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She-nanigans and Her-ersy [Complete]

Isabela

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#21
Celeste agreed that a little rooftop climb was just the sort of thing they should be doing, taking the opportunity to name Isabela ‘Temperance’ as she did so. Despite her concern about what exactly was going on here, Isabela couldn’t repress a quiet snort. This whole night was going so much better than the day. Hopefully some over-zealous sellsword wasn’t about to ruin it for them.

A tripwire was in evidence. A windowsill a few feet up provided a good grabhold, and from there Isabela could just the various supports and beams jutting from the side of the building to get her the rest of the way up. She needed a boost, though, and Celeste was quick to offer, probably in order to get a view of another full moon beside the one in the sky. Isabela returned her sly grin. “Your generosity does you credit, Sister Celibacy.”

She stepped up onto Celeste’s linked fingers and caught the sill easily. It was only a little like running up a rigging but just enough so to make her nostalgic, and as she neared the top she hoicked her robe back over her hip to draw one of her daggers as she peeked over the edge.

Two men, both dressed in dark colours head to toe. One was describing a lazy circle around the rooftop, while the other was sitting against the wall, obviously bored out of his mind. So in a way, Isabela was sort of about to do him a favour. She hissed back over her shoulder to Celeste. “Incoming!”

When the circling man drew close, she let him pass before lunging up, her fingers snagging in the back of his belt. He let out a squawk of surprise at the sudden weight and staggered back a few paces before tripping backwards over the ledge. He fell with a pained grunt at Celeste’s feet, bones rattled but not dead. The other man was halfway to his feet, pausing as he took in the sight of a Chantry sister waving a dagger at him. His mouth dropped further when she retrieved the other dagger, giving him a rather privileged view in the process, and then lunged at him, pinning him to the floor.

A bit on the noisy side, perhaps, but she wasn’t Zevran. Stealth only got her so far. Surprise was more up her alley, and boy did this young man look surprised. He gasped in shock as she pressed her dagger to his throat. “Not a word, sweetling. I’m just going to invite my friend up here, and we’re going to have a little discussion about what’s drawn you gentleman to this roof, yes? All perfectly civil.”

Celeste was more merciful than Isabela, when she could afford to be. With that in mind, Isabela wasn’t inclined to start shedding blood until it became a necessity. At the tips of her daggers she urged the young man to quietly lower the ladder, assuming Celeste had dealt with the other guard in her own way.
 

Celeste Monroe

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#22
Bela readily accepted Celeste’s offer of a hand up and, as reliable as the sun – or moon – provided a lovely view of her backside when she lifted her robe to draw a dagger. She peered over the edge, and a whisper of “Incoming!” drifted down to ground level, joined seconds later by a chap in dark shirt and pants.

He hit the ground with a pained “Ooof!”, and Celeste promptly welcomed him by rapping the back of his head smartly with the hilt of one of her daggers. She had him tied and gagged with strips cut from his own shirt in seconds, stowing him behind a stack of barrels. She stepped back out just in time to see the end of the ladder come tipping over the edge of the roof, descending to the alley.

“You found a new friend, I see,” she observed when she made it topside, giving the nervous looking youngster with the pirate a sunny smile that he didn’t seem to find reassuring. “Your friend is fine, pet, and you will be too. Do you really think a couple of Chantry sisters would hurt anyone?”

“Y’don’t look like any Chantry sisters I ever seen,” he mumbled, clearly unsure whether this was a good thing or not.

“We’re from a special order,” she informed him. “The Sisters of Immaculate Debauchery. Very advanced in our religious studies, trusted with only the most important of the Maker’s tasks.”

The broad forehead furrowed. “Im – immacu-what?”

“We’re very good at what we do,” she assured him, hoping that was enough single-syllable words. Being a clever smartass wasn’t nearly as much fun without an audience capable of at least comprehending, if not appreciating. “What now, Sister Temperence?”
 

Isabela

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#23
Celeste shimmied up the ladder in her usual spritely fashion – the woman could make standing still look good, let alone ascending after trussing up a man – and joined Isabela on the rooftop. “You found a new friend, I see.” She gave a smile that Isabela immediately echoed and directed towards the young man, which had the desired effect of making him look more nervous than ever. “Your friend is fine, pet, and you will be too. Do you really think a couple of Chantry sisters would hurt anyone?”

Might as well get the mileage out of the robes. The young man was a bit sceptical, but was smart enough to not get mouthy with them about it when he mentioned they were a bit outside his usual experience of Chantry sisters. Celeste hastened to explain. “We’re from a special order – the Sisters of Immaculate Debauchery.” Well, kind of. Isabela’s lips curled in a grin. “Very advanced in our religious studies, trusted with only the most important of the Maker’s tasks.”

The wit was lost on the boy. Shame. At least Isabela was around to appreciate it. Celeste glanced at her. “What now, Sister Temperance?”

“Well, I have a few searching questions for my new friend here.”Isabela gave the boy her very best shark grin, and he responded by looking like he was about to pee himself. She crouched by him, swinging her dagger between her fingers. “I’m guessing you’re watching over something, yes? Some valuable?”

He eyed the dagger, then her, and nodded slowly. “There’s – there’s a chest at the bottom of the street down there. Dunno what’s in it. Just got told that somebody’d be along tonight to fetch it, and we were to get the jump on them.”

