Over the river and through the woods (OPEN)

[elfroot]

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.

Comments

[hashshashinate]

Altair had been climbing the towers for this very purpose. He should've seen it coming. Then, at least, he might've been able to prepare mentally for the inevitable. Such a large river would never have escaped his attention in the Holy Land. Then again, such a great expanse of water would never have existed in the desert.

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

[elfroot]

Indeed, Cid Amon would have made a spectacularly terrible Grey Warden, the more Zevran thought about it. Which is of course why he reminded Zevran so very much of certain qualities he had found in certain Grey Wardens who did not act or behave to the standards set by others. Not that Zevran had met a wide range; their numbers did seem to be dwindling these days, for obvious reasons. In fact, he had only two examples on which he could readily draw, and both were so exceedingly opposite that it would not have surprised Zevran to discover Cid Amon was one such man, driven mad by the Blight.

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

[hashshashinate]

Altair rose from his crouch, straightening up while observing his companion. His first impression was a favorable one, if that Zevran was slightly overly loquacious. But then what had he been expecting from a man who talked to himself in the absence of having an audience? When compared to the staunch, strict silence of the other assassins, such conversation was almost welcomed. Almost. At this point Altair was certain he liked it better than Al Mualim's steely gaze and Malik's pointed silences.

"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

[elfroot]

"The best partnerships are often drawn up in the dark," Zevran added, quite cheerfully, now. "When you do not know the name or even the face, there's a certain...spontaneity I quite appreciate. Though...in the morning, sometimes, the results can occasionally be disappointing." He allowed himself to be lost in memory for just a brief moment. It would not be wise to embark on such experiences here--then again, he was not the sort to rule anything out. A few more days of this celibacy, and he was going to feel like he had joined the Chantry

[informational]

Badou decided that, someday, he would like to reach the point that where, for once, he did not wake up to the hardboiled problems of his life baring down on him like an angry, rabid dog. Sometimes, this was even literal, if Heine was waking him from a sudden slumber from a foot to his face. Whether figurative or not, is was a pain in the ass and only left him in a foul mood for the rest of the day

[elfroot]

Ah, the curious habits of others. Zevran turned--better not to show his blindside to a stranger, especially one who appeared to be having a bad day already--with his lower back against the balcony railing, elbows resting atop it for balance, watching the man light his cigarette wish some curiosity. (Never turn your back to a redhead, in any case. That was just asking for trouble!) This provided the best view of whatever it was the man was doing: it appeared that he was lighting some little scroll of paper on fire and, apparently, eating it

[informational]

Badou could feel the eyes on him. Hadn't this guy seen a redheaded cyclops in disco-puke chic before? What a sheltered man. It was annoying, thinking he was being observed like he was a side show.

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."

[elfroot]

What a...different smell it was. Not entirely pleasant, but neither was it as terrible as the aura of stench around Oghren when he had experienced an accident the evening before, yet still deemed it unnecessary to wash his pants the next morning.

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

[house_1_god_0]

At this point, House would take clinic duty as opposed to awful, dulling boredom.

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

[elfroot]

That voice was uncannily familiar, though it was not the same as hearing Alistair's dulcet, querying tones over the Junogam for the first time; it sparked a different category of recognition, one that Zevran related to the here and now rather than to the life he'd once taken very much for granted. He most assuredly had spoken with this man before, and even the topic itself was familiar, but the conversation had not been in person, nor had it been pre-caravan.

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

[house_1_god_0]

More than Zevran, House was well acquainted with the wonders of the Internet. Many a hooker had he talked to after meeting them on Craigsli--Wait, that's not quite fairytale appropriate.

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

[elfroot]

If only Craigslist had existed in Ferelden. Wanted: one competent hero to defeat Darkspawn Blight and Archdemon. Must come prepared to deal with extreme incompetence on behalf of everyone else. Those who are easily frustrated need not apply. But, as always, luck was not on the Grey Warden's side; he was constantly besieged by those who purported to assist him, and now not even Zevran was there to lend him aid when it came time to deal with villagers hell-bent, it seemed, on doing nothing in the face of adversity. Even in Antiva it was not so difficult to rally men to action. One could always count on an Antivan to do the wrong thing--but at least they were doing something in the first place!

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

[elfroot]

Now here was an intriguing fellow, and uncommonly well-dressed, at that. It was always something Zevran noticed--clothes not being the most important detail, but it certainly helped him to get the measure of a man. His voice was not immediately recognizable; it was not to say that he had not spoken over the intricate junogam device before, but Zevran, certainly, had not spoken with him. Not yet. How unfortunate. Yet this meeting was to change all that, and it was a pleasant interruption indeed