Zevran kept his laugh modest. He didn't trust the comfort that those further down the hall felt in this place, but for all intents and purposes, he wasn't worried. He smiled at the man, Oliver. Oliver, an honest man who was happy to entertain a bit of teasing here or there, but would not dress up his displeasure.
Star City was an unfamiliar name, but that wasn't particularly surprising. Maybe this man hailed from some Ferelden island or mountain top village with an overinflated sense of importance. Once Zevran had removed himself from this place, and dealt with countless other life-threatening issues, he could worry about geography. It would be an odd stage in his life where he had enough leisure to peruse books for a city in which there was no one to kill. If he allowed himself to be optimistic enough to assume he'd ever have that sort of free time, he hoped it wouldn't last long. Idle hands and all that.
Fortunately for Zevran, unfortunately for Oliver, he was here unwillingly as well. That, or it was a very elaborate trap. It seemed unlikely and a bit stupid, since they already had him. (If it were a trick, they had at least flattered him with handsome bait.) Zevran cautiously put aside such suspicions in favor of the much more likely scenario. Oliver was a fellow victim of this very unattractive building, and whoever occupied it.
"Then I will reintroduce myself when we are free," he promised easily, "and we can discuss how happy we are to meet. Until then, I take no offense, Oliver."
The end of the name overlapped with the sound of a disembodied voice. It bled out of the walls and echoed around them. Although poised for the attack, the weapon Zevran had chosen seemed more inadequate and flimsy than ever. His pulse quickened in anticipation, and even as the announcement went on, it took several moments before his body recognized the lack of a threat. A part of him was admittedly disappointed.
"Ah, lovely," he began, over the irritatingly cryptic threats and under his breath. Any further sarcasm was drowned out by the screech that ripped through his thought process. The cylinders he had adopted fell from his hands, but the clatter was nonexistent in the face of that noise. Pressing the heel of his palms over his ears barely discouraged it.
no subject
Star City was an unfamiliar name, but that wasn't particularly surprising. Maybe this man hailed from some Ferelden island or mountain top village with an overinflated sense of importance. Once Zevran had removed himself from this place, and dealt with countless other life-threatening issues, he could worry about geography. It would be an odd stage in his life where he had enough leisure to peruse books for a city in which there was no one to kill. If he allowed himself to be optimistic enough to assume he'd ever have that sort of free time, he hoped it wouldn't last long. Idle hands and all that.
Fortunately for Zevran, unfortunately for Oliver, he was here unwillingly as well. That, or it was a very elaborate trap. It seemed unlikely and a bit stupid, since they already had him. (If it were a trick, they had at least flattered him with handsome bait.) Zevran cautiously put aside such suspicions in favor of the much more likely scenario. Oliver was a fellow victim of this very unattractive building, and whoever occupied it.
"Then I will reintroduce myself when we are free," he promised easily, "and we can discuss how happy we are to meet. Until then, I take no offense, Oliver."
The end of the name overlapped with the sound of a disembodied voice. It bled out of the walls and echoed around them. Although poised for the attack, the weapon Zevran had chosen seemed more inadequate and flimsy than ever. His pulse quickened in anticipation, and even as the announcement went on, it took several moments before his body recognized the lack of a threat. A part of him was admittedly disappointed.
"Ah, lovely," he began, over the irritatingly cryptic threats and under his breath. Any further sarcasm was drowned out by the screech that ripped through his thought process. The cylinders he had adopted fell from his hands, but the clatter was nonexistent in the face of that noise. Pressing the heel of his palms over his ears barely discouraged it.