[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!

As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.

Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

Comments

For Merrick

[ombranera]

[ Cyril had told Zevran of Merrick's recovery and that? Eases his mind somewhat even as he wrestles with his own scars from being taken. Until he himself is settled and solid once more he does not feel as though he should present anything other than a solid, strong front to his apprentice. The last thing he wished to do was drag Merrick down with him should something pull him low.

Now, though- now he feels solid. Feels stable. He takes the time to seek Merrick out- seemingly normal save for the faint shadow under his visible eye- and the leather patch covering his injured one. ]

[dalishious]

[ Merrick can never be described as 'stable', frankly, but he's better than before-- physically, anyway. What isn't better is the guilt he still feels about what happened to Zevran, and he hasn't brought himself to face him just yet.

So when Zevran seeks him out, he isn't ready at all. Seeing the eyepatch just makes him freeze, makes his throat gum up-- and he can't say anything, can only turn away his head in shame. ]

[el_tybs]

Actually seeing Zevran out and about Skyhold, and not trying to slink around into shadows or other places is a nice change. Course that being said Sam only seems to see the elf either in the barn or the sparring ring, going through form, wrestling, or picking fights, more often than not, flat on his ass.

For a while he only watched from a distance before continuing on with other things, but as the days went on he slowly grew closer and closer to watch when Zevran fought, staying just a bit longer each time. Eventually Sam found himself leaning on the fence or against a wall as he watched, seeing what form of practice Zevran would pick for the day or who out of the crowd he would fight.

Today it was wrestling and Sam watched with an weary but curious gaze as Zevran tried besting his - what was he calling them? - fledgling. Once it seems he is taking a break Sam clears his throat and tilts his head. "You've been practicing pretty hard lately." Obviously he has, but it's a good way to break the ice and test the waters considering the last time he tried talking to the Antivan he had been given a rather cold shoulder.

[ombranera]

Another round, another pin- Settimo is tiring faster with each session of grappling and Zevran? Wearies of the gentle handling. He pats the younger Crow on the back as they roll free and stand to dust themselves off. Every day is a struggle- but every day he gives himself something new to focus on. Today? Leverage. Finding it and using it. Not entirely unlike how he'd gone about it when he was first trained but different enough to leave him in a kinder mindset.

Despite how their last conversation went, Sam is greeted with a hooked smile, the scars on his cheek making it that much more wicked in a way Zevran is learning to work in his favor. "I have to relearn a great deal, unfortunately. Would you care for a round?"

He twists to pop his spine, tugging his shirt up and off despite the cold. He'd been running hard and hot all day- and means to continue for at least one more hour- or a few more pins. Depending on which came first.

[disgracedchampion]

Most of Michel's time since his return from Emprise du Lion was spent in something of a break from those events. He supposed he could appreciate the gesture in that the Inquisition had not sent him off on another mission immediately so that he could recover, but now he was growing restless. A driven man with his specific skillsets couldn't go long without a purpose and he's spent several nights staring at the eave of his tent, Chéri wandering in and out for a bit of company now and again.

There was that and the tense climate. He hadn't spoken to Zevran in several days, he's realized, but that didn't mean he wasn't abreast of what the elf was trying to do. For the most part he kept to himself, tending to his recovery and once he felt well enough he tended to the horses that were unattached. Though eventually he did indulge in his curiosity as Zevran finally took to the training grounds and he watched from an unassuming position in the darker places. He was interested, but not interested in being caught observing, and...honestly he could not help but to admire the exertion. Over and over, falling down and getting back up again, he does watch with appreciation, but it wasn't that sort of appreciation.

[ombranera]

Even if it was not that sort of appreciation from Michel's particular corner of the yard it was very much that from several others ringing the practice circle- all the more so when Zevran gave in to the heat of his exertions and stripped himself to the waist for the next round of grappling. Even Zevran's opponent took a moment to blink at all that tan skin, the tattoos that wound about his arms, shoulders, and ribs.

Making use of the distraction was an old tactic, one he fell into easily enough. Whatever it was he actually said couldn't quite be parsed from a distance but it had the other man sputtering, flushing- long enough for Zevran to slam in for a solid hold on the first grapple. It being a long day and he having been at this for hours already- being smaller, being out of practice, being half blind-

Zevran got at least one more pin out of it before he took a blow to the gut that startled both himself and his opponent when he went down hard in the dust, gasping around laughter. He remained down for a moment, muttering that yes, he yielded, while he caught his breath and the crowd dispersed.

For Araceli

[ombranera]

He tried not to come up this far at night any longer- the climbing was treacherous when he can only truly see half of the world- but he missed the effort. The exertion. The wind in his hair. And this was not one of the highest points he could pull himself to and that? Made it safe enough.

