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

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

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! ]

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Her expression shifts into a scowl. Open, honest; she always shows what she's feeling, and it's clear she doesn't agree.

She spins in a circle as she speaks, voice laced with old bitterness. "We may have been taught not to be promiscuous, but that doesn't mean some of us weren't."

Now done with the Antivan number, she lowers her arms to her sides and relaxes her posture.

"Thank you, Zevran. I like this as much as the lute."

"That sounds like it has a story behind it." He steps in to take her hands; not to dance or instruct, but to hold them. It normally is not his place to ask after such things but- the sheer vehemence with which she spoke? "And I think, perhaps, I can guess after the gist."

"Well," she says, eyes lowering to their joined hands. "It was a long time ago." She feels she shouldn't have let herself have an outburst like that, but this is the way it's always been with her. She will go awhile without thinking of him and how he made her feel both before and after his death, but then something will trigger a memory and it's like the pain is fresh again. She doesn't know why. She doesn't understand why she holds onto old wounds when she wants them to heal.

And this isn't even why she wanted to talk to Zevran alone. It's current happenings that have her feeling down.

"I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes," she murmurs. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Such hurts do not heal cleanly." No question- and no judgement. She does not need that from him, no. She needs someone that will make her smile, someone that will ease her load and that? He can be happily. He tugs her closer into a loose embrace, arms hooking around her waist. For a long moment he simply holds her close, hands combing through her hair, cheek tipped to rest against her.

Then, he murmurs. "What darkens the light in your eyes, Bella? Who must I duel to bring it back?"

Ellana's eyes slip closed and she sighs against him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. She's felt so heavy lately, carrying too many dark thoughts in her head, but in Zevran's embrace, she feels like the weight could lift away.

"No duels," she murmurs. "I've just been feeling low. Someone I care about is dying, and there's no cure. Someone else I care about is giving me the silent treatment because of something I did by accident. And to everyone else, I feel..." She sinks in his hold a little.

"Unimportant. Unwanted. Little and pointless."

"Clearly you need to make some new friends if your current set is ignoring you so foolishly." Zevran smooths his hand up and down her back, trying to pick through what she is saying to what she isn't, to weave a full tale from the depths of what this might be. The only one dying without recourse- Felix, perhaps? He had heard of that much. Who she cared about and wasn't speaking, that could be any of the Asharas.

Attempting to pick one from the many there would be difficult.

She lets out an exhale that's almost a laugh. Not quite, however. Since she's arrived in Skyhold, she's been branching out, trying to get to know people and their stories. While there are people she can fall back on, losing Merrick hurts a lot. But maybe this is the way things have to be. Doesn't she want to travel once her duty to the Inquisition is over? She needs to learn to let go of the Asharas, since she won't be surrounded by them anymore.

"I've been making friends," she replies. "But it can still hurt to not have the old ones in the way I thought I did." She sniffles and rests her forehead down against his shoulder. "I'm glad we're friends, Zev. I hope I'm at least half as good a friend to you as you've been to me."

"I will admit I am not well versed in having nor keeping friends but- I suppose not having the support you once knew can be difficult." He strokes her hair, cheek tipping to rest on top of her head. He doesn't understand- not as well as she might like. But he can offer some sense of comfort. He is good at that if nothing else. "Ellana, you are a bright moment in an otherwise dreary day; every day."

With her he may set the cold and the sky and the demons aside and focus on music; on laughter and the songs of home.

"You aren't? But I thought you would have had lots of friends. You're so kind and giving of your time. You're fun to be around." She sniffs back any tears that are threatening to fall. "You're bright too." Just look at the way the tavern came alive once he started playing and dancing.

"Ah, well. We did not have friends in the Crows and even now? I am friendly with a great many people-" So much so that it's what Varric calls him, to his eternal amusement- "but Amicos? Are rare. Socios, Bacios, Sescios, these I have."

But Amicos? He has but the one.

Ellana is silent for a moment before she admits, "I don't know what those words mean. Acquaintances? But I think I understand. You don't consider them your dearest friends, right? The ones who know you inside and out. Those are Amicos."

"Ah, well. 'Socios' are friends that are friendly with you and you are friendly with them but you are not exactly friends as you would say in common. Bacios are kissing friends, flirtatious friends, you and I? We are this. Sescios are friends you have sex with. That is what Isabela and I are for one another. Amicos...I have but the one and even then? I am not sure how it happened." He shrugs, wry and amused. "Alistair simply...became that to me one day when I was not looking."

Now Ellana lifts her head, sliding her hands back to rest lightly on his shoulders. She looks seriously at Zevran, like she never has before. Being Bacios with him is all right with her if that's what he'd prefer. Because something about Zevran makes her feel like she could never really fully trust him. He's kind and good, but he's also an assassin. They are experts at playing a role. But even assassins deserve to find happiness in this world.

"Did you want that growing up? Amicos? Are you glad to have one now?" She smiles faintly. "Having that sort of person in your life is a precious thing."

"Now what is this look for, mm? There is no reason to be so grave Bella." Speaking seriously is not his strong suit- even with those he might consider himself close to. Even with Alistair pinning down such a mood takes drink and grief and pending loss. With Ellana? He is not certain what to make of the look. It is not how they are, she and him, and he thinks her to understand that easily enough. "Doesn't every child?"

Even if his concerns had been more along the lines of not being sold (ha) or not being killed to spare the whorehouse a mouth that needed feeding.

