open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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[troubleyan]

He gets his wind knocked out of him, and in spite of how far she is from the post itself, she hears the cracking sound.

She's already up, feet on the fence, heart in her throat -

She can tell Bull is about to apologise too, and then the air...shifts. Crackles. Evelyn sucks in a breath, looking to where Hawke is not passed out but standing. Charging.

"Fuck."

She can tell there will be Templars writing letters to her about the dangerous apostates she keeps the company of.

When it starts to be bloody, she jumps into the ring and whips out two blades - palm sized - throwing them at the ground at their feet, pinning their trousers to the soil.

"Enough. Stop making wine of each other on my training grounds, you fucking wankers - Blackwall, call a victor or call the fight over."

Blackwall hesitates for a moment, then concedes: "Only fair to call it won by you, Inquisitor."

She looks from the Iron Bull to Rowen, two more blades between her fingers.

"If you start up again I swear to the Maker I'm shanking you both in the arse."

[battlemaged]

Neither of them had meant for this little exhibition to become so rough. But both of them were large, powerful men, capable of shaking worlds when they walked too hard, so was it truly any surprise? Regardless, both Hawke and Bull came up short when the Inquisitor leaped into the ring, demanding the both of them cease and desist now.

And despite Evelyn's evident exasperation, not to mention his throbbing head and spine, Hawke managed to grin, reach around the Herald and offer his hand to the Qunari, shrugging lightly. "Good fight," he told his opponent, nonplussed as Bull somewhat grudgingly clasped his hand in return, grunting in reply.

The crowd murmured disappointment, some fading back to their duties while Varric collected, and Hawke glanced down at the Inquisitor.

"Just a friendly brawl, Inquisitor," he told her, running a hand through his hair to shake out some of the sand. Then he paused, eyebrow arching. "Did you want a turn?"

the muse woke up for spring

[troubleyan]

She could, for the record. She could take him. Would she end up bruised and charred in uncomfortable places? Yes. Would it be exhilarating and possibly end with them having a rough fuck in the middle of the training grounds? Also yes, hence her hesitation.

She clears her throat a little. "No, I'll get my turn on you later. I'd dread to think what kind of brawl an unfriendly one looks like with you, Champion, except I've fought at your side long enough to have seen a few."

She gives him a careful once-over look. Steps closer to him now, so she can lower her voice and ask this for his ears alone: "What's wrong?"