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Tʜᴇ Pᴀʟᴇ Eʟғ | Asᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ Aɴᴄᴜɴíɴ ([personal profile] illithidnapped) wrote2025-05-31 06:45 pm
doggish: no no let's do this (talk ⚔ ah we're talking about emotions)

[personal profile] doggish 2025-07-01 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, and he never realized— but in retrospect, that makes sense. Zevlor runs the Moulin Rogue with a deft hand, but it's Kanan that always seems to thrive backstage. It's a strange bit of context to suddenly have, but a pleasant strange. Like when he'd grown enough to realize what some of the more obvious bits of double entendre in the bawdier songs meant; it's an odd moment of growing up just a little.]

I— . . . all right.

[That's fair. That's beyond fair, for he's always had the inclination to take the bullet, no matter how Astarion protested. But it does neither of them any good. It never has, not beyond getting Astarion upset at him.]

Though the plots . . . it's less that I seek to cover for him, and more that he inevitably drags me into them, you know. [He's preaching to the choir, he knows, for it's always been Zevlor who's had to deal with them in the sticky aftermath. But ah . . . he's going to have to think, then, on how to better protect Astarion. How to keep him safe without smothering him or coddling him unnecessary. And hells, it's not as if he's short on time to figure it out: right now, both their tempers are still hot enough that Fenris hasn't any inclination towards protectiveness anyway.]

And he makes it hard not to want to, to do such things . . . he always has . . .

[He drifts off. The end of that sentence is somewhere that drifts back into questionable territory, overwhelming and uncertain, and they needn't dwell on the scattershot feelings that flutter in his stomach. He exhales slowly, sounding like nothing so much as a weary old dog— and then glances over at Zevlor, adding a touch wryly:]

You bought an entire cabaret just to please your husband?

[He can tease him a little, surely. He's not in so much trouble he can't do that, probably. Maybe.]
zevlor: (Default)

[personal profile] zevlor 2025-07-01 01:18 am (UTC)(link)
You drank sherry and started a cat fight in the rafters.

[Such a narrow, barely perceptible smirk. Such a small bit of back and forth between a pair disinclined towards foolishness of any stripe.

Mind yourself, little 'old' dog.
]

And as far as Astarion's sway is concerned, that is precisely how he'll manage getting himself out of any trouble he brings upon himself— and not solely what he visits on you.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-01 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
[It wasn't a cat fight, Fenris protests. It's semantics, but semantics matter a lot when you're still growing— and a cat fight implies something undignified, which their fight was not. As far as anyone else is concerned, anyway, and since no one else was there, no one gets to say whether or not that's true.

Or maybe Astarion will simply call it a cat fight just to spite Fenris.

He wouldn't necessarily be wrong, Kanan thinks as he waits outside of Astarion's door. Nor would his spite be totally out of place, not after that bite. There's a part of him that still can't believe— but then again, they are teenagers, and gods know all kinds of hormones are firing off for both of them right now. The real question is whether or not Fenris knew what he was doing with that, but ah, that's for Zevlor to discover.

His task lies ahead.

He gives Astarion a little time. Not long enough to work himself up into a proper sulk, but just enough to take some of the immediate heat from the argument. It's a risky move, admittedly, because Astarion might now be upset that Kanan hadn't come immediately— but ah, everything is risky with teenagers.]


Astarion?

[He knocks twice and comes in anyway, in the spirit of both respecting his independence whilst still asserting his authority as parent. But while there's sternness in his expression, it's softer than Zevlor's fierce scowl, and there's a glimmer of understanding in his gaze.

He knows what it's like, you see, to want to succeed so badly and impress someone all at once. To hear that they've been with another, and feel such seething, hideously jealous inadequacy . . .

He closes the door behind him.]


Tell me what happened.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-01 03:54 pm (UTC)(link)
I have. All kind of stories, ranging from the fantastical to the decidedly idiotic.

[He closes the door gently behind him and crosses the room, taking a seat behind Astarion. Seemingly unthinkingly, he reaches for a brush and begins combing at a low set of unruly curls. The motions are steady and soothing, a familiar ritual— though one easily shaken off if Astarion loathes it.]

But I want to hear it from the only one whose take on it actually matters.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-02 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
[A little nod of understanding, less agreeing and more simply acknowledging that version of the story. Begging is given a brief quirk of his eyebrow, but bitten gets both raised up. A little glance to the now-covered spot, as all the while his hands keep up that steady stroke.]

Not in a way you enjoyed, then.

[A little wry, but not at Astarion's expense. He's a bit more comfortable with the idea of their son and sex (though there is a part of him that hopes they haven't quite gotten there just yet— not while part of his mind still eternally thinks of Astarion as that chubby toddler who once routinely clambered into their bed).]

Surely he didn't bite you from the start. Was he being overly ambitious, or just exceedingly clumsy?
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-02 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
Ah . . .

