[ OPEN ] Someone screaming like their world might explode

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran
WHERE: South Village
WHEN: November 19th
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: Excessive abuse of span title tags and google translate, drinking, nudity, some sexual content, adult language, reader discretion is advised

---

Fountain Park

Victory means revels, revels means wine, means warmth, means hot, slinky bodies of tittering devotees glad enough to take a tumble with a handsome, exotic elf for his part in saving Ferelden- and the world, the rest of the world matters too he supposes- and that is how Zevran fell to the fade the night before. Sated and warm, wrapped in silks, tangled with many adoring limbs and soaked in brandy- coming to underwater is, to put it delicately, something of a shock.

Despite his startle, eyes snapping open to find no salted stinging (not the ocean, though his first thought was to blame Isabella), he does not lose his breath, he does not flail. His lungs do not yet burn for all that the frigid pressure of water weighs down upon him like the Grandmaster's disapproval, tangling about his throat like a firm, familiar (dead, very dead) hand. Light above and that is where he pulls himself, swimming with purpose until he breaches the surface, hair plastered to his skull, new, strange clothing painted to his slight frame as he rolls out of- a fountain? What in the Maker's name-

The sun is high but the air is like ice, prompting a sharp crack of frustrated Antivan as his teeth begin to chatter, golden eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. No dog. No Oghren. No Alistair- no one he could blame for this and-

"...il cazzo?" He lifts a foot, squinting at- "What kind of bullshit boots are these?!" He'd just finished breaking in the Antivan leather boots the Warden gave him- being cold, wet, and lost? That he can bear. The boots? This is too much.


Inn

First thing's first- fire. Fire and ale, food if it's available- or at the very least whatever it is he can con from the scullery maid. Shivering mess he knows himself to be, plying upon the softer hearts of whoever minds the hearth shouldn't be so impossible. Zevran's shuffled his way inside, bag and sodden boots dripping as he makes a beeline for the fire. In time with the squelching of his footsteps his voice lilts and stutters- "Freddo freddo freddo freddo freddo freddo le palle del Produttore è freddo-"

Stripping down without a lick of shame (he is cold, he is wet, he is miserable) Zevran shucks the clinging violet fabric with a grimace, standing shirtless before the fire like a lizard on a sunwarmed rock, soaking up the crackling heat. The sound that twists out of him isn't as soft as he'd normally like and far more indecent than he truly intends (for once). Black ink curls around his skin, etching out feathers and claws, scales and talons all the more revealed when he twists his hair up to wring out the damp, pinning it in place so his shoulders and nape might warm. Step one: Heat. Managed.

Step two- he turns wide, sad eyes on whoever is closest, hands clasped in front of his chest, all imploring innocence. When in doubt? Use common. The buildings (and weather) seem Ferelden enough. "I've no coin with which to barter but- perhaps I can make a trade of skills for food? Ale? Even a crust of bread, Ser, please-"


Perimeter

Reasonably warm, dry, and slightly less miserable than a few hours ago- Zevran settles the itching at the base of his skull, that dull awareness of needing movement and needing to know more of his surroundings by bundling himself up once more and taking a slow, wandering circuit of the village. From treeline to river he makes a winding way, gauging distances from building to building, trying to see how shadows might fall come the night. Not that he will need to make use of his stealth here, it seems, but you can take the elf out of the crows, but you cannot take the crow out of the elf. Or some such thing, Zevran isn't entirely at his best. He'll have a witty rejoinder on hand and ready should anyone prompt him.

Cold as it is? At least there is no snow. Or mud. Or mabari; though he does find himself missing the mutt. With Cousland and his pet, Zevran always had another pair of eyes he could trust. The warden found him useful, the hound? Liked the snacks and scratches Zevran could provide. Honest enough alliance, that. Something he finds himself surprised to miss but- this would be the first time he's been alone in-

His huddled in pacing slows to a stop, head tipped to the clear, cold sky.

It is the first he's been alone in all his life. It's a strange, detached sort of feeling, like a loose rib but in the center of his chest. Unmoored. Far from his home, far from his chosen country of exile, his companions- he does not even have his daggers. For all this there is but one appropriate word:

"Brasca."

Comments

Inn

[ataashihunter]

It is the Antivan that draws his attention. He isn't as fluent in it as he is in some of the other languages, mostly he knows how to ask for directions. But it all makes sense. When he sees the small frame, the tattoo and the blonde hair it all makes sense to him. The Arishok had told him about this one. Or not told him personally, but Bull had read the reports. He comes closer, offering the other the piece of bread he had saved from his dinner.

