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[He sidesteps what he doesn't understand, perfectly content with the tone itself.]
I’ve an errand that needs running. Quite urgently, I’m afraid.
I’d take care of it myself in a heartbeat, of course, but unfortunately I’m all too aware of the sort of fuss I’d stir up strolling around Hightown on a shopping trip out of my own pocket.
This is where you come in, you see. I’d be ever so grateful if you wouldn’t mind either making a run for me— paid for your trouble, naturally, contrary to popular belief I’m not a monster— or simply acting as a respectable escort. Whatever suits your fancy.
I’ve an errand that needs running. Quite urgently, I’m afraid.
I’d take care of it myself in a heartbeat, of course, but unfortunately I’m all too aware of the sort of fuss I’d stir up strolling around Hightown on a shopping trip out of my own pocket.
This is where you come in, you see. I’d be ever so grateful if you wouldn’t mind either making a run for me— paid for your trouble, naturally, contrary to popular belief I’m not a monster— or simply acting as a respectable escort. Whatever suits your fancy.
None at all. Nothing.
Honest.
[Astarion rarely sounds sincere, but maybe that's why his own urging attempts at sincerity now are so close to the mark that it...makes it difficult to think he's lying. No, in fact, by his own standards, he does in fact sound like he's telling the truth.
But again. Low bar.]
I know what lines not to cross, and I know there’s only so far any of us can push without getting into far too much trouble— no. Shopping only, and only a few trifling things at that.
I value resources over scapegoats, after all.
Honest.
[Astarion rarely sounds sincere, but maybe that's why his own urging attempts at sincerity now are so close to the mark that it...makes it difficult to think he's lying. No, in fact, by his own standards, he does in fact sound like he's telling the truth.
But again. Low bar.]
I know what lines not to cross, and I know there’s only so far any of us can push without getting into far too much trouble— no. Shopping only, and only a few trifling things at that.
I value resources over scapegoats, after all.
Mm, I do love it when people call me a resource.
[ He does not sound sincere. But he does sound very cheerful. Love is an overstatement, but he doesn't mind it, and—byproduct of a mercenary youth—might like it a little. ]
I am already in the city. You can meet me at the bottom of the big stairs up to Hightown, and on the way up you can tell me why it is popularly believed you are a monster.
[ He does not sound sincere. But he does sound very cheerful. Love is an overstatement, but he doesn't mind it, and—byproduct of a mercenary youth—might like it a little. ]
I am already in the city. You can meet me at the bottom of the big stairs up to Hightown, and on the way up you can tell me why it is popularly believed you are a monster.
[ Bastien smiles, a lopsided dimply twist that is comforted but not quite cheerful, and briefly leans sideways into the hand on his shoulder in acknowledgment.
Why didn't you like yourself seems too much, given the blushing and fidgeting. Instead— ]
Why aren't you with them anymore?
[ Perhaps that's another sore spot, but not one so obvious he would look (and feel) like an ass for digging into it. ]
Why didn't you like yourself seems too much, given the blushing and fidgeting. Instead— ]
Why aren't you with them anymore?
[ Perhaps that's another sore spot, but not one so obvious he would look (and feel) like an ass for digging into it. ]
Good, I won't need to play sweet with you, then. [Some people might take deep, cutting offense to being called a resource, of course. And maybe Bastien does too for all Astarion knows— but he keeps his tone sweet as spun sugar for that reason alone. The coaxing coast of caring fingertips across a faintly stinging mark is always better than just the press of a hand itself, after all.
And so with little delay, true to his word, Astarion is there in short order: pale and pleasantly poised in the full depth of the midday sun, all the more pleased to feel its warmth across skin that's been far too long deprived, dressed (as usual) without any amount of modesty. He does not offer his arm, however, against all typical instinct.
For his own sake, more than Bastien's. Public opinion always holds weight.] Aren't you just as radiant as ever. You know, for a little while I almost wondered if you'd actually wait for me.
I'm glad you did.
And so with little delay, true to his word, Astarion is there in short order: pale and pleasantly poised in the full depth of the midday sun, all the more pleased to feel its warmth across skin that's been far too long deprived, dressed (as usual) without any amount of modesty. He does not offer his arm, however, against all typical instinct.
For his own sake, more than Bastien's. Public opinion always holds weight.] Aren't you just as radiant as ever. You know, for a little while I almost wondered if you'd actually wait for me.
I'm glad you did.
And it is already worth my time. Now I am a radiant resource.
