[ Master Post ]
Title: Adventures in Cuisine Via Hawke: No Longer a Pudding (5/6)
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Carver Hawke ♂, Fenris ♂
Rating: G- (L1 N0 S0 V0 D0)
Notes: Carver has no sense of smell. He should not be allowed to handle leftovers.
Fenris still hadn’t quite recovered from his hangover when a fourth Hawke came storming up the front steps. Carver didn’t so much knock as pounded on the door, and the sound rattled around in Fenris’s skull. In answer, Fenris did what he should have done a few days ago when Anton had knocked: he locked and bolted the door.
"Hey!" Carver called out, voice muffled by solid wood but still, regrettably, audible. "Did you just lock the door?"
"It’s my new policy for Hawkes," Fenris called back. "Especially for Hawkes carrying food, which I know you are." Venhedis, some days he missed Tevinter cooking… "So turn around, stop knocking at a house that is supposed to be abandoned, and share whatever foodstuffs or alcohol you’ve brought with your family."
"Oh, come on, Fenris! I don’t know what’s going on with you and Anton or with you and Artemis — and please just don’t tell me about you and Artie — but will you just go up the coast with Anton? If you don’t go, then I have to go, because mum’s going to have kittens if I don’t go, and he gets stabbed or something." Carver whined, leaning on the door. "It’s just a run up the coast! You get to stab some smugglers!"
"If it’s just a run up the coast, why are you so intent on not going?" Fenris asked, barely keeping his patience. He wondered why he hadn’t walked away, but realised it was because Carver would probably continue to get louder. If he stayed close, he could maintain the illusion that there wasn’t a Hawke shouting pleas at his door.
"Because it’s my brother, and he just makes me want to kick him in the teeth. If I talk Aveline into it, she’ll probably arrest him! And then mum’s going to have kittens. You’re my only hope, Fenris! Come on!" Carver was terrible at ingratiating, but he could manage annoyingly whiny, in a pinch, if he thought it would serve him.
Fenris let his head thunk against the door. Carver was likely to keep whining at the door, and the last thing he needed was any unwanted attention from the neighbours. If he could call them that. Cursing under his breath, Fenris unbolted and unlocked the door, certain he would regret this.
"So what is it this time?" Fenris griped as he peered around the door at Carver. "Nevarran, perhaps? Or some ‘delicacy’ from the Anderfels? I’m not sure how much more my palate can handle."
"No, it’s… it’s Fereldan," Carver answered, shuffling his feet and peering down at the pot in his hand. Fenris half expected Carver to lift up the lid to check, simply because that was the sort of thing his brother would do. "Not… a delicacy, exactly, but I’m no cook."
Rolling his eyes, Fenris stepped back to hold the door open. "Well, come in, then. Stop loitering outside my door." He hoped this wouldn’t take long.
Carver stepped in and glanced around. He’d forgotten what a disaster this place was, or maybe he’d hoped it had improved since Fenris was living in it. He wasn’t quite sure how it had survived Artemis, though. Maybe his brother didn’t have a thing going with the elf, if this place still looked like this. Or, maybe, and more likely, they just didn’t have a thing going here. Still, that cut down the likelihood of spoons, and he suddenly wished he’d thought to bring one.
"It’s, um, a pudding." Carver took the lid off and held out the pot, and Fenris caught an odd scent from it.
"Yes. I recognise it. Your brother tried to make one for me." Fenris squinted at the gooey mass. "You will, of course, eat from it first. Enough Hawkes have attempted to put questionable content in my mouth."
"I’m sure it’s fine! Artie’s not that bad of a cook!" Carver protested. "Do you have a spoon?"
"No." Fenris looked entirely unamused.
Carver drew his dagger, slowly, hilt out, and used it to cut a bit of the pudding and lift it to his mouth. "See? It’s not poisoned or anything!"
Fenris was still hesitant to touch the… what Carver insisted was a ‘pudding’, but not because he thought it was poisoned. He poked at the gooey mess with one finger, lip curling at the stink.
Carver rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, it’s not going to—" He cut himself off, a weird gurgling sound catching in his throat. Fenris had never seen someone’s face turn that shade of green so fast. He took a step back.
"Are you —" Carver vomited into the pan. "—okay?"
"Murrgh," Carver answered, face still buried in the pan, just over the pudding that didn’t look much different regurgitated.
Fenris wondered how this had become his life. "Well, I’m definitely not eating it, now."
Largely unsympathetic to this absurd series of events, Fenris forcefully assisted Carver back to the door, without sloshing any of the pudding or slightly-used pudding on the floor. Not that he was sure it would much matter, all things considered, but he’d prefer not to step in it. "Tell your brother I remain unconvinced," he said, shutting the door against another stream of vomit.