"I know," she replies, the look melting away easily enough. "I was just thinking." Thinking of the man Zevran is, or at least as much as she's able to figure out.

"I won't speak for every child, but I'd guess nearly all do. It's good you have Alistair, but you should consider allowing someone else in someday. Even if you don't know how it happened the first time around." Alistair... isn't always going to be around.

"I was a Crow. We were taught more of giving the appearance of liking someone than we ever were on how to make and keep friends." He shrugs, offering her that much if she is so intent on being kind at him. "Alistair and I went through a great and terrible thing together. Perhaps it may take the same to do so a second time. Perhaps not."

"I don't think making friends is something you have to be taught. You'll just meet people in your life and want to have something solid and good with them. They'll be people you can trust; who you can open up to. And sometimes there are people who you'll open up to about some things, but not others. They can all count as friends."

If Zevran has never known what she's speaking of, he may feel it's too late to start, but it's never too late. He should open himself up to the possibility of meaning a lot to people, and those people meaning a lot to him.

"Mmm." That is the crux of the matter, the trust. His distinct inability to do so, in fact. "I suppose so."

His life is not one that lends itself well to trusting much of anyone- and the one time he thought he could settle in it in the Crows? Taught him better. Alistair is- solid. Stable. Temporary but he is not about to tell Ellana he means to be dead before Alistair ever hears the calling. Not deliberately, but he lives dangerously. It is something of a given. "You and I are still friends, Bella."

That's a dismissal if she's ever heard one. A way to say that he hears her, but isn't really giving what she says any deep thought. She wishes she could say this is a new experience for her, but it's not. She's always been thought of as too young, too naive, too something to be taken seriously. As if optimism comes with the caveat that you'll never grow up, or never have moments where you feel cynical. Maybe he thinks things just aren't that simple, but he'd be wrong. Friendship is so simple, even toddlers can do it.

"I didn't say we weren't. But I'm not your Amico and I'll never be. I'll never be the one you want to open up to and reveal everything about yourself. All I'm saying is let it happen, if you realize someone is creeping into your heart. All right?"

"I- Ellana." He sighs, stepping back a little to look her in the eye. How did this become about him? They were here to lighten her mood, to aide in her troubles. "Most people see more of me and feel either pity or disgust. It is not something I invite for that reason. Even Alistair does not know everything of me and what he does hear- he makes this face. This despairing face and- life is far too short to spend feeling such things about anyone, even oneself. Why not move forward with what is fun? With what is easy and good and go from there?"

They're here to aide her, but she doesn't feel right about absorbing all these reassurances and all his comfort without giving anything back. She just wants him to think; to not always play a role, but to have something real with someone.

"I like that about you, Zevran. You have fun and want everyone around you to feel the same. But... doesn't it get old to hold everyone at arm's length? To have this surface friendship, but nothing deeper?" She tilts her head and reaches down to take his hand in hers. "What you want is acceptance, don't you? You don't want people to make those faces at you. What if you found that? You would like having someone like that by your side, wouldn't you?"

"...Is there an answer I can give that will not have you looking at me with large, sad eyes?" Answering honestly isn't an option, not when it is put forth in such a manner. Sentiment is-

It is open and honest and dangerous. He has had that. He cherished it. He spat on it while Rinna died and cut down the first person he'd learned to trust in Denerim not long after. Pain and Death- that is what comes of Sentiment when you are an assassin- doubly so when you are one the Crows would very much like dead.

"I have that in Alistair. He makes the faces less, now." He only needs one person to understand him, one person to know him, and he's only taken that much due to Alistair's dogged determination to prove he is not going anywhere. Expecting it of anyone is terribly arrogant. "What I want- is for you to smile, mm? To not feel so lonely. That is why I am here."

Ellana's eyes close, feeling a wall build itself back up between them. When she opens them, she isn't trying to give him any particular sort of look, but her large, sad eyes are the result nonetheless.

"Always turning it back to me," she says, voice defeated. Releasing his hand, she cups his face and presses a soft kiss to his lips. She doesn't linger long, pulling back to look at him again.

"Then how do you propose to make me smile?" He won't allow her to worry over him anymore. It will always be about her and her needs. It feels selfish to take so much, but what else can she do? He won't allow her anything else. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Ellana...you do not need me. Not as that." It came with a price, all knowledge did but- knowing what he was, what he'd lived. It would change how she saw him. He ill take her sad eyes over dawning horror any day. Live with the distance. To carve open his chest and hold open his ribs so she might see the ugly, rotten core of him?

He could not bear to do that. Alistair saw it, lived parts of it with him, and helped him stitch himself back together afterward. Such a kindness is not one he can expect of anyone.

For a moment that wariness shows in his eyes- but only a moment. Then he kisses her back, cups her face in his hands and tips their foreheads together. It is easier than looking her in the eye. "Mmm...you could permit me to comb out and braid your hair while telling you wild stories of my youth in Antiva."

With their foreheads together, she closes her eyes again and draws in a deep breath. If there's one thing she recognizes in Zevran, it's his ability to make her feel special, even if it's not the type of special she truly desires from a man. It's a good substitute in troubling times.

"I'm not your Amico, Zev," she whispers to him. "I already told you." He needs to know that all this wasn't her trying to weasel her way in. This was her pointing out that he needs someone. Not her. Alistair, yes, but Alistair will be gone one day and Zevran isn't telling her his plans to be gone before that point. So he needs more than Alistair, in her opinion.

"Let's do that. I like having my hair braided."

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