capeandcowllogs | in and out of stages

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in and out of stages

WHO: Zevran (

niceassassin) and OPEN.
WHERE: Around the City.
WHEN: The night of Saturday, May 14th.
WARNINGS: Terrible references to sex. Anything else on a case-by-case basis.
SUMMARY: Zevran goes out to try to make up for the lost time during kid week. Come help him out, join him, or try to foil his plans: whichever is your fancy.
FORMAT: Whatever you prefer!

By noon on Saturday, the memory of the past week is clearly stretched out in Zevran's mind like a poisoning victim, and by late afternoon, he can no longer tolerate it. It has been a very long time since that kind of vulnerability and sentimentality was so fresh in his recall. Oh, yes, moments of it escaped during his journeys with the Grey Warden, but they were mostly controlled. This, this is different and unwelcome.

Fortunately, by the time dark is falling and the artificial lights that seem so excessive to him are coming on around the City, business as usual has mostly picked up again--at least in some places. The denizens of the City, newly freed from the spell, will be seeking contact with other adults. So the most popular of social places are scrambling to be ready for them--be they parks or clubs. Zevran's usual haunts are still getting their feet back under them: the gaming stores, the fantasy bookshops, they remain closed for now. But he's determined to take a positive view of things (all the better to forget how frightened and deluded he was before the spell ended). This is an opportunity to try out new grounds, to find out if the less nerdy demographics in the City are just as willing to enjoy the company of an attractive elf with a foreign accent and a ready smile.

And so begins this night's adventure: drifting from bar to pub to club, idly attempting to seduce the bouncers outside the latter, investigating the people within. And maybe keeping an eye out for anyone interesting outside, as well. It is a moderately cool night; he has an excuse for a jacket. Which means he can bring his dagger along, just in case violence enters the equation. He is not averse to that.

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The first thing she notices about the man -- aside from the presence of a body and the sound of a voice, of course -- is his ears. Second is the markings, third is the phantasmal sensation of something like mist rolling across the back of her neck.

What he actually says, though, only ranks down somewhere near sixth or seventh. "More... adventurous?" she asks, for she is used to the word meaning something completely different than Zevran intends. Not, of course, that she knows this.

He knows that the ears and the tattoos are noticeable. He is, in fact, counting on it. They tend to be attractive. The other thing? He has no idea about that whatsoever.

"Adventurous," he agrees, because he is well aware that Terra doesn't realize his intended meaning. "Oh, not so much in the sense of exploring new realms. I hear there are few of those left in this world. I was thinking more of exploring new beds."

Intended meanings continue to be elusive, or at the very least do not engender the sort of reaction flirtations are aimed for. "What's to explore?" she returns, giving Zevran one of her entirely typical looks of confusion. "They're the same all over."

He pauses. She looks young, yes, but not young enough to be that innocent. Especially with that fascinating hair of hers. Maybe it isn't dyed--maybe it's really that color? People here are very strange. "You have much to learn, my dear. There are many materials used in sheets, and they feel so very different against bare skin."

If he examines closely -- and the lighting in the pub is amenable to such, the much more difficult matter -- her eyebrows and even eyelashes are hued to match. So, either it's natural, or the woman is very dedicated to the look.

She also seems rather dedicated to the curious looks, if mostly confused and off-guard expressions.

"Ah... you're interested in textiles?"

Maybe she's doing this intentionally.

He does examine closely, because she's actually quite attractive, and that's what he does. Unfortunately, he's startled out of this study by her words. "Ah...not so much. The adventure is what goes on between the sheets. Shall I buy you a drink? Nothing too strong. You should keep your wits about you always in this City."

Besides, she's already weird enough without getting drunk.

There's a moment where Terra almost asks directly what he means -- and what a disaster a conversation like that would be at this stage! -- but the offer is enough to move the conversational ground beneath her feet.

"... sure," she decides with an echoing nod. There is some measure of relaxation to her then, but her attention to Zevran seems more like one fiddling with interlocking puzzle rings than an even conversation.

Perhaps getting away from the topic of beds would help. "How long have you lived here?"

Back home, he knew the different wines and liquors of each culture so that he could adjust poisons to suit them--and also so that he could use them to ply and seduce. He's largely abandoned the latter usage: he's been humbled too thoroughly to have much interest in sex as conquest anymore instead of simple pleasure. As for the first...well, he hasn't had a reason for it yet. Instead, here he learns the names of mixed drinks so that he can order the naughtiest-sounding ones with a straight face.

He leans over to catch the bartender's attention. "Sex with an alligator for the lady here--no need for the rum, though, and a little less of the, what is it? The Jager...that thing."

Without missing a beat, he leans back to smile at Terra. "Just under a month. I think I'm adjusting admirably."

Terra herself lost several beats, or perhaps a percussion line somewhere along the way, in the time it takes for him to resume talking to her. The rapid-fire blinking almost makes up for it.

"What..."

She probably doesn't want to know. She also does not want to think about her first reaction to that phrase (or second). Terra shakes her head as if to clear the thoughts away, brushing a hand through loose bangs.

"Not long at all... and you already think it's dangerous?"

