Three is a crowd

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Maxwell Trevean
WHAT: Zev needs some space, Max doesn't mind sharing his
WHEN: Firstfall
WHERE: Fallow Mire, Max's tent
NOTES: Innuendo abounds

Share a tent with another elf and a mage? No problem. Share a tent with two elves and a mage with rampant tension of the fun, sexy kind in a bog full of the undead, a heavy reminder that he left behind his friend that may or may not be A) going mad or B) dying as well as a few rumors that the Crows were poking into Inquisition business and he may have to handle them sooner than he'd thought? He could not quite manage. A few nights keeping watch, the lightest of dozing, snatching moments in other tents, that would work. But one night to stretch out and not deal with whatever strangeness lay in that tent with his very fine companions? Would be a relief.

He certainly hoped Maxwell did not mind his company overmuch as he did not offer any kind of warning before settling at the fire outside Maxwell's tent as though he'd been there for the entire excursion.

Comments

[dreadinquisitor]

He didn't see Zevran immediately. He was still looking back, glancing over his shoulder toward the back of the camp where - from this angle - mud was flying across the ground. Flung from a shovel.

When he turned back and his eyes lifted, he started slightly in surprise, coming to a quick stop. His face shifted, the emotion he'd carried away from his time Gavin, disappearing into something pointedly friendly and vaguely sheepish.

"Zevran?" he greeted curiously as he approached. "Does this mean I have a roommate at last?"

[ombranera]

"No, but I've too many the past few nights and needed some space. I hope you do not mind sharing your tent tonight?" He looks up from where he'd been polishing a dagger (actual dagger, actual polish, etc etc). "If not I can find somewhere else for myself- I do not mean to trouble you if you wish privacy."

[dreadinquisitor]

There was a heartbeat, just the one, Maxwell thinking about how Gavin had come to stay with him, but then he shook his head. It had only been the one night, and Gavin hadn't returned since, so he had the room and if Zevran was in need....

"No," he gestured to the rain-slicked tent. "By all means." Stepping up, he took the seat opposite Zevran, leaning slightly toward the fire though he knew it would do little to dry him. "Though I'll admit I'm a little surprised. I'd have pegged you as the party man," he teased lightly.

[ombranera]

"Oh, parties are great fun. Moments when everyone in the tent are staring at one another awkwardly and it is fairly obvious at least two have slept together and you are fairly certain that two others want to bed one another and one smokes elfroot as though it were going out of fashion? Not my kind of party, no Ser." It was mildly irritating at best and uncomfortable at worst.

He flicked his dagger back into a sheathe hidden about his person. "Besides. It's been ages since I've last had to share such close quarters with so many. In the crows we were shoved into small apartments like sardines but here? The breathing is all wrong. It is familiar enough to make me wary but not so much to be comforting."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's eyebrows went up, but other than a bemused curving of his lips, he didn't ask. Zevran had found himself a kindred spirit where it came to that, especially seeing as Maxwell was already mired in enough himself.

"When I left Ostwick, I thought the worst I'd have to face - besides frothing disappointment - was demons and monsters--" he waved hand vaguely, gesturing to the bog around them. "The intrigue here would set the Court up for a year. It's like home but without the thread count."

[ombranera]

"If it is thread count you are missing I am wearing very fine, silken drawers." He didn't, but that was the point. "I could show you if you like."

Insert rakish grin here.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Show me?" he retorted easily, eyes flashing with humor. "A storyteller of your caliber?" He clucked his tongue in heavy disappointment. "I expect you to paint me a picture, not make me do the work."

[ombranera]

And this was why he chose Max. Max was fun. Max was as close to save as he could get around as a human noble could be. "Well...They are Orlesian so you know they have very intricate embroidery. Something manly and virile in fact, an abstract pattern of a dragon along the waistband in golden thread and the drawers themselves? As scarlet as blood."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Hmm," Maxwell hummed thoughtfully, head tipping and his eyes narrowing in amused consideration. "I'm more of a blue man myself, but I always appreciate a good opportunity for a dragon pun."

He nodded purposefully.

"I approve. Well done."

