illithidnapped

[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.

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.

Edited 2021-10-26 02:22 (UTC)

Oh, don't. We both know full well you would take to this no better.

[Wouldn't deal with it at all, likely, which would be its own little set of problems.]

We have had worse, the both of us, but obviously it will not keep me from my own complaints now-- though of course dwelling upon it is hardly what I asked you here for.

Yes, well, I’m not the one who just had to go around erasing worlds, now am I?

[He's grinning wickedly, satisfied with the cheapness of his own shot, ankles crossing on the edge of a nearby table.]

My sins are thankfully far more mundane.

Anyway, you’re lucky they didn’t jail you, given the circumstances. Would’ve been a lot more troublesome, having to visit you in a place that reeks of slavery even more than the Gallows proper.

[-but evidently he would, troublesome as it would be. Emet-Selch doesn't call him on that this time, just rolling his eyes as he shifts to sit up.]

There would be little point to it. What would they gain from that save for another body to merely keep alive, for however long they chose to bother?

But I suppose that we are both in luck, if that is indeed how you'd prefer to see it. You don't have to put up with worse, and I expect there are things they might find... objectionable, were you visiting me there.

[For that, Astarion laughs— sharp and clear and pronounced as the edges of his own wicked teeth.]

You do sound so certain of yourself. [His fingers fold like latticework, resting atop the flat of his own stomach where he leans back.

How very charming.]

Certain of what, precisely? Are you certain you aren't making assumptions?

[Thrown out casually, before he just waves a hand.]

No, I did in fact have something else in mind.

If I am, they're not unfounded. [Head cocking to one side, grin widening at an angle so severe it nearly makes itself parallel with the walls themselves. Something else? Something unexpected?

Oh, how Astarion does love a good surprise.]

But do go on. I'd hate to wither away in the agony of suspense.

I suppose I might not deny you, if you were to ask.

[Maybe. But he leaves it at that as he stands, going over to retrieve a cloth-wrapped bundle from one of the drawers of his dresser; he hasn't gone to lengths to hide it, there are only so many places in this room and he never intended to hold on to this for long. It's deposited in Astarion's hands before Emet-Selch returns to the bed, settling back in as he speaks.]

There is little point in waiting for some holiday, I believe, but... well. Have a look for yourself.

[Inside, there rests a pair of daggers; their handles are dark, worked and painted so that they contain the night sky within them, stars offset by subtle dark blues mixed with the black background. The pommels contain nearly-opaque black stones, but there's a subtle starry effect from little specks of mineral within the stones, which are not cut to catch the light like they might usually be. Something a little subtler, that won't glimmer too much in low light while still sheathed.]

[Very little sustains Astarion the way that gifts do. Granted, attention, desire, flattery, petty obsession, envy and— all right, a lot of things sustain Astarion, but given the general hierarchy of needs, offerings run high enough to eclipse an impressive number of alternatives.

Or slights.

His eyes widen as he unwraps the heavy bundle only to find the star-specked contents within, pupils dilating in a way that speaks volumes where the rest of his expression seems leashed to the confines of entirely unexpected surprise. For a long moment, he's speechless. Blinks a touch too much, exhales a touch too sharply, incapable of forming a single coherent thought until he's plucked one up in his own grasp, weighing the feel of it in his hands.

Admiring it in his mostly shaded little corner of the room.

And after the longest pause imaginable, he breathes:]

You do realize we've already slept together, right? You're not going to get more than what you've got for this, so to speak.

[He's watching, of course, quiet as Astarion takes that in-- and already satisfied, before he ever opens his mouth to say a word. When he does, though, it gets an amused little exhalation in response, not a full fledged laugh, but something halfway approaching it.]

I do realize, yes. But I have no interest in buying your attention or time-- occasional minor bribery, mayhap, but this is hardly intended to be one.

[Astarion is who he is, after all, and so Emet-Selch doesn't discount it entirely. There are things Astarion could ask for that he just might give.]

Surely it isn't so unthinkable that I simply wished to do this.

[It is.

To a paranoid mind, at least. One as active as Astarion’s. One that knows the difference between a dense, blunted personality, and an intellect clever enough to decisively rule. Emet-Selch is the latter, of course, and that in and of itself comes with a certain amount of risk when dipping toes into the murkier waters of acute friendship, beyond shoreline stretches of teasing and owed favors.

