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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[He truly had- if only for the sake of his own sanity. He rests the full of his hand against Jack's chest, allowing the warmth of his calloused palm to make up for that spark of sensation.]
I'm sorry.
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Oh my God, just . . . it's fine, don't apologise. You apologising for that is honestly a bit freaky.
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[On the one hand it probably is. Zev isn't exactly apologetic on his best day and to apologize about something which he is normally so shameless about is quite odd. On the other this whole. Thing. That he's trying to wrap his head around has him ever off center.]
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[He reaches the door and leans forward, enough for Zev to reach the doorknob and push.]
You know how happy it makes him when you pick on me. Get the door?
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Always lock up behind you. Always. Have I taught you nothing?
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[Wincing, he steps inside, calling ahead of himself. He doesn't offer a defence, because there probably isn't one. He just gets careless when he's tired and worried and out of sorts. And so does Eugene, sometimes.]
Gene! We're back!
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[Grumbled into the curve of Jack's neck as he clings, trying to keep himself calmer. Steadier. Happier.]
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How was the cider?
[He wasn't alarmed at first, not until he saw the state of the both of them, Zevran piggyback and Jack being the beast of burden. The softest of scowls skittered over his face when he felt like someone took his spot in a class he'd been attending for over a month now.]
What-- have I missed?
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[Jack swings around, waggling his right side - and thus, Zevran's bruise-purpled and slightly puffy right leg - at Eugene in demonstration before carting him into the bedroom.]
In cheerier news, though, the cider was fantastic.
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[Zev clings to Jack's back at the swing, muttering affectionately in Antivan at the sudden about face and wiggle.]
And I have had my very first experience with...what would you call this?
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I think it's gonna be fine, but how in the hell did you manage to do that?
Also--did you save any cider? No fair to go off drinking and not bring back some booze. Share the wealth.
[Speaks after them while Jack made his way to the bedroom with Zevran easily in tow. But instead of remaining idle, he went to the icebox and got some ice for that, anyway, rolling in just as Zevran was being deposited on the bed]
Here, use this.