The Other Good

"Need some salve for that?" Varric grinned, all teeth and half-drunk eyes. "I hear raw meat works well on a black eye." 

Maker, he had no right to be so appealing. Hawke took a sip of suspiciously good wine, distractedly. "Speaking from experience?" 

"I don't get punched in the face by Coterie thugs; I look where I'm going."

"Turn left, you said."

"Your other left, Chuckles. Humans have no sense of direction." 

"Maybe". She licked her lips. He noticed. "I keep telling myself I shouldn't do this." 

Varric shifted. "Good advice." 

"No." She leaned across the table. "The other good."