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Summary
"'Carnal'?" Inquisitor Avrinne Lavellan murmured, turning the bottle over in her hands to read the label better. "Who on Thedas calls a bottle of alcohol "Carnal"?"
Varric glanced over, an eyebrow tilting upward. "Orlesians, of course. Lemme see that." He inspected the label with a critical eye. "Huh. Good year. Don't drink it."
"I wasn't going to--" the Inquisitor paused. "Wait. Why shouldn't I drink it?"
"They only serve that stuff at the special masquerades," Varric told her, fighting back a grin. "The ones where masks are still mandatory, but the clothes are optional."
