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[ungovernable]

WHO: Benevenuta Thevenet, Dorian Pavus, Zevran Arainai, Nerva Lecuyer, Taashath, Rafael Viteri AND THE OTHER ONE. I don't know how to spell that and I already looked up Rafa's name.
WHAT: Pretty much what it says on the tin. And by tin I mean subject line.
WHEN: Covering a span of several weeks, after puppies and before showing up late to Emprise du Lion.
WHERE: Nevarra, mostly.
NOTES: Plotting post; original sign up post. Get at me at matriarchal or via PM if you have needs.

Having taken Ayse's information to the Inquisition leaders, Benevenuta is dispatched with a small group to handle the matter in Nevarra. Feel free to do individual closed threads within the subheaders of anything you want to achieve in Nevarra, and we can work out amongst ourselves how best to do plot elements! We will try to spread out plot contributions so that we don't get bogged down in a ten thousand person thread for any one part.

Comments

[ombranera]

"I am going to be an Elven handmaiden in Nevarra. The feel is just as important as the appearance." While he does not intend to find himself groped while sneaking about- he cannot discount the possibility and plan accordingly. But finding the balance between size and consistency, look and feel is a difficult task indeed. He has been fiddling with them for the better part of an hour by now- and a fresh pair of eyes and perspective? Is somewhat required.

He still has not wrangled from either of them what it was they used during that One Job in Antiva City, but perhaps he might parse it with a little more work.

"Sand offers a firmness but does not give like a breast should- it is also slow to warm which makes working with it difficult in the south. This? Is a mixture of potter's sand and gelatin. The firmness you would get from sand with some of the give of an actual breast. Working out the ratio, ah. Now that is the greater trick."

[bunko]

Scipio sighs, somewhat wistfully. "I miss sand."

Though, that being said, Zevran's actual points make a good deal of sense. "I suppose one must always have a preparation in mind. And not all would believe a cold-breast curse to be the cause, no matter how convincing the lie, or the liar. That has only once been successful, and the fool who believed it was very foolish. The gelatin makes for the very convincing, I think. Maybe to add more, this will help? Not too much more," he cautions, "your ratio, it is nearly good now."

Thoughtfully, he considers the pieces of disguise as a whole. "I wish that your hair, it could be left as it is. But it must be dark, I suppose?"

[ombranera]

"Hot, white sand- so fine that walking upon it is like walking on clouds." Zevran echos that sigh. Oh fair Antiva, how far your boys are from home. Perhaps one day they shall return.

At the note of the ratio- he pulls a small jug from the kit and pours in a little more of the gelatin, massaging the false breast before stoppering it and offering the adjusted appliance to Scipio to test. A little more give, a little more warmth. How lovely it is to have a professional reason to know the consistency of a well formed bosom. "My thanks, I had been agonizing over it for an hour now; but this? You are right, it is good."

That is the breasts seen done. "Alas, it must. I am not near so enthralling with dark hair but we are very near Antiva and I would rather not be found by the Crows. Though I am not certain if I ought to curl it for this or not. What do you think?"

[bunko]

"Ah, yes--much better!" A word of congratulations is due for the modification done. Scipio beams, proud of the effort, despite the fact that it is not his effort. "Truly, there is a miracle to this technique of yours. I admire it. Gelatin."

He makes a mental note to tell Rafael of the stuff, though Rafael is likely to have heard of it already. Every good con man must set great stock in practicality and in knowledge, and Rafael keeps good notes in his little book.

"As to curls," and he tips his head, thoughtfully, examining Zevran's fall of hair, "curls are often comely. And it would be a great difference, from the hair that you have now, yes? A different frame to the face. If later you were seen without the dark and curled hair, one might not recognize you at a glance, because of that frame!"

[ombranera]

"Mmm. There are a few tricks to force curls to hold for a fair while without my having to tend to them every night." Between that, the rest of the outfit, and the powders? It might render him wholly unrecognizable.

Which is the idea.

"Depending on how large and tight I make them...ringlets or something looser, you think?" At times like this he missed Taliesin and Rinna dearly, deeply, viciously. He worked better when he had someone to toss ideas back and forth with- perhaps Skip and Rafa had the right of it by living as a duo. But he might borrow some of that cleverness and familiarity for a short while, so long as Skip is willing to offer his opinion.

