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

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

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.

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Kirk was one of those who was content to watch the show, intrigued when it had begun and calling out our encouragement to the students and a few wolf whistles for the teacher. He joined in with his claps to create a beat, finding himself truly smilingng for what felt like the first time since he'd arrived in this strange world. But watching the way some of the dancers moved their hips, how could one not smile? He took it as a sign some of his luck might be returning that he was in the right place at the right time to witness the impromptu lesson-performance.

He waited for the apparent leader to take a seat before rising with a mug of moderately pleasing ale - the best he could afford anyways and that made "pleasing" a suspect term - and made his way over. He wasn't sure if this was appropriate, but he had never been one to give to much concern to such things anyways. He merely felt he should express gratitude, and so he would. Hopefully that didn't set off a bar fight, but with his past reputation it was as likely as anything. Not that that stopped him, or had ever stopped him before.

"A thanks, for brightening the evening," Kirk smiled with all his natural charm at the handsome lead dancer and held out the mug.

( ota. )
She is not the friendliest presence in the bar. She is hardly even the most obvious presence. It is more as though one moment there was simply an empty corner occupied only by shadow, and the next there was the Nightingale. Not alone - she had a nug with her, Boulette, wearing some armour. Still, the expression on her face is not entirely cold or distant, and she watches the dancing for a few moments. Spymasters always have some business to attend to, and they cannot be shirked in the name of of such merriment, for better or worse.

( zevran. )
A strange coincidence, that today of all days he had the parcel delivered and started these lessons. She remembers when he had taught her during the Blight, and she had taught him court dances, and they'd looked ridiculous at the campfire. Nostalgia is a cruel friend, often inclined to turn the knife. Perhaps, she supposed, the same could be said of assassins and bards.

She waits until he is available, lurking in her corner, and her move to speak with him is pre-empted by Boulette (in her new armour) trotting over, ears swivelled towards Zevran.

"More hip, Vita!" With elves there wasn't much hip to begin with and it meant more effort on their part to get anything resembling the usual curvature a human dancer might have naturally. But Vita seemed game enough and rolled through the next set with more hip as requested, earning a handful of applause from her fellow Kestrels. Not the typical lesson- but a good one.

Not what he'd planned for the night in the slightest- a few songs, a few stories, perhaps a round of cards but this? Was better. Certainly a great deal more exciting than going over 'no you need to have tells it won't get you hit for twitching when you look at your cards' for the fifth time this week.

"Mmm?" Zevran turned his head to quirk a brow at the man and the mug, considering both for a moment before accepting. "Well it was this or another rousing round of 'Sera Was Never'. I think I prefer this."

If he told her he hadn't planned it like this- she wouldn't believe him. And he wouldn't blame her for it. That things fell into place so neatly is a happy enough accident. Moments by the campfire when they were younger, when they were brighter- when all they had to do was save the world and that can't be so hard now, can it? Now they know the weight of that burden better.

Now it drags them down if they let it.

Boulette (he thinks it's Boulette, at least) gathers his attention easily enough. Zevran drops to a knee to admire her and the fit, cooing softly under his breath. "Well now I had hoped to have managed the measurements properly. Look at you, mm? A fearsome little nug warrioress. I bet your mother is quite proud!"

It's certainly nothing Beleth has seen before, and she watches Zevran move with interest. She'd never known it was even possible to move your hips like that, or do that...thing, with your stomach. When he starts showing other people, she hesitates--because this is a crowded tavern, and the idea of strangers watching her try to move her hips like that is a bit nerve-wracking, she decides to give it a try. Life has been unduly stressful, and a little bit of fun--even in the form of training--would be a nice break from it. So she steps over and volunteers herself.

"You know, Zevran, I suspect if you managed to do this at an Orlesian ball," Beleth muses, while trying to roll her hips and not move her shoulders, "You would progress far enough in the Game to rule all of Orlais. You possess a dangerous weapon."

