[Toast or not, he will, in fact, drink to it. This glass of blood will be drained empty by this tiny bat yet!]
Ah, actually, if youβre ever in the mood to spill actual blood, thereβs a floor just for that. A fight club floor, I think. Though Iβm not entirely sure why thereβs so much soap.
Well, maybe not entirely. But his idea of fun always reflects what he's been deprived of, or his past circumstances of lingering in the shadows, and thus among the company of those who did the same.]
I suppose I do like a fair amount of debauchery when I can get it. Why, do you have a better suggestion?
Yes, it wasn't lost on me that you likely embroidered all that nonsense on your underthings yourself.
[ Which is just. Really funny. But also not a hobby he'd expect for someone like Astarion. Then again, what else is one to do in centuries long captivity. He tilts his head a little. ]
You've not had much of a chance to discover other things to enjoy for yourself, have you?
But he tends to the question, instead, his little bat-face sobering, ears... not drooping, but lowering slightly.]
No. I never had the chance, darling. Never had... the will to, either, I think. [Some days, he was simply given to accepting his circumstances. For long stretches of time, he was driven only by apathy.] But now I'm free. And I hope to explore that freedom to its fullest.
[ He feels a bit bad for bringing down the mood, and he reaches across the table to offer Astarion a little scritch under his chin with a finger. It just seems like the thing to do when there's a bat looking at him so sadly. ]
If there's anything I can do to help to realize that goal, you need only say the word.
[Ahβ oh. Winter leans in and gives him a scritch beneath his furry little chin, and itβs so unexpected that he doesnβt know how to react, other thanβ¦ instinctively.
Lifts his head, ears flicking. His eyes close.]
Iβ youβ
[Help. This should be silly, and maybe a little embarrassing, but itβs an oddly fond gesture that makes something swoop in his chest. Surely not his heart, undead thing that it is, but it nearly feels like it could be.]
Itβs hardly your burden to bear.
[Thatβs not a rejection, so much as itβs a pitiful little statement. Winter has his own priorities, doesnβt he?]
[ Of all the things, he did not expect Astarion to lean into the gesture, to take to it as if he were more bat than man. Not for the first time, Winter finds himself utterly charmed. There's a new sort of vulnerability in this interaction that wasn't there in previous ones, and he has no idea if it's because of Astarion's current form or because of the way they'd opened up to each other under the mistletoe.
Either way, he's grateful. Getting to see this side of his friend feels like something he ought not let go to waste. ]
It's hardly a burden at all, Astarion. I'm happy to help.
[Maybe itβs both. The mistletoe and the fact that being a bat means he feelsβ¦ less like himself. Or rather, less like he has to keep to old habits, to wield flippancy and flamboyancy as a sort of shield against vulnerability.
Well. No point in overthinking it. Not right now. The offer is reassuring, and one he doesnβt mind humoring in this moment. He opens his eyes again, straightening.]
I hardly know where to start. We might just pick a floor, one day, and hope I stumble across my new favorite hobby in the process.
[Bless Winter for letting him keep some dignity, because he definitely will be hanging onto whatever is left of it when, quite all of a sudden, there's another comical poof!, and the little bat is engulfed with a plume of smoke that expands and then wisps up high into the air.
Leaving... Astarion. Elf Astarion. Utterly and completely naked. But seated in his chair, at least, elbows leaning in, hunched over the very small glass of blood with its tiny straw.]
[You know, he's not precisely modest, or prudish, but Astarion sure would prefer not to be randomly naked in the middle of a cafe (which thankfully isn't crowded, it's just the two of them and a shark waiter), his everything hanging out for all the world to see. He needs a little warning first!!!
A little strained, in Winter's direction, as he very much realizes what's just happened:]
[ Well. On the bright side, they were right to just wait it out. (Winter probably even has his spell slot back by now because what is this if not a short rest?) On the not so bright side, Astarion is now sitting naked in the middle of the cafe after that awfully absurd transformation back.
Winter is quick to offer the canvas bag of Astarionβs things to him across the table. ]
Go ahead. As much as I'd like to see you naked, Iβll keep an eye out.
[ He will drop a Darkness spell on their waiter or anyone else who happens to walk in. ]
[Well, that's sweet of him, really, willing to use his spell slots on Astarion again. For now, it won't be necessary; he grabs the canvas bag and digs through his clothes, hurriedly trying to sort them. Underwear first!!]
Aha... Would you now. No peeking; as I said, you have to earn that first.
[Anyway... He will... stand and get dressed. The quickest he can. He still has to squeeze into these tight-ass pants tho so. Give him a moment.]
[ He will be as much as a gentleman as he can be, but when he hears the tell-tale sounds of Astarion trying to shimmy into his breeches, he can't quite help glancing over.
It's less the sight of the half-dressed vampire that draws his attention and more the scars carved into his back. What the hells is that? And what kind of agony did he go through to get it? ]
... Not at all of you. I'm sorry, I just... it surprised me.
[ All those scars, painstakingly carved into flesh in a language he can't place. Was this part of what bound him to his master? Or something else entirely? ]
[It isn't as though his scars haven't been on display before in this hotel, but this is the first time someone other than Gale has looked upon them with more context.
After all, he's certain Winter is clever enough to assume just where these very purposefully-made scars might have come from. And it makes him feel oddly vulnerable, in a different way than simply retelling his past.]
I'm... teasing, love. [That's half true, anyway.] It's no grand secret. Cazador carved these into my back. As I said, he was a cruel bastard.
