illithidnapped

Agreed. Being shoved around by that fellow would be positively erotic.

[ A wry smile. ]

Abominations, not so much. No - I fear demons, but I don't fear you.

[He makes a noise that’s— perhaps— a little too telling. Halfway between a hum and a laugh, like a joke lives somewhere in the air between them, entirely unsaid out of decency alone.]

Mmhm.

[And that’s all he has to say about that particular subject— until the next statement follows.]

Flattery is your strong suit, I’ll give you that.

But thank you.

[Something about his voice in that final addition...it’s very nearly muted. Sober, compared to all usual pomp.]

[ A cocked eyebrow in response to that suggestive hum, but he doesn't pursue it. Instead: ]

For what?

This.

The wine, the— mm. Conversation, I suppose. I realize we’re all just protecting our own ass....sets [ha] but I won’t lie and say it wasn’t a welcome change of pace.

You could’ve easily made yourself a thorn in my paw, or a stubborn warden, of sorts.

[There at least, his mouth twists into something far more wry.]

Though I suppose there’s always time for that later.

I'll prick at you, you can be sure of it. [ His smile grows a little ambiguous. ] Everyone feels dreadfully injured by me at one time or another.

[ Anyway - He shrugs. ]

But - it's my pleasure to have this conversation with you. So many of the others just - oh, they just circle back to the same hurts, again and again. You're actually someone who has something fresh to say.

Consider it mutual, then. [It isn't said like it's a bad thing, the potential for injury between them.] At the very least, we know exactly where we stand.

[Still, curiously:]

Rifters, do you mean? Or...well, everyone you deal with?

Rifters less than most, actually.

[ A shrug as he sips his wine. ]

Mages are the worst of them. I've known a few mages who are interested in forward motion - [ There's a little twist of his heart as he obliquely misses Colin, after all this time - ] But for the most part, conversations with them are simply - what are you doing for us, do you even care about mages, let us strongly say once more that the Chantry is wicked and we've done nothing wrong.

Rifters are actually rather refreshing, because they're all so different. Though there are some - I'm sure you've met them - whose sole hobby is letting all of us Thedosians know how backwards we are and how fascinating and marvelous their homes were and what do you mean, you've never heard of Blip Blatterling, the Bard of Yark? What do you mean, you don't have devices that draw the shit directly from your bowels so you don't even have to strain yourself to go?

[ Drolly, to Astarion - ] Thank you, by the way, for not coming in here and spending twenty minutes of my time on Blip Blatterling's ballads.

And here I thought you’d thank me first and foremost for not talking extensively about devices that draw the shit directly from your bowels.

Nice to see where your priorities lie.

[Joking makes it easier— everything, that is. Like this, his shoulders relax, his expression forgetting its tension. Drinking is a gentler art, and his voice returns to its usual songbird cast.]

Then again, almost every bard I’ve ever had the misfortune of listening to tended to sound more like an old crow crooning, rather than anything truly pleasant.

Almost.

Edited (im sleep) 2021-09-11 20:21 (UTC)

I actually wouldn't mind the shit-extraction device. It'd make certain activities require rather less preparation.

[ His smile is quite sweet. ]

But if you tell me abut some bard-or-another from your home, I'll throw my drink in your face.

[His laugh is absolutely stupid— high and lilting. The sort of thing you only hear at the most exclusive of events, where everyone’s so rich and pedigreed they don’t give a damn what they happen to sound like.

They make it fashionable.

It also, for reference, is childishly sincere. His sense of humor: just awful.]

No, my dear. I was only thinking of Thedas. Say what you will about the place, but talent...

[He cocks his head to one side, deliberately clicking his tongue.]

It does actually exist here.

Oh ho.

[ His eyes narrow with pleasure. ]

I hope you're not speaking of Juke Bachs.

Mm. [Thoughtful. Entirely played-up.] Is he Orlesian?

Marcher.

Eugh, no then. Not the one I'm thinking of.

So who are you thinking of?

[His grin is deliberate— the way he looks off wistfully to one side, however, is—

Actually, no, that's deliberate, too. Much like what he'd done on arrival in quarantine, he needs this.]

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Very charming, but mutedly so. One of our own, in fact.

—otherwise I hear there's a local elf that does just fine, too.

Hmmmm.

Mustache?

How ever did you guess.

Dear Astarion. I can't believe you're such a fan of mine!

[He laughs so abruptly (and so absurdly hard) that he almost spills what’s left of his wine, stiffling it against the back of his hand.

Yes, fine, he did need this. Dearly.]

Well I didn’t want to have to say it, but I suppose I’ve been found out now.

[Playful and dramatic as though it were a stage performance, he fits a hand to the center of his chest, sighing.]

You’ll never look at me the same way again. How utterly tragic.

It's all right.

[ By grins back at Astarion, nearly as tickled as he. ]

I love my fans. Nothing indicates better taste than adoring me.

[ but... ]

When did he play for you?

Not long after I arrived, actually. He and the rapturous Lady Alexandrie opted to grant me a private performance in regards to the instruments of this world.

[And while he could continue digging his heels into the thorny concept of making mischief, he opts for the truth. Just briefly.]

I'd never heard some of them before, you see.

[ His pout is dramatic. ]

I can't believe they didn't invite me.

[Oh dear.]

Maybe they were afraid you'd show them up. Wellspring of talent that you are.

[ Excuse. He points at Astarion. ]

Have you heard me play?

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