milliways_bar | (no subject)

There's a girl, slim and dark-haired, watching him from a booth halfway across the room. She's not wearing any armor, though she does have a fine pair of leather combat boots.

A minute or so after the elf enters, she slips away from her table and approaches him at a neat clip.

She moves very, very quietly, though she is careful enough to remain in sight the entire time of her approach.

Many of her friends are jumpy. For one.

And once she is only a few feet away --

"Hello."

Now this is more along the lines of what he expects and what he is used to. After all, he is a member of the Antivan Crows, used to commanding what little respect people generally cede to assassins and thieves.

That aside, he appreciates the way she moves.

"Hello." The girl is the recipient of a sweeping bow and when he stands, the two of them are at about eye level. It's most welcome. One gets so weary of always having to look up at humans, although he ought to be used to it by now. Sadly, it's yet another fact of life.

"You wear a lovely pair of boots, my friend. Leather, no?" If time and circumstance permit, there may be a closer inspection later on.

Assassins (and thieves) have to stick together.

X looks a little startled at the bow, eyes widening slightly above a fairly expressionless rest of her face.

"Yes. They are leather."

Beat.

"I like them."

In case that was going to be his next question. Stranger things have happened.

Ferelden is stranger than he thought. A smile crosses his face, lights it. "Is that not usually the case? We wear what we find comfortable, flattering, and useful. Not necessarily in that order."

His eyes scan the room. Bah, rats: one would think with all the dogs these Fereldans like to keep, the rodent population would be smaller. But no mind; his eyes flick back to the boots.

"Where I am from, there is a leather factory. When I was a child I watched them make boots all day long." When he was a very young child indeed. "There is something comforting in watching them take the hide and stretch and form it. Something charming about the process and the scents filling the air. But I digress. Let me introduce myself: my name is Zevran." Another bow, less exaggerated this time.

"And what should I call you other than beautiful, my friend?"

"Useful is better."

X sounds absolutely certain of that.

(Useful also makes more sense. This is important.)

She listens to Zevran's story, head tilting very slightly.

"I watched people fight. When I was small. Sometimes."

The rest of the time she was the one fighting.

Maybe that is why it takes her half a minute to remember that she has not introduced herself.

"Zevran. Hello. I am X."

This is followed by a momentary hesitation.

"You do not have to call me beautiful. It is not relevant."

He is almost but not quite taken aback by her last statement, so first things first.

"It may not be relevant to you, but it is certainly relevant to me, X." The name is odd, but no odder than some. "If a man sees beauty -- in a woman, in nature, in the shine of blood on a blade -- is he wrong to point it out? No, no, I think not."

A studious thumb goes to his lips as he considers her. "When I was young I also watched people fight. There was beauty in their movement, too. As if it was a dance."

Perhaps she also found that to be true. If not, no harm done.

"Did you find it to be so?"

"Okay," X says, a little dubiously. "But I like X better."

She's just being truthful. Honesty is important, if not as important as efficiency during a mission.

"Dancing is different," X offers, after a moment of thought.

"Fighting makes more sense. And I am better at it."

That's sort of like beauty, right?