders' fee if you find anythin' nifty. I'm actually kind of excited t' be going… even though, y'know…" Deep Roads. With those Giant Spiders. That'll probably be replaced with Darkspawn the moment she actually has her first encounter but for now, the biggest problem is the spiders. Ew. She does seem that she's missing whatever eye drawing that might've been done, but her cheeks are gaining a little bit of color - probably the drink. Maybe. "So, good friends of yours?" She asks of the people he knows, those aforementioned staff types.

It's a relatively quiet night at the Hanged Man currently. Most people just sticking to their quiet games and conversations. AT the bar, Carver and Carys seem to be engaged in a conversation of their own.

"I mean, I'm not going to tell you not to be, but I can promise you that there's little be excited about in the prospect of Darkspawn." Carver says, drinking deeply again. He shrugs then. "Yeah, you could say that." He says, though he doesn't seem to linger to on the topic of who those aforementioned folk are. No, he's just going to smile a little at the color coming to Carys's face.

"Well… umm," Carys seems to have a bit of ale stuck in the back of her throat and she gives a little bit of a cough before she abently plays with the buckle holding up her chain-arm guards. "It seems like it's a 'can use all the help we can get' thing. You sure they'll sign up?" The bridge of her nose seems to have gotten some color too. Has to be the drink, not the fact her blush has been noted and reacted to. Nonono…not the drink - it's because she's scratching the bridge of her nose! Damn wet skin. It gets itchy. That's totally what it is.

Carver shrugs. "At the very least they'll try and talk me out of going. But probably? I'm not completely certain, but I've a mind that they would." Because, well, he knows his siblings. And maybe, just maybe, their mother could talk one of them into staying home, but not both.

"Huh, that's a shame," Carys says, her brow furrowing as if she's trying to imagine what it would be like to have someone try to talk her /out/ of some of the crazy shit she gets herself into. "But think of the help you could do if you go, right? Maybe you could focus on that if they do try t'talk you out of it." She gives a little nod here, then frowns as some of those damn curls fall back into her face. She puffs her cheeks and blows her hair out of her line of sight. "NOte to self: Ponytail holders that don't snap."

Speaking of just such one sibling. Bethany Hawke steps inside the Hanged Man, not quite soaking wet from the rain outside, but, you know, it's not great. Any potential jeers from the drunken peanut gallery about this state are promptly ignored. The middle Hawke sighs, apparently having been caught out at something or another without a cloak or anything like it to speak of. She's in her armor and carrying a shaped piece of wood, which is short enough to pass as a walking stick, but could work as a staff in a real pinch. Eyes scan the room for a moment before falling on Carys… and Carver? Oh goodie. "I was wondering what you'd get up to on a day like this." She says as she walks over to the pair. "Should have known to check here first." She comes to a stop within her twin's personal space, or at least what looks like personal space for regular people, but, well, twins. For Carys however there's a smile. "It's been a while. How've you been?"

The jeers across the room get Carver's attention pretty quick. When he then notices they are directed at his twin sister there is a very obvious raising of hackles. Obvious enough, in fact, that there is even an audible growl to go with it. And with the fact that Bethany's shirt is white and she is now wet, the youngest Hawke sighs heavily. Shrugging out of his mantle, he offers it to his sister. With how broad his shoulders are, it'll cover her well enough, if she acquiesces and uses it. "Look, I had free time and it's gotten me work…" Carver says, defending his choice of spending the afternoon in a bar.

For some reason known only to Carys, Bethany's arrival and Carver's attention to her just causes Carys to /laugh/. For some reason. Her hand's covered her upper face so she can't really take the time to note any similarities between the two physically. Which is probably why she's laughing. At least Carys was wearing her armor and it's really hard to have a Wet-Dress contest when you're running around in /chainmail/. She doesn't help the whole 'stop the dudes from being dicks' area because… she's a woman and they don't tend to listen to other /girls/. Assmunches. So yeah, let Carver deal with that, she'll try to answer Bethany in between gales of 'This is just my luck' laughter. "Been good, been good! How 'bout you? See you got caught in that deluge too, huh?" Still too busy having her face covered and laughing to realize she's jumped to the complete opposite conclusion than what's going on.

