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WHO: Samouel and Anyone
WHAT: Doing odd jobs around Skyhold, and everyday life stuff.
WHEN: Anytime during the first two weeks
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Anything and everything can happen. Prose or brackets welcomed

There was always something to be done around Skyhold, which was perfect because without having any missions to go on, Sam would have probably slowly gone insane. As it were Sam threw himself more into his practices.

On most days Sam busied himself with dedicating his time to his magic. Mornings often found him in the library picking out a book and later taking it to the dining hall to read as he ate his food, or finding a secluded spot in what was being turned into a garden. Always to himself, invested in the pages, and trying to be out of the way of everyone.

Afternoons he took to actually practicing his magic. A good part of the time he would offer any aid he was capable of doing down at the tents where they cared for the injured and sick. He wasn't nearly as skilled as the more practiced healers who had trained most of their lives in the Circle, but he made up for it with determination. Or if he seemed to just be in the way, Sam found himself testing out spells on the practice dummies behind the Herald's Rest.

The other days that Sam didn't dedicate to magic, he dedicated to manual labor and honing the skills his father taught him. It was also a way to make a few coins here and there. While he did spend some amount of time helping with the stables, Sam primary kept himself to the forges housed behind the tavern. It was hot, rough work, but it didn't both him in the least. It reminded him of things before the Conclave, or even the Blight. Didn't hurt that it was warm and he got a fair workout in the process.

Evenings Sam always found himself at the Herald's Rest. He never drank, except maybe once in a while when Cabot pressed that he try the new "special" of the day or a friendly suggestion by another was made. For the most part he simply just spent time in the tavern because there wasn't anywhere else to go. Especially on those nights that sleep either would not come to him or he just didn't want to face his dreams.

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"That might be the wisest solution. Not everyone is as gracious as you when it comes to dealing with non-human customers." For Sam has been terribly gracious.

Sam raises a brow at that. It takes him a moment to fully get the meaning, but when he does the smile drops. Raising a hand he rubs his eyes; he felt like an idiot. There's a long sigh that follows before he looks back up at Zevran.

"And I probably sounded like a complete idiot... jerk? for saying some things so easily. Sorry." The apology is sincere. "I wasn't trying to offend."

"Think nothing of it. You lived in a Circle- things are different there." He goes so far as to flick his fingers at the air, much like brushing aside something unpleasant. "All is forgiven. You literally had no idea, how can I be offended over that?"

Sam gives a huff but there is a smile with it. "I've been told it's insensitive." He crosses his arms at that, tilting his head to the side.

"Well I suppose I should thank you for not being offended and stabbing me with your pretty daggers? I'm sure that would have hurt more then getting hit with a rock."

"Well. It is. But innocent ignorance is easier to forgive than deliberate malice." A beat. "Though I would recommend not calling myself or any other elf, dwarf, Qunari- anyone 'exotic'. Just for future reference."

Sam winces at that. "Aaaaaah. So I did offend you. That is... embarrassing." He smiles meekly and tries to look as apologetic as possible. "Note taken. Would 'alluring' have been better?"

"I have been called far worse in malice. It was said and meant as a compliment from a handsome man that didn't know better. I can let it go." And has, but he won't mind the correction. "Ooh. I do like the sound of that. The alluring Zevran Arainai. Perhaps I should put it on my calling card."

Sam blushes at the compliment, he's not used to them. Relieved that he's corrected any offense he has or had made he chuckles. "What does your calling card say now? If you mind me asking."

"Zevran Arainai, lover and fighter, thwarting Crow Assassinations since 9:30 Dragon." And Crow plots. And crow political movements in Antiva. He may be taking the revenge thing a little far with the continued attempts to swat them down- but either he would die or they would. So far? It's been them.

That's quite the impressive calling card. "So would the 'alluring' part go with 'lover and fighter', or you going to use it as a title?"

Sam's shoulders shake with his chuckles at it all. "Alright. So, am I to refer to you as Alluring Zevran Arainai... or just Zevran?"

"I think at the beginning, The Alluring Zevran Arainai rolls off the tongue so nicely, don't you think?" There could be songs. Should be, in fact- probably are a few in Antivan brothels.

"Well you could if you wished- but my friends call me Zev- so that option is available to you."

