"Yes," Rilien murmured lowly, just the faintest hint of sarcasm seeping into his tone, "it seems that logically, being as drunk as possible as often as you may would be an excellent method of keeping the demon detained." It was also a shortcut to organ failure and death, but he decorously refrianed from saying as much. Observant as he was, he had not missed the fact that his sudden appearance had triggered Rapture's retreat, and part of him was quite satisfied by this arrangement, though he kept the smug gleam from his eyes. She would know then, that she needed to be in much better condition to face him. Satisfactory-- he did not want her growing too familiar with his methods and habits, and the less time she was in his company, the better. The world was no doubt different filtered through the relatively innocent (in a specific sense of the word) Sparrow.
The bulb end of one of the bottles, he moved forward just enough to press into her palm, that she might take it. She knew a little better than Ashton what it was, anyway-- a remedy for just precisely the situation they now found themselves in. Invention was inspired by reality, and when one lived with Sparrow, one invented a curative for hangovers, or one endured her less than tidy mornings-after.
"Your tale is not yet finished," he observed, proffering the other bottle through the bars to Ashton. He still had the key, after all, and that was greater leverage than anything. "Attend to your fingers, Ashton." He glanced pointedly at the man's digits, one of which was now bearing something that had not been there the previous day.
“Well. Unless you've got better plans up those floppy-sleeves of yours,” Sparrow murmured, frowning thoughtfully. She continued opening and closing her hand, fingertips grazing the bottom of the vial. Of course, she'd had this concoction before. Perhaps, during the first week of her stay in Rilien's comfy, unassuming abode, he'd wisely contrived the ill-tasting sedative to keep her from pestering him while he tried to sleep. Inebriated-Sparrow often turned into a five-year old child who was wholly entertained at the prospects of removing warm bedsheets in one fell swoop, then throwing them over said victim's face while letting out an ear-splitting roar. He'd learnt quickly, that one. Even though she wouldn't say it out loud, and even if it was under awful circumstances, Sparrow was glad to see Rilien here. Ashton, too. She was a catalyst; they were her causation. She was a con artist of hidden feelings, late regrets and half-told stories; they were solid, mostly stable, and always there. The appreciation she felt could never be put into satisfying enough words. She spoke through her actions, anyway. It was always the littlest things.
Finally, Rilien moved forward and she felt the end of the bottle brush against her upturned palm. She plucked it away from his proffered hand, offered him a cheeky smile before she casually gulped it down. The taste wasn't very pleasant, but she knew well enough that she'd be feeling chipper in a matter of minutes. Already, there was a spreading warmth wriggling its fingers through her stomach, easing the tension in her abdomen and leeching away the acidic flavour roiling in her mouth. Sparrow let out a satisfied sigh, one of relief and abating sickness, and felt Rapture's disgust in her Fadespace. She balanced the empty vial in the hollow of her collar bone, finger poised on the semi-unfastened stopper. “You'll feel a lot better,” She cooed softly, eyeing Ashton sideways. He still looked a little worse for wear. Sparrow absently patted down her pockets, checking the inside of her vest for any signs of where they'd been, who'd they'd stolen from and whether or not they'd procured Rilien's list of goodies. She hoped they'd managed to grab something at least.
In answer, a series of gurgling, wordless, formless sounds escaped Ashton's mouth all on their own. It was the same tone as a death moan from a horse, and he felt little better. He reached for the outstretched bottle, but was momentarily confused. When were there three Rilien's? More importantly, which bottle should he reach for? The center? He reached out and slapped in that general vicinity, but evidently missed as he only swatted air. A muffled curse and he went for the right. Another swing and a miss, this time it managed to ellicit a fully fledged curse "Dammmit," He strung out and reached for the last one. Success!
He struggled with the stopper, but finally managed to get it off by ripping it out with his teeth, downing the entire connoction instantly. Maybe inhaling the substance wasn't the best idea. "Oh Maker, that tasted like ass," he gagged. Ah, but only gagged. He managed to keep it down, which meant it was doing its job. That was good. Maybe he'd survive after all. Still, the room shook, and he decided to not press his luck by jumping cartwheels anytime soon. He just sat still, and would until the bottle ran its entire course. The effects did manage to tone down the thumping in his ears, as now he could finally hear the words being thrown at him. "Fingers? Please tell me I still have them all," he said as he raised his hand.