"Hardly." Zevran crackles a soft laugh, resting a hand between her shoulder-blades as she works through the next roll. "It is considered peasant dancing for one, and I am an elf for another. It'd be a little like watching a lovely sculpture move in a vulgar way; but it would give me no true influence. In Antiva now..."

Ah, the rewards this trick has lent him. "I've gained quite a bit of notoriety for such things. A little less leg, a little more hip. You are rolling, not bouncing."

"Considering I have no idea what 'Sera Was Never' is, I'll take your word for it," he chuckled, glad the man had accepted and motioned to the chair beside Zevran for permission to sit. Normally he might be more brazen, but he was taking a measure of caution around Skyhold given his status as a Rifter.

"But I can definitely say this is the best thing I've seen since I got here, by far," he threw in a wink and another smile for good measure, glancing briefly to the group still moving on the floor.

"A charming ballad written for one of the members of the Inquisition." Almost a love ballad at that, which is not at all odd in Zevran's mind. Not in the slightest. Not even a little. Such things were- no that was a lie, it was terribly odd and he was glad to not have to sit through another night of it and longing eyes up to where Sera used to sleep. This? was better.

Zevran lifted his mug in thanks and took a deep drink, pulling back with a faint wince. It was no brandy- but it was not Dwarven Ale either. "You should see them on the flying silks, then, if that is what you fancy. A great deal less fumbling, and more danger."

Honestly, there was no way that Cyril was going to miss this. It's just too wonderful and relaxing, just what he needed given everything else. He ends up joining any of the boys who want to dance with him, some of the women too.

Most of the night, though, he watches Zevran and just enjoys the way that he looks moving this way. It's when Zevran has time for him that he grins the most.

"This is fun. Maybe I should try to learn more too." It's far more graceful and artistic than the rutting he did against Zevran to win his crown. A crown he happens to be wearing now.

The wince did not escape him and he smiled sheepishly at Zevran, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew it wasn't the best, but at least it didn't run the risk of putting hair on a persons chest either.

"Sorry, it was the best I could get. A couple of weeks here doesn't quite earn me enough for the top shelf," he hooked his thumb back towards the bar with a shrug of 'what can you do?'.

"I've seen show like that before. Anyone who can do that sort of thing is amazing. Did you teach them all they know on the silks too?" He arched a brow with the tiniest curl of his lip in the corner.

"I would be happy to teach you." The patch is gone for tonight- it is gone most days. After the Soiree it seemed less important. He could feel most of what was going on with his blind side anyway and no one caused much fuss over the milky white film. He was just as attractive (or so bull said) and just as charming (so Alistair said) and just as dangerous (so Dorian implied). What more can he ask for?

Zevran extends a hand to Cyril to pull him in, tucking his chin over the other elf's shoulder. "It is all in the hips, yes?"

"Most ale this far south leaves something to be desired. Now, if you brought me Dwarven ale? We might have to have words. Angry words." But he had not and thus, Zevran simply nodded for the man to join him if he so wished. Many from here and not seemed curious- more so now that he began walking about without the patch over his eye.

'An air of mystery and danger' Settimo said. Or. Something like that.

"Half of that they already knew. I simply teach them how to enjoy the art, rather than know it to make themselves mindless performers." It is a delicate balance, being skilled to be skilled and being skilled because one wishes to be skilled.

Cyril would agree with all three of them as well. When he looks at Zevran he doesn't focus on the eye, he just looks at Zevran with the same pleased expression he had before. If anything, he's just so pleased to see how well Zevran is now.

"At least I have practice moving those," Cyril responds. He easily lets Zevran pull him close, enjoying everything about their bodies touching.

"It is a little like riding." He does not say 'a horse' because- yes and no. Besides he is fairly certain Cyril has never actually ridden a horse. This is something different, more base and more enjoyable for it.