[That explains the rather biased exclamation that had echoed around the entirety of the Moulin Rouge. But oh, that derision . . . he lets the statement linger in the air for a few seconds, and then, gently:]

It's a foolish thing for him to say. Even if you were, it certainly wouldn't be of Elise of all creatures. [Sorry, Elise.] And experience doesn't necessarily make anyone better— growing up here, he should know that. There's plenty of whores who stay third-string for a reason.

[The brush moves higher, his head tipped low. But then, as golden eyes peer up through dark lashes, he adds gently:]

But . . . one might wonder whether or not you felt a bit of jealousy that someone else got to kiss him first.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-05 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
[Honestly, it's the test of a lifetime not to laugh at that expression. It's the exact same face that Astarion used to level at anyone who dared tease him, equal parts deeply offended and fiercely indignant. For a moment he can almost see that chubby face surrounded by untameable curls, ears flushed in embarrassment and a little frown on his face . . . oh, precious thing. Darling boy. He finally compromises by biting his lip, only semi-successfully hiding a smile, and that will have to be enough.]

Did you?

[And then, before a screeching indignant no can ring out:]

When was the last time you ever did anything you didn't wholeheartedly want to do? Half the time Zevlor can't get you to do your chores without having to twist your arm, much less kiss anyone.

[A beat. He works the brush carefully through a stubborn knot, then catches Astarion's eye in the mirror. There's an amused little smile on his lips as he adds:]

Besides: the two of you have been inseparable from the moment you brought him here. You were endlessly possessive of him even as a friend, and now that you're both older . . . don't tell me you've never thought about it before.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-05 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, there it is. There it is, and his smile disappears as his heart aches in sympathy. Beneath all the dramatic sulkiness and frustration lies a heart so terribly fragile, and so few ever manage to get at it. The steady brushstrokes cease, but only so he can run a warm hand against the side of Astarion's neck, slipping down to rub between his shoulderblades.]

Because she had nothing to lose, I suspect.

[His voice is far softer now.]

She kissed him, didn't she? I thought so, [for he knows Fenris, and knows how he gets around the performers and courtesans both.] If it went wrong, you know her: she would simply laugh it off, for she cares little about the creatures she beds. He meant nothing to her beyond an afternoon's entertainment . . . and I suspect he was swept up in her wake.

[Which doesn't make it any better, and it certainly won't ease that aching, wailing heart. But maybe it will help a tiny bit. Maybe some part of Astarion can soothe himself with the thought that at least it wasn't a deliberate choice, with Astarion made the loser.]

How long had you been planning it?

[Gods, it must have been like a slap to the face, he thinks, still rubbing his back. It must have felt like the cruelest little drop back to reality in a place where romantic fantasies are meant to thrive . . . oh, his little Astarion, and Kanan fights the urge to gather him up as if he were still a child.]
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-06 02:00 am (UTC)(link)
Yes, it does.

[It's so obvious a lie as to not need counteracting, but that's all the more reason to do so. You matter, this matters, for he will grow up in a world that tells him so often that his feelings don't. Soon, he'll have to learn how to hide  everything, rage and grief and joy and delight. He'll have to learn how to put on a mask and keep it on almost always, and that's fine. That's the bargain. That's what it means to become the Sparkling Diamond, but—

Not yet. Not here in this room, when he's still a child nursing a broken heart.]


Come here. Come here, now—

[It's an awkward angle and it doesn't matter, not when it's his son— one way or another Kanan gathers him up, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him towards his lap. Clawed fingers work through silken curls as he makes wordless noises of comfort, just as he always did for every scraped knee and broken toy.

And when the worst of the grief seems to have subsided— when the tears abate, or the anger cools— Kanan murmurs:]


It isn't as unfixable as it appears, Viniquessë.
Edited 2025-07-06 02:00 (UTC)
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-06 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
Mmm.

[No, he most certainly can't, though his gentle hum of agreement is meant to soothe as well as agree. I know, dearest, I know, not patronizing insomuch as making sure he doesn't snag at the edges of that spitting temper.]

Satine wasn't the first Diamond, you know. She wasn't even the first to come up with her routines— those were inherited, just like her costumes and most of her jewelry, not to mention her . And yet I cannot tell you the name of her predecessor, not off the top of my head, for she outshone them so brilliantly.

You need not be the first to have kissed him. Just better than Elise— and that will not be a hard bar to clear, Astarion, for I know him and I know her, and she means nothing to him.

[He tips his head.]

A lesson for you, before you begin with Satine. What makes for a good kiss is not just technique, nor focus, but passion. Cultivating that heated desire for your customers is what she'll teach you, but I would wager a month's sums that Elise had none of it for Fenris— and you have plenty.