The first order of business was to make sure all ten digits were intact. They were. He arched an eyebrow, wondering what Rilien meant. What secrets did these fingers hold? He turned the hand that Rilien pointed at over, trying to figure out what was so wrong that he had to bring it to attention. "I don't... Wait. Hello. what's this?" Ashton noted, finally finding the golden band looping around his finger. Funny, he didn't like to wear jewelry. That didn't explain what it was doing on his hand. "Heh, wonder who I married," He added sarcastically. More importantly, he wondered who he mugged.
Though the Tranquil was well-aware that Ashton was not being serious, the question nevertheless demanded an answer, one that he just so happened to have. Producing a folded and official-looking piece of parchment, he opened it crisply, scanning over the document with apparent disinterest. The bottom contained a telling seal, the generic mark pressed into the glob of red wax an imprecise echo of the sunburst adorning his brow. What unfortunate brother or sister of the Chantry had been convinced to officiate over the document's creation and the attendant ceremonies, he did not know. They had likely been quite unwittingly pressed into it, if the haste of the handwriitng was any indication. Glancing back at his two recovering companions, Rilien raised a single brow and began to read in his very best monotone.
"This document shall serve as official record of the lawful union of Messere Ashton Cuthbert Riviera and Messere Sparrow Kilaion, both men of the sovereign city of Kirkwall, here duly recognized. Undersigned, Brother Stefano, servant of the Maker and his bride Andraste, in the city aforementioned, within the Free Marches of Thedas, in this the thirty-third year of the ninth age." Rilien paused to let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "The signature and seal seem to be in order, and given the location I procured it from, the two of you gentlemen are apparently the most recent newlyweds in Kirkwall." It was quite hard to keep his voice level, actually, as amusement and irritation were both threatening to waver his steady tones, but he wasn't an expert actor for nothing, and remained as entirely nonplussed as ever.
"It seems I must offer my belated congratulations. Tell me, will Sparrow be moving into Lowtown accommodations, or should I expect another guest at my own home?"
"... What." Ashton said, simply dumbfounded. Surprisingly, the syllable was even more monotone than Rilien.
The ensuing laughter exploded from Sparrow's lips, rumbling through her chest, as if she were entirely sceptical of Rilien's statement. As if he'd just told them a particularly nasty joke whose punch-line was well-received. Though, Tranquil never joked. They did not jest, or cajole, or caper around the truth. Her laughter faltered, sidling into uncomfortable titters. Seeing as there was no further response from her companion, holding the documents just so that she could see the unamused light in his eyes, Sparrow's breezy smile curled into a deep frown, eyebrows knitting together. "You're not kidding. You're not, are you?” She protested sharply, shooting straight up. Her mind reeled in protest, begging her to lay back down and allow a bit more time to recover from her silly escapades, but she was on a mission and she needed to see the document for herself. When had all of this happened? For the life of her, she couldn't recall stumbling drunkenly into the Chantry. How had that even come about? They both adored buxom, lovely women. This made no sense!
Sparrow hurtled forward, catching herself on the bars before she could smash her face into them. With clumsy fingers, she managed to get a hold of the pristine piece of parchment, with its scrawled writing and official stamp of red wax – and it was then that her breath hitched, nose crinkling. There it was; a golden ring bound around her finger like a prison sentence, like an anchor thrown out across barnacles and ship-sinking reefs. “No, no, no!” She sputtered and shook out the document like an old, dirty shirt, flattening it out on her knee. “Blah blah blah, Brother Stefano... blah blah blah lawful union. This is real. By the Gods, useless Chantry twats. What were they thinking?” None of this made any sense. The Chantry looked down on same-gender unions (not that they would've known otherwise), unless said individuals were in a free-loving place like Antiva. They must have threatened them with something dreadful. What would Kirkwall's women think of her now, with a collar around her neck and a ring on her finger? The city wasn't very big. Rumours would spread like wildfire. They'd be ruined – Sparrow's hands caught hold of Rilien's robes, half to keep herself from sliding down the bars like a slug and half because she wanted to say, “If you knew, then why didn't you stop us? We're just a pair of drunks.”
