[ OPEN ] And I'm on tonight you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel it's right

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran, His Kestrels, and You
WHAT: Music, Dance, Shenanigans
WHEN: Current
WHERE: The Herald's Rest
NOTES: It's Zev and dancing. There might end up being shiftlessness, seductions, and intoxication.

[ The Learning ]

It wasn't an intentional lesson, this. There was music, there was wine, there was talk of dancing in the small cleared space between tables. Tossing about ideas of what to play, how to dance, when Zevran made mention of a method of training oneself to isolate movement that was more or less a dance and the younger Kestrels (all but Settimo) expressed their interest. He sent Vitta to gather a few coin covered scarves and belts in all manner of colors from his room and gathered the rest to walk them through it.

Anyone else that was curious might join in, Zevran was something of a hands on teacher, adjusting posture with a hand to the plane of a back, the curve of a hip, showing with his own demonstrations as much as by moving his students by feel so they knew how it was to stand, to move, to roll. Little things, hip rolls, undulating like a snake, how to pop one's hip or hold one's shoulders still while the legs and hips do their work- these he went through as best he could before Vita returned and he offered a proper demonstration.


[ The Dancing ]

After a quick duet, all rolling hips and wide, flirtatious smiles, the Kestrels took turns dancing either on their own or with someone else that had expressed interest. Zevran, likewise, was content to either offer pointers here and there or dance alongside- or against- anyone that would have him. There was wine, there was music, there was warmth in the building and he could think of no better reason than to attempt to have a good time. The show seemed more than enough for those that didn't wish to participate on their own- apparently anything was a good change of pace from Maryden's ballads now and then.


[ The Mending / The Resting ]

Learning to bend oneself in new and exciting ways, to move or not move as one willed- it could create soreness or the occasional sprain if one was not careful. Teresa took time away from the dancing and the drinking to tend to any that might have twisted something they should not, had slipped and fallen or overextended a limb in an attempt to learn this manner of dancing. Or, more often, to offer glasses of either watered down ale or water proper to those taking a break from all the dancing. Zevran himself would flop down on a chair time to time, shirtless and sweating, watching the group with a crackle of laughter. Now this? This was living.

Comments

[samahl]

Cyril chuckles a bit. He doesn't think about horses at all. "Well, now you've put that thought into my head when I came here to watch some dancing," he teases a bit. Though, they both probably know that Cyril was thinking sexual thoughts long before Zevran spoke to him. This dance is undeniably sensual.

[ombranera]

"Yes, of course, I am the pure source of such sultry thoughts for you." Which is a lie they both know and understand well enough. Zevran's hands slip down to Cryil's hips, rolling them through another point. "Imagine Taas, yes? Warm and massive beneath you."

[samahl]

The mention of Taas makes this very small, involuntary sound leave Cyril's throat. A bit like a whimper almost. It also makes his heart skip but he ignores all of that to chuckle a bit and move his body with Zevran.

"I was thinking about you," he says. "How could I know, with you moving this way?"

[ombranera]

Ah, there it is. Zevran crackles a soft laugh, turning his head to press a chaste kiss against Cyril's cheek. "Can you imagine Taas moving like this? Or can you imagine him watching you, watching us?"

[samahl]

Cyril raises his brow a bit. "Should we try to go find him?" he honestly has no idea why Zevran would be talking about Taas unless he was trying to step up a threesome.

[ombranera]

Oblivious, all of them. Zevran snorts and shakes his head. "Ah, no. Perhaps I ought to teach you a few more tricks before you see him next, yes? So you might give him a proper show."

[samahl]

Cyril chuckles a bit and then pulls back just a bit to look at Zevran. "What's this about? Did he tell you something about me?" That doesn't seem like Taas at all but he can't really understand why Zevran would bring him up.

[ombranera]

"Cyril-" He sighs and stands aside, tugging Cyril along with him so they might have a more private conversation. "He calls you Kadan." That means something. He cannot possibly be unaware of that.

[samahl]

Cyril is, as always, easily tugged. The topic makes a slight frown appear on his lips. "I thought he was calling you that," he responds. "He only ever used it when you were around." Then, after a moment, "What does it mean?"

[ombranera]

"I am fairly certain he was calling you that." Either is true- but of them? It is better for Cy and Taas both if it was not meant for him. Together they fit. He is...a fun addition on occasion, an excellent friend. But anything more is not-

With one? perhaps/ With both? He knows how such things end. "I have done some digging. Literaly? The Center of the chest. Where the heart lies. It varies in context and interpretation but I understand it to be a term of respect and endearment."

[samahl]

"Well," Cyril says thoughtfully, trying to rationalize it in his head. "Let's say he did call me that, which I'm still not certain was the case. How is that any different than you calling me Tesoro?"

[ombranera]

"Everyone knows what it means when I hand out endearments and have sex with them." Nothing, more or less. "Much as I assumed that was the case with the two of you. Perhaps it is nothing. But- you care for him, yes?"

[samahl]

Cyril feels this weird panic in his chest at that question but he shoves it down, pretends it's not there, pretends he can keep everything to a safe, acceptable level.

