sirenspull_logs | call me beep me

Entry tags:

call me beep me

Who: Fenris [

canavarum] and Zevran Arainai [

bloodyantivan]
When: After this thread; Mid-afternoon.
Where: Thedaspartment, ninth sector.
Summary: If it were up to Fenris, he wouldn't ask anyone to help him write a thank-you note. But here he is, asking someone to help him write a thank-you note.
Warnings: Does Zevran Arainai count as a warning?

[Fenris is pacing. He's a bit nervous, and that's translating very quickly into agitation - mostly at himself, and a little at the wailing car alarm off in the distance. He needs something to do, but seeing as he cannot just go along with Hawke to fight some spiders or something, pacing will have to do.

He wonders if he can find a sparring partner, someone with an equally large sword. Hmm.

But, really, he has not told anyone of his particularly-- deficiency. No one other than Hawke, at least, and despite saying the Book of Shartan would have been a good start to learning, he never really did. He'd asked Sebastian for assistance occasionally, and he could make out letters. But that was about it.

He considers canceling, considers just going down to the Re-l's office and thank her personally. It's always been enough for him in the past, that particular expression of gratitude. But somehow it does not feel enough. He'd seen the price tags on furniture. The chair she had sent him - and just for him - surely cost a hefty amount of coin.

Dollars.

Whatever.

And so he waits. Pacing. Twitching.]

[ooc | Wasn't sure if you'd prefer action or prose bb so I just...did both kinda haha.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Zevran returns home with the groceries. It's actually a very pleasant game to him, playing at house, filling the little ice box in their apartment with food, tidying up. It's like a deep cover job, playing out every silly little motions to be convincing at the part, right up until the point where he poisons the tea or elegantly slides a blade across a gullet.

(It's too much to hope he might not ever have to break cover here.)

He's humming a merry Antivan tune as he throws pen the door, taking the grocery bags into the kitchen.]

[Despite being used to Hawke barging in back in Kirkwall, it still doesn't make Fenris less wary when the door opens. Thankfully, the humming beforehand does help to calm his worries, and he crosses his arms as Zevran enters.

God he has no experience living with other people he's supposed to trust.

So he just follows after Zevran into the kitchen, hunched and fidgeting and trying to find the words.]

[The truth is, Zevran makes a little noise to announce himself on purpose. Even if it's just a cough or a fumble with keys at the door, he makes sure to announce his presence. Mostly because he doesn't want Fenris and Anders - both paranoid for understandable reasons - to realize that he could leave and enter the apartment without them ever being the slightest bit aware. People don't like to be reminded how sneaky assassins are if it's with anything other than tasteless jokes.

When he's done with the groceries, he leans back on the counter, arms across his chest, legs crossed, looking sprightly. He's taken to wearing 'regular' clothes, mostly for the illusion of blending in. Loose sports jersey with one of the college teams named on the front, tight T-shirt beneath, jeans: not wearing armor makes him look a great deal younger. And less deadly, which is sort of the point.]

So. Shall we take this conversation to the bedroom? [He wiggles his eyebrows.]

[He sighs, straightening his stance and looking Zevran directly in the eyes. He finds this world's taste in clothing strange, and Zevran fit in them fairly well. If it were not for the ears, Fenris may have had trouble thinking them from the same world.

Fenris, stubborn, at least kept his leathers on and shoes off.

So used to come-ons at this point, he hardly acknowledges them anymore. While moving to the bedroom would allow for a bit more privacy, he decides to come out with it. All this dancing and uncertainty was starting to get old. He could only take so much of his own cowardice.]

That will not be necessary.

[A pause.]

I would like to ask-- that you write something for me.

[A pause.]

Please.

[Zevran isn't really surprised by the revelation that Fenris can't read - after all, no one bothered to teach him until he was sold to the Crows. He smiles, not condescendingly.

This cannot be easy for Fenris. He's actually rather touched that he was the one Fenris trusted with this, though he supposed out of he and Anders, Zevran understood more, and was... not a horrible mage.]