"Vuoi del pane?" His Antivan is pretty terrible. Some of the accents are all wrong and he speaks slowly. But he is speaking Antivan damn it. He comes closer, making sure to give the crow plenty of space. "Io sono l'Iron Bull"

[ombranera]

"Grazie-" Without much thought he accepts the bread, stomach working before his mind and eyes. Inwardly, Zevran kicks himself. So cold and so preoccupied with the heat he hadn't paid any mind to the inhabitants of the Inn- which is reckless of him. Stupid. Amateurish and dangerous with the Crows determined to find his head. How could he have possibly missed so large and broad a man as this? Sten had been tall, true, but this man, this Iron Bull?

Zevran swallows somewhat, instinctively letting his shoulders roll in, his eyes remain wide, his eartips dip. Small. Helpless. Harmless. "Sono Zevran-"

He is not so famous yet that he should fear giving out his name. Who cares about the elven sidekick anyway? "Do you know the name of this place?"

[ataashihunter]

Bull holds up his hands, showing that he has no weapons and then nods to a pair of chairs by the fire before he walks over to settle into one. "Pleasure to meet you Zevran." He smiles warmly and means it, then he shifts to common, he doesn't know enough Antivan to explain what this place is. "Most of us here just call it the South Village, it is a strange place. A... well, prison. We seem to be stuck here for no reason we can find. There are people here from different worlds, though we are a number of people here from Thedas now. You, me, Hawke from Kirkwall, Dorian Parvus of Tevinter."

[ombranera]

Common is good, he's understood, the large Qunari is slightly less large and the fire is doing wonders for his mood. Cautious (for one always must take care) he settles in the chair offered, subtly turning it with one foot to put his back to the wall and the hearth. To be warm, of course, not to keep a better view of the room. He doesn't at all worry for his safety- doesn't subtly sniff the bread for anything nefarious before taking a bite.

Simple, hearty, much like the rolls from Inns across Ferelden that he's enjoyed over the past year. "So we are taken from our homes, have our things stripped of us, get dressed in unflattering colors-"

Violet doesn't suit him, not really, it is too fair, too cool for his skin tone. "And dumped in water in the middle of winter."

[ataashihunter]

Bull notes all the caution the other shows and he doesn't say anything about it if anything he understands it all.

"Yeah, we are. Some of the colours are worse than others, but there are times where clothing will just appear. And... I came in in the summer. Not that it makes nearly drowning in the fountain any better but at least you won't freeze to death before you make it inside. Your backpack should have some dry clothes by the way."

Inn

[championofsnark]

Hawke's been scouting the outer perimeters and being slightly reckless going farther on her own. She knows that there are dangerous things out there and the caution's been mostly acknowledged, but she feels like there will be a day when knowing every part of this island will come in handy. So she's a bit tired when she comes into the inn hoping for some water and warmth. She glances up when hearing someone speaking, and her eyes instantly widen.

Oh Andraste. Even if she didn't recognize the fact, she'd certainly recognize the body. Hawke's made a lot of decisions in her life, and she wouldn't say she has much shame for the whims she went with. There's no real reason she blushes outside of some memories coming back, and that it throws her off guard to see him there. She's been near the fountain regularly to wait for her people, and it keeps spitting out people she does know, but would never truly expect.

"Zevran, it's me." She's fairly certain she hasn't changed much. Her hair is longer, her face is currently dirtier, and maybe a few extra shadows are in her eyes, but otherwise, it shouldn't be that different. The thing is, Hawke is great with flirting, and she's even great at tumbling into bed with attractive people, but there's always a touch of awkwardness afterward too. She's not that smooth. "Hawke."

[ombranera]

He perks up at the call of his name, head swiveling about to catch the gaze of whoever it is that knows him and-

Oh.

Hello.

Strong jaw, dark hair, flashing eyes- "Apologies but- have I seduced you before?" She is very much his sort, strong, lovely, more stunning than beautiful perhaps, a warm wrapping lilt of Ferelden to her voice. Something familiar and he does not whatsoever ache for missing the Wardens. Not even a little. But she- "I...do not know you, Ser."

It doesn't stop him from reaching out to tangle their fingers together, from bringing her knuckles to his lips. "But I would very much like to."