[ He has the urge to reach out and touch, to coast his fingers over the raised skin like that might bring some sort of solace. He doesn't, because surely that's stepping over a line he really hasn't earned the right to cross. ]
What were they for? I don't know the language, but I know the workings of magic when I see it. Ah... not that you have to answer, of course. If you'd rather move on, we can.
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[Toast or not, he will, in fact, drink to it. This glass of blood will be drained empty by this tiny bat yet!]
Ah, actually, if youβre ever in the mood to spill actual blood, thereβs a floor just for that. A fight club floor, I think. Though Iβm not entirely sure why thereβs so much soap.
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To stability.
[ Followed by a long drink from his glass. He motions to the waiter, wherever heβs swum off to, for a refill. ]
Is that that that floor is for? Reiju and I found it but we were lost as to the purpose. No one tried to fight either of us while we were there.
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[Waves a wing, all fiddly-like.]
Did you take your shoes off? Remove your shirt? No fighting for you if you can't be bothered.
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No one was there to explain the rules, so no, I didn't. We just sort of wandered around for a bit and left.
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Hm. Once my body's back to how it should be, let's go sometime. You and I. We can make a few poor souls bleed for fun.
[astarion please]
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That can't entirely be your idea of fun, can it?
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Well, maybe not entirely. But his idea of fun always reflects what he's been deprived of, or his past circumstances of lingering in the shadows, and thus among the company of those who did the same.]
I suppose I do like a fair amount of debauchery when I can get it. Why, do you have a better suggestion?
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[ Not many others in the hotel apparently are, though. A shame. It makes him miss his favorite bard something awful. ]
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Ah... Er. Drinking. Gambling. Stealing. [very charlatan vibes here] Reading.
[Uhhh.]
Needlework, sometimes.
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[ Which is just. Really funny. But also not a hobby he'd expect for someone like Astarion. Then again, what else is one to do in centuries long captivity. He tilts his head a little. ]
You've not had much of a chance to discover other things to enjoy for yourself, have you?
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But he tends to the question, instead, his little bat-face sobering, ears... not drooping, but lowering slightly.]
No. I never had the chance, darling. Never had... the will to, either, I think. [Some days, he was simply given to accepting his circumstances. For long stretches of time, he was driven only by apathy.] But now I'm free. And I hope to explore that freedom to its fullest.
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[ He feels a bit bad for bringing down the mood, and he reaches across the table to offer Astarion a little scritch under his chin with a finger. It just seems like the thing to do when there's a bat looking at him so sadly. ]
If there's anything I can do to help to realize that goal, you need only say the word.
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Lifts his head, ears flicking. His eyes close.]
Iβ youβ
[Help. This should be silly, and maybe a little embarrassing, but itβs an oddly fond gesture that makes something swoop in his chest. Surely not his heart, undead thing that it is, but it nearly feels like it could be.]
Itβs hardly your burden to bear.
[Thatβs not a rejection, so much as itβs a pitiful little statement. Winter has his own priorities, doesnβt he?]
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Either way, he's grateful. Getting to see this side of his friend feels like something he ought not let go to waste. ]
It's hardly a burden at all, Astarion. I'm happy to help.
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Well. No point in overthinking it. Not right now. The offer is reassuring, and one he doesnβt mind humoring in this moment. He opens his eyes again, straightening.]
I hardly know where to start. We might just pick a floor, one day, and hope I stumble across my new favorite hobby in the process.
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[ He gives Astarion's chin one further scritch before pulling his hand away. Let him keep at least the illusion of dignity, right? ]
It seems to me that the only way to find something new is to go out looking.
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[Bless Winter for letting him keep some dignity, because he definitely will be hanging onto whatever is left of it when, quite all of a sudden, there's another comical poof!, and the little bat is engulfed with a plume of smoke that expands and then wisps up high into the air.
Leaving... Astarion. Elf Astarion. Utterly and completely naked. But seated in his chair, at least, elbows leaning in, hunched over the very small glass of blood with its tiny straw.]
I... Er.
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A little strained, in Winter's direction, as he very much realizes what's just happened:]
Darling, I think I need my clothes now.
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Winter is quick to offer the canvas bag of Astarionβs things to him across the table. ]
Go ahead. As much as I'd like to see you naked, Iβll keep an eye out.
[ He will drop a Darkness spell on their waiter or anyone else who happens to walk in. ]
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Aha... Would you now. No peeking; as I said, you have to earn that first.
[Anyway... He will... stand and get dressed. The quickest he can. He still has to squeeze into these tight-ass pants tho so. Give him a moment.]
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[ He will be as much as a gentleman as he can be, but when he hears the tell-tale sounds of Astarion trying to shimmy into his breeches, he can't quite help glancing over.
It's less the sight of the half-dressed vampire that draws his attention and more the scars carved into his back. What the hells is that? And what kind of agony did he go through to get it? ]
Astarion... your back.
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But he manages, and he's reaching over to unfold his shirt to slip that on, too, when Winter makes his remark.
Your back.
Ah. He freezes.]
...You said you wouldn't look.
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[ All those scars, painstakingly carved into flesh in a language he can't place. Was this part of what bound him to his master? Or something else entirely? ]
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After all, he's certain Winter is clever enough to assume just where these very purposefully-made scars might have come from. And it makes him feel oddly vulnerable, in a different way than simply retelling his past.]
I'm... teasing, love. [That's half true, anyway.] It's no grand secret. Cazador carved these into my back. As I said, he was a cruel bastard.
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What were they for? I don't know the language, but I know the workings of magic when I see it. Ah... not that you have to answer, of course. If you'd rather move on, we can.
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is this where we warn for inevitable nsfw
yeah,
INEVITABLE NSFW THEN
nO ONE LOOK
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love a reason to use this icon
it is nice to look at thank you
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