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illithidnapped) wrote2021-05-17 05:27 pm
illithidnapped) wrote2021-05-17 05:27 pm
INBOX
VOICE | ACTION | TEXT
[current inbox]
VOICE | ACTION | TEXT
[current inbox]
The mage tower is not quite as dilapidated as former hovels, but its upkeep, on the lowest levels, has certainly been neglected. The dining hall is largely forgotten, but long windows hewn in that style of Kirkwall stone shed long fingers of light through its cobwebbed dimness.
Fenris likes it.
He sits by a window with twelve year old Batteseria and a deck of cards he manages to shuffle expertly in gauntleted fingers. He looks content.
Fenris likes it.
He sits by a window with twelve year old Batteseria and a deck of cards he manages to shuffle expertly in gauntleted fingers. He looks content.
He doesn't linger in the open doorway once he's spotted exactly where he'd been directed earlier, easily picking up the slim silhouette of a familiar creature backlit by midday light. There was a time when he'd avoid the numerous rays cutting pale lines through the air between them, but— well, that's not his problem to fuss over anymore.
The relief he feels with every step spent passing through them doesn't remove the faint, petulant quality to an otherwise tamer tone.
"It had better be good wine."
The relief he feels with every step spent passing through them doesn't remove the faint, petulant quality to an otherwise tamer tone.
"It had better be good wine."
It's early in the day yet, and Benedict is in the office alone, puffing idly on a cigarette as he scribbles industriously at some official document or another. Removing the cigarette momentarily, he pauses to dip his quill again and stifle a yawn against the back of his hand; then, after a beat, transfers the nib to a second parchment under the document. It seems he's in the process of doodling an elaborate garden, the petals and vines each individual tracks of his wandering mind.
Some days are slow.
Some days are slow.
Making the rounds comes easy. Oh, not because he's being dilligent, of course: that sort of responsibility hardly suits him in the wake of all his newfound freedom— but as novel as it is to be able to stroll about in daylight without turning into ash, he's still working to get used to being awake in the daytime, rather than flitting about at night.
And practice makes perfect, as they say.
So an open doorway, the sound of quiet scrawling audible to sharp ears— it's all a bit of a lure in a morning as dull as this one, footsteps winding nearer before he lounges lazily against the archway, ankle crossing neatly over the other.
"Well well, someone's up early."
And practice makes perfect, as they say.
So an open doorway, the sound of quiet scrawling audible to sharp ears— it's all a bit of a lure in a morning as dull as this one, footsteps winding nearer before he lounges lazily against the archway, ankle crossing neatly over the other.
"Well well, someone's up early."
For a voice as lovely as yours? Darling, you've all the time in the world that I can spare.
when you remember dnd influenced like everything including DA lore
illithidnapped
- 2021-06-23 01:37 (UTC) - ExpandI'm going to make this quick because I'm perfectly aware you're not interested in hearing it.
( and yet. here she is. )
I don't know what I struck, exactly, but I know that I didn't actually intend to strike it. You don't owe me an explanation for why it hurt you and I don't need to know, but it obviously did, and I—
( a breath. )
—didn't intend that. Anyway, kill me or whatever if it makes you feel better, you aren't who I want to make angry and I'm sorry I just took the opening instead of backing off.
( and yet. here she is. )
I don't know what I struck, exactly, but I know that I didn't actually intend to strike it. You don't owe me an explanation for why it hurt you and I don't need to know, but it obviously did, and I—
( a breath. )
—didn't intend that. Anyway, kill me or whatever if it makes you feel better, you aren't who I want to make angry and I'm sorry I just took the opening instead of backing off.
cw for all that implied bg3 abuse of literally every possible shade
illithidnapped
2021-07-20 09:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[Were he still of a mind to rip flesh from bone, he wouldn't dare to answer. Listen, yes. Answer, no.]
I ought to gut you. Miserable creature that you are.
[Unfair, Astarion's habit of attempting to draw blood from those around him, when his own skin runs far too thin. Unfair and unkind. And yet it's part of his own nature— just like hers is just as harsh, just as biting. The difficulties of creatures ill-suited for a world full of yearning hearts and softer minds.
Apologies, however, are not a part of that. And the fact that she strains herself to make amends...
His voice stays low, and tired, but he makes no swelling gestures of hatred. No more acidity than he already holds by his own unmasked, unembellished heart.]
You should know that much like the subject of your once-told story, my life until now has been...lacking in choice, shall we say. By which I mean I had none of it. For two hundred years I had my very own overlord, to use your own wording— one who needed only to speak, and thus, my body would act of its own accord.
