Jul. 14th, 2020 08:39 pm
antivanleather: (Default)
OOC Contact information:

AIM: SouthernBell2987
Plurk: [ profile] TheSouthernBelle

antivanleather: (Default)

Ou, AU, whatever. Hit me.

antivanleather: (Isaac)
[It starts with the woods. OR rather the canopy as there is some muttering in a familiar voice, if in an unfamiliar meter. ]

I know this is somewhat difficult to grasp, but I am no more comfortable than you and as soon as we have done this we might go about hiding until the change has reversed itself. Yes? Yes. I suppose having the book facing us would help in the first place-

[The view shifts, swinging to reveal Isaac sitting cross legged and not quite glaring at Zevran, wings pressed flat to his back. The inherent strangeness doesn’t kick in until Zevran speaks- with a cultured, vaguely British accent rather than the warm tones of his native Antivan.. ]

Or, we can say nothing at all. [Isaac suggests, his restless frustration with the situation tamped down in favour of feigning indifference with a one-shouldered shrug. Then he’s looking away, considering his perfectly ordinary set of nails. He can’t quite remember the last time he’s had them trimmed blunt as an adult.] I don’t imagine anyone shall curl into a ball and die if they hear not from either of us in the coming days.

I’ve no intention to hide, we are going to explain what has happened- [A beat, Isaac’s lips pressing thin as he flicks his fingers at the feed in an aborted gesture.] I have those that worry for me and I know Hector will worry for you.

[He snorts, the line of his jaw sharpening as he stares cooly ahead as if expecting Hector to step out from the brush. He might, for all Isaac knows. With a changed body comes a complete disconnection from the thread of demonic energy that had bound them across great distances. The world feels quieter, stranger, emptier.] He won't.

[It comes without missing a beat, low-voiced and level but unwaveringly certain, neither it nor the flat look in his eyes leaving any room for discussion.]

So this is what has come to pass: Isaac and myself have found ourselves in bodies that do not belong to us. Isaac in mine, I in his. [A beat.] This is Zevran.

[Isaac rests his chin in his palm, dully amused.] Really now.

This is Zevran Arainai and this wonderful elf to my right is Isaac in my skin. Please do not mistake us for one another. Once this is over I shall make another announcement.

Oh, how very thoughtful of you. [A gently mocking smile hovers on the edges of his lips, never reaching his eyes.] As for the rest of you, [His gaze drifts back to the screen] do try not to soil yourselves until then.

I do try. As we are not in our proper bodies all leather goods shall be a week late, and any goods Isaac owes will likewise be postponed as I do not know his craft, he does not know mine, and I find working with nails like this most challenging. Honestly, Isaac, how do you get anything done with them filed to such points?

Oh, you poor thing. [His lilting purr drips with honey, though the effect is not complete until he has clasped a hand to his chest and given a pitying toss of his head with it, eyes soft in sorrow. If his theatrics don’t cement his identity than he honestly doesn't know what would. Some things never change.]

Rosso- [He sighs as he flips the journal closed, ending the feed. This would be a long walk home.]

[Both men can be found wandering back to the village from whence they’d woken in search of proper clothing. “Isaac” in something that isn’t quite so low riding and made entirely of leather, “Zev” in - more of the opposite. After a brief stop in the clothing store and weapons store they will make their way to House 51 for the duration of their transformation.]
antivanleather: (You cannot be serious)
[The feed opens with Zevran sitting across from the journal, various leather made wares set out before him. Gloves of various kinds, a coat or two, belts embossed and dyed, wristbands, water bottles and other wares are arranged for optimal viewing. All have a similar style to them, an artful richness to the embossing, embroidering, and dye.]

Good Evening, Luceti.

[He offers the feed a winning smile and a loose, fluid gesture to the assortmant of leather wares, a bit of a 'there you have it' in the motion.]

