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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"A real dangerous thing to say, if I was -- hypothetically -- able to discern lies." Eddie grinned wolfishly at his company. The allusion to his power was with minimal risk -- after two years, the knowledge of part of his ability had leaked. The elf could easily find such information on his own, were he so inclined. Any tension that could be wrought from such information would only amuse Eddie and, perhaps, put a stop to any oddly tingly feelings he would be exposed to.

That's how untruths manifested on his nervous system.

Zevran's comment drew a sidelong glance from Eddie.

"You assume I haven't an agent already? Such... Talents are necessary in this world, after all," he said, meaning shadier business. The sort that require a dagger in the back, as they had previously discussed. "It proves well to be prepared."

"Only if you were inclined to act on that information," Zevran said with a slight shrug. He, himself, was not inclined to act on the hint of information he'd just received--save to file it away for investigation later. Now, if he were to find out how Eddie's power manifested to his senses, then he might be more interested. That would definitely intrigue him.

"Another drink for my friend here," he told the bartender (which would no doubt create another little buzz for the one he was treating; Zevran did not remotely consider him a friend). Conversationally, he added to Eddie himself, "It was hardly an offer. I think I will stay in the market for other employers for now. But this is a night for pleasure, not business."

The lie gave him a tingling jolt, and he exhaled slowly. Deliberately. Focusing on the mirrors and bottles behind the bartender instead of his company, at least for that reprieve of a moment.

"You're ordering drinks for me? Presumably on my tab?" Inquired Eddie with his usual arched brow. Not that he contested the order, mind. "How considerate."

The tender soon released another glass, the bourbon shimmering in the clear glass. Eddie kept his eyes on Zevran's elven features.

"Pleasure of what kind? Because if you have inquiries over a Mr. James Bond, I'd be happy to indulge."

"Are you offering to pay? I'm sure I can spare a few of these 'dollar' things tonight." This was not a lie, but only because Zevran didn't realize how overpriced this particular establishment was.

"Mmm, the kind that I spent the last week missing due to being a little too young for it." He lifted his own glass, still half-full. "Does that happen often? Never mind. I don't want to know. Have you any advice for how to engage Mr. Bond," and he was back to using this world's terminology, no more slips of ser Bond, "in a fine evening involving myself, him, and at least three lovely women? Failing that, I will take the three lovely women on their own. Especially if they have chains or whips. I am in a mood for extremes tonight."

No lies.

He watched Zevran carefully. Analytically.

"Extremes, hmm? Interesting. I would call that merely a Thursday night." The glazed smile slipped into a sharper smirk. It was almost a relief, discussing recreational deviancy -- however tongue-in-cheek. As entertaining as his usual haunts where, they usually came at a price when Felicia made any discovery. It wasn't easy, keeping credit card bills from a master thief. And Felicia herself would only engage with compromise.

Eddie wasn't too keen on compromise. Not the content, necessarily, but the idea.

"I can't say I know Bond's... Taste in this department, really. But if you're looking for chains, whips and the occasional electroshock, I do have a few clubs on hand." He took another sip of his drink, a slower one. The bourbon was crawling to his head, even if it hadn't yet touched his tongue.

There was little to be analyzed. He wore his few emotions and philosophies--desire, amusement, cynicism--as openly as he could. If he didn't, if there was more to him, even he didn't believe it was there. It was, perhaps, a little difficult to analyze a man who was so sure there was nothing in him worth the study.

"Oh, no, Thursday is for threesomes. Friday is for foursomes. I should teach the days of the week; learning would be so much more entertaining," he added. "Electroshock, you say? How marvelous. At home, only mages could do that, and believe me, sex with mages is a gamble at the best of times."

"I used to, ah, engage in such activities with two lovely ladies. Simultaneously. My point stands sharper still." His smirk was cutting, amused. Delighted, even, at his own recounting. There was little to fear from his company, after all, Eddie knew the elf wouldn't make an unfavorable move.

Contrary to the typical mind, Eddie's was one constantly moving, constantly thinking, scheming. Creating. Discovering. There was more to examine than the surface, especially with someone as open as Zevran. It was an honesty that counterbalanced more familiar elements.