The half-breed leaned her face against the bars, cheek promptly squished. “We're going to have to kill Brother Stefano. No one must know,” She deadpanned. Again, Sparrow's eyes went wide and glassy. "We, uh, didn't, did we? No, no, 'course not. Impossible."
Rilien, unfazed as ever, plucked the document back from his friend's grubby hands, refolding it properly and taking a step back from the bars. "Even I am not omnisicent, Sparrow. I was unappraised of the details until I conducted an investigation this morning." By investigation, of course, Rilien meant that he'd broken into the Chantry records room and stolen the required document, then bribed a prison guard to get in to "talk" to his friends. The key had been another pilfered item, but Rilien was nothing if not thorough-- he also had the arrest documents in his possession. Once he decided to let them out, nobody would be the wiser. "There is no need for an assassination. If there had been, I would have taken care of it." There was a faint note of chiding in his voice, as though he were the slightest bit offended that she thought he would leave a necessary murder uncommitted. There was also no need to cover one up; fortunately, killing at least was not on their list of deeds for the previous evening.
"Now, are your deficient memories yet recovered, or will you require further prompting?"
Ashton was still stuck back at the word union and anything after that fell on deaf ears. His mind was trying to register marriage, but it wasn't happening. He'd never-- well maybe-- he never thought about it, much less actually had the gall to go through it. "Married?" He repeated mutely. It still hadn't bored through his head. He wasn't marriage material, but then again, neither was Sparrow, but him especially. Finally, with time to process and mull over options, he returned to his conversation. "You understand what this means right?" He asked Sparrow, very nearly biting the ring off of his finger. "We must murder Rilien too. No one must know," He echoed.
"A shame really. I liked the fellow," Which was Ashton's way of saying it was a joke. Rilien had the key and the documents, he shouldn't bite the hand too hard, though letting it go completely unhampered wasn't in the cards. "I got nothing Rilsie. I think I pickled my innards-- so obviously we had some of the gutrot at the Hanged Man. Maybe if you'd stop dangling that key over our heads like a carrot and let us out, we can begin to find out what in the hell happened." He stated matter of factly. "I promise I won't make an attempt on your life," he said, holding both hands up out of the bars.
"Today," He added in a mutter for Sparrow.
Sparrow dramatically plopped forward, allowing the fabric of Rilien's robes to slip through her fingers. Though, she remained placated against the bars, hardly holding herself up, and bent at an odd angle that looked like she'd fall on her face at any moment. A limp noodle that felt as if she'd been given the most outrageous news ever. Elephant-sized mabari hounds were rampaging down Kirkwall's streets. Knight-Commander Meredith was getting married to First Enchanter Orsino. Varric suddenly, spontaneously threw out his beloved crossbow – they all didn't make any sense, but at least they were as shocking as finding out that she'd gotten married to one of her closest friends in the midst of a drunken misadventure. She adjusted her grip on the bars, slipping down a bit so that she was speaking directly into Rilien's chest, eye-level with his sternum. “But you know everything. Practically, anyway,” She groaned, eyebrows knitting. Another unintelligible lament of injustice gurgled from her throat, hardly anything more than noise. “No more, please. You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
She eyed him balefully through her long eyelashes, though the expression only lingered for a moment before it crackled away. Of course, this was entirely their own fault. Liquor was a troublesome friend who provided the worst ideas, shadowing their every step until they went through with it. Matrimony certainly wasn't, in anyone's mind, a means of having fun. Why did they even think of it? Sparrow gently knocked her forehead against her extended arm. “No one. No one can know,” She repeated, as if it were a mantra to undo the undoable. It sounded like something more had happened. But, it wasn't like it could get any worse. What more had they done? What more could they have done? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but it seemed as if Rilien wouldn't stop baiting them with that metaphorical carrot until they knew the entire truth. It wouldn't make any difference, anyway. If this was some sort of sordid intervention to prevent them from getting arsed again, then their good friends words were in vain. Matrimony could be undone, could it not?
