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Zevran's Thoughts and Indiscretions
Amicos
He is as dear a friend as Zevran would allow- and to hear of this Calling? Troubles him deeply. He is not so keen to lose someone he has come to care for in ways he cannot entirely understand. The closest he can come to it is calling Alistair his brother; there is a deep love for him that Zevran is trying and ill suited to expressing.
Alistair is solidly on his side of the border, though were he to ever change his mind, Zevran has called dibs.
Seriously, he called it years ago. He gets first ride on that griffon and will fight for the honor.
Alistair is solidly on his side of the border, though were he to ever change his mind, Zevran has called dibs.
Seriously, he called it years ago. He gets first ride on that griffon and will fight for the honor.
An old friend from the blight, Morrigan has ever had Zevran's respect for how she took the fate that was chosen for her and wrenched it back into her own favor. Not one to stand idly by, she does what she must, how she must, to see to her own survival. Having a son has softened her somewhat, but he would never say so to her face. If nothing else he can trust her to look after her own interests. As long as they align? They are well.
The similarities Zevran can draw between himself and Leliana are many- and the depth of them are staggering. After learning her tale during the Blight his teasing became less flirtatious and more trolling. All she has endured? She did not need him. Her faith and her resolve to see it through and be better than those that shaped her earned his respect. Her humor and kindness earned her his affection. As close to a younger sister as he has ever had, it is good to be working with her again.
Becios
A most handsome albeit brooding elf with a fascinating set of tattoos, violent coping mechanisms, and hair that looks as though he cut it himself. Zev has to say there is something about the tall, dark, and dangerous sort that he finds enticing. Fenris wears all the same bitterness and frustration on his sleeve that Zevran hides behind a mask- being around him? Is a little liberating. There is no need for an act or for a mask and they share quiet company.
And occasionally, each other's beds, though thusfar it's only been at the hands of Isabela that such a thing has come to pass.
And occasionally, each other's beds, though thusfar it's only been at the hands of Isabela that such a thing has come to pass.
There is something to be said about the attractiveness of fame- between that, the voice, the chest hair? Mm. But Varric is far more useful to Zevran as a business contact than he is as a dalliance and as such the flirtatious are teasing and light at best. Business before pleasure after all. Not that Zevran often holds to it but with a man quite so connected and canny as Varric? It's worthwhile.
Powerful, gorgeous, dangerous. She is the worst sort of trap and the best sort of patron. That she is courting his favor so blatantly and with all the same gestures she would use for another noble? Makes her twice as canny. That she actually means seeing him as a useful manner of equal with none of the condescension? Has him intrigued.
Sescios
Isabela, queen of the sea, queen of the duels, and queen of his heart. Well. Not seriously but she does hold one of the rare shards of himself he can hand out beyond sharing a bed or sharing a battle. She is a friend, easily and without judgement- though they do compare notes from time to time. Tricks they pick up, lovers they have had. Lovers they have shared. She is a familiar port in the current storm, a safe haven that he need not act quite so much around as he would for most others.
Also, Andraste's glistening curls, her mouth and the things it can do. Zevran is very nearly jealous of her talented tongue- or would be had he not learned quite so much from her.
Also, Andraste's glistening curls, her mouth and the things it can do. Zevran is very nearly jealous of her talented tongue- or would be had he not learned quite so much from her.
So fair and fine a thing he did not expect to find when searching for a source of traps- and find Cyril he did. Something in the Dalish beauty reminds Zevran of a porcelain shell wrapped around a core of lead. Fine, seemingly delicate and a bit of bauble, but with a surprising weight and strength to it one would not expect. Spending a night ravishing him was probably the best way to break in his new home- a bed is so much more comfortable after it's been laid in after all. Cyril is a playful, dependable source of comfort and pleasure when they are both of a mind. Whatever reservations Zevran had, however temporary, have been resolved.
Here he cannot quite choose what he admires most. The voice? The eyes? How expressive he is in bed? All of the above and more, please.
Here he cannot quite choose what he admires most. The voice? The eyes? How expressive he is in bed? All of the above and more, please.
Maker yes. Yes to everything. Yes to all of it. Every which way. The smile, the laugh, the equipment, the muscles- Zevran is more than willing to be invaded by this particular Qunari. Zevran thoroughly enjoyed being reshaped every which way, never before has he been so swiftly driven into that light, floating space where nothing mattered at all. Taas wants nothing more than what they choose to share and Zevran has come to see him as a dependable friend in scratching an itch. A plus, would tap again. Or rather be tapped by.
Perhaps after a day of rest, though. It was quite the workout.
Perhaps after a day of rest, though. It was quite the workout.