Ish.

Relatively speaking.

He wasn't about to slip or jump at the very least.

Many things can be heard from the rooftops. Birds. The odd fit of laughter from children, their high voices carrying well. Music? Was not one of them. Zevran followed the oddly familiar and not sound until he found it's source. "I should have known."

Who else would sit aloft and play so well?

[foxsays]

Training eats up so many of her free hours, less fetching and carrying, more studying the right parts of history and politics, quiet time spent sketching out possible masks. Even more hours spent with her new lute in her lap such as now, strangely self-conscious when people just ask for a song that she doesn’t know yet though climbing has given her the roughened fingertips to stop the strings from cutting so deep.

The song is plucked out carefully as her voice rises and falls; home there would be clapping, there would be pipes and other accompaniment as needed but it's enough for now, just her and her lute. "She robbed them of jewels, she robbed them of wealth," she sings, voice soaring high above the lute, "She robbed them of costly fine fare. The captain's broadsword she used as an oar, she rowed her weay back to the shore, shore, shore, she rowed her wa-"

She's too good to flinch, that's always the rookie mistake but her fingers slip on the strings and she manages a smile; she gave Zevran space for the friends here that couldn't go with them, she kept herself busy and tried to forget the worst of what she had seen there with new lessons and work. Still, she can't help but feel a little guilty for the evasion.

"I had wondered when you would appear again up here, I missed spying you when I went on my own journeys."

[girlinthebox]

She's neither soldier nor rogue. But she has been training, the steps recalled to near-perfect accuracy.

While she doesn't make an appearance in the ring, lest other people see her and perhaps inform Simon of where his sister has gone and what she's up to, River instead leaves a colorful ribbon tied around one of Zevran's practice swords. It is her notice that she wants to see him, but not here. Elsewhere.

There's no note to indicate where, but he can find her. They've traversed the battlements enough times for him to know where she can be found at a given moment.

[ombranera]

After a long day of getting knocked around- seeing the ribbon is a fine change of pace. A chance to climb and attempt to fly? Far better than being ground into the dirt by his new limitations. A few words have Settimo taking his weapons away for cleaning and storing as Zevran finds the best way up to the battlements.

Not the stairs.

Stairs are for other people.

Soon enough he's up, winding about until he finds the dark waves of her hair whipping about in the wind as a banner to follow. Zevran slinks to her side and props himself next to her on her perch, eye flicking out to the horizon. "Hello, little bird."

[wickedchase]

Usually, he would be among the crowd of appreciative looks and a sharp, smug look as his eyes would wander over Zevran's body. These days, that's... more of a complicated matter, but his eyes flit and he still silently likes what he sees. It's just more subtle than he'd bothered to in the past.

Regardless, as Zevran cleans off the day's sparring, Twisted Fate approaches.

"Don't suppose you need someone to get at your back?" he asks, bowing his head slightly, more polite than he has been before. It's not that he'd been incapable of it in the past, but things are changing here.

He is trying to accept that change, even within himself.

[ombranera]

"If it is you?" Zevran smirks over his shoulder, sluicing more of the water down his back for Fate's use if he so chose. "I would appreciate the help."

Wicked smiles and wicked fingers, a warmth in his smile that had been missing since he'd been taken. But he is here, more himself for all that he is down an eye- and Fate has been ever kind in helping him hold fast to normalcy.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington is in the crowds every day - usually just for a moment or two between his own classes. More and more soldiers are signing up to learn from a Templar, and that is bolstering his faith as much as anything else. If some don't trust the Templars? It is slowly being edged by those who still do, and still have their faith in protecting them.

Perhaps it is his own uphill battle that has him watching Zevran determinedly going each and every day to train with his bad side. A determination that Norrington admires, and lives to emulate himself. So on a day that Zevran can get no challengers, he calls out from the back of the crowd.

"I'll fight you."

[ombranera]

Adapt or die. As he failed to die and is trying to ignore the part of him that says he should quit fighting and get it over with already- Zevran adapts. Picks up new tricks, twists old ones into something he can use with the eye. Make use of the visible vulnerability. It is slow going, but every day it becomes a little bit easier.

Not much- but a little. He'll take progress where he can.

Today no one feels up to tossing him about- or getting tossed about in turn- and then a voice. Zevran's grin splits his face as he motions for Norrington to enter the circle. "How would you take me? With you sword or with your hands?"

The rampant Innuendo got it's share of snickers and catcalls from his fledglings.

Hope you don't mind a late one...

[aggregiopavali]

He'd heard, of course. Zevran going missing had Fenris on edge, and when the mission left without him... well. Several training dummies died that day. But he'd been out and about and frankly, he wasn't sure how welcome his company would be.