[championofsnark]

Hawke's response to that is full offense at first. He has seduced her before, and he does know her, and she's outraged he doesn't remember. She snatches her hand out of his and puts both on her hips, full of attitude and swagger and possibly some injured pride. For good reason! "Excuse me, now I may have only expertise in a few things, but sex is absolutely on that list, and we went several rounds until you were tired out, so you can just ----"

She stops right in the middle of the tirade, a little flushed, and a few things lock into her mind at the exact right - or wrong - moment. "Oh fuck, you're from earlier in the timeline, aren't you?" He better be, because she can go right back to temper in a moment, but she's fairly certain of it now. Hawke lingers in that moment of awkwardness and embarrassment, and then decides eh, shucking that off to laugh at herself and the situation. "Sorry about that, a girl has to take her reputation seriously, you understand. When are you from exactly?"

[ombranera]

"...You tired me out?" That is, of course, what strikes Zevran first. Beyond the aggression and the frustration and the fear, the indignant that says yes this is in fact a woman he would bed with great enthusiasm and vigor. "No offence intended, Mia Bella, but- Are you quite certain about that? I am not a man so easily tired-"

Ah, but. Apparently they do, in fact, fuck. Just further down the line. "Yet another reason for me to return as soon as possible if I've you to look forward to, yes?"

Zevran is not one to let a little misunderstanding prevent him from leaning on a point that apparently worked once before. "Ah but- if you must know? Shortly after slaying the Archdemon in Ferelden, ending the fifth blight. There were revels and wine and I Slept surrounded by lovely women- and I woke in a fountain. For a moment I thought, perhaps, Isabella was playing a trick but alas, no."

[championofsnark]

"Yes," Hawke says with an airy sniff, "you're not the only one with good stamina." She doesn't usually go on a rant about her abilities in bed, so she's very glad all of a sudden that no one else is around to hear her say it. Isabela's the one who likes to talk about it, on both of their behalf. Still, she decides to laugh instead, because this is all very odd and she hasn't been the one later in the timeline before. Bull and Dorian are both long past her.

Hawke smiles because oh good, that's a much nicer point to come from, and also because it cut exactly the picture she'd expect. "Well of course you did, being a hero who helped end the blight, how could they keep their hands off?" She's teasing; technically she knows him and he doesn't know her, but that's never stopped her from treating someone like they're already friends. "I fought at Ostagar, for all the good that did me, but thanks for the general world rescue. It mostly stayed intact afterward." Mostly was a generalization that she felt worked in this situation. "You know how it is, more wars to fight, more evil to kill."

Perimeter

[rebornpaladin]

It's been hours, though each one feels like the unspooling of years, since Shiro emerged into the village. He changed at the inn, into dry socks, the flannel undershirt and the denim jumpsuit. He rolled the bottoms up, cuffed over his boots, shrugged into the woolen coat, and left his wet things to dry by the fire and set out to try and get anything resembling his bearings.

It's not going great.

There's not a lot to take in, in terms of the village itself, and he went so far as to walk across the bridge, to the foot of the broad path leading up to the North Village, but the cold and the yawning dark - two things he's never been especially bothered by - seemed overwhelming. Not that they caused him fear, they only...

He's just so tired. Worn thin, it feels like, like the body he's in is made of paper. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see Keith's outline superimposed. At least they're okay. For now. Until the next thing. At least he knows, in the moment he... went, whatever actually happened, they were okay.

When he lifts his head there's a similarly bundled stranger standing up the slope. He doesn't catch what they say, exactly, as he heads in their direction. It would be stranger to divert, really, and the place is small enough that Shiro's determined to aim for better first impressions than the ones Altair or the Iron Bull got.

"Evening."

[ombranera]

The second set of footsteps hasn't been hard to pick out- but they don't seem to be much of a threat and Zevran is, well. Wrapped up in his own mind enough to not pay them any which ought to and does scream at his instincts when they shift about to meet his path. This place is full of such strange people- some from home, certainly but-

Observation has taught him of the villagers with whom he now resides- more than that they are lovely (many of them are) but that they each seem to carry some tension. Fear, fight, loss- each of them pulled from home and dropped in the middle of...whatever this is. It isn't something that can be shaken off so easily and without a form of reference as to how best to present himself, he defaults to what has ever been the most safe. Cautious cheer. He lifts a hand, stuffing it back in his coat pocket in short order. "Weather has you feeling restless as well?"

[rebornpaladin]

The tattoo and shape of his ears are interesting, and Shiro has to wonder how many different planets and races are actually represented here. Altair had said more worlds than he knew. The accent feels familiar, but that could mean anything.

