faderift | [ 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! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Normally to earn this sort of treatment Zevran would have to be injured, in the midst of a deeper ploy, or terribly ill; for Michel to humor him not only the once, but to indulge a second time without the asking? Perhaps there was something to be said for the nobility of Orlesian Chevaliers- or perhaps the simpler answer was the one Zevran found to be true most often. Elves were small and seemed fragile, vulnerable. Whether a man found that enticing to abuse or enticing to protect depended upon the man.

Michel, unreservedly, fell into the latter category. It spoke well of him for all the social moors that would have him think nothing of elves.

Zevran cannot help but find that at least slightly endearing. Even if he was not at all above manipulating that sentiment, tucking himself closer, smaller to Michel's chest, nosing up along the side of his throat for warmth. "Mmmmhmm."

His shirt was- well. Somewhere. He would find it again later and Isabela might mind the crowd easily enough.

Some would say that Chevaliers had no humor, but if asked, Michel was not at all too proud to talk about the time he dueled with a feather.

He would also be the first to admit that being a Chevalier, as with most organizations in the world, possessed qualities that were less than noble. He clung to every bit of the ideals that resonated him and dismissed the vices that most developed a taste for after initiation. His history grounded him in his the sense of honor that he'd crafted for himself. Chevalier's could be seen as abusive given what they could be, just like anyone, but Michel had made it his practice to protect when and where he could.

Part of the reason he did this had to do with his protective instincts, though another part had something to do with developing a taste for the assassin's body curled up in his arms like this. Knowing that he was deceptively dangerous and yet appeared completely harmless while intentionally shrinking himself against Michel...it would be a lie to say that it didn't play havoc with what he knew to be true and what appeared to be true. It had simply reached a point where he didn't mind at all...

...and it offered him the opportunity to keep Zevran close for now, and warm, if the face pressing up against the column of his neck was anything he should judge by. It set off the familiar hammering of his pulse, but the Chevalier simply gathered his composure and walked out into the air as if this was perfectly natural with the elf bundled in his cloak.

The way to Zevran's room was determined more by his instincts at this point, even though the conversation was minimal, he was preoccupied with stroking his companion's hair into place.

[ ooc: continued here ]

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

Zevran Approves + 5

and thus a tradition was born!

srsly he should end up carrying him at least once a thread >_>