"You wound me, mi amor." Zevran pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart. "Never in my life have I endured such callous slander." Neria flashed him a wicked grin.
"Zevran Arainai, I'm better at picking locks than you are, and I'm a mage." Zevran tutted, and went back to fiddling with his silver earring. He'd gifted the gold one to Neria, and neither of them had enough coin to purchase a matching one, so it would do for now. He looked as good in silver as he did in gold. Her own ear was still sore, the piercing not yet healed.
"If we can acquire the right tools, I can pick the lock." Neria nodded. Jokes aside, she trusted him. She wouldn't have brought anyone else along on this job, even if they hadn't been lovers. "And I won't deny that breaking into a high-security mage prison has a certain...allure."
"But this place is notorious even among the Crows. Assassins have entered, but not even one has returned from the Aeonar."
"Then it's a good job we're not planning on killing anyone." Neither of them stated the obvious - that they might not be given the choice.