sixthiterationlogs | [ OPEN ] Il Sogno Va Nel Tempo

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[ OPEN ] Il Sogno Va Nel Tempo

WHO: Zevran Arainai
WHERE: Inn, Fountain Park, Fishmonger
WHEN: December 4th
OPEN TO: OPEN TO ALL
WARNINGS: Mentions of fish gutting and cleaning, Google Translate Abuse (hover over Antivan/Italian for translation), Spicy Storytime will have some sexual content. A lot. Mostly sexual content.

INN - The Barber of Antiva

It's early in the day when Zevran finds not one, but three boxes with his name written upon them well, he assumes Satinalia came early, especially once he gets a look at the contents. One has him grinning, fetching the store of shaving kits he'd found in the Inn, packing a bag before setting up with a message offer to the whole of the village.

Need a shave, trim, conditioning, scalp massage or styling? Perhaps you wish your hair braided in a fetching manner, or your nails filed and buffed. I will be in the Inn near the fire offering these services all morning.

It took a trip or two to find a kettle and platter from one of the abandoned houses, a large bowl for steamed water and towels from more of the same, folded and steaming with water as he bustles about a chair. An arrangement of lotions, oils, creams and soaps are set on the table next to him as he whistles a bright tune, straight razor scraping in a steady rhythm against the strop on his thigh. This is simple, relatively wholesome work- and an excellent way to learn all the village gossip. The fact that it would earn him some favor with the locals doesn't hurt either.

FISHMONGER- Fishsticks!

The second of the boxes prompts him to risk the cold, bundled up by the dock, floating a line in the water. He has done this before in sunnier weather, the height of summer- it takes stillness, patience, and a keen eye. Awaiting the proper opportunity. It works well enough, pulling fish up from the river, setting them in a bucket to carry back to the building for cleaning and descaling- bloody work to cut open and remove the guts and blood from the succulent meat. Guts to one bucket, fillets to another, Bones and heads to yet another for use in a stock later. It would be a simple enough past time if not for the mice that keep running across the boards and freezing his fish solid.

Once or twice he could ignore it, but by the third? He's swearing, swatting at the tiny mice, trying to protect his hard won spoils."Ho intenzione di trovare te e tutti i tuoi piccoli bambini grassi e bollirli!"

INN - Kitchen Takeover

"Andiamo a vedere alla spiaggia mentre splende la luna piena," Bottle of wine uncorked and at least a glass in his system to start (to cook is to drink is to cook, it's a rule. One cannot be done without the other.) which makes singing all the easier. He is warm, he has a box full of spices with which to cook, a collection of flour and eggs, vegetables and fresh fish. Perhaps someone else intended to handle cooking the lunch today but Zevran will offer any that sweep in with the intent of doing so off to the side, offer them a cup of wine and a chance to rest as he sets about kneading fresh pasta, stewing vegetables and garlic, measuring out spices and oil for a shallow fry.

He might be dusted with flour and have a smear of sauce on his jaw, but he's the brightest, happiest he's been since he woke in the frigid fountain. Flitting from where he is working the dough to where he is stirring sauce to where he is marinating fish to where he is mulling wine is less a jog and more a dance from surface to surface, singing all the while. "E tiritùppete – ttùppete – ttùppete – ttùppete – ttùppete – ttùppete – ttù. E tiritùppete – ttùppete – ttùppete – la tarantella la llara lla llá!"

FOUNTAIN PARK - Fire Dancing

Something he'd learned (on accident, he didn't mean to set part of the table on fire and he put it out QUICKLY so that must count, yes? Yes) was despite the strange mice and their freezing, skittering feet; he now has magic. Fire. And well, never let it be said Zevran ignored a skill. One must practice with their magic to learn to control it, yes? Yes. Or there will be demons. He starts simply enough, holding a flame in his palm, lighting a stick, dunking it in the fountain and attempting to light it again. Here is safe since, well. There is water right there in case anything goes wrong. As the day winds on he manages to direct balls of flame like spinning poi, carving quick circles as he spins around the lip of the fountain. Because he likes to live dangerously, of course-

Or be able to dunk himself in if he sets something on him on fire.