But when he saw Zevran training in the grounds against the dummy, he tentatively headed over to watch him, just to see how he was coping. And if he stayed the shadows, who could blame him? He was just keeping an eye on his friend, checking that he was okay.

Not at all!

[ombranera]

It doesn't feel quite so off today. The balance of his blades was as it should be, the motions came for all that he could not see quite as well as he would have before- frankly he'd skipped the difference and slipped from half blind to whole blind- completing his forms against the dummy with a blindfold about his face. Cut, pivot, parry, turn- to work in the shadow, to work blind. That was what was to be a Crow. Now...now he was something else.

What, exactly, he was not sure. But something new.

He tugged down the blindfold and peered at his work, pleased. The eyepatch remained. As he set out for a new group of forms he paused, ears perking at the sensation of being watched- that was not unusual- but the person doing it? Was. Zevran turned to offer Fenris a crooked smile and wave him over.

[sistertohermen]

The rogue teacher's disappearance had been disconcerting. His return almost moreso. Rachette had spent some time keeping up her training (and her own attempts to give pointers to the others, honestly, someone will think you're groping them for the way you handle a pocket), but then she had left again for the Western Approach.

She's been agitated ever since her return. It's not out of some sort of militaristic sensibility that leaving someone behind (a Grey Warden, even!) that has her angry and out of sorts. In Dust Town, everyone who wasn't a backstabber looked out for one another. Nobody else would. In the army, they knew death could happen, but they weren't Legion of the Dead. So they watched each others' backs. The Carta had been...different, but they had at least given her a place to be.

Losing someone from the team just seemed unacceptable. If she were better, maybe. Maybe if she knew how to draw back a bow, or maybe if she could take down a massive demon all her own--silly, stupid thoughts, she knew. But it fueled her at times much more direct attacks on dummies, throwing a student down harder than necessary (they wouldn't learn if they wouldn't get a few knocks), her disgruntled countenance.

But it would do no good to ignore the injured party and teacher here. "I think they're improving." She thinks it makes her sound smarter, to make that kind of observation. She isn't actually sure if they are, but with enough practice, anyone should be better at anything. Certainly some of the students make the bells and whistles go off a little less. "What about yourself?" Maybe it isn't her place to ask. But she is nothing if not blunt.

[ombranera]

"It is a slow process but- they are setting off fewer traps." Getting back to the teaching took more time than he'd like. To appear as though he was unshaken, unscathed? He is not quite so solid an actor as all that. But these things he can do: Teach them how to run, how to work a lock, how to pick a pocket- and in doing so brush up on how it feels to do so now when he is down the use of one eye.

Little by little they all shall improve. He can ask for nothing more or less.

"I am adjusting. Now that I have people that will actually face me in the ring rather than toss the bouts out of pity? I am learning my new limitations and how to work around them." With them, about them. He hasn't taken a larger opponent on just yet but- given time? He might.

In Which A Terrible Idea Is Enacted

[obi_wanmanshow]

Obi-Wan likes to watch others at work. You can learn a lot about a society, about a person by watching the way they move through the day. Furthermore, he doesn't have a specific job, and is interested to see how the fighters of this Inquisition have developed themselves.

Well, he isn't spoiled for observational opportunity; Zevran is certainly making a spectacle of himself. At some point on the third day, he packs up his lightsaber pieces early and simply watches for a while from his high seat overlooking the practice ring. He very nearly speaks up; but no, it would defeat the purpose. The next day he watches from a closer vantage, and at the strategic end of a likely-seeming bout, throws in his wager.

"It hardly seems fair," Which is a terrible remark to give someone who's opponent has only half as many eyes as either of them is used to, "Shouldn't your opponents try an eyepatch as well? For balance."

Which is a joke, as well as a challenge. Care to take him up on it, Zevran?

The Most Terrible.

[ombranera]

"Ah, but when facing our enemies they will not be wearing eyepatches to make the bouts fair, yes? There is no such thing on the battlefield." Zevran rolls out his shoulders- the match had gone to him but it had been hard won. Slowly but surely he's getting a feel for the empty space where he once could see. Baby steps.

"I am not concerned over fairness, Ser. I am concerned about survival against those that would see me dead. Otherwise I would not be spending half my time on the ground." Were those he faced equally handicapped? They would not fair half so well as he has.

hey boo

[byblow]

Alistair hesitates outside the door, which is stupid. He's not angry, and only barely still hurt; he knows he's welcome back; and there's neither a sock on the doorknob nor any suspicious sounds from within. It's mostly exhaustion that makes him waver—he's the sort of tired that makes simple things feel overwhelming and minor worries, like the possibility that it's only distance that's allowed him and Zevran to get along again, knot around themselves until they're enormous.