"I care for him as I care for you. I value you both as friends, rely on you for comfort and advice, and enjoy sharing your bed."

[ombranera]

Now there's a familiar anxiety. Zevran reaches up, stroking a hand through Cyril's hair. Sometimes (often) it is terribly easy to forget how young he is. Not so much as to be scandalous but- young. "And this is all you wish it to be with him?"

Emphasis on with him. Zevran cannot offer more.

[samahl]

"This is all I can have. With anyone," Cyril says. His voice is certain and he leans a bit into the touch. The fact that Zevran will never ask for more is one of the reasons Cyril feels so safe with him.

[ombranera]

"Mhmm." His eyes narrow somewhat. "Because your heart belongs to someone you cannot have, or you do not wish to offer it to anyone else?

[samahl]

Cyril raises his brow a bit. "Because I'm Dalish," he says. And he really is going to steadfastly ignore anything implied by the idea that his heart belongs to anyone. "Eventually I'll have to continue the blood line. Eventually I'll have a wife, and children."

[ombranera]

"So after this you intent to return to the Clan, bond with someone you may or may not care for, raise children together, and live in the woods until the end of your days." This is Zevran's believing face. "Right."

[samahl]

Cyril crosses his arms a bit. He's trying really hard to pretend like all of this is no big deal, but Zevran can probably see through that pretty easily. He feels like there's an odd lump in his throat he can't swallow. "Why do you think I work so hard to experience every pleasure I can now?"

[ombranera]

"Because you feel as though you must and it was a terribly convenient excuse when you still believed your own bullshit." Which he might- but Zevran? is not buying what Cyril is attempting to sell himself. "Merrick, I think, will not be returning. Clan life seems to have suited him ill."

[samahl]

Cyril honestly feels like his heart has been stabbed and for a moment he just looks away from Zevran towards were people are still having fun and enjoying themselves. "You're probably right," he says. "Maybe Metaari can travel with him, show him the world. He's gotten really good at helping Merrick through his bad times." Then he looks over at Zevran again, because he's had the moment to steel his expression.

"What is bullshit about wanting to follow at least some of my traditions? I already fail at so many of them, the ones I can follow I should." He frowns a bit, furrowing his brow. He is being honest, even if it's not all of the truth, and it's things he's never expressed to anyone before. To have someone listen and not believe him hurts, a lot. It's even worse because it's Zevran, who has always made him feel accepted and understood.

He supposes that he shouldn't be too shocked though. Zevran doesn't owe him kindness.

[ombranera]

"The bullshit is not wanting it, Cyril. If that would truly bring you joy and that is how you wish your life to go after the Inquisition? Swear it is so and I will drop the matter." He leans against the nearest beam, arms crossed, eyes intent on Cyril's face but- not entirely unkind. Facing these things is never easy. Perhaps he is being terribly presumptuous to say such things, to attempt to make a point.

As though he has any right to point out what it is that he sees.

"Bullshit is wanting it because you feel obligated to want it regardless of your personal desires. Besides, by the traditions of the Dalish- every one of you that have joined the Inquisition is now, more or less, outclan are you not? Returning is not permitted." Whether that holds true for all clans he cannot say.

[samahl]

"Our Keeper kept an extra mage near her fire because she couldn't bare to let one of her plague children go," Cyril points out. "I'm certain I could return." He offers Zevran a small smile, as if there's nothing to worry about.

Is it what he really wants? Is it something that would bring him joy? Probably not. He wouldn't exactly be unhappy though. It would be a quiet sort of contentment, the knowledge that he did at least one thing the right way. It's not a future he's rushing towards while skipping and singing, but it's one he's certain he'll do all right with. He really doesn't want to dwell on any of this though, nor the way his chest still feels like it aches. He came here to watch dancing and maybe take someone handsome to bed, not to contemplate his future. If the evil darkspawn magister wins, there won't be a future to worry about either way.

Cyril sighs a bit and presses a little closer to Zevran, crossing just a hair away from his personal space. He tilts his head up a bit and the angle plays perfectly on his features. He's regained control of his emotions, settled back into a slightly flirty, open expression. "Why don't you tell me the point you're trying to make so that we can go back to the dancing and not end the night cold and alone?"

[ombranera]

"Stop that." Not teasing but not chiding either, simply flat and distinctly unamused. This must be what it is like to talk to him when he wishes to evade the question or the subject. He makes a mental note to apologize to Mia, Alistair-

To everyone, more or less. It is exactly as irritating as they made it seem.

"You are more than this and we both know it. Let the mask go a moment, I am attempting to have a serious conversation. Me. Zevran. Attempting to be serious. You could at least do me the courtesy of humoring me for a few moments more, yes?" How often did he do this thing? Never. The answer is never.

[samahl]

Cyril steps back then and gives Zevran some space. He drops the flirtatious spark in his expression. He takes a deep breath to brace himself.

As much as he claims he adores Zevran for the fact that they are so casual there are only a few people who could get him to drop the act so quickly. Maybe he's just vulnerable from the subject matter being too close to home. More likely Zevran has earned that respect.

"All right," he says. "Let's talk."