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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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"Two or three years ago? And you're letting me do it? I'm honored," he chuckles lightly. The rest of the story he only hums in acknowledgement.

After a few minutes Sam pulls his hands away, scratching at his palms where the stitches kept poking at him. It isn't done, but he wants to make sure it is setting right. "How does that feel? Range of motion still good? I can finish it up if everything seems alright."

"Normally I do not get so injured either." He's good at what he does, remember? Still the progress is gratifying, as should be the level of trust given. A human mage- not his first choice, but one made in good faith.

Sam pulls away, so does Zevran. "Mmm. Let me see."

A simple stretch to start- he checks his reach, his rotation, begins twisting it as he would for a mild contortion and everything is lining up nicely. "No stiffness whatsoever- you are good."

As Zevran checks his range of motion Sam stretches out his hands. Not having warmed up after working the forge, he can feel a slight cramp.

"Why thank you. We should probably take out the stitches now before it's fully healed. Might be a pain to do after."

"Oh, it is. I've had to do that before." Wynne had been as annoyed as him after that- but kind when removing them.

She'd always been terribly kind in her own, self righteous way. Yet another dagger flips up from somewhere before he offers the blade to Sam. "Use the hook on the tip to tug it out."

"Seriously. Where are you keeping them?" Sam stares at the dagger with confusion and awe before his eyes wander to Zevran's pants. That's the only logic place they're at, because the Elf is half naked.

Taking the dagger, Sam brings it up to his face to find the hook Zevran is talking about. "Hm." Too bad he didn't have any medical tools. Those would have been better. Sighing, Sam sets to cutting the stitches first, and being careful not to cut Zevran in the process - not like he couldn't heal those too but he'd rather not hurt his patient.

Once they all were cut he carefully started to drag each one out using the hook like Zevran suggested.

"Trade secret." Everywhere, Sam. The answer is everywhere. A good assassin keeps at least seven daggers on them at any given moment.

Zevran is actually sporting twelve but- it's early in the day. There may be more by nightfall. Who can say?

Sam is good at this, Zevran notes. The magic, the tending to people. That compassion thing, he seems to have a pretty solid handle on it, the fact that he's gentle and quite kind is a bonus. All the better. "And out they come. You're doing well."

Sam chuckles as he pulls out the last of the stitches. Twisting the dagger in his hand he offers the hilt back to Zevran. "I would hope so. Magic and hammering are the only things I'm not clumsy about."

Once Zevran has taken his dagger back, Sam sets his hands back on the wound. The green glow returns soon after and Sam hums lightly in thought. "Should I look at the other one after this?"

This time he at least secrets it away slowly- somewhere near his thigh. Whether there's a sheath stitched into the leather of his trousers or now, well. Who could say?

"What, my ribs? If you wish. They are less troubling than the shoulder." Two shallow cuts, long but clean. Not infected and not hindering his movement.

Sam catches the movement and his eyes dart over to watch. Ah. He did that on purpose. The thought makes him chuckle.

"Perhaps, but you have me at your full disposal at the moment. Might as well take advantage of the situation, right?" It's not really taking advantage, but it seems silly not to heal everything that he can.

"I can think of many ways I might wish to take advantage of your magic fingers. To be honest? This is not even the top of the list. But I can see you have that strange compulsion most healing mages do to see someone well- if you so wish, you may." It'll be that much sooner for him to be able to get back out and get working again. For that? He is grateful.

Sam frowns thoughtfully at that, his eyes darting up to look at Zevran's face before looking back to his work. What did he- Oh. Oooooh.

"Well done with the shoulder." His words come out rather quick and he's leaning back as far as he can in his chair. It's suddenly much warmer in the room. "Ah... which side of your ribs is it?"

Zevran can't help it, he laughs. Low and warm and rolling- ah the look on Sam's face. Charming, utterly charming. "The side that is bandaged. Allow me."

Another knife, another cut, the knife goes away and the bandages along with their poultice are set aside. 'just scrapes' to Zevran mean two lines of stitches curving along the black ink etched into his skin.

The laugh is infectious, though it only makes Sam smile rather than break out into his own laughter. A bit too nervous suddenly for that. Oh boy, the rest of this was going to be a bit tougher now that he was looking at exactly where the next injury was. It was going to be hard not to follow the path of those tattoos.

Sam has to stand up a bit to scoot his chair so that he's sitting in a better position to get to the wound. These look a lot better than the other one, but a bit more awkward to get to with Zevran sitting up.

He's not going to ask him to go lay down on something.

Like before, Sam places his hand on the wounds and a soft green light appears.

Looping world in abstract lines that curve along his musculature, forming shapes of feathers, of daggers and talons, interrupted only by the cut in his skin and the stitches that held him together. Zevran turns enough to offer Sam the best view possible which is a little uncomfortable, but better for the healer. He can deal with discomfort.

Sam mutters a 'thanks' finding Zevran's shifted position easier to get to. The wound is quicker to heal, but like the one on the shoulder Sam stops before it is fully healed.

Pulling back he gives Zevran a sheepish smile. "Ah... think I can borrow the dagger again?"

"Certainly." This time he even removes it slowly and yes- there is in fact a subtle sheathe stitched into the fabric of his leather trousers, near enough the seam that it is difficult to detect. With a flourish he offers it over.

Now he knows Zevran is purposely doing that. Repayment for the treatment and his obvious curiosity? Or was it a distraction? By this point Zevran is a walking distraction.

"Show off." He grins and takes the dagger. "Thanks."

Once more Sam works out the stitches, careful to just cut the stitches, and then offers the dagger back. Simply, no flourish. "How long did it take you to learn how to do..." Without the dagger in his hand he twists his fingers around in mild mimicry of Zevran's own actions. "Dagger... twirling?" He doesn't know what it's called.

There is no shame in indulging a handsome man's curiosity, especially when it provides an opportunity to show off. Little tricks are a simple pleasure that have kept him from being bored, sharing them? Not a trouble.

"The flair? I taught myself. It helps to distract a target- they see the spinning of the right hand and do not pay attention to the left stabbing them. It's a useful skill- also wonderful at parties."

Sam raises a brow. "You know stabbing people at parties tends to not get you invited to more later." He's trying to keep a straight face as he makes the joke. He knows what Zevran means and can only imagine that he has actually done that at a party - handsome, yes, but still a professional killer.

Seeing that Zevran isn't going to start twirling the dagger any time soon, Sam goes back to healing.

"Only if I get caught." He chuckles, secreting the blade away. Twirling can be done when magic is not finished. He'll give Sam a proper show later- one thing he has learned is that mages need focus in order to do their work. No distractions from him, no ser.

"And I'm sure you don't?" These wounds are easier to heal, requiring a bit less concentration to let them mend. Eventually the green glow dies away and Sam pulls back to inspect his work. There isn't a scar but it looks like the very edge of the tattoo is just a bit off.

"That should do it."

"It does indeed." He twists a little, turns and stretches to feel the skin pull and- all is well. Marvelous! "I will have to go back in with my needles and clean that edge up, I suppose, but this is fantastic, Sam. You have my thanks.

Needles? "You do your own tattoos? How do you reach them all?" He can imagine Zevran can reach a lot of them, but some others? Impossible to do on his own.

"With a steady hand and careful eye. And some help for those I cannot reach." Isabella could tend to that which he could not.

Oh. Well that made more sense. Sam can't help himself but let his eyes follow parts of the design he can see. "How did you choose the design?"