bakerstreet | the i n s o m n i a meme

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the i n s o m n i a meme

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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"There's a bottle labeled 'Antivan Sip-Sip' here, we found it in Crestwood. I've no idea what spirits might be in it, though." They've run across a few corked bottles in their journey, and somehow, all of them thus far have seemed to end up at Skyhold. It had started with a bottle kept by a Warden, and now seemed to encompass strange and unique spirits, as well.

It's easy, listening to Zevran's playing, to recall what others have told him of Antiva. Perhaps one day he would visit, if everything (somehow) turned out alright. It's a surprisingly sobering thought, giving form to the doubts and worries that have been mounting the longer this goes on. Still, if the closest he ever gets to Antiva is Zevran's music, he can't complain. "It's very lively, isn't it?"

"A cruel blend of spice and sweet that will knock most on their ass if they are not careful! And a sort I tend to avoid, so powerful the flavor it is far, far too easy to hide the taste of poisons." Though it is great fun when he knows for certain the bottle has not been tampered with.

He'll inspect it later, perhaps, and make certain it is safe for consumption. And oh what a night he shall have afterward.

"A traditional dance most often heard in the taverns and inns of Lower Antiva, among the people and not so much the merchant nobility." His fingers dance and pick along the strings, a softer, more honest smile gracing his lips as he speaks with warmth of his home. "It is a marvelous, dangerous city, my home. The Jewel of Thedas- once you've the time? I shall take you. You have my word on that."

Easier to make a promise than wonder 'if'. He's learned that over the years.

"I've found most spirits I've encountered since leaving the Free Marches... inordinately strong." He admits this almost shyly, as if he's confessing something embarrassing. Certainly Varric and Bull have playfully teased the Inquisitor of his 'low tolerance'. It's true enough, but Lasulahn prefers sweeter drinks besides. The ones passed around the campfires always seem to burn terribly, or taste of lamp oil.

He can't help a smile as he listens to the other elf talk of his home. The softer look suits him, in a way. "You certainly make it sound worth the visit. I eagerly await it." It's nicer to look forward to the trip, instead of thinking 'if'.

"There are some lighter meads I know of that are fashionable in Orlais, their wine is garbage so do not bother with it. While I am out and about I will see what I can find for you, yes?" Not everyone enjoys a burn with their beverage, and delicate palates are, in fact, a thing. He shouldn't be surprised if the dwarf and qunari have opinions as to how much one ought to be able to take.

"In fact...I think there is a bottle of this lovely rose cordial in one of my packs. Light, sweet, perfect for sipping on a cool night to remind oneself of warmer days." He sets his mandolin aside and rises, passing the inquisitor to pick through his pack until he hefts aloft a gilded bottle with a victorious 'a-ha!'.

His expression lifts at the idea of mead, but a soft laugh follows. "I have heard Josephine mention Antivan wine with fondness." He turns in his chair, rearranging his cloak in his lap, to watch Zevran rummage through his things.

"Oh! I'm not sure I've ever tried cordial. Mead I like very much." Lasulahn can't help but smile at the exclamation.

"I am certain I've glasses somewhere..." Another moment's rummaging about until he finds two small silver cups from somewhere within his pack before returning. A flick of the wrist and a flash of a smile before he pours them each a small measure- just a nip- before offering Lasulahn one. "This should not burn half so much."

"You're prepared for everything," Lasulahn marvels, and laughs softly. He accepts the silver cup carefully with a murmured thanks. As he peers at the liquid, he remarks, "It's a very pretty color."

Politely he waits for his host to drink, before sipping at the cordial. His brows lift in surprise. "It's delicious." This sort of alcohol he could get used to.

"It pays to have the basic building blocks of a party on hand. Food, drink, music, massage oil-" He shrugs, perching a respectable distance away. Not so far as to be aloof but not so close as to take liberties. He sips from his own glass, tongue darting out to whet his lips. "Mm. A little of this mixed with sparkling wine? Ah, it is quite marvelous. But on it's own it is a good way to finish a trying day, yes?"

For the day, every day, must be trying for Lasulahn.

While he wouldn't wish the daunting task his inner circle has on anyone, Lasulahn can't help but think having Zevran around might make things a little more tolerable sometimes. Things weren't always bad, of course, but the bickering and awkward silences sometimes seemed to come almost as often as the lighthearted jokes and companionable quiet. Theirs is a stressful quest, he knows, and yet...