He shrugs in response, corner of his mouth hitching up in the closest approximation of a smile he can manage, leaving his hand in his pocket. The empty right sleeve is tucked into the other one, not in an attempt to fool anyone into thinking he has two - least of all himself - but having the thing hanging loose had been unbearable after a few minutes.

"Not the weather, exactly," he sighs, squinting up at unfamiliar stars. "But I've only been here about six hours, so maybe, at some point, that'll be the cause."

[ombranera]

"More fresh meat for the grinder, so they say." He crackles a quiet laugh, all warm indolence. "I myself have only just arrived as well. Though I do have to wonder- what should be done if the fountain freezes over come winter?"

Will the newly arrived drown before someone is able to get through to them? It'd be terribly tragic.

Or hilarious, depending.

A gust of wind has him shivering despite the coat and, well. The options are stand and freeze or look sand and small, so. He looks sad, small, stepping close enough to make the taller human something of a wind break to spare himself the worst of it. "A strange land full of gorgeous men and women. If it weren't for the 'being taken from home' part, I'd assume this a marvelous dream."

[rebornpaladin]

It's pure instinct, born from years of practice, protecting people from the source of discomfort, distress, pain, whatever it is, as best as he can. In this instance it's just a cold wind, and Shiro shifts to shield the smaller man without hesitation.

His brain hesitates in processing the smaller man's words, however.

In all fairness, he has a point. Everyone Shiro's come into contact with so far has been notably attractive.

"Uh," he says, expression slightly blank excepting the slight, noticeable flush that darkens the tips of his ears and the fair skin beneath his scar, "yeah. The setting and being here against our will part leaves something to be desired."

"I'm- Takashi Shirogane," he adds, in place of extending a hand to shake. "Shiro."

Perimeter

[cryptoherpetology]

Alex had been moving impressively silently up until he heard the other man's voice. Not wanting his careful footing in the woods to be mistaken for trying to sneak up on someone, he lets his feet fall a little heavier, in places where he knows the ground is solid, even going so far as to break a twig or two.

"Hey, sorry to disturb you." He has several of the tiny bloodsucking deer dangling from twine made from dried vines, all dead, evidently caught in snare traps of some sort. "Hey, sorry if I'm intruding."

His is noticeably carrying a lot of knives, but isn't reaching for any of them- though the position of one hand suggests he might be able to go for one if it looks like Zevran makes a move against him, with his feet in what would make an excellent defensive stance with just one shift of his weight.

For now, though, his posture is open, if wary.

[ombranera]

A vague awareness of someone else wandering about lives in the back of Zevran's mind- but nothing about it spoke predator, nothing about it screamed Crow, and while it could be foolish to not pay it any mind- he didn't. This did not seem a place where he would have to hold himself wound so tightly as back home which...is something of a novel sensation.

To hear them approach properly does warrant a twitch of the ears, a sharp angling of his head that has his eyes shining in the dim light as he takes in the details. Human. Hunting. Armed.

Not overtly hostile. Safe enough, he supposes, as he shudders through another gust of wind, shoulders curling inward. "Ah, there is nothing to intrude upon. Simply admiring an unfamiliar sky and cursing the weather."

[cryptoherpetology]

"Oh, don't worry, it'll get colder," Alex says in his best attempt at sarcastic cheerfulness as he approaches closer. He has one of those builds somewhere between lean and muscular, but doesn't make much effort to display that in what he wears or how he carries himself. His hair and grooming have fallen to the backburner since the illness started spreading- his hair somewhat mussed, scruff growing in a little unkempt.

And right now, he's also got mud and animal blood clinging to the hem of his scrub pants, which are thankfully black, so the latter doesn't show up as much.

"I'm Alex. Local- uh, animal guy? At least for the time being- a lot of people are pretty sick right now, I've mostly been tending to the livestock. So if I'm not terribly good company, it's because I've been talking to alpacas more than people lately." He doesn't offer a hand, because his hands are pretty filthy right now.

[ombranera]

"Oh. Marvelous." Colder? And snow, most likely. He has no desire for either but, alas, this is where he has found himself. He huddles deeper into his coat, tugging the collar up as he tucks his chin low. Without a scarf or proper hat his ear tips tremble in the night's chill, emphasizing his shivering. "Zevran, Zev to my friends. I am learning the area, the people- the weather."

He attempts a sunny smile, though it is dimmed by, well. The chill. "Alpacas? Are they terribly talkative creatures?"

