ombranera: (I do not care for the sound of this)
Zevran Arainai ([personal profile] ombranera) wrote in [community profile] faderift2016-02-09 12:08 am

Did I go at it wrong? Did I go intentionally to destroy me?

WHO: Zevran and You
WHAT: Zevran back at Skyhold, Recovering
WHEN: Mid to late guardian, covering a span of time
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: CW/TW FOR: Mentions of torture, withdrawal, suicidal ideation, swearing, self loathing, etc. Shit gets dark. This log is also for characters not on the rescue long. Locked thread below will be done on first come, first serve.




[ His Quarters ]

Good day

Sometimes it's good. He's tired from the trip, tired from the ordeal- but he'll see people. Play cards, answer questions- as many as he can stand. Nothing about the side of his face he has hidden under a bandage, nothing about what was done to him- but he'll describe Antiva. Mention how gallant and ridiculously awesome his rescuers were. Share coffee or brandy or whatever he has on hand- and make light. He tires easily early on in his recovery, but later? He might converse for an hour or so before needing a break. Alistair sees most people in and out as needed.

Bad day

Early on he spends more time alone, quiet and isolated, Alistair a silent, stoic wall between him and the world. Notes will be passed along as well wishes- but he'll only see the most demanding and even then? He'll be listless. Snappish. Frustrated that they forced their way and company upon him when he would rather be left in peace.


[ Stables ]

Good day

A target on the far wall and a dagger in his hands, he's attempting to learn to compensate for the eye- under a leather patch now that neatly hides both the eye and his new scars, and talking a small group of strange new students as they work on...carving toys. Or sketching one another. Or working on a lute- a difference from the lessons he'd been giving before. But they do as they're told and laze about while he works on the throwing, or while he walks them through a particular shading technique, curl of the knife, or chord. Even when they're dismissed he continues with the throwing, aim slowly circling about to something better.

Bad day

When his patience with himself is at it's limit, when he's climbing the walls for want to get away from Alistair's oppressive hovering, when he cannot bear to even teach, he hides in the rafters of the stable. More likely than not there is a bottle of wine or brandy or something stronger still hanging from his fingers, head tipped into the shadows as he drums his fingers against his chest. Until Alistair or Beleth hunt him down, he means to remain there, high above where most people don't think to look.


[ Clearing Outside of Skyhold ]

Later in his recovery, when the worst of it is settled, no matter his temperament he is out running drills with those same students, agility drills, knife drills, a highly acrobatic and complicated looking game of tag or one of the most terrifying rounds of hide and seek possible while he lounges under a tree, calling out corrections or instructions. A bottle of wine, a basket of bread and dried sausages. When his mood is poor and his patience low he runs with them, pushing himself to the point of surly exhaustion. When it is high he sits and drinks and sketches out various shapes of armor, tools- things they may need.


[ Battlements - Locked to Bruce, Sabine, Martel, Mia, and Nahariel ]

On the darkest nights he cannot sleep. Not for all the wine in skyhold, not for all the sleeping spells and draughts available. To close his eyes is to see the fade- to be back on that hook, back in that cell with the blood and whispering. The Shades. He's back with the choice- the knife in his hand and the order in his ear. Wakes to find Alistair, so quiet so trusting. It would take nothing. When the weight of this is too much he walks up, out, finds himself a perch, sitting on the edge of the battlements, peering down at the rocks below. All he has to do is lean. All he needs to do is let go. It would be so very easy to let go, to be done. Maker above, he wants to. Even when he has found it in himself to take a step back, to return to bed; another night might have him back on the battlements once again, considering the drop.

chainlightning: (❧ heh)

[personal profile] chainlightning 2016-02-28 09:30 am (UTC)(link)
Intimate, but comfortable. Merrill taps her finger against the pages of the book, turning another to get to the beginning of the first chapter.

"Oh, I think so!" It may sound a bit like her Varric imitation, but as long as the blacksmith never says 'no shit, there I was', it should be passable. "And I'll get plenty of practice."
apostasia: (sᴏ ᴡᴇᴀᴋ sᴏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏsᴇ.)

[personal profile] apostasia 2016-02-28 11:23 am (UTC)(link)
Upon consideration, Martel slides the flask back towards him.
glandival: (#9812315)

[personal profile] glandival 2016-02-28 11:46 am (UTC)(link)
[ Sabine rolls her eyes midway through Zevran's spiel, but her mouth gentles into an almost smile. There is the subtle flick of a side along glance as she feels his arm settle over her shoulders, and she rounds them to accommodate and leech the warmth it provides. ]

Dragons would be breathtaking, [ she argues. ] If I have joined the Inquisition and do not get to see a solitary dragon, I'll call it time wasted. Not just like this, from far away. I want to hear its wings, and feel the ground shivering when it lands.

But you are so well travelled [ is teasing in tone ] you must have seen everything you wish to see.
Edited 2016-02-28 11:47 (UTC)
glandival: (#9812502)

[personal profile] glandival 2016-02-28 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The look on her face is incredulous at the claim as to poetry, and she nudges her elbow into his ribs for his trouble. ] I've been told I have an imagination, [ she says, as a conclusion. And like maybe this was said as a source of of contention, rather than a compliment. ] And it would not be a very good dragon if it was not trying to kill everything in its path. I would as soon behead one as pet one.