As I've had plenty of time on my hands the past few months and the means to do so I've made a few items too many while experimenting with different techinques of leather working and find I've a talent for it. The workmanship is solid if I do say so myself and I would be willing to do custom orders if you wished for something more lasting and complicated. If you see anything here that you like, please let me know and I will wrap and send it to you. If you want something made for a special occasion let me know where to meet with you so we may discuss the particulars. I promise I am quite discreet-

[There's a loud, somewhat unpleasant squwacks from just offcamera. Zevran sighs and mutters under his breath in Antivan, reaching behind him to lift up an ungainly lump of grey down and flailing limbs. The little raven screeches once he rolls about Zevran's palm, nipping at his fingers.]

This little uccello's name is Savio. He is not much to look at, I know, but he's a clever thing for a mass of feathers and talons. Perhaps in another month he will be more handsome, yes?
antivanleather: (Legolas has nothing on me)
Cut for introspection )

[Action, Open]

[Later, when he is freed and his personal effects returned, when he realizes where he is in earnest and is armored and armed and less out of sorts Zev ducks into the Coffee Shop for a cup of something hot and bitter, leaving a rather short note in the journal for whoever might have missed him, though save a bare handful he cannot imagine it would be many. He does not even know if they yet remain.]

While I am pleased to have found my way back to this delightful village, I think awaking in a random bed might have been the better introduction. At least it was warm.

Fondest regards,

[After some time spent reacquainting himself with the village's map he, warily, makes his way to House 51.]
antivanleather: (Allow me a moment to roll my eyes)
Open RP post for anything and everything with Zev! 
antivanleather: (And you said?)
Introspection, intropsection, get it out asap )

When he does rouse himself from where he's settled in the woods he will, without any real sense of urgency- which is fairly odd for him, go first and foremost to Isaac's home.  There was something he gave the Forgemaster to hold onto that he needs back.  Afterward he finds himself wandering to the clothing shop to find a shirt. Perhaps shoes.  Something beyond the plain white trousers the Malnosso gave him upon his revival.  From there, it's home.  Home to check in on his boys and be yelled at quite a bit.

action house 51 )
antivanleather: (Legolas has nothing on me)
Cut for introspection, doot doot doo )

[Days away and he'd intended to remain so for awhile longer but the fall of snow urges him back to the village. Bundled along with his camping gear on his back are furs that need to be trimmed and roots, dried meat and bundles of flesh from what animals he'd trapped and butchered while hunting.  It's a fairly sizable stash of hunting loot if he did say so himself, and he's far too much to keep to himself.  Perhaps after he cleans up he'll offer the finished furs or bits of wrapped meat to his neighbors, or any that stop him along his path. He waves his way in from the south, past the battle dome and up through the plaza to stop in the grocery store for a few vegetables, perhaps a bottle of wine to go with the meat he's still carrying, and then he makes his way back to community house 7.

The normally boisterous and cheerful elf is weary and quiet, without any quick smile or laugh to crack at those he passes. His leathers are grubby from time in the woods, his boots scuffed, his hair a loosely braided mess. He'll make conversation if someone engages him, and he will be polite enough, perhaps even offer a cutlet of venison or dirty joke if the company is pleasant.]
antivanleather: (Default)

23 - A creeping prince (Legolas)
23 - A sleeping king (Tharundil)
06 - toiletries (Bela)


20 - Age for Ink (Noah)
19 - beat em up  (Soysauce, Tharundil)
19 - fight club (Kirk)
19 - Sparring (Nyreen)
13 - Drinks and drawings
12 - A mark you choose (Jake English, Sigrun, Iorveth, Alistair, Matthew Keller, John Grimm, Fili, Geralt )


27 - Kitchen talk (Daylen)
09 - Dinner and dessert (Finch)
09 - Employment (Wichita)
07- Jump Log: (Isabela, Sigrun, jBela Talbot, Hawke)
antivanleather: (Not so smug)
Your Name: Belle
OOC Journal: N/A
Under 18? If yes, what is your age?: Nope
Email + IM:, Southernbelle2987 @ AIM
Characters Played at Ataraxion: N/A

Name: Zevran Arainai, Zev to his friends
Canon: Dragon Age: Origins
Original or Alternate Universe: Original Universe
Canon Point: In the Deep Roads, just before the Broodmother
Number: 083

Setting: The world of Thedas is a fantasy continent based loosely upon the politics and countries of renaissance Europe. While in the game the bulk of the time is spent in Ferelden a good deal of Zevran's background, mentality, habits and gestures are tied closest to Antiva, a fantastic, costal echo of Italy. Most information I cannot find from the canon I base loosely on what was available in Italy during the renaissance.