[bunko]

"Hmmm." Scipio rubs at his chin, taking another moment to consider Zevran's full face. Shape, color, these are all important aspects that must be taken into account. "I think for you, ringlets would be more suitable, yes? A tighter curl is not done so much, and would suit you far less. Even if it is a disguise, this is important."

His pensiveness breaks when he grins, all at once. "I have missed the planning of disguises nearly as much as I have missed sand, I think! There is something to be said, for work such as this."

[ombranera]

"It has been a long while since I've last required one- and longer still since I've had someone to toss ideas about with while sorting out the details." He pulls the curling kit from his leather case, tapping the tubes and their enchanted runes to be certain that they yet work. "Perhaps we might work together again on another mission that calls for such things. As wide and varied as The Game is in Orlais; I am certain they have never experienced the wit, wiles, and charm of Antivans quite so well."

They'd make an effective trio, should he, Rafa, and Skip put their minds to it.

[bunko]

"Few have. Especially not so excellent a wit and excellent a wile as we three would have."

He can be over-generous, given what he knows of Zevran, learned here in this conversation, through his reputation, and also through the experience of going toe-to-toe with him in a heist. A heist that they were arguably victorious in, depending on what one was counting as a victory. But a good rivalry is sometimes a thing to be treasured, refreshing. So too is a rivalry that becomes a cooperation.

Scipio eyes the kit with interest, eager to see how this trick will work. "So then, you usually without a partner? What a lonely work that must be!"

[ombranera]

"In the Crows I worked as part of a trio." It does not pain him to think of it today- it does not pain him to think of it most days. The laughter, the planning, the cunning, the kill. "There was not quite so much subterfuge involved in the Fifth blight and I have worked alone in the past decade by necessity if nothing else."

With the Crows out for blood- there were few he could trust on a good day. Fewer still he could trust on a normal day.

Such thoughts he tucks aside as he shakes out his braids and uncorks a potion- lightly acidic and ripe with the scent of citrus; quite unlike the usual spices he wore. He works it through his hair little by little, parting it with his fingers to ensure full saturation.

[bunko]

"So sad," Scipio muses, mostly to himself. For truly Zevran does not seem much saddened by his work alone. "A decade, that is-- the ten years, yes? Ten years was how long I was partnered with Rafa, before we were joined to the Wardens. To think of those ten years without him is too bleak to think of long. I would be dead."

A beat. He corrects, thoughtfully, "Or perhaps only very bored. But that might be the same, yes? Rafael is a salt of life."

A strange phrase, when he thinks on it. With the thought of salt in his head, the smell of the potion is all the better, like an orange fresh from a tree. Attention caught, Scipio watches with interest.

"That potion, it has such a lovely smell. It will cause a curl to your hair?"

[ombranera]

"My trio and I- we were together for much the same time. The marvels we managed- you know when it was but my partner and I? We were decent. We managed our tasks well and with skill but we were not remarkable; but with Rinna..." He sighs, a fond, sad smile twisting over his face. "With Rinna? We became exceptional. Many a time I have missed having her guidance these past ten years."

The salt of life- Zevran crackles a soft laugh as he readies his hair, tugging up the first length and one of those heated rods. "He certainly is a salty fellow at times, yes? I can see how he might change a life."

For the more interesting at least- and for an Antivan? That is worth everything. "It makes my hair take the curl better. Opens it to the heat of these rods, they are enchanted to heat and hold for a time and upon removal? My hair shall hold the curl provided it is not too humid. Within a week or so the effect will fade away."

[bunko]

It is Scipio's experience that, when one hears a friend who speaks of old friends and old partners in the very past of tenses, then it is better not to ask what has become of these friends and partners. He has shed many relations in his years (save, of course, for Rafael, who he would never ever shed). Some partings are amicable, some are violent; some are natural, some are unnatural; some are carried bittersweetly, some with no emotion, and some sadly.

So: it is better, not to ask, to let such stories be told in their time, if they are told at all. It is comfort enough that Zevran has not been alone, and that he has known the bond of such skilled companionship. Would that everyone could known such a bond!

"Salt he is," he agrees (no offense, Rafael), "and a salt I would miss, too, for ten years, were I without it. You have a strength, my friend, and a cleverness unsurpassed, to work alone." All Noodle Heists aside, this is sincerely meant.

