Zevran Arainai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
antivanleather) wrote2013-03-09 09:56 pm
antivanleather) wrote2013-03-09 09:56 pm
Entry tags:
Fourth Step - back from that ledge my friend, you could cut ties with all the lies that [action]
[He'd been living in...a state of frustration the past month. Of denial. But with a week and some spent in the wilderness in tail end of winter Zevran sought to reconnect with the cold hollow that the Crows instilled in him at an early age, one that time with the Warden and several months here had worn away. Filled with food and restful sleep and pleasurable company. With sentiment. It was not something he could afford, that sentiment, that desire for companionship beyond the odd body in his bed or verbal spar. To want comrades was something a Crow did not do, and as much as he wasn't pleased by the guild wanting him dead back home he was still very much one of them. Old habits died hard after all.
Hunting, tracking, setting a spartan camp and keeping mobile- avoiding all others that might have been hunting, forsaking the company of his fellow villagers did little more than weigh upon the elf and leave him far too much time to think over the events leading up to and just after that odd valentine's shift. How he'd handled it, or rather hadn't. The conversation he'd had with Isaac just before leaving, or rather the argument. The time between then and now did little to sooth the ire it'd caused. He'd lost something there.
He didn't know he cared enough to get it back.]
[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.]
Hunting, tracking, setting a spartan camp and keeping mobile- avoiding all others that might have been hunting, forsaking the company of his fellow villagers did little more than weigh upon the elf and leave him far too much time to think over the events leading up to and just after that odd valentine's shift. How he'd handled it, or rather hadn't. The conversation he'd had with Isaac just before leaving, or rather the argument. The time between then and now did little to sooth the ire it'd caused. He'd lost something there.
He didn't know he cared enough to get it back.]
[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.]
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I guess that is an advantage. I just kinda like the company honestly. There's something nice about having a person to wake up to.
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[Not addressing that at all. Ever. Nope, not dealing. Instead he's stirring the simmering curry to check on the flavor and offering Max a spoonful of the sauce.]
How does this fare compared to your curries?
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He tastes the curry and beams.]
Good, it's really good. Probably better than a lot of curry I've tasted honestly.
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[No this is not a happy accident, clearly this is skill at work.]
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[He cracks a laugh and lifts the lid from the rice, giving it a stir. Perfect. He fetches two plates and serves them both a hearty portion- without a stove at his disposal eating in the wild had been fairly sparse. Mostly because he would forget to eat.]
I shall have to try this again with fish in the future.
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I will gladly be your test subject for future culinary experiments if this is the result.
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[It's a different sort of spice, a pleasing burn and almost bitter tang at the back end, but quite delicious.]
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At least I know what to get Eugene for his birthday.
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I'm thinking a set of otherworldly cookery books. That's got to be unique for most people.
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