INN - STORY TIME With Zevran (option for Mild or SPICY)

The end of the day (a marvelous day, a wondrous day) has Zevran, full, warm, cup of mulled wine in hand, feeling far more conversational than he has been since his arrival. There are no Crows. No one has any reason to wish him dead, elves are strange but not lesser, the people here are as lost and lonely and bored as he. Why not take advantage and spin a few tales? He gestures as he speaks, plucking from stories of his latest grand adventure.

Mild

"So there we are, trapped in a cursed forest, mist to one side that only ever turns us about, werewolves on the other penning us in, and who offers us aid? Not the Dalish, no, they were tending to their sick, not the dwarves we won allegiance from earlier, they were preparing for the battle to come. But a Tree. A rhyming, living, breathing oak!" He crackles brightly, hands flicking up to measure the height and breadth of the thing. "Everything he said. Insult or assistance or question, all came in rhyme. It was charming for the first five minutes but then grew terribly dull."

Spicy

"This is- I mean normally a gentleman does not kiss and tell, yes? But you and I my friend-" A few cups of wine in while warm, loose, and feeling quite safe? Anyone could be his friend. He lists forward, hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes glimmering bright in the firelight, voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You and I both know I am no gentleman."

Zev's nose wrinkles as he snorts, a half stuttered giggle. "But this Contessa, ah- she had strange tastes no? She promises 'oh my husband does not satisfy me, oh he does not know what burns in my blood' and I, well, I have tried many a thing and heard of even more so whatever it is this lovely, and I do mean lovely woman with eyes like embers and a chest like two melons straining against her bodice? I am more than willing to try. Normally when nobles say 'oh this thing it is so kinky' usually it means 'tie me up and call me names' which, well. You do you, I suppose. But the Contessa? Had far more dangerous tastes."

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"Worse. She wished helplessness, but could not risk the marks a rope would give. Her self control was not much to write home about, tell her to sit still and she squirms within five seconds just to see if she'll get the strap." He sighs, wry and fond. "Ah, but her solution was- well. Quite risky. At certain concentrations there is a paralytic, you see, a mixture of nightshade and venom from a spider that will prevent someone from being able to move- but will not render them unconscious or prevent them from experiencing sensation. I was familiar with this thing for professional reasons, less for the bedroom. Imagine my surprise to find a wealthy Contessa hiding away a chest of the stuff!"

Even in Antiva? Such a thing is quite strange. Zevran props an elbow on the table, nail tapping it's surface as he lilts through the rest of the tale. "Now there is always a risk- enough to keep you from moving is just half a drop or so off of keeping you from being able to say- breathe. Or keep your heart from beating. This, I think, may have been the draw. The risk."

Okay now Nida's genuinely invested in the story. Mostly because he's half horrified of the idea of bringing poison into the bedroom. Weapons, maybe. Restraint, possibly. But poisons? Pretty dangerous. Of course there is another question about why someone would need that sort of poison, but Nida can easily draw that conclusion.

"A full chest of the stuff?" Nida asked, leaning in himself. Yes, he might be a touch invested now. "That's a bit excessive if it's that potent. Well... did you use it?"

Hyne help him, he has to know if the lady lived.

Granted now he really knows what Altair meant when he advised not trusting people, but he could have drawn that conclusion himself.

"Mhmm. And she wished to have another chest full if you understand my meaning." With a sly wink and another crackle of laughter Zevran sighs, combing his hair back from his face. "It is all very suspect, isn't it? That she would have so much and so I ask, because I am curious and because I do not wish to find myself dead, how it is she has so much and- her husband? The main supplier of this poison to the entire Guild. I was dallying with a Grandmaster's wife! So one way or another, I would likely be dead."

For the insult or for getting her killed. "Knowing that, well. She told me the usual dose and I took it back by about a drop or two just to be safe. She might be able to move her neck but there would be less risk of stopping her very fine heart."

"A Grandmaster's wife?" Nida asked, leaning in, propping one elbow on the table to support his chin. Intrigued. How in the world had this man gotten into such a mess? Better yet, how did he get out of it.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, raising his free hand to slow Zevran to a stop. "More important than that, how did you get out of that? If you didn't properly please the woman, it could have gotten you killed. But if you did, who was to say she wouldn't use the fact that you'd already done the deed to keep you under her thumb in this sort of situation?"