Bethany quirks an eyebrow at Carys, having no inkling at all as to why her entrance has been met with such glorious laughter. Did she really look that funny? That thought makes her cheeks turn pink. "It looked fine this morning when I went to Sundermount." Bethany grumbles. 'It' being the sky. However then Carver's mentioned work and Bethany turns her attention to her brother. "Oh? What did you find? And should I be coming along to make sure you don't get yourself killed?"

Carys's laughter gets an almost identical raise of Carver's eyebrow. In unison, even. Twins. A slight cant of his head, before he focuses on pulling the goldenrod mantle over Bethany's shoulders so the men in the front corner can stop staring and he can stop wanting to break noses. "Was rather sudden, the rain, so it seems." He says, clearing his throat. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell Mother."

One can just /sense/ The Brow getting raised. In Stereo even. This is enough cause for Carys to try to pay attention to the pair. The way Carver uses the word 'Mother' also seems to seep into Carys's brain long enough to needle her enough to eye the pair now. You know, maybe there is a similarity there. "Not your girlfriend I take it?" She asks Carver before she does finally glance towards the front corner where such rude gentlemen are. "Yeah, rain does that," she tells Bethany. "I walked in here lookin' like I was havin' the time of my life in the harbor." She casually withdraws one of her daggers from her back and works on cleaning the grit from her nails. It's likely just coincidence she's turned so she's now watching the catcalling group. She's paying attention to her NAILS after all. It also keeps her from 'helping' Carver explain his newfound work.

"I promise no such thing." Bethany says with perhaps the tinsiest bit of outrage at Carver's request. "Really, brother, you know me better than that." Even as she's saying it she's pulling her brother's mantle tighter over her shoulders, not only does it take her out of the wet t-shirt contest, the blighted thing is warm. Then, then it would seem that Carys' comment catches up to her. Aside from her mouth hanging slightly open for a few seconds while she tries to wrap her head around that idea, gives up, and shoves it into a corner, she handles it with aplomb. "No." She says simply before adding, "Carver and I are twins." She looks dead at Carver, than at Carys then back to Carver again, "Am I interrupting something?"

It doesn't take Carver quite as long to catch that question, and he handles it with several shades less dignity. "Oh Maker, no…" He says, recoiling at the thought, "No, no." And it's up to Bethany to provide explanation of them being twins and he's just gonna take a minute to drink the thought of that particular disgust away. The shock also buys him time in answering Bethany's question about his work. The ale is gone all at once. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "I…" To Bethany, blinking, "What? No… I…" Clearing his throat, there is a subtle blush that Carver fails to keep down. Real smooth, Junior.

Carys deserves a medal. Or an award. The combined reactions to her question should have sent her into another fit of laughter. The kind that tends to land her on her ass on the floor rolling around. She manages to to just choke the laughter down and she nods. "Ah, I see. My bad," she waves a hand. But Bethany seems to have some subtle revenge with her own question…but Carys is able to handle it better than Carver. But she does seem to share the whole 'I'm going to sit here and blush'. "Oh, no. Um… nothin' like that." She coughs a little bit here, "Just sharin' a drink, havin' a conversation. But… sometimes it pays t'be safe, right?" And…. Carys just has horrible luck when it comes to flirting with guys - they usually aren't in a position to flirt /back/! She ahems a bit and seems to think carver has the right idea in the whole 'finish your drink so you stop stammering like a dolt' area. So, yeah, she's going to … finish her drink and stop stammering like a dolt!

"I… it's alright. Reasonable mistake I suppose." Bethany begins, "We just don't get that one too often." There's no subtle revenge about it, more potential embarrassment on her part. Watching the two of them stammer and eventually wind up face first in their ale doesn't exactly help her assumption, despite what both of them have said. "Right." she says slowly, mostly focusing on Carver. "Whatever it is you don't want me to tell mother about, promise me you'll really think about it before you do it? Or talk to Kailen at least? He's not exactly responsible, but he's better at it than you." She moves to give back Carver's mantle before thinking twice about it. "Mind if I borrow this to get home?"

"He is not." Carver snaps near immediately before sighing, "I mean, I'm going to talk to you about it too." Carver says, taking a breath, "But we'll talk about it later." Because he's not about to just say that his sister is one of the people that wouldn't be keen on letting him go without them. Because, well, that had come up when Varric asked if he knew and any 'staff wielders' and he's actually pretty keen on keeping that secret. "Yeah, take it."

