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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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"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.

Sam stares for a moment, wondering if he should believe Zevran. It seemed rather legit. "Well that's an image that's going to take a while to get out of my head."

"In a good way or a bad one?" He never could tell with some people.

Sam rubs his chin and hums lightly at the question. "Besides lace what did the dress look like?"

"Fitted at the bodice and flowing through the hips until it reached the floor." Ah, he could fit ten knives in that bodice. The false bosom was amazing for hiding venom.

"Probably in the way that I'll blame you for not being able to concentrate." So a little bit of both. Granted it probably would be worse if he actually saw it.

"Mmm. I shall have to keep that in mind." For future reference, whenever and whatever should that come about.

"Yes, well... perhaps warn me first before you show up in a dress." Speaking of clothing. "Well you're all patched up. Were you still curious about the scale armor?"

"Ah, yes! It should be much easier to pull on now." He turns to the table to hold up the scale and it looks promising. Pulling this on is slightly less familiar- it's been some time after all.

Sam snorts as Zevran gets caught a couple times. Walking over he gives the man a bit of help, though lets him do the bulk of it. "Personally I like the scale mail better. Flows a bit better and the alterations would be easier. Takes some time still though."

Stepping back he gives Zevran a once over. "So how does it feel? It looks good though. Very dashing." Whether he's talking about the armor or Zevran is up for debate.

"This fits much better than the splintmail." That had always been Alistair's look, anyway. The scales rest well on his shoulders and back and after a few quiet steps around, a bit of twisting, and one quick backflip later he's satisfied. "It is a little loose in the waist but the length is good and everything else fits well. This shall do nicely."

He poses for Sam's appreciation, deeply pleased with how this has turned out.

Sam's eyes widen at the show of dexterity. "Well it doesn't look like it's weighing you down." He could never do a flip, back or forward, like that. "Is the waist going to bother you much? Though I suppose you could wear it around and feel it out then come back, and we could figure out any of the issues."

"It moves too much when I am jumping- and I will be leaping about a great deal. Do you think you might take it in?" Simpler to alter, but it would take some time. He would rather not go out in ill fitting armor.

"I think we could manage." Sam walks away for a moment, returning back with some charcoal, paper and a measuring rope. "Where do you need it changed?"

"Below my ribs and just above the hips, that should do it." He pinches the mail, a scale or so on either side would have it fitting perfectly. "Other than that, this armor is exactly what I've needed. You have my thanks."

Sam hums thoughtfully, looking at the areas Zevran was referring to. Moving closer, Sam reaches around to loop the measuring rope around the Elf's torso. He mutters to himself as he figures out the right width before crouching down and tightening the rope around the hips.

"Well don't thank me just yet. We'll have to take the size down a bit on either side. Could be several days or more." Looking up Sam raises an amused brow. "Which probably would have been fine before, but I suspect you're itching to get out now that you don't have those stitches."

"If it is only a day or two, perhaps it will not be so bad? I could finish setting up a few things around the hold before I rush out into the great wide world." And pull in favors, coin, and resources. The Hold would need quite a bit of help to find it's legs.

Pulling the rope away Sam leans over the table to write up a few things. "I can see what we can do. Is there anything else you want done on it while I'm at it?"

"Mmm. I don't suppose you could add a bit of feathered embellishment, could you? I am no longer a crow but hinting at that in my tools truly pisses them off. And that amuses me." It won't bring any of them back- but it warms him none the less.