"So, your sister."

"What about her?" Carver asked cautiously over a mug of cheap ale. He really shouldn't have gone to the Hanged Man that night—Isabela had a particularly pleased gleam in her eyes, and if anything happened between Isabela and his sister, he'd rather not know about it.

She smiled fondly. "She's quite the talented girl, isn't she?"

Carver was going to get up and walk away. He was. Honest. "And what do you mean by that?"

"She has so much stamina!" Isabela sighed. "We were going at it all last night."

"Isabela."

She ignored him. "She just wouldn't let up. I honestly thought I was going to pass out in the middle of it—I'm still sore!"

"I'm serious. Why are you talking?" There was not enough ale in all of Kirkwall to cope with this.

"But then Fenris showed up, and we double teamed him. He didn't last very long, of course.

"It was a good night." She decided, grinning wickedly. "I think next time we'll ask Anders to join in, make things a bit more lively. You can, too, if you'd like. I'm sure Hawke wouldn't mind! "

"Right." Carver was never going to be able to look his sister in the eye again. Is this what she got up to when he wasn't around? Orgies? "I think this is the part where I leave."

"Hm, was it something I said?" Isabela watched him walk away. "Ah, well, strange boy."

She ordered another whiskey.

Carver's life had always been terribly unfair, especially where his older sister was concerned. It would make sense that Hawke would be home when Carver wanted nothing more than to die quietly in the corner and never have to think about his sister's incredibly (unfairly) active sex life ever again.

Of course, Hawke instantly noticed his foul mood and having lived with Carver for some 19 years, wisely decided to ignore him.

Carver scowled at the wall, pointedly ignoring Hawke as well.

Hawke read.

Carver scowled.

Never one to stay quiet for too long, Carver finally spoke. "Can't believe you, the way you carry on."

"Excuse me?" Hawke raised her eyes from her book, fixing Carver with a perplexed look.

"You and you deviancy!" Carver snapped, pointing his finger at Hawke self-righteously "I have half a mind to tell Mother what went on last night with you and Isabela a-and Fenris, but it would break her heart."

"Sparring would break Mother's heart, would it?" She sighed and returned to her book, shaking her head. "I swear, you get moodier by the day."

"Sparring?" he asked in disbelief. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Unless they changed the meaning of it lately, yes, that's what they generally call practice fighting. They did, didn't they? Oh, I always miss all the really important meetings."

"Wait, were you really sparring last night?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "With Fenris and Isabela. Are you upset that I didn't invite you? Is that it? Little brother, all you had to do was ask. You know I'd never leave you out—you'd whine far too much."

Carver wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but felt awfully close to embarrassment and shame.

"A-ah." He stared long and hard at the wall. He couldn't even bring himself to respond to her quip. "I see."

"Alright, Brother," Hawke rose, smoothing out her robes before shooting Carver a concerned glance. "I'm not quite sure what's going on you with you, but I see that you're having an intimate moment with that wall, so I'll just leave you two alone."

She paused at the doorway. "Please be normal when I come back."

Carver waited until he heard the door shut close before palming his face. "Fucking Isabela."