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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

The trick is to find the old patches where water and ivy have grown through, the grout often is loose enough to wedge a toe in. It is part of the reason many Antivan boots have a point at the toe. And do not knock appearing the fool- that can be quite useful at times. There is nothing more dangerous and more helpful to an elf than to be underestimated. They see you trip and think, ah, what danger could they be, and when they turn their back- you slide a dagger into their kidney! Marvelous fun.

[ It's not exactly an easy or comfortable trick but- it helps assassins get about. One day a noble will grow wise and paste over all the brick in their manor with stucco and that will buy them, perhaps, a little more time before the Crows come for them.

Zevran pivots on one booted heel, jogging to the end of the room, waiting for Lasulahn to make it across before nodding, motioning for him to sit on one of the boulders propped against the wall. ]

I know it feels as though you have not done much but- trust me. We ought to take a moment to rest. Nothing is pinching or rubbing your feet needlessly, yes? Even the smallest blister can become a problem if not properly tended to if you are unaccustomed to footwear.

[ The look on Lasulahn's expression suggests he's not entirely sure whether he should be amused or horrified at the thought Zevran's words conjure. He thinks of Leliana and Josephine's conversations about the Game, and bards, specifically. Appear harmless, to be all the more effective.

Lasulahn considers both that and Zevran's advice, and thinks that while playing the fool would do him no favors as Inquisitor - rumors that he is incompetent or bumbling would be damaging, after all - the idea that he might instead play just a little into other stereotypes might serve him well. He is not a dishonest sort, the Inquisitor, but he knows diplomacy. The Game is new to him, but humans and their bigotry, whether implicit or explicit, are not.

He turns, following Zevran back in a jog, and though his halt is not quite so... smooth as he would like, skidding just a bit on the worn stone, he manages. Though Zevran might suggest they have not done much, and Lasulahn is inclined to agree, he is nonetheless grateful for the chance to sit. (He will be more grateful for the opportunity to remove these wretched boots.) ]

They are uncomfortable, but... nowhere more than another. They are well-made. [ He crosses one ankle over his knee, and rubs idly at the soft leather covering his foot. ]

Mhmm. I think, perhaps, we have done enough for the day. This is not something one jumps into quickly after a lifetime of not. Any soreness you feel will be treated by the cold of Skyhold and we can come back a this tomorrow.

[ They've time enough before they are expected in the Winter palace, plenty to help Lasulahn adjust to so great a difference. Having experienced scraped heels, sore ankles, and pinched toes from ill-fitting boots in his youth has Zevran slightly more cautious with the Inquisitor than most.

Knowing full well Leliana might kill him for breaking Lasulahn in some way remains plenty of motivation for treading lightly. ]

I think I may have some spare oil for softening the leather, it will make adjusting to them a little bit easier. For now I am confident that you will be able to strut with the best of them!

[ Despite the uncomfortable shoes, Lasulahn finds himself a little disappointed, though he keeps such thoughts to himself. If he was to be honest, he had looked forward to the idea of Zevran teaching him to dance. Though, spending time with him has made for a pleasant morning nonetheless. Besides, the rogue almost certainly has things to attend to. Lasulahn knows that he, as Inquisitor, does too. He cannot be selfish. ]

We are making for the Western Approach soon, but that won't be for a few days. [ He nods his confirmation, and offers a warm smile. ] Tomorrow, then.

[ Until then, he has reports to read, and meetings to attend. Cullen and Josephine had also suggested he see to some of the repairs being done to Skyhold, and whether they were to his liking. Lasulahn finds that in particular somewhat odd, as though Skyhold is his, to do with what he will. Sometimes the smallest aspects of the title 'Inquisitor' are the most difficult to truly grasp.

Lasulahn stands, tamping his heel lightly against the floor as though to readjust the position of the boot. He smiles again, warm and gentle. ] It means a great deal, you doing this. Thank you, Zevran.

Tomorrow we may try the jogging again, and then? Dancing. I'll see if I cannot bribe a bard to provide accompaniment for us. I would show you today but- to dance without music? Impossible.