History: Zevran was born to a Dalish elf turned prostitute after her husband, an elvish woodcutter, died in Antiva City. The process killed his mother and he has come to call her his first victim. Left to the care of the brothel in which his mother worked he learned early on the price of sentiment and how much one would pay to find the illusion of love and affection. Human, dwarf, elf, man, woman, all came to find their pleasure and it left him with a very open view of what is and isn't acceptable in the bedroom. Such is his life until he is seven, when he is sold into the service of the infamous Antivan Crows.

He fetched a fair price for being a skinny elf that did not know the pointy end of a dagger from the pommel, or so he was told, and for it he was taken to a small cell of apartments out by the leatherworkers sector in Antiva. Crowded with others bought roughly around his age he was subjected to the strict standards of the Crow's training regime. Zevran does not speak much of what was done to train him, but in his vision of the Fade he is shown to be bantering with two other elven Crows while bound on a rack in an effort to show he can withstand pain. Rather than a final exam it seems more like something the Crows might be subjected to regularly at increasing levels of intensity as to better appreciate what it was they would inflict upon their targets and to better resist torture should they be captured. Not that their fellows would rescue them, all Crows, no matter how skilled or apparently valuable to their Masters, were ultimately expendable. The reputation of the Crows was what must be protected more than anything else.

After his training and graduation Zevran was sent on many jobs within the Crows, some monumental, some not at all related to the grander scheme of Antivan politics. He became skilled, efficient, and ruthless in his cell, noticed and to his mind favored by some of the Masters. Life was rough and bloody but for him it was good.

At least until Rinna. Another Crow in his cell, a lovely woman that was quick and fierce lethal that he came to feel more than a passing fondness for. Everything in his training dictated that sentiment, that affection for her was dangerous. A risk he could not take. Infighting for the favor of the Masters was common and to have any vulnerabilities was unthinkable. And yet Rinna became something of an ideal to Zevran and they did, in fact, come to care for one another. They worked well together and became lovers. Together they felt invaluable until Zevran's second to last job. There was a Merchant in Ferelden that he, Rinna, and Taliesen were sent to kill. During the planning stages for the job Taliesen came to Zevran to tell him of a mole in their midst. That Rinna had been bribed by their mark and their mission was jeopardized. To protect their job and protect himself, for the Crows do not tolerate failure, he watched Taliesen slit her throat while she pleaded for her life, swore her innocence, and told him she loved him. He denied and refused her, spat on her for betraying the Crows, betraying him, and left her to bleed out while he and Taliesen finished the job. Afterward they discovered the true informant for their mark. Rinna was innocent. Taliesen sought to avoid conflict or condemnation by pretending nothing happened and convinced Zevran to do the same. Heartbroken and heartsick he agreed.

One of the Masters came forward to inform Zevran that they knew what happened to Rinna, and they did not care. Crows were expendable, he and Rinna had been, and that no one cared that she was dead or that he had killed her. Further infuriated and sent into depression due to this he remained in Ferelden and took a job that was thought to be a suicide mission. Kill the remaining Grey Wardens.

The ambush, planned by him, did not go well. His compatriots were slaughtered and he left to the mercy of the Grey Warden, Elissa Cousland. When offered the chance to speak he extolled his abilities and virtues to her in a play for his life, which he was granted. He swore himself to her service and joined her on her quest to the Circle tower. There they fought there way through level upon level of abominations and were lost to the mercy of a sloth demon for some time. Atop the tower the Warden prevailed and chose to spare the lives of the mages that yet remained rather than allow the Templars to purge those that had survived the ordeal there. From the tower back to Castle Redcliffe to cure a possessed child, from Redcliffe to a quest for Andraste's ashes and back again. With Eamon's support the Warden could begin furthering her cause to end the blight and Zevran was more than happy to follow along.

