antivanleather | Fifth Drop - Again, until you decide to drop. Now I'm so high, so high, so high [Action]

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Fifth Drop - Again, until you decide to drop. Now I'm so high, so high, so high [Action]

plans.

His eyes snap open as the thought finishes and for a long moment he can't breathe or think past the remembered pain of a gaping wound and the cold, blissful slide of a knife through his heart. No Isaac, so kind, so cruel to cradle his head. No grit of dirt or stone under his cheek and digging into his back. No clash of battle or distant, strained cry that was so very familiar- oh. Katniss. She'd seen. He's still wrapping his mind around being alive, around breathing when his hands fly to his chest- whole and slick with sweat rather than blood. Alive. He is alive. It is no trick, it is no twist of necromantic intent. He feels no lesser than he had before. Well. Mildly ill and lethargic, yes. But he lives.

And remembers nothing at all of being dead aside from it being a decidedly uncomfortable process to achieve. If he spends too much time thinking on it, he'll drive himself mad. All he can do is take that he is alive with good grace and get to his feet. Laying here is becoming uncomfortable- but for a fair while he can't bring himself to move, relishing the simple act of laying out in the sun and being able to breathe without smelling his own death

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.

At his house he'll pick the lock to the front door since he does not have the key upon his person or feel particularly inclined to calling attention to himself, slip inside, and make his way to the kitchen to brew himself a mug of coffee. If a hearty measure of brandy makes it way into the mug as well- can anyone blame him? He's settled there for the first hour he is back home, sitting quietly in the kitchen and sipping away.

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Eugene-

[He attempts, without success, to interject. Several times.]

Gene. Eugene- Mocha, please may I just-

[He gives up, sagging against the counter until Eugene was finished with his rightfully angry serious of questions for which Zevran has no answer- because he honestly didn't think that far ahead.]

I am sorry. I just. Needed to get my head straight before I saw any of you. And then one preparatory mug of coffee and brandy became two, then I ran out of coffee and continued to drink brandy and...I am not feeling myself and did not wish to disappoint you with a different Zevran than the one you missed.

[On occasion, things had a tendency to get under his skin and claw their way out faster than he could sort it all out sensically, but he listened, even while speaking over and interrupting. That listening brought him up short, dousing his anger-- at least to an extent where he stopped and watched Zevran for several moments.

Now that he was close enough to take stock of the situation he began to notice subtler things. Hollows under his eyes, something not blank but empty to the quality of his eyes-- sharper cheekbones than he recalled. Though through that investigation his eyes alighted on the mug in question and it snapped him back from contemplating to action once more]

What would you do if it was me who died, came back, and didn't even say anything...?

[A considerably softer tone this time, because he began to ask himself if perhaps there was much more here than the eye could see]

...Also, drinking-- a sure-fire way to keep your head fuzzy.

[Which is added naturally, but with a soft, tired, amused and worried look to his expression-- surely complex, but there was a lot that was complex about this]

Nothing. I would accept that you had chosen to not come to me directly and respect that decision.

I might not understand it but...I would respect it.

[Life is complicated enough without doubling back over with judgments and expectations. Not that he felt he was being judged so much as berated for making a poor choice- and in retrospect the sneaky approach was probably not the best one to use. Should he be so unfortunate to find himself dead and revived in this place a second time he will be more forthright with
coming to those that might have missed him.

He shakes that thought off visibly, wiping at his eyes and scrubbing a hand through his loose hair. He was not going to die again. Not when it leaves Eugene like this.]

I am realizing that now, yes.

[Several moments of quiet passed, mostly on account of Eugene trying to choose his words carefully instead of flying off the handle. Zevran... might not want to come back if it's met with this sort of attitude. A few times he stops and starts, finally giving in and trying to make right or express something that was stil true despite all the turmoil.

Both hands reached out and slid along his cheeks, cupping them before he tugged him forward and sealed their lips together. He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do or if it was the wrong, but it felt right to kiss hurt away if he could and he sighed into him. Something faint but warm enough.]

We missed you. I know how it is to worry that you'll disappoint because you come back different.

[But he was incredibly lucky to have Jack. Who had accepted him as whole even with less and never once abandoned him. Occasionally with a lost temper, but more often than not, just soft understanding.]

