[MINGLE] One-Man Show

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: Inari Shrine and elsewhere
WHEN: 25 January 2019 through ?
OPEN TO: All opted in characters
WARNINGS: Please warn in the subject line of your comment as needed, and remember to move anything turning adult to a new post.
IMPORTANT NOTES: Final reminders and informational links are here. Please label all top-levels clearly so that there is no confusion who they are open to and what they are for, and DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR TAG!
Have fun and ask questions here!

Comments

Zevran's Vision

[ombranera]

It is a sunset like any other in this muddy, morbid city- cats in the alley and on the rooftops? Slim figures darting from shadow to shadow, bounding alongside one another as laughter crackles through the air. A slim woman catches Zevran about the waist, tumbling him to a stop, rolling them over across dewy tile until she's settled astride him, smile wide and eyes glimmering with mischief.

"I-" She murmurs, tiptoeing her fingertips up his unmarked cheek. "Caught you. Which means I get the bed tonight."

"And leave me to the cold floor with Tali? How cruel you are, Amora." Zevran's smile is a softer thing, here, a smaller curl. His hands glide up the woman's back to trace her like something worth worship, something special as she leans down to kiss him, rolling free to tuck herself along his side. They tangle and twine like kittens, eyes on the coming night. "You are to take watch for the mark, yes? Surely this time he will stay on the route."

"Tali has sworn that the course won't change- he apparently pinned down the mole. Soon? We shall be done with this contract and home to Antiva. And you and I shall take our share of the earnings for a week alone yes? You promised. You, me, wine- and nothing else. No work. No Taliesen lurking in the shadows..." She sighs, turning to kiss him sweetly. "Do you ever think, perhaps, we could...have more time? Just you and I. He is so..."

"You know how he gets if we leave him alone too much-" Zevran sighs, turning to rub his nose against her cheek.

"If YOU leave him alone. He hisses like a feral cat when you ignore him for too long." She pouts. "He doesn't actually own you, Caro. No matter what promises you think you made him."

"Enough- you have not known him as long as I have and I don't want to talk about this again. A week will be fine- more than that and he'll- I do not want to deal with him being upset if we take more than that." They lapse into silence, tangled, calm, waiting until night slips in properly.

The sun sets and she props herself up, dropping a kiss to Zevran's lips before rolling to her feet and slipping away, weaving among the shadows. Zevran remains on the roof awhile longer propped on his elbows, sighing in her absence-

A larger shadow peels off the roof from higher up- heavy footsteps as a man, tall, broad, dark of hair and eye, swathed with muscle settles behind Zevran, a proprietary arm curling about his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. Zevran's gone quietly tense for a moment before leaning back into the embrace, melting against Tali as he combs his fingers through Zevran's hair, playing with the golden strands. "She's right, you know. I did find the mole."

"Oh? This should be good. One of the runners? A beggar child that needed extra coin? A guard we have overlooked?" He tips his head back to peer up at Taliesen, lips curled in an impish smile that the larger man does not return.

"...Who has had the most time away from us, Zev?"

"What?" The smile melts away.

"We're always paired off planning- but she's always the one keeping an eye on the target-" Measured and steady and certain-

"To betray the Crows is death. Why would she risk it? What would she gain-"

"You." Flat. Tali's hand tightening in Zevran's hair, twisting it. "She's made noises, inquiries. She plans on running away- and taking you with her. Don't tell me she hasn't asked you."

Zevran is silent. Lips pressed thin, eyes flicking from point to point as Tali draws his other arm around the elf, drawing him in tight to his chest, crooning in his ear. More proof. More suspicions. Promises that this? This is true. This is right. This is real.

Somber and silent they slip from the rooftop to the alley where, surprise of surprises, the mark once again fails to appear. Tali is quick to step in behind Rinna, taking her hands in his wrists, holding her tight as Zevran unsheathes his dagger, his face flat. Cold.

"It wasn't me!" Still struggling, hair a mess about her face and shoulders. "Zevran, Caro- you know it wasn't me. I would never betray the Crows, I would never betray you-"

With every step Zevran takes she becomes more frantic, more desperate, her eyes wide, weeping- her voice warbling on her sobbing cries. Mercy, she begs. Broken half prayers in Antivan that mean nothing. When Tali forces her to her knees she keens, a long broken, wounded noise that gives Zevran pause for a moment- "I love you. If you ever loved me, if you've ever trusted me- know I would never betray you!"

