Drunk Alistair: I am the prince of fr…Ferelden! I’m telling you!
Isabela: He keeps saying that.
Alistair: That’s because it’s true!
Isabela: Well, now he’s drunk in a bar in the ass end of Kirkwall, but aren’t we all?
Alistair: Oh, just leave me alone. I’ve had enough of people like you. You’re all the same.
Hawke: How about I buy the next one.
Alistair: I don’t need another drink. Okay, maybe I do. Just one, or two.
Isabela: Now you’ve done it. He’ll keep on like this all day.
Alistair: You sound like Morrigan.
Sebastian: Is this getting you any closer to your ship?
Sebastian: I just don’t understand why you’re working with Hawke. You don’t seem to care about anything we do. What’s keeping you here?
Isabela: Mostly the sex. Hawke’s an absolute tiger in the sheets. I mean, all night, every night. Oh, cute. You’re blushing.
Isabela: So, how good is Donnic? Is he cocksure?
Aveline: Just… get it out of your system.
Isabela: Did he curl your toes? Dwarf your beard? Dampen your Divine? Kaddis your Katie? Establish his canon? Or did he Cup your Joining?
Aveline: Yes, all right? He is an incredibly proficient lover. Happy?
Isabela: Well that’s rather personal, don’t you think?