I'm glad you're back.

[There's another comment on his lips- an excuse or something offered or some twist of a story or simply more brandied breath, and then Eugene's hands are warm and firm and pulling him close and the only thing on his lips are Eugene's. Something warm and easy twists in his chest, coiling around the name of an emotion he's quietly terrified of before it ends.

Zev's head falls forward to rest against Eugene's shoulders, his arms slip around to curl and pull and he shifts until he's all but settled in a drunken drape in Eugene's lap. The house was lovely. The kitchen had been familiar.

Here was home. Close to it, at least.]

I did not mean to leave.

I'm pretty sure that most of the time, people don't mean to die.

[The anger from before was gone, evaporated in lieu of the semi-drape-hug configuration Zevran settled into. Having him back finally hit him and he couldn't help but lightly scritch at Zev's back, feeling him growing heavy]

...If you're gonna pass out I'm insisting you do so in a bed. I'm really not in a mood to argue with you, so the simple thing to do is as I say. I'll even tell Jack to go cuddle you but I doubt he needs telling.

[Ambling just a little to make sure he wasn't about to spill any brandy if he moved, he tried to urge Zevran at least to standing.]

You will not stay with me?

[He clung a little tighter, butting his head against Eugene's shoulder at that. He's sorry he made them upset and was an ass but honestly he just wanted to curl up with both of them and sleep for a week. He can't do that if Eugene rolls away.]

[Sighing, put-upon, surely, he tipped his head toward Zev and rested his cheek on him.]

Well, yeah, I will. That's why I insist it's at least something more comfortable than a kitchen chair and me on my rolly one. Dummy.

being apart from Zevran seemed nearly criminal now that he was back. And they were all due for a bit of R&R without interruption]

I'll have to leave after a little to make food, though.

[He relaxes at that, tucking his legs up to better settle in Eugene's lap. For the moment he couldn't be bothered to stand and walk all the way to a bed. That would mean giving up contact with Eugene, and that isn't allowed right now.]

Mmm...I suppose I can be bereft of your company if it will result in the return of your company and your cooking.

[He had enough sense to lean over and set the bottle of brandy back on the counter before flopping down on Euguene again.]

If we tip over I am blaming you.

[Since Zevran had decided to make himself comfortable... there was little need to keep from moving right along. Guiding himself with his leg he pushed off toward the living space, headed for the couch. This was no small feat without proper steering, and more than once he nearly rolled into the doorway or something else that might make a crashing sound on the way down. Finally, bumping up against the sofa, he poked Zev in his sides to get his attention]

You get off first. I can't balance if I carry you standing up.

We won't. I trust you.

[He mumbles, half asleep but not quite there yet. He offers what guidance he can with a nudge of his leg here and there against a wall but aside from that he leaves the bulk of the steering to Eugene. He's more experienced with the rolling throne anyway. When they come to the sofa he stretches, grumbles, and twists, pouring from Eugene's lap to the cushions in an odd compilation of limbs and hair and oversized fabric.

He curls and settles, extending his arms to Eugene.]

[Rolling throne would be an accurate description, though Eugene would protest that it wasn't that lofty. Zevran did most of the transferring himself, but Eugene followed suit after in short order, much more experienced and much less drunk for the movement.

Taking one of Zev's arms, he tugged him into his lap on the sofa, settling him in his lap while he loops his arms lazily around him. Hopefully, Zevran would be too drunk to notice the very faint trembling in Eugene's hands, but it really was a relief to have him back. Perhaps a little different in some physical ways, but the same as he remembered him. Ducking his head, he rested his mouth over top Zevran's shoulder before turning his face against the elf's neck, breathing in deep against his skin. It was an affectionate, gesture, one meant to reacquaint him with Zevran's warmth and presence.]

You trust me?

[He would have been content to curl with his head in Eugene's lap, but being pulled and tucked close in an embrace was much, much better. It allows him to settle into Eugene's warmth and remind himself that he's here, he's home, and all will be well in the morning. Despite his drunken state he catches a little of the shaking- and his only response is to lift one of Eugene's hands to his lips to brush a dry kiss against his palm.]

