Ruth was more likely to spin a tale than discuss the circumstances of his mother's death. It didn’t make for a good campfire conversation for one thing, so he was grateful for the change towards a mutual friend. His grin turned mischievous. “I’m almost hurt, he didn’t mention me? Tsk. I obviously wasn’t being my most unforgettable self last time. I’ll remedy that for next time.”
The response to his flirting only brought out a further chuckle from the healer. Sometimes a reaction was enough to sate him, especially when one had been dangling mid-air by a leg for some time. Ruth shifted instead, attempting to gain a more comfortable reclined position. Still, he could restrain himself entirely. “I’d offer my meat, but that’s a different kind of hunger,” snickering, “I might have something, gimme a sec.” Hands went in search, pilfering through a few outside pockets before pulling out a wrapped up piece of meat. He’d sniff it for good measure, “should be okay.”
After tossing it over, Ruth would only shrug. “Not sure everyone agrees. I certainly didn’t want a passenger, and I’m certain the spirit with me is most disappointed with its luck in host.” Ruth wouldn’t wish himself on anyone, he was continually surprised that some of his friends, though still few and in single figures, tolerated him as it was.
Well, I do spend much of my time travelling. There’s usually much to catch up on when I do make it back to see Kershaw, or perhaps he just wanted to keep you all to himself. Zevran said with a grin, and then chuckled at Ruth’s comment about his meat. He was cursing himself a bit for being so tired, he usually was a lot quicker with the flirting and lines than he was feeling at the current moment in time.
Well, there’s always dessert. He said with a grin, and then tipped his head slightly when Ruth said to give him a second and started pilfering through his pockets, his curiosity piqued. Zevran caught the offered wrapped up meat and then sniffed it himself for good measure. Not that he didn’t trust Ruth, it was more an automatic reaction.
Ah yes, this will go nicely. With that, he pulled out a knife and began cutting everything up and putting it in the pot, while he busied himself, he looked over at Ruth. So, how do you know dear Kershaw? He asked, making small talk as he worked.
Ruth snorted. “I doubt it. We’re two grumpy bastards who share a drink on occasion. And on some occasions he stops people from killing my smart ass.” The elf shrugged, a heavy sigh exhaled while an errant thought crept in and wouldn’t let up. “Did shock the shit out of him the first time, mind. He’s a decent healer, I suppose.” High praise from the dale. Not many garnered a kind word, more likely a backhanded comment or insult was the norm.
His grin returned some as Zevran made mention of dessert. “I’ll bare that in mind,” he’d chuckle. “Oh… he joined us at cards one time. My crew was in Antiva for a job. I was.. Wasted, and high. I may have gave him a big snog and then… started a fight.” He had the good grace to look a tad sheepish, he was never good at behaving, or keeping a standard for himself. “No-one died, it was actually a bit fun. Until the Koss sent someone through the bar itself. Then it got a bit hairy with the dwarf.”
Well, I’m sure Kershaw will get a kick out of our meeting. It’s not every day someone stumbles in my traps that doesn’t want me dead, or vice versa. It was a nice change of pace really, having someone to share a meal and good conversation with. He didn’t get that nearly as often as he’d like, but such was the life he lived. There was a part of him that craved retirement, but an assassin was rarely afforded the luxury. Retirement basically meant dead in his line of work, but he was in his mid-40s now, and he wasn’t getting any younger.
It sounds like I missed out on a good time! Though with as much as I travel that tends to be the theme with me, always missing out on fun. Not that I don’t find fun of my own, it just, I suppose sometimes it would be nice to be a bit less nomadic and a bit more settled. Though I’m not even sure what I would do with myself if that were the case. He tried to imagine himself settled on some farm or in some cozy city home, but it was a dream that he struggled to truly imagine. Though he had on numerous occasions considered settling down in Amaranthine with his good friend Lana nearby, but there were crows to kill and countless miles to go before he’d be able to rest.
