illithidnapped

[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.]

[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.]

[That's fine, honestly. After all that-- he isn't in the mood for sympathy. It would sour all too quickly.

As expected, though, he doesn't let himself seem outwardly bothered; he steps inside like it's any other visit, takes a seat and makes himself comfortable as always.]

Unsurprising, given the presence of-- anyone at all who knew of my kind, evidently, though his information was not what I would call entirely accurate.

[The heavy iron door is shut with a groan, locked for good measure— as always.]

You’re too clever for your own good you know. That’s part of the problem: the man you’re up against— to just about anyone listening in— seems very much the noble, pure hearted, wouldn’t lie to save his life sort.

I realize you’re probably used to being heeded, but the fact of the matter is you can’t debate that kind of person. Questioning his information just makes you seem all the more like a politician washing his hands of filth.

Regardless of everything else, the first words out of your mouth should always be ‘I’m not guilty.’

[He stresses this by lifting both hands on either side of himself as he says it, dramatically pinching them together in midair.]

Yes, because immediately denying the accusations made by one more established-- who, as you've said, seems the type not to lie, would certainly go over better.

[A slight roll of his eyes, there, a wave of one hand.]

It is the truth regardless, that his information can be found lacking, and I do generally find it more effective to work with. Mayhap he believes what he says, but he has shown himself stubborn enough when it comes to the subject-- though it is not him I will ever need to convince, but those who may heed the warning.

[He doesn't outright lie so often as he bends truths and omits information-- honesty on a technicality.]

Nevermind that I must weigh the possibility of others arriving, who could add their voices against any direct denial I had previously offered.

So what?

You’re still going about this all wrong. [Astarion scoffs, chin sharply rising as he steps towards one of his own half-opened storage containers in search of wine.] the man you’re up against might be a Judge Magister, and he might be telling the truth in some misguided sense, but I was a Magistrate in my former life: I know damn well what sways.

Possession, wasn’t it? You’d mentioned it last time, what that summoned god of yours can do.

If you were under its hold, you were, technically, innocent. indisputably so.

Which is precisely the argument I intend to make, yes, but I've no inclination to do so in earshot of the entirety of Riftwatch.

[Sure, Gabranth took it public, but-- the answers don't need to be. Not to absolutely everyone and anyone who might be listening.

There's a pause, though, before he continues:]

Possession was not related to Zodiark, however.

[...which is going to be a problem for the Thedosians here, he suspects.]

You should, unless you want your new best friend to be overwhelming suspicion. [Which, as far as Astarion can tell, busy uncorking a dusty bottle of wine, Emet-Selch seems hellbent on ensuring with all that needless dignity of his.

Of all the flaws to have....]

Truth be damned, you’re the one that’s stuck here; the consequences of this aren’t going to go away unless you plan on personally making friends with everyone in Riftwatch— which, I might add, tall order now that everyone knows you’ve had a hand in planetary genocide.

[Just saying.

Still, he cocks an ear as he pours them both a glass of wine. Local swill, nothing pretty this time; this isn’t a cause worth celebrating.]

....how so?

It would do me little better to continue dragging it out in such a way, you know.

[It's the way of things when beaten to the punch. Anything that follows is a necessary deflection, and given the answers to some of the most likely questions, he prefers not to have them asked in public.

Once the wine is poured, he takes one of the glasses and takes a long sip before he answers that last question; it's not one that he ever intended to answer before, truthfully. Not when he is what he is, not when this place has such a healthy fear of creatures which possess others' bodies. It would be all too easy for anyone who knew to spark even more suspicion.

...considering that someone could very well do that now, though, has already called him possessor, there's less reason to play it so close. So, with a sigh:]

Possession is a necessity for my kind-- if we care to be perceived by the mortal eye, at the least. As they cannot see us in our natural form, it is necessary to take a host body as a vessel.

Oh for the love of—

[Really, Emet-Selch.

The look Astarion angles across the table, just over the rim of his own cup, is well beyond the point of absolute exasperation.]

Is there anything else, then? Anything at all you’d like to confess that’s going to make the whole of Riftwatch turn on you at the drop of a hat while I have you sheltered under my own damn roof?

No, I do believe that's more or less everything on that level.

[A more tired sort of exasperation, there, before he takes another drink, gaze dropping to the glass for the moment.]

I expect the only way it would be worse would be to have done anything here, or to be accused of blood magic on top of it all-- still manageable this way, to a degree, but this must be one of the least hospitable worlds I could have been pulled into.

[After that, though, he glances back up to Astarion.]

But as you say-- you do harbor me, for the moment. Unless you would have me leave.

Edited (forgot part of the tag,) 2021-10-08 19:48 (UTC)

I should.

[He sucks on the edge of one sharp fang as he says it, lips twisted with disapproval over the entire situation from top to bottom.]

Already risking enough existing as a creature of my own....proclivities. But no, my dear. No point in putting you out now. If someone’s tailing you, they’ll have already known where you went.

Besides, it might work out better for the both of us: me keeping an eye on you. Making sure you’re not going to ‘betray’ us.

Because I already know you won’t.

