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[undwarfy]

Come here for musebox stuff, PSLs, or post-captcha meme continuation. Put the verse or PSL or whatever in the subject line plz.

Hit this up if you know me and have an idea. Hit me up if you don't know me, we've never interacted IC or OOC, and you have an idea. Hit this up for any and all reasons. I welcome everything.

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one stabbity smuggler herald of andraste

[shiftysmugglertype]

Gisla Cadash has no idea what the fuck is going on, and amnesia is only part of it. She knows perfectly well what she was doing at the Conclave until the day of the explosion, then she lost a week broken up only by a few hours of interrogation, demon-fighting, punching green holes in the fabric of reality, and passing out for another three days. Now she's the Herald of Andraste, and a declared heretic where she isn't a saint, and making decisions about how to respond to pleas for assistance, and this is all too much for a girl, okay.

(Finding food, finding caches for refugees, that had been simple. That'd just been common decency. The rest of this? No, too much.)

But none of that is the worst, according to Gisla at this moment. None of it. All of it is fine, all of it can be dealt with. No, the worst, the very worst thing in all of this, even beyond that sliver of the Maker-damned Fade in her hand is what happens she sleeps.

She dreams.

She, a dwarf, fucking dreams.

She's been a street-kid, a runner, a whore, then a Carta smuggler for over a decade, and nothing terrifies Gisla so much as what happens when she shuts her eyes. Most of the time, she just grits her teeth and puts up with it, trusting that the hallucinations are Not Real. But tonight, she wants to experiment a little. She's heard, read of, people drinking to sleep and forget their dreams, and honestly it sounds like a fan-fucking-tastic idea. The only thing is to choose her drinking companion carefully.

Which is why, after consulting with Leliana and the newly arrived Mother Giselle about dealing with the Chantry Mothers in Val Royeax, Gisla wanders out of Haven's chantry in search of the other dwarf in her party. Varric. She's even nice and brings her own bottle of Antivan brandy she'd liberated from a crate somewhere. The beer, the mead, the ale, that she leaves for the rations everyone gets. But this stuff?

Hers.

"Wanna share this with me?" she asks once she's standing at Varric's fire, and holds up the bottle.