Stupid, though. He knows. But he hesitates anyway, blinking hard and rubbing his eyes with his hand as if he can clear his head out that way, then his bearded jaw—it can fairly be called a beard at this point. He thinks sand falls out of it. Sand will probably be falling out of things for the rest of his life.

The quiet couple of seconds created by that stupid hesitation let him hear a voice, muffled and indistinct through the door. Zevran's voice. He waits another few seconds to make sure it really is just Zevran's voice and that the chances he's about to open the door on naked, entwined pillow talk are therefore minimal (but not zero, never zero), then twists his key into the lock.

hay bae

[ombranera]

"Do not give me that look." Zevran was, is, and continues to frown at Doghren from where the pup is attempting to look innocent, a few gnawed upon socks with fresh holes between them on the bed. "I made very fine knotted rope toys for you to chew on and thrash about like a beast."

Said knotted ropes he holds in one hand, swinging them in a slow arc in an attempt to attract the dog's attention. But no, Dogrhen only has eyes for the socks. Alistair's socks, to be precise. "These are toys. Socks are not toys. I know you know this, mabari you may not be but you are no idiot- Doghren!"

The pup had made an attempt to slink forward an inch, creeping little by little closer to the socks. She freezes, mouth half open, eyes wide and turned up to Zevran who lacks his own eyepatch. "Those are not for you. You know they are not for you, you had to dig them out from the bottom of the laundry pile to get at them. Look."

He scoops the socks up in one hand and holds them off to the side- the dog's head swings to follow. "Which of these are toys?"

The pup inches forward slowly- slowly- and darts forward to snag one of the socks, growling as she attempts to wrench it from Zevran's grip. "I- You. You are very stubborn for someone your size. Fine. These socks are for you. I will have to find new ones for Alistair."

For Shale

[ombranera]

It is not so easy a thing, to stealthily attempt to find a golem. And yet here Zevran was, wobbling about the battlements, on rooftops, attempting to find the outcropping of crystal and stone that spoke to Shale's massive shoulders- and when he did find it? Getting back down is the problem, but he managed to land with some grace.

Well, no, he stumbled due to getting caught up in a loop of rope he hadn't seen (blind side) but nothing is twisted, nothing is broken, and he straightened himself with a sweep of a bow. Voila. "It is good to see you out and about, my dear Shale."

[dwarfing]

Turning their head, the golem looks back at Zevran as the elf stumbles. Watching him in silence until he comes closer and speaks, Shale makes a huffing sound. "The Painted Elf needs to be more careful." In so many, many ways. The golem isn't happy that Zevran was hurt.

"I am always out. these pathetic buildings break too easily."

For Valenna

[ombranera]

Zevran had thought he'd run into most of the wardens, mages, and Dalish of the Inquisition at least once by now. How strange it is that he hasn't quite bumped into one that happens to be all three- and more still had once been a companion of Jonas. The name escapes him, truly, but he seeks the woman out for perhaps a few words or a greater understanding of what in the Maker's name Jonas had been doing running around Amaranthine.

The fact she's rumored to be gorgeous has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

[failedfirst]

Velanna isn't particularly difficult to locate, she's just small and moves quickly. The only places she really stays still for a long period of time are her campsite in the valley, and the library, where she's currently rooted herself. Out of the way in one of the few alcoves that aren't occupied, because she'd prefer to avoid random passerby trying to strike up a conversation.

She is usually overly paranoid and noticing anyone trying to approach her, but she's so engrossed in the tome she's leafing through she doesn't notice Zevran prowling.

Forever late. /kanyeshrug

[easternseaqueen]

"So, Zev. Feel like bringing back some good memories?"

Isabela is idly twirling her daggers.

"I was one of your first students, after all."

/with starbucks

[ombranera]

"You will have to take it easy on the blind side, Bela." No one else was given that warning- but Isabela and he? Fought with intent in the past. Sparring is less a chance to practice and more a test.

This test is one he knows he will likely fail- but up until that moment? He means to do well.

[slipshot]

Gavin is already pulling off his shirt as he approaches Zevran, the fledglings all cleaning up after their wrestling matches. He waves to them (without a single reply) as he drapes his shirt over the railing, smiling widely at Zevran. (The smile somewhat strained, but honest.)

"You up for another bout, or are you completely warn out?" He teased, stretching his arms, the long faded claw-scars up his back stretching as he did so.

[ombranera]

"For you?" Zevran crackles a soft laugh, shaking off the dust and ache from the last hard landing. He has been more careful today, taken fewer risks, bruised only a handfull of times. This, though? This should prove entertaining. "I am always ready."