I doubt I need to detail just what sort of cruelties can be made when one has one's own puppet to dance along on tightly held strings.
[He exhales thinly through his nose, the topic quickly brushed aside.]
I know you didn't mean it— not before, and not now. That you didn't know better. That doesn't change the fact that if I had the chance, I'd bite off your tongue for it.
As I warned you: I'm a monster, darling. We don't deal in kindness.
I ought to gut you. Miserable creature that you are.
[Unfair, Astarion's habit of attempting to draw blood from those around him, when his own skin runs far too thin. Unfair and unkind. And yet it's part of his own nature— just like hers is just as harsh, just as biting. The difficulties of creatures ill-suited for a world full of yearning hearts and softer minds.
Apologies, however, are not a part of that. And the fact that she strains herself to make amends...
His voice stays low, and tired, but he makes no swelling gestures of hatred. No more acidity than he already holds by his own unmasked, unembellished heart.]
You should know that much like the subject of your once-told story, my life until now has been...lacking in choice, shall we say. By which I mean I had none of it. For two hundred years I had my very own overlord, to use your own wording— one who needed only to speak, and thus, my body would act of its own accord.
I doubt I need to detail just what sort of cruelties can be made when one has one's own puppet to dance along on tightly held strings.
[He exhales thinly through his nose, the topic quickly brushed aside.]
I know you didn't mean it— not before, and not now. That you didn't know better. That doesn't change the fact that if I had the chance, I'd bite off your tongue for it.
As I warned you: I'm a monster, darling. We don't deal in kindness.
[ Bastien is away. Denerim, Val Royeaux, Cumberland, Antiva City, it's a busy month. But traveling so widely means a few nights in mostly-empty inns full of tired, cranky people who don't want to talk to an inquisitive Orlesian, so—
Congratulations, Astarion. ]
I never found out why it was popular belief you were a monster.
[ That line of thought had been somewhat derailed by pranking vintners. But now it's been recovered. Somewhat. He's perfectly willing to enable avoidance, if it's a touchy subject—by guessing, for example, ]
Is the standard of beauty very different where you are from? Everyone striving for an asymmetrical face and the roughest, most blemished skin they can manage?
Congratulations, Astarion. ]
I never found out why it was popular belief you were a monster.
[ That line of thought had been somewhat derailed by pranking vintners. But now it's been recovered. Somewhat. He's perfectly willing to enable avoidance, if it's a touchy subject—by guessing, for example, ]
Is the standard of beauty very different where you are from? Everyone striving for an asymmetrical face and the roughest, most blemished skin they can manage?
[He'll take it, eagerly. And not just because he's alone tonight in that chalky little closet of a Lowtown flat; he's come to enjoy the rare opportunity to chat with Bastien.
Say what you will, but the man's never a bore.]
Aha. [It's a sly chuckle, that noise. Only faintly withering.
There are better topics than this one, even if the phrasing's appropriately flattering.]
Sadly, no. Vampires, you see, happen to be famously beautiful creatures. I don't know if you have sirens in your world, or harpies, but the general gist is the same: notorious for luring in the unsuspecting with overwhelming charm. Lowering their defenses with but a glance or a whispered word, and then...
Well, you know how it is with monsters.
Say what you will, but the man's never a bore.]
Aha. [It's a sly chuckle, that noise. Only faintly withering.
There are better topics than this one, even if the phrasing's appropriately flattering.]
Sadly, no. Vampires, you see, happen to be famously beautiful creatures. I don't know if you have sirens in your world, or harpies, but the general gist is the same: notorious for luring in the unsuspecting with overwhelming charm. Lowering their defenses with but a glance or a whispered word, and then...
Well, you know how it is with monsters.
Edited 2021-08-26 03:46 (UTC)
What do you do, ( spoken into the crystal one particularly humid late summer evening, ) when you are bored?
( lonely. he means lonely. )
( lonely. he means lonely. )
[Ah. Ahah.
The soft noises he makes are oh-so-knowing, but if nothing else they never graze along patronizing.] That depends on the type of boredom, darling.
And the place.
You're not in the woods right now, are you?
The soft noises he makes are oh-so-knowing, but if nothing else they never graze along patronizing.] That depends on the type of boredom, darling.
And the place.
You're not in the woods right now, are you?
[cont.]
What do we need to do?