"I should take pointers from you, our party could certainly benefit. If only I'd the skill for music." He can sing, but rarely does so in front of others- and most of what he knows is Dalish, besides.

"It is, yes. Drink isn't something I often indulge in, but it's nice. ...Is this very difficult to find?" He might be considering asking Josephine to procure some alongside the standard fare that the Herald's Rest is stocked with.

"Mandolin lessons are but a silver a week." Zevran quips easily, settling with his back against the wall, lounging on his bed. He'd had a feeling that this particular brew would be to Lasulahn's liking, and being correct? Is pleasing.

"This bottle? It is not so difficult to find in Orlais or Antiva, but in Skyhold? I certainly wouldn't find it in the Herald's rest. But...I've a few bottles of Antivan Brandy to tide me over for the time being. If you wish to keep that bottle? It is yours." And it is, aside from the pour he'd made for each of them and a little more, perhaps a single glass's worth? Quite full. "For your sleepless nights when there aren't handsome Antivan Elves to distract you with music. Or to celebrate a particularly rousing success. Whichever comes first."

"Perhaps one day."

He sips again at the cordial, and runs a finger idly along the rim. Zevran's offer seems to startle him. "Oh, no, I couldn't. You've been more than kind already. I'll enjoy this glass."

The Inquisitor's smile fades a little. "Most nights are sleepless," he answers absently, then sits up a little straighter as though remembering himself. "Ah, that was rather somber, wasn't it? We've had some successes so far, so perhaps more soon." The loss of Haven had been painful, and looms over his head. Between the corrupted Red Templars, and the memory of the future he had experienced with Dorian, Lasulahn has had little reason to celebrate, and much to keep him awake at night - aside from the miserable cold and closed-in stone walls.

"Call it a gift." Zevran waves his hand dismissively. "You are stuck here or sent off wherever need be and I am something of a free-roaming agent. It will be easier for me to find more for myself."

And, well, as mentioned earlier most of his frame of reference for friendship and the establishing of bonds came from the Warden, who often gave gifts. He has nothing any of the Inquisitor's fellows might enjoy-

Well that isn't entirely true but what he does have isn't entirely relevant. They have no need of him or his goods. The Inquisitor? Could use... someone worrying about them, perhaps.

"And yet it was honest, mm? This is war. A commander that sleeps well is a commander no one should truly be following."

Well... in that case. "Thank you," he says earnestly, and with a bright and warm smile. He will certainly enjoy this while the others pass around their ale and firewater.

"I suppose that's true enough." He wonders quite often if anyone should be following him anyway, but Cassandra and the others were adamant - and wouldn't really take no for an answer, either. "There's a lot still to learn, and not really the time to learn it, but I'm... doing what I can." He takes another sip, licking a drop of the pink cordial from his lips absently. As stressful as the title of Inquisitor is, and as much as he feels he's unsuited, the elf tries not to succumb to despair and hopelessness. As more than one person has pointed out, much of Thedas looks to him now. What use was a leader paralyzed by fear?

"It seems to be the case with such things, that those who are the least prepared for it must shoulder a great responsibility. But from what I have seen of your works, from what I have heard of your efforts? You are doing well." For whatever it may be worth to hear. "Those that you have saved and protected are grateful. I may not know how best to navigate the opinions of the nobility but-"

He shrugs, sipping his cordial and attempting to not let his eyes linger on the Inquisitor's mouth. He (mostly) manages.

"The people are relieved with the closing of each rift. With news that there is someone doing something. Hope is a heavy burden but- you offer it. By doing what you can. Sometimes that is all that one is able to manage."

It's not the first time such a sentiment has been expressed to the elf, thrust headlong to the fore of human conflicts, but somehow it means more coming from Zevran. He has always held the words of the common folk more closely than those in higher positions. They felt more real, more heartfelt.

Faintly he smiles. "Thank you," he murmurs, tone soft and a little unsteady. He takes to absently running his finger along the rim of the cup once more, watching that instead of the man across from him. Finally though, his gaze lifts again. "It means a great deal that you would say that. There is always more to do, but... yes, I do what I can."