“Let ussss out, Ril. And erase this, this thing.” She whined, waving towards the document. She regarded her equally-hungover connubial partner, and a crack of a smile smoothed over her lips at the mention of offing Rilien for having bore witness to their humiliation. Future repercussions for teasing them so much would be had – perhaps, in the approach of giant five-year-old pranks. As an aside, Sparrow added, “I hope you wore the dress.” He would've looked nicer. "And I hope you tripped over the broom," He responded.
"Enjoying your plight, however much you have earned it, would be impossible," Rilien replied automatically, though they all knew that wasn't exactly true. Of course, only he would be able to say whether it was true in this case, and his phrasing did not make things particularly explicit. It was true that he could vanish their troubles in a simple moment, with nothing now but a gesture. But what they seemed to be missing was that he'd already put himself at considerable risk to erase this careless little mistake. Well, it shouldn't matter. He did nothing for thanks, did he? He worked for payment or because he felt the task necessary. Yet he was asking for no payment and annulling a reckless marriage was hardly necessary to him, so why...?
The thought was troubling enough that he now as well desired this charade to be over and done with, so he once again produced the parchment. "If you are sure. I will not do this again." Their actions and words all spoke to their certainty, so he waited for no confirmation at this point, simply tearing the document cleanly in half with the same minimum of ceremony as he always did. He handed one of the halves to each of them. Defaced so, the document was no longer valid, in the City of Kirkwall or anywhere else as far as he knew. They could dispose of the rest as they desired. Maybe if they chose to keep it, the pieces would serve as a reminder of what too much fun tended to get you.
He doubted this last thought very much.
With that, he produced the key. "The guard has been bribed, and I have already burned your arrest documents. There is no record of your time here, nor shall there be. We will meet no resistance on the way out, but if someone stops you, you were here as witnesses to a break-in at my shop last night." Fitting the thing into the door, he turned until there was a click, then stepped back, pulling the door open as he went. They had their freedom, even if their dignity was still utterly absent.
Ashton stared at his half of the paper for a moment. The sound of the parchment tearing in half ushered in a feeling of great relief, one that noticably set his posture at ease. He wasted no time in prancing past the threshold of the bar before coming to an abrupt stop. He whirled around and arched his back so that he was head height with Sparrow. As he waved his half of their paper, he stated, "This does not mean you get half my stuff."
The bulb end of one of the bottles, he moved forward just enough to press into her palm, that she might take it. She knew a little better than Ashton what it was, anyway-- a remedy for just precisely the situation they now found themselves in. Invention was inspired by reality, and when one lived with Sparrow, one invented a curative for hangovers, or one endured her less than tidy mornings-after.
"Your tale is not yet finished," he observed, proffering the other bottle through the bars to Ashton. He still had the key, after all, and that was greater leverage than anything. "Attend to your fingers, Ashton." He glanced pointedly at the man's digits, one of which was now bearing something that had not been there the previous day.
“Well. Unless you've got better plans up those floppy-sleeves of yours,” Sparrow murmured, frowning thoughtfully. She continued opening and closing her hand, fingertips grazing the bottom of the vial. Of course, she'd had this concoction before. Perhaps, during the first week of her stay in Rilien's comfy, unassuming abode, he'd wisely contrived the ill-tasting sedative to keep her from pestering him while he tried to sleep. Inebriated-Sparrow often turned into a five-year old child who was wholly entertained at the prospects of removing warm bedsheets in one fell swoop, then throwing them over said victim's face while letting out an ear-splitting roar. He'd learnt quickly, that one. Even though she wouldn't say it out loud, and even if it was under awful circumstances, Sparrow was glad to see Rilien here. Ashton, too. She was a catalyst; they were her causation. She was a con artist of hidden feelings, late regrets and half-told stories; they were solid, mostly stable, and always there. The appreciation she felt could never be put into satisfying enough words. She spoke through her actions, anyway. It was always the littlest things.