[Ellie doesn't sound alarmed; just tight, ready. Resigned. They've already discussed some part of this, early in their acquaintaince. Ellie's always known it had the potential to head this way, but she didn't realize the other Rifters would be caught up in it, too.
It only makes sense.]
What do we need to do?
[Ellie doesn't sound alarmed; just tight, ready. Resigned. They've already discussed some part of this, early in their acquaintaince. Ellie's always known it had the potential to head this way, but she didn't realize the other Rifters would be caught up in it, too.
It only makes sense.]
[We, she says, and the shock of it's so deeply set that Astarion can't help but scoff in reflexive response. Even if Fenris himself had reached out with a similar offer— which, given the man's proclivities, Astarion knows better than to expect— he'd still pull instinctively away from it.
More inclined to lick his wounds than lean in for comfort.]
There's no we.
When this thing comes to its near end— for better or worse— you run, darling. That's all there is to it.
More inclined to lick his wounds than lean in for comfort.]
There's no we.
When this thing comes to its near end— for better or worse— you run, darling. That's all there is to it.
Look around you. Look at the mess of your own world and tell me there isn't going to be some riotous nonsense the moment the Divine so much as coughs in our direction. It's not as if anyone will have a choice, unless the Chantry just happens to be left so weak by war that it can barely drum up enough resources to hold—
Well, whatever it is they do. Ceremonies, prayer, I don't know.
Well, whatever it is they do. Ceremonies, prayer, I don't know.
Why do you insist on this pointless crusade?
[Sharp as bared teeth— which, coincidentally, is exactly what he happens to be doing while snarling at his own crystal.]
What's next, are you going to haunt me when I dream, too?
[Sharp as bared teeth— which, coincidentally, is exactly what he happens to be doing while snarling at his own crystal.]
What's next, are you going to haunt me when I dream, too?
[Calm is such a nebulous term with Astarion. Still, he doesn't sound a single breath away from stabbing everyone within reach anymore, so there's that.]
If this is your idea of pity, then no.
[And then, a little more mildly:]
...otherwise yes.
So long as you're paying.
If this is your idea of pity, then no.
[And then, a little more mildly:]
...otherwise yes.
So long as you're paying.
[they've been out for a bit, now, on one of his nights off-- not that it would matter if he did have work to do, given the odd hours at which he does it. so long as no one else is involved, he has a tendency toward the late night hours as it is, and can easily rearrange whatever he's doing.
this isn't an unpleasant place. one they've visited before, but not quite a usual haunt; what's on offer can perhaps be called okay at best, but it's not like they ever end up in these places for the quality of their drinks. it's not too quiet either, tonight, the lantern light warm and the buzz of background conversation filling space.
many people could make a full night of this. emet-selch, however, has decided he's through with it by this point, giving astarion a sidelong glance before gesturing to the door.]
If you're quite finished, here, then-- shall we?
this isn't an unpleasant place. one they've visited before, but not quite a usual haunt; what's on offer can perhaps be called okay at best, but it's not like they ever end up in these places for the quality of their drinks. it's not too quiet either, tonight, the lantern light warm and the buzz of background conversation filling space.
many people could make a full night of this. emet-selch, however, has decided he's through with it by this point, giving astarion a sidelong glance before gesturing to the door.]
If you're quite finished, here, then-- shall we?
You're serious? [Astarion scoffs back in return, still seated firmly in place with his cheek nestled just against the palm of one hand, fingertips faintly sprawled. The expression worn is, naturally, incredulous.]
We've only just started and already you want to leave?
We've only just started and already you want to leave?
ASTARION,
I think that I need to be clear - that it is worthwhile to be clear - and I don't think it's possible to do that speaking with you. I've tried several times and every time we only snap at each other and you don't hear me.
I am not angry that you fucked Thranduil or that you can't give me what I need, from a friendship. It's a terrible, awful feeling to have been so abjectly mistaken in what I believed and what was true, but in neither case is that your fault. I misled myself. It was my mistake, in both. I'll learn how to live with that, and I can always go crying to Lexie if it's hard. It's still my turn, anyway.
What I need you to understand, and why I am upset when you ignore that I've clearly told you to let me alone, is that I can't give you what you want from me, either. It's my mistake, but it hurts and I can't pretend it doesn't. I don't want to. What you want from me is painful for me, makes me feel sick and worthless and reminds me what a humiliating mistake I made. You hurt me, cruelly, when that doesn't matter to you. I understand that that probably doesn't really mean anything to you, but it is going to continue causing wretched, embarrassing scenes that you don't enjoy. I won't hurt in an amusing way. It will just be unpleasant and tiresome. Neither of us will enjoy it, so you might as well seek easier company.