With The Warden and her companions Zevran has seen cursed men in werewolves and the brutal politics of Orzamarr, where the most recent leg of their quest has led. They've found hidden Thaigs and are searching for the Anvil of the void, wandering through the Deep Roads to what can only be an unsavory, unsettling truth of Oghren's wife and her obsession with the Anvil of the Void. They've made a break for camp just before what looked to be a massive chamber housing...well. Zevran does not know. Truly he would rather not ever know, but where the Warden goes? He follows. He slept for the night.

That is when he will awake on the Tranquility.

Personality: Zevran is, on the surface at least, an optimist. A pragmatic optimist, but an optimist none the less. Life is short, and shorter still when one is in the business of murder, and it is better to plan enough to keep yourself alive, but roll with what comes as best you can. Doubly so if what comes is a lovely woman or a handsome man. His salacious and blunt nature is partly due to his childhood spent in a whorehouse, and partly due to his understanding that it is far easier to kill someone after you've bedded them. Also: it's plenty of fun, so why not?

While he doesn't discuss his emotions freely, or honestly, he makes no attempts to hide what he is, or spin the fact that he is an assassin any other way. He kills for a living, he enjoys the work, and he sees no harm in being honest and open about that fact. Suspicion and derision is met with wit and flirtation, sometimes sincere but predominantly in the interest of making the other party uncomfortable. Questions are usually met with much the same, and while it is part of who he is, it is also an exaggeration. If he behaves how people expect him to be, plays the sultry fool, no one thinks to ask more or dig deeper, and he'd really rather no one pick too deeply at his past. His exploits in assassination and lovemaking? Of course, those are shared freely without much more than a laugh- but the details of coming up through the Crows, what he endured, he'd rather not discuss, and doesn't. If it cannot be laughed off, mocked, or sidestepped, usually it is ignored. But for the most part, it is laughed off, as Zevran laughs at his lot in life. He seeks to change it, but laughs all the same- no matter what is done or said he at least attempts to smile. Life is short, shorter still when you're an assassin, so he locks away most of what would leave him upset and chooses to laugh instead. He refuses to feel guilty if it helps no one and no matter the situation, always moves forward with a smile and a dirty joke.

While he may hide behind dirty jokes and an easy smile, but he has very recently experienced a stern reminder that he, and anyone he could begin to care about, is expendable. It left him depressed and morose, to the point where he takes what is, more or less, a suicide mission against the Warden. He's slowly improving, but getting anything truly sincere from him is difficult to impossible. Sincerity and sentiment is foreign to him- he reached out once and was burned, badly. Better to ignore it. He will lie with a smile as fake as can be.

Easy going by nature, and with a very slanted and admittedly crooked sense of morality, Zevran doesn't judge people based on their less savory choices. Everyone makes them, some are worse than others, odds are he has done worse himself and gotten paid for his trouble- they are not a measure of a man. They are interesting and worth investigating, but a measure? No. Strength is the measure of a man, and it is not always a physical thing. Zevran admires those that are strong enough to survive, those that can endure the strain of life- and if they can laugh at it as he does? He likes them all the more. It is fairly difficult to become someone that he doesn't like; senseless violence or a clumsy double-cross that is made without premeditation or a solid benefit for the double-cross bother him.

If someone stabs him in the back? He will not mind it- well he'd rather remain alive but he can appreciate an artfully executed betrayal. If they stab him in the back without a good reason, plan, or payment, it confounds and irritates him. He believes that every choice should have a purpose, be it for the gain of coin, a bed partner, or power, but without sufficient cause for such efforts, they are mindless. Pointless. Without use. What he does find of use is a clear wit and quick hand- yes he is a killer, but the thrill he finds in his work is more for the hunt. When the hunt is over, the kill should be made quick and clean. He is an assassin, but not a sadist. Death serves a purpose, pain does not. Actions having a point mean a great deal to him as he was always considered to be expendable, whatever he did could be considered futile and that never sat well with him.

It plays a large part in why he wishes to leave the Crows. That and they'd kill him for failing to kill the Warden, but. Ideological differences must count for something, yes?

