qunari | IC Inbox

You die in a dream and you wake, yes?

[ Turning the knife on himself had been easy at first. ]

I wake, they glower, I laugh- I try to laugh and I am put under again. Another target, and poison. Another choice.

[ And that had been his lot. For days. A man could be brave enough to slice his own throat once. But after a time?

It would have taken its toll. And had. He'd seen it in his eyes on the ride back, that certainty that this was another illusion, that the moment would come again.

That steadying hand slips to his back again. Breathe. ]

How long they keep it up for?

After awhile it was no longer the room. It'd be the rooftops of Antiva- the Deep Roads under Ferelden, Skyhold. Different faces, different choices. Alistair, Rinna, Taleslin, Leliana- Morrigan and her child, Beleth, you- they let my mind choose the target. [ His laugh is low, crackling and bitter. ] At least they did not know who I put as the victim.

And then the rescues. I on the hook and those come for me- and it would be fine for a time. I would be healed, all would be well and again. The dagger, the venom, a pond, a cliff- a choice. They were in the middle of yet one more when Alistair took me off the hook.

Must have taken a while for it to sink in.

[ Longer still to forget those faces in that situation. He knows. He barely meets anyone anymore without considering at a glance the best way to disarm, to hurt, to kill. He's had to. Acting on it's another thing entirely, but...

Having that echo back to you in your mind, relieving it, having that possibility laid in front of you? He likely can't see any of them without remembering vividly what that was like. If he's kept his distance, Bull doesn't wonder why. ]

There are nights I wake and expect to be on the hook again.

[ Or he expects a knife to be pressed into his hand, a choice to be made. Better to remove himself from the situation. One more day and he might have cut Alistair's throat just to be done with it. ]

I go to the battlements and I think- I try to not. It upset Alistair. I kept waking and looking at him and wondering if now wasn't when I was meant to break his neck.

Gonna need resolution before you can let it go.

[ Should have left some of the bastards alive. If Zevran had the opportunity to kill them himself, it might have severed whatever tie he still felt to that place, that moment.

Now it just hangs there, a loose end needing to be tied up. Bull frowns, though his palm shifts, rubbing steady circles against Zev's back. ]

They didn't have one planned besides killing you, I'm guessing.

The Grandmaster of the First Talon was to come collect me, or so I read. They wished to make an example of me.

[ The greatest traitor the crows have ever known- of course they wished to make a ruin of him. ]

They most likely meant to drive me to the point of slitting my own throat before an audience. Teach the cuchillos to keep their place and be glad for it.

[ He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning back into that hand. ]

We argued- Alistair and I. He's gone to the Emprise.

Not any better on your own, though.

[ Which explained the visit. A quiet hum followed as he titled his head, watched Zevran uncurl slightly. ]

And it still feels like waiting for the other boot to drop, doesn't it?

[ Building towards a climax that big? Even if they lost their grip on him, the Crows could be sure he'd carry those scars for life. Might still fall prey to their plans.

Not here. He's not breaking anyone's neck, not cutting anyone's throat. Maybe there's safety in that knowledge. If the urge strikes, Bull stands a better chance of subduing him without coming to harm. ]

No. Too quiet. Too much room to question...

[ If this is yet one more iteration of their dreams. Bull, though, they had never quite gotten right if only for how exhausted Zevran had been by the time he arrived. There is no world, no life where he might be able to take him unawares.

No way he could kill him like this. ]

Bad enough when I knew the dagger was coming. Now I am waiting for the killing blow.

Know a little of what that's like. Not a good place to be.

[ There's not so much as a flicker behind his eye, just the certainty there. ]

Every shadow hides an agent. Every person you think you know? Might be another knife waiting for you to turn your back.

Considering how much they were offering for my head the last time I was in Antiva? I am surprised no one had decided it would be worth the risk. It'd be easier for them to do so, now.

[ Down an eye, not sleeping well, alone in his room, unarmed more often than not, shaken to the bone, uncertain of his reality-

He's easy pickings. Only a mix of respect, fear, and loathing for the Crows kept those he brought with him from doing the same. ]

And yet you're still here.