Well, that she could understand, but a small detail bugged Isabela. “You were told to get the drop on anybody who came along? There wasn’t somebody you were told was clear to take it?” This was meant to be a handover situation, so there should be one person who’d be safe to collect. Except the boy was shaking his head, which meant the whole thing was a trap.

For her specifically? Or was the merchant expecting more trouble from other quarters? A frown soured Isabela’s features, and she cleared it the moment she was aware of it. “That’s a decent start. Is there anybody else lying in wait?”

“I – I don’t think so.”

That was about as much use as they were going to get out of him. He didn’t seem the type to lie when confronted so closely with a dagger than his eyes crossed. Isabela sighed. “Is there something in the chest at all?” Hopefully this wasn’t a completely wasted trip.

He nodded. “I helped move it. It’s heavy. I heard things moving around in it. Sounded like metal.” The boy was trembling with nerves. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, you seem a little stressed out, so I’m going to let you have a nap.”

“What-”

Clonk.

The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head as the dagger’s hilt struck him. Isabela started shredding his tunic, ready to give him the same treatment as his partner. As she did so, she glanced over at Celeste. “What do you say? Give it a shot and see if there’s anything other than rocks in that chest?”
 

Celeste Monroe

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#24
Sister Temperence took over the questioning of their new friend, and quickly made an interesting discovery: the chest was apparently bait, the two guarding it under orders to attack anyone who approached it.

That wasn't promising. Either the exchange was going down elsewhere, or the whole thing was a setup. To her credit, Isabela didn't hold it against the kid, but she did give him a ticket to the same nap that Celeste had provided his buddy.

“What do you say?” she asked as she cut up his tunic to provide restraints. “Give it a shot and see if there’s anything other than rocks in that chest?”

“Why not?” Celeste peered over the edge of the roof at the chest, then into the night around them, looking for shadows in the shadows. “You want to check or watch?” She didn't think the kid had lied, but that didn't mean that he didn't know about others lying in wait.
 

Isabela

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#25
Celeste reserved her words, but agreed that they should see if they could get something out of this. “You want to check or watch?”

“Check, of course. If somebody jumps me I want to be in the best position to see their face when you land on their head. They probably won’t enjoy it as much as I usually do.” And with a wink, Isabela shimmied back down the ladder. The other rooftop guard was still enjoying a nice trip through the Fade and she skirted around him before heading towards the alleyway. She folded her hands over each other, daggers in the sleeves, and gave a benign Chantry-sister smile to a dockworker was staggering past, thick with drink. It was sort of fun, pretending to be demure.

She reached the entry to the alley with no problems. A tripwire was neatly stepped over, and she paused to examine a pressure plate that had been rigged up a few paces further along. A crossbow was resting on a barrel beside it, loaded and with the wire that connected it to the plate clearly visible. Isabela allowed herself to be a little hopeful again. While she doubted she’d find the diamonds, somebody had gone to some effort to make sure that whoever came after the chest ended up regretting it. Which meant that just maybe, there was something in there.

The chest was locked, because of course it was. And with a padlock. Isabela eyed the catch, ran a fingernail behind the backing, and then pressed the tip of her dagger into it, carefully levering the whole setting away from the wood. She worked slowly, careful not to rock the chest. For all she knew there was another trap underneath that would be activated when weight was shifted.

If there was nothing useful inside, she was going to be really mad.

The screws finally tore loose from the wood with a groaning creak, and Isabela glanced at the entrance of the alleyway again before she opened it properly.

Cushioned inside was a single diamond, about the size of two clenched fists. It was uncut and unpolished – it didn’t actually look all that impressive, if you didn’t know what could be done with it. With a proper gemworker and the right fence, it would be worth a lot. Isabela started to slowly lift it, standing aside in case anything was fired at her head.

“Well, well. I thought somebody might try to interfere, but I never expected a Chantry sister.”

Bollocks. Isabela turned around to see a man right at the very end of the alleyway, flanked by two others who looked like their mothers had fucked a bronto. It was hard to make out the man’s face in this light, but she could imagine the sneering smile that accompanied the words. “And one with an interesting skillset, at that. Tell me, who were you running from when you joined-”

Isabela had no interest in monologuing. Celeste would be with her at any moment, and she wanted to get out of here and back to the Hanged Man for a celebration. So instead of asking why he’d gone through all this, she threw the diamond overhand at him. “Catch!”

He let out a squawk of surprise that didn’t fit his previous tone at all, and it was with a satisfied grin that Isabela spun the crossbow on the barrel and watched its load speed towards one of the bodyguards.
 

Celeste Monroe

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#26
Isabela's choice of activity was no great surprise. “Check, of course,” she replied with a saucy wink. “If somebody jumps me I want to be in the best position to see their face when you land on their head. They probably won’t enjoy it as much as I usually do.”

“You're usually at least expecting it,” Celeste quipped, watching the pirate descend the ladder, then following from above as she worked her way around to the mouth of the alley. Another tripwire and a pressure plate intended to fire a crossbow. Heavy defenses for rocks, unless they were the sparkly kind.

Bela avoided everything with ease, crouching in front of the chest and prising the lock plate from the wood with care. Celeste couldn't see what was in the chest as the lid raised, but she caught the faintest gleam of something in the Rivaini's hand -

“Well, well. I thought somebody might try to interfere, but I never expected a Chantry sister.”