With my life, and so much more. More than I can comfortably say.

There's a solution to not saying anything you're uncomfortable about.

[Having his hand kissed like that made him a little flustered that he'd been caught but... if he was expecting Zevran to trust him, the equal amount should be given in return. Scoffing very softly he finally untangled their hands and set about running his fingers through that long hair]

Just don't say anything at all. You know I'm pretty good at hearing silence.

[And he was, not all of it honed during his time in the zombie apocalypse, either.]

And I really don't ask for much, do I? Jack's way more high maintenance...

The best, in fact.

[He mumbles into Eugene's shoulder, content to be held and pet and simply cherished after a fashion. Eugene he had worried over the most during the draft. Not due to the leg- no. But because of his compassion. He cared so for others, tended to them and took their hurts as his own. Such individuals did not do well on the battlefield. And to see him so certain, so strong...it'd been a relief.

To have him here and now so tender and attentive pushes those memories away.]

Just a little affection. And for me to remind you that you are quiet handsome. Jack requires so much more, I do not know how you put up with him.

Jack requires a lot of work. But that's why he's got two of us, now isn't it?

[Something had spooked Zevran, and even if his intuition was occasionally off, this at least he could tell. In all it was nice to be clung to, knowing he was a source of comfort for someone who was so closed off. Sighing in a bit more relief than he'd had before, he settled back onto the couch, letting Zevran rest against him. If he wanted to sleep-- well, it was one of the more extreme gestures of the trust he held with them both.

Assassins and their sentiment. He knew he was being given something unexpectedly valuable, even if Zevran might not mean to be giving it.]

I'm all ears, Zev. You better start making up for lost time. And maybe throw some drunken rambling in while you're at it.

What would you have me say? that before I died I got to enjoy the thoroughly delightful experience of killing the last woman I cared for a second time? That was fun.

[It was soft and tired and bitter but drunk and weary and he hadn't told Eugene yet, has he? He should have and he's sorry and he should have started differently but the story's spilling out anyway, all in weary mixtures of common and Antivan that the wings translate well enough. The only difference is everything sounds so much more sad in Antivan.]

Rinna. Her name was Rinna. It was...months before I ever arrived in the village, almost a year ago in my own world. I loved her.

[Drunk as he was, he could say that. Say that and blink through some tears that leaked out all the same. Too little too late.]

She was...she was brilliant and beautiful and an elf, everything I had ever thought I might want in a woman and so much more than I had ever hoped to expect. We were Crows together. Assassins. We worked together, ate together, bathed and slept and made love and loved one another despite it being a risk. Either one of us could have beeen a liability to the other but we didn't care. We were young and thought ourselves immortal. Invincible. The best the Crows had ever created and of course we were well matched.

You should have seen her, Eugene. She had eyes that were more green than emeralds. Hair that was as red as blood and so thick you could strangle a nobleman with her braid. And we did. Multiple times. Skin so fair and so creamy and so very soft- she's the one that taught me how to make my own ointment. How to keep my own skin from scarring.

I--

[At first the remarks Zevran were making didn't make sense, and he sort of expected as such from the elf given he was... for all intents and purposes, drunk. There was an edge here, however, that he wasn't sure he was hearing right and thus, he stopped short when Zevran continued unabated. The actual content of the story shocked him, however, as he wasn't anticipating such a deep confession. To say that his heart didn't ache at some point would be a lie-- and he didn't press for more, didn't urge him to silence, just listened and rubbed his back.]

Zevran, I'll just say I believe you when you claim something is beautiful. Of all things to... [his scoff was soft, not reproachful or mocking in the least. The quality of his voice was a little tight, but that was because to hear of such things from Zevran, and to have them to concealed to where he might have been callous in thoughts, actions, or words...]

She sounds wonderful. I'm... kind of sad I didn't have a chance to meet her. [But then, he might not have Zevran, though he kept that to himself. Nothing about this right now needed to be about his own selfishness. Zevran decided to speak, and he wasn't going to get in the way of that]

Jack says he had to kill me. In a dream. Yours wasn't like the dream bit he went off to?