Abilities, Weaknesses and Power Limitations:

Zevran is dextrous, stealthy, and a trained assassin. Between a compact musculature and his race given height he's not terribly intimidating and terribly pretty- both of which he works to his advantage in combat, the bedroom, or in conversation. His smaller build and preference for light armor make it easier for him to sneak about undetected, and further practice gave him the ability to do so in the middle of combat as well. It makes it all the easier for to take the time to examine his opponent and exploit their weaknesses. Find the soft and squishie bits for stabbing. Having been trained all his life in the fine art of murder he's a pragmatic combatant. He will turn anything and everything to his advantage to get the job done, sneak attacks, poisoned blades, kicking below the belt- anything. Which isn't to say he's not a formidable foe on his own- he simply prefers to put the odds in his favor by doing as much as he can to ensure the death of his opponent and his continued existence. With a preference for dual wielding short swords or daggers it's fair to guess he is to some degree ambidextrous at least in combat, especially since he's one of the few that can weird two full short swords in the game. He's skilled in picking locks, picking pockets, and picking items out of small dark holes.

The bulk of his strength lies in momentum and stealth, striking first, fast, and hard from a vantage point, the first tactic learned by any trained Crow. In the guild he also learned to endure a great deal of pain without complaint- crying out meant failure, and failure wasn't an option for him. As such he has a high tolerance for discomfort and pain- it doesn't mean he seeks it out, he's simply better versed in resisting it than the average city elf. It is also implied that he's fairly flexible and has great reserves of stamina for activities other than combat, thievery, and murder. This, more than the assassinating, is a point of pride for him.

While he plays the pretty, libidinous fool, Zevran is fairly clever. Either by proxy or by study he's knowledgeable in a great deal of the lore of Antiva, Fereldan, Orlais, expounding upon them for the Warden when prompted or when it's an opportunity for a dirty remark. More often the latter than the former. He is also somewhat familiar with the lore of the Dalish from what little he remembers of his mother and outside observation. He takes note of things that interest him, might prove of use, or might prove amusing. Or might help him be a more efficient assassin, he is well versed in the art of poison making, the basic poisons and it's species specific variations, contact poisons that would do him no harm and could incapacitate, cripple, or kill a human, dwarf, etc. Zevran has a tendency to lie. Quite a bit, or tell the truth in such a way that it sounds a lie, or a lie in such a way that it seems true. He's skilled in coercion, and bluffing, when he has the patience for it. He is also knowledgeable in the building, setting, and disarming of traps; though it's more for work than it is for hunting.

Weaknesses: As an elf he is somewhat limited in height, reach, and strength in comparison to humans or the superhuman. In a straight fight, without poison or stealth, he may do well enough to keep himself alive, but not well enough to kill his mark and leave in an efficient manner. In a contest of strength, he would cheat - otherwise he'd lose.

While clever, Zevran's formal education outside of what he needed to know to become a Crow is somewhat lacking. He can navigate the complex web of political intrigue in Antiva- but outside of his homeland he's stuck on hear say and pub gossip. He is also from a time where the height of technology may very well be limited indoor pluming. Discussions on modern technology will most likely confound him. He can fake his way through conversations well enough, but he might not be able to understand the bulk of the specifics until he's gone back over it with a guide or informant. Paranoia is part and parcel with being an assassin. Zevran expects everyone to double cross him or make an attempt on his life at least once- even if only in jest. The constant wariness can be draining. He is also better suited to improvisation and off the cuff planning than by sitting down and laying out a structured plan of attack. This is due greatly in part to his impatience. Sneak, stab, leave works well for him. Anything more terribly complicated will require someone to keep him focused, or someone else to make the plan entirely.


Antivan Leather Boots
Dalish Gloves
12 throwing knives
4 daggers
1 garrote
1 pack hollow needles


Zevran's roughly five foot eight inches tall without heeled boots. Normally he's wearing heeled boots so he's about five foot nine. Aside from his defined musculature and tanned skin the other significant feature of his would be his extensive, full body tattoo.