There's a tilt of her head for a moment, her drink empty. "Y'sure you don't want t'stay?" She asks Bethany, since it seems like the woman's gearing on making an exit. "I mean, y'just got here! Might still be rainin' an' all." And there's just this choked snort sound from her as she again manages to suppress (barely) laughter at Bethany commenting about Carver's responsible tendencies. … Or lack there of. "Don't worry, I know worse." She probably IS worse.

Thank the Maker for small favors, both Carver being keen on keeping her secret and Bethany /finally/ having a place to go swing her staff around, because all this hiding from templats was getting itchy. Not that she knew that yet. She shakes her head, offering a kind smile to Carys, "No, but thank you. Our older brother is inevitably getting into trouble somewhere and someone has to go help mother deal with Gamlen." Bethany remarks with a roll of her eyes at her uncle's name. "Besides, Carver and I drinking together doesn't end well."

"That's not true either." Carver says, "There was that bottle of wine the other day. When we met that kid…" Not that Bethany had drank any of the stolen wine. And not that Carver had noticed. None the less, he just shrugs. "Get home safe, alright?" He says, glancing only a moment over at the once-rowdy corner.

"…Sounds like a bloke I should likely steer away from," Carys comments when 'Gamlen' is said with an eyeroll. She then Pfts lightly, waving Bethany off. "Nah, I'd be here an' I'm enough of a drunken fool for the both of you, so you'd be fine." There's that smile again, bright and impish. Her nose wrinkles a little bit when Carver eyes the group from before. "Don't worry 'bout them. They get up and follow you," she's kind of assuming that Brother instincts will take over and Bethany'll be getting an escort, "They'll get reminded that things like, y'know, bad water, can make a night really bad really quick." Her nose wrinkles slightly before she attempts her 'I wouldn't have anything to do with it, promise' look. This… probably fails on a grand scale.

Bethany looks at the rowdy corner of jackasses, then looks back at Carver with a 'pfft' sort of expression on her face as well. He knows just how poorly things like harassing her can go for people, just that she has to be quiet about those consequences. "I promise I'll get home safe." She says to assuage him either way. She smiles at Carys, "Don't enable him with getting into /too/ much trouble. For me? Please?" She says, though the smile doesn't waiver. "As for Gamlen, you're probably right." Bethany remarks before turning and starting towards the door. "Wish me luck." She says over her shoulder to Carver, about Gamlen assumedly.

Brother instincts were a thing Carver certainly had in solid measure, but he does not move to follow his sister out. It wasn't that far of a walk, and Bethany wasn't a child anymore. Though he does watch that corner still as she leaves. "Good luck." He calls after his twin with a small smile. And then he's waving for another drink. Too much trouble, indeed. He'd likely get there with or without Carys's help.

Carys tries not to look too disappointed that she's not being afforded the opportunity to slip some sort of oil into the guys' drinks, but well… Probably better for everyone all around. She does wave to Bethany as she heads out before she tilts her head to Carver. "Sure she'll be alright?" She asks, the worry in her tone genuine.

"Yeah, she'll be fine." Carver says, but only after it's obvious no one has followed his sister out of the bar. "She's more capable than you might think." There's a smirk then. "I carry the giant sword, but I'd be more afraid of her if I were them."

Carys lets out a laugh with that and she nods appreciatively. "Fair enough," she says. "I can get behind that. I mean, giant sword… y'kind'a know what t'expect from that, right? Person doesn't show what they tend t'use, it's hard t'predict how a scuffle'll go. Easy for them t'get the advantage over you." She hrms a bit thoughtfully, her hand resting against her chin. "I didn't see anything obvious," she muses, but where that line of thinking is taking her, she's not exactly stating that outloud.

"She's subtle." Carver says, drinking deep of his new ale. And that's all he's going to say on that front. He smirks, looking over to Carys. "But I had just gotten you blushing when my sister showed up." Rare form, tonight.

"Huh?" She blinks once or twice at him, owlishly. Words are digested and she coughs, and scratches that mess of hair at the base of her neck. "Ah! Haha, yeah, you, uh… Wow. um." She swallows a bit and damned for being so damn pale - red shows up really easy. "This ale's great!" The problem is, she hadn't taken a drink, and now she's drumming her fingers idly. "Can't… recall what you said that started that… Sure I wasn't just…itchin' my nose or anything?"

