Zevran Arainai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
antivanleather) wrote2013-11-14 04:41 pm
antivanleather) wrote2013-11-14 04:41 pm
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.
[After some time spent reacquainting himself with the village's map he, warily, makes his way to House 51.]
[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.]
no subject
Is false.
Had likely ever been false.
His expression does not so much as shift as it does settle. He had expected this on some level. Likely it is the same for Jack.]
Did you love me then?
no subject
I did.
[Now it seemed that even bringing him here was cruel, everything felt wrong. But there was nothing he could do to minimize it at this juncture. Glancing away, he looked out and down the pathway that brought them here.]
no subject
Two words that could be kindness to say he once loved and no longer did. It's gentler- and Eugene had ever done what he could to be gentle.
It does not keep the lie from twisting in his gut. He allows himself a moment to breathe. Perhaps two.]
I'll return tomorrow to collect that which belongs to me.
no subject
Where are you staying tonight?
[He still cared, Zevran's welfare was a real driving force behind his question. Essentially, it was none of his business, if Zevran didn't want him to know, he wouldn't press the issue. But also, in case Jack wanted to go to see him, he could at least give him something...]
no subject
[Eugene can explain why Zevran is taking them back. He knows well enough that usually the wife is permitted to keep the jewel from her betrothal; but there are no wives here. Just men.]
What does it matter where a crow nests? They have no home. In this- nothing has changed.
no subject
Alright. Just-- let Jack know if he asks? I'm only speaking for myself here.
[Sure, things hadn't gone according to plan at all, and everything felt like it had just been scrambled round to the impossible point that it'd never settle properly ever again. And there was some anger at that, but he wasn't foolish enough to show that anger to Zev. Who had already fought in his war and saved his world and likely lost in the process. Who or what, he didn't know, and at this point he wasn't privy to that information.]
...Stay safe out there.
no subject
[No more than Eugene is now. No more than anyone is to a man unwed. He had said those things on the beach, done everything he could to make it special. He had put a hole in his ear for these men, had given up the one thing he had that he held dear. He had stood on the shore and spoken every kind and hopeful thought he'd had in him to give. He had cracked himself wide open and laid out every last shred of himself for Eugene and this man found him wanting.
You can't love nothing, Zev.
He'd been told that once. Apparently you could. He had. These men had pretended to do much the same for however long. Men do not love elves.
Bards do not love assassins.
He had been foolish to ever assume something like that could ever change. Crows do not have hearts to break.
So this pain is nothing more than the same hallow ache he's felt since he woke in that dungeon. Nothing more. He feels nothing.
And he is nothing.
The Masters had been right.]
He is and ever has been, and ever shall be yours. You speak to him. Enjoy your home and your life, Ser Woods. Call me if you find youself in need of my services.