[ The very idea wounds his Antivan soul. He could show the basic steps but to have the right of it? They will need music and the bard of Skyhold is, at current, unavailable. Besides, it will give him time to spruce the room up a little bit, find some carpeting to see if that helps or hinders, there are so many variables to how Lasulahn must adjust and too little time to manage. ]

Ah, the desert. I will have to pack and plan accordingly, yes? Think nothing of it, I am happy to be of service.

[ Because he chose this, and for so long he was unable to choose anything. Because it means he knows, at least, of one person that may be able to see to Lasulahn as a person before all else- though that is a problem in and of itself. Seeing him as a man.

A lovely, charming man, with kind eyes and a sweet smile and-

Brasca, this is going to end badly. ] You are more than welcome, Stella.

[ Oh, good. Now not only does he have to worry about stepping on Zevran's feet or, Creators forbid, falling over, now he has to worry about doing it in front of someone else. ...Still, he can't deny that dancing without music is perhaps not the best of choices. ]

I'll practice on my own some, too. [ He can't make Zevran do all the work, after all. And being more sure on his feet can only help. The only balancing act, then, is making sure he doesn't wear the boots too much that his feet hurt tomorrow.

Packing for the Western Approach can be discussed later, though at the thought that Zevran still intends to come with their group causes a strange, light feeling in his stomach. Excitement, he thinks. For now, he bids his new friend a good day.

True to his word, Lasulahn practices when he can. He tours Skyhold in the afternoon while wearing his boots, and while walking on snow, uneven ground and mud does wonders for learning to balance, he ends up spending a bit of his rare free time in the evening cleaning the muck from the soft, light leather. What would the Orlesians say if he arrived to the Winter Palace with stained boots?

In the morning, Lasulahn returns to the abandoned hall of Skyhold's lower floor, adorned once again in his new boots (and the socks Zevran had kindly given him, washed and dried by the fireplace the night before. He peeks round the door frame, wondering if he was perhaps too early in his eagerness. ]

[ An afternoon and evening spent idly considering what it is they will face, racing back in his memory for how they dealt with darkspawn (he'd heard rumors, it is better to be prepared), and adjusting for so hot a climate does keep Zevran's mind busy enough that sleep comes easy. A blessing.

Come the morning Zevran has in fact found a large carpet for one corner of the space and set up a stool for the bard, paid for her services- but what may be surprising?

Is that he has stolen Leliana for a moment or two, hands in their proper place, leading her around in an easy, courtly dance that is in fashion in Orlais. If he is to teach Lasulahn? He needs to be familiar as well. One last turn around the room as he crackles a laugh at something she's said- a softness in her eyes that he has felt to be absent-

Shades of who they were when they were young. Teasing back and forth like old friends and for a moment? It feels like they are.

Leliana does duck out to resume her duties and Zevran turns, smile widening and brightening at the Inquisitor's quiet entrance. ]

Stella! How fine you look this morning.

[ He is not too early then, he thinks, for the strains of music that find his ears. Though as his gaze finds Zevran and, unexpectedly, the spymaster, perhaps he was too early, after all.

It's a strange sensation. Lasulahn likes Leliana, for all that he finds her intimidating, and feels that there is a veneer of stone about her that was not always there. That the world has hardened the former Chantry sister, and something was lost in her for it. To catch the barest glimpse of something gentle in her expression as they turn along the floor is sweet. But as pleasing as that might be, cold washes through the Inquisitor, nothing to do with the chill of the fortress basement. Instead it is the guilty sensation that he has spied, intruded on something not meant for his eyes. They are graceful, both, beautiful in their dance, but he perceives an intimacy there that makes him distinctly uncomfortable, for reasons Lasulahn hasn't the time to identify. Zevran and Leliana have known each other a long time, and have been through things together that Lasulahn cannot imagine. To say he is jealous of such a friendship isn't quite true... perhaps it's closer to say that he feels unworthy.

When Zevran turns to greet him, the elf hesitates against the frame of the door for just a moment before he finds himself. ]

Good morning.

[ His tone is softer for the confusion that has dampened his excitement for his lesson, but he finds a smile anyway. He ventures a few steps closer, and glances in the direction of Leliana's disappearance, and ventures, quiet and unsure: ] I... am sorry, if I interrupted. I did not mean to intrude.

