- 14: What is your muse’s deadly sin?
Wrath. Against enemies, but also against herself.
- 15: What would your muse say to their younger self if they could go back in time?
“It’s not your fault they’re gone.”
Wrath. Against enemies, but also against herself.
“It’s not your fault they’re gone.”
Since Hawke’s more obvious/canon phobia has already been addressed, I’ll dig a little deeper:
The first time she sees Mother after her death, Marian doesn’t think anything is wrong. In fact, the spectre is comforting, her hair neat and her words warm as she stands by the fire Bodahn keeps burning.
The first time she sees Carver is in the face of a templar, roaring, bearing down on her, and she pushes a dagger through his neck not understanding why she can’t stop crying for an hour after.
The first time she sees Father is years later, in a run-down tavern on the long road through Ferelden. His cheeks are flame red with drink and there’s spittle in his beard but his laugh booms from his chest like a carol, over and over and over through the floorboards long after she’s gone to sleep in a strange bed.
She’s talking to herself more these days. “What’s the harm?” she reasons. With no one else for company, it’s for the best, it’s for personal entertainment. This is how she’ll stay sane, she says, before she reads the poorly spelled ravings on a tattered page aloud. It would be boring otherwise, she notes as she attempts to recite the Canticle of Transfigurations only to forget the words, and settle on singing the dirty shanty Isabela taught her.
She talks to Mother, Carver, Fenris, Varric, Merrill, Aveline, Isabela, Bethany, most often father and too often—Anders. She apologizes, she asks for advice, she begs for forgiveness from the shadow on her right and the blinking of eyes through the pines.
One night, she realizes no one’s with her. Just like that. She looks over her shoulder and doesn’t hear the shuffling of cards and tall boots anymore, only the creak of leather and her own quavered breathing.
And that’s when the fear sets in.
Spiders. Ever since Lothering when she and Carver used to keep Barlin’s infestation at bay. Marian’s hair was longer, much longer then and after an incident that involved eight tangled up legs and a bite that had her throwing up green for three days she absolutely cannot stand them.
Cleary, a farmer’s son she used to have footraces with in the orchard. He joined the King’s Army as a scout around the same time Marian did, but did not survive the massacre at Ostagar. She still misses him during apple season.
When the twins were born. It was that moment Marian realized she wanted to become a hero.
1: When did your muse lose their virginity?
2: Who was your muse’s first kiss?
3: Which parent(or guardian) does your muse prefer?
4: Who are your muse’s closest friends?
5: Does your muse have any phobias?
6: Which sibling is your muse closest to? If they have no siblings, which family member?
7: If your muse had the opportunity to turn into the opposite sex for a day, would they take it? If so, what would they do?
8: Who was your muse’s first crush?
9: What is your muse’s sexual preference?
10: Most problematic thing your muse has ever done?
11: How important is family to your muse?
12: What is your muse’s happiest memory from their childhood?
13: What is your muse’s saddest memory from their childhood?
14: What is your muse’s deadly sin?
15: What would your muse say to their younger self if they could go back in time?
16: How does your muse see themselves in 5 years? What about 10?
17: How does your muse deal with their anger?
18: How does your muse feel about religion?
19: Is your muse more self loving or self loathing?
20: What is your muse’s addiction?
“Now you really do sound like Varric.” Hawke reached for her cloak, hanging on a nail by the door, and swirled the leathery grey fabric over her shoulders. Immediately, her silhouette seemed to blur at the edges, melding into the shadows cast by the grumbling fire. The elven blacksmith had done as promised, and more.
“Let me tell you something for nothing, Atticus. Sometimes the best person for the job is the one who’s already given up everything. I’m going to the Western Approach to finish this,” she reiterated in a tone that brooked no argument. “If you feel that strongly about the outcome, join the Inquisition.”
“Hah! Give the pavestones my regards!” Hawke was saying, leaning against the doorway of the Hanged Man for support. There was an empty tankard dangling from her grasp and a warm flush on her cheeks.