Finally, Rilien moved forward and she felt the end of the bottle brush against her upturned palm. She plucked it away from his proffered hand, offered him a cheeky smile before she casually gulped it down. The taste wasn't very pleasant, but she knew well enough that she'd be feeling chipper in a matter of minutes. Already, there was a spreading warmth wriggling its fingers through her stomach, easing the tension in her abdomen and leeching away the acidic flavour roiling in her mouth. Sparrow let out a satisfied sigh, one of relief and abating sickness, and felt Rapture's disgust in her Fadespace. She balanced the empty vial in the hollow of her collar bone, finger poised on the semi-unfastened stopper. “You'll feel a lot better,” She cooed softly, eyeing Ashton sideways. He still looked a little worse for wear. Sparrow absently patted down her pockets, checking the inside of her vest for any signs of where they'd been, who'd they'd stolen from and whether or not they'd procured Rilien's list of goodies. She hoped they'd managed to grab something at least.
In answer, a series of gurgling, wordless, formless sounds escaped Ashton's mouth all on their own. It was the same tone as a death moan from a horse, and he felt little better. He reached for the outstretched bottle, but was momentarily confused. When were there three Rilien's? More importantly, which bottle should he reach for? The center? He reached out and slapped in that general vicinity, but evidently missed as he only swatted air. A muffled curse and he went for the right. Another swing and a miss, this time it managed to ellicit a fully fledged curse "Dammmit," He strung out and reached for the last one. Success!
He struggled with the stopper, but finally managed to get it off by ripping it out with his teeth, downing the entire connoction instantly. Maybe inhaling the substance wasn't the best idea. "Oh Maker, that tasted like ass," he gagged. Ah, but only gagged. He managed to keep it down, which meant it was doing its job. That was good. Maybe he'd survive after all. Still, the room shook, and he decided to not press his luck by jumping cartwheels anytime soon. He just sat still, and would until the bottle ran its entire course. The effects did manage to tone down the thumping in his ears, as now he could finally hear the words being thrown at him. "Fingers? Please tell me I still have them all," he said as he raised his hand.
The first order of business was to make sure all ten digits were intact. They were. He arched an eyebrow, wondering what Rilien meant. What secrets did these fingers hold? He turned the hand that Rilien pointed at over, trying to figure out what was so wrong that he had to bring it to attention. "I don't... Wait. Hello. what's this?" Ashton noted, finally finding the golden band looping around his finger. Funny, he didn't like to wear jewelry. That didn't explain what it was doing on his hand. "Heh, wonder who I married," He added sarcastically. More importantly, he wondered who he mugged.
Though the Tranquil was well-aware that Ashton was not being serious, the question nevertheless demanded an answer, one that he just so happened to have. Producing a folded and official-looking piece of parchment, he opened it crisply, scanning over the document with apparent disinterest. The bottom contained a telling seal, the generic mark pressed into the glob of red wax an imprecise echo of the sunburst adorning his brow. What unfortunate brother or sister of the Chantry had been convinced to officiate over the document's creation and the attendant ceremonies, he did not know. They had likely been quite unwittingly pressed into it, if the haste of the handwriitng was any indication. Glancing back at his two recovering companions, Rilien raised a single brow and began to read in his very best monotone.
"This document shall serve as official record of the lawful union of Messere Ashton Cuthbert Riviera and Messere Sparrow Kilaion, both men of the sovereign city of Kirkwall, here duly recognized. Undersigned, Brother Stefano, servant of the Maker and his bride Andraste, in the city aforementioned, within the Free Marches of Thedas, in this the thirty-third year of the ninth age." Rilien paused to let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "The signature and seal seem to be in order, and given the location I procured it from, the two of you gentlemen are apparently the most recent newlyweds in Kirkwall." It was quite hard to keep his voice level, actually, as amusement and irritation were both threatening to waver his steady tones, but he wasn't an expert actor for nothing, and remained as entirely nonplussed as ever.
"It seems I must offer my belated congratulations. Tell me, will Sparrow be moving into Lowtown accommodations, or should I expect another guest at my own home?"
"... What." Ashton said, simply dumbfounded. Surprisingly, the syllable was even more monotone than Rilien.