[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
Is it like this for elves where you are from?
[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
Is it like this for elves where you are from?
You were radiant to begin with, even without my saying so.
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
[ Bastien can't always stop himself from blushing. It's a fault. He can, however, blush on command, which is what he's doing now. Sort of. It's more that he's allowing it than that he's entirely forcing it, albeit with a squint up at the sun and a moment of shading his face from it like it's to blame. ]
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
A red, naturally. I have taste, thank you. [And a lingering affinity for the color itself, which he won't be delving into even as he slides his own stare sidelong to take in the sight of his companion.
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
If we wanted to.
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
If we wanted to.
[ Alexandrie does not hide it when she startles; doesn't make excuse for the small hunch of her shoulders by brushing away a 'bug' or turning it into a shiver at the wind.
Perhaps it is because through the conscious exercise of her honesty she is becoming too slow, or too uncareful, or because she is trying to trust. Perhaps it is because she has been carrying the yawning emptiness of her secret for such a long time and she is weary and wants it to be found.
She still papers it over with something else. ]
I thought him dead once. Almost precisely two years ago, now. I would not believe it because I knew I could not survive such a thing. Lord Thor let me keep vigil as if I had been wife, even though it was over nothing but memory and artifact, and in the morning I went to the public memorial like a dead thing myself, wearing a wedding gown that I thought would never see its true use.
[ A sidelong look, a little smile that does not match the paleness of her cheeks. ]
And then I wore it again to be married.
It was also your memorial, yes? And here you are.
Perhaps it is because through the conscious exercise of her honesty she is becoming too slow, or too uncareful, or because she is trying to trust. Perhaps it is because she has been carrying the yawning emptiness of her secret for such a long time and she is weary and wants it to be found.
She still papers it over with something else. ]
I thought him dead once. Almost precisely two years ago, now. I would not believe it because I knew I could not survive such a thing. Lord Thor let me keep vigil as if I had been wife, even though it was over nothing but memory and artifact, and in the morning I went to the public memorial like a dead thing myself, wearing a wedding gown that I thought would never see its true use.
[ A sidelong look, a little smile that does not match the paleness of her cheeks. ]
And then I wore it again to be married.
It was also your memorial, yes? And here you are.
Edited 2021-06-10 02:36 (UTC)
[ That crush of reuniting lovers and friends, on their return from the desert, had made him feel as lonely as he’d ever felt in his life—but it was a long time ago. So long ago he is sure it wouldn’t happen the same way now, and so long ago that it wasn’t what he meant when he asked. So long ago he wouldn’t expect the memory of it to curl her shoulders that way.
Still, it’s the hope he wanted. His gaze is distant and thoughtful, but he smiles at his faraway point, and he doesn’t press his thumb against the thin, bruising skin of her thoughts to try splitting them open. He thinks about how long it has been since he’s seen her husband stalking through the Gallows, how long since he’s heard any complaints about his existence among the Hightown gossips, thinks about Athessa, thinks about the day Alexandrie laughed off his questions about her time as a bard and the day she told him about watching her husband read.
So he slips a hidden thought of his own into her hand. Not for trade. For safekeeping. ]
My little sister would be her… is Athessa's age, I hope. Somewhere.
[ When he was a young cellist in Val Royeaux, if anyone asked, he'd sprouted up without tending or origin, like a weed between the cobblestones in the city. No parents. No siblings. No little girl, with sharp bones like an underfed kitten, who held onto his ankle and dragged behind him halfway to the door the last time he walked out of it. ]
So are you, but that is stranger to think about.
Still, it’s the hope he wanted. His gaze is distant and thoughtful, but he smiles at his faraway point, and he doesn’t press his thumb against the thin, bruising skin of her thoughts to try splitting them open. He thinks about how long it has been since he’s seen her husband stalking through the Gallows, how long since he’s heard any complaints about his existence among the Hightown gossips, thinks about Athessa, thinks about the day Alexandrie laughed off his questions about her time as a bard and the day she told him about watching her husband read.
So he slips a hidden thought of his own into her hand. Not for trade. For safekeeping. ]
My little sister would be her… is Athessa's age, I hope. Somewhere.
[ When he was a young cellist in Val Royeaux, if anyone asked, he'd sprouted up without tending or origin, like a weed between the cobblestones in the city. No parents. No siblings. No little girl, with sharp bones like an underfed kitten, who held onto his ankle and dragged behind him halfway to the door the last time he walked out of it. ]
So are you, but that is stranger to think about.