But the man’s old, to the point of dulled sensation and tired eyes, and he hardly seems driven by the sort of hunger that plagued Cazador, or Corypheus, or even Astarion himself. So yes, instinctively, behind the jokes and softer look scrawled across his own face, Astarion is already searching for ways this gift might be a tactical play—

And then he sets that notion aside.

It isn’t an absolute dropping of his guard, but all things considered, it’s about as good as it gets given the circumstances.]

It’s a little unthinkable, you know.

[His lips purse slightly, he’s tapping one manicured nail against the glassy pommel in thought.]

And besides, I didn’t get you anything in turn.

I suppose it might be.

[They know each other well enough to keep that mutual assessment of risk in mind. To be cautious in opening up further, despite what's happened already in the time they've known each other. But he's seen enough not to be completely wary; he's borne in mind how easily they could have left the caves, how Astarion didn't want to simply leave the others behind. Remembered the look on his face watching the stars, which led him to this idea in the first place.

He leans back against the wall, settling in.]

But I did not do it with any expectations in mind, either.

You are so strange.

[Not just because of this, though Astarion's brows are still pinched slightly when he goes through the process of rewrapping the blades within the confines of their packaging. But all the selflessness, all the stubborn adherence to his own self-assured way of doing things— it's nothing Astarion has ever had it in himself to comprehend, really. Their worlds are too different, or...the way they see things is.

And yet what normally would be a deterrent for Astarion, isn't in this case. He's still here. Still talking.

Still keeping the damn gift.]

I expect many would think so-- not to mention that I doubt this is the last time I will hear it from you, either.

[He's accustomed to it, to being separate from nearly everyone else he might encounter, to having that gap between himself and most others. It's shrugged off, as many things are.]

I do not necessarily consider it a negative. You're quite the strange person at times, yourself.

Untrue. [Astarion counters coolly, chin lifting proudly for the sake of emphasizing his point.]

I have it on good authority I’m quite charming.

By what authority, your own?

[Certainly not the 'good authority' of anyone who found him charming enough to sleep with, given his commentary on his luck.]

You need not object, regardless; I never claimed that detracted from any charm you may in fact possess.

By yours now, too, thank you.

[:)

Drawing himself back into his seat, he pulls his bundled gift with him, folding it (and his own hands) across his chest just beneath the endpoint of his ribs.]

How are the others treating you, by the way? Just out of curiosity.

[Always good to know how the group at large might view a perceived enemy.]

Well, I've no knives in my back yet, so I suppose it could certainly be worse.

[He exhales a little huff, at that, shaking his head and folding his arms.]

Tolerated, at the least.

Good.

Unless it's my own knives— particularly this lovely little set, [he says, tapping lightly at those well-buried pommels with the edges of his gloved fingertips] I'd rather not see you sporting any new, painfully protruding accessories.

That said, if anything starts to feel...[mm] off around here, you know how to reach me.

I assure you, I would prefer the same.

[Dryly, just passing over the implied threat there as he waves a hand. Ungloved, this time; that's been more frequent around Astarion lately.]

It has already felt off since his initial message, by my own estimation, but I will reach you if it becomes anything to be truly concerned about.

[-and that's primarily because he was thrown off track by it, somewhat, and yet to fully settle back in. Still re-evaluating, still observing.]

Fairly certain the only one you’ll really need to worry about is the Judge himself.

He’s not exactly charismatic. Probably means he isn’t in possession of very many friends that might overeagerly take to action. And I’d be shocked if Riftwatch wasn’t also preparing itself for that possibility, anyway, between you and me.

Those escorts might be for your protection as much as anyone else’s.

[He pauses before adding coyly:]

Not that you’re not fearsome in your own right, I’m sure.

Mm. I doubt it, personally; I may have... tested him, slightly, when we met, and he regretfully managed without incident. Chose to withdraw and issue that warning of his, instead-- which I am sure has still ensured eyes on him, but I do not believe he will act unless he believes I have given him a reason. If the man wanted me dead, I should think he would have tried it when he had the chance.

[A sigh's exhaled on the tail end of that.]

Best to watch, regardless. Others may well be more opportunistic, faced with a perceived threat, even if the Judge Magister himself was not.

Tested— regretfully?? [Astarion scoffs sharply, sitting up slightly in his seat.]

By the Hells. Do you have a death wish, darling? Is that it?

He would have been easier to handle, had it gone otherwise.

[Sometimes you just have to engage in a little provocation? Surely Astarion of all people understands that.]

...though, yes, I suppose you do have a point. It is still easy enough, at times, to forget this body may not be disposable.

at some point this month

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