When caught between a rock and a hard place- Anders blew up the rock. Zevran doesn't judge him for what he has done; to be proactive in such a way takes determination and fear- what he is does not bother him. What he might do if everything comes unwound in the Inquisition if pushed to a similar place of desperation? That worries him. More than enough to take pains to see Anders settled. Reminded of his humanity with affection and desire.
A massive spy that is massively pleasing- Zevran approached on a whim and came away far more settled in his own skin than he can remember in years. Spies know spies for what they are; however, but Zevran is knows for certain that Bull has no contact with the Crows aside of the business end of his axe. That the Bull saved him when they came for him- kept a promise he'd supposedly made in jest? Means more than Zevran is able to put into words. One day he might be able to repay the kindness.
There are many things to enjoy of Orlais- the wine, the women, the men. The way the Nobility and the Chevaliers treat elves? Less so. As an Antivan before all else Zevran allows such things to roll off his back, but in Michel Zevran has found, perhaps, an opportunity to turn the tables on the institution. Disgraced or not, winding this handsome man around his fingers and leaving him desperate? Has an appeal. That somewhere along the line Michel has hooked his own fingers into a place Zevran thought long shut? Should be distressing. That he is not distressed- well. That bears worrying.
A fine figure with deft hands, quick eyes, and a wicked mouth. Fate is everything in himself that Zevran enjoys with none of the unfortunate flaws. They discuss tales and tricks, compare notes and stories of wondrous or absurd deeds done over wine or brandy. Every twisted tumble into bed lightens Zevran's mood all the more. That he made no attempt to treat him differently after saving him from the Crows, after seeing what was done to him- Zevran is endlessly grateful for the normalcy Fate offers.
Noble, clever, handsome- no, not handsome. Pretty. Horribly pretty. Beautiful in a way only those of the highest caste in Tevinter tend to be and quite skilled in bed. He has a wit about him Zevran enjoys, a mouth for much the same, and a causal ease about him that's carefully crafted. Such things are fun to poke at and Dorian's reactions are delightful.
Bacios
Svelte and Inquisitive, almost effervescent, Zevran finds himself intrigued by Ellana- She is lovely and kind and fresh- which is a stark contrast to another elven maid that she reminds him of. She is so bright and eager to learn, in fact he now teaches her how to play the lute and how to dance in return for kisses. Surprisingly enough that is all she desires and, again, Zevran is pleased to be of service.
It has been too long since he could have anything half as easy and light as this. She has attempted to point out the importance of having deeper relationships and while Zevran appreciates the concern- he is fine. Mostly.
It has been too long since he could have anything half as easy and light as this. She has attempted to point out the importance of having deeper relationships and while Zevran appreciates the concern- he is fine. Mostly.
Though fairly certain she could break him were he to offend her, Zevran finds Korrin enthralling in so many ways. That she is so passionate for causes close to her heart, so absolute in not putting up with what she deems bullshit? He is impressed. She is a fine friend for drinking and for kissing and every inch of her is lovely.
Her practicality speaks well of her and he must admire her distinct inability to give a shit about people she finds insufferable. It's enticing. They have had their fun, watching the progression of her relationship with Araceli? So much more amusing. He has come to see her as an anchor since his rescue from the Crows- no matter what comes to pass? He knows she will be there for him. It's novel.
Her practicality speaks well of her and he must admire her distinct inability to give a shit about people she finds insufferable. It's enticing. They have had their fun, watching the progression of her relationship with Araceli? So much more amusing. He has come to see her as an anchor since his rescue from the Crows- no matter what comes to pass? He knows she will be there for him. It's novel.
A templar that can flirt and roll with a filthy rendition of the chant is someone Zevran can mind and mind happily. That he is currently courting Pel earns him a bit of attention, but no more affection as he is otherwise engaged.
Gircios
Human. Male. Noble. Three things that have never brought Zevran anything but trouble in his past, and yet it is the quiet determination to take his place in the Inquisition without any particularly special treatment and Max's self admitted romantic streak that makes him an idle bit of contemplation for Zevran. Dallying with him would be dangerous- but flirting? Coaxing out yet another blush, keeping himself in the lordship's good graces? That could come in handy.
Idle flirtation is all that shall come of it, Maxwell is comfortably enamored with Gavin and as ill advised a match as he finds it to be- he'll not interfere. Well. He won't make it difficult- he will help them along.
Idle flirtation is all that shall come of it, Maxwell is comfortably enamored with Gavin and as ill advised a match as he finds it to be- he'll not interfere. Well. He won't make it difficult- he will help them along.
Cute is the word that comes to mind here. Eager. Young, easily, but not so much that it feels strange to Zevran. Lithe and well built in the way of most Dalish- Gavin is terribly sweet and twice as endearing, though somewhat clumsy at times. It did make the lovemaking more fun and less serious- something playful which he has missed in his dalliances of the past few years. Gavin is light and easy, and that in and of itself is more than enough for Zevran. He is terribly young at times and Zevran sincerely wonders how it is that he yet lives- but charming enough that his strangeness can be forgiven. There's a camaraderie there Zevran isn't accustomed to but...could learn to like.