The ensuing laughter exploded from Sparrow's lips, rumbling through her chest, as if she were entirely sceptical of Rilien's statement. As if he'd just told them a particularly nasty joke whose punch-line was well-received. Though, Tranquil never joked. They did not jest, or cajole, or caper around the truth. Her laughter faltered, sidling into uncomfortable titters. Seeing as there was no further response from her companion, holding the documents just so that she could see the unamused light in his eyes, Sparrow's breezy smile curled into a deep frown, eyebrows knitting together. "You're not kidding. You're not, are you?” She protested sharply, shooting straight up. Her mind reeled in protest, begging her to lay back down and allow a bit more time to recover from her silly escapades, but she was on a mission and she needed to see the document for herself. When had all of this happened? For the life of her, she couldn't recall stumbling drunkenly into the Chantry. How had that even come about? They both adored buxom, lovely women. This made no sense!
Sparrow hurtled forward, catching herself on the bars before she could smash her face into them. With clumsy fingers, she managed to get a hold of the pristine piece of parchment, with its scrawled writing and official stamp of red wax – and it was then that her breath hitched, nose crinkling. There it was; a golden ring bound around her finger like a prison sentence, like an anchor thrown out across barnacles and ship-sinking reefs. “No, no, no!” She sputtered and shook out the document like an old, dirty shirt, flattening it out on her knee. “Blah blah blah, Brother Stefano... blah blah blah lawful union. This is real. By the Gods, useless Chantry twats. What were they thinking?” None of this made any sense. The Chantry looked down on same-gender unions (not that they would've known otherwise), unless said individuals were in a free-loving place like Antiva. They must have threatened them with something dreadful. What would Kirkwall's women think of her now, with a collar around her neck and a ring on her finger? The city wasn't very big. Rumours would spread like wildfire. They'd be ruined – Sparrow's hands caught hold of Rilien's robes, half to keep herself from sliding down the bars like a slug and half because she wanted to say, “If you knew, then why didn't you stop us? We're just a pair of drunks.”
The half-breed leaned her face against the bars, cheek promptly squished. “We're going to have to kill Brother Stefano. No one must know,” She deadpanned. Again, Sparrow's eyes went wide and glassy. "We, uh, didn't, did we? No, no, 'course not. Impossible."
Rilien, unfazed as ever, plucked the document back from his friend's grubby hands, refolding it properly and taking a step back from the bars. "Even I am not omnisicent, Sparrow. I was unappraised of the details until I conducted an investigation this morning." By investigation, of course, Rilien meant that he'd broken into the Chantry records room and stolen the required document, then bribed a prison guard to get in to "talk" to his friends. The key had been another pilfered item, but Rilien was nothing if not thorough-- he also had the arrest documents in his possession. Once he decided to let them out, nobody would be the wiser. "There is no need for an assassination. If there had been, I would have taken care of it." There was a faint note of chiding in his voice, as though he were the slightest bit offended that she thought he would leave a necessary murder uncommitted. There was also no need to cover one up; fortunately, killing at least was not on their list of deeds for the previous evening.
"Now, are your deficient memories yet recovered, or will you require further prompting?"
Ashton was still stuck back at the word union and anything after that fell on deaf ears. His mind was trying to register marriage, but it wasn't happening. He'd never-- well maybe-- he never thought about it, much less actually had the gall to go through it. "Married?" He repeated mutely. It still hadn't bored through his head. He wasn't marriage material, but then again, neither was Sparrow, but him especially. Finally, with time to process and mull over options, he returned to his conversation. "You understand what this means right?" He asked Sparrow, very nearly biting the ring off of his finger. "We must murder Rilien too. No one must know," He echoed.
"A shame really. I liked the fellow," Which was Ashton's way of saying it was a joke. Rilien had the key and the documents, he shouldn't bite the hand too hard, though letting it go completely unhampered wasn't in the cards. "I got nothing Rilsie. I think I pickled my innards-- so obviously we had some of the gutrot at the Hanged Man. Maybe if you'd stop dangling that key over our heads like a carrot and let us out, we can begin to find out what in the hell happened." He stated matter of factly. "I promise I won't make an attempt on your life," he said, holding both hands up out of the bars.
