Chapter Text
Ellana Lavellan sat in front of her vanity and peered closely at herself in the mirror. It was late Friday afternoon in Denerim and her dressing room was awash in sunlight, but her makeup was applied heavily enough to be seen at midnight in the darkest alley. She closely examined her eyes, then picked up a tube of black liquid eyeliner and very carefully evened out the precise line on one eye. Then she sat back, evaluated the result, and finally satisfied, picked up her mascara—the last step in her ritual. She was a perfectionist, and wouldn’t countenance a half-assed makeup job. Fifteen minutes later when she walked out of her luxury apartment with her large bag, she was a vision. A nice bronze tan, straight gold hair to her waist, perfectly contoured eyes in several shades of plum (matching the muted plum of her vallaslin, which also served to set off her vivid green eyes), lush pink lips, pristine foundation that was undetectable to the human eye, and large (fake) diamond earrings sparkling on each pointed ear. No necklace—they tended to get tangled in her hair, hang in people’s faces, and otherwise be a nuisance. As she exited the building, the doorman gave her a large smile which she returned. Ellana was beautiful—really, an absolute stunner—and she tended to catch big smiles from most men (and women) who weren’t anti-Dalish racist pricks. She hopped in her car and drove to work.
On her way, she turned on FPR (Ferelden Public Radio) to listen to the news. “After the heated talks between Orlais, Ferelden, and Tevinter came to a close today, no side showed signs of relenting. ‘As long as the Imperium refuses to acknowledge or address the growing danger of the unchecked Venatori, we will be unable to reach an agreement,’ said Empress Celene. King Alistair returned to the capital today, but refused to address rumors that the plans for the Conclave, scheduled for next month, have stalled due to concerns of a Venatori terrorist attack. In other news, reports that the wanted apostate Anders had been spotted in Val Royeaux turned out to be unfounded. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had this to say: ‘We want to remind the public that Anders, in addition to being a very powerful mage, is also possessed by a former spirit of Justice which he warped into Vengeance with his anger. He cannot be reasoned with and should be considered very dangerous. If sighted, do not approach him, but contact the local Templar Order—.’” Ellana switched the radio off with a shaking hand and drove the rest of the way in silence.
When she walked into work, it was nearly thirty minutes before the shift change, but Ellana was always early. She quickly dashed upstairs into the dressing room and set her bag down at her usual vanity, then began to change. It was Friday night, and there were lots of conventions in town, so it promised to be busy. The more time spent on the floor, the more money she would make. She changed swiftly, and within five minutes had put on her outfit—a black g-string with a band of large silver sequins, a pretty black bra lightly studded with silver rhinestones, a black dress that ended well above the knee, and her 6-inch plastic heels. She grabbed the small silver sequin wristlet that carried her blotting papers, her lipstick, her mints, and would later carry all her money, and then made her way to the floor.
Ellana was an exotic dancer at the Pearl, the best strip club in town, and she was ready for her shift.
First thing she did after walking downstairs was go check in with the DJ in his booth. He was announcing one of the dayshift girls, so she waited patiently for him to finish his spiel. When he finished, he swung around in his chair and grinned at her. He was short—like all dwarves—and clean shaven, with his hair pulled back in his usual little ponytail. Ellana liked to give it a tug whenever she was walking by and caught him unawares.
“Hey kid, how’s it going? Ready for the shit show tonight?” He quickly jotted her stage name (“Evelyn”) down on the roster at his elbow.
“Hey, Varric. Why is it a shit show?”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, three of the girls have already called out, and I’d bet money that there’ll be more than that not showing up at all. We’ve got all kinds of big parties booked for VIP, but with this many girls calling out, we’re going to be short-staffed.”
Ellana stared. “But there’s like six conventions in town! It’s like you’re guaranteed to bank just by walking in the door!”
Varric shrugged. “Lazy. They’re all lazy.”
Ellana shook her head. “I don’t fucking get it, Varric. Don’t these girls want to make money? Don’t they need to make money?”
Varric gave her a look. “Now, kid, you know as well as I do that half these girls spend more time drinking at the bar than working the floor, and most of them are less concerned with making their own money than finding a guy who will let them move in ASAP so they don’t have to pay for their own place.”
Ellana shuddered delicately. “I can honestly say I have not met one single man—or woman—who has ever made me want to sacrifice my own space. I like having my own place, thank you very much.”
Varric raised an eyebrow. “Not one man?”
Only one, thought Ellana, but she ruthlessly quashed that thought and repeated herself resolutely. “Not one.”
Varric smirked at her before turning back to his station. “If you say so, kid. Wanna pick out your music while you’re here? On a scale of Alice in Chains to Static-X, how heavy are you feeling tonight?”
Ellana grinned at him. “Oh, I think it’s a Static-X sort of night, Varric.”
There were four girls ahead of her in the stage rotation, so Ellana took the opportunity to scout out the floor and see what she had to work with. Not too busy yet, but the sun had only just set; there was plenty of time. Isabela was busy behind the bar, and they waved to each other as Ellana walked by.
