You knew it was cold in Kirkwall when even the various gangs, cut-purses, and lowlifes couldn't be bothered to step outside. Though, some of that might be due to Hawke's nightly activities. Varric tugged the coat tighter as another blast of unseemly cold air whistled through the rickety houses of Lowtown. Only the hang of the moon lit the frost coated cobbles. While he gritted through it, his fellow companion was less than gracious.

"Templar's unused nutsack, it's freezing out here!"

Varric shrugged, "That's what you get for not wearing any pants, Rivaini."

Eyes sharper than an obsidian arrow tried to cut through him, but Varric snuggled deeper into the off-brand coat and smiled widely at the woman dressed in little more than underwear. He wondered sometimes, if that was Isabela's outwear, what made up the more underpart of her attire? But he figured asking would end in one of two situations both of which could lead to his demise. Best to leave it to questions.

She glared at the dwarf a bit longer before rubbing her hands like mad together to try and start a fire between them. "I'd rather be caught dead than in whatever monstrosity you threw on."

"Gets any colder and there's a good chance of that, Rivaini. I'm not in the mood to drag you to Blondie's and see if he's willing to wave his magic fingers to warm you up."

"Hm," she tipped her head back to the stars, a smile rising on her face, "I'd take a mug of hot, spiced brandy, a bed with the thickest wool blankets, and...three of the Rose's more burly men."

Varric snorted, "Only three?"

"Times are tight," Isabela shrugged, "but even if I lose a toe, I'd never wear whatever that is." She jerked her hand at Varric's coat while sneering, "Red as blood, though with Hawke around it may have been dyed in such a fashion."

"What's wrong with a little crimson?" Varric smiled. He heard a bit of rustling down the cold alley and bent over to check on the wooden sleigh nestled between them.

"Nothing, though you do test its limits. The real eyesore is that trim. White? And in fur no less? You're like a walking target begging to be stuffed full of arrows."

"Good thing I brought a pirate along to protect me," Varric grinned at her. The noises drifted on, and he lay the tarp flat over the rather priceless bag nestled upon the sleigh.

Isabela snorted, her breath transforming to smoke before it dissipated, "Protect? Shit, I'm more likely to get hit and...you little sneak. That's why I'm out in this god awful night, isn't it? Arrow fodder. Why the void isn't Hawke here anyway? Seems like something up his alley."

"Said he was busy, snow golems, or icicle witches or...you know Hawke," Varric shrugged. Isabela was moving into icicle witch territory herself, though he honestly didn't expect Rivaini to come with. Didn't seem to be her kind of mission, but she offered.

"Hmph." A low growl broke from the shadows, but Varric didn't reach for Bianca. He knew this growl the way an owner does his mabari's bark. White hair slid into the waning light of the moon and shook a moment. "I could have been doing something more productive with my time?"

Rivaini's eyes lit up a moment and she placed a hand on her hip. "For you it'd be flitting about your mansion brooding."

"I do not..." Fenris sneered, as if he did anything else.

"Eyes dark as your soul, lips turned into a deep pout, chest trembling as an icicle melts, sending drop after frozen drop curling against your heaving..."

Varric snapped a finger near Isabela's face trying to get her to focus. "Rivaini, come on, save it for later. We don't have much time until dawn and there's a ton left to get through."

Pursing her lips, Isabela clearly worked through her fantasy a bit longer before swinging her head over at the elf and winking. Fenris growled because Fenris was capable of two settings. Hawke swore he saw the broody elf smile and even laugh, but three years in and Varric didn't buy it. It was probably gas.

Hauling up the rope around the sleigh, Varric took off, his two assistants trailing behind. "Where'd you leave it this time?" Varric asked, his eyes hunting over the streets. This was the not nice part of Kirkwall, but not as bad as the alienage. He was saving that bit for later when hopefully Rivaini was so drunk she didn't care, and Fenris in such a foul mood he'd do anything to end it all.

"On the floor," Fenris growled.

"The floor? Where someone's liable to trip over it?" Rivaini put the screws to him, no doubt as much to enflame the beast as possible. It was doubtful she was worried about the outcome for some strangers.

Fenris threw his hands open and snarled, "Where else can I leave it? I'm doing this blind!"

Pausing, Varric glanced up at a small flat sequestered in between two slightly larger ones. Still, he reached into the pocket of the coat he won in a game of Wicked Grace and read through the list. Best to check twice lest he screw it all up. "Here we are, Arlon." Fishing into the nondescript burlap bag, Varric hauled up a small sack that jangled as he placed it into Fenris' magic fist.