Not fully hanging on Zevran's every word, but it's such a close thing at this point.

"This is where my partners come in. See- I was meant to be a distraction, yes? I am terribly pretty and quite skilled with my mouth and in certain circles, this thing is well known." He didn't at all make a point of licking his lips as he took another sip of wine, no Ser. That would be terribly obvious of him, wouldn't it? It would.

"So while I am busy with the Contessa, my partners are investigating her husband, who we thought was a mere Merchant, for signs of treason. It is a very serious thing in Antiva, this treason, for which the penalty is death. In the crows- no one knows who the Grandmasters are so- to find that we'd stumbled upon one of them that was selling trade secrets to the Bards of Orlais?" He shook his head with a snort. "I did my duty and made absolutely certain that while she could not move? Her last few hours alive were spent in perfect bliss."

Because one cannot kill a Lady's husband and leave the Lady alive bearing a grudge. That would be foolish.

Really, the guy was licking his lips? Was he trying to put on a show as well? But he'd known people who illustrated their tales in such ways. Of course Nida didn't read the implication in to it because he was not used to such focus being turned onto him.

"The traditional penalty for treason just about anywhere is death," Nida answered, and shunted aside the way that hurt to think about. Just his past, didn't really matter. "So... you killed her. I suppose not the worst plan, because a woman of means with a grudge and connection would go after you."

Logical, even if merciless.

"It is truly a shame- had her husband not been a Grandmaster? We would have let her live. But- She knew enough of his trade to be a danger. I made it quick." He shrugged. Such was the way of things. "A true pity too, for someone so lovely and so passionate to have to die. Though I think the gossip made it seem quite romantic. There was an opera written based upon it not too long after. Without my involvement, of course, it wouldn't be proper for a Lady of her station to dally with an elf."

"Okay, now I think you're just talking yourself up," Nida laughed, pulling back with a shake of his head. Drunk people told the best stories. Ridiculous too.

He could believe everything but an opera. But now he has an answer for something. What this man is.

"You're an elf then?" he found himself asking. Was that racist to ask?

"I swear on my name, it is true! Three acts as they go over their romance to their engagement to their untimely demise- I think they had the act ordered by a jealous Merchant Prince or something? It wasn't very good. Operas that are rushed tend to be mediocre." He settled back, arm draped over his chair, posture open, skin pleasantly flush.

"What, the ears were not sign enough? Oh, oh- you are from one of the worlds without elves! How strange."

"No elves," Nida confirms. Does he eye Zevran briefly, yes, but only briefly. "I'd say there was only humans, but that wouldn't be true. Just mostly humans. I've come to understand that my world lacked a lot. Not magic, unfortunately."

Less Sorceresses would be good. But magic had made him feel strong, and he had liked that. Now he leaned back in his chair again, shifting his blanket to better cover his legs. Stupid wrinkles. They were pinching against his leg now. Of course the shifting could be interpreted (inaccurately) as something else entirely.

"So dallying with an elf in inappropriate?"

"It seems magic only causes trouble wherever it pops up." Which- well. Comes as no surprise to Zevran. Though he might expect the consequence not to be demons. He would very much like to know other worlds had magic and there weren't demons involved.

"Well- I have been wondering. In all the worlds without elves- when men wish to frown upon one another for whatever bullshit reason because that is what men do, what do they hold as superior? In my world it is Humanity. To be human is to be noble and just and good and smart. To be elven? Foolish, in need of protection, lesser."

What do they hold as superior? Now that Nida could talk about. He simply raises an arm and rolls up a sleeve to bare more skin. This. It's stupid, but it was a thing that happened.

"Ethnicity. Skin tone, because it marks you as from one region or another. Or being born within the limitations of a city state. And, of course, magic. Our world has a sort of natural user of magic called a Sorceress. They tend to go crazy, have a ton of power, and think it is their right to rule. Oh, and you have the military dictatorships like Galbadia, the Deling family has ruled there as 'Presidents' for a while and they like military conquest. My home was annexed and rebellions were frowned upon. So plenty of stuff to judge. People... just want to feel superior."

Was he not guilty of it himself, sometimes? Usually he based it on martial ability, though.

