illithidnapped

[ Fairly late, but not obscenely late: ]

You live in the city, don't you, Astarion?

[Truth be told, he sounds amused.] Mmhm.

What gave it away, I wonder.

I knocked on every door to every private room in the Gallows looking for you—

[ He did not. ]

—so it was either the city or a bunk bed, and I can’t imagine you getting near a bunk bed voluntarily.

Oh I certainly did— briefly. Granted it was only when I thought I had the space to myself, but still, I'm not all finery and frills, you know.

[Just mostly.]

Anyway, I'm assuming you didn't reach out for the sake of nesting on my doorstep: what do you want?

To nest on your doorstep.

[ A silent beat, for the joke. ]

No. I am missing the ferry tonight, but I don’t need somewhere to stay. I only wanted to know if you felt like a late drink.

Ahah. Very funny.

Oh, wait. You're serious.

You actually do want to drink?

Yes, I actually do. And I want to eat, but I can do that before you come.

If you will come.

[He snorts. He can't help it.]

Say that word again, darling, and I won't be able to stop myself.

[But juvenile humor aside:]

Where are you?

[ Bastien snickers, and he’s still snickering while he says, ]

I will be aaaaat—

[ drawn out, because he hasn’t decided; he is, at this moment, turning in a circle like a compass needle in the street, as if that will help, even though the street he’s currently on has nothing but warehouses and workshops ]

—the Viscount’s Head, in twenty minutes. But please take your time.

Not my first choice, but it’ll do. Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you there.

[one sharp intake of breath, before: ]

Oh and—

Do take care not to get robbed, my dear. I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself, but Kirkwall is always going to be Kirkwall.

T'inquiète pas. I will stick to the side streets and dark alleys so no one sees me.

[ That's a joke. He takes the well-lit and populated streets, such as they are in Kirkwall after dark, and he arrives at the tastelessly named but tastefully appointed Viscount's Head within the 20 minutes he predicted and with all of his coins still in his possession.

At this hour they don't have anything hot to sell him, so when Astarion shows, he's in the process of fashioning his bread, cheese, and smoked meat into a small collection of tiny sandwiches and building a similarly tiny pyramid with them. ]

You have to choose the wine, [ he says, ripping a piece of meat in two with his hands to spread between two of the sandwiches. ] I have a peasant's palate. But I am paying for it.

Not to worry, [Spoken as he takes his own seat almost elbow-to-elbow with his compatriot, head cocked sidelong for good, comfortable measure.] I’ve got the palate of a king and the coin purse of a destitute pauper: together we’ll manage.

[Says Astarion, as though he’s brought any money with him at all.

Spoilers: he hasn’t.

Still, after selecting something near the high end of all provided offerings (read: slightly better than swill), and plucking up one of those cold little sandwiches between his fingers, he rests his weight a little more loosely in his own shoulders.] What’s all this business about missing the ferry? Call me a poor judge of character, but it doesn’t seem like you to be careless.

You are a poor judge of character.

[ His tone is purely obedient. He doesn't mean it. ]

I was trying to convince an Antivan to sell us leather for less than all of our arms and legs, [ is half of the real answer, ] and it went long, and I didn't feel like running.

[ The other half: it's one of Alexandrie's regular evenings with Byerly, and Bastien is almost never jealous and only rarely lonely about all of that, but tonight he turned down the opportunity to negotiate those leather prices naked—he told her he was taken, of all things, even though the concept is very un-Orlesian and Byerly's never asked him to—and it left him feeling a bit something about the prospect of rushing back to the Gallows to have a quiet and solitary night in.

But he didn't make Astarion come out to talk about that. He made him come out because he's fun and seems like a night owl anyway.

He sips the wine and peers into his cup approvingly, like he can see the quality as well as taste it. ]

Has anyone given you any trouble, living out here?

[Long could imply a lot of things. Arduous success or tiresome defeat— familiarity at a cost, either in coin or secrets or touch itself— and Astarion's keen enough to the concept of business not to pry outright, having recognized something of a flicker of weariness to be found in the directness of a confession that ends in the words 'I didn't feel like'.

He's been there before, after all. Everyone like them has.

So. Wine first. Maybe the rest of it later.]

They certainly try, bless their wretched little hearts. [A breath, before:] Oh, but it’s not a bad thing. Keeps me on my toes. Sharpened senses, reflexes like a cat, clever as a fox, etcetera etcetera.

[Never mind the fact that Astarion is as much of a Lowtown antagonist as the creatures he incites, but that's hardly important.]

In fact without the nightly thrill of resentful, localized, ale-soaked mischief I suspect I’d be of very little use to Riftwatch for having grown comfortable and soft.

I might even have to join Diplomacy.

[ Bastien—unabashedly soft and comfortable—laughs with his mouth shut, because there’s a miniature sandwich inside of it, and wings his elbow out to vengefully (gently) prod Astarion in the arm.

After he’s swallowed: ] Maybe we don’t want you anymore, after you passed us over. Diplomats hate to be spurned. You would have to join Research.

Oof, that stings.

Luckily for me I happen to have friends in Diplomacy that might at least rescue me from an eternity of clerical work out of the goodness of their hearts.

[Yes?]

After all, I like to think I’ve been quite kind to them.

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