Age: 28/29

AU Clarification: N/A


Log Sample:

"Nothing to keep you from being sucked up into the void-" It had been a joke, really. Elves and dwarves did not belong off the ground. Underground? Why not. Though he had certainly had his fill of the world under the mountain before he'd woken in this place. If he had ever complained of the weather before, and he had more than once, he was set to take it all back. Cold and wet was better than cold and hollow. Aside from the gardens there was precious little warmth on this ship. The food, the people, the entirety of the ship lacked vitality that he could have found in the darkest dregs of the Deep Roads. That, more than the vast emptiness of the void, the strange circumstances that brought him here, unsettled Zevran.

With what he has learned he cannot help but wonder if it is not the ship that sucked the warmth and life from the people that found their way here or the knowledge of the void just beyond the hull.

For him the constant chill that seemed to settle into his bones kept him awake and achingly aware of how alien this place was. No rain, no smell of wet dog, no mud. Just cold halls and colder people. It had only been a joke, from elf to dwarf. And now he finds that the joke was on him. Better to live the rest of his days settled under a mountain where anything might fall upon his head than to drift out mindless and aimless in this place.

Comms Sample:

Now what is this-

[There's a rustle, a low curl of a sigh before the video flicks on. Rather than discussing the comm device it's apparent that the view of an empty, abandoned room.]

Empty. Again. I do not suppose anyone truly knows if we have some system for marking what rooms are in use or not? Or perhaps there is and I simply do not know to look for it. Doubling back over what has already been searched can become so tedious, really.
antivanleather: (gaaaaaaaaze)
Cut for exposition )
[Zevran is shirtless, lounging on a luxurious and decadent bed that is covered in silk, sheer crimson fabric hanging behind him to complete the intimacy of the situation. Candles flicker on a fabric covered stand and he grins, a rose between his teeth. He removes the rose and all but purrs to his audience.]

Hello Luceti.

[A rich Antivan accent rolls across the syllables, dramatically and deliberately played up. As he speaks he sits up and starts walking around a corner, the journal following him. The entire time Zev maintains the closest approximation to eye contact as he could.]

Look at yourself, now back to me, now back at yourself, now back to me
Sadly, you aren't with me but if you need an escort for the ball and leave a message on my journal you could be with me.

[ The room goes dark, the screen black save for the glowing of symbols on the floor. There's a flicker over the broadcast a momentary blank space, the sound of doors opening and then the screen is bright. Sunny, even.]

Look down, back up, where are you?
You're on the beach with the elf you could be dancing with in two weeks.

[The camera pans back slowly to show Zevran striding confidently across the beach. It pulls in close again as they both move along the shore.]

What's in your hand? Back at me, I have it, and it's two roses wrapped in poetry you love.

[Zev pulls, from off camera, two roses wrapped in what looked to be handwritten poetry (no actual books of poetry were harmed in the filming of this.) These are offered to his audience with yet another sultry grin.]

Look again,

[A bit of sight of hand and now a familiar baby dragon is curled up in Zevran's arms, cooing.]

The roses are now a baby dragon
Anything is possible when you are escorted by Zevran Arainai.

[ The camera pans back again and Zevran is standing on the bow of the Shinonome.]

I'm on a boat.


[A beat then a sultry wink.]

For you.
antivanleather: (these lips-so tempting)
[Another day dawns and it's normal enough for the village. People laughing, groaning as they wake, brushing their teeth, taking a shower, or sleeping in. Things that are normal enough for anyone that isn't nocturnal.

What might not be normal is the fact that there is, your bed, hammock, or wherever it is that you sleep, an elf.

A tanned, tattooed sleeping elf, all but cuddled up next to whoever's still in bed with him, or curled around a pillow if they've stepped out for the aforementioned shower. The exhausted thing is out cold, wings tucked up against his spine, fingers of one hand curled as though cupping the face of a lover. Or around the hilt of an absent knife. Care to wake him from his deep slumber? Perhaps with a kiss? Or a fist. Whichever comes first.