There's a long, silent moment where Zevran stares at Nida's face, then his arm to observe his skin tone. A long moment where he absorbed everything he was told with all due sobriety. Terribly somber, terribly serious-

Up until he bursts out laughing. It's a high, helpless thing, but by soft gasps for breath as he shakes his head. "That? That is what you hold over one another? Whether or not you will burn like a lobster in the sun? THAT is the petty bullshit you indulge in? Oh, oh Maker I needed a laugh like that. If ever a reason I needed to remember Humans to be as foolish and petty, there is one."

The laughter only makes Nida smile. Yeah, he isn't white, so he had thought it ridiculous for a very long time already. Someone else's amusement only served to underscore it. Someone no doubt more oppressed than he had ever been, or ever would be. Not that Nida had it so bad, but the point still stands.

"That's what people hold over one another. This is the petty bullshit people indulge in. Not so bad where I grew up. There you primarily got picked on for being an orphan, which could be pretty annoying because usually the people picking on you were also orphans so..."

A dismissive shrug.

"There must always be a picking order, yes? Those on the top wish to remain and those on the bottom need to squirm or some other such nonsense. Truth be told? This village does not seem to have such a thing. People are simply...people around one another." Which could be better or could be worse- until he has been here long enough to get a good eye on everything that is happening? He cannot say for certain.

"It has been refreshing? For someone to see me and my ears and go 'oh you are an elf' but not...look as though I am something that they scraped off their boot when they say it. Some are even excited? Like I am some exotic, gorgeous thing-" He preens a little, brushing his hair back, smiling sweetly. "Which I know to be true, but still!"

"That happens in smaller communities," Nida offered, which he expected the elf would recognize. "Infiltration of small communities where individuals have to depend on each other for support is always harder. Surely you know that? People are united by a common goal. But there is always the chance for those who make it worse."

The preening earns a little chuckle and a shake of the head from Nida. This man was clearly going to be the source of some interpersonal drama for people if he wanted it. Of course with his personality he might be able to soothe hurt egos which was probably an advantage. Clearly he knew how to use what he had.

"Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"Most of my work was done in Antiva City, I have not been sent for many contracts in smaller villages." But that would make sense. A sense of community would overrule the usual need for stature and status. At least it seems that shall be the way of things here.

He could get used to it.

"Who, me?" He makes his eyes wide and ever so innocent, his brows lifted, eartips dipped ever so slightly. The large, waifish look meant to project harmlessness. "I would never. But if you feel so moved..."

"Zevran," Nida said, leaning in just a bit, angling his head as if he was going to make some kind of move. Holding there for just a moment. "You just told me how you assassinated a Contessa. I don't think the waifish look is going to work. I wasn't the one drinking."

But Nida will reward him with a warm smile because his smiles are either warm or cold and a cold one isn't appropriate here. The man was definitely entertaining. He does reach out to push Zevran's cup back toward him.

"And why not? I mulled plenty of wine for anyone that might enjoy it- or do you feel you would be better prepared to mind your surroundings if you do not indulge?" A sharpness comes to his eyes- he may be in his cups but-

A Crow is a Crow, even if doused in wine. There have been hints enough- the largest of which is the lack of discomfort about the Contessa's fate, the lack of judgement- which has made him quite appealing on that alone. "But you are right- it is a trick that works once and only once, and only if I am not well known. Alas, you shall have to endure my honest charm."

"Feels like you're fishing again."

At last he pulled back, relaxing in his seat as he considered the elf. Again he reminded himself that he hadn't come here, hadn't really intended to end up here, talking to the man with his wine. But that whole observation, the keeping his mind sharp, it earned the smallest nod.

"I'm sure it's a trick that would work well on plenty of others. Just pick your stories carefully before that. Don't end with the death. No, be a rogue in another way. Leave her intact physically, but speak to how her heart longed only for you thereafter. Romance it up. Romance sells the waif story better."

At last his eyes returned to the wine, before shrugging. From what little he had learned of the man's world, this is going to earn more laughter. Perhaps even more because Nida's not exactly escaping from the expectation.

