#corviva

The mark is some merchant come overseas to sell antique jewelry he's allegedly excavated from some ruins from the Donarks, boasting authenticity and importance to the natives he'd gotten them from. Rinna doesn't know if the jewelry in question is real, but she knows whoever's hired them has decided that they're important and wants this man dead and buried for where he really got them from; the employer's private collection.

What she does know is enough world history and knowledge on antiques to have nice, long chats with him. To get information out of him that Zevran and Taliesen might struggle to acquire, mostly because this man seems far more interested in the sway of her hips than Zevran's and because she knows enough about the topic at hand to hold the conversation. She imagines they've both run off elsewhere, as she keeps him on the line. They're all adults and have been capable far younger than this to look after one another, at least in noncombat situations.

Rinna pays him for the promise of a shiny, allegedly thousand year old necklace she'll see tomorrow. Laughing and smiling with him, as he buys her another three drinks. Places his hand a little too far up her thigh, where she has to let him down gently and excuse herself home.

The tavern they'd rented a room at is slow and quiet when she returns, light footsteps across the hallway floor as she lets herself into their room. The room's silent and dim, she suspects that maybe Taliesen and Zevran are on reconnaissance of some other sense. Or maybe just out drinking and enjoying themselves while she does what she does best, collect information and properly source how to use it.

She's halfway through taking off her boots, sitting on the edge of their shared bed, when something moves out of the corner of her eye. The boot drops to the floor with a gentle thunk, and Rinna places a hand on her chest to feel the thunder of her heart as adrenaline spikes into her veins.

This is hardly the first time she's taken Zevran to bed. Most of the time, it's a fun push and pull she inevitably ends up winning. Innan knows half the time, he's let her win just for the sake of the game or just impatience alone. The other half, she overpowers him. She isn't one for giving over power and Zevran seems to hardly mind, delighted most of the time for the attention she's willing to give him. The demands and tsk'ing condescension tend to light a fire under his skin.

They'd been in Denerim today, approached by a young boy passing her off a message. She's not sure Alistair or Morrigan caught the way Zevran's breath had caught when he saw the man they were supposed to meet. Or the discomforting roll of his shoulders when he'd mentioned a Taliesen. She had, which is precisely why she'd turn to defer to him about accepting jobs from the man. Zevran had simply confirmed the information and despite the crawl under her skin, she accepted a job from him.

Better to have the Crows no longer going for her throat, not to mention that funding saving the world is rather expensive.

He'd started flirting with her over the campfire, licking flames up the side of cookware she'd decidedly been stuck with babysitting for a while. It's only when they'd eaten and the others had dispersed, picking at the grime underneath her fingernails with the very tip of her knife, that she'd asked him what he actually wanted. Innan hadn't been surprised to hear his ask, a selfish and curious part of her wanted to ask who Taliesen is.

Instead, she'd kicked dirt into the fire to suffocate it and dragged him back to her tent by the scruff of his collar.

It's how she ends up sitting with him thrown across her lap, hands tied skillfully together and above his head while he rests his weight on his elbows. She thinks he can't get any more beautiful until he turns his head to look back at her and his eyes are wide, shiny with tears and pleading with her. He's struggling to say something, which she lets him do for a few more moments before she digs her fingers into his mouth to fish out the balled up piece of cloth she'd gagged him with.

Six months ago, Alice hadn't even kissed a boy, It'd started as harmless flirting, her own flirtations just teasing and light. The things Zevran would say back would turn her ears red but it'd been nice. Thrilling in a non life-or-death sort of way, something to focus on rather than the impending doom of all of Ferelden.

A month ago, Zevran had finally outrightly propositioned her and after a full forty-eight hours of trying not to have a complete freakout about the situation, she'd tried again. Explained to him her reservations, her inexperience, and after some reassurance she'd let him lead her back to his tent.

It'd opened her eyes, despite the Andrastianism ingrained in her (if she even believes now, every day makes it harder and harder) they'll likely one or both be dead before the turn of the next year. Why limit herself when they could be dead by tomorrow?

"I'm certain you could," of that she has no doubts, she'd learned better than that a few days ago. "I need a minute and you haven't even undressed."

Her thighs are sticky from the mess Zevran's left in his wake and distantly, a little ridiculously, she worries about ruining his trousers between the haze he's eased her into.

Rinna doesn't love that Zevran's main form of getting people to trust him to murder them is to bed them, some part of her feels a spike of jealousy every time that he has to run off on a job. But it isn't love, and half the time it's hardly sex so much as simply an act of deception; Zevran finds amusement in retelling exploits when he enjoys them and most of the time she tolerates those if only to get ideas of what to do next.

She feels the urge to murder every man who's ever laid a hand on Zevran when he returns with complaints of the way that he'd been treated. Every form of torment she knows flashes through her mind, even for slight grievances like the woman who'd slapped him on the ass in the market last week, but this one's already dead and she has to simply accept that while it may not have hurt as much as she'd like, there's nothing further to be done.

So, instead she wanders off to find a brush and a few pieces of leather before returning to him. Gently nudging his bare back with her knee under he scoots forwards and she slots in behind him, frames his waist on either side with her legs. Her toes wiggle as she scoots back a little to have more room to work with when she deals with the rats nest of hair this dead man has caused. "Nothing a good brushing and a bath can't fix."

@corviva

A little was certainly an understatement, but at least his assassin posessed the right amount of charm to talk him through something that would otherwise be rendered difficult. As their appointed leader, he really should have known better than to walk into a den of hired hands without Wynne and not expect to walk out with a fresh wound or two. He was still getting the hang of slipping around attacks, but the Circles only taught so much of taking an offensive...they couldn't have the mages thinking too much of themselves, after all.