I am an open wound. I am tired. I want to be with my family and let my heart scab over until these things don't hurt me. Please let me.
I have nothing for you.
G.
I think that I need to be clear - that it is worthwhile to be clear - and I don't think it's possible to do that speaking with you. I've tried several times and every time we only snap at each other and you don't hear me.
I am not angry that you fucked Thranduil or that you can't give me what I need, from a friendship. It's a terrible, awful feeling to have been so abjectly mistaken in what I believed and what was true, but in neither case is that your fault. I misled myself. It was my mistake, in both. I'll learn how to live with that, and I can always go crying to Lexie if it's hard. It's still my turn, anyway.
What I need you to understand, and why I am upset when you ignore that I've clearly told you to let me alone, is that I can't give you what you want from me, either. It's my mistake, but it hurts and I can't pretend it doesn't. I don't want to. What you want from me is painful for me, makes me feel sick and worthless and reminds me what a humiliating mistake I made. You hurt me, cruelly, when that doesn't matter to you. I understand that that probably doesn't really mean anything to you, but it is going to continue causing wretched, embarrassing scenes that you don't enjoy. I won't hurt in an amusing way. It will just be unpleasant and tiresome. Neither of us will enjoy it, so you might as well seek easier company.
I am an open wound. I am tired. I want to be with my family and let my heart scab over until these things don't hurt me. Please let me.
I have nothing for you.
G.
A day or so after the bustle of that oh-so-eventful party in Hightown, Astarion will come home to find something waiting on his doorstep. A little burlap sack, tied off with a bit of stray ribbon.
Inside he finds two full bottles of wine, plainly carefully extracted from a particular palatial home.
And one, single coin. A calling card of sorts.
Inside he finds two full bottles of wine, plainly carefully extracted from a particular palatial home.
And one, single coin. A calling card of sorts.
[You know, there's something about getting outed for your past world destruction that makes a person a little less comfortable. Go figure!
He's opted to leave the Gallows for the moment, to put some physical distance between himself and that entire conversation, and without entirely planning on it... finds himself in a particular part of the city.
Well. Fine, then. He exhales a sigh as he heads to Astarion's door, which is precisely where he'll be found-- whether in answer to the knock upon it, if Astarion is home, or waiting there for him if he isn't.]
He's opted to leave the Gallows for the moment, to put some physical distance between himself and that entire conversation, and without entirely planning on it... finds himself in a particular part of the city.
Well. Fine, then. He exhales a sigh as he heads to Astarion's door, which is precisely where he'll be found-- whether in answer to the knock upon it, if Astarion is home, or waiting there for him if he isn't.]
[Astarion isn’t Wysteria. Isn’t Fenris. Doesn’t keep track of all the comings and goings over the crystal network— but even so, he isn’t surprised to find Emet-Selch loitering near his own front door once he returns from an afternoon of marketplace thieving: an announcement like that is a little hard to miss.
His expression is far from sympathetic. More like knowing, in a sense. Or expected, without reveling in the truth.]
Looks like it all came home to roost with you at last. [Said mildly, already reaching to unlock the doorway as though the ascian’s a stray cat, desperate to be let inside.
And despite being an anathema at the moment, Astarion does, in fact, let him in.]
His expression is far from sympathetic. More like knowing, in a sense. Or expected, without reveling in the truth.]
Looks like it all came home to roost with you at last. [Said mildly, already reaching to unlock the doorway as though the ascian’s a stray cat, desperate to be let inside.
And despite being an anathema at the moment, Astarion does, in fact, let him in.]
The room in Ansburg is hardly lavish, but the beds (there are two of them) are surprisingly comfortable and everything is clean. The linens smell like something faintly floral; the windowsill has been scrubbed in this lifetime; there are no cobwebs in the rafters. All in all, it's a far cry from the last room Fitcher shared with someone while following Riftwatch's bidding. Why, all four of the walls are even intact!
It's late in the evening when Fitcher returns from her outing with the retired Knight-Commander. She is dressed in a heavy brocade coat, cloaked from throat to mid calf, but there is something alluring isn't there? About an older woman with a sharply handsome face wreathed in fine fabric which reveals nothing at all. More than likely, Astarion has been in and out of the gentleman in question's apartments to rake up gossip long before this hour.