Interrupted? [ It takes a moment for the thought to sink in, what Lasulahn walked in on versus what he actually saw- a very astute man, their Inquisitor. Zevran's eyes trail to where Leliana vanished, his own smile soft while his hand reaches to take Lasulahn's for a moment in a reassuring squeeze. ] Ah, not at all! I simply wagered with Leliana that she had spent so long darting about the shadows that she had forgotten how to dance in the light. Which, of course, would not stand. There is no intrusion here I assure you.

[ Zevran walks from where he'd swept his bow to Leliana in the center of the room closer to their borrowed bard, asking for something a little less intricate to start. Something slow with a beat that is easy enough to follow. Complicated arrangements can wait until Lasulahn has become more comfortable moving about.

Today he's dressed differently- less the armor and leather, more warm silks in a doublet cut to emphasize his slim build and trousers that, as ever, tend to cling to his shapely legs. Dancing attire for this is an entirely different battlefield. ]

Before we begin I would know if you're familiar with any partnered dances.

[ The reassurance seems to ease the knot that Lasulahn only now realizes had tangled in the pit of his stomach. He smiles easier for the thought, and confesses: ] It's nice to see her like that.

[ Able to turn his attentions more outward, the Inquisitor cannot help but notice Zevran's attire. His own is simple: a tunic and leggings, both form-fitting to his small frame, though muted in color and common in fabric, and a stole gathered about his shoulders. It's comfortable enough, neither too Dalish as to be seen as savage by the humans about, nor too human as to ignore his heritage. He misses wearing earring and flower in his hair, usually his choice adornments, but either were easily lost in battle, and marked him as too 'wild', besides.

He tries not to stare overmuch, lifting his gaze to Zevran's when the other's attention returns to him. ]

Just those of my clan.

Edited (htmfail) 2020-11-08 19:36 (UTC)

I have missed seeing her smile. [ Zevran murmurs, his expression openly whistful for a moment. ] She listens to you, yes? Confides in you much as everyone else. I did not wish to be someone that would ask anything of you- and I do not need favors for myself, I have no tragedy you need to circumvent or sibling that requires saving but... if you could guide her to remember what it is to be soft? To experience joy. To be Leliana rather than Sister Nightengale, I would be grateful.

[ There was a time when she was a warm hand to help you up, a steady shoulder in times of strife but now? She is like him. A blade that cuts, buried in the dark. Too sharp, too cold, too cruel for the woman with so hopeful a vision of the future.

Perhaps he should not have teased her quite so much.

Zevran shakes himself of such maudlin thoughts and focuses on the task at hand- dancing. ]

Well, I should dare say you have me at a disadvantage. I was never fortunate enough to see partner dances among the Dalish. How are they done?

Edited 2020-11-08 20:03 (UTC)

[ He stops, for the look on Zevran's countenance, and his expression softens into something both gentle and almost sorrowful.

He can't say that Leliana confides in him really... but at the same time, as she prayed in the tent outside the Chantry... that had seemed as raw and honest a moment as any. And though Lasulahn had held no answers for her, he had done his best. Though, he had spoken with her about the Divine, too, hadn't he? Perhaps he is merely reserved in his thoughts of Leliana's opinion of him because of her demeanor. Lasulahn is wary of humans, of nobles and Templars, but even now, he clings to the kindness that he has always held.

Even as Zevran switches topics, Lasulahn is quiet, watching. Finally, he disregards the change in subjects long enough to answer him properly. His voice is soft, quiet for their proximity and sincere, and he leans a little in his earnestness. ]

You can always ask for anything, Zevran, yourself or otherwise. I don't know if I hold much sway with Leliana, but I promise you this: I will do all I can.

[ He has steered her from severity in punishment already, spoken gently with her about her loss in the Divine. Lasulahn knows that the Inquisition of the past was a brutal thing, and he does not want that to repeat. More than that, though, he cares for those that are, somehow, under his command. Individuals. It is something that perhaps he taxes himself with more than some would advise, but it keeps a humane element to an otherwise dark and thankless task. To do things any other way would feel unnatural, wrong to the Inquisitor.