The elf weighed the gold pieces a moment as if he had intentions to run off with the stash before sighing. "If the floor's not acceptable, where should I put it?" he asked Varric first, before turning to glare at Isabela.

Shrugging, the pirate stuck out her hip, "Their shoes."

"The...how would I even find their shoes?" he gasped before falling to a grumbling silence. For as standoffish as the elf was, and he made dungeons seem cozy, he took this seriously.

Stepping up to the locked, but flimsy door, Fenris' body lit up white enough to blind an owl. As his hand did whatever magical shit it could, he reached inside through the front door and felt around for some place to stash the gift of gold. Rivaini watched a moment, her eyes clearly drinking in Fenris and no doubt drawing some interesting conclusions.

As it seemed to be taking the elf some time to find the shoes, she turned to the dwarf in charge of the operation, "I don't get it, Varric."

"I keep telling you Rivaini, there is no secret to keeping my chest hair so soft and pliable. Just good blood."

"Not that," she rolled her eyes, before blatantly staring down the gap between the red coat. "This. Why in Andraste's tits are we out here on a freezing cold night hiding gold in people's houses? Now sneaking gold out of people's homes I can get behind."

"Because it's Satinalia," Varric explained as he parted his hands wide.

"That's a calendar, not an answer."

"All the names on here owe money to people you really don't want to be in deep with. So I figure I'll help them out a little, a small windfall to ease the pressure off before someone comes for their kneecaps or thumbs."

Rivaini stared hard at the list when Fenris stepped back towards the sleigh, his arm no longer glowing. "He means him," the elf spat, "everyone on that list owes money to him."

"Wait," Isabela waved her hands through the air, "you're helping people pay back loans to you? By sneaking money from out of nowhere into their houses, in the middle of the night, during winter?"

Fenris gestured at her logic, "I have tried to explain the inefficiency to him for years."

"Years?" that caught Rivaini. "You two...just what do you two get up to when the rest of us crawl on home from the Hanged Man?"

"You have a home to crawl to?" Fenris asked, his black caterpillars for eyebrows rising in surprise. Isabela scoffed a moment at the logic in his statement, but she wasn't about to budge a leather boot until Varric gave her some answers.

Rolling up the list, he stuffed it safe into the coat pocket and sighed, "People, they don't like to have their pride questioned. Even when it's looking like some giant guy named Tiny's gonna show up at your door. Asking for help is painful. So, a little extra glint in a shoe, or dropped onto the breakfast table come morning helps to alleviate their fears. This way they get to keep both their pride and their kneecaps."

Varric shrugged into his coat at the simple tradition he started somewhere around the time he took over loans from Sharky. It'd been a lot harder before Fenris rammed into their life through a guy's chest cavity. Before, Varric would lock-pick every house, doable but time consuming. There was one year when he'd tried hurling the bags of coins down the chimney, quite a few went up in flames with the breakfast cooking.

"It's a small gift from the funny little man in the red coat," Varric said with a laugh. Isabela and Fenris glanced at each other and narrowed their eyes.

"Not seeing why we need to be here," Rivaini said slowly, her eyes already dancing with visions of warm mead back by the fire of the Hanged Man.

"I could never accomplish this without my elf helper," Varric smiled at Fenris who growled twice over at that, "or my...besotted pirate." At that Rivaini laughed. "It's tradition. Come on, we have another fifteen houses to get to before that blighted sun rises."

Bundling the sleigh's rope in his mitten covered hands, Varric took off as quick as he could. The elf dressed in pitch black armor who glowed brighter than a star trudged on. "What if I place them on the mantle?"

"You can reach through a fireplace?" The pirate woman with a heart of gold, because she stole it from behind someone's back, asked.

Fenris shrugged, "Perhaps."

"All I know is when this is over I am due four prostitutes from the Blooming Rose."

"Three mugs of mulled wine," the elf added.

"Two hot baths," Rivaini mused.

"And a game of cards where the dwarf takes both your shirts!" Varric crowed, spinning back to face them.

Fenris scowled at the thought while Rivaini licked her lips. "You don't need to beat me at cards to get my shirt off. You just have to ask nicely," she finished by winking at the elf again, who was already digging for the next sack of gold. His little helpers hopped to, Rivaini trying to assist Fenris reach towards some down-on-his-luck bastard's mantle. The people would wake confused by the gold, but rush it right back to his coffers by way of whatever burly gang they went through to get it. Perhaps not the most straightforward of systems but it worked. Kinda like this city.

Above them, circling through the heavy stars, a fog drifted around the moon. It was the never ending smoke out of the foundry, but with the air nearly crystalline cold Varric could pretend for a moment that it was snow washing the filthy city clean. Happy Satinalia, Kirkwall.