Ruth sat up a bit, shoulders instantly more relaxed now that the two discovered their common friend. Rest assured that for once, he’d not have to bed down worrying if he’d wake up with a knife in his belly. People were fucking animals when pushed to it. Chuckling, a shithead smirk began creeping along his face. “He’d be pissed he wasn’t with you to see it. Might actually crack a smile out of the dower fucker.”
Again, he couldn’t miss an opportunity. “I am a good time, shame I don’t have any whisky, otherwise I’d show you.” He’d laugh, though a drink would be heaven about now. Eyes shifted briefly to the cloudless sky above, musing over the Crow’s words. “I’d hate a city, but it does have its amenities. The eluvians make it easier to escape into the wilds, but truly getting lost has to be done the old-fashioned way.” He’d wiggle his worn boots back and forth. “And, of course, no tomb is ever just on the side of the road. Oh nooo. They gotta be down a gorge or through a fucking marsh.” Letting out a sigh, Ruth glanced over to the pot, “...what are you even cooking?”
Zevran tipped his head, whiskey did sound pretty good right about then. Even though Zevran generally steered towards wine, it wasn’t a rule, merely his first choice. Drunk was drunk after all, however one got there. Zevran then chuckled amusingly.
Well, we may just have to test that out someday, if our paths ever cross again. You bring the whiskey, I’ll bring a good Antivan red. He rather hoped perhaps one day their paths did cross again, so far Ruth was turning out to be quite interesting and a nice change of pace from Zevran usually being alone on his travels. He nodded agreeingly as Ruth talked about tombs.
I haven’t been to many tombs, but that sounds about right. Too many spiders, and way too much dust. Wreaks havoc on my sinuses. He stirred at whatever it was he was making, he wasn’t exactly a chef, but he did the best he could to get by. He stirred at it and shrugged at Ruth’s question.
In theory, should be stew. One of the only two things I can cook. The other being the general roasting of an animal on a spit. Well that wasn’t entirely true, he could also make sandwiches, but was slicing bread and meat and putting it together really cooking?
Ruth let out a quiet sigh, a little disappointed that their flirting wouldn’t go beyond an exchange of words. “Careful, Shaw will tell you. I am trouble,” he chuckled, grin curling at the corners. “And I’ll bring rum, I prefer rum.” Whisky was fine, but stung bitterly the day after. Somehow Zevran didn’t strike him as the sort to be as sour in the morning. No, there was some fun to be enjoyed if and when the opportunity arose. But alas, not tonight.
Amusement broadened across the healer's face, “Not to mention the shambling skeletons if you accidentally trigger something. Ruined too many a good cloak.” Tombs were fickle and tricky, capable of mild to mortal injury if not carefully examined. The addition of creatures skulking about just made them all the more fun though. “I dunno.. They light up quick with all that dust.” Not that he condoned setting them and their webs on fire, but sometimes one grew desperate when facing down some rather poisonous fangs, alone.
“Well… it smells nice?” he was sure that was half the battle sometimes. “Still… shame about the lack of booze.”
Zevran smiled at the word trouble, oh were it any other night perhaps Zevran would be pushier with his flirting, but before Ruth had fallen into his trap he’d found himself in a rather melancholy mood. Thinking about things long past, that only served to make him feel sad and a bit lost. A love long he’d felt once upon a time, and then had proceeded to try and fill the void it had left with partner after partner after partner.
He was forty-five years old, sure he knew somewhere out there he had a child. Probably. He’d been so young when he’d helped his pregnant lover escape the crows, and had paid for it with the lashing of the century, but no matter how much they hurt him, he refused to say anything about where his pregnant lover had gone.
It was hard being him, danger lurked on every corner. He filled his life with one night stands and friends with benefits because he felt it was all he really deserved, all he could really afford. Anyone he got truly close to would be a target. He sighed and then realised he’d zoned out. Ruth had said something about shambling skeletons and being set on fire. Zevran smiled and nodded, rejoining the conversation.
Ah yes, walking skeletons, always a fun time. I’m curious, what got you into delving into tombs? He asked, somewhat eager to learn more about his new friend. At the comment about the food smelling nice, Zevran shrugged, and grinned. I’ll take that compliment. I mean I find my cooking tolerable, but then I rarely cook for others, as I’m usually on the road by myself. So I have no idea what others think of my cooking. You can be my guinea pig! He said with a chuckle and stirred the stew.