Tali's eyes snap to Zevran and Zevran? Laughs. Cold. Cruel. Sharp as the dagger in his hand as he spits on her face. "What do I care for love? What do I care for you? You were a pleasant diversion, little more-"

The cut, at least, is quick. Blood splatters across the stones, across his boots as he draws his knife across her throat- her voice cut off abruptly in a wretched gurgle. "And a traitor? Is nothing to me. You were nothing to me."

Tali holds her until the struggles cease, until she's cold meat and little else. Zevran steps away, motions stiff, jerky as he wipes his dagger clean and sheathes it. Talisen pulls Zevran to his side, guiding him away, all softness and kind words into downtipped ears, but he does not respond. Does not so much as blink now that the deed is done. Taking a side road and another path across the rooftops, Tali again makes his promises, his reassurances. No one shall know what they've done, he says. No one shall care that they've lost a skilled member of the cell, they can say it was an accident. That a guard got lucky-

And it holds, even as they make contact with their handler, a tall, bald human with fine brocade and golden rings, peering down at their contract. He listens to their tale with a bored, almost indulgent sigh before cutting them off with a dismissive- "We know."

And the lie is broken with two words. He sniffs even as Zevran stands, shaken, stricken. "It doesn't matter. We found the real mole while you three were fucking about with your little- whatever it was. Another Crow has taken over this Contract and will see to the Mole and the Merchant after cleaning up your mess. Don't bother lying to Ignacio- and don't bother worrying over recompense. There's no punishment for losing a quill. What is one of you matter? You are nothing but semi-decent daggers at best. Nothing was lost here- well. Nothing worth keeping. You-"

He points to Tali, signing off on another scroll, handing him payment. "Completed your job well enough."

Zevran stands, empty handed, eyes hammered flat as he takes it all in. Tali attempts to draw him close with a hand, murmuring some manner of endearment into his ear- Zevran shakes his head, stepping away. "Return to Antiva, my friend. I-"

He swallows.

"I heard rumors of another contract that I might see to." He flicks his fingers to another scroll on Ignacio's table. Tali, reluctant to peel away, tries to take Zevran by the arm, pull him from the room but Zevran resists, leaning up to kiss his cheek as he twists away. The smile he offers hangs wrong on his face, forced and all the more obvious for it. "I'll catch up."

For a long moment Tali stands and stares, chewing over this moment before nodding and stepping away. The act fades when left alone with the handler, Zevran's shoulders slumping inward, his hands trembling. Ignacio remains preoccupied with the contracts on his table, nothing particularly interesting to be found in the brief moment of naked, raw grief on Zevran's face or the numb mask that washes over it afterward. He turns, voice flat, devoid of any of his earlier bravado or charm.

"The warden contract. What are the bids?" Ignacio's head perks up, startled, as though he'd forgotten Zevran was present.

"Ah- as they are wardens, as it is terribly impolitic to take out contracts on them? None have been made. But because they are Wardens and quite skilled? The pay is high, five hundred sovereigns. Do you wish to call your...guard back in, take it with him? The two of you might be able to manage..." Ignacio flips through the ledger on his desk, frowning. "How much would you wish to bid?"

"...five hundred sovereigns." A beat. "Minus the cost of hiring local mercenaries to assist."

"The entire payment? That is twice as much as what your friend earned for his contract, why would you give it up to the guild?" Ignacio's eyes narrow, his attention honed in entirely.

"Well..." Zevran chuckles, a weak, sheepish thing. "We failed, did we not? There is egg on my face. I need to reclaim my honor as a crow, yes? Prove that I am not so useless. Wardens or not- they are worth the coin to the guild. Besides." He looks askance, shoulders dropping, eyes dark. His voice is...rough, when he speaks again. "It is as you said- losing one of us means nothing. If I fail you still get the gold. What more does it matter?"

If he fails, if he dies? What have the Crows truly lost?

"...As you like." Ignacio turns the scroll about for Zevran to sign, swearing off the entirety of the payment save for ten gold to pay off mercenaries for the coming job, and stamps it with some finality.


When he is himself again- in these boots, in this place- Zevran finds he's fallen to his knees, eyes dry and hot, breath and heart tangled up in his chest. Again. Why did he have to live through that moment again?

[rebornpaladin]

The city is so beautiful, the sight of Zevran so at ease and visibly in love so surprisingly warming, that for a moment Shiro forgets to dread whatever's coming next. He knows, not details, not anything, really, but he knows something of Zevran's youth. His past. He knows, from the way his gut sinks when this other person is mentioned, when he appears and is controlling, overbearing and manipulative, that this is going to be bad. It will be very bad.

