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[illithidnapped]

[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.

[cozen]

[ 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.

[illithidnapped]

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.