"There may already be songs. Well. The beginnings of them- Ferelden, of course, and more of the spoken word ballad of some exploit or another with none of the drama of an Antivan opera but none of the intricacies and pedantic, pretentious layers of narrative most commonly found in Orlesian." Zevran huffs a quiet laugh, daring enough to reach out and pat his shoulder. "One step at a time, yes? One problem, then the next. Eventually, the little problems lead to a solution to the larger- or at least that was my experience with my round of 'do the thing to save the world'."

Why he's signing up for a second round, well.

He lives here.

He'd rather not face a world drowned in demons and darkspawn. It'd be a little like everything they did a decade ago counted for nothing. "And as far as I have seen? You've done quite a bit. I'd follow you happily if you need a cunning dagger at your back."

Lasulahn chuckles at that, and hides his smile in his cup. "I've heard quite enough from Maryden, talented as she is. It's very strange to hear." He glances up at the pat on his shoulder, and his smile softens into something warmer.

"Right. Difficult to keep that in mind sometimes."

"Ah?" His eyes widen in surprise. Attending a ball at the Winter Palace was quite different than offering to follow Lasulahn around. "I suppose if anyone knows what they're getting themselves into with that sort of offer, it would be you, wouldn't it?" He fidgets nervously with his cup, leaning forward in his earnestness. "Is that really alright? Do you really not mind going back to that sort of lifestyle?"

"It would be a welcome change of pace from running about Antiva, dancing with the crows. At one time it seemed quite impossible a thing but now? I do not find them half as challenging as I once did." He shrugs. Growth is one thing but- boredom is awful. "And, honestly- keeping someone so handsome is no true burden."

Extra eyes that Leliana knows and trusts. Extra knives to drive away demons in the dark. Extra consideration- not that he assumes the Inquisitor's associates don't reach out to him but- there's a weight on his shoulders none have seemed able to lift. Arrogant, perhaps, to think he might manage but-

Is not everyone due a little arrogance, now and then?

Zevran combs his hair out of his eyes with a warm smile, something without the usual edge. "Besides. You are facing dragons, demons, and all manner of unpleasantness. I do not wish them to be wandering about the world any more than the next elf. If I can help? I will lend you my blades."

There's a pink in his cheeks that can't quite be attributed to the cordial, given that he hasn't even finished his small cup.

Lasulahn wonders if he'll ever reach the day where fighting the Red Templars is not a horrifying experience - he doubts it.

"Well- yes, but, you've done much for Thedas already, no one could blame you for sitting this one out." There's something that tugs at his emotions in the offer, enough that his voice wavers just a little as he continues. "But, if you're truly of the mind to join me, you are more than welcome. I would be very glad for your company. I know you know- and I don't mean to be condescending- but it is always dangerous, and if you don't want to risk your life, that's alright." Lasulahn cannot bear to think of losing any of his companions, least of all if they're not of firm conviction in their decision. He manages a weak laugh. "At least every day is different. Bears, apostate mages, Red Templars, demons and dragons as you said..." Lasulahn gives a hapless shrug. "The occasional startled nug."

Maybe it's that Zevran is an elf, in a way that neither Sera nor Solas is an elf. He is closer now to both than at the beginning, and Solas in particular, but Sera disavows her "elfiness" while Solas seems to loft himself above his own, as though he is of a different breed than both city elf and Dalish. Zevran simply... is. And perhaps it's a selfish sentiment, when so many people are suffering, but it's nice that Zevran asked about him. It's something of a comfort that he acknowledged the Inquisitor's troubles without reminding him of everyone else's troubles in the same breath. (And, not the least of reasons: Zevran's flirting makes him feel special without feeling pressured. It is welcome, and not overbearing. Maybe flirting is common for the rogue, Lasulahn reasons, but it's nice nonetheless.)

Finding the remainder of his cordial suddenly quite interesting, Lasulahn mumbles, "Thank you, even just for offering."

"And if I sit out, am I not leaving a job incomplete? He is a darkspawn of sorts, is he not? Of those of us that traveled with the Warden that yet live-" Wynne having passed, Maker rest her soul, Oghren tangled with the wardens, Sten now Arishok and Shale-

Doing whatever it is a golem that has returned to their fleshy form does-

"I am the only one that has not yet taken some manner of responsibility for what is happening. Part of being free to choose what I wish to do means I could very well walk away, but..." For a moment his eyes darken in consideration, dipping to his own half empty glass. He could walk away. Part of him says that he should. Simply focus on Antiva, on his home, and leave this larger heroic mess to the larger heroes. And were it a dwarf or human or Quanari? He may very well. There is support enough for those sorts.