"I mean, you were." Carver says, his smirk turning into a grin, and coming along with a good natured laugh. "Though I don't think it was about what I was saying." He says, leaning back from the bar and reaching brush a wayward curl from her face. Definitely the ale talking at this point.

"I can't remember what you were sayin', t'be honest," she ends up joining the laugh shaking her head a bit. She turns and orders for refills on their drinks. "Were we still talkin' about the expedition or what?" Her nose wrinkles a little as she takes a drink. The moving of the stray curl causes her to pause and she finds herself giggling slightly, her head ducking somewhat bashfully, seeming not to have quite as much of an idea on how to /respond/ to something, as opposed to an ease to which she was able to initiate. "S-so… One of three children?"

"I was, but it's not important." Carver says, seemingly pleased with her bashfulness. Well done, Carys, you've managed to find a flirting partner who isn't terminally unavailable. Carver nods, though, at her question. "Yep. Youngest by seven and a half minutes. Bethany loves to remind me."

It's the end of the world at this rate. She pushes her hair back and tries to twist it into a bun while she talks. "That could get tiresome," she says of being reminded constantly about who's the eldest in a set of twins. "But you've got t'have ways t'get back at her for it, right? AT least, that's how I hear siblings work. I'd be more worried about your older brother. Always hear stories about the oldest bein' a pain t'the youngest."

"Kailen is, in fact, an absolute menace." Carver says, though it's a shrug and a lack of heat that says that yes, he does still love his brother. "And I have plenty of ways. Nailed her braid to her bed once when we were younger. Not quite that much of an ass anymore." Usually. Okay, that might just be a lie.

Carys finds herself laughing and kind of leans to shoulder bump the man lightly before returning to her seat as she orders another drink. "Nailing her hair? What'd she do t'deserve /that/?" she says with a grin, somewhat torn between horrified (OMG HAIR) and being impressed and filing it away for later. She then repeats the brother's name as if filing it away and then her nose wrinkles as a thought occurs to her. It goes, for the moment, unvoiced. "Not 'that much' of an ass, eh?"

"Oh Maker, that had to have been ten years ago, I don't remember." Carver says with a hearty laugh, "She remembers it though, brings it up when I've been a prat." Seems he can handle his sister's ribbing a lot better than whatever it is that Kailen does to drive him up the wall. "Yeah, you know, it's sort of my job, right? Being the youngest. I'm basically obligated to being an ass."

She shrugs a bit here. "I wouldn't know. I don't have brothers or sisters," as far as she's aware. Maybe she's one of a bazillion half siblings and was just the lucky one to grow up on her own. "I thought the youngest one was supposed t'sit around and look cute?" She clasps her hands together and clasps them to her chest and whips out her 'Begging Orphan Pathetic' brand of cute-expression. It likely doesn't have the same effect as she's no longer eight years old, but it should still get the whole 'I'm the baby of the family!' point across. Maybe.

"That method never really worked out for me." Carver says with a small laugh. None the less, Carys gets a nod. "Though, for an only child, you put on that act well." Necessity and all, not that Carver knows.

There's a smirk here. "Yeah, well…" There's a shrug there, the motion to keep her from speaking too much. There is a bit of a weird hesitancy and for one she isn't being overly forthright about her upbringing. "It's a gift, what can I say. When you need t'get somethin, break out the 'I'm cute'… doesn't work too much as an adult though." She wrinkles her nose as if she was considering what the adult 'equivalent' of 'looking pathetically cute on command' might be.

"Yeah, I imagine that tactic becomes a lot more unsavory." Carver says. He doesn't imagine. He knows. He knows full well what the other, unacceptable, options for paying their way into Kirkwall had been. He doesn't linger on the thought. "Are we both the sort that's bad at keeping drunk talking simple? Cause…" Carver shrugs, "I think we might be."

Carys is quiet for a moment before she regards him. "Wanna know the truth?" She's already shaking slightly withs urpressed laughter. And she blurts it out whether the answer's yes or no, "I'm not used t'guys keepin' up with the whole…" Hand waving she tries to gesture, tipsily and physically, to her lame flirting attempts of earlier, "Usually I get 'I'm not int' girls'." And then she gestures, "Another mug or we gonna call it a night before I gotta carry you home?"