He arched an eyebrow.

"The same is true in my world. Don't tell Zatanna I said that, though."

"Used to? I'm sorry to hear it," Zevran said, almost gravely. Still opaque, still shallow to the eye seeking hidden secrets--save perhaps for the quickness with which his responses came. He was glib, yes, obnoxiously so. It would be easy to dismiss him as just that. Too easy. The things he had already told Eddie made the possibility a little less likely, in any case. Why would a man who cared only for physical pleasures and survival put himself in the dangerous position he had confessed to being in back home? There was more to him, even if he disdained discussion of it himself.

For now, he laughed. "Perhaps you should buy my silence with directions to some of these clubs you mentioned."

Eddie was more than aware, watching the subtleties that plain minds often underestimated him capable of. But therein was his amusement, his game. An initiation of sorts -- the opportunity to find a potential opponent, someone who could almost keep up with him. It was never a question of if Edward could divine the layers of another being, and always a matter if his company could begin to understand the complexity of what they had gotten themselves into.

He finished his drink, following with a shrug.

"On the condition you coax Bond into one, certainly." He wrinkled his nose, smugly smirking. "Failing that, I suppose I could summon the mercy."

The Warden would have been able to do it. But the hero of Ferelden wasn't here. Her pet assassin was, the man who had expected to die at her hand but instead developed unparalleled loyalty to her, and he was not one for mind games. Zevran was not stupid by any stretch of the imagination, and he could tell that gears were turning inside Eddie's head, but he simply lacked the desire to keep up with them, or really to do anything more than occasionally nudge a wrench into them for fun. Speaking of which.

"Oh, if that's what you want, my friend--" He leaned forward to murmur, "I will tell ser Bond that you wish to see him in a discreet location, with chains, whips, and very little clothing."

Not his best effort, but the night was young yet.

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me?" The question came with a critical, somewhat disappointed glance. "I've heard worse from Warren the White Shark, and that man doesn't even possess a nose. Worst fellow I've ever met, let me tell you. Come now, lad, you can do better than that."

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

"I've already discussed my tendency for deviancy, what makes you think such words would incite me? Where's the logic?"

That air of superiority was rather irksome, Zevran had to admit. He'd seen it in plenty of others, in nobles, even in humans who just wanted to play noble around those of lesser class and race. Even so, there was a flash of irritation in his eyes before he shrugged it off. Once upon a time he'd been able to pretend it didn't matter, because he was better than all of them, but it wasn't so easy anymore. He had been humbled, but he still wasn't suited to actually being humble.

"Alas," he sighed, hands shifting to his hips, "I'm not the most logical man." One hand off his hip now, gesturing, redirecting attention, as the other tugged almost absently at his pocket (in the process palming something from it, too fast and deftly to be easily seen--one of his early, not particularly lethal attempts at making poisons in this world). He leaned forward a bit, hands clasping loosely together now (passing the "poison" from one hand to the other). "You would look at a puzzle and see a fine arrangement of intelligence and perseverance, yes?" Oh, he had no idea. What he did have an idea about was how to execute a double case of misdirection. The hand that now had the chemical powder hidden in it was doing the apparent misdirecting once again, fingers flickering to emphasize his words. "I look at one and see a most excellent opportunity for a trap." The other hand, the one that was supposedly intended not to be seen but which, he was sure, someone as intelligent as Eddie would be well aware of, was sneaking towards Eddie's pocket, aiming to grab his wallet or anything else of interest there.

And at the exact moment he made his grab, when he most trusted Eddie's eyes to be on the pickpocketing hand and Eddie's mind to be smug in the knowledge that he had caught a rogue in a transparent attempt at theft, Zevran let the hand presumed to be intended for distraction drift over Eddie's glass and drop a tiny tablet into it.

"One more refill for my friend here," he called to the bartender, as if trying to garner further distraction from his nefarious pickpocketing attempt. "He has had a rough night."

He was pretty sure the alcohol would carry the rough laxative well.