Well, fuck. She'd just failed spectacularly on her end. Fortunately, the bloke who had appeared at the mouth of the alley with the Fugly Twins flanking him was more interested in exposition than taking advantage of catching them with their pants down – or off, in Bela's case.

Plus, he didn't seem to know that she wasn't alone. Or even who she was.

“And one with an interesting skillset, at that,” he continued with the chitchat, oblivious to Celeste getting into position overhead. “Tell me, who were you running from when you joined-”

“Catch!” Isabela tossed something large and sort of shiny in the direction of the trio, then spun the crossbow around and shot one of the twins.

Twelve inches of steel-tipped wood sprouting from a shoulder was pretty much guaranteed to demote everything else to a distant second on the list of concerns. Fugly One clutched his new fashion accessory with a howl of pain that was Celeste's cue.

“Maker's blessings!” She launched herself over the edge just as the chatty one caught whatever Isabella had thrown, landing with her weight distributed nicely between him and Fugly Two. They staggered, and Chatty went to his knees, his catch clattering to the cobblestones.

“Blessed are those who take no shit!” Celeste rolled forward in a flurry of robes, fetching up on hands and knees and shooting a foot up and sideways into the crotch of Fugly Two. “For they shall be known as badasses!” If the Chant of Light didn't contain that verse, it should. She'd even add it to a copy or two later, when she got the chance.

“Time to go, Sister Temperence!”
 

Isabela

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#27
Right on target. Well, sort of. Instead of killing one of the big guards, the crossbow bolt caught him in the shoulder, which caused more yelling than Isabela would like but as a distraction worked just dandy. Everything else happened quickly. Snotty Merchant managed to catch the diamond, but not without a bit of high-quality comedy fumbling, and then Celeste came down on the other man like the wrath of the Maker, only much, much prettier.

“Blessed are those who take no shit!”

Isabela didn’t bother trying to contain her hoot of laughter as Celeste followed this up with an almighty crotch kick on the second Bronto Brother. He went down with a howl equal to the sounds coming out of his companion, and the merchant was still standing there with his mouth hanging open. “For they shall be known as badasses! Time to go, Sister Temperance!”

“And so is the city of Kirkwall cleansed, with every boot you took to the balls!” The merchant didn’t get a second to recover before Isabela flew at him, one knee coming up to the aforementioned area and an elbow twisting to catch him squarely in the nose as he ducked to try and protect himself. “We make sin into Heaven, and bring doom upon the world!”

She’d have to work on that. Her usual remarks during fighting did not involve a lot of witticisms. But there was definitely something to adding a few verses to the Chant of Light.

Another night. For now, as the merchant howled and then staggered backwards (tripping over his own tripwire, which was just perfect, releasing a bag of sand from one wall which swung forward to thump him in the side of the head before bursting), Isabela swiped the diamond from his fingers and then bolted. Despite being breathless she was laughing as she run, full of the thrill of the evening, and as soon as they were a safe distance away and she spotted an alleyway that didn’t look too mucky she grabbed Celeste by the wrist and swung her into it, pressing her against the wall and grinning at her.

“I think it’s time to ruin that good name of yours, Sister Celibacy. Maybe you can sing a few of those interesting verses you made up, hm?”
 

Celeste Monroe

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#28
“And so is the city of Kirkwall cleansed, with every boot you took to the balls!” Isabela announced grandly, fitting action to words with a knee-elbow combination that flattened Chatty's family jewels and broke his nose as he folded up. “We make sin into Heaven, and bring doom upon the world!”

“Yea verily!” Celeste dodged as Chatty managed to snag his own tripwire and immediately had a sandbag upside the head to add to his list of woes. The pirate snatched up whatever bauble the chest had contained and took off, laughter trailing in her wake.

Celeste followed, trusting to the other woman's knowledge of Kirkwall's alleys and backstreets to get them to safety, and not arguing when she evidently decided that they had gone far enough and pushed her up against the wall in the shadows of an alley.

“I think it’s time to ruin that good name of yours, Sister Chastity,” she said with a wicked smile. “Maybe you can sing a few of those interesting verses you made up, hm?”

Celeste grinned back at her, a little breathless from the run. Their little adventure and escape had her heart racing, blood singing in her veins and excitement dancing along every nerve, and she pulled the Rivaini close, the tip of her tongue teasing at the gold stud below the swell of her lower lip. “That depends on how inspiring you can be.”

Quite inspiring indeed, as it turned out.

xxx

“I hope I can remember some of those later,” Celeste remarked as they rearranged their robes. “Maybe somebody out there took notes.” They'd drawn a bit more attention than the typical shag in a Lowtown alley got, thanks to the robes and their improvisations. The Canticle of Fornications was practically complete, though the verses were currently obscured behind a pleasant post-coital haze.

“Hanged Man or my ship?” she inquired as they left the alley. “And what prize did we end up with?”
 

Isabela

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#29
It had become a game quite quickly. Trying to finjsh a verse before Celeste did something just so with those deft fingers, attempting to interrupt Celeste before she could finish a line. And of course, they had attracted some folks who had stopped by the entrance of the alleyway to gawp at the two women in laysister robes gasping filthy vaguely Chantry-esque words while doing distinctly not Chantry-esque things to each other. At one point, she was sure somebody had stood there for a good while just staring at them, but she’d occupied beneath Celeste’s robes at that point and so couldn’t be sure if it was the same person coming out as it had been when she was going in.