But it is Lasulahn, a Dalish Mage, and finding support when one is of two such disparate peoples is...difficult. He swirls his glass idly, rolling words around in his mouth, on his tongue before looking over with some slim measure of seriousness. "...I suppose the friends I made along the way, during the Blight, impressed upon me some manner of noble intent despite my better judgment. It would be remiss to walk away when I can help."

A beat.

"But if you agree to keep me, tell Leliana you promised me a kiss or she'll never let me hear the end of it. Volunteering for such work? Growing as an individual? I will never live it down."

Lasulahn listens intently, brows furrowed in a sympathetic sort of expression. He had said no one could blame Zevran for walking away, and he wholeheartedly believes that. The air feels heavy for a moment, sober in a way he can't quite place. Perhaps it's merely the product of two men discussing the burdens of the world- and particularly when they must carry them, by choice or not.

"One would think saving the world once is enough," he says, and it's meant to be a light sort of tone, though it sounds more soft and compassionate than anything. Thedas has been in trouble more often than not in recent years, it feels. Such problems were usually outside the view of the Dalish, who had their own difficulties, but now it has grown to such a scale that it cannot be ignored by any people. Perhaps it was easier for Zevran to directly involve himself than watch the state of things as they devolve.

Lasulahn is immeasurably grateful, either way.

He laughs again. "I never would have imagined Leliana so invested in your personal life. Is that all? I can promise you several, though that still hardly seems fair to you-"

He stops. It seems to dawn on him, in slow motion, what he's actually said. The color of his cheeks now certainly can't be attributed to drink. "Oh! I mean- that's-" He waves a hand in front of his face, flushing to the tips of his ears.

"Several, you say?" Zevran's face cracks in a wide, rakish grin as he leans a little into Lasulahn's space, copper eyes gleaming gold in the lantern light. "Oh but the worth and weight of a kiss, Stella, is determined by many things. Duration, location, passion, is it but lip to lip or is there a full embrace involved?"

Cheek propped in hand he swirls his drink in it's glass, eyes crinkling with delight. Fair as Lasulahn is, his skin blushes so beautifully. Like roses pinking through winter snow- and it is some manner of warning most of his mind ignores when he decides to go poetic in the slightest.

But, like many other red flags? He's walking past without much thought. This is the right thing to do and-

It's not so terrible a thing, following a lovely man. "Shall we write a contract to make this formal, or will a spoken agreement suffice?"

Oh, what has he done? The elf covers his face with his hand, shaking his head in embarrassment.

"Spoken is- is fine," he mumbles through his fingers. When he does move his hand from his face, it's to take a hearty gulp of cordial. Finally, a little braver than he feels and face still quite pink: "I think I feel safer with 'several'. That would need to be some kiss, to make up for all the traveling and fighting I do- have you ever been to the Fallow Mire?" As nice as kisses sound, Lasulahn doesn't have the experience to believe himself worthy of any sort of kiss that could be worth someone putting their life in danger, whether or not it was for the good of the world.

"I have, I cannot say that I am a fan." Like a hound scenting blood he leans in, smile growing wider and wider still at Lasulahn's continued fluster. "Did you know your ear tips go pink when you blush? It's quite lovely."

There's quite a bit about Lasulahn that is lovely, but knowing where the line is for fun teasing and far too much- that is a delicate thing. He would not wish to overstep so early in their acquaintance. "In Antiva it is customary to take half payment before the job is done, and half after."

He lets the implication linger, eyes tracing Lasulahn's cheek, jaw and lips before sitting back, crackling a laugh. "Ah, but we are not in Antiva, are we? And how are you to know that my work would be satisfactory without an opportunity to test the wares yourself, mm?"

He feels a terrible urge to cover the ends of his ears at such a comment, but decides to hide in what precious little remains of his cordial instead. "Someone might've mentioned it once," he mumbles shyly.

For a moment, he regards Zevran's pretty eyes over the rim of his cup, the way they seem to gleam golden with his amusement, and then finishes the rest of his drink. Normally he is not half so bold. Maybe it's the alcohol. Either way, he leans enough to press a quick, chaste kiss to the other elf's cheek, and sits back in his chair. The act does nothing to help his blushing, and he notices just how warm the room suddenly feels.

"Well, I wouldn't wish to disregard your customs. Your work comes highly regarded, in any case."

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