So am I to play secretary for you? Fun! Fetch me a pen and some paper?

[Fenris nods, grateful for the other's reaction. And he wouldn't disgrace it by bringing too much attention to it. Thinking of anything that tied back to his life as a slave and the effects such slavery had on him always left a sour taste in his throat.

He simply moves back into the living room, taking a few sheets of paper and a pen he'd set down next to his armchair. He returns and sets it on the kitchen counter.]

That large chair over there- it was delivered to me by someone I met recently. I wished to thank her, as she had compensation refused.

She gave you a chair? That's a very fine gift. [Zevran is somewhat surprised. Then again, it would be hard not to fall for Fenris's gravelly voice and intense gaze. Perhaps he's landed himself a rich admirer. He'll have to give Fenris some tips on how to milk it.] You should also consider more than a thank you note - a gift of some kind would be appropriate, though it need not be directly equal in value.

But first of all, the letter. What is the lass's name?

A gift? [He thinks over it. A gift would be proper, wouldn't it? She may not have wanted payment of any kind, but she can't refuse a gift, can she? Even if it's just a small one. Hawke's gifts were never anything really grand and over the top anyway. They were thoughtful.

So he should consider something thoughtful.]

Her name is Re-l. I'm not certain what an appropriate gift would be.

[Isabela liked hats. Would Re-l like a hat?]

Well, what message would you like to convey? [Zevran hops up on the counter, nimble as a wildcat, legs crossed. The way he leans forward with interest sparkling in his eyes very much conveys a feeling of perching.] If your intentions are romantic, perhaps you should take her out to dinner.

I suppose you either do not care or were not listening when I said we only just met.

[Fenris shakes his head. Besides, he isn't sure he'd make the best dinner date.]

Perhaps I could do some work for her?

My hearing is excellent. Perhaps I should have said 'attracted' instead of 'romantically interested'. If you are attracted to her, then taking her out would be an excellent way to get to know her better. She gave you a fine gift, she clearly wants a chance to spend more time with you. [Zevran lives in a world where people don't just give gifts. In fact, before the Warden gifted him with his shoes and gloves, he'd never enjoyed any sort of gift. He suspects the Warden is a special case.]

If there is some thing in particular only you can do that she needs done, work would be a fine idea. Perhaps you can trim her tree. Or scratch her itch.

[There are moments when Zevran makes sense, when he seems wise and sharp. This is one of those moments, and it is precisely these moments that he feels he can trust the rogue. Even in between the flirting and blatant innuendo. Hawke's gifts had been his very first, but they were out of kindness rather than romantic interest. But then again, Hawke had found his gifts rather than bought them. Did that make a difference?

She couldn't possibly be interested in him in that way.

They'd just met.

They-]

Not everyone thinks as you do, Zevran.

[...but it is an expensive chair.]

...it couldn't possibly be some gesture of courtship.

I suppose asking her directly would take the fun out of it. [Zevran taps his cheek with the pen, looking thoughtful.]

I could ask her. Find out what her intentions are for my rough-edged friend. Elvhen solidarity, or something like that. [The chuckle in his voice indicates that he actually finds the idea of such solidarity, well, a joke.]

[Fenris snorts. He knows just as well as Zevran does that neither of them believe in that-- elves should stick together mentality. Neither the city elves not the Dalish have lifted a finger to help him, so why should he, in return, feel obligated to do so for them?

With Zevran, blood is not thicker than water.]

Or you could write the letter. We've only spoken once.

[What Zevran might not admit is that he's feeling a little protective. Not that he doesn't think Fenris can't handle himself, but just imagine the amount of brooding that will happen if he goes for this woman and things don't work out. Can't have that.]

Very well, what would you like it to say?

[Fenris attributes Zevran's actions to-- well, it just being Zevran. Flirtations and romances and matchmaking seem just right up his alley. If he were anything like Isabela, which to Fenris he rather is a lot like her, he might have asked to watch or join.