Either way they’d had to hurry it up when somebody had run off shrieking for the guard (some people had no sense of fun), and they rearranged their robes quickly once they were done. “I hope I can remember some of those later. Maybe somebody out there took notes.”

“And even if we didn’t, I’m pretty sure we inspired new heights of religious devotion in a few of the people who saw us.” Isabela grinned, pushing a lock of hair back from her now damp forehead. “Either that or we’re going to see some interesting new illustrations on Lowtown walls soon.”

Oh, that’d be fun, being part of a graffiti tableau depicting the last ten minutes. She’d love to see Aveline’s face if she put two and two together on that one.

“Hanged Man or my ship? And what prize did we end up with?”

“Your ship, it’s closer. Plus it means not having to go through that back alley again tonight.” Isabela dug in the pocket of her robes and slipped the sleeve back just enough to show Celeste the uncut rock within. She wasn’t anywhere near daft enough to mention she had a diamond on her person while walking around in this part of the city. “Should be worth a pretty few gold once it’s polished properly. Seventy-thirty split?” She teased, knowing that Celeste was owed fifty for agreeing to help her out with this (and getting her out of being flattened by the Bronto Brothers), but a bit of haggling always made for simulating conversation.

She winked at the other woman, then wound her arm in Celeste’s once more as they headed back towards the docks through a different route than before. This was a vast improvement on how shitty her day had been before she spotted Celeste in the Hanged Man. The other woman had a gift for blowing into town with enough fun in her sails to keep Isabela’s mood up for days.
 

Celeste Monroe

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#30
No one moved to detain them, but with the guard being summoned, it was plainly time for the Sisters of Immaculate Debauchery to take their leave.

“Your ship, it’s closer,” Isabela responded immediately when given the option. “Plus it means not having to go through that back alley again tonight.” Dipping a hand into her pocket, the pirate withdrew something, letting the loose folds of the sleeve fall back to cover it before tipping the hand to reveal just enough to identify the gleam of a raw diamond. “Should be worth a pretty few gold once it’s polished properly. Seventy-thirty split?”

“That's quite generous of you,” Celeste replied, pretending to consider it, “but thirty percent seems a bit low for your share, don't you think? I'd go as high as forty.”

Everyone on the Wicked Grace knew Bela except Piotr, whose eyes were huge as the Rivaini strutted up the gangplank like she owned the ship. “Piotr, the newest member of the crew,” Celeste introduced him to her friend. “Piotr, this is Isabela.”

His blue eyes grew even wider. “The pirate queen?” he squeaked, looking apprehensively at Celeste. “My old master was afraid of her. Said she gelded all the men on the ships she took.”

“Only the slavers,” Celeste assured him solemnly, then winked. “And I've worked out a trade: mind blowing sex in exchange for safe passage.”

“Rescued him from slavers a few weeks back,” she told Isabela as they entered her cabin. “He'd likely benefit from a tumble or two that wasn't forced on him, if you're interested.” The pirate shared Celeste's restriction about not bedding members of her own crew, but each other's crews had always been fair game.

“Here.” She scooped up the bag of gems, the key fragment and the journal and tossed them to Isabela in quick succession, confident she could catch them. She'd proved how nimble her hands were earlier. “See what you think of that.” Having Isabela along when they went after the next piece, in Antiva, would be both helpful and entertaining.
 

Isabela

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#31
Celeste pretended to consider the offer. “That’s quite generous of you. But thirty per cent seems a bit low for your share, don’t you think? I’d go as high as forty.”

Isabela laughed. Celeste never bored her. “How about fifty? Then neither of us are happy.” Which wasn’t true at all. She’d already been over the moon about running into her old friend even before Celeste had helped her relieve that scummy slaver-trader of his diamond and a good chunk of his dignity. Doubtless it would get back to him that a pair of laysisters had been taking their title way too literally, and if he wasn’t thicker than two planks of wood he’d realise they were the same people. And wouldn’t that realisation smart?

They’d reached the Wicked Grace already, and Isabela received a few convivial hellos from members of the crew who’d met her before, and a gawking stare from the one who hadn’t. “Piotr, the newest member of the crew. Piotr, this is Isabela.”

“The pirate queen?” Isabela preened, before winking at him, which only raised the squeak in his voice by another note. “My old master was afraid of her. Said she gelded all the men on the ships she took.”

“Only the slavers,” Celeste was quick to respond. “And I’ve worked out a trade: mind blowing sex in exchange for safe passage.”

Piotr might look terrified of her, but he was quite a handsome young man and while Isabela preferred her bedmates to have a little self-esteem, she definitely enjoyed raising that in them when she could. As long as they didn’t end up being the non-fun version of cocky.“Trust me, I wouldn’t geld every man anyway. It’d be a terrible waste.”

She gave him a slow look, he blushed and tripped away, and Isabela was still chuckling a little as they made it to Celeste’s cabin. “Rescued him from slavers a few weeks back. He’d likely benefit from a tumble or two that wasn’t forced on him, if you’re interested.”

“Provided he doesn’t flee from me or wet himself the moment I bring it up, I could see my way to that happening.” And there was time for it. She knew more than one member of Celeste’s crew intimately, and was looking forward to reforging a few promising friendships during her time abroad.