She’d just given a quick table dance to a middle-aged merchant and was walking towards the back when two already drunk dock workers suddenly stepped into her path. She opened her mouth, but before a word could escape her, one of them slurred, “How much for a blow job?”
Ellana stared. “Excuse me?”
“C’mon, how much? I know you girls give it up every night. How much?”
Ellana’s eyes narrowed and her face turned dark. “This is a strip club. Not a brothel. If you’re looking for that, go somewhere else.”
The second one chortled as the first one scoffed. “Not having some knife-ear bitch giving me that shit. You think I don’t know that’s how you make your money? How fuckin’ much?”
Before Ellana could say another word, she felt a presence, and a deep voice asked mildly, “Problem, boss?” She glanced up—and up—and up, at the hulking Qunari bouncer that had appeared on her left.
The second one blanched as he took in the newcomer to the conversation. He grabbed his friend’s arm, but he only angrily shrugged it off. “Boss, eh? Think I’m stupid? No fuckin’ way this place is run by this knife-ear.”
“No,” said yet another voice. “It’s run by this knife-ear.”
Ellana hid a smile and turned to her right. Her boss tossed his silvery-blonde hair back and gave a flamboyant bow. “Zevran Arainai, owner of the Pearl, at your service. I can see you have offended one of my dearest friends, and I am afraid I must ask you to leave.”
The second man held his hands out in a conciliatory manner, but the first one was too far gone. “Or what?”
“Or,” Zevran replied, with a grin and a flourish towards the bouncer, “my other dear friend the Iron Bull will make you leave. I can promise you it would be quite painful, though it would give us something to talk of for the rest of the night. So, truly, it is up to you.”
The first man finally absorbed his situation. “Bah,” he spat, “I can get better than these bitches for cheaper at the docks.”
“Well, my friend, you can certainly try,” Zevran said coolly, and gave Bull a meaningful look before catching Ellana’s arm and steering her away.
“And on that note, my beauty, how are you feeling tonight? Are you ready to carry the entire club on your shoulders?”
Ellana rolled her eyes. “Come on, Zev, it’s not that bad.”
“I beg to differ, my love, it is that bad. Friday night, six conventions in town, and you were already the biggest draw on the roster for tonight…and now we’ve had five girls call off.”
“Varric said there were three.”
“He didn’t know about the other two,” Zev said grimly. “I got texts from them twenty minutes ago.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ellana said disgustedly, shaking her head.
“I know, I know. But you’re up to it, aren’t you, darling?”
Ellana cocked an eyebrow at him. “It appears I don’t have much of a choice.”
Zev gave her his most charming smile. “It is true that you do not have much of a choice, but it is because you are the most beautiful, the most effervescent, the most appealing, the most engaging, the most—“
Ellana laughed and gave him a playful push. “All right, all right, Zev, I get it.”
Zev leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Do your magic, my love. They’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. And I’ll be sure to steer any big spenders to your next stage set.”
Ellana threw him a parting grin over her shoulder as she walked away. “You do that anyways.”
Ellana managed to sell six private dances before her first stage set began, and they were all generous tippers, so she was in a cheerful mood and already several hundred dollars richer when she finally made her way into the back to make her stage entrance. The club had gotten very busy in the past half hour, and she was pleased to see that Zev had indeed begun to show some promising-looking patrons to the seating at the stage. As Varric made the final announcement about the girl on stage as she did her last tip run, Ellana pulled her lipstick and blotting papers out of her wristlet and quickly touched herself up in the small mirror they kept hanging next to the stage entrance just for that purpose.
Iron Bull poked his head around the corner. “Hey boss, your regular is here.”
“Which one?” Ellana laughed.
Bull just grinned at her. “You’ll see,” he said, then ducked out again.
Before she could call after him, the curtains to the stage parted and the dancer came offstage, topless, glistening with sweat, and clutching her bikini top and dress in one hand and a very large haphazard wad of dollar bills in the other. Yet more money was stuffed into the sides of her g-string.
“Good tippers,” she panted to Ellana. “But Maker, those lights are killer tonight. I’m sweating my tits off. And watch out for the guy at the corner in the red shirt, he’s a grabber. Tried to pull my g off.”
“Okay, thanks, I will,” said Ellana, and the other dancer walked down the small hall to the stairs that led up to the dressing room, plastic shoes clunking against the floor.
Varric’s voice came on the speakers. “All right, gentlemen, here is the moment you have all been waiting for. Time to open those wallets for our top rated dancer, our Jewel of the Pearl for three years running; the Dalish beauty, the blonde bombshell, the ravishing rocker, I give you—Evelyn!”
