only this moment holds us together;

[bloodyantivan]

Date & Time: 3/28, after this post.
Location: Zevran's apartment.
Characters: Zevran Arainai (bloodyantivan) & Elissa Cousland (ladyspitfire)
Summary: Elissa has something she wants to talk about.
Warnings: FEEEEEEEELIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS.

[Zevran turns a few paces, combs his hair, and tidies up his already cell-like room before Elissa arrives. He answers the door with a warm smile for her, though he's not sure what she could possibly want. Considering the nature of her message, he's worried that she might have bad news.

He tries not to imagine it's anything to do with either of their untimely demises. He tries to tell himself if that's the case then he can accept it.

He's not sure he believes it, but he still has a warm smile for Elissa when she arrives.]

Come in, my friend.

Comments

[ladyspitfire]

[Despite the calm, Elissa knows something's wrong. She can't fathom the reason for it, whether he's suddenly rethinking his decision or perhaps she's simply said something wrong, but she can tell by the sudden stoic behavior Zevran's showing that he's troubled.

But she doesn't know how or why, nor can she begin to think of a solution.

Maybe he just needs time. Perhaps both of them do.]

No, no, I'm fine. If you're tired, why don't I go for the night?

[bloodyantivan]

Yes, yes perhaps that would be for the best.

[Zevran can make his voice sound so perfect. He knows he is in utter control of the muscles in his body, but he isn't sure that control is quite making it to his face. His brow creases slightly.]

One last kiss, darling, before you leave?

[ladyspitfire]

[Elissa nods, leaning over to kiss him once more. As before, the kiss is gentle and undemanding, short. But her hand lingers on his arm even after she pulls away, and he gets a reassuring squeeze before she stands.]

Rest well, Zev. I'll speak with you another time.

[bloodyantivan]

[Zevran barely kisses her back. Beneath his own thoughts he realizes this may distress her, but he simply cannot bring himself to do more.] Soon, mi vida.

[He unlocks the door and quietly sees her out. Once she is gone, he turns heel back into his room, locking the door behind him.

Zevran sits on the corner of his bed, as if trying to disappear into that far corner of his room, knees to face.

It has not happened like this for a very long time, that memories wash over him like icy rip tide and pull him down. He would almost be grateful for the immediacy of memories of Rinna, for a pain so direct. This is worse, this black, oppressive feeling. It is an oily miasma, filth that cannot be washed clean. Does Elissa see it, smell it on him? She'd know the stink of the leather well enough, but what of brothels?

Why now?

She barely touched him. She would never hurt him. Why does it feel like her honesty and gentleness ripped open an old wound?

I would never ask for more than you are willing to give.

For a moment, he nearly called her a liar.

Everyone takes more than I am willing to give. That is why I offer it all up front, so it can never be taken from me without my choice.

(He says that, but how many times was he removed from choice, not just as a child but in the Crows? Zevran tries not to think on it.)

Besides, she truly didn't want it like that, somehow saw through that perfected act of his. And Zevran is very much lost now. He does not know why this hurts him, threatens him so.

How do people who are not whoresons and Crows love? How do people who are people love?

He stumbles from the bed perhaps 20 minutes later, carefully retrieving his Dalish gloves from the number-locked box in his closet. He kneels there for a long time, admiring the stitching before pressing the doe-soft leather to his face.

With great effort he drags himself to back the bed, feeling small. It seems he's doomed himself to waking nightmares. Such talents, bringing the Fade to him without sleep, and he isn't even a mage.

Zevran lays there, awake, much of the night, pressing the gloves to his face.

He is not the kind to feel self-conscious. His past is beyond his control, so he always moves forward. He is ashamed of his weakness - his reflexes seem so slowed like this, how could he ever fight?

Shame is not something people associate with him, he is so careful. It is not even something he particularly associates with himself.

But it is here, like a sickness, making it impossible to sleep.

So Zevran lays awake with his gloves, and tries to recall the moment Elissa gave them to him, and the way her hair felt in his fingers.]