That wasn’t the only thing that had her smiling as she entered the cabin, though. Even securely lashed to the dock, the Wicked Grace bobbed a little on the water, and she could hear the occasional, slow creak of timber. A powerful pang of something like homesickness claimed her for a moment, but was quickly dispelled that with the knowledge that before too long, she’d be back on the water again. Temporarily, alas, but it would be a relief.

“Here.” Celeste threw a series of items at Isabela, who caught them quickly. She opened the bag first, eyes gleaming at the sight of the gems, then turned the fragment of metal over in her hand. Only after that did she set them aside to open the journal. It was in a cipher, but there were notes tucked into it throughout in Celeste’s handwriting which decoded it. “See what you think of that.”

Isabela scanned through, quickly absorbed. Even if Ephraim Sharpe’s beginnings were as humble as he claimed, he’d obviously made up the education later, and that was a moot point anyway. There were directions, and riddles. Isabela traced her finger over what appeared to be a map, with markings around the edge that were clearly meant to help orientate the reader so long as they could decipher the markings. She didn’t spend the time to study it in detail for the moment, but by the time she had finished her initial impressions, her attention was well and truly caught.

“So you have a treasure hunt on your hands.” She held up the fragment. “I’m guessing this is the first part. Do you know where in Antiva the second one might be?” A thought occurred. “And this definitely isn’t one of those ‘the real treasure was the friends we made along the way’ type bullshit? I’ve run into that more than once.”
 

Celeste Monroe

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#32
Celeste's counteroffer got a laugh from Isabela. “How about fifty?” the pirate suggested. “Then neither of us are happy.”

“Deal.” The entertainment alone had almost been payment enough, but she had a ship to repair and a crew to keep paid. Plus, no point in giving Bela the idea that she'd work for free.

Predictably, Piotr's apprehensive awe at meeting the Queen of the Eastern Seas was taken as a compliment of the highest degree. “Trust me, I wouldn’t geld every man anyway,” she told him with a wink and a suggestive smile. “It’d be a terrible waste.”

He blushed straight up both sides of his scalplock and beat a hasty retreat … but not without a glance or two backward to indicate that she might not be quite so frightening as he'd thought.

“Provided he doesn’t flee from me or wet himself the moment I bring it up, I could see my way to that happening,” was Isabela's response when Celeste suggested that the lad's confidence could do with a bit of creative seduction.

“Just don't come on too strong,” Celeste recommended. “I'm just now getting him used to the idea that he's not property any more; I don't want him thinking that he has to keep you satisfied.” She winked. “That's my job.” As if any one person could be up to that task. Fun trying, though.

Bela didn't try to hide the emotions that flickered across her face as the deck swayed gently beneath them, but Celeste pretended not to see. Even with no masts, the Wicked Grace was a damn sight better than no ship at all, and she knew that the pirate had to be feeling that loss as keenly as she herself would. Half of what that diamond would bring would be a good step to getting another ship of her own back under her, and with a bit of luck, they could add to it with her share of the incipient caper.

The pirate easily caught the objects that Celeste tossed to her, gravitating to the gems as predictably as a magpie, but was quickly drawn in by the journal, amber eyes intently scanning the pages.

“So you have a treasure hunt on your hands,” she remarked when she was done, inspecting the key fragment thoughtfully. “I’m guessing this is the first part. Do you know where in Antiva the second one might be?”

“The keyword for the next part of the cipher was CROWS NEST,” Celeste replied. “It's going to take me a while to get it deciphered with nine fucking letter tables to rotate through -“ She blinked. “Fuck me, the space is probably a table, too. I hate Vigenère ciphers.” Damn near impossible to break without the keyword, and a pain in the ass to decipher when you had it, even if the one who had created it wasn't a sadistic bastard and used a three or four letter keyword. Which obviously wasn't the case here. “Hopefully I'll get some confirmation when I do, but right now, my best guess is Antiva City. That diagram doesn't look quite like a street map, but it's definitely something man made.”

Isabela's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And this definitely isn’t one of those ‘the real treasure was the friends we made along the way’ type bullshit?” she wanted to know. “I’ve run into that more than once.”

“So have I,” Celeste agreed, “and I don't know on this one. Little Mary gave me the journal, and she's as reliable as they come, but the bloke that was carrying it was dead, and nobody knew who he was. Those are real enough,” she added, nodding at the gems. “They were hidden in a crypt in Cumberland's Grand Necropolis – which I don't recommend robbing, by the way. The Nevarrans guard their dead people better than they do the live ones. It was booby trapped with a stink bomb, but if I'm reading that journal right, the pitfalls get less innocuous from here on out. If we weren't going to Antiva City anyway, I wouldn't bother, but -” she shrugged and quirked a grin. “It's at least been interesting so far.” That was worth almost as much as gold and jewels, as far as Celeste was concerned.
 

Isabela

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#33
Thoughts about introducing Piotr to a more voluntary source of fun that he was used to were quickly dispelled by a pile of gems and the promise of a treasure hunt. Celeste had obviously been hard at work. Isabela didn’t know if she’d have the same patience – why dig for clues on the possibility of pay when you could just pluck a few fat Antivan merchant ships and enjoy the spoils of plunder? – but that wasn’t how Celeste worked, and Isabela was intrigued. She enquired how much further Celeste had managed to get with untangling everything.