And that said, he may now watch and heed the preparation of the hair, with rapt attention. There are other tricks to tease out a curl from a wig--after all, not everyone was blessed with such curls as Scipio was born with--but this one sounds very promising. "What a good trick," he proclaims, appreciative as only a fellow tradesman might be, "and one I will remember. Have you been to Nevarra before?"

[ombranera]

The discretion is appreciated- the whole of the situation is more than a little bitter, more than a little bloody- and a mark of a dark time in Zevran's life. He does not share it unless he must but he cannot quite bring himself to lie over it. Calling the situation complicated and rough is the best he might do.

"It was a difficult transition, going from a trio to a party to working alone- but when you've no other choice? You learn to make do." With sleepless nights and locked rooms and traps strung over the door. Letters to the handful of people he trusts and an awareness that running from city to city will only work for so long. At least here he has some security.

"Once or twice, though I never lingered for long. Too close to Antiva for comfort." Strand by strand he wraps his hair around the rods and clips them in place, working his way around. Some curls were large, some were small, to offer that variation a natural curl holds. "I can give you the name of the dwarf that crafted these for me, if you'd like."

[bunko]

The thought of working alone after falling mercy to fate is so awful that Scipio stops thinking of it before he even starts. Zevran has a strength unmatched, is what he allows himself to think. Without Rafael, Scipio would probably shrivel up and die. No: it takes a courage and a strength that he does not have and will never have, to be able to work alone. To start anew. Such a thing grows a little more respect in him, for Zevran.

He is more able to think of circumstances forcing one to avoid certain cities and places. To that, he is sympathetic. An understanding nod, then, before he brightens. "Truly? That would be appreciated! Though, I suppose--" And he deflates slightly, at this supposition, "I suppose a need for such things is nearly behind me. My career, it has changed."

[ombranera]

"Has Alistair not told you of the disguised sneaking about we had to do to infiltrate Fort Drakon? Wardens have just as much need for disguises, my friend. They do whatever they must to see their goals through. Keeping these tools and skills? Has as just much worth as knowing how to kill an Ogre." Another rod, another pin, and Zevran smirks over his shoulder at Scipio. "From a distance, if possible, and if not? Find high ground to leap upon their back and sever their spine at the base of their skull. It always worked well for me."

[bunko]

Wait-- what?

Scipio's mouth drops open a little, an expression of shock. Zevran's glance over his shoulder will find him still composed thusly. Disguises? Leaping down from above, in a surprise attack?

"That is," he starts, but no, he is too offended and finishes, instead, hugely indignant, "Why did no one tell me!"

[ombranera]

"About the ogre or about the disguises?" Zevran locks the last rod in place, turning over an hour glass to keep the time. "The ogre, truly they ought to have told you that from the start. Of all the darkspawn they are the largest and the most difficult to take down in a straight fight. The disguises...well. Perhaps they are jealous they are not as pretty as you and Rafael, yes?"

[bunko]

"Neither!" he answers, wounded. "Neither the ogres, nor the--"

Well, the part about pretty might indeed be correct. The Wardens among their company do not seem the sort to be jealous over looks, or indeed the sort that would hoard the fun disguises to themselves. But appearances can be deceiving.

Scipio considers this. Then he considers Zevran, very seriously. "I will have to speak to Alistair, of this," he says. Very seriously. "But tell me--have you truly killed an ogre, yourself?"

[ombranera]

"Now that is a most grievous oversight indeed." He would have thought the Wardens to prepare their men better. "For shame."

Perhaps he ought to have words with Alistair. Then again it is unlikely Ogres will be wandering about on the surface with no blight in truth. But where there is a blighted dragon there is often darkspawn. Sharing what he knows? May be to their benefit.

Then again, Scipio seems happy enough to do so himself. Zevran shall leave him to it. "Many, during the blight. They are large and formidable but when you know the trick of it? Not quite so terrifying."

[bunko]

The lack of Scipio's Grey Warden preparation would be complicated to explain, involving a hasty and ironic conscription, and is not, actually, Alistair's fault. Or anyone's fault, really, except perhaps Scipio's own. Every time a question of did you know or were you told or have you been taught comes up, Scipio explains it away: yes, of course, killed a hundred darkspawn myself, such things are easy, do not question me, a man of the world! Playing the part of the experienced Warden does wonders for the reputation. And it is difficult, therefore, to fill in the holes of the education when the uneducated will not admit that there are holes.