Carver laughs. "Really?" He says, "I'm…" He blinks, "I'm shocked. Well, I'm plenty into girls." He drains the last of his mug with the unspoken 'plenty into you, too.' Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. "No, I don't think I need another, and you don't have to carry me home. Though, could I walk you home?" There's definitely an implication there, but he's also not pushy while he's at it.

"You'd just as soon end up finding yourself hangin' from a Gallows statue by your small clothes while I painted 'em as you were t'get home." How Carys would get 'lost' THAT badly, Maker only knows. "Well, I dunno, you look like I might have trouble gettin' you on a hand so… maybe not…" She then laughs lightly at the offer, the teasing about stringing people up on statues relaxing, "Ah I think I can find my way ho - " Implication THEN hits and she blinks and just stares at him for a moment. Yup, this is as total 'I AM NOT USED TO THIS' clicking in. This might have just hit 'Run to find her BFF Templar and flail because she doesn't know what to do' levels! "… what?" Blink.

More laughter, but this time it is somewhat weaker and Carver blushes horribly. He shakes his head, looking away, clearing his throat. "Uh…" He says, his hand coming up to the back of his neck, "Nothing. Never - Nevermind."

So this is what it's like to bomb out, huh? She laces her fingers on the tabletop and drums her thumbs. "Nono, I already heard you," she points out. TOO LATE. "Sooo…." AWwkard. and Carys is about as red as the lipstick she tends to wear. Ears reaching sunburnt levels of color! Oh, if only Anders was witnessing this - he'd so have enough ammo to get his revenge for the Creampuff debacle.

Carver clears his throat again. What in the world was he supposed to say to that? "I… Figured you had," Well that's a start of something to say, "No is a fine answer." Look, he is something of a gentleman. His mother hadn't raised him to be a brute. He could take a no. This awkward in between, though? He's a little less good with that.

Carys actually looks like she's thinking. And she's regarding Carver for a long moment. Then, finally. "Not while both of us are three sheets to the wind." She says. "May be laughin' now, but you might end up hatin' me come the mornin'." She pauses. "I steal blankets. An' maybe I'm only likeable 'cause I think I've replaced half my blood with booze. Though… th' one guy I /know/ has booze for blood is a total fucking asshat." Stupid Fuzzy Haired Elf Person. ASS. "So uh… maybe bein' likable drunk is a step in the right direction but still! We're drunk… ish."

With a small shrug and a laugh, Carver seems to move on from the topic pretty quick. "Alright. If you're sure. Though, if you like I will actually just walk you home, as well." Because Carver's settling his tab and making to leave. He has to be up in the morning, or something.

Carys thinks on that, nods with purpose, and then she drops some coinage on the bar. "Gotcher self a deal there, Ser Carver," and perhaps to further the 'gentleman' image, she moves lightly slip her hand about his elbow. "I… Live over there." She points to where the slums is. "Totally within staggerin' distance." She pauses. "Wait… I missin' clothes." She returns to her stool to make sure she's got her gloves (Why yes, they do look like they're made with climbing in mind…) and anything else she might've dropped on the bar. AT least she wasn't outright stripping. Then, back to the elbow. "There!"

"Oh I am definitely not a Ser." Carver says with a laugh, having no idea, yet, of the sharp irony that jest held. Oh how that would sting one day. There's a smile at that hand upon his arm. He leads her out, and generally just ignores the rowdiness that comes from the corner at what in the world this looks like. He's… Actually fairly upright. Then again, Carver isn't exactly small, and he's spent time in the military, he's pretty good at holding his liquor. But he's not the most graceful creature as they make their way out to the street. "Funny enough, I think we might be neighbors."

Body half-full of liquor or not, Carys /is/ a person of the street. Alert and prepared to beat the shit out of people who might get the wrong idea is instinct at this rate. Though, let's be honest here - Obvious Military dude probably will ward them off more than short girls would. SIGH. And there is a 'I still have oil I can put in your drinks' look tossed at Rowdy Table no. 1 as they pass. "Yeah? If that' the case, then I'm sorry for singin' bawdy bar songs at four in the mornin'."

Carver laughs again as they go out into the night air. It has stopped raining. "Is that you?" He asks, "I was wondering who the other night owl was." He bites his lip. Carver hasn't slept well in a long time. It hadn't gotten any better since moving to Kirkwall, especially with sharing the one bedroom. "Maybe I'll have to make a habit of singing them with you."