[ombranera]

"Isabella took my blue ones. Said they made her feel saucy. Those had Griffons on them, for the Wardens." He smirked and flicked his hair out of his eyes- the effect somewhat dampened with the fog keeping it from glistening quite so brightly but with the fire and the angle, perhaps, he may look rakish still. "And now my heart is all aflutter."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Good, you deserve it." Maxwell laughed lightly, peeling off his gloves and turning his palms out to the fire. "So, important questions: do you have special small-clothes for all your paramours?"

[ombranera]

"But of course! What manner of lover would I be if I had only the one?" A terribly creative sort, that was what. "For you- mm. I think perhaps something in cerulean. With silver stitching."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell quickly schooled into his expression into his best Wicked Grace face, refusing to give away how right that was. (He was fairly certain he had even owned a pair just like that.)

"But what pattern?" he challenged, eyes narrowing slightly.

[ombranera]

"Mmm. For you?" He drummed his fingers against his thighs for a moment, trying to sort out which answer would suit him best. Dragon? No. Griffon? Perhaps not. "Ivy. Scrollwork done in ivy."

[dreadinquisitor]

"And miss the opportunity for jokes about being as piercing and true as an arrow?" Maxwell teased, kicking back slightly on his seat with a laugh. "For shame."

[ombranera]

"I thought you might find the ivy more romantic. Something a touch elven, perhaps?" He'd heard a thing. Oh had he heard a thing and it is such an interesting thing. "Perhaps something a little more Dalish would be to your liking?"

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell blinked, brow furrowing slightly at the sudden and pointed shift in direction, completely caught off guard by it. (Though, really, he really shouldn't have been. Gossip is as it was, as they'd even said just a few moments before.)

"I..." For a moment he wasn't even certain how to respond: did he joke? It had all gone so badly, and Gavin seemed happier to just pretend it hadn't happened. "...I've always admired the halla," he said finally, a little lamely, the punchline taking too long to truly be humorous.

[ombranera]

"You are handing me the innuendo on a silver platter and I cannot take it." Zevran crackled with warm laughter. "There is, even for me, such a thing as too easy."

But that was something to keep in mind. Blue with silver, embroidered with arrows. He would pass that little tidbit along, not that he assumed Gavin and Maxwell would be seeing one another in their smalls anytime soon. Not with the theatrics and romantic bent their entire courtship that wasn't a courtship at all had taken. "I jest. It is nice to know that there are men like you that see another elf and see them as a man first, mm? Such has not been my experience with nobles."

[dreadinquisitor]

"It's just ears," Maxwell replied, shoulders rolling still slightly off step from the teasing about Gavin. "Skin color, or height. Underneath we're all more or less the same."

He opened his hands, palms up.

"People. And that's all what it's inside, not out."

[ombranera]

"I have heard such things many a time- and never truly met someone that believed it until you." His history was what it was, his reservations all the same. Some small part of him still did not quite buy that Maxwell meant it- and if he did? he was either horribly naive or much like Alistair. And such a thing was rare enough it was well worth investigation.

"But I find myself pleasantly surprised by this."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell snorted lightly, a wry breath through his nose, hands turning back, fingers picking at the palm of one glove.

"Well, I am just a noble," he sighed. "Silk and finery and a shiny name."

As little as everyone ever expected to be seen by him, so they saw him.

[ombranera]

"Entitlement and authority and gold, in Antiva." Though Maxwell had taken no liberties with- well. Anyone. That was different. "But in my travels I have come to learn that no one is 'just' anything. There is always a story. You are no more 'just a noble' than I was 'just a crow.' Perhaps I should remember my own lessons more often."

[dreadinquisitor]

He looked up again, looking plainly - honestly - across the fire at Zevran.

"I appreciate that," he said, ducking his head, flames shining in his damp hair. "Thank you."

[ombranera]

"You are most welcome, Max. Mmm...I feel as though I should call you something more. Bello is accurate enough but it lacks originality." Max. Max. Max of the cerulean and silver drawers, Max of Gavin's affections, Max of bitter nobility and a romantic heart. Hmmm.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's eyebrows cocked, the edges of his smile returning. "'Friend' would work," he said easily. "What's the Antivan for that?"

[ombranera]

"That? Well it depends on what manner of friend it is you mean. One you are bound to by the deepest bonds of brotherhood would be Amico. One whom you call friend but truly are only minding for the sake of keeping the peace would be Socio, a kissing friend would be Bacio- Antivans have many shades of truth and specific words for them." Keeping track in other languages was difficult at times.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Specific," Maxwell chuckled, honestly impressed.