He thinks carefully about his letter. It needs to express his gratitude without sounding-- weird.]

Re-l.

I received your gift, and I would like to express my gratitude for the gesture.

[Zevran takes down the note obediently.]

Perhaps you should say something you enjoy about the gift?

[And Zevran will resist the urge to add a PS that says You should have his broody babies because he gets the feeling Fenris won't appreciate it.

This is going well. Perhaps he should go into work as a secretary. If the media of this world is to be believed, it involves some lovely stockings and tons of spanking.]

It is... remarkably comfortable. I fall asleep in it - though the cat has taken a liking to it as well. I do my best to dissuade its scratching.

[No, Fenris would not appreciate it. Or well, if he knew. Otherwise he'd just be mightily confused by Re-l's reaction to that bit.]

[Zevran smiles, barely hiding his amusement. Fenris is so cute when he falls asleep on the chair. He is sure this mysterious lady Re-l will enjoy the mental image of her elf friend asleep in her ever-so-comfortable chair.

(Zevran wants to try it out. Naked, preferably.)]

She will be pleased to find you like it so well.

Do you believe so?

[He's silently pleased with himself for crafting such an excellent letter, then. He's never really done this before other than his letter to Varania and that was more formal than-- well, this. He is, once again, thankful for Zevran's assistance in this, for now unaware of Zevran's thoughts about nudity.

Or perhaps he's just too used to Zevran thinking about nudity.]

Yes- that is enough, then.

One more thing.

[Zevran pulls out a separate piece of paper and writes on it, placing it on the counter. It reads

FENRIS in carefully legible block letters.]

I want you to copy this a few times. [He points out each letter.] F E N R I S. [And sounding it out it out, pointing to each letter] Ffff-eeee-nnnn-rrrrr-iiiii-ssss.

Once you've gotten the hang of it, you can sign the letter yourself.

[Fenris looks surprised. When he last asked Sebastian to assist him with his letter to Varania, Sebastian had merely signed his name for him. It looked quite elegant, swirled and flourished with loops. Zevran does not write like a prince, but he likes the look of his name without all the embellishments. His fingers trace each letter, familiar in form and sound but only separately. To accompany a sound with each shape -- the letters start to have meaning, to emerge from the abstract into something real, something of his own.

This is his name. Plainly and clearly.

He flushes, perhaps feeling a bit foolish for needing this sort of lesson to begin with, perhaps feeling a bit foolish for his sentimentality. They are just letters, it is just his name, given to him by his master.

But for a slave, reclaiming his name in both sound and ink is almost freeing. He holds onto that feeling, looks up at Zevran ~~with puppy eyes~~ gratefully before taking the pen. It fits awkwardly in his thin, long fingers. He'd held such things wistfully in the past, but he had nothing but mimicry and imitation to work off of. Still, the weight of it is reassuring. He studies Zevran's print before trying out the first letter.]

Here, it is a little bit easier if you hold it closer to the nib. Not so much your fingers smear the ink, but close enough to control. [Zevran finds Fenris's reaction almost overwhelming. It fills his heart with an unfamiliar warmth, unrelated to attraction, when those green eyes stare up at him with something that might be gratitude. He is embarrassed to find his throat suddenly wanting to shut. Leaning over, he helps Fenris adjust his hold on the pen for the second latter.]

Go on.

[Fenris tenses only for a second at the touch, almost immediately relaxing once more as he concentrated on holding the pen correctly, now. It fits between his fingers a bit more naturally, now, and he writes the 'E' with more ease.

He's hardly aware of their proximity. Or anything else at all, really.

FE

It's not very neat, but he wrote them. On his own. He did.]

Is this better?

Yes, excellent. Keep going. [He smiles and nods in a way that he hopes is encouraging. Zevran wishes he had cookies or something to reward him for a job well done. He's heard that's how children in regular schools do it - positive reinforcement. He wouldn't dare enforce the Crows' method of teaching, which involved detailed explanations of what would happen if a child was too stupid to learn to read and write both the common tongue and Antivan.]

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