My 25th story! This is inspired by the work of Oleander's One and Enaid Aderyn, both of whom are adept at light, funny dialogue. I can only hope to come close to their skill level. There may be more to Lucas and Isabela's story in further one-shots, depending on how the muse strikes. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, WellspringCD!

"You know," Isabela purred, draping herself over Lucas Hawke's shoulder, "you don't have to read this dreadful correspondence right now. Matter of fact, I'm sure you did it yesterday."

"That was two weeks ago," Lucas said, dropping a kiss on the busy fingers that were trying to dip beneath his shirt collar.

"Time flies when you're killing things." Isabela reluctantly unwound herself, moving to the looking glass hanging near the door of Hawke's study and adjusting her hat.

Lucas watched her, enjoying the movement of her rear under her short tunic. The hat, a small black top hat that perched with careful precariousness on the side of Isabela's head, was one of his favorites.

"If you don't start, you'll never finish, and remember you promised me a new hat if this took more than an hour."

"So I did." Of course, he'd be happy to buy her one anyway, knowing she'd be likely to come to bed tonight wearing nothing but the new hat. But he dutifully plucked the first letter from the stack of mail. "An invitation to join the Society for the Prevention of the Advancement of the Indigent of Darktown. I think not."

"Stuck-up prigs," Isabela commented, leaning toward the mirror with her teeth bared to see if something was stuck in them. "Like to see any of those fancy nobles last ten minutes in the Undercity."

"Mm," Hawke said, agreeing with her. He lifted the next sheet, a closely written scrawl that he had to squint to read. "Another copy of the Manifesto. Anders's writing is getting smaller." Isabela didn't respond to that one; there was little to say about the mage's continued descent into obsession. Hawke tossed the page over the left arm of his chair in the system he had created and Bodahn lived with long-sufferingly. Pile on the left, burn; pile on the right, keep. "Oh, this one's interesting," he said, rereading the letter to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding. "Some merchant has imported a thousand extra nugs, and wants to know what I think of financing a nug farm outside Kirkwall."

Isabela giggled. "Imagine that poor man, surrounded by a thousand nugs."

Lucas laughed along with her. "The last thing we want is those overbreeders too close to Kirkwall."

"Tell him to send the shipment to Seheron. Maybe the Qunari would like them."

"What would a Qunari do with a nug? Cook it?"

Isabela frowned, considering. "Too small. It'd be like a single bite to a Qunari, and it has too many bones for a proper amuse bouche." She grinned wickedly. "Maybe they'd find other uses for a little, round, warm nug."

Lucas was silent for a moment, imagining the possibilities, as Isabela's eyes twinkled naughtily at him. "Would a nug even fit?" he asked at last, refusing to give her the satisfaction of disturbing him with her suggestions.

"They're big men," Isabela said. "Be interesting to find out."

"You find out," Lucas said, shuddering. "Still, that would explain why they're so grumpy all the time."

"It would, wouldn't it?" She chuckled, moving away from the mirror to the mantelpiece.

"Isabela."

"What?"

"Put the snuffbox back."

"But you don't even take snuff." She pouted at him. "Please?"

"You don't take snuff, either. What are you going to do with it?"

"Sell it, of course."

"You know, I'd just give you money if you asked."

"Where would be the fun in that? Besides, you can't join the Coterie's monthly Wicked Grace game unless you came by the coin dishonestly."

"So taking a snuffbox from a house you practically live in, with the owner's permission, counts as dishonest?" Lucas grinned at her.

She shrugged. "It's a grey area." Then, to distract him, "What's the next one say?"

"Invitation to dinner with Fifi de Launcet. I'd rather go live at the nug farm." He glossed over that one as quickly as he could, not wanting poor Fifi to wake up tomorrow and find her hair cut off, or her spoiled white Persian cat dyed orange. He loved Isabela's jealous streak, but she occasionally overdid it.

"Fifi de Launcet is a nug," Isabela muttered.

Lucas didn't respond, staring at the next letter with a frown. "This is an elegantly written missive on expensive paper that asks me to come rescue Duchesse de la Fabreaux's kitten from an apple tree in her garden ... last week." He shuffled through the pile. "Oh, and three more on subsequent days. She doesn't have servants for that?"

"She does. An entire retinue of attractive young elven girls, any one of whom could easily climb a tree, but ... ahem ... that's not the feline they're hired to service."

"Isabela!"

The pirate smirked at him. "It's true."

"You could use better language."

"I didn't say the word. I just suggested it," she said primly, but her eyes were dancing. "Someday we're going to have to do something about what a prude you are."

