Characters: Zevran and anyone else! (He's friendly and doesn't bite unless it's specifically requested.)
Setting/Location: Caravan balcony
Date & Time: Day 4, very early morning
Warnings: None, shockingly
Summary: After Cid Amon's little announcement, there's a great deal to think about--and do, presumably.
(
...but mostly over the river, it would seem. )
Comments 38
The mere sight of it made his stomach drop. And the man Cid Amon was beginning to seem increasingly feeble-minded--to leave such an important decision up to the passengers, when not one of them was a native to the area? It seemed like utter foolishness. Al Mualim would never have turned an important decision like that over to the brotherhood ( ... )
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Stranger things had happened. Zevran heard the shouting in the night; he knew of the nightmares, though he had not experienced them himself.
But all of that was entirely beside the point. Zevran was old enough now--and had been through enough--not to be distracted by idle daydreams; such deep thinking would be of no use when, inevitably, Morrigan grew so fed up with his teasing that she tore him limb from limb and digested him slowly over the ( ... )
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"I did not know I was disturbing anyone with my activities," Altair replied, drawing his hood back slightly, that he might better see and engage Zevran--who had apparently spotted his climbing. Altair kicked himself inwardly. He should have considered that, and it was frustrating that he hadn't. Window ledges meant windows, and not everyone was so courteous or forward-thinking as to draw their shutters at night. "As for your other suggestion... I arrived here alone. Not to mention I wouldn't know who to ask for such a ( ... )
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Sure, Badou was a wallflower and his entire career revolved around watching others and getting information, but having the tables turned was a pain in the ass.
His eye turned upward, finally, when the man spoke. To fill his patience meter, another smoke-filling breath for his lungs and finally, he spoke, the burning stick settling in his lips as his yellow fingers tucked into his pockets.
"Tell that to our wise and knowledgeable guide, not me. I'm not in the mood for drowning and this hasn't been the best few days, so excuse me for not having sunshine come out of my ass."
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Ah, sweet memories.
In any case, this man was missing an eye and appeared to be color blind in the other; what else could have explained his peculiar outfit? Zevran had seen a great deal of strange fashion in the past couple of days, but not all of it was unfortunate--and none of it as unfortunate as this. No wonder he looked so unhappy.
Despite all that, he seemed to have his wits--and his sense of humor--about him, and really, wasn't that what was most important? (Well, a handsome face, too, or a fine pair of breasts... But never mind that just yet.)
"I do not believe I asked you to be cheerful so much as less miserable," Zevran murmured, thoughtful now. "But, I agree; it is so difficult when people are disappearing left and right, and their taste appears to be disagreeing with the ( ... )
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If there were one thing that truly annoyed him, it was having to sit on his hands and wait for something to happen. House hated being idle. At home, he had a variety of distractions to occupy his spare time. There was the drama of bad soap operas, the interests of figuring out Wilson's new problems and relentlessly taunting and ridiculing his staff. So, good times all around.
But this place was a problem because he couldn't do any of those things. The beauty of Princeton-Plainsboro was that pretty much no matter what he did, Cuddy would never fire him. He was the best doctor, yet at the same time, the worst. So he was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted, even if it got him sued on occasion. Okay, once a month. Whatever. But here, it wasn't the same. He didn't have his immunity to be an ass, and judging on some of the characters here? He was the normal one here.
Ha. That was saying something, too ( ... )
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How strange it was to know a voice--and make one's acquaintances--before ever putting a face to the personality? This Willaknapp had more curious customs than even Ferelden, where men slept with their warhounds in bed beside them, not to mention with their boots on. Mud had its time and place in bedroom activities, in Zevran's opinion, but that, quite emphatically, was not one of them ( ... )
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But he was honestly surprised that it was Zevran. House was never that good at making friends, for obvious reasons, but based on their conversation over the Junogams, he was a cool enough dude. Backwater, in some ways, but that was okay with House. It was all the more to mock people with. He would have been alright with saying his snarky comment and leaving, but House almost, almost just smiled ( ... )
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Zevran shook his head, the physical motion just enough to turn his attention from the healer to the horizon. Ah, yes, there it was, in all its glory; an impressive and overwhelming sight, and this Cid Amon intended for them to cross it while at the same time offering no plans for how it would be crossed ( ... )
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