Regardless of these truths, someone should have told them. About the disguises, at least. They are experienced disguisers. This is very unfair.

Yet as put out as he is, Scipio cannot resist the lure of a good story. Yes: he must know more about the ogre's death. If nothing else, it will help to distract him from this sting of betrayal. "What is the trick of it?"

[ombranera]

"Wait until they charge- Qunari may turn upon a whim with more grace than their size might suggest- but Ogres are larger, bulkier- slower. Once they have made their charge they are lost to their momentum until they crash into their target or the wall beyond. If you can master vaulting over or around them and cut the back of their neck? It is an easy enough kill. I would suggest rolling around them at first- if they grasp you? Broken ribs are the least of your troubles." That was a fine way to die, crushed and bitten and thrown from a cliff.

A few near scrapes had him worried- and that was when he was at the peak of his game. Scipio? Would do well to keep a safe distance.

[bunko]

At this brief description, Scipio's eyes go a little glassy. "Oh," he says. "I see. Yes, that is-- easily done. This was a thing that you did? Once, or more than once? My friend, I think that, either way, you are a wonder."

All of which is true. This is a very good story, a good victory. Yet, personally.. easily done? Really, what he should have added to that, is: not. There are many talents that Scipio has. There are many skills to his name, many successes and many conquests, in fields of treasure, fields of theft, fields of lies, fields of love, and, yes, even fields of battle. Or, rather: duel.

One does not duel an ogre. One must, apparently, vault over their back and cut the back of their neck. In his head, Scipio tries to work out how high one would need to vault to do so. He is accomplished at gymnastics, can walk on his hands as easily as he does his own feet, sometimes even more easily, without enough wine in him. Could he vault so high as an ogre's neck?

"Do you ever," he starts, and frowns. "I mean to say-- do many people look around themselves and wonder, how it is they came to be where they are?"

Or is it just him.

[ombranera]

Now that- that is the look of a man that is overwhelmed by the idea, by circumstance, or by questions. Most Antivans did not know to fight as he did. Conman and delightful scoundrel Scipio might be- but perhaps he had been overestimating that which the wardens had trained him in. That which he is capable of.

"Every day of my life." A rare shade of honesty- but he has known this floundering before. Experiences it regularly. "You learn to look at what you might do to better where it is you stand, and do that. If the Wardens have done little to train you in the art of killing darkspawn without dying yourself- I have been training rogues in battle. Making time to teach you what you would need will not be so terrible a thing. The simplest and easiest trick? You already have. The rest of us? We know Darkspawn by their roars or by their smell. You are a Warden, yes? Undergone your joining? You can sense them. That is why Alistair never learned to mind his flank during the Blight. He knew where his enemies were and could react based upon that rather than seeing them. YOu will learn to do the same."

[bunko]

"Well, it is not that I am untrained, you see," Scipio begins to say--or, rather, to protest. But then again, the thing of it is that he is untrained, or at least, that what training he has does not quite apply in the same ways. It might, if Zevran is to be believed--it seems that disguises at least have their place among the Wardens--but as to the rest of it...

The honesty that he receives from Zevran is a kindness--and a little bit of a relief, too. Scipio nods, grateful. "I suppose the knowing does help," he says, "the-- preknowing, I mean. To have such a sense is like playing a rigged game, and these rigged games are the games that I am best at." Mostly because he can turn all outcomes to his favor. All the same: "You would truly take the time to teach me these other tricks? The tricks of the battle?"

[ombranera]

"Different lives, different training." Zevran waves it off not so much as unimportant, but as irrelevant. Nothing to be ashamed of. Wardens are brought in for what they can do or for punishment, not one of them truly knows how to kill darkspawn until faced with such a thing. An Antivan Duelist might fare well against a single foe- but a hoarde? Requires fresh eyes and a solid instructor.

"Is that not the point of preparations for battle, to stack the deck?" Zevran's eyes crinkle in a warm grin as he pulls the rods one by one from his hair. "But of course. The wardens, aside from you and Rafa, are so grizzled, so serious, so Southern. They would be a great deal less pretty and interesting without you. Keeping you alive? Is a public service."