"Today," He added in a mutter for Sparrow.
Sparrow dramatically plopped forward, allowing the fabric of Rilien's robes to slip through her fingers. Though, she remained placated against the bars, hardly holding herself up, and bent at an odd angle that looked like she'd fall on her face at any moment. A limp noodle that felt as if she'd been given the most outrageous news ever. Elephant-sized mabari hounds were rampaging down Kirkwall's streets. Knight-Commander Meredith was getting married to First Enchanter Orsino. Varric suddenly, spontaneously threw out his beloved crossbow – they all didn't make any sense, but at least they were as shocking as finding out that she'd gotten married to one of her closest friends in the midst of a drunken misadventure. She adjusted her grip on the bars, slipping down a bit so that she was speaking directly into Rilien's chest, eye-level with his sternum. “But you know everything. Practically, anyway,” She groaned, eyebrows knitting. Another unintelligible lament of injustice gurgled from her throat, hardly anything more than noise. “No more, please. You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
She eyed him balefully through her long eyelashes, though the expression only lingered for a moment before it crackled away. Of course, this was entirely their own fault. Liquor was a troublesome friend who provided the worst ideas, shadowing their every step until they went through with it. Matrimony certainly wasn't, in anyone's mind, a means of having fun. Why did they even think of it? Sparrow gently knocked her forehead against her extended arm. “No one. No one can know,” She repeated, as if it were a mantra to undo the undoable. It sounded like something more had happened. But, it wasn't like it could get any worse. What more had they done? What more could they have done? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but it seemed as if Rilien wouldn't stop baiting them with that metaphorical carrot until they knew the entire truth. It wouldn't make any difference, anyway. If this was some sort of sordid intervention to prevent them from getting arsed again, then their good friends words were in vain. Matrimony could be undone, could it not?
“Let ussss out, Ril. And erase this, this thing.” She whined, waving towards the document. She regarded her equally-hungover connubial partner, and a crack of a smile smoothed over her lips at the mention of offing Rilien for having bore witness to their humiliation. Future repercussions for teasing them so much would be had – perhaps, in the approach of giant five-year-old pranks. As an aside, Sparrow added, “I hope you wore the dress.” He would've looked nicer. "And I hope you tripped over the broom," He responded.
"Enjoying your plight, however much you have earned it, would be impossible," Rilien replied automatically, though they all knew that wasn't exactly true. Of course, only he would be able to say whether it was true in this case, and his phrasing did not make things particularly explicit. It was true that he could vanish their troubles in a simple moment, with nothing now but a gesture. But what they seemed to be missing was that he'd already put himself at considerable risk to erase this careless little mistake. Well, it shouldn't matter. He did nothing for thanks, did he? He worked for payment or because he felt the task necessary. Yet he was asking for no payment and annulling a reckless marriage was hardly necessary to him, so why...?
The thought was troubling enough that he now as well desired this charade to be over and done with, so he once again produced the parchment. "If you are sure. I will not do this again." Their actions and words all spoke to their certainty, so he waited for no confirmation at this point, simply tearing the document cleanly in half with the same minimum of ceremony as he always did. He handed one of the halves to each of them. Defaced so, the document was no longer valid, in the City of Kirkwall or anywhere else as far as he knew. They could dispose of the rest as they desired. Maybe if they chose to keep it, the pieces would serve as a reminder of what too much fun tended to get you.
He doubted this last thought very much.
With that, he produced the key. "The guard has been bribed, and I have already burned your arrest documents. There is no record of your time here, nor shall there be. We will meet no resistance on the way out, but if someone stops you, you were here as witnesses to a break-in at my shop last night." Fitting the thing into the door, he turned until there was a click, then stepped back, pulling the door open as he went. They had their freedom, even if their dignity was still utterly absent.
Ashton stared at his half of the paper for a moment. The sound of the parchment tearing in half ushered in a feeling of great relief, one that noticably set his posture at ease. He wasted no time in prancing past the threshold of the bar before coming to an abrupt stop. He whirled around and arched his back so that he was head height with Sparrow. As he waved his half of their paper, he stated, "This does not mean you get half my stuff."