[ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Isabela, their audience
WHAT: Zevran and Company heat up a cold night with some steamy songs from up North.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Tavern
NOTES: Bawdy songs, salacious dancing, coin being tossed- adult language and content.

It was cold, they were bored and a little tipsy, and Zevran had run through as many stories of the fifth blight that he could stand for the night, Isabela had run through as many suckers as she could get in her game of cards as would be lured in by her laugh and her bosom. Comfortably buzzed and not wishing to become maudlin Zevran began to pick out the notes to a rather saucy Antivan song- one he recited recently for Alistair. By the time he'd gone through the first verse with just the Lute Isabela was chortling. "You wouldn't actually-"

"Oh, mia Bella, I would. I truly would." Never one to step down from such a challenge, his plucking went from idle to strong with purpose, which only had Isabela throwing her head back and cackling.

Giggling, in her own way, warm and rich and turning a few heads. The atmosphere wasn't dire or dour but it could use a little spice. A little heat. Whether it was the sudden sharp strum that brought him back to the beginning or Isabela elbowing him in the ribs to actually start singing that got more heads, he couldn't say. by the time he hit the refrain and had nudged her enough to get her standing on the table, writhing along with the music? They certainly had the attention of most if not all of the tavern. When he hit the second call and response- half the women in attendance replied, egged on by Isabela on the table still- leaping onto another in time with the music.

As he had quite a few such pieces in his repertoire, they had all night to fill with song and dance and bawdy intent.

[ ooc: tag around and have a party, everyone's game! ]

Comments

[ombranera]

"Perhaps I might have you sing it again, when we've more time, space, and a bush of our own." He waggled his brow rakishly, well pleased with both the tune and the song. He adds it to his mental collection- but the shape of the words would be different in his voice. An Antivan Accent wouldn't do it justice and his ability for mimicry is questionable while this drunk. "I would hear you whistle if you are of a mind. I myself sing more often than I whistle- normally it is used as a signal, not a tune."

[nadasharillen]

Nari colored slightly at the waggled brow, and laughed into the mug of ale she held. "Perhaps," she replied, and then frowned thoughtfully at the mug. "Whose is this? I don't remember having ale."

She examined it for a moment, then shrugged lightly, quirked her own brow, and took a swig anyway. Then she set it down, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and began to whistle the rest. This part of the performance actually was lovely. Years of practice at the mentioned signaling, at amusing herself by mimicing the birds of the woods on hunts, and many days of nothing else to do while travelling had given the hunter quite the sound. There were dips and trills in the old tune that she hadn't the skill to add with vocals, and the jaunty flair that came with conidence. Nahariel Dahlasanor couldn't sing a bit, but she could whistle.

She was also drunk, and so interrupted herself in the middle with a question. "Where are you from? You're not Dalish, or if you are, that's no vallaslin I've ever seen." She traced the side of her face with a finger, mirroring his tattoo. "And I've never seen an Alienage elf with half the panache." She'd never seen an Alienage elf at all. From all she'd heard they were a tired and downtrodden lot, living at the mercy of shem'len who had none to spare for the elves. No clan, no pride, no future.

"Unless they make them differently in...?"

[ombranera]

"It is mine, but you seemed so terribly pleased by it." He propped his elbows on the table to beter watch her, to listen- as lovely as the song had been? The melody she whistles is far, far lovlier. She hadn't been jesting about her skill- it is as clear and pure as any reeded flute he'd heard in Antiva. Between the song and the melody he locked both away for future reference- this was not a song he might sing often but while in her company, if only to find his way into the bush with her? He would do so.

The question was common enough that he felt no offense at the asking. "I am neither Dalish nor Alienge raised. I was born in a whorehouse in Antiva City and found myself a member of the Crows not long afterward. Assassins do not often have use for their elves to lack panache. We are meant to be alluring and bold, enticing and fearless. Or at the very least recklessly stupid."

[nadasharillen]

"Although if you're recklessly stupid, it helps to also be lucky," she replied.

The hunter had raised her eyebrows to hear of his origin, surprised at the detail, though not the meanness, of his upbringing. Elves did not, on the whole, have the most pleasant stories to tell of their circumstances. Through the delightful haze of drink, she couldn't tell if his lighthearted air was artificial, or if he had simply seperated himself from his past enough to allow for true gaiety. Stored the anger somewhere else for later use. Perhaps assassinations.

She wasn't sure if she'd be able to tell even when sober.

Did she want to know? Of course she did. She wanted to know what was inside anything locked. Especially if the locked thing was pretty.

Nari slid the ale she'd apparently pilfered back towards its owner and smiled. "Are you lucky?"

[ombranera]

"I don't know, Morena-" He smiles sweetly and easily, that open curiosity on her face one he has seen many times before and indulged to an extent. One he enjoys indulging. Wild tales of his life from the saucy to the absurd seemed to please those that have not met him or his like- and this far in the south? that tends to be most. Antivans did not often travel so far outside their own country to mingle among taverns. Even among his own people he is something of a rarity.

Not many leave the Crows and live to tell the tale.