[ More or less, in any sense of the word. But he could come back from this. It'd have to be his choice, and things would never be the same again.

But it was possible. There was fight in him still. ]

Had you not come, I would not be.

[ A near thing, that. How much longer could he have held out? ]

[ Difficult to tell. A man never knows his own limits until they're reached. But they weren't far off. The fracture lines were there, plain as...

Well.

He draws back, far enough to see the shadow play over the patch he's got covering his eye. ]

And I'd do it again. What happens now is up to you. But you get the choice, at least. Besides, wouldn't want those bastards knowing they'd won, would we?

[ He tries to tilt his face away for a moment before giving up on the attempt. It does not matter- not to Bull. This is his vanity at work, nothing more.

With more hesitance than it probably deserves, Zevran tugs the patch off, blinking in the light. Nothing on the one side but a milky, film over his eye, scars along his cheek and brow. ]

I have spent most of the past decade living in spite of them and what they made me to be. Letting them win now...would be a poor end.

Mm. Kept the eye. I wondered.

[ The corner of his lip twitches up, and his fingers brush away a lock of hair, tucking it behind one pointed ear. ]

You don't get so lucky with flails. Wasn't much left when they got around to patching it up.

Detlef is a skilled healer.

[ He could have lost it, without the swift intervention of the mage. He shivers under Bull's hand- unaccustomed to contact from the blind side. To having it bare. Tentatively he reaches up to rest his hand under Bull's eyepatch- not demanding, not asking. ]

And the cut was not meant for the face. They were attempting to slice Alistair's throat. I always tell him to mind his left flank. He's never learned.

A stubborn Warden? Never would have guessed.

[ There's a moment's pause before he bends his head, just enough that the elf could pull the patch aside if he wished. It's a mess underneath, but he's sure Zevran's seen worse.

Tends to make most people flinch, though. Knotted scar tissue dipping low into an empty socket. Doesn't even feel like anything, anymore, though he sure as shit remembers the pain.

Remembers where he took it, too. Which was more important than a missing eye. ]

Let me guess. He feels responsible.

[ He moves the patch aside without hesitation once he's given leave to do so- and he has seen worse. Has caused worse. At least he has his eye. At least he still has a lid to blink.

But it is as Bull said. That's why they have two. Suddenly all his knotted, gnarled vanity feels horribly foolish. Moved, he leans up as much as he can reach, moving slow as it is on Bull's blind side- and presses his lips to the scarred mass before letting the patch fall back into place. ]

The more he apologizes for it the more I am tempted to let him take the blame if only so he would stop apologizing.

Doesn't work. Trust me.

[ Bull chuckles, thumb tracing against Zevran's cheekbone, before one eyebrow hikes higher. ]

So...how bad would you take it if I said you still look hot? I mean really hot.

I would question your taste? [ He tips his face into Bull's hand, a hooked smirk settling on his face. ] I was trained to keep myself without flaw, more or less. To be appealing.

[ Sex was part of the job, part of his training, part of his identity for the better part of thirty years. ]

But I suppose I could...learn to work with this.

You're saying my scars don't make me look pretty? That hurts. That's hurtful.

[ Said even as his palm curves, cupping against his cheek, warm and calloused. It's not a lie, either. Zevran could definitely learn to work with the new mystique of his scars, learn to build a new mask for himself.

Those walls made things safer, or at least made it a little easier to be around people without snapping. ]

A ruggedly handsome Qunari is a different sort of pretty than an elf. For you it adds to the allure- for myself? It is a flaw. A defect. I'd not get away with charging near as much in a brothel as I would without.

[ But he could attempt to own it, he supposes. Wear it with as much pride as Bull does. ]

Pretty sure you could still charm a lady right out of her petticoats.

[ He doesn't point out that Zevran's not a whore, because when you spend your life honing your sexuality for the job the differences really don't amount to much. ]

I'd still buy you dinner.

Would you now?

[ He arches a brow, testing the idea. Speaking with someone over the stones- being intimate in that way- that he has done happily to sate the renewed urge. Having someone with him like this-

If anyone would be kind, if anyone would be able to understand him twitching away in the middle of it- it would be Bull. ]

And what more than that?

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