Lucas doubted that; some attitudes were too deeply bred to be done away with. But it wasn't worth the argument, so he turned to the next letter as Isabela came over to perch on the side of his desk, her long tanned thigh carefully placed mere inches from his hand. He ignored her, with some effort, and focused on the parchment in his hand.

"Ooh, treasure map?"

"Yes. Of the Alienage. A young boy, to judge by the handwriting, thinks there's a treasure buried there." He couldn't help it—he put that one in the "keep" pile. Surely something could be done to make the boy's fantasy come true. Would the Seneschal approve of a midnight excavation to plant treasure, and then another to help the boy "find" it?

"You have that look."

"Which one?"

"The altruistic one." Isabela gave a dramatic sigh.

"I'm sorry, is there something wrong with being nice?"

"Well, it isn't half as much fun as being naughty." She slid off the edge of the desk and straddled his lap.

Lucas leaned back, giving her a fond smile. "You know I can't concentrate when you do that."

"That's the idea." She wiggled a little bit to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

"If I can't concentrate, I'll never finish," he murmured against her lips, which were suddenly very, very close to his.

"Let Bodahn do it."

"If I let Bodahn do it, he'll say yes to everything."

She shifted on the pile of papers, removing one from under her shapely bottom. "Even to the invitation to speak to the Kirkwall Gardening Society?"

"He'd have the nug farm half built already." Lucas grinned at her. "He might even make me go to dinner with Fifi de Launcet."

Hastily, Isabela removed herself from his lap. "Hurry up then. I'm bored of this; I want to do something fun!"

There were a few moments of silence while Lucas sifted through a couple of invitations to fancy dinner parties; the usual pleas for money to be given to various charities, both legitimate and not; and requests for assistance in endeavors ranging from repairing the fountain in the Hightown marketplace to assassinating the Black Divine. He shredded that one into small pieces before consigning the scraps directly to the fireplace. Leaving such a letter intact was dangerous for everyone involved. It was flattering that people assumed he had such a range of talents, but tiring as well, sorting the people who actually needed help out from the ones out to purchase cheap help with breaking the law.

Sighing, he picked up a fat envelope. The rich scent of sandalwood filled the air, and he glanced over at the chair where Isabela was lounging, her legs parted just far enough.

"Hm." He grinned, knowing what awaited him. Slitting open the envelope, he withdrew a packet of papers, skimming the first few lines. "I thought you wanted to go out. This reads more like you want to stay in."

"Maybe I want to do both."

"A little of the old in-and-out, eh? I could be convinced, if you tried hard." Sliding a small key out from under the blotter on his desk, he opened a drawer on the right-hand side, sliding the manuscript inside it. "I'll keep this and read it later."

"Have you kept all my friend fictions? And you said you were too embarrassed to read them." Isabela grinned at him, and Lucas flushed.

"I never said I read them."

"That blush says it all, lover." She got out of the chair and leaned over the desk, giving herself a good view of the contents of the drawer and Lucas an excellent view of her superb cleavage. "You shouldn't keep those first ones. I've gotten much better since then."

"I like them just the way they are."

"Ooh, what's this?" Before he could stop her, one browned hand had reached into the drawer and purloined the small box he kept there. She popped it open, and frowned down at the contents. Poking her finger amongst the shining stones, she said, "What are these for?"

"I find them here and there. Fragments of onyx, pieces of opals. I pick them up."

"Why?"

Lucas cleared his throat. "I don't know, do I need a reason?"

"I thought I was supposed to be the one attracted by shiny objects. But I take them to sell and make coin. You don't need more coin, and these wouldn't buy you much, anyway." She lifted a red gem, holding it up to the light. "This ruby isn't worth anything, flawed as it is."

"Perhaps it won't bring me any coin, but I kept it for a reason."

"What reason?"

Lucas stood up, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. "They reminded me of you."

"Broken and worthless?" Her eyes met his, and he could see the vulnerability she tried to hide, buried deep behind the sarcasm and deflection.

"Unique. Each gem in that box has a certain flaw that sets it apart from all others of its kind."

"So you value me for my flaws?"

Lucas was no fool; he recognized the danger sign in the question. "I value you because there's no one else like you. And because you bring light and color into what might have been a very boring life. Because you saved me from having to marry someone like Fifi de Launcet and spend the rest of my days worrying about Kirkwall politics." He closed the space between them, kissing her.

At last she pulled back from the kiss. "Fancy words are all well and good, but how about you take me upstairs and put your mouth to even better uses?"

"As you please," he said. "I'll just put these away and be right up."

Isabela sauntered from the room, looking as contented as a cat with a saucer of cream. As Lucas closed the little box, he noticed that one of the stones was missing. Isabela had palmed the flawed ruby. A smile spread over his face and he hurried to catch up with her.