He offers Zevran a tiny smile, and returns to the topic of dancing, too. ] It depends- the dances I mean. There are only a few. And quite lively, most of them. [ Dances to be done in celebration and festival, with drums underlining the other instruments, providing a pattern for the steps. ]

[ He should not be surprised that one of the traits he found most admirable in Lasulahn should be turned on him. His attention to detail, his compassionate heart. Perhaps he tipped his hand a bit with the request but-

Zevran does miss the friend he made during the blight. The ragged little family they had managed after a fashion with playful questions of survival after the particularly rough battles. There had been letters at first, until it wasn't safe for either of them to send any. Now- he thinks he maybe ought to have tried a little harder to keep in touch.

To offer perspective. To give her somewhere to go with her fears. ]

The thing Leliana holds tightest to her chest, the thing she holds true above all else? Is her faith. You need not share that faith to be what you are to her- the Herald of Andraste. The last person to see the Divine. For that alone you have more sway than you know. Another burden, I suppose, for your lovely shoulders.

[ But- dancing. Dancing is why they are here, dancing is why they have become so oddly somber. How perfectly Fereldan of them!

Zevran rolls out his shoulders and extends a hand to Lasulahn, head canted to one side. ] I think, perhaps, these dances do not involve much contact with your partner?

[ He listens, quiet and intent on his companion. He does not share that Leliana has let slip some of the same of what Zevran tells him. Friends though the two may be, it is not Lasulahn's place to divulge. But the advice? He will keep that close to his chest. He is faithful to the Dalish gods, pays service to them in the old ways - what remains of them, changed and diminished though they may be - but equally so, he does not know what happened in the Fade. He does not know if some divine hand guided him in all this, and he does not disparage the faith of another.

If he could provide some hope to her, in some way, that was alright, wasn't it? Without compromising or denying either of their faiths? It's something he resolves to think on. At the very least, he can be a friend, as much as she might allow, and the rest can come later.

He extends his hand, placing fingertips lightly in Zevran's palm. ]

Those with steps, some? There are bits apart, and some together. [ He sounds a little unsure of himself. He doesn't have much experience to know what would be considered more or less contact. The dancing he saw in Haven had been brief and spontaneous, born of mirth rather than custom. ]

Much of the dancing in Orlais is done more together than apart- [ As he demonstrates by stepping in close, his other hand settling at Lasulahn's trim waist and not hair lower- lovely as his hips are? That way lies temptation.

And he has never been too stalwart in the face of temptation.

Carefully he draws Lasulahn in, gently nudging his toes with his boot, drawing his shoulders up, chin parallel with the floor. ] The posture is very upright, detached. Almost as if you are floating across the tile- your shoulders must be straight but not tense your gaze ever on your partner- or if that is uncomfortable? Just above one of their ears. It gives the appearance of looking into their eyes without actually forcing contact.

[ A soft 'oh' forms on Lasulahn's lips as Zevran steps close, and his face warms for the proximity. He busies himself trying to mimic the other's posture, straightening and settling his shoulders without drawing them too stiff - or trying to, at least. He thinks quickly to the postures Zevran and Leliana had a few minutes before, and tentatively lays his free hand on Zevran's arm, just beneath the curve of his shoulder, and looks sheepishly at the other for approval.

Eye contact, though - Lasulahn fears he could not look away if he tried, this close. Zevran's eyes are beautiful. Lasulahn forgets himself for just a moment, then finally asks: ] Ah- like this?

Yes- [ He murmurs softly, keeping his voice soft due to proximity, nothing more. Lovely as Lasulahn is- he's lovelier still up close where he can see every shade of green in his eyes. Like the sun filtering through leaves in the spring and he is deeply, deeply in trouble if he's beginning to think in poetry.

Like he hasn't been thinking in poetry since he first saw Lasulahn. Brasca.

He keeps his smile light and warm, his manner easy as he takes a step backward, pulling the inquisitor along. ] Now all you need do is follow my lead.

[ Lasulahn follows, though his tendency is to glance downwards - not that he can particularly see without bumping heads with Zevran (which he manages, thankfully, to not do). His feet are unsure in their movement, too short for fear of stepping on his partner, but he tries, dutifully. ]

I knew this was harder than it looks, but Creators. [ He mumbles that bit in that same good-natured self-deprecation he had before. He'll grasp it well enough in time, he thinks, but for now he feels a bit silly. ]

Think of it as adjusting your footing while in battle. If your opponent falls back, you press your advantage-

[ Zevran takes another step back, guiding Lasulahn along with him, hand warm and steady on his hand, his waist. It is only a lesson in dancing but- it has been some time since he last danced with a man.