She and her friends had had a long, hard day and the ale had been almost too welcome to parched throats and aching limbs. They poured into the tavern just after sunset, ordering food and round after round until their table was littered with cards and coins that now bounced in Isabela’s hip satchel.
The rivaini woman was trying to peel Fenris from his chair, promising something in his ear while he looked everywhere but at Hawke, who was making her own fun cheering on the resident bouncer as he dragged a swearing recruit who’d been bothering one of the serving girls out into street; tossing him clear of the entrance as easily as trash.
Dusting off his hands, the man returned to his worn chair next to the door where Hawke had propped an elbow. “Well done. That’s seven for you. Don’t worry I’m keeping score–” she paused as another group left, Isabela and Fenris silently among them. The bar was nearly empty save for the staff and those who had rooms in the upper floors.
Hawke leaned closer to the man. Atticus, he called himself. Varric called him Trenchcoat. Or the more recently amended version: Leave Trenchcoat alone, Hawke. He’s working.
His arms were folded at his chest. Watching him grapple grown men and women out the doors all night without breaking a sweat had the Champion wondering what it might be like to be thrown around by those arms herself. She lowered her voice and let the fingers of the hand on Atticus’s chair brush idly against the back of his neck. “If I said I wanted your body now…”
“How would you reply?”
send one for my muses reaction!
“What if today’s the day?”
“You say this as if it is certain.”
“Rum and snatch for each and all!”
“You shouldn’t steal.”
“Did you search him?”
“That kid must REALLY want to get laid.”
“You walked away from me last night and did something very foolish.”
“You can never forget who these men are.”
“I’m sorry, have I said something funny?”
“They have no reason to lie to me.”
“Please tell me I don’t have to explain further.”
“That bitch keeps you all to herself!”
“Wait your fucking turn!”
“Have you no decency?!”
“Who do you think you are that you can cost me this money?”
“There’s no need to panic!”
“When a man is being fucked he wants to know whose cock was in him!”
“The more you earn, the better the terms.”
“Oh, you enjoy setting terms, do ya?”
“The last fool who turned her down was never seen or heard from again.”
“Perhaps you’ll find me more of a match than that other craven bastard.”
“I’d like a word in private. We’ve got some business to get sorted.”
“I believe it to be personal, and I’d like to put an end to it.”
“Things were better – ARE better – for the both of us when you and I are on the same side of things. I would like to return to that.”
“The idea that I would withhold valuable leads for personal reasons is fucking absurd.”
“They’re fucking animals; you encourage it.”
“You expect me to believe this is about business?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe.”
“And now not only to you expect to be forgiven, you wish to be rewarded for it.”
“You think just because you and I used to fuck you can cross me without any consequences.”
“We have more pressing issues to attend to. Shall I wait?”
“Fruit, fruit! Tits, tits! Plant, plant! It’s the fucking same!”
“I’m so glad you’re entertained.”
“We can’t thieve forever.”
“Sure I can’t suck your cock while you do that?”
“It’s unclear which is more appealing: your beauty, or your intelligence.”
“You really want to keep pushing this? Playing me for a fool?”
“If you’re lying, you’ll answer to me.”
“What’s coming our way can’t be outrun.”
“They’re not animals, they’re men starved of hope!”
“Why do this? Why here?”
“In the end, that’s all I want; to walk away from the sea and find some peace.”
“I’m glad you are here, I was going to send word for you.”
“I can protect you. You have to trust me.”
“This place is just sand! It cannot love you back!”
“Everyone you have ever loved you have lost and it terrifies you! But not ME. I will never, EVER leave you.”
“We can be free of this place. We can have a life together and it can start this very minute! All you have to do is say yes.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“I meant what I said, I can protect you.”
“There’s nothing in there but opium addicts, lunatics, and men who thought themselves too good to wear a condom.”
“I know you don’t approve of this, but I need to do this. I need it.”
“Please. Stay with me.”