antivanleather | Sixth jump - you should know, you should know that [Action/Written]

Sixth jump - you should know, you should know that [Action/Written]

[Action, locked to Isaac]

[This is not how Zevran imagined the first few hours of his freedom would be. The wine and the feasting and the drinking the day before, certainly. But the first morning after he had finished collecting his effects and bidding farewell to the Warden he intended to spend on the road. Leaving Ferelden for warmer climes. He did not intend to wake in a cell.

And yet, here he is, despite the best intentions. He wakes slowly arms flexing against his restraints and he keeps his head for the first few moments. Just manacles. Just a cold, dark cave like many that the Crows preferred to use for their longer imprisonments. But were this the Crows he would be dead, that went without saying. No, no. This is a personal vendetta- which leaves Zevran free to consider who it is he pissed off this time to earn such attentions while he works at attempting to lean just enough so that he might pull a pick from his hair. That he has none is worrying.

That there is no manner in which the manacles might be removed is of a greater concern. But when he finds that they actually constrict when he attempts to twist his thumb enough to pop it out of place and holds him all the tighter- then. Then he panics.

Crows are terrible. Nobles are worse. Mages, those that yet live and wish him dead? Horrify him and he used to be better at fighting down the swell of cold fear and the anxious ratcheting of his heart. Used to be able to laugh through it, to grin and smile and shrug off torment such as sensory deprivation and capture. It is cold. It is dark. He is alone. He is held by a mage he cannot recall at the moment and after all that he witness at the final battle in Denerim that is what makes him shift in earnest, rattle his chains and lash out with a foot to find purchase- he finds that his feet are bare and the wall is solid, little more. Brasca.]

[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,

Zevran

[After some time spent reacquainting himself with the village's map he, warily, makes his way to House 51.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Given that Eugene often frequents the coffee shop in that he works there, he doesn't initially notice him. The order for something hot and bitter in that voice took him by surprise, and he slowly rose his head to meet where the voice came from.

There's shock, something more and unreadable, but relief as well. Not to mention disbelief. The lack of more from Zevran did strike him as odd, but many things had changed and for the most part, when people die, they don't generally come back. But here he was, before him, and Eugene was torn between pulling the man into an embrace or going off to get what he'd asked for.

Something was different, harder, leaner... was it the very same Zevran who had lived with them prior? He couldn't tell empirically, so he gave the other man room to speak and act before placing someone possibly unknown, into an awkward position]

...Coming right up.

[A simple thing to place an order- he'd taken the time to observe others at it before attempting to retrace his steps from fuzzed over memory and place one of his own. He'd managed by staring at the menu rather than the man across from him and it is better for it.

He'd be lost otherwise. As lost as he is when he stares into those eyes and is struck with such aching familiarity that he knows not what to do with it. He knew this face. Knew this voice. There is a name for him and it is tangled up in the back of his throat along with pain and regret and such grief. It is not until he turns away that it tumbles past his lips in a hushed, almost reverent whisper.]

Eugene?

[He remembers. Fragments. Not much. Enough to know that this man is dear to him in much the same way Katniss is his family- but deeper.]

[He didn't turn straightaway upon hearing his name-- or a close approximation if it was a whisper, but he did smile. A soft, resigned sort of smile because if this wasn't real, if this was a figment of his imagination, this would be a very, very long shift.

He returned in short order with a mug, a smile, and a nod.]

Is this the closest equivalent to a bartender that we've got here? You're not going to ask me about what's new, right?

[Fondness, though he was a little bit unsure. It came with the territory, however. Even when loved ones didn't die after being dead at home, they certainly weren't cognizant of their surroundings or recognize loved ones.]

I-

[He can't speak, not honestly, as it hurts him to remember. To think on so kind a man that he forgot. That he denied over and over upon waking in his world simply for how strange it seemed to him to have.

The mug is cradled in gloved fingers, the warmth a distant thing.]

I forgot.

[In terms of an explanation, Eugene hadn't expected something so plainly given. But there it was, and he scrubbed at a spot on the counter with more attention than it truly merited. Did he want to remember? He wouldn't bring it up if he didn't.]

These things happen.

[He licked his lips and cleared his throat, forcing down some unnamable emotion that threatened to claw its way out]

Your stuff is still at ours. If you were looking for it.

Do...

[There are implications in that and he's not sure how to take them. He just. Stands, still and quiet and feeling terribly small for the fourth or fifth time this day.]

...do you wish me to collect them and find my own lodgings elsewhere?

[Implication having been, his weaponry was safe and secure and he had access to them, since Eugene was entirely certain that an assassin might have use for them. Or feel weird without them. If he'd implied anything otherwise, he wasn't aware of it, but Zev looked harried enough that some miscommunication could be forgiven. He watched him stand, curious, before smiling soft]

Well, you can collect them, but lodging is still fine. I mean, you sort of remodeled half the place as-is. I thought... you might be looking for them but you always were very clever at hiding your knives from me.

[If anything else were to be discussed, the coffee shop wasn't the proper place for it]

Eugene. Do you wish me to return home. Do you want me there?

[He cared not if it was the place or the time, he needs to know. If he was welcome. If he still had a place with them, with Eugene. If he was missed, if he was wanted. He would leave with no comment or question should that be the case but he.

He needs to know.]

