illithidnapped

[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.

Ah, the vivacity of youth. [Astarion sighs, pressing a lone hand to the center of his chest in an overly dramatic show of feigned lament.

And then he moves on.]

Still, pleasant topics aside, what are you going to do now? Surely you didn’t come here just for the wine.

Please. You are hardly so old, yourself.

[Everyone is young to him, though, honestly. Astarion still isn't human, it's good enough.

Speaking of the wine, though, he delays his answer with another drink.]

But I expect that depends more upon you than me. Upon how long you intend to entertain the intrusion, and whether you mean to send me back for the night.

Send you back?

Darling, I’m no quivering child. You’re here already, why would I bother sending you home?

If you want to stay, stay: you’ll have a place to lay your head until sunrise. After that, I trust you’ll figure out just what approach you want to take in tackling all this pervasive drama.

[It’s not a permanent offer for shelter, given the pointedness of that final remark, but it’s a promise he can linger here a little longer— if he likes. Sleep. Recuperate without worrying about a knife at his throat or ire at his back.

Though if that threat grew too large, it’s more than possible Astarion would, in fact, open his door yet again with only mild grumbling.]

I have a habit of not feeding strays too often, after all.

[Says the man who not only keeps a resting place for Fenris nearby, but a set of clothes and rumpled bedding for Ellie as well, now.

Strays indeed.

But pretense is always pretense.]

There is a difference between allowing a brief respite and extending it to the night, after all, and there are those who sleep best alone.

[A shrug, there; he isn't one to make assumptions of others' space, and this has never exactly been discussed. Emet-Selch can handle himself, he'd just return to his own room if Astarion preferred to keep the place to himself at night.

With his dagger under the pillow, maybe, but. That's just a reasonable precaution.]

I do have some idea of my intentions already, but- tomorrow will be a better day for that particular effort.

Indeed. But you should know I never open my door unless I'm willing to potentially entertain from sunset to sunrise.

In other words, I don’t offer this sort of thing lightly.

Hm. Or maybe I do. [A soft, thoughtful— maliciously playful gasp.] Either way.

I trust you’ll be content despite the somewhat crowded conditions here? Not too lowly for your Imperial preferences?

[Asked as he rises, pressing aside his own half-filled cup and moving over to settle down across the edge of his own mattress as an example: between the clutter and the entirely limited space, there aren’t any illusions about just how little there is to be worked with.]

Edited 2021-10-10 05:11 (UTC)

Entertaining the entire night now, are you? And here I thought you were endeavoring to be present through the daylight hours instead.

[Lighter, much closer to his usual tone. But he just waves a hand at that last question-]

I have had far worse hospitality before, I can assure you. I doubt there is much in this city that would compare, at least within my own reach, but-- I will accept the lack of luxury for the lack of the responsibility which accompanies it.

[He's not in the mood to run an empire again, thank you very much.]

[Emet-Selch, you slacker. He’s so proud.]

Potential isn’t a definite. Most nights I actually do get a fairly human amount of rest— provided I’m not toiling away in Riftwatch’s name, or digging up new information at the Blooming Rose, or...

Well.

Far more rare circumstances.

Mm. But don’t worry. I can personally verify that so long as no one opts to break in my door tonight, you won’t have a single responsibility or care to your name.

Sacred earth, in a sense.

You’re welcome.

Rare, are they? An unfortunate state of events for you, I am sure.

[Another sip finishes off his second glass, and with that, he sets it aside.]

But in that case, I shall hope the current state of peace here remains so. I doubt anyone will go to such lengths so quickly, however.

What can I say? The wellspring here isn't exactly overflowing.

If I were in Hightown, that'd be a different story. Or still in Wycome, perhaps. Pity as it was to leave.

[Otherwise, no: Lowtown's eligible, desirable few have been more likely to drop off a pier or lose their own teeth as of late, what with the city so pressed for space and sanctuary alike.

And, all things aside, Astarion is never desparate. Whether or not an itch needs scratching, sometimes it's simply better to abstain.]

Even among our number, is it. Though I suppose most of us do tend to have more pressing concerns.

[-or, you know, existing relationships, that sort of thing.]

-just as I suppose that here, you're equally liable to run into someone who means trouble as you are a decent night.

Nosy. [Astarion scoffs through the edges of his teeth in mock offense, pinning a few arched fingers delicately against the set of his own collarbone.]

Besides, Riftwatch is, like you said, fairly fretful overall: morose, withdrawn, afraid, agitated— worrying about the war or what comes next, or whether or not the ones they love will, in fact, ever love them again.

[And how's a vampire supposed to compete with all of that baggage.]

It won't always be the case, of course. And once the war's over, I'll be free as a bird.

Well, of course I am. I should think you would have expected that.

[He leaves his seat, then, evidently done with it, and comes over to sit on the bed as well; with his presence accepted 'til tomorrow, he makes himself comfortable there, settling in with one leg crossed over the other.]

We can only hope it ends soon, then, for your sake. Mayhap you will find somewhere that a pretty face will earn you better luck.

[The word pretty seems to change something. Moreso than proximity, in fact, given the way Astarion's expression almost brightens by degrees— head canting to one side just so, the way a cat might behave (its dark, depthless eyes dilating) when spotting a bird on a ledge within reach.

Instinctive.]

You wouldn't be trying to charm me just to make sure someone's on your side in all this mess, would you?

If mere charm were sufficient, I would be quite concerned. I do expect better of you than that, you know.

[He watches that shift in demeanor, though, one brow arched in turn. Honestly, after everything-- it would almost be an insult to think this alone would sway.]

Clever of you to think so, but a common tactic besides.

[It wouldn’t be the first time, in fact, that Astarion’s come across it in the figurative wilds— or the first time he’s used it, either.

Still, unlike Astarion, Emet-selch doesn’t seem the type.]

And...oh, I don’t know. [he starts, leaning in by degrees, given how close the ascian is now for having opted to sit beside him.] I wouldn’t complain if you were.

Why, don't tell me you mean to charm me to ensure I believe you're on my side.

[It's light, idle; Astarion leans in, though, and he doesn't lean away in turn.]

If I did, do you really imagine I’d confess?

[The words murmured more than spoken, his attention sunken beneath the heavy hang of dark lashes as he cranes his neck higher— pressing chilled lips to the edge of Emet-Selch’s jaw. Tentative. Testing.

The way someone might dip their toe into a shallow pool.]

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