"Well," she announces, as the door is closed. With a flick, the edges of that great brocade cloak are parted and tossed back. The dress Fitcher is wearing beneath it is significantly less shapeless. "I hope your work was half as rewarding as mine was."
It's late in the evening when Fitcher returns from her outing with the retired Knight-Commander. She is dressed in a heavy brocade coat, cloaked from throat to mid calf, but there is something alluring isn't there? About an older woman with a sharply handsome face wreathed in fine fabric which reveals nothing at all. More than likely, Astarion has been in and out of the gentleman in question's apartments to rake up gossip long before this hour.
"Well," she announces, as the door is closed. With a flick, the edges of that great brocade cloak are parted and tossed back. The dress Fitcher is wearing beneath it is significantly less shapeless. "I hope your work was half as rewarding as mine was."
"Had fun, did you?" Astarion asks brightly, the edges of his overlong teeth flashed from where he rests sprawled across the farthest mattress, head tipped upside down across its edge.
He's picking at the underside of one of his fingernails with the edge of a dagger, all idle effort, and nothing bitter besides.
"Certainly took your time with the old bastard. I finished snooping around ages ago, you know."
He's picking at the underside of one of his fingernails with the edge of a dagger, all idle effort, and nothing bitter besides.
"Certainly took your time with the old bastard. I finished snooping around ages ago, you know."
[It's the middle of the night but she knows he's awake. She's been away for several days now, has warned him it'll probably be at least a week or so. Her work's taken her to Nevarra.]
When I get back you've gotta teach me how to pick locks.
When I get back you've gotta teach me how to pick locks.
[He, on the other hand, is staring at his own ceiling deep in isolated thought. The distraction is welcome.
Her voice even more so.]
Do I? [Light and airy. That distinctive tone he adopts when he's being purposefully troublesome.] What's in it for me, I wonder.
Her voice even more so.]
Do I? [Light and airy. That distinctive tone he adopts when he's being purposefully troublesome.] What's in it for me, I wonder.
Not to toot my own horn too much, but no one else does it half as well.
Desperate, are you? At the end of your exceedingly festive rope?
Desperate, are you? At the end of your exceedingly festive rope?
Edited 2021-10-21 22:47 (UTC)
[He hadn't minded spending his time in the Gallows before, but being confined to them-- it makes him somewhat restless. Emet-Selch takes what opportunities he can to work outside of the place, though certain things are, of course, less possible to do.
Visiting alone, for one.
So he's left with inviting Astarion to his room every so often, instead; this is one such time, and he's reclining on his bed, arms folded behind his head, while he's allowed Astarion to settle wherever he likes. It's been a short time here, already.
The cat he still refuses to call his own is perched on the windowsill.]
-given half an excuse, honestly, I might well accept sleeping on the ground if it would allow me to be elsewhere for a few days.
Visiting alone, for one.
So he's left with inviting Astarion to his room every so often, instead; this is one such time, and he's reclining on his bed, arms folded behind his head, while he's allowed Astarion to settle wherever he likes. It's been a short time here, already.
The cat he still refuses to call his own is perched on the windowsill.]
-given half an excuse, honestly, I might well accept sleeping on the ground if it would allow me to be elsewhere for a few days.
Poor thing. [It's the first visit where Astarion's truly intended to stick around for longer than an hour or two at a time, to be honest: he despises the Gallows on principle alone, as even at its most innocuous it runs against the most basic rule of thumb known to just about every wild animal with a brain.
Never sleep where you shit.
Or in this case, work.]
You'll have to forgive my lack of sympathy, darling. [He hums softly, finding a nearby chair to settle into that's reasonably far away from the sill now covered in faint traces of cat hair. And...well, cat.] After two hundred years left rotting in the dark, I can't seem to work up the will to weep over your middling months of being relegated to Riftwatch's Naughty List.
Never sleep where you shit.
Or in this case, work.]
You'll have to forgive my lack of sympathy, darling. [He hums softly, finding a nearby chair to settle into that's reasonably far away from the sill now covered in faint traces of cat hair. And...well, cat.] After two hundred years left rotting in the dark, I can't seem to work up the will to weep over your middling months of being relegated to Riftwatch's Naughty List.
Edited 2021-10-26 02:22 (UTC)
[Truth be told, he sounds amused.] Mmhm.
What gave it away, I wonder.
What gave it away, I wonder.
[He could contest that accusation (assessment?), but despite the delay that clutters the air with weighted silence just before he responds, he doesn't.]
Go on, then.
Go on, then.
