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

[ombranera]

"Militantly, yes. Overall? I would not think so. He may be very pretty but I doubt he can shoot with near as much accuracy as you, nor wrangle wayward assassins quite so well." He nudged her with his boot, sopping up broth with his bread.

[the_effect_she_has]

"Well no, no one can shoot with the kind of accuracy I have." That's said with a completely calm tone. She's been here for a bit, and she hasn't seen a single archer of her caliber. She's heard the Nightengale is something to see, and there's some fellow named Barton around who is supposedly amazing -- the one called Red Jenny is off on a mission and she's heard tale that Varric's crossbow 'Bianca' doesn't 'count. So ... she'll count herself in at least the top five.

She shake her head a little, to pull herself out of her musing, "And I'll just bet you'd like to have him wrangle you more than me ... but thank you." A nudge back.

[ombranera]

"...I will not lie, the idea has appeal. Especially if he was shirtless. And oiled. Mmmm..." Well oiled, much like that Rivaini greased wrestling with the leather pants and the gripping and-

He took a moment to let his mind wander, pleasantly, through all possible meanings of 'wrangled'. Many of them terribly, terribly sexy.

"You are most welcome, Katniss."

[the_effect_she_has]

"... Well now that thought is going to stick with me, as well." She sighed and slumped a little further. "And I also now want to be wrangled."

She plucked off a piece of bread and tossed it at Zevran's head. "Even though you're putting bad thoughts in my head."

[ombranera]

He tilted his head back to catch the bread in his mouth, grinning. "I am the soul of discretion and have no idea to what you are referring."

[the_effect_she_has]

A roll of her grey eyes, before she tossed a bit of bread at his head. "You're the soul of wickedness and the handsome prince of bad thoughts."

[ombranera]

Another toss, another catch. "I am as pure as the driven-" no, no, he cannot keep a straight face through that.

He cackled, warm and rich and rolling.

[the_effect_she_has]

"See, you can't even say that without laughing, you brat!" Katniss couldn't help herself, she was grinning now as she tossed another piece of bread at him. Mostly just to see if he could still catch that accurately while he was cackling that hard.

[ombranera]

It took a bit of twisting and smirking, but he managed. Barely. "I am- wait, wait, I can do this."

He cleared his throat. "I am as pure as th-" Snickering.

[the_effect_she_has]

"Hah!" She pointed at him, now smiling brilliantly, "Can't even get past the 'The'! You know you're as wicked as they come, Zevran Arainai."

[ombranera]

"I am as pure. I am as-" No, no, no, he could do this. He could. He simply needed to imagine something horrible. He squeezed his lips together and focused on the far end of the room for a moment, ear tips drooping as he forced himself to keep a straight face. "I am. As pure- as the driven snow."

[the_effect_she_has]

Katniss lifted up the roll, before she smirked and instead took a large bite out of it instead. She chewed, swallowed, and then stated, "You look like you had to swallow a lemon."

[ombranera]

"Normally the lies I tell are not so audacious!" HE cracked back into laughter. "Some of them are quite true."

[the_effect_she_has]

"If anyone believes that lie, I'll ... I don't even know but the terms of the wager would be extreme." She answered tartly, but she can't stop smiling in turn.

[ombranera]

"Were I being paid I could sell that lie. It has happened before, a nobleman wanting a pure, innocent elf to take advantage of. And then I'd kill him, but that is beside the point." He smirked.

[the_effect_she_has]

"...Your job is very bizarre." Katniss stated plainly. "You have to lie, and act, and cheat and then ... only then, do you get to kill."

[ombranera]

"More or less. It makes for interesting stories at the very least." Such was the life of an assassin.

[the_effect_she_has]

"So you enjoy your work? Not the killing part but the - wild and crazy adventure part?" She asked quietly.

[ombranera]

"There is some joy to be had in a quick, clean kill- the satisfaction of the hunt completed, yes? Some Crows would draw it out but I am an assassin, not a sadist. A just and clean death is the best anyone can hope for."

[the_effect_she_has]

"Well ... yes, that I understand. I prefer a clean kill to anything else." One and done - no suffering if she can help it. For beast or man. She quirks a smile at him. "So at least when you have to pay up on my contract, it would be quick."

[ombranera]

"It will be much like falling asleep, of this? You have my word." He could offer no less to someone he helped save.

[the_effect_she_has]

She sounds almsot wistful, as she looks off to the fire, "... No pain. For once, there would be no pain. It's so tempting..."

[ombranera]

"Ah, no." He nudges her with his elbow. "No, it is not tempting, for you are healthy, hearty, and well and have reasons enough to live. When all is truly lost and there is no recourse but death? Then I shall do it for you. Until then, my friend, you will simply have to suffer living."

[the_effect_she_has]

"...Maker, you are cruel." Is her quiet reply, but she manages a tired sort of smile. "But at least living is a suffering I'm used to."

[ombranera]

"In ways that you can stand." He squeezes her shoulder. "Take it from someone that knows. You can find things to live for."