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

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.]

[Fenris continued on. The pen scratches on the page as he completes each virginal letter. But when he finishes the last curve on the S, he inspects his work with a pleased smile.

FENRIS.

The letters are still a bit unfamiliar. But he tries to memorize the combination , recognize it as his.]

Each letter corresponds with a sound, yes?

Yes. [Zevran spells it out again, pointing to each letter and sounding it out again for Fenris.

It really is delightful, seeing something that makes the typically dour elf so pleased. And for something so simple. But Zevran recalls it had been very nearly as exciting for him when he learned his letters too, a whole world that he'd been denied opening up for him.]

Write it again - ten more times, if your hand can take it. Then I think you'll have it down well enough to sign.

You are taking quite well to this, I must say. I should teach you all the letters and how the write them soon, no?

[He nods and begins to write the second set, feeling more confident. He's still smiling, though it's small as he focuses on his task. When he finishes the S, he looks up at Zevran, pen still held tight between his fingers.]

I-- wouldn't want to trouble you.

[He doesn't imagine he'd be a very good sport during the process as much as he'd really, really like to. Frustration at his own inability has always manifested in... less than pleasant ways. Usually by yelling at whoever happened to be near him.]

It will be no trouble at all, my friend. Consider it a gift.

[Zevran takes out a separate piece of paper, and writes his own name on it, in that similar, easy-to-read block text: ZEVRAN.]

One you can repay me with by writing me your own thank you note, in time, I think.

[Fenris chuckles, recognizing the E and N in Zevran's name, but not really certain what sounds they correspond to. He tries to mentally sound out his name and match them up with the particular letters.]

At this rate, I will owe you several thank you notes by the year's end.

[He copies down his name once more.]

You are always assisting me. Why?

Because I cannot rip people's hearts out of their chests, but I am entirely sure at some point it might be a skill I'd wish to utilize. [Zevran grins, setting the papers down to flit around the kitchen, eventually taking a cup from the cupboard and pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. Unbelievable.]

Besides, in the end it will keep me from needing to write you one of these tiresome letters again? I imagine before you know it you will have women all over the island sending you gifts!

[Zevran laughs into his glass. Of course he can't reveal his true motivation. It's far too sentimental.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject