Zevran Arainai (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodyantivan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-03-07 09:34 pm
bloodyantivan) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-03-07 09:34 pm
Entry tags:
human kindness is overflowing
Date & Time: March 6th, around 8pm
Location: whatever hole-in-the-wall Zevran frequently drinks in
Characters: Zevran Arainai (bloodyantivan), Kate Kane (gevurah)
Summary: beers and bro-ing out
Warnings: Some references to violence. Will warn for anything else as appropriate.
[What is it, Zevran ponders as he watches the door, about me and redheads?
If Zevran were suspicious, at least more so than any Chantry-educated Antivan elf, he might think that they were an omen. A bad-luck omen, a reminder of the violence he's done, a symbol of penance or even oncoming punishment. Red is the color of blood, of sin and desire, and he's known plenty of those things, and been beholden to their power more times than he's likely to ever admit. He paints himself as a master, but what man ever is?
He remembers Kate's vivid red from the hazy mess of childish emotion he recently experienced. He is curious to see what sort of adult she grew into. She sounds beautiful, elegant, and completely in control. She sounds strong. He has no doubt of that, if Leliana was at all fond of the woman she must have been rare indeed. Leliana and he held very similar tastes, after all.
Leliana. Another redhead. His charming Orlesian coquette, a rose, he'd call her, if he called her at all. Sadly, they understood each other almost too well to ever have happened. There was little trust between people who seduced and lied and laughed and looked pretty for money. Whether whores or assassins or bards, those who could see the ribbons tying on the masks were always a little bit wary, readying swords behind their backs just as flash-quick as smiles.
Zevran had meant to speak with Leliana, meant to take her into his confidence about a personal matter some time ago. Alas, he missed the opportunity, and she is gone, and his mind, no, his heart is quite full of worry about another redhead. And now he is here, waiting for yet another redhead still, to have drinks and be charming and friendly and see what worth this Kate woman has to offer as friend and ally. If there is nothing at all, at least the company seems like it will be good.
His instincts him tell him otherwise, however.
He's honestly a little relieved Kate is not the least bit interested in him. Otherwise, he'd feel almost obligated to throw himself at her, if she is even slightly as pretty as she was a child, and half as fascinating as she sounds. He is already quite fond of her, and Leliana seem quite interested. He and Leliana quite often shared tastes, in both clothes and women. But lately the prospect of all those games seems exhausting. It is perhaps the fatal illness known as being in love.
Horrible. However is he supposed to work like this? Zevran is a little disgusted by himself.
But he thinks no more on it, tapping his boot against the base of the table.
Much to the chagrin of the server, he drinks only a glass of water with a lemon sliver while he waits. He is early. He almost always is. Though it's a familiar venue, he hates settling down in a place he intends to stay for any length of time without getting to know it.
Whatever will Messere Shem-lina Kate think of him, he wonders. He has gathered from some interactions that women from other places and eras find him a bit strange. She has so adamantly told him she's does not know elves each time they've met. It is a little splinter beneath the skin, the "I'm not sure elves really existed" he keeps hearing from humans. Zevran is not sure how to work it free yet, but infection hasn't set in, so what else can he do but learn more? Outright inquiry, directing questioning into history and archaeology would be strange. Still, he intends to find out more about that, too. It almost feels like being on the job, to have such a mystery to ferret out.
The part where he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know the truth is familiar, too.]
Location: whatever hole-in-the-wall Zevran frequently drinks in
Characters: Zevran Arainai (
bloodyantivan), Kate Kane (gevurah)Summary: beers and bro-ing out
Warnings: Some references to violence. Will warn for anything else as appropriate.
[What is it, Zevran ponders as he watches the door, about me and redheads?
If Zevran were suspicious, at least more so than any Chantry-educated Antivan elf, he might think that they were an omen. A bad-luck omen, a reminder of the violence he's done, a symbol of penance or even oncoming punishment. Red is the color of blood, of sin and desire, and he's known plenty of those things, and been beholden to their power more times than he's likely to ever admit. He paints himself as a master, but what man ever is?
He remembers Kate's vivid red from the hazy mess of childish emotion he recently experienced. He is curious to see what sort of adult she grew into. She sounds beautiful, elegant, and completely in control. She sounds strong. He has no doubt of that, if Leliana was at all fond of the woman she must have been rare indeed. Leliana and he held very similar tastes, after all.
Leliana. Another redhead. His charming Orlesian coquette, a rose, he'd call her, if he called her at all. Sadly, they understood each other almost too well to ever have happened. There was little trust between people who seduced and lied and laughed and looked pretty for money. Whether whores or assassins or bards, those who could see the ribbons tying on the masks were always a little bit wary, readying swords behind their backs just as flash-quick as smiles.