"Believe me, you won't find anything short of plastic in there," said Eddie, though he jerked away. Instinct carried over to the easiest of impulses. "Plastic that is easily canceled, my fine-fingered friend. Modern technology ruins the deviously cultivated arts, doesn't it? I used to think it a boon." Eyes flashed towards Zevran's attractive features, calculating ratios idly. The tender tended to his drink.

"But nice try. Really."

He carried the drink to his mouth, then paused. And looked into it, presumably at his own reflection. Staring almost remorsefully into it, as if searching for a query to an answer partially forgotten.

"One question, though. How could such a deft scoundrel fumble such an easy pickpocket? Your body language is nothing short of masterful. You watch without looking, a sort of awareness that becomes a craft. You haven't had anything to drink, you've likely purposefully kept your mind clear and reflexes clean. You presumably, from what we've briefly discussed, live a life that simply doesn't humor slip-ups, much less frankly amateur mistakes. There's really no reasoning behind it." Eddie spoke without glancing up, his lips pursed into an ironic pout. "It's that logic at work again, you see, I'm really very good at it. I'm used to people underestimating me -- Bond, Norman. Batman. I would be a madman if I didn't take advantage of easy prey, wouldn't I be?"

He looked at Zevran, almost asking for someone to understand.

"I didn't spend years eating in Arkham beside Jonathan Crane to learn unwariness. The man could hide fear toxin under his fingernail. You might want to seek someone with less dark experience. It tends to cloud certain ambitions."

Few of these names rattled off by Eddie meant anything to Zevran, but he filed them away all the same--especially this "Batman." The moniker sounded completely silly, but something about the way the other man said it...it bore investigating. At another time. "You'll have to tell me about this fear toxin sometime. It sounds fascinating."

A beat. "I had no intention of causing you harm. Really, if you think about it a little--" He laughed. "Loosening up would probably be good for you."

He was a great poisoner, when he wanted to be. But maturity wasn't his strong suit.

He inclined his head, glancing at the drink again. With a degree more apprehension than previously adopted.

"A touch crueler than death, isn't it? You have a malicious sense of humor, my dear fellow." Eddie hazard a wink over a sincere smile. "That will take you to great heights, of course, such a humor keeps one sharp." He placed the glass down, circling the rim with a finger, peeking curiously at the liquid as he spoke.

"Admittedly, you wouldn't be in the minority. Concerning my behavior, I mean, I'm told I'm devastatingly irritating sometimes. But such enlightenment hasn't quelled me yet." Eddie glanced over again, mischievous. "What can I say? I like the tension. Friction makes for good sport. As for loosening, well, there are other ways."

A pause followed, as Eddie retreated into nostalgia.

"Fear toxin is not creatively named. Crane concocted it, bright little chemist that he is, as a neurotoxin hallucinogen that brings to life an individual's deepest phobias. We have chemists here of similar repute, perhaps you could sway them into indulging you in their labs. Honestly, I would be surprised if you weren't an exceedingly capable chemist yourself."

Edited 2011-05-17 05:11 (UTC)

Zevran gave a rather less sincere sigh. "I have been told I have a crude sense of humor, actually. I think I like 'malicious' better." But he held his tongue on the matter of just whether--or how much--Eddie's behavior irritated him. He knew well enough that to outline the ways in which the other man annoyed him would only make them increase. Besides, admitting, at least verbally, to being irritated would be a defeat. Better to simply smile and let it roll off of him.

Which was what he did now, with a mock-abashed little shrug. He gave a little bow. "Indeed there are other ways." He fell silent again to listen to the more professionally interesting information being doled out. The following sigh was truer and more wistful. "I used poison back home, yes, and made it myself when I could. There are other ways of crippling an enemy--one might take out their eyes, or destroy their knees--but poison is by far the most universal." And, perhaps, the most artistic, but he wouldn't admit to that kind of sentimental streak. "But the ingredients are different here. You have no deathroot, no demonic ichor found in the hearts of beings possessed by demons. And if there are minerals that can be mixed with the right acids to coat a blade in flames or frost, I have not found them yet."

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