There was truth, and a level of understanding of the assassin’s hesitation. Flirting was second nature to them both it seemed, though circumstances - being exhausted for one - neither would press the matter this evening. While Ruth himself lived on the attention, there were times when people were too much and quiet retreat was sought. Even those quiet moments were few and far between, or were ever truly without incident. He couldn’t help himself sometimes, the need to fill the void and yet keep people at bay, a vicious cycle of self sabotage.
It was only a matter of time before Ruth’s luck ran out. Not that he had much to begin with. Perhaps things would improve? Time would indeed tell and for now, he was blissfully unaware of the bloody consequences. (note: his eye).
They shared a moment of dissociation while each took a turn in speaking. “I’m Dalish. I know I don’t wear a vallasin, but.. That’s another story, for another time.” He shrugged, thumbs gesturing as they sat in his lap. “Our People have lost a lot, we know very little. Even with things as they are, things are scattered everywhere.”
When talk came to food though, Ruth could only scoff. “I was attached to a group of mercenaries for a number of years. I’m not sure if I have taste buds left.”
Dalish, ah yes this made sense, somehow. It made him think of his mother. She had been part of a Dalish Clan, before she left to be with his city elf father. Circumstances hadn’t been kind to Zevran’s early childhood and his mother would end up a prostitute. He’d often wondered how things might have been different if she hadn’t left her clan, or perhaps if she’d tried to go back to them instead of the life she ended up with.
In another life I could have been Dalish with a Vallasin. My mother was Dalish, but circumstances were not friendly to us, so I associate more as City Elf with a Dalish heritage I never really learned. She never liked to talk much about her time in the Clan. Maybe she regretted leaving, maybe her situation there had been so intolerable that she had jumped at the first city elf that showed an inclination of interest in her just to get way from the Clan.
I suppose, perhaps, I should be curiouser about our heritage as elves, and it’s not that I’m not. I just have such a full plate trying to dismantle the Crows and help the Red Jennies, I simply haven’t had time to think about it. The past pales in comparison to my present. It would just never be a real priority for Zevran. Sure if he came across Elvhen things in his work with the Red Jennies, he made sure it went to the right place, but that was different from making it one’s main mission in life. Then Zevran grinned at Ruth’s remark about not having any taste buds left.
How lonely your tongue must be without them. He said with a grin, a flicker of his usual flirty self showing through once more.
A laugh rumbled out from Ruth’s chest. “It is common among us deserters. Every clan is different as is every reason, though I’ll admit love is one of the better ones. If still stupid.” His head would give a small shake, arms stretching out a falling behind so his head could rest more comfortably. After a moment Ruth’s lips pursed, “My reasons were simple. My Father is an unfeeling, tyrant who’d rather see me cease to exist than take another breath.”
It wasn’t said in an attempt at garnering sympathy, Ruth dealt largely in facts and this was one about him that often spared him any further questioning. Again he’d shrug, “lucky for everyone I enjoy being too much of a pain in the ass to quit breathing.” If he could continue to annoy his friends and stick it to the man, he would always do so.
“Busy, busy. I’ve had a few run-ins with a Jenny or two.” He hadn’t, at least not the Jennies Zevran was talking about. “The past helps us now, given it’s walking and talking about Thedas.” He just had to think about Megara and how his best friend was now sharing their body, mind, consciousness with an Ancient soul.
Without missing a beat, Ruth’s quipped, “Maybe I just haven’t had the right dessert.”
Zevran was certainly enjoying his new found friend, it was a welcome distraction from the world. Not that he never met people in his travels, but as he was usually up to nefarious things that required being in the shadows, it made things slightly more difficult.
He tipped his head as Ruth talked about his father, and frowned slightly. It was always a pity when parents weren’t good to their children. Zevran felt a bit lucky really, he didn’t really have any memories of his father, he died when Zevran was too young.