Especially one that has so thoroughly captured his attention. ]

If they push forward, you fall back, if they feint? You adjust to keep them in front of you.

Zevran, I'm a mage. [ He points it out, helpless, though laughs despite himself. He has companions that protect him, who he protects in turn. He has been in hand-to-hand combat, knows how to wield his staff as more than just a focus... but the finer points of footwork escape him.

Dancing, though, he is better at. He finds his footing in time, steps with one foot between Zevran's, one to the side, and follows the other's lead with a growing ease and comfort. ]

And you have never been in a situation where you were unable to use your magic? It pays to be prepared.

[ It's said lightly, teasing- as though he would ever allow Lasulahn to wander where he would be unable to cover his flank. This is the man upon which so many hopes are pinned, it would be a bitter shame to allow any harm to come to him.

Little by little, step by step it seems he has the right of it- through turns and twirls, through closer embraces still and then?

Zevran shifts his grip, hand going from Lasulahn's waist to his shoulder. ] Now, I do hope you've been paying attention- for it is now your turn to lead.

Well- yes, but... [ He trails off, reticent to think of such times. Templar magic that drains him, leaves him feeling as though he cannot catch his breath, as though all the world is suddenly a little greyer. The exhaustion of a battle gone on too long - Haven, most recently - magic expended save for the slightest of flutters. Those were moments of wild fear, and though Lasulahn has learned by necessity to keep his head (perhaps he was born with such, being Dalish, and has only honed it lately), he is not practiced in any real technique. Perhaps he should fix that.

For now, though, he focuses on their dance, memorizing the steps and turns. They press close now and then, and Lasulahn will later think the moment unfair: Zevran, handsome in his silks and his hands, gentle but the memory of the touch will linger long after.

In the moment, he grasps what is required of him, and seems not too startled when the other's hands shift position. He remembers Zevran had promised to teach him to lead, after all. He is still for a few long moments, listening to the rhythm of the bard's music and recalling the steps, then -

He moves, graceful and easy. The steps are not completely familiar, and they are simple enough that it is hardly impressive - but at least he manages both confidence (or at least the illusion of it), and neither does he step on the other's feet. ]

Edited (that feeling when you hit enter right as you see a mistake....) 2020-11-08 23:47 (UTC)

[ It's a distressing thing, to be made to feel helpless. Zevran doesn't experience it in quite the same way as a mage, but he is familiar enough. Less so now that he is grown, now that he is free but-

Those are not conversations to be had while enjoying a dance lesson- even now he regrets somewhat trying to make a point in such a way. There is more than enough on Lasulahn's shoulders than to bring that weight, that sorrow into what is meant to be a lighthearted diversion.

He keeps the time with quiet taps of his finger against Lasulahn's shoulder, light on his boots, turning easily- entire posture softening, leaning less to the masculine strides he took while leading. ]

Ah, now this is somewhat nostalgic- [ Perhaps a tale of former escapades might amuse? He hopes so at the very least. ] the last time I had to follow in a dance it was because I was wearing a dress. There was a particularly troublesome merchant prince in Antiva with highly specific taste.

[ Lasulahn manages to remember himself and keep time when Zevran mentions dancing in a dress - though only just. ]

That's - was he a target of yours, then?

[ It's so easy, somehow, to become wrapped up in Zevran's stories from only a few words. He thinks that Zevran would be handsome in a dress, though the way the rogue mentions it, makes Lasulahn think of something garishly colored and poofy. He tries not to laugh for the mental image, sure that he might mess up his steps, then. ]

Mhmm. And the crows could not for the life of them find a single member that met his exacting standards. I recall my master at the moment looking at me and saying 'Zevran, if only you had breasts-' and looking quite thoughtful for a moment. Apparently with an appropriate pig's bladder and warmed gelatin you can make a reasonable approximation, provided one's neckline is high enough to hide the device.

[ Zevran crackles a soft laugh, tossing his hair. ] And then it was a matter of painting my face, pinning my hair, learning to walk in higher heels than I was accustomed to- but come the night of the masquerade? I was prepared.

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