[ OPEN ] Inquisition's Hot or Hot DAMN

[ombranera]

FORM:Sending Crystal / Posted copy to the bulletin board
SENDER: Zevran Arainai
RECIPIENT: All
WHAT: The Inquisition is full of stupidly pretty people. This bears discussing.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Respectful oogling, language, and adult content.

I think the time has come to ask a very serious question of the Inquisition. Is it just me or is Skyhold full to bursting with ridiculously sexy individuals? We have statuesque Qunari, lithe Dalish, voluptuous Dwarves, Humans in every glorious shade, size, and shape- and every last one of them incredibly attractive. I had thought to myself- 'Zevran, the Inquisition must be turning away those with less than appealing faces' but no. Handsome men and gorgeous women all. I have tried to list out names and rate them but, alas, there are too many even for I to form an opinion.

Too many gorgeous people. Is that not a marvelous problem to have?

And so I turn to you, my fellow members of the Inquisition. I ask for your aid because I simply cannot keep up with all the lovely people on my own. From a scale of "I would have them tomorrow" to "I would have them right now", how would you rate the beautiful people of Skyhold?

In the interest of fairness- if you name a name? You must list what of them you find terribly attractive- what of them drives you to the point of distraction. I shall go first!

Dorian Pavus - If there is anyone here that might, and I do mean might possibly be prettier than me? It is Dorian. Have you seen him? How can anyone look upon that man and not be at least a little enchanted, if not enthralled? Those smoldering eyes, that sultry voice, the teasing mustache; he I would have right now should he wish.

Merrill - What can I say? She is an utter delight in every possible way- fine boned and sweet, under that innocent smile I promise there is a terribly naughty mind just waiting to be unleashed. Her as well I would have in a heartbeat were I not afraid for my life due to the protective nature of some of her friends.

Knight-Captain Maria - The allure of a dutiful woman is beyond measuring. Her skill in battle, that wry humor, her devotion- I am certain under that templar armor there is a body that would bring many a man and woman to their knees in worship. She? I would have in an hour as I am certain it would take that long to get her out of the armor.

Taashath - I would climb the man like a tree- I have climbed the man like a tree. Those broad shoulders, that rack, his voice, the way his muscles ripple- Maker just recounting the things of him that I find alluring has me a little distracted, I apologize. Reshaping the friendly shores indeed. There is a delightful danger to him- and as such I would have him within an hour, for being made ready takes about that long.

Comments

[glandival]

That is not--

[ An exasperated sound, half-snarl. She might be angry, but she is also confused, too much so for judgment. (It's certainly on its way, the more Zevran says. The more he seems to know.) When she speaks again, there is a fraying quality, a little wild. Someone should probably wrest the crystal from her hand. ]

I am angry because you either do not know of what he is, or you do, and-- [ And he doesn't care. She doesn't say it. She would prefer to focus on what makes her angry, not what is personally hurtful. ] Or you do know, what he and his brothers do when they are released into the shadows of Halamshiral, drinking and laughing, on the night they are made Chevalier.

[ombranera]

[ Zevran, alternatively, keeps his voice level. Not quite biting, not at all chiding (what right does he have to chide), but not entirely kind either. ]

I know what is done. I know I have done worse. I know that the power in this specific exchange is in my hands and mine alone. I know when four of his fellows came to revisit those fond memories of their first knight as Chevalier upon my person during the Soiree he fought for me. [ He knows that Michel has the blood of an elf in his veins and that changes little for all the titles and lands he might have to his name; disgraced or no. ] I know it means nothing, what we do.

[glandival]

The things you have done--

[ She doesn't know the things he's done. But she does know what he is not. He is not a Chevalier, the silver sword-hand of everything that is terrible about the upper class of Orlais. She sounds a little like she wants to hit something. It probably isn't Zevran.

Probably. ]

What you have done is lie with a man who has fought for you, but once, he has hunted an elven woman who is returning home at night because her mistress kept her late, or-- or slew an elven man on his wedding's eve, all for a title, for admiration, for what they call honour. If you have done worse, then--

[ She stops. Maybe they were never friends, anyway. Too many masks, and the mask she has put on him, in her head, the Free Elf. ]

[ombranera]

I was a Crow, Sabine.

[ As much as he may not have had a choice in what he did- it has not exactly stopped him from continuing the profession. It did not stop him from performing his duties to the best of his skill and ability. It did not stop him from teaching himself to enjoy parts of the work for to not was to go mad. He is no saintly thing, no decent person.

Having someone, anyone, realize that at last? Is long overdue. ]

I have killed for coin. What is honor but a less honest form of payment?

[glandival]

I know what an assassin is, Zevran! [ If there hadn't been a snap before, there is now, her voice like a horse whip across the crystals. The simple moment of feeling condescended to setting her off properly. ] Is that what you tell yourself, when you touch him, to make it fine? Being monstrous is not the same as being a monster, nor is it the same as fucking one--

( Martel had caught the beginning of this - and has listened as it progressed, tracked the rise of Sabine’s voice and ire, but it isn’t a conversation that needs what you would describe specifically as ‘his input’. In fact possibly it does not immediately need anyone’s further input, which is rather the thought behind what he does when he finds her: separates, rather firmly, elf and crystal. )

Perhaps there are better places for this--

[ The sudden stream of rapidfire Orlesian swearing is a dimmer undercurrent to Martel more reasoned voice, breaking back into King's tongue with; ] Give that-- give that back to me-- Martel!

( her voice becomes progressively more muffled, and by the time Martel speaks an experienced listener may realise that he has stashed her crystal within his jacket, along with his own; almost gently, )

Enough, now.

( nothing, after. )