[ 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]

"Sketches done by an elf in a university gallery? Please." Zevran snorted a faint laugh, sipping his wine. "That would never happen in Orlais. It wouldn't happen in Antiva without quite a bit of patronage from a Merchant Prince."

Ferelden did not care quite so much for art like this for it to even be worth consideration, truly. But Orlais? Would never. Further flipping through the journal would show rough sketches of Dorian, Vivienne, several of the Dalish draped in the boughs of a tree- an older woman darning a sock, Maxwell and Gavin leaning upon each other, smiling sweetly.

[disgracedchampion]

"It's not that it would never happen...it's just that it would never happen without someone else taking credit for it. That...is the real shame..." a handful of elves have seen their way into the halls of the University of Orlais, but rarely are they given credit for their own brilliance. Michel's brows knitted and he frowned deeply thinking about some greasy, high-powered professor taking credit for any of this. He smoothed his expression after a moment and rubbed his chin thoughtfully--Michel was, after all, a noble...even if it was a title and an inheritance he obtained from his sponsor...but still. The idea lingered just behind his eyes as he continued to move from page to page. He could certainly picture an entire gallery of these portraits...and these weren't just portraits, but historical pieces.

[ombranera]

"Which is just the same. Call me proud but I would not let some human noble put their name on my work. I never let any human crows take credit for my kills and I am not about to allow someone else to do so now." He was ever some shade of vain, was Zevran, and allowing someone else to claim his works as their own? He wouldn't bear it. "Besides. I doubt universities have galleries where one would put up naughty portraits."

They did become decidedly less chaste the further in one went, all wanton lips and dark eyes, bodies writhing against silken sheets or bales of hay.

[disgracedchampion]

"Slain like dragons I'd suspect," which is exactly how he pictured anyone who crossed Zevran the wrong way and he couldn't blame the assassin, vain or not even Michel could see the dishonor in claiming another's work as ones own. That and Zevran had feet below his knees, the Chevalier didn't see him bowing to anyone so easily, not under such circumstances...an attractive aspect of his nature, "not universities...private galleries, Orlesians do enjoy scandal...and extravagance...quite a bit of--"

Michel had to close the journal rather abruptly, a suspicious cough disguising his embarrassment, though his thumb was still holding his place. He did not indulge the way some of his countrymen did and so it was like looking on at another person's private moment with his male gaze. It was a little startling and it took him a moment to recover from it before he slowly flipped back to the page he was on. Considering several of these were of others, "so...so...have you ever worked with color...paints, tempera, pastels and the like..."

[ombranera]

"Ah- so you've found that portion of the sketches." He could have warned Michel. Could have, but did not precisely so that he might see his honest reaction. Some of these faces might be familiar but the bulk? Were old lovers. Save, perhaps, the one of Michel's own face bracketed by leather clad thighs, mouth full and lips shining, hair mussed, skin flushed- Zevran's view from that heated coupling in the hay loft some time ago. He recalled it fondly.

For all his vanity Zevran did not care to sketch himself beyond the hands that were most likely his holding or stroking those in his sketches. Self Portraiture never struck him as terribly worthwhile- everyone else around him was so much more fascinating. "Alas, no. Such things cost coin I did not have to spare in my time as a crow and I never learned to work with them. Charcoal is cheap and plentiful and has suited me well enough."

[disgracedchampion]

"I...um...well, it's definitely the liveliest portion of your sketches," as much as it made him squirm to see such private moments, he went completely blotchy at seeing himself portrayed between Zevran's legs this way. If it weren't for the scars on his face and very vivid memories from that affair, the Chevalier might not even believe it was him. He even shook his head a bit to clear his vision, definitely not.

Though it had crossed his mind why Zevran opted not to draw himself, if Michel had half of his talent he might do it himself. As it was the Chevalier had no gift for art, no musical talent to speak of, he'd never tried singing. Still, even the smallest icon to keep would be something, not that he would ask for it or even say as much out loud< "I see...it certainly favors you as a medium..."

[ombranera]

"Mmm, that one." He knew that look for what it was, could guess easily at which sketch Michel was seeing. Finishing that had taken revisiting the moment and had been quite distracting- but worthwhile for the flushed face and the knot in Michel's voice. Perhaps he should do a few more sinful little sketches.

