[ Tamed him. Domesticated him. That is what Alistair has done- what being far from the Crows has done. He fetches him breakfast. He darns his socks. He rubs his feet, oils his hair, helps him patch his armor as though he was some manner of valet or personal pet rather than a comrade at arms!
For a tight, vicious moment, Zevran aches for the clarity of his youth. A target is given, the hunt made, the target killed. No ambiguity.
It passes.
His shoulder slump. This is domesticity and tedium that he's chosen- that felt good to choose. Why be upset about it? Apparently that is what families do. Bicker. Have dogs. Care for one another. On this edge of resigned he reaches out to poke the puppy's nose.
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Date: 2016-01-29 09:39 pm (UTC)For a tight, vicious moment, Zevran aches for the clarity of his youth. A target is given, the hunt made, the target killed. No ambiguity.
It passes.
His shoulder slump. This is domesticity and tedium that he's chosen- that felt good to choose. Why be upset about it? Apparently that is what families do. Bicker. Have dogs. Care for one another. On this edge of resigned he reaches out to poke the puppy's nose.
And the dog's while he was at it. ]
That is not staying here, Alistair.