Maybe he should take up Antivan.

"And you use all of them? In everyday conversation?"

[ombranera]

"Of course. To only have one word for friend in all it's various shades and nuances- it becomes quite confusing." He sighed, ears drooping slightly. "However am I to keep track of what manner of friend it is I am to you?"

[dreadinquisitor]

He grinned, and leaned closer again, curious.

"So what's our word then? I promise to use it, if you tell me."

[ombranera]

"Mmm...much as I would like to be Bacio or Sescio I think, perhaps, what would be closest is Gircio. Teasing friends, flirtatious friends without the actual intimacy. That is how you are most comfortable, yes?" He thought as much, at least.

[dreadinquisitor]

He arched an eyebrow, but waited for Zevran to finish the thought before speaking. When he had, Maxwell took a breath, considering the question more seriously than perhaps Zevran meant it.

"It's so much about comfort as... well, I suppose there isn't actually a better word for it," he sighed with a slight frown. "I just-- I like it to be about more than the physical. Does that make sense?"

[ombranera]

"Is that not what I said?" Comfort, wanting more than- He sighed. "Common is such an imprecise language at times. That is what you wish, for your reasons which are not at all without merit- and that is what I hope to offer, yes? Companionship with the romance and the teasing with none of the expectations. That makes it safe."

A strange word to use in this context but- it seemed to him that Maxwell may not have such a safty net elsewhere.

[dreadinquisitor]

It was another word that didn't quite sit right, but again, Maxwell was at a loss for a better one. Not without talking about it more; not without trying to explain... and this was hardly the time or place for that sort of then.

The Fallow Mire was dark and dismal and depressing enough without his help.

"True enough," he nodded. "Knowing where one stands from the start saves pain later. And I am always glad of more friends."

[ombranera]

"As am I." Of a sort. Friends that expected nothing of him were his favorite sort and it seemed as though Max was content to count himself among them. Actual intimacy- well. Actual emotional intimacy was rarely on the table.

Not that it was wanted or expected. Which was half of the appeal, here.

[dreadinquisitor]

It wasn't that Maxwell didn't want intimacy - he wanted it more than anything - but he'd learned just as well that he wasn't the sort anyone wanted that with. And he'd learned to accept that. It still made him sad, occasionally, when he stopped and really thought about it... but that was why he tried not to.

Just accept, and move along.

Exhaling a breath, he clapped his hands lightly on his knees, more than ready to put the turn the conversation had taken behind him.

"That decided, I think it's time for dinner; have you eaten?"

[ombranera]

"I have not, but after passing by the Fereldan tents and smelling that stew? I may have lost my appetite. It is a strange bit of nostalgia that. On the one hand it brings back fond memories of traveling during the Blight. On the other- it is horrible and should not be consumed by anyone." Who let Alistair cook. Honestly. They all knew better back then and they kept letting it happen.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell chuckled softly and pushed off his seat to move toward the tent, pulling on the flap to duck inside.

"Well, I don't have any stew, but I do have some dried... water fowl or another, and something resembling bread if you'd like some."

He'd gotten at the little tavern. He hadn't really wanted to know.

He felt that way about much of the mire, really.

[ombranera]

"And in return I've some Antivan wine. Not much but- it is safer than boiling the water here for drinking." Better the wine than the brandy, at least. But any meal can be made better with a good bottle of wine. Or even a half decent one, as near as he can tell.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell grinned, pleased by both the offer of drink and the company.

"Deal," he agreed with a nod, and then he ducked into the tent to fish out his half of the meal.

[ombranera]

Zevran, for his part, pulled the bottle of Antivan wine from his pack along with two tin cups. Hardly the height of formality but it was better than passing the bottle back and forth between bites.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell returned a few moments later, a pair of small cloth wrapped bundles in hand, and took a seat closer to Zevran so they could share easily. Opening them, he held them up for his friend to take what he liked.

"To gircios," he smiled.

[OOC: I honestly don't know the plural of that, and google wasn't helping, so I'm sorry if I got it wrong. D:]

[ombranera]

"To Gircios." He pours them both a glass and lifts his to Max before taking a sip. It was not the best, nor was it the worst meal he had had on the road.

[ ooc: It's cobbled together italian I think we can call it good >_> ]