[cryptoherpetology]

"No, I think that's why I get along with them; they can't understand a word I'm saying," Alex quips in a mildly flat tone. "But they can be sheared for what I'm assuming is very warm wool come spring."

Okay, yes, Alex is dying to know what kind of species this man is- pointed ears and small frame- Bull did mention elves in his world. This guy certainly fits the bill. But that's not exactly first-time conversation material. You don't just go asking what people are, his parents raised him better than that.

As a result of his rather unorthodox upbringing, he really doesn't have the typical reaction one from Thedas might associate with a human looking at an elf. He's making direct eye contact, and by all appearances, genuinely talking to Zevran as an equal. He also doesn't have the inherent shock or disbelief that other humans in the village may have exhibited. His gaze flicks to the pointed ears every so often, clearly noticing the non-human traits, but outside of a flicker of that curiosity showing through his mask of scientific stoicism, doesn't seem to address him any differently than he would a peer.

Inn

[fishingfortrouble]

Phryne's Italian is, to be perfectly honest, not too great. She just about manages to recognize the overall sound of what Zevran is saying, yes. Or at least, what the language reads as to her, even if it's Antivan and not actually Italian. But picking out the actual words is somewhat beyond her capabilities.

The sight of someone stripping out of clothes that are clearly soaked and standing in front of the fire, on the other hand... that is something that's easy enough to read, given that the weather has very much taken a turn for the colder.

Still, she doesn't bat so much as an eye at his state of (un)dress as he turns towards her. She's never had much by way of shame either, and even she had, her stint at nursing would have at least seen to any lingering discomfort at seeing men in various states of undress.

"There's no need to barter. Not for that, at least. The food here is free to all."

[ombranera]

"Truly?" That is a weight off of his mind. Zevran manages a sheepish smile, ducking his head somewhat to allow his hair to fall over his shoulder, draw attention to the winding black tattoos that curve about his musculature, highlighting his most appealing features. "Grazi, Mia Bella, Shall I fetch a plate for you as well? It would only be fair, of course, and perhaps I might share a meal with someone so kind and so lovely?"

Shame isn't truly the order of the day and she is, well. Truly lovely and truly kind. He could throw his lot in worse.

[fishingfortrouble]

"Truly."

There's a nod to go with the comment, and while she doesn't (yet) ask about the tattoos, she absolutely takes note of them. Admittedly, it's not as if she hasn't seen tattoos before, but she hasn't often seen ones that are so graceful, regardless of whether or not there's any deeper significance to them. But that, she figures, can be something to ask about later. Once there's at least been a little bit of other conversation, first.

"And I wouldn't say no," she answers with a smile, and she means that both in regards to having a plate fetched for her as well as the prospect of sharing a meal. After all, Zevran isn't bad on the eyes either, and she can certainly think of worse prospects for a bit of company during a meal.

[ombranera]

"One moment, please, and I shall return with our meal." It could be demure. It could very well be subservient but- it did not seem the angle to take with so helpful a woman that looks him in the eye when she speaks, not over his head or at the tips of his ears. The game changes between one step and the next as his walk becomes something of a slink. The scrubs (such as they are) cling to him uncomfortably but will show off his thighs and rear end quite nicely.

Which he would mind less if not for the chill. As such he hurries a bit more than he might otherwise. Two bowls of stew later (thankfully not grey, the cook not of the Fereldan school of cuisine) Zevran returns as promised, sliding his new, best friend's meal across to her before joining with his back to the fire.

"Is there no commerce in the village? I must admit I find that strange." The lack of elves, dwarves, and anything other than humans also strikes him as odd but- he is adjusting.

[fishingfortrouble]

And a very excellent derriere it is. Nor does she seem to mind overmuch if he should happen to hurry more than he might otherwise have done. After all, she's not terribly fond of the current weather herself, and she can't imagine that being so recently out of the fountain is helping with that. And if this is the only chance she has to spend time simply observing that derriere (and the associated slink, which she has to admit is masterfully done), she can't say that it hasn't been time well spent.

But that, at least, is a concern for another time. Right now, however, there's the promise of decent conversation with someone who happens to be more than a little appealing, and that's more than enough to keep her attention. Not that she says as much, of course. Or not directly, at the very least. Instead, she simply offers a nod of thanks as he slides a bowl of stew over to her.

"Not as such, no. Although that might be due to the fact that there isn't anyone much to trade with. We're rather cut off, here."