Sam's brows raise in amusement at the offer. "From innocent offender Circle mage to friends with Zevran Arainai. This has been quite the day."

He motions to the splint mail Zevran is wearing. "Alright, Zev... ran," he's not sure if he's quite comfortable to jumping to being that familiar even if he had offered, "do you need help getting the armor off?"

"And it is not even supper time yet, my how the fates are kind." He crackles a laugh. Why people think him heroic for not dying he never quite understands, but he'll not make a thing of it. "Are you asking if I wish you to undress me? Because the answer will almost always be yes."

"Almost always." He repeats, grinning at the sound of Zevran's laugh. "Not a definite 'yes' and I would rather not chance my hands since I know how talented you are. I think I offered help, but if you wish that I do it on my own, I think I can manage."

"Yes, you may. Disarm away, my friend." He holds his arms out to make it easier, lips curled in a wicked grin. "I trust you'll be able to handle this."

Sam holds up his hands. "Magic hands. Remember?" He snorts before getting up and stepping in closer. Grabbing Zevran's arms he positions them to be held out in front of him a bit more before staring on the claps at his wrists.

"So what happened to your own armor? If you're looking for new something must have happened."

"The most magical of hands." There would be lines and jokes in the future- but for the moment he allows himself to be moved, watching said magical hands at work. "Well...first there was a bomb of acid thrown at me by a Crow, which I killed- it weakened the leather enough so when I met bandits further down the road they were able to cut through it. A pity too, I've had that set for some time now. All Antivan leather."

The word 'cute' comes to mind at how Zevran mourns for his Antivan leather - it's the ears. Course Sam doesn't say it, and he doesn't smile since it's rather serious. It's obvious that Zevran really liked that leather.

"I'm sorry to hear that. It should be proud that it protected you for so long. But..." he pauses a bit and gives Zevran a look. "Acid? You ok?"

Zevran would rather not hear he is cute. Alluring? Certainly. Sexy? Quite so. Cute? No. He is not cute. "The leather took the entirety of that. The Crow didn't' hurt me at all. The idiot bandits, however..."

He sighs. "It's embarrassing. You fight against professionals for so long, you forget how unpredictable someone that doesn't know what they're doing can be."

Sam blinks at that. So he was hurt? Unclasping the last bit of the arms, Sam moves to Zevran's side to start working on the rest, being mindful if there are any injuries.

"Nothing serious I hope." He doesn't seem injured, but then again Zevran IS a professional.

"A shot to my shoulder and scrapes to my ribs. Nothing serious. Irritating, but not serious." Not for a former Crow. "So now I need new armor AND I must wait until my shoulder has mended before getting to the real work."

"Real work?" At hearing the part about scraped ribs Sam makes a point to try and not touch the area too much. Once the clasps are done he helps Zevran wiggle out of the armor.

Plopping the armor back down onto the table he raises a brow. So he was still injured. "Did you see one of our healers?" Sam's eyes narrow as it occurs to him that perhaps Zevran had run into the same issue he was referring to with the smiths. "Or did they refuse to heal you? I would think them better than that."

"Rebuilding, scouting, clearing bandits from the roads, brokering deals with those that owe me favors." He shrugs- and winces for the shrugging. Right. Shoulder. Ah, well, he will remember when it comes time to rebuild the injury.

At the glare he was concerned a moment- until the rest of the question comes out. The idea of someone being frustrated or offended on his behalf is- charming. Terribly charming. "Ah, no. I saw a surgeon. The mages need to save their time and their power for those not as accustomed to being the walking wounded, as it were."

Sam's glare disappears at hearing that the healers hadn't turned anyone away, but there is still some displeasure in his features. Zevran gave up a lot for others and let himself suffer. With no thanks and ill treatment for the most part it seemed.

The wince did not go unnoticed. So he had gone and seen the Surgeon. Bruce? He had yet to actually talk to the man but he had seen him around. At least Zev did that.

"If it isn't a serious wound it shouldn't take up too much time or energy." Sam tilts his head.

"What, are you skilled in healing?" He hadn't seen Sam at the lines for the tents but- perhaps a bit of healing would help. It'd be better than the foul smelling poultice Bruce put on him every morning. Speeding up the process would be nice- and noting felt off in the wound yet. Right now it was simply irritating to not be able to use the arm.