Edited (clarity? maybe?) 2021-06-10 03:54 (UTC)
[ She wants to acknowledge it, the little piece of offered truth, the way the thread of a little sister appears in the embroidery pattern of what she knows about Bastien and fills in some of the spaces, changes Athessa's context, shifts the meaning of this disappearance to something more than a teacher's fear for a student or a fear for a friend. And so she makes herself still, and presses his shoulder with her fingers for a time in silence.
Then, looking out at the horizon again— ]
Is it more lonely, do you think, to have no-one to love or to love and not know where they are?
[ A question, and also another more present answer to his question. ]
Then, looking out at the horizon again— ]
Is it more lonely, do you think, to have no-one to love or to love and not know where they are?
[ A question, and also another more present answer to his question. ]
[Edgard's breath catches for a second and an emptiness flickers on his face, rushing upward, and he sways a little in the tide of it. Just when it threatens to surge over his head, he shoves it down and snaps his eyes forward.]
Doesn't exist anymore. [He says simply.] Came here because it seemed like the next best option.
[He shrugs and puffs air out his mouth laughing a little, trying to play off the discomfort he just experienced.]
Doesn't exist anymore. [He says simply.] Came here because it seemed like the next best option.
[He shrugs and puffs air out his mouth laughing a little, trying to play off the discomfort he just experienced.]
[ Bastien inhales slowly, as sure as he wants to be. It isn't his place to tell Byerly; it would be a betrayal to tell Yseult. But, for varying mixtures of personal and professional reasons, he tries not to lie to either of them. So better to only suspect, however strongly. Better to be able to say she hasn't said anything to me, which is slightly different from she hasn't told me. ]
I think— [ His arm tightens when the wind picks up again, like she might need his help not to flutter away. ] I think it is lonelier not to have anyone. But I think it might hurt less. You know how you stop noticing, after a time, if you are very hungry or very cold? It will kill you eventually, but it doesn't hurt anymore.
[ Maybe she doesn't know. In Val Royeaux, before, he would have been certain she didn't. Now it seems possible. ]
When you can smell the food or feel a bit of warmth, but you can't have it, that is when it hurts again. When you start to shake. I think it is like that.
I think— [ His arm tightens when the wind picks up again, like she might need his help not to flutter away. ] I think it is lonelier not to have anyone. But I think it might hurt less. You know how you stop noticing, after a time, if you are very hungry or very cold? It will kill you eventually, but it doesn't hurt anymore.
[ Maybe she doesn't know. In Val Royeaux, before, he would have been certain she didn't. Now it seems possible. ]
When you can smell the food or feel a bit of warmth, but you can't have it, that is when it hurts again. When you start to shake. I think it is like that.
[ The tightened arm around her shoulders to secure her, the way he offers his understanding in the palm of his hand with eyes averted so as to not put the wildness of her to flight— these things would make Alexandrie break into tears if she could, but she cannot. She has strayed close enough to asking him to guard a secret he has no stake in as it is, and she is afraid that if she begins to weep she will never stop.
And so the howls stay in her chest— the he is not here and he has not been here in so long packed neatly next to I do not know where he is and I do not know if he lives, all arrayed above I am alone, alone, alone, and no-one can know— and she remains upright, as if her world still contains the axis on which it turns, using only the memory of what it had felt like to be held with such certainty that there was no room for fear. Still, her nod is slow and careful as if moving too fast will make her spill whatever she holds. ]
It is left to us to trust, I think. In what she knows, in her cleverness and ingenuity.
[ Athessa, although Loki is in the shadow of the words. ]
We must believe she will come back when she is finished with whatever it is she does, and with a fine story for us.
And so the howls stay in her chest— the he is not here and he has not been here in so long packed neatly next to I do not know where he is and I do not know if he lives, all arrayed above I am alone, alone, alone, and no-one can know— and she remains upright, as if her world still contains the axis on which it turns, using only the memory of what it had felt like to be held with such certainty that there was no room for fear. Still, her nod is slow and careful as if moving too fast will make her spill whatever she holds. ]
It is left to us to trust, I think. In what she knows, in her cleverness and ingenuity.
[ Athessa, although Loki is in the shadow of the words. ]
We must believe she will come back when she is finished with whatever it is she does, and with a fine story for us.
Yes.
[ He tries believing it, by force of will. An opportunity to protect the world, or perhaps only a grand adventure, appearing out of the alleys in Val Royeaux, too great to turn from, and Athessa is on horseback in one of the ancient forests where she felt more at home, full of purpose and singing to the trees.
