We've come a long way from where we began

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Alistair, & Open
WHAT: Zevran is not dealing with sentiment well
WHEN: Mid-Firstfall
WHERE: The tavern, the stables, his quarters, the healing tents, the courtyard
NOTES: Drinking, swearing, emotional vomiting.

It took a day or two to thaw out properly from the mire. To sleep, to scrub the muck from his skin, to feel alive again. Of course with the break from the mission and a quiet space to sleep it only served to remind him of how difficult it had been on the road. Of the sounds he had heard of the wardens tents. Of what their troubled sleep meant for one Warden in particular.

[ Tavern - OPEN ]

Zevran attempted to spend his days as he would before the arrival of the Grey Wardens. Some time working on his poisons and traps, some time in the tavern listening to gossip and spinning tales, playing joyful, soothing music for the weary souls within. But for tonight there was no music, there was no smiling. Zevran kept his back to the wall, his hand on a glass of wine or ale, bottle waiting for the next poor on the table beside him, eyes on something small and glinting he rolled between his fingertips. Sentiment. What good had that ever done him? What benefit did it ever hold? It was a weakness. It was an illness. And yet here he sat, sick with it. Normally the approach of company would earn a smile, a flirtatious remark- but for one night? He had no desire for masks.

[ Stables - CLOSED to Alistair ]

"As promised." The words were loose in a way only drink made them. Lulling and swooping rather than the clipped roll of his usual pattern of speech, but Zevran was at least a little drunk and looking to become a good deal more drunk before the night was through. Trouble was he trusted very few people enough to indulge as much as he desired in all of Thedas, fewer still in Skyhold. But here, staring at this ridiculous Warden in the hay with at least one dog? A warm twist of fondness bid him offer a very special bottle of Carnal, 8:69 Blessed. As he had said before, Alistair could not start his whiskey without something particularly exquisite. Between that, the carved rune stones still in his pouch, and a wrapped wheel of small cheese in addition to a bottle of his own brandy for the night? He would forgive being forced to drink in a stable. So long as it was in Alistair's company.

[ Zevran's Quarters - OPEN ]

Well this was mortifying. He had somehow misplaced his key- his spare key, and his spare, spare key in the course of the night- or he had locked all of them inside save for the one he'd slipped into Isabella's boot earlier in the day and now? Now he was crouched, fumbling with his lockpicks in a way he hadn't since his earliest years as a Crow. The lock was simple, he knew it was simple- he also knew himself to be terribly, terribly drunk. Enough so that he was not kneeling before the door in any attempt of stealthy entry and instead sitting before it, working with his picks while swearing a blue streak under his breath in Antivan, Common, with a spattering of Orlesian and even some Tevene. Until he sobered up? He would be at it for awhile. Brasca.

[ Healing tents / Courtyard the following morning - OPEN ]

Another reason why he rarely drank. The migraine. The cotton in the mouth feeling. The twist of wire that strung his guts together. Food was probably not a bad idea bu the smell of- well- anything made it twist sharper, tighter, like a dagger to his very middle. Not productive for eating anything that will settle his stomach. Water helps but it does not do much other than remind him that he should eat, but he cannot eat, and light and sound are an aching mass of unpleasantness he did not wish to linger on. Bundled tight in a cloak that was far softer on the lining than on the exterior, he stumbled his way across the courtyard to the healing tents. Perhaps one of them would give him something if he looked sad enough.

Comments

[slipshot]

"Yeah, pretty sure the 'fool' part has already been well established," Gavin said wryly, trying not to laugh when Zevran head butted him.

So it was an assassin thing. Well that... made a lot of sense.

"A fool, an idiot, an utter moron and about a thousand other things that I could list, I'm sure." He let a lock of Zevran's hair loop around his finger and then let it fall again. "But I care about you anyway. And you care about Alistair anyway. So if you're going to be a fool regardless, might as well forgive yourself for it."

[ombranera]

"Usually one works to prevent such assumptions about themselves." But Gavin was, as he's come to realize, something of a special case. A fool that plays the fool that likes being a fool. Makes people not take him seriously.

Not the worst tactic, he's employed it himself but- never embraced it quite like Gavin seemed to.

"I shouldn't. It will not end well. It never ends well."

[slipshot]

"And what exactly in all of Thedas does end well?" Gavin asked. It seemed to be a joke. Mostly. (It wasn't.)

He bit back the next thing on his tongue. No. No, that wasn't a path he wanted to go down, and he didn't need to go down it. Not now, and not here. (Or ever.) So he fought it down until it was small and hard in the pit of his stomach, and diverted his thoughts as forcefully as he could.

"You're not working as an assassin right now, Zevran," he pointed out instead. "You're ostensibly part of the Inquisition, and so is he. You worked together then, took care of him then. What's so different about now?"