Perhaps he might do a few of himself to surprise him, hide them where Michel might find them.

"Perhaps I might have you sit for me one day. Do a proper portrait in more than a simple journal." As if he would ever have the time or canvas to spare but- it was a lovely thought.

[disgracedchampion]

"Quite a memory you have..." Michel raised a hand as if to cover his own face in this portrait as if he could not make such a face and realizing just how ridiculous it was. He flipped through to the last of the pages, erotic as it was, these were still quite glorious and it was clear that this was a hobby that Zevran took great care in.

"Sit?...Of course, as you like!" It might be nice to sit in full awareness of having his portrait done, though neither one of them was at all certain when or if that would happen.

[ombranera]

"You made quite the impression." The last wasn't something half so erotic- Michel with his arms crossed, cheek resting against his bicep, eyes closed. Shaded and lit from sunlight or candlelight or something else entirely, warm and almost ethereal. Perhaps there was more sentiment in that than he would like to otherwise show but-

He was a handsome man, was Michel. Zevran enjoyed having him.

[disgracedchampion]

"I...see it...it's just difficult to believe..." Michel tilted his head just a bit at the image of himself sleeping, was that how he appeared to Zevran's eyes? If truth be told, there was very little that wore Michel down enough for him to fall into such a contented sleep, there was no such thing as truly becoming comfortable. Yet he found himself in complete contentment afterward, even if it was only for a few hours--flat on his stomach, or on his side, that warm oblivion that he felt secure in.

It was such an impossible thing.

[ombranera]

"Do you find yourself so unremarkable?" Zevran frowned across at his companion. "Do you truly think I would waste my time with someone I did not find striking in some way?"

Even were it so shallow as the cut of a jaw or the color of someone's eyes- Zevran took his lovers outside of work on the merit of a good time and a pleasing appearance. On occasion it was the hands, the voice, the need to be ruined. Sometimes it was their need for a romantic fantasy that he could provide. In Michel? Something to claim. To ruin. To own for a short while- and something so terribly fine unlike any he had ever known of noble Orlesian men.

[disgracedchampion]

"I do not really think about it personally, Zevran," Michel said, it was the truth of it. Maybe he glanced at himself in a mirror now and again when one was available, but he'd learned to recognize his reflection by his scars. Less so by how he might appear to others, and it wasn't such an unpleasant thing, it was part of being a Chevalier, "a Chevalier is...typically prized for their strong arm and their fortitude and a champion's existences is always to draw attention to the Empress or the Emperor, so...how I look has...never mattered outside of professionalism. Is that...wrong?"

[ombranera]

"For an Orlesian Chevalier that was once Champion to the Empress likely as much for that fortitude as his appearance? I do not mean to diminish your skill or undermine your loyalty in saying such but Royalty? Put just as much value on the appearances of those they keep closest to them as they do their skills and their loyalty. All the more so in Orlais. To be unaware, to not make use of it-" He shook his head. "You think differently than I do. Everything of me, Everything I do? It is a weapon. For you I suppose all you are is a shield."

[disgracedchampion]

"In Orlais it does not take much to hide one's appearance," Michel demonstrated by lifting Zevran's journal in order to hide the top half of his face from forehead to nose, "all the ugliness buried beneath enough gold and silverite, feathers, pearls, and jewels...dazzling and distracting...anyone could be a mysterious beauty while bathed in such illusions. I was no exception, as Her Radiance's Champion I was permitted and encouraged to wear a mask, that world had a role for me...I couldn't say that it made me very happy all the time, I had no love of the game, no love of hiding...but I loved my purpose."

Michel finally lowered the journal with care, folding it in his hands, "she needed me, she trusted me, I was a devoted shield against as much of the world as I could protect her from. Appearances did not really matter when she needed me."

[ombranera]

"And now?" To have that purpose, or even that sense of purpose wrenched from under you...Zevran knew well what it was to stagger in the aftermath. To try and fail to find his footing once again- for him? It had been easy, swept up into another quest immediately afterward despite his best attempt to simply be dead. Michel had no such benefit. He had his demon, of course but...that was a temporary solution at best. Either the demon would die or he would die-

That he was so concerned was concerning. He should not care. They are not so deeply entwined for him to bother. Yet he reached out all the same to drag his fingertips across the back of Michel's hand- turning what had been a gesture of comfort into a sensual caress. One was far safer than the other.