For a moment he wonders what they thought, his brothers and sisters. If they imagined him walking away into something bright, if they imagined him devoured by the city. (It was both; a sunlit gullet.) Or if they didn't imagine anything. If he slipped out of their sight and minds at the same time, like dozens of others after them—like Alexandrie and Byerly, once—and maybe like Athessa now.
But he would rather be forgettable than her be hurt. So until he knows better, she is in the forest.
He slips loose of feeling sorry for himself. Thinks instead through a handful of unsatisfactory explanations for a husband failing to write to his wife for long enough to make Alexandrie so still. ]
We were waylaid by bandits once—Athessa and I. I was still pretending, you know, not to know one end of a dagger from the other, but she handled them all herself, like it was nothing.
[ Loki is in the shadow of that, too. Bastien never saw him fight, but he's made three different people recount the Grand Tourney for him. ]
[ He tries believing it, by force of will. An opportunity to protect the world, or perhaps only a grand adventure, appearing out of the alleys in Val Royeaux, too great to turn from, and Athessa is on horseback in one of the ancient forests where she felt more at home, full of purpose and singing to the trees.
For a moment he wonders what they thought, his brothers and sisters. If they imagined him walking away into something bright, if they imagined him devoured by the city. (It was both; a sunlit gullet.) Or if they didn't imagine anything. If he slipped out of their sight and minds at the same time, like dozens of others after them—like Alexandrie and Byerly, once—and maybe like Athessa now.
But he would rather be forgettable than her be hurt. So until he knows better, she is in the forest.
He slips loose of feeling sorry for himself. Thinks instead through a handful of unsatisfactory explanations for a husband failing to write to his wife for long enough to make Alexandrie so still. ]
We were waylaid by bandits once—Athessa and I. I was still pretending, you know, not to know one end of a dagger from the other, but she handled them all herself, like it was nothing.
[ Loki is in the shadow of that, too. Bastien never saw him fight, but he's made three different people recount the Grand Tourney for him. ]
Ah.
[ For a fraction of a moment, he’d thought perhaps there might be an untapped resource there. Connections for the war. Favors to ask.
Clearly not.
He considers Edgard’s expression, then looks politely away. ]
If you ever want to talk about it…
[ The obvious offer goes unfinished, as he offers a subject change instead. ]
Do you like the work we do here?
[ For a fraction of a moment, he’d thought perhaps there might be an untapped resource there. Connections for the war. Favors to ask.
Clearly not.
He considers Edgard’s expression, then looks politely away. ]
If you ever want to talk about it…
[ The obvious offer goes unfinished, as he offers a subject change instead. ]
Do you like the work we do here?
[ A few strange things: Byerly appears directly in Bastien's office, rather than starting with playful flirtations over the crystal. It's early in the day (meaning before noon). His expression is grim. And as soon as he's entered the office, he closes and latches the door behind him.
No preamble: ]
Flint and Yseult have gone missing.
No preamble: ]
Flint and Yseult have gone missing.
[ Bastien smiles first—small and quizzical, not a disrespectful unconcerned grin, but still a reflexive attempt to never look bothered unless that’s part of the plan.
But it’s Byerly. So the surprise fades, his guard lowers. The smile disappears. He stands up from the desk. ]
How missing?
But it’s Byerly. So the surprise fades, his guard lowers. The smile disappears. He stands up from the desk. ]
How missing?
[ The thought bubbles up and pops. What could kill Yseult and Flint? Unless they met Corypheus himself on the road— ]
We’ll find them.
[ He puts his pen down and comes around the desk. ]
Or they will find us while we are looking. That is something they would do.
We’ll find them.
[ He puts his pen down and comes around the desk. ]
Or they will find us while we are looking. That is something they would do.
[He smiles warmly at Bastien. The unfinished offer is appreciated, but will go unacknowledged.]
Do you?
[He asks in response, laughing a little. He raises his hand, he'll answer.]
I like helping people. Know we are helping people, but don't really see it. Before...I could see it.
[He shrugs and smiles grimly.]
Don't feel particularly useful. [Or rather, he feels utterly useless, most of the time.]
Do you?
[He asks in response, laughing a little. He raises his hand, he'll answer.]
I like helping people. Know we are helping people, but don't really see it. Before...I could see it.
[He shrugs and smiles grimly.]
Don't feel particularly useful. [Or rather, he feels utterly useless, most of the time.]
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