[Certainly things were a little different now than they had been before. Moving on was a painful process, anyone who had lost someone could understand. But to have them come back, it was... jarring. But it didn't necessitate exclusion, and Eugene rolled his eyes, grinning at Zevran. He was taking this a little too seriously, too soon. If there was something amiss, Eugene would wait for Zevran to be a little more settled into Luceti, more calm and at ease.

It was rude to bombard the battle-weary. He knew from a different kind of experience how it eroded at your mind]

Zev, you haven't been kicked out, you're fine! If you didn't come home I'm sure Jack would be worried about you. Just come home.

[Distance. It is to be expected considering how long it has been. He should not be so surprised and perhaps he isn't. Every wounded thought, every glimmer of anything less than the pretty fool Eugene had met when he'd first dropped down from the tree is pulled in and locked up tight and away. There is no place for Zevran the elf here. Just the fool. There's a half moment where he drums his fingers on the counter top just to provide himself a moment to breathe, but that is all.

The question had been evaded entirely. That, for him, is answer enough.]

I shall. When is it your shift ends? I shall walk you home.

Good!

[There's a brief instance where he's unsure, not necessarily because of Zevran's answer, but something else entirely he's not quite sure how to approach. Something's off balance, and he's not certain he can make it right.]

Not too much longer. Let me check with Tasha and see if I can, I'm sure she won't mind.

[ It would also give him a second to gather himself, to see how this would go. Something wasn't just off-balance, something was damaged, and he was the reason for it. He slipped away from the counter, leaving Zevran to himself for a moment or two, just in case he needed some space.]

[He takes the moment offered to enjoy his coffee. Use that bittersweet warmth to bolster him. Fill in the sore holes. This stings more than he feels it ought considering the fragments he can recall. There's something deeper here he cannot place- and honestly? Does not care to.

It hurts.

He would rather not spend too much time picking at sores. He won't ever mend if he does that. He waits until Eugene returns, coffee finished, manner mild and distantly pleasant.]

[For its mildness, it's more unnerving. And that he's not the one to bring solace to Zevran, but instead the opposite wears on him. His apron's gone, now, just a t-shirt with jeans and two whole legs he still couldn't take for granted. Briefly he wanted to tell Zevran he could go and do as he wished instead of escorting him home, but he'd offered.

His smile didn't reach his eyes and he knew it, but maybe he was jumping to conclusions. They'd get home, realize that they were both being dumb, and life would carry on with a brief hiccup behind them. But as he walked alongside Zevran it didn't resurface, the same feeling he'd had before, and it was distressing.]

So, what happened? You look a little rough round the edges, like you could use a nice, long vacation.

I fought a war.

[That grand quest he had spoken so much about before, the battle for the fate of the world. It wears upon a man when the fighting never stops and the dead continue to pile up. One day. The siege and battle of Denerim only took one day.

For a moment that blandness flattens out into something hollow and almost cold before the next step has him back to mild and pleasant. A wry quirk of a smile, no harm, no foul.]

We saved the world, just as we set out to do.

[Unbidden, he felt a surge of pride for Zev, to have fought and won for something so important. This smile did reach his eyes, having missed the brief lapse in Zevran's carefully maintained mask]

Congratulations! Wow... I know that's really quite the accomplishment, but I don't know how to even say that enough...

[But at what cost? First and foremost, even if he didn't have that same reciprocal spark he'd had for Zevran prior, it didn't mean he didn't care. He reached over, place a hand on Zev's shoulder. A gesture of solidarity as he gave a soft squeeze]

Sounds like a hot bath and dinner are in order for you tonight, then. And rest.

I simply fought. The Warden led. She led all of us. Made a king out of bumbling templar bastard. Not the call I might have made but- Ferelden has had worse rulers. He is a good man. Young, optimistic but...a good man. He will do well.

[Perhaps he should have remained in Denerim. Lived in to protect Alistair, defend the fledgling king. It might have been better for him to have a pet noble and the pet noble to have a crow in the pocket. Especially with how his reign will doubtless be contested.

He's jarred from his thoughts by the hand on his shoulder- locking up and flinching away habitually. He doesn't lash out, but it is a near thing.

it's just Eugene.

Just one part of the fragile web of his heart. No one important at all. Right.]

It'd be much appreciated.

[His hand snatched away, briefly forgetting Zevran's skills and how touch might cause concern... and it left him feeling somewhat like he deserved that. Touching was now out of bounds, and he stopped where he was, looking at his hand. Appreciation was better than disregard, but he felt less than a friend in this moment, a stranger, politely distanced. That hurt, but what had he expected?]

...Yeah. It's the least I can do.

[Taking in a breath through his nose, he steeled himself with a pleasant smile and started forward again. No sense in wallowing or giving Zevran false hopes. That, he concluded, would be cruel. This was a mess that was his fault, he needed to own up to it.]

Bath, dinner, sleep. In that order, c'mon, now.

[Because while they needed to speak, they needed also to be in their best frame of mind.]

Eugene- I...

[He reaches out to apologize- hand hovering in the air between them for a moment before dropping it. They aren't- perhaps they never were despite everything he'd thought to be contrary. He had imagined that affection, that warmth. Of course he had.

Assassins do not get to deal in love. Crows do not get to have happy homes where they are wed.

Masterless Crows least of all.

face set and shoulders steeled he follows Eugene into his home. Not theirs. Eugene's. It hasn't been his home for months.

He is not welcome here.]

Perhaps just dinner. I would not wish to take up more of your time than you would give freely.

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let's do dis

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