She would have liked you and Jack. Approved, even. [His voice twists into something lighter and sweeter. Feminine for a moment.]'Such lovely boys you've found, Gallo, and clever too! It figures it would take you two men to replace me but Mmmm...I bet the three of you make such a lovely picture together...'

[He trails off with a sigh, nosing the curve of Eguene's neck. Soothing himself with a slow inhalation. Warm skin and wool and whatever spice he'd used to cook dinner the night before.]

She never truly cared for Taliesin...I should have listened to her.

[Far too little, far too late.]

It was and it wasn't. In the dream I...we. We escaped the Crows. We were living in a small flat just by the ocean in Antiva and we had days to do nothing but make love, drink wine, and enjoy each other. Everything after the job in Ferelden had been nothing more than a bad dream. The Blight. The Warden. The Deep Roads and this place. I forgot it all.

[His fingers curl tight in Eugene's shirt, his voice dipping low, sweeping and thick with tears he could not shed.]

You and Jack. I forgot the both of you so very easily and I'm sorry. I did not mean to- I did not want to-

I can definitely appreciate a lady who has an eye for beauty involving the activities we get up to. [Even if those feelings on Zev's part had mysteriously vanished, he wasn't of the mind to hold it against him. What bonded them was thicker than that. But what was it about the people he knew dogging themselves when they knew they were hurting?]

...It's okay, Zev. Seriously, if I were to hold something like you being truly happy against you, then I'd be one hell of a shitty boyfriend, right? Just... [Sighs very softly, not in frustration but because he wasn't sure if telling Zevran it wasn't as big a deal as he thought it was, it would diminish Zevran's feelings on the matter.]

D'you think I'd want you to feel tormented about it?

[That word meant something, but it did not quite register or translate and Zevran was content to just go lax against Eugene once more. Comforted in the fact that he was not upset.]

No. You would not. But as much as I wished for the illusion to be true it would be denying what you and Jack are to me- so. I killed her. For the second time, I killed her. And I do not think I regret it as much now as I did the first.

That's...

[Part of him felt... sad, for Zevran. Sad-- no, sorrowful that he would even be placed in a position to be forced into choosing. It was too cruel, honestly. From his standpoint, if Zevran were content with Rinna, he wouldn't stand in the way of that happiness. But again, a lie was just that, and to live one, perhaps worse than facing the truth.

He'd need to be a better boyfriend if this were the case. Taking a deep breath and letting it out on a sigh he pressed his lips to Zevran's temple]

The first was an accident- well. It is what we called it.

[Bit by bit the whole sordid tale came out. Rinna, Taliesin, the job, the betrayal, the return betrayal. Cutting her throat like a dog an watching her bleed out while denying his love for her.

The judgement that came from the masters. The reminder that he was nothing. A tool. Entirely expendable.

How he wanted to die and worked to find a death that would suit him well. How he failed to die and found purpose, how he lost that when he came to the village. How Eugene and Jack offered him that same purpose once more and pulled the tattered heart of him back into place.]

[Listening was all he really could do in this instance, though it was probably one of the best things he could do. Lots of things needed to get off of people's chests, and if he had Zevran on his chest while he was doing it, things were pretty much alright.

But to hear of how Zevran could displace himself so easily from the love of his life for the sake of the job-- after the fact he was certain that he wouldn't repeat that, but it was something considerably tragic. Words wouldn't do justice to any type of consolation, all he had were his arms and ears.]

Hey, look we all... make some pretty massive mistakes but the important bit is that you moved on. And I'll say you're doing a remarkable job even with the... booziness.

[Tone light-- not to make light of Zevran's plight, but to keep it from overwhelming him unnecessarily, he shifted to try and catch his eyes, or at least, took hold of his face with both hands]

I was angry, I'm sorry for yelling. It's-- a bad habit I have doing to people I really care about.

Then you do? Care. Beyond the sharing of a bed and occasional massage?

[He's being extra thick, he knows, and extra afraid but he just...needs to hear it and hates that he's so desperate for it to be said. That he cannot beyond his own admissions and displays of affection is unsettling to him and feels unfair but he just. Needs to hear it, once and for all, from Eugene's lips.

He wouldn't ask were he sober.

He wouldn't have said much of what he's let slip tonight.]

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