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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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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?"

"I did not." He reaches for his shirt, slowly pulling it on. "They were a test from the Crows. A mark of my tolerance for pain."

Sam winces at that. Wonderful. He seems to keep putting his foot right in his mouth. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

Feeling that the mood had shifted with that and Zevran trying to hide his tattoos, Sam gets up, excusing himself to put the lantern away. He wants to ask why the man feels the need to maintain them if there is, what he thinks is resentment, behind them. He doesn't though. Best to leave it be.

"You had no way of knowing. If you did you would be a Crow and I would have to kill you." He manages a wry smile, shaking out his vest to pull it on afterward. "To most anyone else they are art. Lovely and meant to make me lovely. Desirable. And while they came from a less than pleasant part of my life I enjoy maintaining them as best I can- for my skin and my life are my own, now. I would not cut them off to spite the Crows. In fact- running around as a free agent while Marked as one of theirs? Doing better than their assassins? It burns them. And that shall always bring me a little joy."

Sam blinks, looking over his shoulder. Zevran is actually explaining to him about his tattoos? The rogue is being far too kind and turning a blind eye at how little he knows. Sam sighs at wondering how much more he's going to push buttons.

But he is curious, so he returns to his chair and slowly sits back down as Zevran tells him what he had been afraid to ask. It broadens his view of the world just a bit. Zevran has had a harsh life.

There is something that is bothering him when Zevran finishes and he eyes the man carefully. "I'm really hoping this isn't going to end up with me getting a dagger in the neck, but..." Sam pauses, and contemplates to just drop it, but he's already said this much. "Buuut. If I had known about the tattoos to begin with, you would have had to kill me. I know about the tattoos now... I'm not going to have to die for knowing it now am I?"

Edited 2015-10-21 08:32 (UTC)

"..." He has been asked many strange things in his life. Deep things, bizarre things, hurtful things. But that-

Is singularly foolish and he is not certain if laughter is overly appropriate or not. Surely he is jesting? Of course he is. Zevran crackles into laughter, dabbing at his eyes and...

And...

Sam is not laughing as well.

"oh. Oh- you. You are serious? Ah..."

SLow, as though speaking to a child, he elaborates. "If you understood what they meant, you would have been a crow and needed to die. You know about them and a little of what they are, but you do not understand them as a crow would. So no, I will not be killing you. If I killed everyone that's seen me naked there wouldn't be many people left in Thedas."

Sam raises his brows at the laughter. It is very nice to hear, and it does pull at the corner of his lips a bit. But he doesn't laugh. Or sure if he should? He's not sure half the stuff he asks or says should or shouldn't be said about now. Ugh, his brain hurt.

There is some relief at hearing that Zevran is actually confused at him asking the question and explains it further. Also relief that he wasn't going to die. Just yet.

Course curiosity tugs at Sam again at the last part. "That many people have seen you naked?"

"Quite a few. My adventures are wide, varied, and frequently involve no trousers through no fault of my own- and not for the reason you would think." Sometimes he is lit on fire, sometimes he's forced to use them to strangle someone, sometimes he's had his armor stolen mid assassination-

It's a fun life that Zevran lives.

Sam raises a brow at that. He does smile then, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "What reason do you think I'm thinking of?" The way Zevran talks about the subject it seems he is a bit more at ease talking about it.

"Lovemaking, of course." And while quite a bit of that took place as well- he usually did not have to run across the rooftops of Antiva unclothed because of a jealous lover.

Sam snorts and shakes his head. "You said 'no fault of my own'. If you're making love I'd hope that's voluntary. Close second though. I was wondering if you had to wear a dress and forgo the pants."

"Ah. Well- I have been told I make a lovely woman." Even dressed as this it's a simple matter of posture, tilting the hips so, tilting the chin down, softening his features and fluttering his lashes.

It's obvious that Sam is trying to envision that with how he tilts his head. "But never have put on a dress?"

"No, you're right. I have had to do that many a time for a job. I quite like the ones made with lace." They made him feel delicate. Pretty.