#wren shepard || dutyworn ( zevran )

[anderwhohn]

@dutyworn || semi-plotted starter.

"Mmm... What? I... oh," Zevran groans as he regains consciousness, amber eyes blinking open wearily. Still alive. That is... good, yes? Though by the stern, unimpressed glare the woman in the tell-tale N7 armour levels on him, perhaps he is too quick to make that assessment just yet.

"Ooh... I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be," he admits wearily. "But I see you haven't killed me yet..."

He twists in order to start to push himself up off the floor, only to nearly fall flat back onto his face as he notices the precise predicament he's found himself in. Nimble fingers test the feel of the restraints he's only now noticed as his mind slowly clears - a concussion, perhaps? That would explain why everything is still a touch off - quickly recognising the feel of omnicuffs clamped into place around his wrists, giving him very little mobility so long as they're synced together behind his back.

"Ah... Now this I am familiar with. Though usually there is dinner first," he quips with a roguish smirk. "Though I believe exceptions can be made for one as gorgeous as yourself."

[anderwhohn]

There's a flash of sharp intelligence in his amber gaze, even through the pained daze as he struggles to follow her with his gaze, only briefly glancing at the turian at the man's suppressed amusement. But it's the Commander that draws most of his attention, his focus swiftly shifting back to her as she speaks.

"Ah, but if you have not killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?" he notes with just a hint of wry humour. "I assume you kept me alive to ask me some questions, yes? And my failing to answer them will likely result in my painful end? Let me save you some time and get right to the point."

"My name is Zevran Arainai - Zev, to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying the great Commander Shepard…" A small, self-depreciating chuckle escapes him at that as he notes, "Which I have failed at, sadly. I am certain the Crows will be most displeased, particularly as I should be dead, insofar as they're concerned."

"But it is nothing personal - my trying to kill you, that is. I was simply contracted to perform a service. And now that I have failed to fulfil that contract, and find myself rather surprisingly still breathing afterwards, I have a proposal for you, if you would hear it?"

@dutyworn || semi-plotted starter.

"Mmm... What? I... oh," Zevran groans as he regains consciousness, amber eyes blinking open wearily. Still alive. That is... good, yes? Though by the stern, unimpressed glare the woman in the tell-tale N7 armour levels on him, perhaps he is too quick to make that assessment just yet.

"Ooh... I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be," he admits wearily. "But I see you haven't killed me yet..."

He twists in order to start to push himself up off the floor, only to nearly fall flat back onto his face as he notices the precise predicament he's found himself in. Nimble fingers test the feel of the restraints he's only now noticed as his mind slowly clears - a concussion, perhaps? That would explain why everything is still a touch off - quickly recognising the feel of omnicuffs clamped into place around his wrists, giving him very little mobility so long as they're synced together behind his back.

"Ah... Now this I am familiar with. Though usually there is dinner first," he quips with a roguish smirk. "Though I believe exceptions can be made for one as gorgeous as yourself."