The opening riff of Static-X’s “Push It” thundered through the club as Ellana strode through the curtains to the stage. It was a magnificent setup, the best stage she’d seen at any strip club she’d worked at. It ran nearly thirty feet forty feet along the wall and a wide catwalk in the middle jutted out into the center of the club. There was a pole at either end of the main stage, and another on the catwalk. The whole thing was raised about three feet off the ground, and seating ran along the entire setup, with the most popular chairs being along either side of the catwalk. Balconies on the second floor, where the VIP rooms were located, overlooked the stage on either side. The lights were flashing, and Varric had knowingly turned on the black lights (Ellana’s blonde hair, and the silver sequins on the band of her g-string, glowed under black lights, and she loved to glow onstage). There was a small fan built into the floor at the end of the catwalk, which made her hair blow back gently in a nicely dramatic fashion, and had the added benefit of cooling her down whenever she needed it. She dropped her wristlet just beside the curtain and slowly made her way forward, hips swaying, surreptitiously eyeing all the customers sitting at her stage. She saw Red Shirt at the corner of the catwalk, already dangling a one dollar bill at her, as though a single dollar was any kind of temptation when other customers were already pulling out twenties. She smiled to herself as she went into her typical routine.
Ellana’s style of dancing was basically a lot of sexy poses and stretches linked smoothly together, and the faster the music, the slower she moved. The one exception was her pole dancing, where she could spin quite fast indeed.
After “Push It” was over, Varric smoothly transitioned into “Wish” by Nine Inch Nails, and then into “This Love” by Pantera, taking each segue as an opportunity to reiterate to the customers to tip big. Her stage was littered with money, and she was happy to see some tens and twenties mixed in with the usual singles. She’d also had money tucked into the sides of her g-string, including a fifty from a very unassuming young guy who had taken the opportunity to ask for some dances when she got off stage. Her dress had come off at the end of the first song, and her top midway through the second. As she moved, she observed her reflection in the full length mirror that ran down the entire stage wall. She was quite happy with the way she looked. She was fairly busty for a Dalish girl, and her hips were also wider than was typical, but her waist was narrow and her legs looked like they went for miles with the addition of the six-inch shoes. She had the ultimate hourglass figure, and the dancing only served to tone and tighten; no need for gym visits in order to keep in shape, since her job served just that purpose, with the added benefit of earning her major money.
As “This Love” came to an end, Varric made his final announcement for the men at the stage to tip, and cued the break song. Ellana began her final tip run, collecting last-minute money. As she moved along the stage, she saw a man approach the end, but she couldn’t make him out with the lights flashing in her eyes. She continued her tip run, and when she cleared the catwalk, she suddenly realized who he was.
He was tall and handsome, with well-groomed dark blonde hair, tanned skin, and a shadow of stubble along his jaw. He was well-dressed in expensive black slacks and a button-down slate grey shirt with no tie. His posture was impeccable, which would normally denote warrior training, which in this case was accurate—but of course, there was another reason for the regal stance.
Ellana came to stand in front of him. Ignoring the customers on either side who had begun to recognize him and were nudging each other and pointing with awed faces, she leaned over the edge of the stage and gave him a tight hug, uncaring that she was topless or sweaty. After a long moment, she pulled away, but left her hands on his shoulders as she looked into his face.
“Alistair!” she beamed.
He held up a large iced drink in a Starbucks cup. “I brought you a strawberry refresher,” he said winningly.
Ellana’s smile couldn’t get any wider. “I’ve missed you!!! I’m so glad you’re back!”
He grinned. “Just got back this afternoon, but I couldn’t wait to see you.” He swiftly tucked a few crisp hundred dollar bills into the side of her g-string. “I already checked in with Zev. I’ve got our usual room upstairs. I and your drink will be waiting for you.” He stepped back, and Ellana rushed through her last few customers.
The last customer tucked a twenty into her g-string and asked her in an awed voice, “Was that really the king?”
Ellana pretended not to hear as she moved away from him and hurriedly gathered up the money littering her stage before exiting through the curtain.
The next dancer was leaning against the mirror, tapping her foot and looking very unimpressed with Ellana’s truly impressive haul, which was cradled to her chest in a pile of bills. Ellana completely ignored her; if there was any dancer she disliked, it was Briala. The Iron Bull poked his head around the corner and grinned at her.
“I told you your regular was here.”
Ellana laughed at him. “I have dozens of regulars, but there’s only one Alistair. He’ll likely have a drink for you ready, if Zev’ll let you have one.”
“Thanks, boss,” Bull rumbled, then disappeared.
Ellana started towards the stairs. As she passed Briala, the auburn-haired elf asked, “Ever fuck him?”
Ellana stopped and turned to give her a nasty look. “Fuck who?”
“Bull.”
Ellana’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Briala examined a red nail with a look of indifference. “Why not?”
“Because he’s dating my best friend, that’s why not. Mind your own fucking business.” And she turned back around and went up the stairs. She needed to wipe herself down, touch up her makeup, and change; the King of Ferelden was waiting for her in VIP, and petty bitches aside, it was looking to be a great night.