illithidnapped

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?

[He laughs because of course he does. How could he not?] Gods no.

Well— not to my knowledge, anyway. Not unless you operate in disguise.

But I have to assume given your roguish good looks and...fairly satisfying aura, that you’ve got at least some sort of brilliance in there.

If not music....

Juggling, perhaps?

Juggling.

[ Said with utter distaste - even as he pulls out a few handkerchiefs from his desk and does a decent, if simple, scarf-juggling routine. Because of course this bitch knows how to do that. ]

I'm the finest fiddle player Riftwatch has, I'll have you know - [ As he tosses the handkerchiefs one-by-one - ] And if they didn't tell you that, I'll have words with them. Serious words.

[Astarion looks absolutely rapt, eyes gleaming a brighter shade of red in low light. He's as easily amused as a toddler sometimes.

Never tell him that.]

No, they certainly didn't. [Does Astarion want desperately for pettiness to ensue? Absolutely. Don't @ him.] In fact, they didn't even mention you at all.

But we had such a lovely evening, I'm sure it was just a matter of forgetfulness, and nothing remotely intentional.

Sabotaging my career and reputation. The bastards.

[ He clucks his tongue in a sound of deep offense. That is, of course, totally faked. But sometimes you love the drama.

He tosses one handkerchief so it lands on Astarion's head. Inevitably: it's perfumed. ]

Well, let it be known that I am the greatest talent in all of Kirkwall.

[Astarion's silent when he pills the kerchief from his hair, curls tangled briefly in his own fingertips— quickly brushed back into place. Once done, he folds it neatly into his lap.]

Play for me, then.

I thought you'd never ask.

[ Is there anything more insufferable when a cocky asshole actually has the skills to back it up? That's the hell that Astarion is confronted with here: By pops up, dramatic mood disposed of, grinning wide, and grabs at a violin in a case not far from his desk. Bow to strings, and he begins to play a sprightly reel, and he's fantastic. Truly talented. ]

[A cocky asshole without the skills to back it up, Astarion would argue. This, at least, is unexpectedly entertaining.

And it’s one of Astarion’s lesser known weaknesses, in fact. Good music. There was never anything so pleasant in Cazador’s care.

Here, now, he’s content to bask.]

Well.

Now I’m offended they didn’t invite you.

I’ve been deprived.

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