His mother then had to go into a life of debt and prostitution in order to get by. All the woman at the brothel had been relatively good to Zevran, as long as he didn’t get under foot.
I didn’t know my father. I know he was a woodsman, but he died before I was born. I didn’t really know my mother either, she was forced into a life of prostitution after my father died, and then she died not long after giving birth to me. I stayed at the brothel for awhile, but when I was seven my mother’s debt was bought and paid for by House Arainai, so I was compradi. A word Zevran hated, a word that meant basically indentured slavery. He was bought and paid for thanks to his mother’s debts.
Zevran nodded about their past walking and talking about Thedas. He knew one of the Talons was an ancient elf, and one of the only houses so far that he hadn’t seen reason to go after. One of Aethra’s advisers was also an ancient elf, he’d run into once or twice in his travels. Then there was Nahreida, he didn’t know what to make of them, only that they were some sort of ancient Elvhen experiment, but he did know they were a magnificent tattoo artist.
For a moment Zevran got lost in thought thinking about the ancient elves and stirring the stew, he was brought back to the moment when Ruth mentioned dessert and Zevran grinned. He was enjoying the back and forth, even if he wasn’t as much on his game as he usually was.
You know, I knew someone once upon a time, that made it a ritual to always eat dessert first. Why save the best for last. Was he flirting, yes, was he flirting as well as he’d usually flirt, perhaps not, but he was enjoying himself.
It would be all Ruth would offer on his father. The man didn’t deserve the oxygen wasted in attempting to expand, nor was he one to divulge his deepest pain to a relative stranger. His friends rarely got such a thing. Zevran was an ally, not a friend, but Ruth wouldn’t rule out another form of acquaintance, not when his flirting was returned.
“...Now that is a ritual I could see myself adopting.” His grin was filthy, but the nights events were already weighing on the two of them. The heathen in him pondered, however. “I could be persuaded to taste, given how you’ve slaved over dinner. It’s only right, I provide dessert.” His head tilted in silent query.
Part of him was prepared to be shot down, though if the rejection came it wouldn’t be dwelt on. He’d shrug it off if the back and forth was all it was but no animosity would be felt over it.
Zevran couldn’t imagine how bad it must be for him to be the luckier one. As he wouldn’t categorise being sold to the Crows at the tender age of seven and then forced into the life of an Assassin, or else, as lucky. He wasn’t going to argue it either though, or push to find out what made Ruth’s childhood worse. No even though he didn’t know Ruth well, they had a friend in common, so that meant Zevran would trust his words and not push or argue.
He let the comment go, and then immediately chuckled at the comment about adopting that ritual himself. Then raised an eyebrow at the invitation that came next. When was the last time he’d just let loose with someone. Despite the heavier discussions about family, that had threatened to put Zevran in a mood by discussing them, he also realised just how thirsty he was, and not for drink.
Every time he was faced with this situation, his mind generally wandered briefly to Merriva. The one he’d had to let go. His life was dangerous to get close to people, but what could a dalliance hurt anyone? It would take his mind off things, make him feel better at least for a little bit. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and began to grin.
Well, who am I to deny you. He said, as he attempted to use some of his, badly learned magic, on the fire so that it would die down slightly and not burn the stew, all while leaning in closer towards Ruth.
Pleased he wouldn’t be prodded over things long past, Ruth shrugged off the returning silence. It was as it was. While he could often be cold-hearted and his temper get the better of him, he strived to be nothing like his father. There were times people deserved it there was no denying that fact, but the majority of those were strangers, distant acquaintances. None of those he’d call friend.
Well. Friends. Maybe. But certainly fun in many ways, Ruth was quickly finding out. As the light of the fire dimmed, the healer would smirk, easily following the other lead and leaning in. Only his hand would reach alongside, tracing softly along the man's jaw, eyes focused on the man’s lips. “Maybe next time you find yourself in Arlathan, we can have more than a nibble.” With a brief wiggle of his brows, Ruth pressed forward, closing the short distance to kiss the elf, deeply but achingly slow.
He’d thank Zev, in the privacy of his own mind for the new ritual. He’d make good use of it.