With the settling of Gavin's relationship with Maxwell, Zevran has set aside the bulk of their flirtations in favor of an easy association.
With the settling of Gavin's relationship with Maxwell, Zevran has set aside the bulk of their flirtations in favor of an easy association.
The somber and dutiful tend to be quite beautiful, Pel's bearing is almost regal to Zevran, a quiet, unassuming grace that seems more at home in a lady of court than in a Dalish maiden wandering about the Inquisition. That she is so estranged from kindness has some small part of him aching for her, she seems to wish him to be a dream for her. An illusion of the perfect lover and as always, Zevran is happy to oblige. Especially if it grants him more of that unassuming sweetness.
They had their shared fantasy and spent a marvelous night together- but she has stepped into a path with a better man. In the interest of limiting complications, Zevran has stepped aside. Even after that has come to an end he's more content with her as a friend than playing the fantasy any longer- it's comfortable. Safe.
They had their shared fantasy and spent a marvelous night together- but she has stepped into a path with a better man. In the interest of limiting complications, Zevran has stepped aside. Even after that has come to an end he's more content with her as a friend than playing the fantasy any longer- it's comfortable. Safe.
Merrill is...strange to Zevran. She is sweet and kind and hardworking and naive and something about that makes him want to keep her from getting into trouble- not exactly a sentiment he is accustomed to in the slightest. But she is at the same time playful, deeply compassionate, and quite capable with her magics. Simply because she is kind and cares does not make a child of her. Teasing her is fun- especially when she teases him back. They read smutty literature together while spoiling their dogs. Not the strangest way he's handled his flirtations- and one he enjoys.
Ah, the broad shoulders of a smith and talented fingers of a mage, what more could an elf ask for? Sam is a little on the 'fresh from the circle' side, leading to a few hiccups in his conversations with Zevran, but it's all taken in stride. Hard to keep a grudge against someone with puppy dog eyes and is so very determined to do the right thing. Also: Tall. Every tall. Nice warm, large hands. Things with Sam and Krem seem to be progressing nicely- but the teasing continues all the same. He is, after all, a helper.
A gorgeous hunk of manhood that commands The Iron Bull's Chargers, Krem has a jaw, eyes, and breadth of shoulders with which Zevran would very much like to be better acquainted. The voice is lovely as well, as is his work ethic. A most capable and handsome man, Zev found his way into Krem's bed to relieve some stress during the mire mission- and has since come to look upon helping him with his personal concerns something of a quest. A few favors in the right place might see him off well.
Araceli Bonaventura y Castell, Rifter, Pirate, Rogue- and a terrible reminder of many things Zevran may never truly have ever again. That sense of freedom in his own country, the camaradarie that came as part of being the Crows, the lovely serving maidens in the taverns- the handsome bartenders- she is a slice of Antiva come to life and compressed into one burnished, copper package. With a quick wit and keen eyes, swift hands and quirked lips she has fallen into his favor easily with what they share of their worlds. What differences they have are enough to keep them grounded, but not so much they cannot enjoy one another. After she rescued him from the Crows the relationship has slid solidly into the almost familial- though he is still sorting out what that means for them.
Sweetly enticing and quite fair- Zevran finds himself drawn to this mage if only to tease. He cannot help if making him blush and sputter is part of the appeal- the rest? Seeing exactly how far that blush might go and wringing out some sweet gasps. They are slowly becoming more familiar with one another, never before has Zevran met someone that required quite so much patience.
Zevran has never before known an elf quite like Galadriel. From another world where, perhaps, things where different. Where they were more instead of less. Watching her is, on occasion, painful for the sheer waste of potential his own people seem to live in- then he remembers they are not his people and he moves along. He stands apart but basks in her light as much as she will allow.
A sweet, shy lady that he's recently come to know. Until they take one another's measure? Zevran is intrigued in the courtly role he plays for her. It is amusing if nothing else.
A face he didn't expect to see again- a child from the alienage in Denerim. He saved her and that leaves him mindful, but he cannot help her find those she lost.
A finer woman he has yet to meet, thoroughly Fereldan, entirely above his usual line of bullshit- and engaging with her wits and aversion to his tactics. He's thoroughly charmed by Mia- that she is Cullen's older sister only sweetens the deal. They play chess or read together now and then- especially late at night when he is trying to keep himself from the call of the battlements.
Socios
Fate had not been kind to Cullen when Zevran saw him last- it was hardly kind to him now with the state of the world as it is- but his bloodline? Was very kind. That strange, gaunt, terrified (and justly so) templar has grown up and won puberty. If there were a patron god of aging well? Zevran would slaughter them a calf or debauch a virgin or five in their honor because- well. Look at him? Look at him. The eyes, the shoulders, the JAW, the everything.