He still isn't ready for the visceral recoil that goes through him as it happens, as Zevran murders a girl who loves him while she screams and begs for her life. The violence in Altair's memory had been terrible, the overwhelming cruelty of what had been inflicted on him hard to take.

This is something else completely.

By the time it ends, at least he knows his suspicions about Zevran's story, of failing to kill the Grey Wardens, weren't unfounded. It had been a suicide attempt. Given the preceding events, he's hardly shocked by it.

He goes down to one knee by Zevran, clear in his periphery, but doesn't touch him. Zevran is not someone who needs to be touched against his will or without permission, ever again.

Shiro can't ask if he's all right.

"Breathe," he says quietly, instead.

[eaglesonofnone]

He had killed people similarly. Not as they were being held as such, except by his own blade, but he had heard all manner of begging, of bargaining. Never because they had cared for him, though. No, for him, it had always been pure self-interest.

Though wasn't it his fault that Maria died as she did, his rage getting the better of him, driving him to use the Apple against Swami?

He shook his head at himself and said quietly, "You have shown great resilience. You have healed. And while this blow still aches, that you have healed once proves you can do so again. In that, I have faith."

What he did not do was approach. He couldn't call Zevran friend. Friendly acquaintance, perhaps, but there was enough clash between their beliefs and lifestyles to prevent true friendship. But that did not preclude his support.

[youcantkillme]

Another vision. Another tragedy. One that, by everyone's reactions, actually has occurred, like the first vision they saw.

Connor watches the others draw near Zevran, close enough to lend support but not enough to crowd. For his part, Connor hangs back, simply watching. He has protocols for how to calm distressed humans, but there are notes there that include the fact that delivering humans to capable loved ones can help more than a stranger's reassurances.

Connor says nothing, and doesn't interfere.

[ombranera]

He can still smell the blood. Still see the pattern- dark spots on worn leather, a gift from Rinna, a reminder he could never get rid of until Jonas found a pair in the strangest of places. Jonas who knew something had gutted him, but never pressed. Alistair that wondered after his intentions in taking the contract against them- but never pushed beyond the walls and masks he wore.

Now his gravest sin is laid bare, his chest cracked open in a single, unerring blow to reveal the blackened, rotten heart of him in the cool morning light. So peaceful a place has no cause for blood and shadows and finely honed tools of the Assassin trade. It is a marvel the very stone under his fingers isn't reeking from the blood on his hands. He allows himself a moment longer than he should, his grief naked in front of men that have no use for him, no care for him- reminders to breathe as though it is not an obscinety that his lungs still fill, that his heart yet beats ere she lay dead.

Abandoned.

Forgotten.

Men with platitudes that ring hollow in the carved out spaces where she once lived, tucked as shards of honeyed light among the acid venom of Taliesen's regard. Humans- and he is always so careful not to resent them for the wrongs of a people they have never known but bile is thick on the back of his tongue as he represses the urge to retch.

Be still, be hollow. Take the silvered dagger of your mind and cut the sentiment from you like a broken limb.

In an instant his face settles into a blank mask, his eyes darken, his eartips dip. Zevran pulls himself back to his feet with a grace that was burned into his very bones, eyes slipping askance. Away from pity, away from too warm, too bright sentiment- locking on the one person the one thing that truly would feel nothing of what they saw. His eyes settle on Connor, and they are empty.

He is empty.

[rebornpaladin]

From his angle, he can see it, when the wall comes down, and Shiro watches Zevran rise without doing so himself. He itches with the want to reach out, but thinks that might be selfish. For as broken as Zevran must be, having endured that already, having relived it now, Shiro still has to honor the fact that he is radiating coldness and composure, and acknowledged Shiro's presence only in the effort it took to pointedly turn away from it.

He glances over at Altair, more visibly distraught than he entirely realizes, before bowing his head and scrubbing his hand over his face, leaving it cupped over his mouth. He feels ill, for a number of reasons, not least of which being the utter uselessness of not having a single word of comfort or real understanding to offer someone he cares about.

Maybe something close. Maybe. Something his mind shies away from, too much, that he's struggled not to let surface, but something. And even then, it's not the same. After a moment he braces a hand on his knee and levies himself back up to standing, watching Zevran's back.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. That it happened at all, sure, but more, more honestly and more immediately, that he saw it, that he knows this, now, against Zevran's will.