"Dually noted," he inclined his head, grateful for the lesson in what ale to serve to - an elf? He was fairly sure elf was right given Zevran's ears, but he wasn't entirely positive. He sat down beside him and leaned back, comfortable as his gaze turned to the dancers still swaying in their make-shift silks.

Kirk wasn't sure what had drawn him to the man, except he seemed to be the leader, and to him the most alluring of the group. Which was reason enough for himself, along with simply being intensely curious. Being tossed into a strange new world with no direction wasn't enough to dampen that part of himself, and it was slowly recovering as he began to carve something like a place for himself here.

"You must really enjoy it then, to be able to teach it," Kirk mused, blue eyes refocusing on Zevran. "What even got you started on it? I mean, if that's not to personal a thing to ask."

Boulette is one of the smaller of the nuglettes, so named because she curls up in a snug little ball to sleep. She snuffles at Zevran's hand quite happily, resting her tiny nug-hands on his leg so she can lean up to snuffle at him more effectively. Does the man have treats? She does like treats.

"Behave, Boulette," comes a quiet voice, Leliana approaching steadily, but with no real haste. It seems... unfitting for her to be here, the Nightingale in a place of such merriment when she should probably be working. The nug, for her part, looks at Leliana and makes one of those strange, squeaky little nug sounds.

After a little pause, and slightly wryly, "She is a troublemaker, this one. Her armour seems to make her think she is all the bigger and stronger."

Such creepy little hands. Such grating little squeaks. And yet he thinks fondly back to Schmooples the first, the sheer delight in Leliana's eyes when Jonas fetched her a nug of all her own. He had never had a pet himself- he wondered if Leliana had been much the same. Even with the squeaking and barking at night he could not begrudge her the little creature. As such he does in fact have treats, a little cube of cheese. Schmooples seemed to like the bits Alistair sneaked him well enough.

"She is behaving." Mostly. There is no mess and she is not biting, what better behavior could there possibly be? "Well...seeing as how we saved a cart of them from Dragons and how frightened they all were at the time..."

He shrugs, suddenly awkward. He betrayed their trust in hiding Anders and is well aware of that. At the time he thought it worthwhile but perhaps he might have been able to explain to her why it is important for the man to try to make a fresh start. But he never attempted to do so and now? They will never know. Clearing his throat he pulls the second packet from behind him. "A little extra protection felt appropriate. But you came for the second parcel, yes? These are for you specifically but I was uncertain of the fit; if they are fine? I hope you enjoy them. Should they be too small or too large I will send to have them resized."

Another time - perhaps a lifetime ago - she might have smiled and laughed, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet. I am sure they could have taken on a dragon, if we had given them half a chance!
As it stands, Leliana watches him with a cool, cautious curiosity, as Boulette takes the cheese in her little hands and runs off with it, claiming a spot under the table and starting to slowly nibble at it.

This feels-- awkward. Strained, almost, though not quite.

"Zevran," she starts, eyeing the second parcel. She did come here to see him, to address the parcels, though whether she should accept them (or even the nug armour) is a matter with which she is still wrestling. "This is not necessary. Gifts cannot ease all things. Nor should they."

~~Unless it is the Fifth Blight and your Warden just made someone mad and needs to restore the love, then gifts always work.~~

"My frame of reference for upsetting someone and making up afterward is Jonas." Which should explain a great deal, honestly. "Apologies came with gifts- when he bothered to apologize at all."

Which happened less and less frequently the longer the road went on. All of them tired, none of them truly taking anything personally. But this? There is no way to take it but personally. "I also have missed a few birthdays and Wintersends."

As though that is reason enough.

"I should have told you. Whether or not it would have ended the same way or ended with him dead- I should have trusted you enough to tell you rather than take the choice of knowing from your hands. This I have wrestled with for some time and- you know how I am about guilt." He does not handle it well, if at all. But this? For this he does feel guilty. It is an uncomfortable, awkward feeling, knowing he broke this trust. "In doing so I was no better than those that held my leash, than those that held yours in the past. And I am sorry for the lie."

