(Untitled)

[rogue_crow]

[It's impossible for Zevran to define how he feels upon returning to Mayfield, after years away from the place. Of course, upon returning to his own world he had no memory of ever being gone, so he could hardly have missed the place or anyone in it - it was as though it had never happened at all. He had simply picked up his life as though he had

Comments

[wristsniper]

[She's in her "office" when she hears familiar, near-noiseless steps. Bracing herself for the worst, she drops everything and steps out into the hallway, her jacket merely draped over her shoulders to cover her bared arms.]

You're back?

[rogue_crow]

[Well, that's one question - one of the most important questions - reassuringly answered.

That he may be in for a punch to the face, depending on how long he was gone, doesn't escape him. But he gives her a roguish smile all the same.] I could hardly leave you here, yes? Who would you throw things at?

[wristsniper]

[She moves her hand so that she can massage one of her temples with her thumb. Her mind is a jumble of thoughts right now, none of them good or sensible.

If he's going to keep getting droned, she's going to start getting angry. But, notably, she can't look at him. She refuses to make eye contact, preferring to stare at the wall directly across from where she's standing.]

Cheeky son of a bitch. What the hell did you do to get droned, anyway?

[rogue_crow]

[Well, that's a loaded question, and delivered in a loaded way. It's never good when she avoids looking at him.

And the only honest answer is a loaded answer.] ...I went home.

[wristsniper]

[Now, she looks at him. There's concern in her eyes that only someone who had worked closely with her would identify--concern over his integrity, over how he'll handle things, perhaps concern over something that she won't admit to.]

Home? [Like she did, of course.] How long?

[rogue_crow]

[He knows she's not going to like the answer. It was a hell of a long time, on his end.] Five years? Six? I did not truly keep track. How much older do I look?

[wristsniper]

[For once, she takes him seriously, looking him over with great scrutiny, head raised, arms crossed, features impassive.]

You don't.

[Five or six years. She'd only been gone for one, and it was enough to dull her senses and emotions about this place. Five years... She doesn't want to think about it.

She breathes in sharply, deeply, seemingly about to say something. The words never come. What do you say to someone in this situation? The best Olivier can come up with is absolutely nothing, and she begins to head toward the kitchen without another word, because obviously coffee is the only solution to this.

Of course, she has to walk right by him, and she looks entirely determined to pretend that he doesn't exist...]

[rogue_crow]

[No such luck for her. Zevran catches her arm, expression shifting to one of rare seriousness.] Olivier. [He packs a lot into that word.] I haven't forgotten. None of it.

[wristsniper]

[She turns her entire body characteristically sharply toward the touch, eyes narrowed, teeth threatening to be bared. The speed and violence of the motion shakes the jacket from her shoulders, and she flinches as she hears it hit the floor. It's an overreaction to the grip, but still...

No one else says her name like that. No one else would dare.

Breath tenuously kept even, she stares him down.]

None of it.

[A sick, foreign mix of denial and fear keeps her from asking if anything has changed. Memories aren't everything. This doesn't feel right. She doesn't want things to change, not now, not at this pace, not when it's all so out of her hands.]

[rogue_crow]

[He steps closer, putting him squarely in her personal space but not pressing his luck any further than that. He's the one all the time has passed for; even though his feelings for her haven't changed, it feels like hers must have given how long it's been since he saw her last...even though, thanks to Mayfield, practically no time has actually passed for her at all.

Though the fact that she's acting as though things are indeed different between them isn't helping to dispel that feeling at all.] How long was I gone from here?

[wristsniper]

A few days. [She doesn't really know. She holed herself up in her war room and slept when she got tired, save for the brief time she spent with Eirin.

Her gaze wanders, looking him over, scrutinizing everything she's learned by heart for even the slightest change.]

[rogue_crow]

[There isn't much she can see, at least not at the moment. Oh, there are more scars, a new tattoo or two, but none of it visible when he's dressed. Any changes she can see now are merely due to his being a bit older...and they're largely not physical. He carries himself with more confidence and less bravado; he's more capable of taking things seriously and accepting the gravity of them, even if he's no less likely to do so unless the situation demands it. And, more than anything, he's become aware of just how much difference one person can make, even - or especially - if that person is him, something he didn't truly believe before. And something about that self-assurance shines through.

He stands patiently beneath her scrutiny, waiting for whatever verdict she might hand back - and prepared to argue an unfavorable one with her, if need be.]

[wristsniper]

You've changed. Was there another war?

[Because to her, he looks more battle-hardened, worn more thin, tempered into the strongest and lightest steel. She isn't sure what to do with that at all. Nothing needs to change... She doesn't want it to.]

[rogue_crow]

Not quite. A growing rebellion in Antiva - against the Crows, in fact. Led by a former assassin whom they had been a bit too persistent - and incompetent - hunting. [He holds her gaze as he says this.] A handsome fellow, but he has been running me rather ragged.

[wristsniper]

[Despite her disbelief--and she's not sure she believes it immediately--she's locked into that gaze. She refuses to look away, and in that gentle wickedness, she's starting to believe...

This man before her, despite her best efforts and all the denial she can scrape up, is getting through to the darker and publicly better-known parts of her heart.]

Stop flattering yourself. If you've improved, prove it. I won't believe anything I can't see. So go on.

[It's a subtle motion, but she tips her chin up, looking markedly down at him for the first time in months.]

[rogue_crow]

I know you, Olivier. You would hardly believe anything you did not choose to. [He tilts his chin slightly, not so much in defiance as in challenge.] But I have proved myself to Antiva, facing down the Crows. I have proved myself to all of Thedas, facing down the Blight. And I have proved myself to you, more than once, facing down anything you care to name here...yourself included.

There is nothing further to prove. Either you believe, or you do not, and it is entirely your decision.