"It's illegal. Where I come from, it's illegal to consume alcohol before you're twenty-one. Which by my world's calendar would be a bit more than half a year. Though I suppose here less than a month. I've had some non-alcoholic sparkly for celebrations, played at drinking for certain assignments, but there you go."

And the sharp mind.

"Hardly." For once. The honest assessment- it is no fault of Nida's that Zevran goes quiet and still. That for a moment another face, another voice settles in place, telling him how to spin his tales for the greatest effect. Broad familiar hands and a kind smile when he performs well and-

He always did get a little maudlin while in his cups. It is well past time to switch to water.

"Illegal? That is odd." The laughter doesn't come, not this time. It makes sense to some effect- those that indulged far too young never grew properly, he supposes. It isn't something widely known, isn't something anyone truly cares about- the world is falling down around their ears often enough that the proper age for wine never comes in question. "I am, I think, going to fetch myself some black tea from the kitchen. I find it more palatable if steeped with clove and cinnamon- would you care for a cup of that?"

To sit and drink alone isn't unseemly- but to fetch a drink and not offer something of the same? Terribly rude.

"My world is now odd for alcohol laws, racism based on skin tone, and lack of elves. Just making sure I've got it all marked on my list. As to the tea, that sound nearly as lovely as my unexpected company for the night."

He can have his compliment, because frankly, Zevran is nearly as attractive as he clearly thinks he is. Perhaps it is just as rude to accept the offering when Nida realized that whatever supplies Zevran would be drawing the clove and cinnamon from would be a limited one. Frankly the place was cold, and he would welcome the warmth before braving the night to find his bed once more. Today had been long, even if it was his nice off day with no ice-mice incidents.

"Mine is odd for having elves, magic that ends in demons, and an entire country that handles most of it's politics via assassination. All worlds are odd, Bello." He huffs quietly, pushing back to finish his wine and make his way to the kitchen to fetch the steeped tea. Finding a pot and two cups is easy enough, water from the kettle that is still hot from the evening's meal.

He returns, spiced tea in each hand, sliding Nida's across the table. "But what is not odd is finding a way to navigate that strangeness, and this one. I, perhaps, am indulging in the realization that I am well and truly free for the first time in my life."

Bello? Must mean something. For now Nida let himself dismiss the word as he thought about the rest of it. He was going to have to ask about magic that ended in demons, because in his world it more... started with them. Sorta. When Zevran returned and slid the tea over he smiled and wrapped both hands around it, breathing a relieved little sigh at the warmth.

If he couldn't handle this much cold, winter was going to suck. He was even about to say as much when Zevran continued speaking. Free, for the first time in his life. That... definitely struck a cord. Enough of one to leave Nida looking down at his tea, twisting the cup in his hand as he thought. In a way the same was true of him. Here being SeeD meant nothing. Here Squall technically didn't have rank over him. Here he could be...

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Nida allowed as he finally lifted the cup to sniff at the contents. "And given your stories I believe it. However the value of freedom comes in how it's used. Make something of what you've found yourself with, Zevran. That way if you do go home, you have good memories to live with, and perhaps motivation to win yourself free there as well."

With that he finally lifted the cup the rest of the way to his lips and took a sip. And Hyne what a sip. Even with the smell to warn him he couldn't prepare himself for how good this tasted. Tea was never to his taste, it was bland (so was coffee), but this? This was good enough that he couldn't help the quiet little hum of pleasure at the taste.

"If only all tea could be like this," he sighed when he lowered the cup. He had been intending to drink it quickly, and instead he was going to have to nurse this.

"For now? I mean to enjoy it. Tomorrow? I will fill my hours attempting to be useful, I suppose. It will save me from boredom." And a bored Zevran is only inches from some kind of trouble. With the village being as small as it is? Probably for the best to keep busy and avoid causing problems.

There are a great many that would benefit from his variety of skills, the question will be in finding the proper application of them.

"Mmhm. Take any terrible, old, dusty tea you find, add a clove or two, half a stick of cinnamon as it steeps? And it warms the bones far better. And such things are plentiful enough in most kitchens, the spices do not lose their potency for more than one use." They last longer that way, especially if you simply continue to steep more tea in the same pot.

"Now if there was some citrus rind and star anise? I could show you a real good way of enjoying tea."

Edited 2018-12-05 23:32 (UTC)

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