[disgracedchampion]

"And now...I put an end to Imshael. It is an endeavor I would give my life for...though not in vain...and after?" If he survived the encounter, which is implied, as he had every intention of putting up his best fight against the demon. Defeating him would help rectify one mistake and would fulfill his purpose, or at least his purpose for the past year. After that he didn't know what he would do, join the Inquisition, perhaps...

...he was distracted from his thoughts by Zevran's fingertips caressing his hand and he glanced up. The touch had the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he could feel the prickling, trembling sensation down his spine and he thought of something crazy for a moment. Just for a moment, before letting it go, "...the Inquisition is doing really good work, I might stay if there's a use for my skills...and reinvent my purpose..."

[ombranera]

Zevran found that he could not quite move his hand away once he began the idle stroke, pads of his tips and nails tracing Michel's knuckles, the bones of his fingers, the narrow point of his wrists and back up. Idle, pointless patterns that, if one knew what it was, could recognize as Zevran tracing the path of veins under Michel's fair skin. "Build new masks, new contacts."

His lips curled into a smirk- one that could be mocking were it not for the weight of understanding in Zevran's eyes. "A new life."

[disgracedchampion]

Michel watched his companion's fingers, it was hypnotic, not that he was really paying attention to the path they were tracing along his veins. It would be interesting to him if he could think about anything else aside from that touch. Find something to devote his skills to, find something to protect, to really put that stout heart of his into. Something that would give him just as much pride.

"A new life...here..." his gaze moved from Zevran's fingers to catch the look in Zevran's eyes and his own expression relaxed tremendously, "it is not a bad idea...I could reinvent myself, serve here..."

[ombranera]

"Build a new reputation." As he had for himself. Zevran knew that trouble- had worked through it alongside those that scrabbled and fought for their own scrap of destiny for their own reasons. Here it was a little less, the Inquisition had it's own army but- all the tales had space for many faces, many hands. Another scrap of history. Another scrap of destiny. Perhaps whatever Michel accomplishes here and now would do more for his name than the disgrace he suffered in Val Royeaux.

He tugged Michel's hand closer, cupping it in his hand as he leaned down to run his lips over that same wandering path. Idle. Teasing. Without any true heat.

[disgracedchampion]

"You mean put a beautiful mask over the treachery reputation?" Michel said with a small smile in his voice. He wasn't so much concerned about glory or anything like that, just purpose would do for him and being needed somewhere. It wasn't easy to think about such things when Zevran's lips were working his hand over and while it might have been subtle it felt...flirtatious. Yes, he was definitely distracted now.

[ombranera]

"It is not so terrible thing, being a traitor. I myself am a traitor to the Crows and have carved out a place for myself as I liked. You might do the same." He turned Michel's hand around so he might trail his lips across his palm, the pads of his fingertips, the thin skin of his inner wrist. Fine and lovely and he did not quite know what the aim was, here. What he meant to do aside from the fact that he found Michel's skin pleasing and wished to touch him.

[disgracedchampion]

"I should adopt your optimistic outlook then, it would certainly serve me well," Michel continued to watch the display fondly, not certain where this was going either, but it was intriguing and...cute in its own way. He knew his palms had to be rough against those smooth lips, but that made the contrast all the more luxurious. When those lips made their way to his wrist Michel gently scratched the soft pallet underneath Zevran's chin with the pads of his fingers.

[ombranera]

It was a remarkably feline thing, the brushing of his lips and cheek against Michel's calloused hand- though not one Zevran truly thought of until those fingers turned to scratch his chin. His eartips twitched and his eyes went half lidded- one row raised. Did Michel think him so easily tamed?

[disgracedchampion]

If Zevran's half lidded eyes were anything to go by, then he would certainly have to say that Zevran appeared quite tame to him right now. He was half expecting a purr, but he knew that was a high expectation, so instead he stroke under his companion's chin while leaning forward to drop a kiss on his forehead. Truly, Zevran was special.

[ombranera]

Now that- that was something of a surprise and again (one day he would sort out what it was that made the heat bloom in his cheeks when Michel did such things, but it was not this day) Zevran blushed. His coloring made it less obvious than Michel's own fair skin; but close as they were? It was easy enough to discern. He tipped his head back and leaned up enough to press their lips together, quick and chaste.