Zevran had meant to speak with Leliana, meant to take her into his confidence about a personal matter some time ago. Alas, he missed the opportunity, and she is gone, and his mind, no, his heart is quite full of worry about another redhead. And now he is here, waiting for yet another redhead still, to have drinks and be charming and friendly and see what worth this Kate woman has to offer as friend and ally. If there is nothing at all, at least the company seems like it will be good.
His instincts him tell him otherwise, however.
He's honestly a little relieved Kate is not the least bit interested in him. Otherwise, he'd feel almost obligated to throw himself at her, if she is even slightly as pretty as she was a child, and half as fascinating as she sounds. He is already quite fond of her, and Leliana seem quite interested. He and Leliana quite often shared tastes, in both clothes and women. But lately the prospect of all those games seems exhausting. It is perhaps the fatal illness known as being in love.
Horrible. However is he supposed to work like this? Zevran is a little disgusted by himself.
But he thinks no more on it, tapping his boot against the base of the table.
Much to the chagrin of the server, he drinks only a glass of water with a lemon sliver while he waits. He is early. He almost always is. Though it's a familiar venue, he hates settling down in a place he intends to stay for any length of time without getting to know it.
Whatever will Messere Shem-lina Kate think of him, he wonders. He has gathered from some interactions that women from other places and eras find him a bit strange. She has so adamantly told him she's does not know elves each time they've met. It is a little splinter beneath the skin, the "I'm not sure elves really existed" he keeps hearing from humans. Zevran is not sure how to work it free yet, but infection hasn't set in, so what else can he do but learn more? Outright inquiry, directing questioning into history and archaeology would be strange. Still, he intends to find out more about that, too. It almost feels like being on the job, to have such a mystery to ferret out.
The part where he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know the truth is familiar, too.]
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It is not meant as an insult, nor a deeper observation into your - clearly complex [He almost says that with a straight face] - heart and mind.
You are the one who said you could not do violence to survive. Forgive me for disagreeing. If I could go back I would surely say, "Oh, yes, you are right, I cannot see you killing anyone, in spite of the fact I have seen dogs and children do the same on many occasions." I truly did not wish to offend you so.
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But I'm not going to cross that line. I can't. [ She's teetered on the edge recently back home, but she always pulls herself back. ] It's just... I don't know.
[ She's not sure why she's so uncomfortable now. ]
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But it is my observation of most everyone, not just you, my friend. When backed in a corner, you become very vicious or you become very dead.
Tell me, what bothers you so about killing? Your father killed in battle, yes, you must understand why it is at some times necessary.
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[ Not anymore. ]
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No. I have heard tales of such things being possible, but, only in silly, bawdy tales.
You did not answer my question.
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Ever hear of superheroes?
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I don't know.
But it's something. There's more of them now -- vigilantes. They're there every night apparently, wherever there's crime.
[ You have to admire a resolve like that. Seeing Batman herself that one night was intense and a huge wake-up call; realizing that beneath that mask could be anyone. ]
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Acting as city guards anonymously, punishing criminals - it sounds like the sort of thing one finds in books for children. I imagine anyone who attempted such a thing in Antiva would be gutted by the Crows immediately.
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Or the most magic. [Zevran chuckles, and slips his knife back in his sleeve when he sees the server returning to check on them, ordering another round of beer.] Though all of those can be bought with coin, so, it is still the most coin, I think.e.
In spite of these high-minded ideals, even without violence it seems those vigilantes are free to do the same, no?
dw notifs what are you doing...
She watches where the knife goes. She never carries weapons like that around unless she's in uniform and even then, they're meant to cut ropes or boxes -- anything but flesh. ]
Who knows. They're as much as a mystery to me as they are to each other, I bet.
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[Zevran chuckles, shaking his head.]
Give it some time and I am sure the truth will come out. But it is a nice dream, imagining that order could be kept without a firm hand.
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And if they did, there's always someone else to stop them.
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[Oops, Zevran made himself sad, thinking about his friend. He drinks rather than speak for a moment.] So, you truly believe it is possible, to live without taking lives? Is that what I am supposed to take from all of this, that I am a bad person for killing, that I should change my ways, that if they can use their skills to such effect, so must I?
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I... think some people can. [ While she had threatened the True Believers, she hadn't acted on it. That was important. As hot as her blood runs knowing they knew about Beth and losing her again, she hadn't crossed that line. The threat still hangs if they as so much touch a hair on her family's head. ]
You said your left your group. [ She props her elbows on the table, looking quite serious then. ] I think that means you aren't a bad person.
But I guess I have to remember these things aren't so black and white. [ A sigh. ] And war blurs those lines.
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[Zevran shrugs lightly. No need to regale her with the political and social history of the Chant of Light, after all. She is a human, non-magical so far as he knows. What would she care about the crimes done in Andraste's name?]
