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[illithidnapped]

[As for the subject of Wysteria, Astarion seems to be pretending he hasn't heard her name at all. Odd.]

[acreage]

[ he has a brief image of a bird ruining some irreplaceable written code of petrana's, and her turning around and murdering him. ]

Okay, [ he admits, ] you are good at this. But I think you're overestimating how much money I've got.

[illithidnapped]

You were the one who asked after those of us with exquisite taste— you can't blame me for the sorry state of your own finances.

[Honestly, Jim, did you think this would be easy?]

And besides, if you're that cleaned out in regards to funding, there are always... other ways one might get precisely what one wants at any given moment.

[acreage]

Let's assume, [ he says as though interrupting, ] I'm not going to be stealing anyone's gifts. Do you have any other suggestions?

[illithidnapped]

[It’s an offended scoff, the one that chases that question.

Who wouldn’t be willing to do anything for love, or friendship? What sort of protagonist is that?]

Perfumed oils, then. Significantly less expensive than its much finer— and more finely made— relative. And pressed flowers in a book of simple poetry ought to make for a fond, dedicated gesture.

[That said.]

As for me, I still want the money.

[acreage]

[ this ingratitude?? ]

I wouldn't have thought of that, [ he admits in a murmur, considering those options — especially the oils.

(pressed flowers in a book of poetry sounds so much like — if, if, if. what it'll be like, to grow old with you, she'd said; and if he had the chance over, maybe he'd bring her flowers every day. she'd laugh, and she'd call him wasteful, and she wouldn't be wrong.)

as for astarion's gift: ]

I'll keep it in mind. Won't be much of a surprise for you if I do, though.

[illithidnapped]

Then imagine the look of rapturous joy that’ll be etched across my face once I’m not shivering in the cold, rubbing two bits together to make ends meet like some sort of ragged little pauper.

Why, I could be warm for a change. Happy, even.

[Says the elf with a house of his own and a fireplace to light even the most dreary of nights— even if it's little more than a stone-hewn pit.]

[acreage]

[ speaking of warm, for a change, or happy even — he laughs, and it's both things. ]

Nice try, but I've seen where you live. If you're getting cold, you should try wearing a coat.

[illithidnapped]

You’ve seen where I live and you don’t think I’m suffering? Either your standards are low or you’re in possession of a cold, cold heart.

[Teasing. Amused. Maybe equally warm. Roll perception if you want to know the full depth of it, sir.]

Besides, your jacket’s getting a little thin for this weather.

[acreage]

That must be it.

[ perception check rolled 15, cough up the answers. ]

I forgot how cold it gets, [ he says more seriously. ] I haven't stayed on a planet this long since I was a teenager.

[illithidnapped]

[Fine. It's warm. And familiarly so. Ugh.]

Where else would you be? Don't tell me you were the sort of person that went compulsively delving into extraplanar nonsense.

[acreage]

Would you believe me if I said I used to live up among the stars?

[illithidnapped]

I would, but I'd also believe you if you said you were once cursed by a witch to live as a duck until true love's first kiss.

[Not because it's the most convincing story out there, but because:]

You don't lie.

[acreage]

Not usually, [ he agrees, light. ] And not about this. I left the planet after enlisting with the Navy, then worked ice hauling for a while. By the time I landed here, I was captain of a ship. Since then, the longest I'd been on a planet was a month or so, before Thedas.

[illithidnapped]

Must be unimaginably uncomfortable for you, not only being tethered to one world, but more specifically to one place.

In truth, I’d always imagined my own freedom a little more on the grand and adventurous side— not that fighting a dragon or traipsing across enemy lines in a war isn’t its own sort of thrilling, but getting leashed to Kirkwall? Well. Not exactly scenic for a slaver city.

[A beat, and then]

Former slaver city. Mostly.

[acreage]

It's a change,

[ he admits after a beat. he'd been prepared for the usual response — questions about space, or spaceships, or aliens, or what may lie beyond the stars. not this particular brand of incisive insight, though maybe he shouldn't have expected any less of astarion.

and it occurs to him, for shamefully the first time, that this has to be why astarion relocated to kirkwall. part of it, at least. the city is less full of reminders of its slaving history than the gallows; but it's been easy for him to forget. of course it wouldn't be easy for astarion. ]

Have you found anywhere you'd rather live?

[ genuine curiosity. astarion's been here long enough to see a fair portion of thedas. ]

[illithidnapped]

Fenris suggested Rivain might suit. That there are places in the north a little less...mm. [Withering, that hum.] a bit less like having hot sand scraped directly across one’s balls.

But I can’t say I relate much to the elves from this world, either. Not the Dalish, I mean. Or the ones from the Alienages. Most of them are either too complacent or far too...earthy.

[Adrasteia, Fenris, so far they’re the only exceptions to the rules— and maybe they don’t really count, either, given the uniqueness of their situations: a Grey Warden walking the line between duty and drive, a former weapon turned hounding menace. Two out of thousands isn’t the most overwhelming case for any kind of compatibility.

No, Astarion’s fairly certain Thedosian elves aren’t his type overall.]

So I suppose I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.

What about you?

[acreage]

Derrica could tell you more about Rivain, [ is something of an idle suggestion. she could, but he's not sure astarion would ask when the anchor binds him here anyway.

he makes a soft sound after, an acknowledgement. he can't speak to conditions elves face here, how dalish and city elves differ, but it's easier to imagine the cultural divide for an elf from another world. astarion grew up in a very different environment, attitudes towards elves not what they are here. of course trying to fit in among them would be strange. ]

No, [ he agrees, ] I don't know either.

[ because he mentioned the roci so recently, he admits, ]

It was never the place that mattered. It was the people in it. I would've gone anywhere my crew was.

[illithidnapped]

[It's a kind suggestion. An apt one, too.

Astarion ignores it.

Not because of Derrica, or for some shade of mistrust, but because he knows a touch too much about her story to want to freely draw it into casual conversation: better to press on while they can.]

Gods, do you ever tire of being so intolerably soft?

[acreage]

Not yet.

[ then, ]

I don't know how that's going to translate here. [ no ship, no crew. ] Maybe I should look into Rivain, myself.

[illithidnapped]

We’ll need to win the war first, and find ourselves not thrown in cages alongside our dear, local, self-serving mages.

If we can get through that unscathed, I’ll walk you to Rivain myself.

[acreage]

[ the way he exhales suggests that he considered some answer to self-serving, but that that he doesn't want to have that fight right now.

instead he says, soft, ]

I'll do anything I can to make sure that doesn't happen to you. I hope you know that.

[illithidnapped]

[This time, Astarion’s a little too quiet for a little too long. A contrast to how eagerly he’d normally twist— how swiftly he’d bite— when staring down an open, offered palm.]

...right. Well.

[Halting again. Picking apart the pieces of his own thoughts.]

You got what you needed. If you choose terrible gifts it won’t be because of me.

Just...

Mm.

[And with that noticeable lack of fanfare, he cuts the call short.]