What she does with this- that is for her. "Please, take it."

"Ah, Jonas." A good man, by some standards. He was the symbol for a Blight ended and new royal line. Not always a good friend, though, and not always acting in the best interests of people. Leaving the Anvil with Branka, for one, that had never sat well with her. Leliana, however, could hardly say that she has always acted in the best interests of people. Following Justinia so loyally had been best for Justinia, and she had so keenly believed it would be best for Thedas, a slow peace that would be more stable for how it had not been rushed. "His is not the worst example," she finally adds.

Hers, all things considered, is probably worse. And it makes listening to Zevran's words, his apology, bittersweet. Apologies could not restore trust, but they were an olive branch extended. It was more than she expected, truth be told, when she anticipated needing to tell him to keep the gift and that it would be better left alone, so spare his pockets being emptied and her chambers being filled with things she would not look at, if it had escalated to such a level as that.

So she takes the parcel, holds it carefully, and keeps her expression carefully controlled because she is not certain she trusts herself otherwise. "Do not compare yourself to Marjolaine," she settles on, looking up from the parcel to Zevran. "She would never apologise for a decision once made, and all was done in the name of her own survival. Not that of another. Not unless they were useful."

"I had little choice in the matter." Like a great deal of his skills he had to twist into something other than what he'd been trained to do. Finding the joy in it and teaching himself to think of it differently- he had gotten through that part of the process well enough to walk the rest of the Kestrels through the idea. Slowly they were coming around to it. The distinct lack of punishment for failing has helped a great deal. One does well at first or one does not, there was no pain for not picking it up quickly.

If anything it seemed as though Vitta laughed at herself when she misstepped, now. Something that would not have happened a month ago. So quickly they have come so far, his fledglings.

"But it is something I have come to enjoy for its own sake."

Many little trinkets that were just that, trinkets, did not seem the wisest course. The gifts that made the most impression while on the road were the things Jonas gave that showed he paid attention. That he valued their thoughts and their opinions, what they liked and what they said. To that end: Nug Armor and Shoes.

The current fashion, deep blue, embellished with golden leaves, wrapped in a fine silken scarf as to not damage them with the more plain wrapping paper. This is what he has brought for her. This is his olive branch, his attempt to repair the bridge he'd so callously taken a blade to over something he should have considered with greater weight.

"True enough, I suppose. But it was wrong of me all the same. This you cannot deny. I value you more than for your skills and your use, Leliana. I value you for yourself. Even if I have been remiss in expressing it or...not near as supportive as I likely ought to be. This- all of this cannot be easy for you. All I have done is make it more difficult." Ten years ago he wouldn't have bat an eye at such things, but now? Now there is regret.

Sam had only been there to enjoy something warm to drink, smiling mostly to himself as he watched and listened to Zevran's group chatter among themselves about dancing. When he actually started to teach his Kestrels - that was the word he had called them, yes? - Sam found himself a bit mesmerized. Whatever Zevran was doing it was not like any of the other dances Sam has seen so far.

Some of the movements have him tilting his head to try and see it better, as if the new angle would help him understand how it worked. A couple times he notices that he's caught watching, which has him blushing slightly, but no less interested in watching.

After a time though Sam gets up to move closer so he can watch better. "How... does that even work?"

"With a good deal of practice and an awareness of one's muscles. The entirety of it is built around isolated movement. Hold the rest of yourself still and move but the one thing, yes? Hips, abdomen, thighs-" Zevran gave a roll from the ribs downward- shoulders and head remaining perfectly still.

"And so on. Almost anyone can learn the basics easily enough."

"Isolated movement," he repeats, bringing up his mug to take a drink as he listens, but clearly getting distracted by the demonstration. That was seriously unfair.

"That seems a lot more complicated than how you're explaining it... or showing it."

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

The Mending / The Resting

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Learning (open?? if anyone else wants in)

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The Dancing

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The Learning [Thread hopping welcome]

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