illithidnapped | INBOX II

if i am overly carnal, i blame you. and this world, too, for giving me all the eagerness of a young adult, but mostly you.

but yes. a pendant would work nicely, thank you. sell the cockring in place of it; you'll get more than a few buyers, i suspect.

[Mmph. A pause, and then:]

is it ordinary to you? the concept of animals being able to speak.

it seems wondrous to me. unfathomable, in its way.

[Gods, he truly has no idea how darling he is. Just how easily— with two sentences— Leto manages to drag one more unwilling smile to a pair of jagged fangs that'd all but forgotten how it went; relegating the dire details of worlds like the ones they ferry through to banishment, instead.]

It's about as odd to me as halla to you.

Uncommon, but not exactly a thing outside a more eccentric– [Long, the swaying tail of that singular c.

He's remembered where is. Which is: he's remembered that they're elves, they two, if not exactly keenly (and human habits prevail in a mind that was raised to be one, by all cultural intents).]

well, not outside the odd and elvish sorts, no. It's a rubeish eccentricity; no patriar past the age of five would ever look well on it.

Although maybe there's something to be said for the high and comfortable coming face-to-face with the fact that their dinner has opinions.

Edited 2023-12-30 14:30 (UTC)

[Oh, that's a thought that gives him pause, although admittedly for only a second or two. It's disturbing if he thinks about it too much, so he simply won't; he likes steak too much for that.]

it's strange

i believe you. and i understand how it would seem that way; i doubt i would think much of it if i had grown up in this world. but for toril has the capacity to disturb me with its revelations, i forgot what it felt like to be awed by them, too.

~~i wish~~

i will ask Talindra tomorrow to help me work the spell. you should come by afterwards— she has a gift for you, and refuses to let me ferry it.

[Come now. If Astarion has to converse with his dinners, he thinks it's only fair everyone else does the same. And really, it's not so bad: if one thinks humans are intolerable, hearing wild beasts recount villainy with an absolute height of tone-deaf ignorance is a treat all its own, but—

Oh.

Oh, there's so much to unpack here. Enough that even Astarion pauses with his pen nib to the parchment.

He wants to know. He wants to know, and yet there's a part of him that knows better than to pry when it comes to the gaps in all their margins. If Leto wanted to say it, he'd have said it, whatever that faint wish was. So, intimately comprehending that, the idea of letting it alone is more solid than an orcish fruitcake in his undead mind— but even then, a present isn't enough to completely distract him.

Hm.]

A gift?

For me?

[....]

she didn't say anything ominous ahead of time, did she? No questions about sunlight or wooden stakes.

[I wish, and the thought lingers, but what use is there in vocalizing it? Perhaps he will whisper it later, when they're curled up in the dark and things are a little easier to stomach, but it's little more than idle fantasy now. I wish I'd met you sooner, I wish I had been born here, and it will only serve to make him more melancholy.]

i would be referring to her in the past tense if she had

[He's joking, sort of, and then again he very much isn't.]

she's fond of you, you know. for all she scolds you sometimes, i think she's charmed by you. if you wish for a guess: i suspect it might be an ear-cuff.

[And if he ever does, Astarion will laugh through pain and fondness both as always, catching that still-Thedosian chin and whispering 'If we'd met any sooner, I'd have been carting you around in swaddling clothes, catulus.'

Kisses planted sidelong on both cheekbones before adding, slyly:

'And I was always with you.')

As things are right now, though, he's much less graceful:]

An ear cuff?? One of those silly elvish things?

Gods above, next thing you know she'll be trying to drag us out into the woods to dance naked by the fire with twigs in our hair.

[Don't be fooled: he's touched. He's tenderly, avidly, magnificently touched—

....If that's how she really feels about him. But since hoping for any sort of endearment from the living feels worse than white-hot pliers to his claws for the chance he might be wrong....

Gentle deflection it is. In spades.]

The only thing she likes is having her bills paid and a student that's worth bragging about. Mark my words, my dear, I'd bet your last minted copper she's just trying to make sure we don't go rushing back to Baldur's Gate.

[Later tonight, Astarion will see right through his hesitance and his fears, teasing him into a better mood and a sweeter disposition. Here and now, Leto smiles faintly at he sees that elegant script return to him in scrawling indignance, amused by the very real indignance (and all the deflection that it carries).]

I will not say our move is not a motivating factor. She was saddened to hear it yesterday.

[And Leto was saddened to tell her, honestly. He does not want to live in this city forever, no matter how wondrous it is; they both of them are too used to Baldur's Gate and all her diverse glory. But he will miss this place, and the people therein. His friends were far less gracious about the news; Leto hasn't spoken of it to Astarion yet, let they earn his scoffing ire.]

If you don't want it, I'll take it. She did say it would suit me more.

[She absolutely did not say that.]

what?

she did not

did she?

take a walk with me tomorrow night and find out

she did say she has always been fond of a man with tattoos, though

[She's going to murder him if she finds out how much he's been lying about her, or at the very least give him a stern look, which is almost worse.