Carefully he reaches across the table, hand catching her chin, thumb swiping across the damp from the ale on her bottom lip. It lingers a moment before he pulls his hand back to lick the glisten of ale from his own thumb, smile wicked. "Am I to be lucky tonight?"

(it literally took me this long to think about what might happen hahaha aaah.)

[nadasharillen]

Her lip is rough under his thumb--chapped by the dry mountain air. The lazy confidence in her eyes turns fragile, wary, the richness of their green fading to something lighter, more brittle, and she stills like a doe scenting something in the air. Like an animal suddenly keenly aware they are prey.

Nahariel takes a deep breath, then puffs it out in a quiet wistful laugh. "I've no doubt you will be. You're beautiful, and charming. You've warm eyes. But I've held enough blades in my life to know the glint of something deadly when I see it." The corner of her mouth twitches slightly. "Not that I would fear for my life, were I to take you up on your offer. But I am drunk, and you are dangerous--in a great many ways, I think. Not all of them fatal. Or even ill-meaning. I--"

She paused, her crooked smile a little sad. "I am not made of the right stuff to be but a memory, I think. Not on purpose, at least. I care a little too much. Always have."

s'awright!

[ombranera]

"I would argue the point- you are quite memorable even here and now, as you are. But-" And he does mean that, hand dropping down to rest upon hers, warm and easy, a great deal of the predatory leering and posturing sliding away to leave him there but less...

Less the lothario and more himself. Curious and not entirely unkind when given occasion. And she has certainly given him occasion.

"Never before have I seen eyes like yours nor heard a song like you have shared- nor heard a whistle so pure aside from the very fine songbirds of my own home. But they are clipped, caged things. Kept comfortable but kept none the less."

Gentle as anything he lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles. "I would not dare to keep more than you are willing to give. This? Is more than enough."

she's like <(o///o)>

[nadasharillen]

She had been prepared for something else entirely. Some half formed thought that his interest would immediately wane in favor of more agreeable company, or perhaps some continued bawdiness or cajoling. Not these... genuine seeming compliments, contingent on nothing.

When he lifted her hand it came easily, the hunter's surprise too great to allow any resistance. She thought mostly about how they had calluses in similar places, and how she had not thought her hand could be lovely until now--held carefully like a bird. Nahariel had never felt made for gentle things. Life with their small clan had enough hardship that there was precious little time for dalliance--nor did it provide anyone she wished to dally with. And at the Arlathvhen? Two days offered little more than the opportunity for experimental pawing... and she'd been mostly concerned that the Clan got fair trade for her work.

No. This was entirely new, and the brief press of his lips against her knuckles made the tips of her ears tingle.

"You are," she managed, "kind to say so."

and he's just <(o v o)>

[ombranera]

Most women don't ever truly know what to make of him at first blush- Dalish? Even less so. They have been warned of Shems and rough hands, simpering city elves and the dangers of involving oneself with those beyond the Clans. But there was no preparing for Zevran. Overt but not overbearing, charming but not chauvinistic, with all the airs of a dashing hero from pulpy romance novels and more sincerity than they'd be granted- but not so much that his intent or manner might be mistaken. A thoroughly dishonest individual; but honest lover.

How could anyone brace themselves for such a thing?

He pressed a second kiss to the back of her hand before lowering it to the table. He did not release it unless she made a motion to pull away. Her hands, her skin was her own. Zevran would be the last to encroach where he was not wanted. "I am not often called kind- but I am glad to be kind to you."

[nadasharillen]

The hand he held was slightly tensed, hovering somewhere in between pulling away and relaxing. The same could be said for the rest of her--save her eyes. Those were open, curious, balanced on the edge of disbelief.

"Why?" she asked. It was unclear which of the two statements she questioned. Perhaps because she wondered about both.

[ombranera]

"Because of who and what I am...and because of who and what you are." That is enigmatic and honest enough to suit him. Whether she found it to be a good answer, well. Most were easily put off by his evasive nature- but hunters did tend to relish the chase.

[nadasharillen]

"I suppose if one expects compliments to be given, they are no longer considered a kindness," she'll reply, in a second answer to both questions. She'll smile her crooked smile again, apparently pleased to have thought of it.

And it was true, from what she knew. She'd heard his name before, around Skyhold. There'd even been a note up about him on the board. Flirtatious, and accomplished at it. Very popular in the evenings. But that was how it went with skill at anything--it became a facet of reality, not a kindness. Even if it was one.

While thinking, she'd relaxed a bit, now looking at him as less of a wary unknown, and more like... a piece of good wood she'd come across. She wasn't sure what he was yet, but she believed that people, like wood, would eventually tell you what they were, if you listened well enough.

[ombranera]

"That is precisely it." He swipes his thumb across her knuckles, content to remain in quiet conversation- but behind him on a table? Isabela, she calls. He is noticeably, visibly reluctant to leave- but leave he must. The crowd wishes another song, another dance. Giving her fingers a gentle squeeze he stands, calling back to Isabela in bright Antivan.

"Another time, yes? I am often found here in the evenings."