Later in the day a voice rich with laughter crackles across the network]

-nd it records voice as well? Marvelous! Ah, the wonders of this world shall never cease. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and I was wondering if anyone could point me in the direction of a prime hunting ground. I've recently found my blades and find myself in need of an...exhausting diversion.

(ooc: Breaking time is just fine, and the art linked was drawn by the lovely Plum, Sabriel's mun. Tattoos doodled in by me.)
antivanleather: (Default)


03rd: Man in a tree (Sam)


21st: The Rave
11th: Alive (Isaac, Jack, Eugene)
08th: The party
05th: Hunting (Katniss)
04th: Argument (Jack and Eugene)
04th: Reconciliation and Revelations (Isaac)
01st: Not right (Isaac)


26th: Locked in (log)
09th: Making things
05th: Taking care of a few things
05th: Borrowing a boat
02nd: My boyfriends back


09th: back from the dead


31st: Too much blood (Isaac)
27th: Draft (Jack & Eugene, Max, Sabriel, Katniss)
25th: draft announcement (Max, Eugene)
14th: Moving (Jack, Max, Eugene)
11th: screaming awake (katniss)
09th: Return


19th: Argument (Isaac)
17th: At the spa (Sabriel)


21st: A private performance (Eugene)
13th: A wooden sword (Aragorn)
12th: A quick prayer (Rei)
12th: Not a dwarf (Bilbo)
10th: Rosso Mio (Isaac)
4th: Gifts and giving (Jack)

December )

November )

October )
September )
August )
July )
antivanleather: (concept art)

Backtagging: Sure!
Threadhopping: As long as the other threading party's cool with it, I am too.
Offensive Subjects:
Nothing comes to mind.


Hugging:  Oh yes do! He loves the hugging, especially from busty women. Or handsome men. So long as he does not loathe you he will roll with it well enough.
Kissing: Oddly, he's much more open to random kissing than he is to hugging. Perhaps because it's harder to kill someone with your eyes closed and your face up against theirs. Well. For the untrained individual. Kiss away- but he'll take it as a sign you're open to more than you might bargain for.  

Flirting: It is his favorite pastime, and is very rarely sincere- but he enjoys finding reactions and should anyone flirt with him he will respond in kind.
Further Intimacy: He is, in his own words, terribly easy. If he likes someone well enough, or finds them attractive enough, he'll join them in bed, on the sofa, in the kitchen...well. He's easy. And enjoys it!  

Relationships: Casual acquaintances are welcome enough, as are bed partners. Friends could be made, but to earn sincere friendship will take his loyalty and respect- which are fairly guarded. Grew up amongst assassins, whatnot. You know how it is. It's nothing personal, really. Love? Difficult.  Zevran was raised in a whorehouse and trained to think of sentiment as a weakness, a distraction.  It would take a truly remarkable individual that understood him well to make him change his stance.

Fighting:  Zevran's a trained assassin, and damn good too, so be warned: He fights dirty. If it'll give him an edge? He'll do it.  He'll also laugh off the fight once it's done whether he wins or loses, or consider it some manner of foreplay.
Injuring: Sure! Bruises and cuts are cool, broken bones and anything bigger I'd like to talk out beforehand.

Killing: Hash it out with me beforehand. ^_^  

Telepathy: Sure! Gimme a poke to see what she's thinking and I'll let you know.

Warnings: Zevran is a flirty troll..  

Questions, comments, concerns? Poke me on AIM (SouthernBell2987)

Profile Meme

Character: Zevran Arainai

Canon: Dragon Age Origins

Point taken from timeline: Pre-Landsmeet, in the Deep Rodes 

Age: 25  
Gender: Male  
Sexual Orientation: Bisexal  
Eye Color: light brown
Hair Color: Blonde
5' 8”
 Newfeather pants- then. Well. Whatever is most comfortable that has room to hide knives. He gains an appreciation for denim quickly, though.
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Under Construction
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Threads that don't fall into posts or logs, sneaky private gatherings or midnight rendezvous. Whatever your fancy.

Please indicate the type (Written, Voice, Action) and the Date.


Jul. 14th, 2012 08:22 pm
antivanleather: (chinhand)
Concrit is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think of Zev.


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Zevran Arainai