“The keyword for the next part of the cipher was CROWS NEST. It's going to take me a while to get it deciphered with nine fucking letter tables to rotate through-” she broke off with a curse, muttering about complicated ciphers. Isabela could concur. Vigenère ciphers were a headache and a half, and only if she thought the payoff was really good would she bother taking the time to pull one apart. “Hopefully I'll get some confirmation when I do, but right now, my best guess is Antiva City. That diagram doesn't look quite like a street map, but it's definitely something man made.”

Isabela eyed the diagram, fingers tracing along it. Something tugged at her memory, but before she could latch onto it she had to clear a suspicion with Celeste first.

Celeste wasn’t able to get a straight answer as to whether this was some ‘bringing-friends-together’ type quest. The presence of the gems indicating it wasn’t just that, though, and they’d been well-hidden. Behind a booby trap. And apparently it was only going to get more dangerous from here on out. “If we weren't going to Antiva City anyway, I wouldn't bother, but – it’s been interesting so far.”

“Sounds it.” Isabela played with her labret piercing, twitching it as she pretended to consider for a moment or two before grinning. “Well, I’m in. Like you say, we’re heading that direction anyway, and at the very least there’s going to probably be some running and some fighting. It’ll keep me in shape.” She winked at Celeste. “And you’re always a fun time.”

She tapped the diagram. “And I’m pretty sure you’re right about Antiva City. I don’t know why, but this reminds me of it.” She’d seen that layout somewhere before, buggered if she could remember where, but it was definitely in that region.
 

Celeste Monroe

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#34
Isabela was skeptical … who wouldn't be? The journal stretched credulity from the first page, and even if it was true, something about its author was definitely off. But it also had two things that Celeste knew that the pirate would be hard pressed to resist: adventure and riches. The gems were a tantalizing hint that the treasure was more than a promise, but far from a guarantee. Antiva City was the next port of call anyway, so it would be easy enough to look into, and hopefully deciphering the next part of the journal would provide a few more clues.

“Sounds it.” Isabela agreed when Celeste observed that the chase had been an interesting one to date. The gold stud beneath her lower lip gleamed as she tweaked at it with her tongue. “Well, I’m in,” she announced with a grin. “Like you say, we’re heading that direction anyway, and at the very least there’s going to probably be some running and some fighting. It’ll keep me in shape. And you’re always a fun time,” she added with a wink.

“Of course,” Celeste agreed, returning the wink with a cocky smile of her own. 'Fun' was a more or less perpetual goal for her, and having Isabela along pretty much guaranteed that, whatever they wound up finding, a good time would be had.

“And I’m pretty sure you’re right about Antiva City,” the pirate went on, tapping the diagram with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t know why, but this reminds me of it.”

“You're ahead of me, then.” Celeste took the scrap of parchment, studying the drawing with a frown. “Let me know if it comes to you. Care for a drink?” she invited, strolling to the rack and pulling out a bottle of rum.
 

Isabela

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#35
Isabela wished they were leaving tomorrow. Or tonight. Right this minute. Josc was more than adequate at finding ways to distract her from the perpetual longing to return to the sea, but being so close to it right this minute left her with an ache that was hard to ignore. And the promise of adventure and riches only made it more enticing. Plus, it was Antiva, home of sun, sea, and so many other fun pastimes. Orlesians might throw the biggest and grandest parties, but in Isabela’s opinion, the Antivans knew how to have the most fun. Other than sailors in general, obviously.

Celeste eyed the paper that Isabela had been examining. Nothing more came to Isabela’s mind and apparently not to Celeste’s, either.“Let me know if it comes to you. Care for a drink?” She went to the rack, but instead of a bottle of wine, retrieved some rum. Isabela grinned.

“You know me so well.” Rum had the perfect balance of sweetness and burn. Plus, it was easy to find cheap versions of it just about anywhere you went. Not that this was cheap, particularly – Isabela eyed the label on the bottle with approval, and flopped down on the bed, leaving plenty of room for Celeste to settle beside her.

It would be easy to slide into the next fun portion of the evening – this whole evening had been fun, and there was zero reason to stop now – but there was something she owed to Celeste, in terms of a warning. “So I’m guessing you know that the Siren’s Call ran afoul of a storm. And that I haven’t been back out on the water yet.” She tucked an arm under her head. “Remember I told you about Castillion? Until I pay him back for what I ‘stole’-” her fingers crooked in an air quote at the same time as her lip curled – “he’s promised that I’ll not be able to command a ship in his seas. We’ll need to keep my presence on board pretty quiet, unless you feel like testing the Grace’s new sails against his.”

She wouldn’t have bothered sharing that information with most people, but with Celeste it was definitely better to bring it up now than have it come out when – if – Castillion’s colours ran up a ship that was pursuing them.
 

Celeste Monroe

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#36
Isabela wasn't much for wine, for the most part, except on very rare occasions. This didn't feel like one of those, and the look on the pirate's face that Celeste was pretending not to see suggested that something stronger was definitely in order. The Queen of the Eastern Seas wasn't sentimental about too many things – only one that Celeste could think of, in fact, and if even one of the Wicked Graces masts had been in place, she had little doubt that the pirate would be trying to wheedle her into casting off and raising sail.

Not that Celeste would need much in the way of convincing; Kirkwall's limited charms had long since exhausted themselves, but present company was a welcome distraction. Bela readily accepted the bottle of rum, and Celeste discarded the barely formed notion of pulling out a pair of tumblers to drink it from; they could drink from the bottle like the heathens they both were.