So when he'd ended up with a poison filled gash on his leg, he could only count himself lucky that he'd had someone at his side to deal with such things. It was a long trek back to camp from here...

When it became clear no one else was around to flank them while they were down, they'd simply stationed themselves on the old stone floor. It was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever had seeped into him was not of the intention to kill, but simply disorient. That was...better than the alternative, but he still hated how disorienting it was becoming. He'd hardly registered the other's words in time for an appropriate response.

"You said it...smells like deathroot, yes? That sort of thing can give terrible hallucinations...I'd rather not be awake for what follows..." He grimaced, but nevertheless attempted to keep his focus on the other's observations. Zevran was an expert with poisons, to his understanding. Surely he could do something to...extract it? Reverse the effects? He was no mage of course, but if there was some way he could help himself with the other elf's guidance, then he would...anything would be better than slowly slipping into this awful sensation. It wouldn't be a good look for him.

"...Do tell me something can be done...my head is starting to feel as if it is melting..."

Luis hasn't done this in a while. Meeting Zevran had left her calm at home, tame enough to not trigger wrath and upset. All Naishe has to do is remind herself that one of these days, she'll be confident enough and strong enough to kill him. He won't ever touch her again, won't ever hit her and assault her again. None of it.

She'd come home with bruises, lovebites really, and it had set him off. The occasion scratch and scrape from brawling from whichever of the three Crows can be passed off as something he's done to her. Or being a klutz. But the distinct placement had made what it was obvious. He'd dragged her by her hair across their property, to the ugly box he'd called an art gallery.

She's always found the art on the walls nothing to be admired, the statues more unsettling than beautiful. There are many beautiful things in Antiva, but it seems like her husband can never find any of them.

The room has no windows, to protect the art from degrading someone had said to her once, but there's a fireplace. Candles mounted on the walls. He takes her clothes, something she'd only once refused until he'd practically ripped them off of her. There's always water, rarely food. Sometimes he visits every day, sometimes every other. It makes it painfully difficult to keep track of what day it is.

On the rare chance his house slaves bring her things, they never speak to her, despite the kindness they normally show.

Naishe expects it to be Luis, when the door starts to move, standing from where she'd been counting the tiles of the ceiling from a chaise. She's ready to apologize, to beg forgiveness. To promise him whatever he wants from her. But when the door pushes open, there's Rinna on her knees with a pick in her hand. Zevran standing behind her with tension in his shoulders.

Reflexively, she moves her arms over her chest. Rinna immediately moving to stand to avert her eyes from whatever they walked into.

Before being married, Naishe's experience consisted primarily of kissing boys, and occasionally girls, her age behind the store her mother owned. There'd been an elven girl once, Virevas, who told her about Ferelden and how the alienages worked and how at least we're free, compared to Tevinter. Naishe had spent two weeks running around with her until Virevas had decided on greater adventures and left.

Even then, all she'd learned is how to kiss with tongue and how beautiful bruises could be in the right context.

Being with Luis has been nothing like that, all hands and mouth. No questions, no kindness. All he cares about is his own pleasure and for that first year, she thought that's all there was. That she didn't have to enjoy it, it was just part of what she's supposed to be doing as a wife.

Then she'd met Zevran, sweet talker and beautiful and teaching her how to use daggers when she can manage to slip her way out of her and Luis' bed for the night. They've kissed plenty, Zevran bent over her when he'd managed to knock her on her ass for the thousandth time. Parting kisses when the birds start to sing and she has to run home before the sun starts to rise. Playful kisses to scrapes and bruises she's collected during their training matches.

It took a few weeks, before kissing pressed into the floor of Zevran's apartment floor turned into him worming his hand down the front of a pair of Rinna's borrowed trousers (you're not learning to fight in those ridiculous dresses, you'll break your neck trying, we're nearly the same size). And when she'd said "I've never..." he'd scooped her up readily to the bed he, Rinna and Taliesen share instead. Dropped her back onto the sheets, despite the thundering in her heart.

He promises to take care of her and all she wants to do is kiss him stupid again.

Dragging Zevran home is usually amusing, more than anything else. Between the three of them, he has a tendency to wander off even on jobs and get himself into trouble. Most of the time, it only takes a few minutes for one of them to realize he's gone and almost always do they get to him in time to keep him from actually getting into anything too stupid.

They got separated today, a rare chance of Rinna's usual foolproof plan and multitude of back up plans fallen through; by the time she'd cut her way through to Taliesen and they'd in turn cut their way through to get to Zevran, he'd been practically swarmed. She's been kicking herself the whole way home, limping while she walks and keeping an eye on the bit of her shirt she'd torn and tied around Taliesen's arm to staunch bleeding from a wound that will likely just need to be cleaned out.

It's Zevran, being carried on Taliesen's arms that needs the real medical attention and when they arrive home Rinna's already gotten to work as soon as they step through the front door. Shoes kicked off, hair tied off and pattering away into the bathroom to retrieve their first aid kit. And it's Zevran who asks the stupid question of how it looks while she's threading a needle as Taliesen tucks a pillow behind his back on the couch to prop him up.

"Like you've been stabbed in the stomach, idiot." There's no real bite to her tone, she's just stressed and her hands are shaking and her vision isn't holding straight while she tries to thread the damn needle. Usually, she would have realized Taliesen was looming over her before he could even touch her. Instead, he's taking the needle from her before she can even process he's there. Rinna doesn't even bother with a thank you before she switches instead to taking the balled up bit of shirt she'd demanded Zevran hold to the stab wound and replacing it with fresh gauze as she pushes down hard to try and force the wound to stop bleeding. "I don't think anything important got hit, thankfully."

The fact that there's tears dribbling down her face doesn't even register with her, that it's likely the reason why she couldn't get her eyes to focus to thread the needle.