Of course, Cullen is also something close to being his superior, running the army and all. It wouldn't be wise- but Zevran is not always known to be wise. Flirting would be fun. He does blush so prettily, after all.
Of course, Cullen is also something close to being his superior, running the army and all. It wouldn't be wise- but Zevran is not always known to be wise. Flirting would be fun. He does blush so prettily, after all.
No matter how handsome, no matter how clever- THIS Rogue lost Zevran a costly bounty and for that he has his eternal scorn. Or at least until they share a glass of brandy and talk shop- Antivans resolve their issues with either violence or a good meal.
Or a casual conversation about boots and shirts and trading some information for the same. He still owes Scipio a half cape but all in due time. It is nice to have someone from the mother country.
Or a casual conversation about boots and shirts and trading some information for the same. He still owes Scipio a half cape but all in due time. It is nice to have someone from the mother country.
No matter how handsome, no matter how clever- THIS Rogue lost Zevran a costly bounty and for that he has his eternal scorn. Or at least until they share a glass of brandy and talk shop- Antivans resolve their issues with either violence or a good meal.
They've opted for a good meal and the hatchet has been thoroughly buried. Metaphorically, that is.
They've opted for a good meal and the hatchet has been thoroughly buried. Metaphorically, that is.
Strong, competent, dangerous, with a strong jaw and piercing eyes- Were it not for the constant reminder of some measure of devotion to the Chantry emblazoned upon her armor and his own sad state upon meeting, Zevran would have thrown himself at Maria's tender mercies immediately, begging forgiveness for his salacious thoughts- well. Not in all seriousness, but he would not mind being made to repent for his sins at her capable hands. They are quite lovely.
Quiet and keeps to himself, but has warm hands and a deft touch. Is not the most civil of company but is terribly pretty and terribly strange- would not take coin when offered so Zevran left it behind in his pack. Learning more of him would be wonderful. Especially since it seems as though he is hiding something quite dire. No one is this calm, no one is this civil, no one is this twitchy about thanks or compliments. Between that and the scars? Something is afoot. Zevran would know what.
Charming, but drunk. Lovely! But drunk. Smelled quite nice under the brandy- but very, very drunk. Zevran shall have to meet her sober some day. The name sounds familiar enough for him to be wary, but little more.
A lovely scout that is dazzled by him and he, in turn, intends to dazzle further. Competence in the face of a challenge is hot to him, and Harding has that in spades. Also those lovely dwarva legs. Mmmm.
Stealthy, wary, skilled, bit of an actress but not quite practiced. She reminds him terribly much of the young Crows that were better at playing with emotions than they were playing with knives. He teaches her what he can of how to be a better actress and a better spy- careful not to put her in a position like his in the past. He is so terribly careful with Beleth, wanting her to come away from their lessons well.
A troubled elf with temper and impulse control issues that would have seen him dead in the Crows. To keep him from getting killed or getting anyone else killed, Zevran has started teaching him how to fight better. Not quite the training he would give one attempting to be an assassin or even the full of Crow techniques- but ways to improve. Merrick has a habit of following him about and Zevran is both charmed and disturbed by this more often than not.
That Alistair is so intent that he NOT corrupt this lovely mage is half the fun. Being told he shouldn't is the best way to make certain that Zevran at least makes a token attempt.
There are shades in her that Zevran remembers well from his own past- with none of the caution and none of the mindfulness of her position or views that would save her and those she cares for pain or trouble. He's training her in the basics of being a rogue but there is an awareness it seems she needs to temper; as she is so young? It will take time.
The adoration this young man heaps upon Zevran is...disconcerting. But he is an enthusiastic student if noting else!
So much of her reminds Zevran of himself. She's been spared the worst of it, the rending, better to be a dagger than a honeyed blade. If he has his way? She'll never know the like of murdering from a man's bedside. She won't know anything of murder at all. Battle? A different dance entirely.
Sneaky little dwarva with subtle skills. Lovely, but still unknown. They are exchanging tactics at the moment.
A merc with a mouth and a mind. Zevran hasn't quite taken his measure just yet.
A foreign man from a foreign land that reminds him of a handful of Crows that didn't hate him and a lot of warriors from the Marches. He will have to cook him a proper northern meal someday.
Steal a thumb to keep a plague from spreading and suddenly you're a terrible person. Well. Zev is terrible but not for keeping everyone from dying unduly. The ensuing prank war has been an excellent test of creativity, though.
Sam fears him for being an assassin. Zevran finds it hilarious. He appears whenever he can, sharpening a knife oh so innocently. Watching Sam scurry away never gets old.
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