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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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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What a bizarre night this has turned into. Any other person, she would have stormed out on. Kate thought once she could kill, maybe she could -- but she knows she has to reel herself in. If she wants to do what she needs to do, there's no room for failure or losing herself in her own selfish emotions.
(It happens more often than she means to, not that she realizes.)
When Zevran asks her a completely different question, it's like some great weight lifts off her shoulders. It's hovering close, but this she could deal with. ]
Heh. [ She snorts. ] I did like Leliana.
Roslyn's great, though.
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And he somewhat regrets he only had the tiniest chance to tease Leliana about her new crush. She did so love to appear scandalized.]
Roslyn? I do not believe I have had the pleasure.
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[ Transports in one city? Bound to happen. ]
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You are missing the point of this game, friend! I wish to know of your romance or seduction, what you find alluring about Messere Roslyn. [Zevran wiggles a mischievous eyebrow.] That is the point of gossip, no?
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[Elissa nearly killed him the first time they met, and he's fallen head over heels for her.
Which makes him smile as much as it makes him utterly miserable, it tugs at the corner of his lips, colors his words wistful.]
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Is there anyone you fancy?
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Life is mysterious, no?
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Very.
Everyone's different. Not everyone gets married where I'm from. Some stay bachelors their entire lives.
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[No matter what he might truly want.]