Reunited And It Feels So Good [Closed]

[Isabela]

Zevran might not like brandy as much as she did, but at least he didn’t pull a face of disgust as the liquor hit his tongue. Of course, he was usually too well-mannered for such a thing – about as well-mannered as an assassin could be. The Crows valued manners almost as much as murder, from what Isabela had heard, although the graduates of that particular school could not always be counted on to practice it. It was good to know she hadn’t wasted good coin on something he found horrible anyway.

“Elunara is her name. She is an elf from Orlais I met in Denerim.” Isabela arched the curious eyebrow at him again. Apart from the ones in the sea trades and mercenaries, (and her favourite one sitting opposite her, of course), most elves didn’t travel much. The threat of having their head stoved in by a human having a bad day tended to make a lot of them cagey about even leaving their alienages. Orlais to Denerim was a fair trek. “I irritate her so naturally she decided to come with me to Kirkwall when I asked her.”

Isabela snorted. “Either that or she wanted to see how gorgeous you look in the sunshine instead of the constant rain, for a change.”

She had more to ask – the circumstances of their meeting, for a start, but Zevran came in with the question guaranteed to sour her mood. At least it was coming from him, which alleviated it a bit. “And you, my friend, what brings you to Kirkwall.”

“Not choice, I can tell you that.” Isabela took a long swallow of the brandy, the alcohol warming her belly enough to take the sting out of the memory. “Long story short – I pissed off a major prick in the Armada, so I had to go steal something valuable to make up for it. The owners didn’t like it much, they chased the Siren into a storm, and…we got wrecked.” She wasn’t mentioning the qunari here. If word got out she was responsible for the ox-men currently camped out at the docks, she’d be trussed up by a mob and thrown at them to make them go away. Not what she wanted. Plus, the qunari themselves didn’t know she was involved, and long may that remain the case.

She sighed. Her beautiful ship, reduced to driftwood, and a loyal, hardworking crew almost entirely wiped out. “I’m stuck here, for the moment. Can’t get another ship. And I shouldn’t go too far from the city, at least until I found the relic again. I’ve promised myself a little break, though.” She didn’t want to dwell, so she didn’t. “A good friend of mine – the darling Celeste Monroe, do you remember her? – is in port, patching up her ship. I’m hitching a ride with her for a couple of months, just so I don’t lose my mind. Repairs should be finished soon.”

 

[Zevran]

“Not choice, I can tell you that.” Isabela paused long enough to afford herself a swallow of brandy. “Long story short – I pissed off a major prick in the Armada, so I had to go steal something valuable to make up for it. The owners didn’t like it much, they chased the Siren into a storm, and…we got wrecked.”

The body of a single brow arched at Isabela. There was more to the story. That much was obvious but Zevran was not about to pry. She was entitled to her secrets much as he had been his in the past.

“I’m stuck here, for the moment. Can’t get another ship. And I shouldn’t go too far from the city, at least until I found the relic again. I’ve promised myself a little break, though. A good friend of mine – the darling Celeste Monroe, do you remember her? – is in port, patching up her ship. I’m hitching a ride with her for a couple of months, just so I don’t lose my mind. Repairs should be finished soon.”

The name was one Zevran recognized. “A person does not forget easily forget someone such as Celeste.”

While Celeste might have made for an interesting topic of conversation any other time, Zevran attached himself to something else his friend shared. “The Siren is gone?” His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth resulting in a gentle tut. “Truly the most tragic thing I have heard all day.” In toast, he raised his brandy glass, wafting it about in the air. “To the Siren,” he lamented before indulging once more of his drink.

A pensive expression furrowed the smooth line of his brow. Zevran did enjoying rescuing a fine damsel in distress upon occasion. Especially when such rescues might net him the most glorious of rewards. “What might I do to help you?"

 

[Isabela]

One of the many, many things Isabela liked about Zevran was that he didn’t come out with the litany of pity a lot of other people might have done. His expression said it all; he knew how much that ship, that crew had meant to her. He knew how much she valued her own freedom. Right now she might as well have been chained to Kirkwall, and some people might have felt it necessary to commiserate loudly over the fact. Zevran didn’t apologise for something he’d had no hand in, or pull a mawkish expression of sympathy. Instead – after confirming that he did indeed remember Celeste – he raised his glass to her lost ship, with the briefest of toasts.

“Truly the most tragic thing I have heard all day. To the Siren.”

Isabela downed most of hers in one go. Life was for living, and she didn’t look back, but Maker, she missed her ship. She’d known her from bow to stem, every knotted plank on her deck and hull, even where the fraying patches were in the rigging that she had been planning on getting fixed up before the storm (and the qunari) sunk them. And her crew. More than a few good sailors had been lost that day.

All because of one moment of softness that she would do again if given the chance to start over. She thought about doing the same thing as she had done in the past, and heard the screams of the chained elves in her ears as they hit the water.

Never again.

Zevran had caught her pensiveness, and his own brow furrowed (but only slightly – even concerned, Zevran’s skin seemed beyond wrinkling). “What might I do to help you?”

“If you could murder Castillion for me that’d be dandy.” Isabela found her smile again at the thought. Zevran had already removed one asshole from her life, and he would doubtless find a way to do another, but she wasn’t going to actually put him in that position. Besides, she wanted to throttle the bastard for herself. “But given that I don’t want you to have to deal with working your way through the fleet to find him, I’d settle for some more personal attention.”

The first time they’d been intimate, she hadn’t been an innocent by any means. That had been long gone before Luis even clapped eyes on her. But she’d still been playing at being a woman, and had been a little hesitant around him. Now she was well-versed in expressing her interests, and lidded her eyes at him. “If you’re in the mood, of course.”

 

[Zevran]

“If you could murder Castillion for me that’d be dandy.” Isabela suggested. Before Zevran could offer his very specialized services to her, she requested a different kind, “But given that I don’t want you to have to deal with working your way through the fleet to find him, I’d settle for some more personal attention. If you’re in the mood, of course.”

“Mmmm,” vibrated upon the sultry curve of Zevran’s closed lips. “I do like working my way through a good fleet,” he offered, dipping into the fount of innuendo he was so fond of frequenting. What Isabela proposed, however, he much preferred.

He set his mug of brandy aside, the taste for something far more exotic and tantalizing to the tongue wetting his thirst. “What kind of friend would I be if I denied your request.”

His arm sought out hers, hooking gently about the elbow. “And I am always in the mood.” No revelation, he was sure. No matter the circumstances for their reuniting, Zevran happily fell into Isabela’s bed, chair, floor, whatever surface was available for their use.

“Now,” he tugged her free from the bar, pressing her side against his. A slender brow arched, a hint at what was to come, “Do we have a bed this time or do we get to be creative?”