"Probably guilty," she says. "I… don't sleep much when I do," Carys admits quietly after taking a deep breath of that oh so lovely Lowtown Kirkwall air. She's apparently been here enough now that she's not hacking up a lung afterwards. It must be because the rain can do wonders for the air as much as it can cause issues. "So, I'm often stuck at like, four in the mornin' bored out of my blighted skull. An' by that time, most people're off the streets tryin' t'attempt to get some sleep themselves. So…" She sighs dramatically, "What's a girl t'do t'amuse herself?" Eyelash bat. She then grins. "I bet you've got a good signin' voice," she compliments easily, steering away from making it blatant flattery.

"Yeah, I know how that is. I haven't really slept since Ostagar." Carver says, the ale making words come from his lips before he really thinks them through. Such is its way. Liquid courage, and truth serum, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. He smirks though. "Well, I'm generally awake then, if you're ever bored. I'll point out my place. I swear the barking is from the most harmless ball of fluff you'll ever meet." And then he blushes again. "I- I don't know about that." He says, swallowing hard.

Whoa, back that horse up. "Ostagar?" Oh wait, was that her outloud voice? She swallows here, an indication she really did /not/ mean to echo it outloud. But she, wisely perhaps, does not press. A person hears /stories/ about Ostagar, and she's pretty sure 'Pester a guy about his PSTD experience in a shitty battle' is likely up there on the top five 'do not do this when you first meet a person' list. "You've got a dog?" She blinks here. Okay… that's… two siblings, a mother… an uncle and a … dog. "Is it cute and tiny like a cat?" Because otherwise…that has got to be one very crowded apartment. Then she pfts about the singing. "Don't worry, I'm plastered all singin'll sound good to me. So for now… I'm /sure/ you've got a great singin' voice." SO THERE. And the assertiveness is ruined when she lets out a bit of a giggle.

It's not until Carys parrots it back that Carver in realizes he's said it. "Uh… Yeah…" He says, a little uncomfortably. But thankfully, at least, Carys has the tact not the linger. The question of the dog makes him laugh. "No. He's a mabari." He says, "Definitely not tiny like a cat. And he's mostly my brother's." Well, he's the family's, but Kailen's always had a bond with that dog. Probably because he was a fucking mabari in human form. As for the singing, he's just going to blush more about that. Thankfully the streets are pretty dark.

Carys /does/ occasionally think. Especially when it comes to things that she knows will make people uncomfortable (Unlike, say, unfortunate nicknames). There's a bit of a squeeze to his elbow from her hand, her only response to him acknowledging the battle site. "… Wow, I don't … think I've ever really seen a mabari before… I mean," she waves a hand. "It's not exactly a common thing in the Marches," though Carys /does/ have lingering tones of Ferelden in her accent. "Maybe when I was younger, but I don't remember. But.. I'll keep that in mind. Does he get out a lot? Dog that big's gotta have a lot of exercise, I think," this is said while she's pointedly looking at Carver, as if the statement is not being applied /only/ to large dogs, but people as well. She still can't see the blush though, so he's safe there.

"He gets out with us a lot. Sometimes, when Kailen's busy and Bethy doesn't want to put up with him, I take him out on jobs with me." Carver answers. "We let him have run of the square sometimes, or at least I do, when I just want to sit on the porch." Because sometimes just outside was better than nothing with that many people in that tiny apartment. And then he picks up the pointed look and he clears his throat. His free hand raises to the back of his neck again. Not really helping with the 'we're too drunk' sentiment here.

"Just sit on the porch?! What are you, eighty?!" She waves her free arm around and hello, Drunks have no volume control. Someone shouts out the window for her to quiet the fuck down. "… I'm not THAT loud." Beat. Brow furrow. "I'm not bein' that loud, am I?" She turns and raspberries in the direction of the person yelling and she gives a curt nod as if to say SO THERE RANDOM PERSON. "I couldn't just… sit on the porch. I"d get bored after five minutes an would probably go chase somethin'." Because that's a surprise-Carys can't sit still to save her life. Well, probably could save her life, but in other situations? Probably not. "But it's good you get out, cause… well… please tell me your place's got more'n one room. Because otherwise, I'm just not picturin' it."