[ombranera]

"Sex." That one was easy enough, ask him another. "Dancing. Songs. A good bowl of fish chowder, a well written play, a clever novel, a beneficial business arrangement- Antiva."

Antiva would always find a way to make it's ends and make them well, and for a moment he was horribly, intensely, all but viciously homesick. He could not return. Not while the Inquisition had need of him but he hated the cold, hated the fate that put such a burden on the one person he cared for as his own blood despite not understanding, entirely, what that meant, and hated that he was helpless against it.

"How do you know? This could all be an elaborate ruse. I could be paid off by the Venatori to infiltrate and kill everyone in Skyhold by sulking." That was what he was doing. Sulking. Like a child.

[slipshot]

"Alright, something that ends well that takes longer than a day," Gavin replied, flicking Zevran's ear lightly. Who was being the fool now?

"Sure, it could," He said, playing along. "Though I have no idea how much sulking it takes to kill someone, let alone everyone. I think you might have an easier time if you attempt to do so via venereal disease." He shifted his hand to gently grasp the crown of Zevran's head - forcing him to turn it and look up at him.

"Face it, Zevran. It's a lost battle. You've already lost it. Might as well enjoy what you can out of your defeat, right?"

[ombranera]

"Sex can take longer than a day if you do it right." He flinches away from the flicking, turning hard, betrayed eyes up to Gavin. Why? Why would he do that? That was rude. There was no recourse but to turn his head and bite him through his shirt- not hard, but a pinch. A calculated pinch.

"Less than an hour of exposure emphasized by stabbing. For the entirety of Skyhold, if I wished them dead, it would take about two, perhaps three days." No one really checked what went into the food, everyone ate or drank at the tavern, and killing off Cullen and the Advisors could be handled with a well placed grenade. Easy.

He himself did not turn easy. He was fine here. Happy staring at dark of his eyelids and ignoring everything. Being made to turn forced a scowl. "No."

[slipshot]

He squirmed when he was bit - but he'd deserved that. So no complaint. The rest, though... Gavin sighed, looking down at Zevran. He was one to talk, about losing battles. He was fighting one. He gave up and released the elf's head from his grasp.

"Alright," He said, a thumb gently brushing where he had flicked, as if to soothe the indiscretion. "Alright, then don't. The creators know I don't have a foot to stand on, to tell you otherwise. But if you're going to stab me, give me a heads up, will you? I won't make it more difficult but I would like a piece of pie, first, if I can."

[ombranera]

"Assassins do not warn their marks that they are to be killed. That defeats the purpose. Besides. I would not kill you with a knife." This is a much more bearable line of thought than sentiment and how it would get him killed. More professional, more teasing, more morbid. More him.

[slipshot]

"How would you kill me then?" Gavin wondered aloud, fingers trailing over Zevran's hairline and then down into his hair. He wasn't going to make Zevran talk about things he didn't wish to, so he could take the hint when the elf was happy to change the subject.

"I feel I should warn you that I'm not sure poison would work... I've had to eat a lot of strange things, in my life time."

[ombranera]

"I'd break your neck. Quick, painless, easy to clean up. You do not mind your back as much as you ought to and it would not be difficult to do so." It'd be stupidly easy, even now. Even drunk. All the more reason to burrow deeper against Gavin's side and shove down all those terrible reflexes.

[slipshot]

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad, all things considered," Gavin mulled lowly, more to himself than to Zevran, frowning down at the elf while he was burrowed. There were worse ways to die. Infinitely worse. It sounded almost kind.

He rubbed Zevran's shoulder, leaning over him. "Come on, mir din'an, you'll feel better in the morning sun."

[ombranera]

"No, I will feel worse." But he did uncurl enough to roll over onto the mattress, hand fumbling for the quits he had stacked there. The nights were often terribly cold in the mountains- all the more so when you didn't keep a good deal of bodyfat for love or money.

[slipshot]

"Well, that's probably true," Gavin admitted, leaning over Zevran to grab the quilts. He shook the first one out and lay it down over Zevran before doing the same with the second, tucking it in around him. "But once the hangover wears off, you'll feel better."

Or at least more able to hide the fact that he felt bad, which to Gavin meant basically the same thing.

[ombranera]

"Probably." He muttered, reaching out from where he was bundled up to snag Gavin's wrist. He couldn't exactly bring himself to ask Gavin to stay but the faint tug and cracked open eye from where he lay on the pillow probably managed that on it's own.

No way he was sleeping alone tonight, not when he couldn't wake easily.

[slipshot]

He'd been about to see himself out - half moving to do so - when Zevran's grip caught his wrist. He blinked, looking down, and thankfully managed not to smile. With his free hand he leaned down to take off his own boots, and then drew himself out of Zevran's grip to slide off the leather jacket. He luckily did not have the small armoury that Zevran equipped himself with, so once that was done, he just lifted the corner of the quilts and slid himself in next to Zevran without a word.