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.]
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But to hear it acknowledged from someone just as equally important to her makes it all the better. Makes her think that she's not living a life full of useless delusions.]
Whatever you want to make. [She smiles warmly.] Prim and I aren't picky.
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[The party, it feels so distant now to him. That he'd be a part of any manner of celebration that didn't involve murder at the end, that he'd be in the kitchen gladly, that he'd volunteer said services just to see someone smile. It's a strange thought that doesn't quite fit in with the past few months of his life but it had been and might yet be.
Thought thoughts of murder do remind him of one other person in the village.]
Is that trinket woman still here?
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[Katniss looks up, almost surprised that Zevran asked after her. He hadn't liked her very much, had he? Not that she blamed him. Effie Trinket was a hard woman to like. Most of the time, she couldn't stand her. She was very much the epitome of the Capitol. Of their behaviors and fashions and culture all together. They were a hard people to like.
But not all of them were bad. Cinna wasn't. Her prep team. Even Effie had her moments every now and then.]
She is. But she moved out.
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Just a little.
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[Her grey eyes go wide and a hint of a smile appears on her face. It's not funny. It shouldn't be funny. But somehow, just picturing this, the look that must have been on Effie's face? She wants to laugh. How indignant and outraged Effie must have been.]
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It's been a long time now. Months since that day. And in that time, she'd like to think she's gotten better. She's found something to live for again, in the small family living under her roof. Prim and Richard might not love her in the same way Peeta did, but they love her nonetheless.
Quietly,] I remember.
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I took issue with the concept- for how it would effect you and your Prim. I would like to say I'm not proud of it- but that would be lying. A woman like her should learn to live with a little fear if she's so quick to mete it out herself so carelessly.
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[It's the same argument she made then, even as she squeezes his hand tightly, pushing past the memories to the present day. He's here now. Back in her life again. She still has Prim, still has Richard and Teddy. Life is better now. Katniss doesn't hate herself as much as she did then.
But, at the very least, the argument still stands.]
It's what they're taught, in the Capitol. That the Games are good. They're entertainment. She was only looking for something to keep her sane.
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Besides.
It is not as though I've done her any real harm now, have I?
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[She says the words a little gruffly, a little angrily. It hadn't been Zevran's fault, being sent away like he had. He had as much control over that as any of them had in coming here. But at the same time, there's a little bit of amusement in her voice. Because she knows he wouldn't really hurt Effie. Not without her permission.]
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[Rules to be minded and lines best not crossed without due cause. He is ever mindful of these things.]
Perhaps I should pay her a visit since I have returned, mm?
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That means more to her than anything else she can imagine.] Dinner. Telling me stories of what you did while you were gone.
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[And have they both not had more than enough of war? But there are other stories he could share, certainly. Warm things. Easy, amusing things. Hunts and prison escapes and mountains scaled. He will thing of something.]