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]

[Elissa moves back so she can give him room, and her eyes are wide when Zevran shows her his back. The design is beautiful, intricate, and incredibly personal. She can see the knives and the birds - crows, she guesses - but they are so interwoven with other symbols that it's difficult to parse them out well enough to be discernible.

She reaches out hesitantly and brushes her fingers over some of the scars above the back design, frowning. Zevran has moved far past this time, yes, but the sight of them angers and reminds her of how sheltered she'd been before meeting him, before becoming a Warden. This sort of cruelty wouldn't stand with her.]

It's beautiful, Zevran. [Her thumb traces just above the design as if she's afraid that touching it would smear the ink, an impossible thing now.] As are you, of course, but you already know that.

[bloodyantivan]

--I do not mind hearing it again. [Zevran's voice is warm.] Alas, nothing I can do will be quite to this skill. The artisan who did most of this piece was in her sixties - might as well have been two hundred in Crow years. It would take me a very long time to get as good at it as she was. [Zevran peels his shirt entirely off, to show her the work on his arms.] This here, on my left, is my own work.

[The lines are actually quite skillful, and while they are not as elaborate, they are by no means amateur.]

[ladyspitfire]

[It's a culture and ritual Elissa knows very little about and she feels regret, again, that she may not ever be able to go to Antiva to learn more about it. But the markings he's given himself are beautiful too, very fitting for him. She's more than impressed by the skill he's demonstrated.]

They're more grand than you give them credit, Zevran. I could never hope to be as talented.

[Two fingers trace one of the designs.] ...Did it hurt?

[bloodyantivan]

It is excruciating. [Zevran grins, clearly relishing the memory. He watches the trace of her fingers with interest.] A thousand little pinpricks, over and over. But it gives you a sort of euphoria, you know, as one might experience a rush during battle, or receiving a bite in the right place from a lover.

It would not be nearly so beautiful if it did not hurt at all, I think.

[ladyspitfire]

[The rush of battle. Yes, Elissa understands that well. But she's silent as she mulls over what he's said, eyes fixed on the designs adorning his arms. It would not be nearly so beautiful if it did not hurt at all. How very fitting for Zevran. She should have expected it from him.]

Or the experience would not be worth it if you didn't suffer.

[She can empathize with that idea.]

[bloodyantivan]

There are some things I hope to show you that incur a minimum of suffering. In fact, I would rather hope to go in the opposite direction. [Zevran takes her hand, twining their fingers. He gives her a very slow kiss, one that does not deepen or intensify over time, but lingers.]

[ladyspitfire]

[She squeezes his hand gently as she responds to the kiss, marveling at the tenderness of the gesture. Elissa doesn't press for anything further, though she breaks the press of lips to smile against his mouth.]

You're doing well so far in that regard. [The ache she'd felt before, the worry for his answer, is all but entirely gone. She kisses him once more, as slow and as gentle as he had done for her.]

[bloodyantivan]

[Zevran smirks when the kiss is done, stroking his thumb over Elissa's chin.]

I tend to excel at most anything I put my mind to.

[This is really just his typical bravado: in truth he is flying blind and feels it all too well.]

Does it truly not bother you that I am hesitant for this to go further? I do not wish for you to think your needs do not matter to me.

[ladyspitfire]

[She laughs quietly and shakes her head.]

No, it doesn't bother me. If you're concerned about all of that, you needn't be. I'm not exactly...active.

[Which, she supposes, is a poor word choice.]

...It's not as if there's been anyone else, Zevran. I'm not looking for sex. [Though, to be fair, she hasn't been looking for a relationship either.] It's never been my priority when it comes to things.

[bloodyantivan]

I have never been involved with something where it wasn't a priority - usually the first and only priority. [Zevran says it in his typical joking fashion, but he can't meet her gaze at all when he says it. He's... not sure, actually, what this feeling is. Shyness? Shame? From Zevran?]

Which is fun enough, but I do not know anything else. I believe I am anxious. Part of me is elated that you would never make any demand of me that I did not want, the other - ah, it is difficult to explain. The other part wants to get it over with, before you change your mind. I apologize for belaboring the question, it is wrong for me to doubt when you have already given your honest answer.

[Zevran breaks off his words abruptly, suddenly feeling rather cold.]

Again I am confused.

[ladyspitfire]

It's not wrong of you to doubt. I simply...don't know how else to phrase it.

[Sex with those you were not going to wed was frowned upon for women of the noble class. If you did find your pleasures elsewhere, you would need to be discreet or powerful enough to keep people from asking or finding out. She's never had an interest in having just a lover and nothing else. It doesn't seem right to her, though she won't begrudge others if that is their choice and their preference.]

I won't change my mind about you simply because you want to take things slow, or because you don't want to sleep together. I would rather you be comfortable. It's not about what you can offer to me. It's about who you are and what you mean to me.

[Maker, she's never been good with romantic words. She sounds too practical.]

I'm not going to ask you for anything more than you're willing to give.

[bloodyantivan]

[Zevran nods, and goes very quiet. His expression is quite calm, but inside, he's deeply troubled. He doesn't know why this has ignited some kind of ugly tempest inside him, he does not know why her not wanting to take from him bothers him so.

It makes him remember the strangest things.

He brushes a few strands out of her face, and thinks about how soundly she defeated him when they first met.

She really wouldn't have to ask for anything. Not if she didn't want to. That should prove her sincerity - she is not that kind of person, it would horrify her that the thought crosses his mind, but it suddenly makes him ill at ease.

Perhaps it is only the uncertainty of the situation.]

Are you hungry? Would you like anything? If not, I think I am going to rest a bit. Our talk has been delightful, but surprisingly tiring.

[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.]