Stripping off the itchy robe – she'd had all the fun in it that she cared to this evening - and tossing her daggers onto a chair, she joined Isabela on the bed, taking the bottle from her and taking a healthy swig from the contents, then handed it back.

Bela surprised her by starting to talk. “So I’m guessing you know that the Siren’s Call ran afoul of a storm. And that I haven’t been back out on the water yet,” she began, pillowing her head on one arm. “Remember I told you about Castillion? Until I pay him back for what I ‘stole’-” a sneer accompanied the crooked fingers that qualified the word, “he’s promised that I’ll not be able to command a ship in his seas. We’ll need to keep my presence on board pretty quiet, unless you feel like testing the Grace’s new sails against his.”

Celeste made a rude sound. “I could power this ship with oars and outrun most of the scows he puts to sea,” she proclaimed, not without reason. Like many men, Castillon put far too much emphasis on size, favoring barques and galleons, broad in the beam with enough sail to drag them through the water even with the holds packed to capacity. As a member of the Felicisima Armada, he didn't have to worry about running from raiders, and he had customs inspectors bribed in damn near every port in Thedas.

“What did you take from him, anyway?” she asked curiously. Not that it would take much; the man's ego was legendary, and even a signet ring would likely be enough for him to hold a lasting grudge.
 

Isabela

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#37
Isabela wriggled out of her robes on the bed – they’d done their job, now good riddance to them – and Celeste did the same before joining her. Now this was more comfortable. If it wasn’t for the fact that going into battle naked would result in her smacking herself in the eye with her own tit, Isabela would never wear clothes again. Well, she might keep the sash, and the jewellery. She didn’t want to be boring, after all, and having a few accoutrements could make naked look even more naked.

The discomfort didn’t quite lift yet, though. She and Celeste had enjoyed a long, fruitful friendship, and while there were some things Isabela wasn’t willing to get into, Celeste knew more about her than maybe any other person alive right now. With that in mind, Isabela decided to be honest about Castillion. To a degree. She gave her warning, and grinned in mixed mirth and relief when Celeste blew a raspberry.

“I could power this ship with oars and outrun most of the scows he puts to sea.” She wasn’t wrong. The Wicked Grace was one of the nippiest ships on the water she knew (Isabela had put up a race between them some time back, and it had been hard going even before they’d had to call it off after venturing into rough waters), and Castillion liked his ships big and loaded with cargo. That, of course, had been the problem.

“What did you take from him, anyway?”

Isabela lay back, taking a long swig of the rum and tucking one arm beneath her head before holding the bottle back out to Celeste. “He hired me a bit ago to transport some cargo. Wasn’t allowed to see it going on, and the conditions were that I didn’t look below decks. Wasn’t a long journey, so could have gone without looking.”

Celeste would already know that meant she’d peeked as soon as she had the opportunity. Isabela’s lip curled. “Slaves. ‘Bout a couple of hundred of them. All gagged up and tied up so tight they couldn’t wriggle, presumably so I didn’t hear anybody whimpering. Blight refugees, I gather.” She reached for the bottle and took another drink, feeling the sugary warmth curl through her gut. Even now she didn’t know if she wouldn’t take it back and deliver the slaves if given the chance again. She’d lost so much over an act of charity.

She’d probably do it again, though. One fuck of a time to grow a conscience.

“Pulled up to the Marcher coast as near as I could get, and let them all off. ‘Course, Castillion flipped his lid. I’m meant to be finding some book for him and if I do, I get to roam the seas again – if I actually find it, that is. If not, he’ll try and keep me from ever getting a ship again.”
 

Celeste Monroe

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#38
Bela tended to share Celeste's opinions on clothes, which saved time in regards to sex and meant that they were comfortable in between. Nicer view, too, but like sunsets at sea, it was familiar enough that it could simply be enjoyed without a lot of needless gawping.

Celeste was curious about what her friend had done to get on Castillon's bad side. Not that it was difficult; an ego like that one had was easy to wound, and Celeste had made an art form of dancing up to the very edge, to the point that he'd stopped hiring her unless he had a cargo that absolutely required a fast ship, and since she made sure that he paid through the nose on such occasions, she didn't really give a damn about losing any other runs for him.

“He hired me a bit ago to transport some cargo,” Isabela replied when asked, taking a healthy pull from the rum and passing it over. “Wasn’t allowed to see it going on, and the conditions were that I didn’t look below decks. Wasn’t a long journey, so could have gone without looking.”

“But you didn't.” Celeste's faint smile didn't reach her eyes. Just as she knew that the pirate's curiosity would have won out, she knew that there were very few cargoes that would warrant that kind of secrecy. One, to be exact. She took a generous swig of her own; the rum was sweeter than whiskey, but no less potent.

“Slaves.” Bela's lip curled in contempt. “‘Bout a couple of hundred of them. All gagged up and tied up so tight they couldn’t wriggle, presumably so I didn’t hear anybody whimpering. Blight refugees, I gather.” She reclaimed the bottle, took another deep pull.

“Bastard.” She'd known of the practice. Daniel had fielded offers in the early days of the Blight, when ships were leaving from nearly every port in Ferelden, stuffed to the brim with desperate, frightened folk. The fucking 'Vints had come crawling out of the woodwork, offering sums that the typical captain wouldn't make with half a year's worth of honest cargo for a short run to Brandel's Reach. The first one to make such an offer to Daniel had been pitched over the rail by Gideon. So had the second. There hadn't been a third. Castillon probably hadn't even waited for an offer before gathering up the first lots; he'd have known the market would soon be booming.

