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[illithidnapped]

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[illithidnapped]

How very like you.

[Withering, that remark. A compliment, a criticism, a needling little slight— all one and the same. If there's more to be said, he doesn't say it.

Or maybe he's just given up on conversation at present.]

[arkitect]

Well, you would know, by now.

[He thinks they've seen enough of each other for that.

A moment's pause follows, before:]

Though it felt somewhat unlike you, to hear you'd evidently ignored a gathering.

[illithidnapped]

I wasn’t feeling well.

[There’s a grit to those words rather than a softness. The difference between a hung excuse and a true explanation.

He's showing his teeth.]

Don’t tell me you cared. You'd have never gone anyway.

[arkitect]

Wouldn't I? Don't tell me you forgot the last one so quickly.

[-of course, he's already admitted he didn't this time, but... he just wasn't feeling up to it, either.]

I expect that if you have been feeling so poorly, however, you must not be up to a little travel.

[illithidnapped]

[If there's something else to be said it's lost entirely, eclipsed by:]

Travel? To where?

[arkitect]

Certainly nowhere you would be excited to go.

[He knows his feelings on the Gallows as a whole.]

[illithidnapped]

[Ah.]

Lonely?

Or just in need of a good tug.

[But why stop there, when twisting the knife is an easy, tempting satisfaction for an otherwise wounded heart?]

I’ll make a deal with you. If you admit all you’re after is a few hours of carnal alleviation, I’ll come running straight away. No hesitation. No prodding. No asking you to beg.

[arkitect]

Tempting as it may be to say yes just for the sake of doing this in person...? No. I don't think I'm the one who needs anything, at the moment.

[And, with a sigh:]

Are you going to prove willing to talk about whatever it is that has you in such a mood, or no?

[illithidnapped]

[Soured by a lack of provoked response, subsequently stung by that open confession, he’s silent for a moment too long.]

I suspect you know the answer to that already. Apologies if it disappoints.

[arkitect]

I would not say it disappoints, no.

[It's not really surprising, is the thing. He's aware of the tenuous distance they tend to keep between them, despite any physical closeness they engage in-- that opening up further tends to be a momentary thing. He hardly anticipated an answer.

What is disappointing is the fact that he's stuck here at a physical distance, regardless of what they do or don't say.]

But keep your counsel, if you m--

[He cuts off abruptly, with a short sound of surprise; there's the grating sound of something hitting stone very nearby, and he curses under his breath, his tone shorter when he speaks again. Distracted.]

What in the world-- wherever you are, stay there.

[illithidnapped]

[Stay there. A warning. Sharp.

Astarion knows the difference between a commotion and a disaster. He can hear it in Emet-Selch’s voice. Sense it as keenly as an animal, attuned to the simplest shift in the air.]

If it’s him, [Him, the only threat that might very well stand a chance at rending Kirkwall itself.] you tell me.

Even if it costs your dying breath.

[A flicker of— something lives there. Something tense. Dragging. He won’t say more. Can’t. Not now.

But if this passes, and they all survive it, they’ll speak again.]

[arkitect]

I assure you, my final words will be much different.

[As if he'd let himself be killed in such a manner, leave himself with no room to utter anything but a warning. He sounds tense as he says it, though, his voice low.]

And you certainly will not hear them today.

[That's where he ends the connection; these creatures may or may not be drawn to sound, and there's no reason to test that unnecessarily.]