Edited 2021-10-09 02:48 (UTC)

[It wouldn't be too late to save face by kicking him out, he's sure. It's been short enough a time to have had a short conversation and be dismissed.

Another drink, nearly finishing the glass by now, before he exhales a sigh.]

I won't, no. What else am I to do, throw my lot in with someone who would doubtless betray any promises made in the process? I am aware of how this works-- I have done it. I've no need of that sort of power now.

[They're all stuck with him here, and they're all just going to have to work some things out, clearly.]

Much as I am sure they wouldn't believe me if I said so, all that I mean to do here is live.

[Save face? Maybe. But a contact is a contact is a contact— particularly after what’s been said across the crystals today. If Astarion wanted to feign absolute innocence, he’d have been smart and shut the door in the ascian’s face.

He didn’t.]

Giving up on the old dream? [Astarion asks, head cocking faintly to one side.]

You know, given the nature of the Fade, it might not actually be impossible to get something of your old world back.

...They proved their right to inherit the world as it exists now, I should think.

[-through killing him, specifically. He shrugs one shoulder.]

I have no intent of returning to my previous role or efforts there, no, but-- do explain further.

Dreams, memories affecting reality. I’m no expert, and don’t expect me to have done all the footwork in terms of research [ after all, Astarion is quite clear about which division he regards with absolutely no respect, spoiled and opinionated as he is ] but from what I hear the Fade’s done some bizarre work in granting all of Riftwatch shared dreams. Add to that the nature of Rifts, the creatures and objects we’ve all managed to drag through the Fade with us, and...

Well, theoretically speaking, there might be something there in terms of power capable of changing the world.

Power Corypheus might already be licking his lipless face with lust for.

[He’s watching Emet-Selch’s expression carefully. Unblinking. Red eyes as focused as a cat watching prey on a ledge— or measuring a threat, maybe.

And when he smiles, it doesn’t reach those eyes.]

But like I said: not an expert. No real idea.

...were I still beholden to my former duty, I expect I might be as well. There would be no other answer.

[Of course he would want it. He would be incapable of anything else, of not trying to return or at least to bridge a gap between worlds in some way, of not determinedly attempting to fulfill his duty.

...but.]

But our time has long since seen its end. There has never been a world like ours was, nor will there be again-- I have recreated a part of it before, but I would do its memory a disservice to try to recreate it of another world entirely. Naught but a hollow imitation that would never truly hold all of those who once inhabited it, built in a place which means nothing to its legacy.

I certainly never anticipated having something of a future, after my death, but I am aware enough it will be a waste if I continue to spend it attempting to revive the past. [The trouble is deciding just what living looks like, now. Relatedly:] And besides-- were you not the one who asked if I had forgotten the point of being alive at all?

[The glass of wine he’d been nursing along eases down into a looser grasp, held almost lazily between his fingertips— relaxed. And in conjunction with that moment of appeasement, whatever caution coiled itself behind the crimson edges of Astarion’s stare is gone when he answers, simply:]

Good boy.

Oh, don't you start.

[He rolls his eyes before draining his glass, exhaling a little huff of a breath. Don't you 'good boy' him like that.]

Why I bothered to come here is beyond me, intolerable creature that you are.

[-but he is here, still.]

Because you had no one left to turn to.

No one that’d let you in, and no one you could trust.

[He takes a proud sip of his drink, pushing the half-filled bottle towards Emet-Selch with his opposite hand in tame offering.]

I’m a rare breed, darling. Monster recognizing monster, etcetera.

And a relief it is that you are rare. Enough of your type and this world would be absolutely impossible to live in.

[He takes the bottle and pours, watching the wine splash into his emptied glass.]

But I suppose we both find ourselves somewhat less monstrous these days, don't we?

Depends on the definition.

I like to think I’m on a...brief intermission. An interlude, if you will. Only temporary tamed.

It’s fun, in its own way. Playing along, making friends.

[He stresses the word through the jagged edges of his teeth, proud and preening— and bitter underneath, in the way that he’s always bitter, even when he’s smiling. Which he is now, in fact.]

But we all know it won’t last.

In a physical sense of the definition, at minimum.

[A moment's pause follows, as he takes another drink, before he eventually asks:]

How, then, do you anticipate its end? By your own hand, or a simple inevitably of another kind?

The latter, naturally. As the saying goes, ‘nothing gold can stay.’

—except for actual gold, of course. That, you can always take with you, given that it’s a physical object and not capable of independent want or will. But you get the idea.

[He sips, thoughtfully musing to himself, but the edge of his grin is tempered by the subject. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the light. Who knows.]

It doesn’t matter how fond you are, or how much you want it. The universe, as I’m sure you already know, has its ways.

Best to cut the cord when it’ll sting the least.

...time will always have its way, if naught else does beforehand.

[Of course he already knows. He's lived enough lives, outlived everything and everyone else he ever might have cared for, watched time erode what was left of the only people who remained constant through it.]

It is different, I think, for those of us who are either no longer mortal, or never have been. The brief length of a human life lends itself to seizing upon anything they can, clinging to what they're able-- ephemeral in their existence, they do not stay long either.

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