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Nuncio was shouting something about regretting crossing the Crows as Garrett yawned and made a ‘get on with it’ gesture. “Yes, yes, we’re all very frightened, we’re ruing the day we ever crossed you, or the crows, or anyone else in the pig anus known as Kirkwall, and all of that flaming filthy pickled donkey liver. Fenris, my precious murder man, I want to save my strength for getting manhandled while manhandling, could you be a dear and show them why you should’ve been named Champion?” He grinned.
Fenris snorted. “Only humans get to be Champions, Hawke.”
“Racist bullshit, that is.” He sighed and threw a blade through Nuncio’s throat, almost as an afterthought. “Now if I was in charge -”
“They did try to suggest you run for Viscount,” Fenris interrupted as he tripped one of the other Crows or hirelings or whatever they were and split his skull open on the way down.
“Hey now, I’m monologuing here! Varric says it’s good for character building!” He ran over to grab the blade out of Nuncio’s corpse rather than just pulling out a spare weapon. A spare weapon that Fenris knew he had because he watched the man strap at least half a dozen blades to himself every morning.
“You have plenty of character already,” Fenris retorted. He missed the heart of the man he was phasing his fist through, but he wouldn’t be able to survive with his lungs torn in half, so it didn’t truly matter. “Too much, perhaps.”
Garrett finished off the last guard, looked up, and giggled. A man that size shouldn’t be able to giggle, but he did. “You’ve got - honey, you have brains in your hair.”
He reached up. Sure enough, that was not the usual sort of viscera smeared along the side of his head. “Hm, must be some of yours.” He flicked it toward Garrett. “That explains why you went running after your dagger instead of pulling out a new one.”
“But that one is my favorite!” Garrett whined.
“Then don’t throw it!”
“It was funny!” the madman insisted as he started picking through Nuncio’s pockets.
Fenris hid a smile. “Murder isn’t funny.”
“Bullshit, I put the laughter in slaughter.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you didn’t leave any for me?”
They looked up from their ransacking. Zevran had strolled over and was toeing one of the bodies. “Sloppy work.”
“Thanks, sloppy is my favorite kind of work!” Garrett called, deliberately misunderstanding him. Probably.
“Now, I believe there was a matter of a reward?” He winked at Hawke. Somehow, he managed to make even that lascivious.
The Champion waved a hand at him. “It’s fine, run along to Daylen, tell him I say hi.”
Fenris arched an eyebrow. “Garrett.”
The human shrugged. “What?”
“You’ve got to do better than that if you want to fool me.” Fenris pointed at Zevran. “You, top or bottom?”
Garrett coughed. “Honey, this isn’t - I’m not going to -”
Fenris held up a hand. “You explicitly told me in detail last week about propositioning a revenant. I know for a fact that you’ve slept with a desire demon in the name of ‘saving Bela from temptation.’ Go let the assassin do whatever he wants to you. You are filthy foul madman, but you’re my filthy foul madman, and the notches on your bedpost don’t change that.”
Zevran grinned and clapped his hands. “Oh, this will be fun.”