What was it like, before he bit you?
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-06 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, Astarion is so sweetly endearing when he looks at him like that. So sweetly shocked, tears still clinging to his lashes and yet his mind already shifting past his anger and his grief— he never tires of seeing it. And as for that description: Zevlor might well flinch at the thought of his son kissing his beloved friend, but Kanan feels nothing but vague, triumphant vindication. How many years had they watched the two of them orbit around one another? Astarion and his little shadow, Fenris and his eternal partner-in-crime . . . he smiles faintly throughout it, nodding in agreement at that rather more believable assessment. He cups his cheek, his thumb swiping away an errant year, and offers Astarion a little half-smile.]

Yes. Once or twice, before I realized the life of a courtesan was not for me. And it is very, very different than truly desiring someone.

The former, I can give you lessons on, though Satine will be more of an education. It involves finding something— some trait, some feature— that you can turn into something that appeals. Whether it's pretending you're a person who gets off on red hair or terrible jokes, or simply leaning into enjoying the hue of their eyes . . . it helps. It becomes less about what you, yourself, find appealing, and more about becoming whatever it is they desire— which is, after all, someone who desires them in turn.

[It's a bit of a twisted explanation, admittedly, and he wrinkles his nose as he says it. But ah:]

But for the latter— for someone like Fenris— Astarion, little wonder you kept losing focus, for that's precisely what you ought to have done.

Unless you meant to kiss him solely as practice and nothing else, that is.
Edited 2025-07-06 17:04 (UTC)
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-07 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
[On the one hand, this wasn't exactly how he and Zevlor had planned to tell Astarion. On the other hand, he thinks, watching a cacophony of emotions pass over his son's face, he was going to find out in some fashion sooner or later. Better he hears it now from Kanan himself than via some idle comment dropped by Satine or her cohorts.

He tips his head with a little hum, giving Astarion a two-second forewarning of what the answer will be.]


Two weeks.

[Said simply. He isn't ashamed of it, for all that it wasn't for him. And if Astarion is going to enter into that lifestyle (though oh, Kanan still quietly wishes he wouldn't), he'll have to get used to some of the, ah, less palatable aspects of that world.]

I suspect I could have continued further— I was a deft hand at it, [and maybe he's a little merciless in how he's telling this.] But one of my customers had a commander who wouldn't stop striking up conversations with me at the bar after my shift . . . and I found him more alluring than any kind of fame or wealth could ever be.

It hurt him to see me in such a profession— though I suspect he would have born that silently for years if I hadn't pressed him on it. [Loyal darling that he is, steadfast and so damned guarded, keeping everyone safe but himself.] But I think, looking back, it hurt me too— and it was never the act itself I enjoyed. Just the glamor of the theater.

[So . . . costumes. Drinks. Arranging all the details and aesthetics while his husband worries about income and outflow and all the finicky numbers. Add a reputable madam to the business who can wrangle all the courtesans, and you have a functioning cabaret.]

We weren't going to tell you when you were still a child, Astarion. But if you're old enouh to begin training, you're old enough to know such things.
kananical: to be a hippopotmus about this (Default)

[personal profile] kananical 2025-07-08 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, Astarion . . . he resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead settling for a mildly unimpressed look. Don't you blech at him, sir, not after he's had to hear about you sticking your tongue down Fenris' throat.]

Not particularly.

[They'll come back to the question of the commander, but this is more important.]

It's the camaraderie I love, not the acting itself. The glamor of it all, the lights, the costumes, the jewelry and make-up . . . all of it I like being a part of facilitating, not necessarily wearing for myself.

[How many times had the two of them played backstage? Astarion demanding to be dressed up like a lost princeling or a glamorous Diamond, his little face turned up expectantly for paint on his eyelids and clip-on jewelry . . . he'd been so entranced by it. Night after night, over and over, and Kanan had loved to indulge it. He'd taught him all the little tricks: how to sculpt your face and ensure your eyes glitter even from the back of the room; how to know what fabrics will drape and what will sag; how to make any costume look a thousand times better with just a few stitches and tweaks . . .

Perhaps he should have foreseen what path Astarion would follow. That he wouldn't take Kanan's place, but Satine's, for his son has always delighted in having all eyes on him: proudly strutting up and down the stage, reveling in the adoring coos of all the courtesans, preening under all their teasing praise.]


I suppose I could return to it, if ever I truly wanted to. But I found getting to work on bringing a vision to life was far more rewarding than— [a brief hesitation, then:] — the pleasures of starring in the show.

[A few seconds pass, and he adds rather more sardonically:]

And it was not some commander. Zevlor made for quite the handsome figure when he was in full armor, you know— all trim waist and firm muscles beneath all that oiled-up metal. [He grins, knowing exactly what he's doing and utterly unrepentant.] I was the center of jealousy for quite some time for how he fixated on me, even when the others would flirt.

Blatantly, in some cases.

Ask your teacher. She's still sulky I got there first, I'm sure.

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