[ OPEN ] Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and YOU
WHAT: Zevran's Birthday and Ardent Blossom Contest
WHEN: Forward dated to Guardian 5
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Shenanigans connected to this announcement

Someone had been a sneaky little shit, preying on Zevran's lack of familiarity with traditions and dates and the weight people tend to put on something so mundane as a 'birthday'. Someone (Alistair) had spread word and made a thing of it, despite Zevran not seeing the point nor truly wishing to cause a fuss. He had, however, decided to take a day for himself to do nothing. No fuss, no stress, no real work. A day to indulge in a few of his many hobbies. He did not know what one did on their birthday normally but here he was, sitting in the Courtyard with one of his found spoils on his head, awaiting those that paid mind to his earlier announcement. When he wasn't idly sketching whoever he saw in the courtyard he was in the Herald's rest, enjoying a quiet drink and making notes on the better stories or songs he has heard throughout the day.

Comments

[ombranera]

"I have sold a sketch or two for coin in the past, yes." Usually when he had the time and the money- a noble that caught him at it years ago made noises about being his patron in the arts but...well. He killed him.

Hazards of the job, truly.

He stares for a moment at the sketch, a face half remembered but long since memorized. His smile goes small and sad, his eyes distant. "Someone I knew a long while ago, yes."

A lifetime ago.

[lettersfromhome]

Mia's eyes lift, observing that moment of quiet introspection. He remembers her fondly, she thinks, he must. But she is long gone, in one sense or another. Perhaps she ought to have gone into art herself, to hold fast to the memories of those she's lost as well.

"Well. She's very lovely," she replies gently.

"And I don't mean to invite melancholy. You're free to tell me, 'Mia, mind your own business' if I overstep my bounds. You know that, yes?"

[ombranera]

"She was." Rinna. Had he any paints he could put the red to her hair or the grey to her eyes, cold like a spring mist over the sea. "Ah, there is nothing to overstep. I would not have shown you if I had not wished to speak of her. But I shall remember that for the future, yes?"

[lettersfromhome]

"Of course. What would an assassin be without some air of mystique?" Mia chuckles, waving one hand dismissively before letting it drop to her lap. "I imagine there's a great deal more to you than anyone will ever know."

And while she hardly expects to be the one to see beyond that charm of his, it's intriguing enough to see glimpses, now and then. Sentiment is not something commonly ascribed to men of his profession, but then he almost seems to thrive on that unpredictability.

Which is now only sometimes more annoying than not.