[He's gotten too good at this. It's going to drive Astarion absolutely batty (in the non-literal sense— don't you dare), that he can't figure out whether or not his beloved, cherished, prized, adored, nuisance of a consort is playing him like a Waterdavian fiddle, or if Talindra really is that mercenary in her tactics.

Either could be accurate enough— which is a terrifying realization.]

Fine.

[See, Astarion? That wasn't so hard, was it?]

Far be it from me to overlook another creature prowling around my territory and stepping on my glorious toes.

But if you're just using this as an excuse to lure me out into the open so that I mingle with the living world, you're going to be devoured by two creatures tomorrow.

Talindra and myself.

don't threaten me with a good time

[Teasing, and he does his limited best to imitate Astarion's handwriting in lieu of teasingly taking on his accent.]

if i wanted to lure you out to mingle with the living world, i would invite you to a party one of my friends is throwing. they wanted us both to come, you know.

[And yet Fenris isn't going either, which suggests that, you know, maybe the elven version of teenage houseparties are not totally his jam.]

but i think it would be too inane. too tame or too [what's the word?] ~~childish~~ silly

[Leto might not be able to hear the little bark that lead-in drags out of the base of Astarion's throat, but it exists all the same.

Cheeky thing.

~~How proud he is of him, in his own way.~~]

Oh yes, because you're so sophisticated these days.

there is a difference between not minding cheap wine and spending all night merrily swigging ale in the hopes that it might get us so drunk we throw up. it's a question of maturity, not sophistication.

oh

oh I see.

So is the wine tasting you're attending this evening before or after you fight an owl bear with your bare hands?

and bare feet.

that was an initiation

[OBVIOUSLY. And he knows he's fighting a losing battle, and that it is all rather silly, but still.]

do you want to go? they have heard more than enough about you and still endlessly have questions; they would enjoy meeting you.

even folwin.

[The one that Astarion constantly suggests leaving behind to endure the consequences . . . and the one that, admittedly, Leto is least attached to, given he's an annoying little thing, so it's not such a bad suggestion all around.]

[Little little little, all teasing, all play. It's a losing battle in part for things here being exactly what they undeniably are, yes, but also because all Astarion sees is the paradox of an adolescent thing and the very same heart that led him out of the darkness when he was only a fledgling creature in freedom, barely able to stand on his own fretful legs.

Young, he'll always say with a grin where Leto's skin runs thinnest. (Young, he'll always mean when he thinks of himself lost inside that long-limbed shadow— awestruck by its beauty and boldness alike.)

But the days are getting shorter. The nights longer. Astarion's the one outside more and more with winter setting in, and while spells to speak with animals and jokes about keepers and parties are all business as usual, well—

Succeed or fail, these days won't come again.

Or as Folwin would say— stupid, stupid, Folwin— you only live once.]

Initiations are for children. [And they won't talk about the fact that every highbrow sommeliers club in Baldur's Gate has them. Shh.]

But those children adore you, you know. We should pay our respects. Give them a taste of decent wine for a change.

Maybe convince them not to destroy what's left of their livers before sunrise.

[He's not being nice, for the record. that isn't what this is.]

we can try, anyway, though i suspect we will fail, and enjoy ourselves in the process

[And honestly? He is sort of looking forward to it. Kind of. It's going to be exceedingly stupid and enormously rowdy, but perhaps he's missed that. And perhaps his thoughts wander in the same direction Astarion's do: that they have been through too much grief, with too much more to come, not to enjoy these silly little moments when they come.]

[. . . that said.]

they think you're a gravedigger

among other things

[Forget writing, from the spine of the book where that crystal is set:]

A GRAVEDIGGER?!

A BLOODY—

—what?

What do you mean OTHER things?

[Oh, they're doing this now . . . and yet Leto can't say he regrets it, not when it means he can hear Astarion's voice. Even if it is angry with him.]

I was vague on the specifics. I meant more to imply you were a bounty hunter, but . . . er.

[Ah.]

In retrospect, I may have accidentally given more of the impression of a grave-robber.

[He works at night. He works with his hands. It's contract work. Assassin, gentleman thief, vagabond, gravedigger— the lattermost seemed the most innocuous, and thus when Folwin had suggested it, Leto had leapt upon it with gratitude. That one, yes, the one least likely to draw any kind of attention, and also incidentally make enough money that their frequent purchases from the sex shop won't raise an eyebrow.]

[He stutters for a good five seconds, tripping in great, silent gusts over his own bewildered rage.

Also yes hi hello darling love you and also to hear your perfect voice too but ALSO— ]

NOT EVEN—

THAT IS THE WORST POSSIBLE KIND!!

THE SORT THAT DIG UP GRANDMOTHERS!! THAT PAWN YOUR PRICELESS FAMILY HEIRLOOMS— oh come to think of it that's actually quite true on that front— BUT THE REST OF IT—

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