“Pulled up to the Marcher coast as near as I could get, and let them all off.” Isabela tried to sound casual, but Celeste could see the doubts in the light brown eyes as she second guessed her choice. “‘Course, Castillion flipped his lid. I’m meant to be finding some book for him and if I do, I get to roam the seas again – if I actually find it, that is. If not, he’ll try and keep me from ever getting a ship again.”

“He can try.” Celeste took the rum back for another drink, then left the bottle on the bed between them, her hand resting lightly against the side to hold it upright. “He doesn't own the seas.” Bold words, but she knew, as Bela did, that Castillon did own a fleet that he would not hesitate to use to sink any ship that Isabela might obtain right out from under her.

“I'd have done the same thing.” And the Isabela of a few years earlier would not have. They had clashed any number of times over the years about her choices, but after escaping Luis' domination, the girl that had been called Naishe had one iron-hard goal: to never be controlled by anyone, ever again. She'd savagely spurned Daniel's offer of help, trusting no man, and set out to prove herself so ruthless that no one would dare lift a hand against her. She'd largely succeeded in that, but Naishe had been all but lost beneath Isabela, and Celeste had accepted it, never used the old name now. Reclaiming their friendship had been a slow process, done in fits and starts in sporadic encounters in ports across Thedas, reaching its present steady and irreverent state shortly before Daniel had been lost.

“Must be some book,” she remarked casually, adding with a smirk, “I didn't even know he could read.” She hadn't missed the sudden caginess in the Rivaini's manner, and she wasn't going to press. Trust was all well and good, but everybody had secrets, and knowing when not to push for them was as vital to building trust as knowing when and what to share. She didn't make a fuss over releasing the slaves, because she knew damn good and well that would only make the Queen of the Eastern Seas uncomfortable, but she was pleased with her nonetheless. If some moldy book was worth enough to Castillon to erase her debt, Celeste wasn't going to question it.
 

Isabela

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#39
Isabela had kept her gaze away from Celeste while she told her story, but she knew the other woman would see her hesitation. Her regret. And to a lesser extent, her embarrassment at the indication of her softer side. She wasn’t afraid to be gentle with Merrill, but hardly anybody else got to see that side of her. Except Celeste, who had known her from before she even became Isabela. She only turned her face back to her friend when Celeste declared that Castillion didn’t own the seas. The words were hollow, but the sentiment appreciated. Isabela had vividly imagined running him through and then flying his corpse from the mast more times than she’d had drinks.

“I’d have done the same thing.”

Of course she would. They shared close tastes in ships, people, their way of making the most of life, but Celeste had always been a better person. A badass with heart. Maybe the kind of person Isabela could have been if the crew of the Siren hadn’t dicked her over on her first attempt at becoming a sailor.

Thinking about it was getting to her, and she was glad when Celeste made a joke. “Must be some book. I didn’t even know he could read.”

Isabela shrugged, smiling in return as she ran her fingertips over Celeste’s hip. “He probably just wants to put it on a shelf and brag to anybody who sees it about how he got hold of it. Without mentioning me, of course.” That was one part she hadn’t figured out – what in the flames Castillion could want with a dusty old book about qunari philosophy. Some books were worth a lot, but Isabela couldn’t imagine paying more than a couple of silvers even for one that had something useful in it.

She found her grin again as another swallow of rum found its way down her throat. “’Course, I peeved him off a fair bit by killing one of his lieutenants. His fault for setting up an ambush.” She faked a sorrowful expression. “Poor man, all that power, all that influence, and he still can’t have me killed properly. He must be simply distraught.”
 

Celeste Monroe

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#40
Celeste hadn't expected Isabela to offer up any detail on the book that Castillon was after, and the pirate did not disappoint.

“He probably just wants to put it on a shelf and brag to anybody who sees it about how he got hold of it,” she theorized with a nonchalant shrug. “Without mentioning me, of course.” Tanned fingers traced along Celeste's hip, sending a pleasant frisson chasing beneath her skin.

“Of course,” she echoed with a smirk. The man really was an ass, so much like Bela's late and unlamented husband that even if she hadn't peeked at the unknown cargo out of curiosity, she'd have done it out of defiance. Mischief edged the smirk and sparked in green eyes. “Bet we could start a rumor that it's a book of cures for impotence.” It wouldn't be hard (pun very much intended, thank you). Sailors put old women to shame when it came to gossip, and something that juicy would take on a life of its own so quickly that it would be well nigh impossible to identify the origins.

Isabela tossed back another healthy slug of rum. “’Course, I peeved him off a fair bit by killing one of his lieutenants. His fault for setting up an ambush.” A smirk played about her lips, shifting to an exaggeratedly doleful pout. “Poor man, all that power, all that influence, and he still can’t have me killed properly. He must be simply distraught.”

Yep, that was Castillon, all right: try to kill someone and get offended when they killed your man instead. “Which one?” Celeste asked curiously. “Not that any of them would be a great loss.” Castillon liked his minions tough, loyal and as stupid as ballast stones, for the most part, not wanting to risk anyone challenging his rule. They were largely interchangeable, but some were bigger asshats than others.
 
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