[discreetly tucking away starter space so this doesn't take up the entire inbox]
( amused, warm, all the pleasant emotions you hope to hear after giving someone something: )
Who did you steal this from? No-- where?
Who did you steal this from? No-- where?
[That distinctive warmth is a strange balm on an otherwise (figuratively) stormy morning. Astarion didn't sleep much. Maybe that's the thready pressure he feels lingering in the air.
It's nice hearing his voice.
What a terrible thought.]
Wycome proper, near the waterside district where the well-to-do strutted about between bouts of gambling and drinking and— everything else. [The sort of mischief done in a place built upon the concept of hedonism.]
His accent was Tevinter, though his clothing wasn't nearly as striking as one might expect. Possibly an up-and-coming, emphasis on the lack of arrival: boasting about scraping up elven relics from their previous owners seemed to be his way of proving shrewdness. Or cruelty. Or both.
[A faint pause before:]
Do you like it?
It's nice hearing his voice.
What a terrible thought.]
Wycome proper, near the waterside district where the well-to-do strutted about between bouts of gambling and drinking and— everything else. [The sort of mischief done in a place built upon the concept of hedonism.]
His accent was Tevinter, though his clothing wasn't nearly as striking as one might expect. Possibly an up-and-coming, emphasis on the lack of arrival: boasting about scraping up elven relics from their previous owners seemed to be his way of proving shrewdness. Or cruelty. Or both.
[A faint pause before:]
Do you like it?
[He figured he might speak to Astarion in person, is the thing. It's not a lack of effort or attention that makes him wait to send the message; it's the fact that he anticipates hearing at least something on the day of, and then doesn't. But he doesn't neglect that for long, and sometime later in the day following the celebrations (such as they were), he takes to the crystal instead.]
You know, [he begins, his tone light and approving to start,] I must wonder at your definition of insignificant. I would not call these so.
[They would fit right in at home-- in his original home. The hint of fondness in his voice says enough for him.]
You know, [he begins, his tone light and approving to start,] I must wonder at your definition of insignificant. I would not call these so.
[They would fit right in at home-- in his original home. The hint of fondness in his voice says enough for him.]
[His voice is rough, dragging compared to all its usual delicate charm. There's no anger, no ire, but he sounds...]
They're plants, darling. Good for next to nothing practical whatsoever, aside from mixing poison or luring along prey if you're after something meek and quick-footed.
[In other words: insignificant.]
They're plants, darling. Good for next to nothing practical whatsoever, aside from mixing poison or luring along prey if you're after something meek and quick-footed.
[In other words: insignificant.]
Edited 2021-11-06 03:57 (UTC)
While Ellis has been invited once to Astarion's home, it surely cannot be assumed that he has a standing invitation to darken Astarion's doorway anytime he pleases.
And yet, here he is.
The hour is quite late. A passing knowledge of the guard shifts would explain Ellis' appearance now, when one shift has been supplanted by another and released him from his station along the dockside warehouses. (Doubtful that Astarion possesses this knowledge, all things considered, let's be real.) So he is still wearing his breastplate and carrying his mace and standing outside Astarion's doorstep with only half an idea as to his purpose there.
Astarion may not be home at all. Ellis wouldn't be surprised. He knocks again for good measure, one last time before abandoning the venture.
And yet, here he is.
The hour is quite late. A passing knowledge of the guard shifts would explain Ellis' appearance now, when one shift has been supplanted by another and released him from his station along the dockside warehouses. (Doubtful that Astarion possesses this knowledge, all things considered, let's be real.) So he is still wearing his breastplate and carrying his mace and standing outside Astarion's doorstep with only half an idea as to his purpose there.
Astarion may not be home at all. Ellis wouldn't be surprised. He knocks again for good measure, one last time before abandoning the venture.
Only Astarion is there after all— just not where Ellis might've expected.
Because it's only when he inevitably turns that the pale elf appears right behind him, grin already half-cocked, red eyes gleaming in the dark of an overcast night. Having finished a few errands of his own, Astarion had simply intended to slip back home for some much needed rest.
And coin counting, too, but mostly rest.
Turns out they've both been taken by surprise, now.
"Miss me, darling?"
Because it's only when he inevitably turns that the pale elf appears right behind him, grin already half-cocked, red eyes gleaming in the dark of an overcast night. Having finished a few errands of his own, Astarion had simply intended to slip back home for some much needed rest.
And coin counting, too, but mostly rest.
Turns out they've both been taken by surprise, now.
"Miss me, darling?"
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