[ A small elf with smaller knives and some arrows would probably need help, but. Whatever. ]

Imagine living in the dragon age, and never seeing a dragon. [ Her toes wiggle in her boots. ] I am guessing-- there are nationalities of women you have not yet sampled?
glandival: (#9812503)

[personal profile] glandival 2016-02-28 12:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Then you have no choice but to keep your eye out for your Anderfels lover boy, [ Sabine asserts, all logic and authority, her hands going out in front of her to splay fingers in starfish spread. ] There are all kinds, here, in the Inqusition. Perhaps he is in Skyhold this moment, pining for fine Antivan [ a deliberate pause ] brandy.

That will loosen him enough.

[ Her hands tuck back in. ]

And then you can tell me about it.
dreadinquisitor: (lean)

[personal profile] dreadinquisitor 2016-02-28 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)
"I wonder if there's a sly way of asking Gavin what his favorite flavor is..." Maxwell said thoughtfully, tucking the chain with the crystal and locket both back under his collar. Zevran's secret safe for another day. "It would be fun to surprise him."
noleechesneeded: (not proud)

[personal profile] noleechesneeded 2016-02-28 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Simon blinked and then the words fully sank in...and the mage looked immediately mortified at what he'd accidentally implied. It didn't help that now that Zevran had come down, letting him see the bandage covering his eye properly. His first instinct was, yes, to prod...the mage sat up, all but sitting on his hands instead to resist. If it was already bandaged the odds were that there was little the healer could do at this point, but the need to try and help still nagged at him.

"That wasn't...Zevran I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to say that you shouldn't..."

Why was it that the words made perfect sense in Simon's head, but when he went to say them they came out so very wrong? He shifted, tucking his feet underneath him and dragging his hair back in frustration--getting a bit of straw suck in there along the way.

"People care about you, about what happens to you, myself included...that's all I meant," he tried again. There, hopefully that would smooth things over. All Simon had to do was not ruin it with further poking and--

"Does it hurt?" he asked, unable to help the worry from coming out.
Edited 2016-02-28 23:27 (UTC)
lettersfromhome: (pic#10004698)

[personal profile] lettersfromhome 2016-02-29 06:14 am (UTC)(link)
There's a faintly derisive noise at that, and a swallow to push back any earlier slips of composure. "You haven't completely lost your senses, then."

But the smile she finds is warm, even as her brow knots. "None of them would be you. They would not have your laugh. Your talent for remembering and capturing the heart of people with a brushstroke. Your tenacity and your...dubious sense of charm." One eyebrow lifts.

"They could be emulated but never be you. And if the world would not be poorer for its loss, mine would be."
lettersfromhome: (rutherford sass face)

[personal profile] lettersfromhome 2016-03-01 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
Let it be chess, then, if he likes. The fact that he's offering does a little to ease those hard lines at the corners of her eyes, and she reaches absently to smooth a bit of fur at the front of the cloak.

"You do at that. I intended to wait and see if you'd rejoin me of your own volition," she replies, not unkindly. "And I realize I'm not the only one who desi--"

Stop. Rephrase.

"Who would request your company," she finishes after a moment, her mouth thinning. "Maker knows I can keep myself well occupied until you feel up to it."
lettersfromhome: (let me tell you a thing)

[personal profile] lettersfromhome 2016-03-01 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
And oh, the look she gives him at that. "Don't you even--"

Too late. It's done. Zevran is nearly back in his unbearable form once more, that momentary triumph in his voice. It's far better than how she found him, though that doesn't stop her exasperation with him rising with a weary sigh. "Maker's breath, must you? Here I was nearly feeling fondly towards you."

Which is as close to a lie as it comes. The fondness is there, and she is not entirely put out by his shenanigans. He doesn't mean them, after all, and she doesn't blame him for it. How could she? They all cope with loss and pain in their own ways, do they not?

She refuses to encourage him, however.
lettersfromhome: (pic#9999714)

[personal profile] lettersfromhome 2016-03-01 05:28 am (UTC)(link)
Such things could be relied on, small measures of humanity in hopelessness. Even annoyances could remind them that the world was not so vast and empty, that just within reach there might be someone.

Someone with a growing desire to wring his pretty elven neck, perhaps.

"I'll thank you to find some other measure of hope beyond what my tongue may cluck at, lest I turn to pecking instead." Mia's eyes narrow. "And I'm not fool enough to think that winning or losing will in the slightest affect your insatiable desire to mock me so."
lettersfromhome: (pic#9999796)

[personal profile] lettersfromhome 2016-03-01 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
"Were you capable of sincerity in such matters."

There's a stilted, strangled noise in the back of her throat that she refuses to let escape as Zevran offers up his cheek, and she shakes her head stiffly. No, that is unfair. He's allowed to make his jokes and flirt and make light, and she will respond only as she knows how.

Her tongue presses to the inside of her cheek briefly. "I've told you before, you'd find me a bitter disappointment."

Another woman might have, fallen for his charm head over heels and tumbled into bed with him as easy as that. She can believe it, has seen it happen before. And Zevran will find any number of people in Skyhold who can be a warm body in a bed for him, a fun night.

That's not a space for her to occupy in anyone's narrative. Why else would he persist if not for the fun of it, to laugh and be merry as he does?

Page 20 of 22