It was a simple thing to slip in among the whores at The Gilded Cage after bribing the owner, laying down makeup over his new Crow marks on one cheek and taking a room momentarily to prepare otherwise. Of course, he required Taliesen's help, and the man couldn't keep his hands from wandering while they applied a sweet oil and a fine layer of fake gold dust to bring out the hue of Zevran's skin. Whenever Zevran slapped his hands away and snapped out a scathing comment, Taliesen simply laughed, smiled that wicked smile, and Zevran didn't know if he wanted to punch the human or take him right then and there—he was infuriating, and Zevran knew of only one way to really shut him up.

Zevran fit in well here, among the exotic slaves peddled for an hour or a night of pleasure, not because of his golden skin, so very common in Antiva, no—he was just at the cusp of adulthood, his body still carrying all those little marks of youth, and that was what made him exotic. The Gilded Cage prided itself in being able to cater to unique tastes without actually offending Chantry morality, and Zevran looked like some slim, toned youth, which wasn't too far from the truth. Precisely what his mark had a weakness for.

So when they finished Taliesen left through the window, leaving a competent partner and just-fledged former apprentice to do the job alone. He had his marks, yes, but this was the real test, his first true solo mission. They'd chosen it to play to Zevran's strengths, and Taliesen left confident Zevran could handle himself.

Zevran sauntered down to the parlor beautiful and masculine at once, still a boy but also gorgeous among the other offerings with his skin oiled and dusted, amber eyes lined in kohl, gold armbands accentuating the sleek tone of his muscles (not too developed to break the illusion), wearing nothing else but a short white linen skirt tied on in a fashion very easy to remove. He settled among low cushions and surveyed the other whores lounging on display. All of them were exceptionally beautiful, all beautiful birds trapped in a sumptuous cage, caring it seemed for no sound or sight beyond their bars. Pity, but not his problem. For the moment they were simply eye candy, and a few glanced his way and whispered to each other with amused giggles or awed tones, and he smiled at them in turn, just brief glances and a carefully calculated mix of nervousness and sexual bravado; he wanted to look like he knew what he had and knew that the Cage cared for its workers, but was new to the game.

One of the whores did catch his eye, golden skinned with honeyed hair worn loose, an elaborate blue tattoo on her face sweeping up the well-defined cheek bones and sharp jaw line, her eyes dark and deep and mysterious as the still waters of the bay at night. The woman wore a finely wrought torque shaped like the boughs of a tree closing around her neck, and copper leaves on nipple piercings connected by a thin chain, and a short skirt in artfully ragged lengths of green and brown cloth. She was Dalish, then, by her appearance, sleekly built and beautiful, and Zevran felt twin pangs of pity and lust. She looked nothing like his mother must have, but he could only wonder what circumstances led her here.

Zevran's own heritage would be obvious to a trained eye, and she was staring at him intently. He gave her the same half-nervous little smile he'd given the other whores, then tried to ignore her, but her gaze was hot like the very worst of the Antivan sun, still felt on his shoulders even when he turned away. It distracted him so, thinking of her looking at him, that he began to fear he might miss his mark's entrance for glancing over his shoulder, so finally Zevran stood and crossed the room to her.

"Do you need something?"

"Crow," she hissed. "You'll ruin everything."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't play stupid," she whispered. "You're Zevran, Taliesen's little fledgling, and you both work for Vitale, don't you? I've heard all about you, fledgeling. Are you here for Scevola?"

"No," Zevran said. "His wife."

"You'll ruin everything," she hissed again. "I can't allow some child who thinks his cock is a blade to get in the way of this job." The lady Crow stood abruptly from her nest of luxurious pillows and cushions and hauled back one hand to slap him with a shout of, "You bastard!"

Her long, fine nails raked across Zevran's face, fortunately on the side opposite his marks, and left trails of fire which he reached up to confirm—yes, blood. "What-?"

"I may be a whore, away from my people, but I still have some pride!" And with that, Zevran understood the game. She was causing a scene, trying to get him to leave so as not to interfere with her mark. That still didn't mean that Zevran reacted right away. He had no problems harming a woman (he was here to kill one tonight, after all), but this was obviously a fellow Crow, and Talisen had often spoken of the fierce competition between fully-fledged assassins, the dirty tricks, but this...! He stood dumbfounded for a moment, staring at her incredulously.

When she slapped him again, dragging her nails across his other cheek, Zevran lunged forward to grab a fistful of honeyed hair on either side of her head, knotting silken locks between his fingers and pulling—he didn't want to seem too competent with such an audience, because he was not yet known as a Crow. She took advantage of the position to headbutt him savagely, and blinding pain dazzled him as the taste of blood exploded in the top of his mouth. He let go, too dazed by the ludicrous situation and the awful pain and fear that she'd just broken his nose still to fight properly, and after a moment of uncertain motion where his vision whited out briefly, Zevran found himself being dragged across the lush carpets by his long hair. The soft lights and glittering chandeliers wheeled in his vision, and the gasps and frightened cries of the whores made a strange chorus.

He had his wits enough by the time she stopped to look up, seeing that they were near the front door, opening to reveal Signor and Signora Aiello, together their marks. The Signor threw an arm in front of his wife, who covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle a shriek at the two apparent whores tearing into each other. Zevran took advantage of the distraction and jerked one of the lady Crow's leg's out from under her, toppling her to the floor, then clambered over to grab a fistful of her hair again and smash her head into the floor, which was white marble here at the entrance, leaving a bloody streak behind.

ooooo

"And we rolled around like that for a while," Zevran said, voice slurring around his broken nose and split lip and the kerchief he was staunching the bleeding with. He and Taliesen were sitting out in a public park, well away from the path in short, thick grass under an orange grove, their chosen meeting place for after the job. Taliesen had met him with a cloak to hide his strange garb, and Zevran huddled into it despite the swelter of an Antivan summer night this near the canals. "Of course, neither of us got anywhere near our marks."

Now that the story was done Taliesen let little shudders and awkward snorts turn into full-bodied laughter, and he laughed so long and hard that he lost his breath and started wheezing to regain it. Zevran endured, sitting as stiffly as he could while holding the kerchief to his nose and lip with a quiet indignity. When he was quite done the human settled a hand on Zevran's shoulder, squeezed lightly. "Let's get you to a healer while they can still do something about your nose. That face of yours is one weapon we don't want to lose."