An Assassin Underfoot:
Nov. 18th, 2016 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threesovereigns posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ramblingproseWHO: Zevran and Cullen
WHAT: Two men, one office, much irritation.
WHERE: Cullen's lair, Skyhold
Considering the motley assortment of strays that have been turning up daily at Skyhold, it really isn't so surprising that Zevran Arainai ends up among them. (Not that he'd call himself a stray. Ex-Crows such as himself turn up precisely where and when they wish to, so long as they're good enough to stay ahead of the House of Crows' wrath, and he is very good.)
It's more surprising that he's to be found bothering neither the Antivan advisor to the Inquisitor, 'nor his old friend Leliana, but instead has settled himself in a perch on the corner of Commander Cullen's desk that seems to have been designed to irritate any current or former Templar through its sheer insouciance. He has a knife out, and is currently employing the deceptively delicate blade in the service of slicing up an apple. "You need my help, you know," he informs the man, with the sort of grave solemnity that can only mean something highly irreverant is about to enter the conversation.
WHAT: Two men, one office, much irritation.
WHERE: Cullen's lair, Skyhold
Considering the motley assortment of strays that have been turning up daily at Skyhold, it really isn't so surprising that Zevran Arainai ends up among them. (Not that he'd call himself a stray. Ex-Crows such as himself turn up precisely where and when they wish to, so long as they're good enough to stay ahead of the House of Crows' wrath, and he is very good.)
It's more surprising that he's to be found bothering neither the Antivan advisor to the Inquisitor, 'nor his old friend Leliana, but instead has settled himself in a perch on the corner of Commander Cullen's desk that seems to have been designed to irritate any current or former Templar through its sheer insouciance. He has a knife out, and is currently employing the deceptively delicate blade in the service of slicing up an apple. "You need my help, you know," he informs the man, with the sort of grave solemnity that can only mean something highly irreverant is about to enter the conversation.
