I don't even know what started this... Only that I'd written so much fluff and angst lately that I needed a little more humor to brighten things up. Things got a little out of hand.

When the Viscount had asked Aveline to lead one of his more contentious nobles through the prisons as a display of how the Guard truly was cracking down on crime, she had expected a dull day.

She was sorely mistaken; For better or for worse.

"Heeey, Aveline, friend. Buddy."

It was the last voice she had expected to hear, down in the cells, and yet she felt not an inkling of surprise to find six pairs of familiar eyes staring at her. Aveline Vallen froze in mute horror as the nobleman beside her stuttered to an irritable halt.

"Hawke…?"

Hawke. Hawke dressed only in a Templar's tabard and skirt. And not just Hawke, for that matter. Green eyes darted from one face to the next, each in varying states of inebriation, irritation, or failed charm.

On the narrow cot, Varric, Hawke, Sebastian, and Merrill were all crammed together. Varric's legs dangled off one end where he was sprawled on his back, head in Hawke's lap, both shirtless and covered in body paint. Sebsastian, the sorry sod, was trapped between a scantily clad Marian Hawke and Merrill, sans her chain mail. Also, high. Very high. Aveline's eyes narrowed at the giggling Elf that slumped across the priest, her pupils dilated far too wide. And… And was Sebastian wearing only a blanket?

Fenris was sprawled out on the floor, even more cranky than Varric and apparently still drunk. He was attempting to glower at Isabela who was periodically kicking his thigh to the beat of some sea shanty. The flower crown she wore was less confusing than the fact that her usual bandana had been replaced by Sebastian's belt; apparently the only article of his clothing to make it into the cell.

Best attempt at a charming smile on her face, Hawke awkwardly waved. "I can explain."

Aveline stared for a moment more and then instantly turned and continued onward. "This way you can find our more high security cells." The nobleman was only more than happy to get away from this particularly odd group of ruffians.

"Hey! WAIT! Don't leave us in here! … shit…"

Any other protests that could have been made were lost behind the slam of the cell block door.

.:*:.

It was some time before Aveline managed to lose her "guest". She scowled, scratching away furiously with her quill. The next time the Viscount wanted her to placate the nobles breathing down his neck, he could damn well warn her ahead of time.

Still, it had not been a complete disaster. The sheer number of criminals in the cells had been both reassuring and unnerving to the man touring behind her. A showing of the bustling barracks and the well-tended assignment board had done greater good, in her opinion. Not that the Viscount often listened to her opinion…

And there was one other little matter to attend to.

In the dim prison, Aveline scowled at eyes that blinked back with false innocence.

"Dare I ask why you are in here? And why is Sebastian naked?"

"These sinful hooligans," Sebastian growled, "stole my clothing."

Still laid out on the floor, Fenris snarled and shook his fist… entirely in the wrong direction. Varric irritably batted the appendage away. "You lost your clothing fair and square, priest," the inebriated Elf slurred.

"Isabela turning my small cloths into a pirate flag was not a part of the deal!" Sebastian snapped back.

The Pirate paused in her harassment of Fenris' thigh just long enough to toss her head back with a cackle. "Give me yer booty!"

Still leaning on the Brother, Merrill burst into a fit of giggles. "Booty." A frown of disapproval was directed her way, though Sebastian made no effort to shove her off.

On the other side of the bars, Aveline stared with horrified curiosity… and rage. "You… You turned Sebastian's clothing… into a flag?"

Not entirely in her right mind herself, or so Aveline would guess by the odd glaze in her eyes, Hawke squinted hard in thought. "Just the underwear… I think. …It might possibly be flying from the Viscount's Keep."

"What!?" Aveline fairly shrieked. So it was true… the letter of complaint was damn well true and she had her friends to thank for the rambling letter of "rising hooliganism and terrorism" in the city. The urge to choke the group curled her fingers.

Still giggling, Merrill slowly slid off Sebastian's shoulder to lie across his lap; her head on Hawke's other thigh. Hawke sympathetically pat the Elf as she lost her battle against hysterics. This was too much.

"Is she high!?"

Hawke leaned back, squinting at the finger thrust through the cell bars, despite the fact that Aveline's hand was several feet away. She gave up attempting to follow when Aveline then gestured, infuriated, at Varric.

"And why is Varric covered in paint?"

After a loud clearing of his throat, which availed him little, Varric groggily supplied, "The bunny god needed appeasement."

Judging by how blood shot his eyes were, Aveline had a feeling that more than alcohol hummed in his system. She glowered further.

"… The bunny god…"

All but snuggling into Hawke's lap, Merrill nodded emphatically. "The bunny, the bear, the owl, the halla!" Her nose scrunched. "Not the wolf though. He's grumpy."

Too much. This was just too much. Hand drawn back to pinch the bridge of her nose, Aveline squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she willed it hard enough they would just disappear from the cell. Eyes open. Nope. Still there. She sighed.

"Can someone who is not high or drunk, or Sebastian, answer me?"

Indignant, Sebastian drew up, blanket still clutched almost primly to his chest. She was sure she would laugh about this later. Right now she wanted to cry.

"What!? Why no—"

"… Hawke… Are you wearing a Templar's tabard? … And skirts? Please… Please tell me you are not wearing a Templar's uniform… Please, Hawke. I need to hear this right now."

Falsely innocent eyes grew wider. It did nothing to make them any more believable. "Hear that, yes, I am wearing a Templar's uniform? … Possibly?"

Now Aveline… Just breathe. Maybe there is a perfectly logical explanation for why an apostate has a Templar's uniform… She could dream.

"Please tell me those are Carver's and that you borrowed them…"

Suitable horrified, Hawke cast her a dirty look. "I hope not! I'm wearing someone's small cloths!"

The possibility of vomiting was an ever growing concern. Face tight with regret and sickness, Aveline dragged her hand down her face. "Someone… please just start from the beginning."

With a groan, Varric shifted on the cot and attempted to rise. He failed miserably. "It was just supposed to be a game of Wicked Grace."

"How come I'm never invited to these?"

Her pouted words drew an incredulous look from Hawke. The woman gestured around at the group, a third of which she had sprawled into her lap. "Do you want to be? I wasn't either and I ended up in a Templar's skivvies."

Valid. Very valid.

"That's… a good point. Just… someone explain this, please."

"Like I said," Varric sighed. "It was just supposed to be a game of Wicked Grace…"

Varric will get to test his storytelling talents in the next chapter and Aveline may just want to fulfill her earlier idea of choking someone. Better guard your throat, Hawke.