I am an investment to the Crows, years of training and secrets they would hate to have walking around freely. [Zevran recalls a few conversations he had with Elissa on this very subject, and of course Wynne wanted him to repent. It is different for them, he realizes. They are burdened with guilt. Zevran has little to none, at least when it comes to his work. He is what they made him, but that doesn't change that he stands, alive, not only on the back of the child he was, but on the backs of his ex partners.
But if he goes down that path of worry, he would never sleep at night. Besides, if it was really such a sin to kill in the eyes of the Maker, there's no way he had the right to survive this long.
Nor any of the other Crows, really.] But it makes me no less a killer. They sent my former partner after me. We were - [More than lovers, really, though somehow less than friends, too. Back-to-back and front-to-front, they understood each other's movements, and fought well. But he cannot regret Taliesin] - good friends, before I left. And I killed him without a second thought.
Do not get me wrong, he had to die. [Zevran is quite reasonable about this: in his world, this is reasonable.] I do not think I am a bad person for having done it. But this is what being a Crow is. To look your friend in the eye and kill him swiftly and mercifully, knowing he intends to do you no such favors.
What would your Bat-man do in such a case, knowing that if such a person were kept alive, they would stop at nothing not only to kill you, but to torture and imprison you for as long as they could before your life ended?
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Kate listens adamantly to every word that comes from Zevran's mouth. She's almost shocked by her own cooled down temper; she doesn't feel like starting another fight. The odd part is not too long after this conversation she'll be arguing with Remy over the fact he's a thief and a possibly unapologetic one.
Maybe because she hit Zevran as a kid and feels she owes him this conversation, at least.
The part about his ex-partner gets a heavy, empathetic sigh from her. Mannheim had been different. He wasn't someone she had any attachments to. Just another psycho from Gotham who picked on the wrong woman.
She had left men crippled for life. Evil men whom she didn't think twice about. ]
... It's different in your world -- and mine. [ Obviously. ]
He stops them again and again. [ COMIC LOGIC... However, she shakes her head. ] And people like that... they end up in Arkham. [ Except everyone breaks out of Arkham.
Comics. ]
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Because video game logic.]Yes, it is different.
What I said before... I only meant I thought you had the strength to survive in my world, which I do not believe of everyone I have met. I truly did not mean for you to think you were ruthless as I, or as monstrous as I must surely be in your opinion. I was purchased by the Crows not much longer after that time we met. Taking a stand at that point would have killed me for certain, I had to prove I was worth their investment. [Stopping them again and again - it wouldn't have worked. He still can't get his head around the idea it ever could. But he realizes he's stumbled on a little shred of undignified emotion, that he is offended by her disgust toward his profession. It does not get to him, but perhaps it is because she knew that vulnerability in him, knew something that likely no one else alive knows, unless some of the whores at the brothel live still. Surely even the ever-so-magnanimous Bat-man would not have been so perfectly strong and controlled as a little boy.]
cries over this thread
For what it's worth, I am sorry that happened. [ A couple of years ago, she rescued kids in a situation similar to his. The boys being kidnapped and turned into killers by warlords. ]
<333 (these are all platonic hearts don't worry)
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I can only imagine, Zevran. [ She pauses again. ] And it's probably far worse than I can.
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But those words lead nowhere productive. Pity and sympathy gain him nothing, he is not sure why he is so invested in her understanding what he is.
It does not matter. So what if he is nothing more than a whoreson and a murderer? He has made that into something with meaning. He does not kill for coin, has barely slipped a blade over welcoming throat since arriving here. Only in the line of 'duty'. No one in this town has coin or interest enough to compel him other wise.
But he kills. Non-violence, non-aggression? It is laughable to him. What would these Bats do in a city of Antiva? Could they fix it with noble ideals? Or would they become folded into the system, like the Chantry that claims to help the poor but condemns his people to be trapped in squalor, the nobles who lose fortunes to hire Crows to kill their rivals while refusing to pay their own servants coin enough to feed their family?
Yet it sticks to him like a bur in the soft part of his foot. Order without killing? Is that a mercy or a subject of farce?
(But had their situations been reversed, he would have killed Elissa in a heartbeat. Yet she spared him. It was stupid of her to trust him, it has always been stupid.
Yet she had been right.)
It there a way for Zevran to live without the constant struggle of life or death? He has survived by killing others. Not always for good reason. Not always people who deserved it. But he made his choice early on to kill rather than die himself. If Kate does not understand that, cannot understand that, it is alright.
Because he is still unmoved. Death was the only way he had to become better, to become more. It is not all who he is, no more than his flirtatious little acts. Zevran is beginning, very slowly, to see this. But sex and violence have been his only consistent companions since the first of his memories.
If it makes him evil or ugly in her eyes, if she cannot understand why he doesn't buy her fantasy of redemption, well.
It's not as if Kate wants to sleep with him anyway.]
--I would prefer you not to worry your pretty head with such things. It is the past, and far away from here.
Surely we can think of some other, far more diverting subject. Women, perhaps? Is there anyone among the transports who catches your fancy?
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