Carver laughs,shaking his head. "Look, it's really hot here. Sometimes all I can bear to do is sit." He says, "I'm not used to Marcher summers." Because it was a lot colder in Ferelden. "It's just the one bedroom. Though there are two other rooms, but they're for storage and, general… Living things." As for if Carys is being terribly loud? That just gets a shrug. He's certainly too drunk to tell, anyway.

"It's too hot here?" Carys blinks a couple of times. "Actually, it's rather cool this evenin' don't you thi - OH! You mean in general." Nose wrinkle, "Is it? I've been in the Marches since I was like…thirteen. Or twelve. Somethin' like that. So… I guess I'm kind'a used to it." She then points in a random direction. "But if you got a bit more inland… like… still close enough that you get the moisture of the sea, but not the nice sea breeze? Yeah, in the summers you start chokin' on swamp-air. Kirwkall… you're chokin' on somethin' else." Pause. "Ostwick you choked on boredom." She then pats his arm and just… blurts out, "Well, you can get t'know me well an' then you can have an open invitation to my place." She means it in the most benign way possible. She honestly does!

More laughter. It comes easier to him when he's drunk. "Yeah, alright. Let's hope that works out, then. I could use the retreat that doesn't require me to buy too much ale." Carver says. Nodding then, as they pass Gamlen's house, he gestures toward it. "That's me." He says simply. "So, if you're looking for a friend at four in the morning."

Carys stops to eyeball the location. And then she glances up and notes the roof structure, and then glances behind. "Huh. Well, it's on a major thoroughfare…s'got that goin' for it." She continues making mumbles on the pros and cons of the place in a strategic sense… or if people were wise to her ways… in a 'how easy is this place to ransack quickly' sense. She then nods as if satisfied with the fact it likely would not be easy to be ransacked by random thugs. Kirkwall's got a lot of those. "So who's this Gamlen guy? Your sister was all eyerolly about him." She then starts walking again and points in the direction where she's pretty sure her place is.

Well, Carver probably should have, but he wasn't exactly expecting Carys to essentially case the joint. It makes him laugh a little. Then there's that question. Carver sighs. "He's my uncle." Carver says, sounding bitter, "My mother's brother. Gamlen Amell."

The laugh has Carys whistling. Innocently. Poorly. She scratches the back of her head with her free hand, looking a bit sheepish as habits so hardwired they're automatic and take over without her thinking. "Sounds like a tool," she says, picking up on the bitterness. She then repeats the name Amell over a couple of times with a tone like she /should/ recognize it, and she kind of does but can't place it. "You want me t'kick his kneecaps?" She pauses. "NO, wait… too violent for my style for a first offense. I got caster oil you can use?" She beams a smile here.

"He is." Carver asserts. He shakes his head at the offer of violence. Oil, though? That was something else. Carver could get behind that. "Actually, yeah, that sounds…" Then a thought crosses his mind, "Actually, no. No, he'd be insufferable and I have to stay in the same house as him."

Carys tilts her head and then she sighs as she can understand the point. "Oh, alright. Offer's still on the table, though." She then notes a door in a building that looks like it might face out towards the harbor. "There I am. Well, where I live. I'm here. I think." She then goes back to the Gamlen topic. "Is he really that much of a sod?" Eye rolls and bitter tones, oh my!

"I mean… Yes?" Carver says. "He's my family, so I love him, but… Yeah. He is." A stray rock gets kicked aside. It's not a topic Carver likes much. "Well… It's been… Nice to meet you."

There's an odd silence followed by a quiet, "I bet it's nice havin' one." A family she means. It's not often that that need nags, but alcohol has a great habit of poking needs one thought they didn't need anymore. She then turns to face him and she smiles. "Likewise. Definitely the highlight of my week so far. Hopefully we'll meet again before we gotta put up with each other in the Deep roads…probably'll try to throttle each other after a week there, right?"

Carver blinks at that comment. "Yeah… They're…" He lets himself trail off. Forces a smile instead. "We can hope we manage better than that. But yeah, probably. That's usually about as long as it takes people with me." Carver shifts his weight and then takes a step backward. "Have a good night." And with that he's turning on his heel to make his way home.

"Pft. A soverign says you get fed up with me /first/," Carys waves her hand at that. And she actually leans forward like she might've pecked him on the cheek… because, y'know, impulse, but he's turning! D'oh! "Er, yeah, 'Night!" She'll just… look like she just drunkenly staggered here, and totally /meant/ to do that.


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