He's good at hiding the grin that wants to spread across his face at Terra's reaction. Instead he keeps a steady little smile. "Dangerous? That's saying a bit much. I think it is unpredictable. Whimsical. Like a beautiful woman who knows I dance to her tune."

He is using his most seductive voice, by the way.

Alas, the seductive voice just bewilders her -- and yet, simultaneously reminds her of someone she hasn't spoken to in a long, long time.

"What's with you, anyway?" she asks, finally, ignoring both the drink as it arrives and the bartender as she departs.

He blinks at her. "Pardon...?"

People don't just ask him that. Usually, they threaten to hit him. Or remove his brain through his ears.

"This..." with a free hand she gestures vaguely to the drink and to Zevran himself, as if this were explanation enough to cover every confusing aspect of this whole encounter.

He slowly lifts a hand to touch his temple in dismay. "May I ask how old you are, my dear?"

Silently he wills her not to say that she's thirteen. Or less. The first time was enough, and that wasn't even in person.

A blink is the first reply. The second is a much better one. "Nineteen."

It makes her technically too young to be in the building, but modern times have such strange rules about these sorts of things.

"Why?"

Edited 2011-05-15 07:18 (UTC)

Zevran lets out a small sigh of relief. So she's just weird--not a child (and he certainly doesn't care that she's too young to be drinking; he was doing much worse at a much younger age). "Nineteen and lovely, and no men or women have taken an interest in your beauty before? You have lived a very strange life. I don't judge, but perhaps I wonder."

There's a momentary spark of something in her face at those words, but if it could be likened to a spark for fire, it seemed snuffed out -- or rather, that it failed to catch whatever it was meant to light.

"I have." Her eyes turn away from him then, her attention falling with the glass on the counter. She doesn't drink from it, but moving fingers over condensation is distraction enough. "I'm... not meant for things like that."

He watches her fingers move, and he wonders what it is they have done that she draws away so much. For a little while, he says nothing. What can he say to such a thing? He has said the same thing himself, more or less.

"Don't believe for a moment you are the only one." Oddly, his tone is more wry than harsh, with just a hint of gentleness to it. "But you're being very misguided indeed. The privilege and burden of love is a different matter to the pleasure of sharing a night of passion with a warm body. Or two, or three."

He should write a self-help book.

Perhaps an audio-book. He would probably garner more fans that way.

Back in the bar, the designs her thumbnail traces are not much in the way of artistry; merely etchings of absent movement. Her voice sounds resigned when she speaks, with a tone that carries as if it used to hold space for sadness, but has shed that off over time. Neither happy nor upset.

"Maybe that was the wrong word. I'm not... capable of it. I've tried..." A hand rises to massage the juncture of her shoulder and neck, sliding up before becoming the brace against her jaw; a shrug of the opposite shoulder, closer to Zevran. "... but love... passion... they're not emotions I can feel."

She smiles then, which is probably a strange reaction to a declaration like that, but Terra hasn't been painting herself as the most normal of humans during this short conversation anyway. "Don't be disappointed. I'm sure... a normal girl would find you charming."

Edited 2011-05-15 08:36 (UTC)

He no longer looks lecherous or charming (depending on your interpretation). Instead, he just looks puzzled. "You can't appreciate a fine body, a handsome face?"

Laughter, low and soft. "I know a normal girl would find me charming. I have had enough encounters with them, yes?" Just a hint of arrogance there, yes. But hey, it could be worse. He seems more amused than smug. "But you are a mystery, and that is more intriguing."

To that she can only shake her head, though she does finally pick up the glass. "Not how you mean," she answers, and then with a tilt of her head indicates further down along the bar to a gathering of more ordinary people than the two of them. "I know they're attractive, and--" with her empty hand, indicating to another group, "--they're not really, but... it doesn't... mean anything to me."

It's there that she takes the first sip, and her level features change into an almost comical expression of surprise and confusion. Clearly, whatever she was expecting it to taste like is nothing like what's actually in the glass. Oh, mixed drinks.

"And they," here Zevran indicates a third group, "are somewhat attractive, but have terrible hair. There are many degrees." He's just giving her a useful lesson, really.

"Ah--you don't have to drink it if it's upsetting to you." He pauses, tilts his head in confusion. "There's no one you've had feelings for?"

"I didn't expect a taste like that," she explains, taking a more tentative second sip. It's not bad, but it's not something she would order for herself. The glass is set down gently to decide how to answer.

"...Once. But they weren't my feelings. It was... 'divine intervention.' Is that the phrase?" She shrugs, a lighthearted dismissal of her own failings. "Love goddess."

"Alcohol, too, is an adventure," Zevran supplies. "One never knows what this year's wines will be like, either, or so I heard back home." He subsides into silence, though, to listen to her story, his brows knitting together as he does. "Oh...? Where I am from, the gods are more silent than that. Should they exist at all."

"This was here. Where I'm from, they're sealed away," she explains, sitting up a little straighter now that the conversation wasn't quite as heavily resting on her shoulders -- at least, not on how she lacked as a person. "Aphrodite isn't from this world or mine, but still has a lot of power."

Terra pauses, giving Zevran an almost appraising look. "She'd like you."

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