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[ He'll find her much as she was when she left. Perhaps a little thinner, a little more tired around the eyes, but otherwise unmarked by her absence. She is mildly nonplussed by the embrace--she can see it coming and understand why, but is a little surprised the impulse exists all the same. She touches a palm to his back before it's over, and when it is tips her head sideways with a shift of brows that concedes he may've been right to. ]
It was not the holiday from Riftwatch I'd have chosen.
It was not the holiday from Riftwatch I'd have chosen.
What did you say— [It's a hiss. His voice sounds so uncharacteristically rough for it, almost feral.] Who. Who did you tell.
[ The great and terrible thing about sending crystals, with their lack of any visual indicator save a you have messages glow, is that it's very easy to pretend not to be home. Or, in this specific case, to receive a furious and very vague message while he's working, and then let it sit there unanswered for three minutes while he continues what he was doing and thinks things through.
When he does respond, he sounds as taken off-guard as if he'd just heard it the moment before. ]
Astarion? [ Is your voice ok there bro. ] What happened?
When he does respond, he sounds as taken off-guard as if he'd just heard it the moment before. ]
Astarion? [ Is your voice ok there bro. ] What happened?
[The benefit of three minutes is that Astarion's— not settled. Settled isn't the word for it. But he's lost momentum, there, in that short a span of time. What's left is an hollower voice. Rough-edged, but equally faded.]
Alexandrie is your friend, is she not? You two are close. You've worked together, you've entertained together—
[It isn't spiralling, necessarily. He does worse when he tailspins, but clearly he's had time enough to piece together his own assumptions:]
What did you say. Did you warn her about me? Is that it?
'Look out for Astarion, wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster.'
Alexandrie is your friend, is she not? You two are close. You've worked together, you've entertained together—
[It isn't spiralling, necessarily. He does worse when he tailspins, but clearly he's had time enough to piece together his own assumptions:]
What did you say. Did you warn her about me? Is that it?
'Look out for Astarion, wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster.'
[ He's relieved. Not relieved that he doesn't have to lie. Lying is easy. But relieved that the two people he has told to mind him didn't give it away so quickly and easily. ]
I have not said anything to her about it, my friend. We are—
[ not that close, he might say, but it's more complicated than that. They have one enormous vulnerability and a style of combat in common; otherwise, Bastien knows about Alexandrie only what could be gleamed from the Game and from the conversations he's witnessed her have with Byerly, and about him he assumes Alexandrie knows next to nothing. ]
Of course we've talked about you a little. But nothing like that. Little things. Trying to guess your age, you know? That kind of thing, and not at all recently.
I have not said anything to her about it, my friend. We are—
[ not that close, he might say, but it's more complicated than that. They have one enormous vulnerability and a style of combat in common; otherwise, Bastien knows about Alexandrie only what could be gleamed from the Game and from the conversations he's witnessed her have with Byerly, and about him he assumes Alexandrie knows next to nothing. ]
Of course we've talked about you a little. But nothing like that. Little things. Trying to guess your age, you know? That kind of thing, and not at all recently.
[The silence is telling. Astarion's clearly using it to measure, without sight, the sincerity of Bastien's claim. In the end, he has nothing. Nothing left to use against the man. Nothing to prove his unease. Nothing he wants to use, either.]
...so she hasn't said anything to you, either, then.
[How frustrating.
But...]
Ask her, then.
For me. No, not— for me, obviously. Don't let her know I sent you, but I need to know why she's supposedly so damn wary of me now.
Please, darling.
...so she hasn't said anything to you, either, then.
[How frustrating.
But...]
Ask her, then.
For me. No, not— for me, obviously. Don't let her know I sent you, but I need to know why she's supposedly so damn wary of me now.
Please, darling.
[ A long inhale. ]
Why can't she know you asked?
I am happy to try to find out for you, of course, but I—all of this find out but don't let her know why business. She's very clever. If something has happened and then I show up asking about you right on its heels, she will be able to guess. [ And lightly musing, in a cheer up sort of way: ] I suppose she might be less wary if she thinks both of us are idiots.
Why can't she know you asked?
I am happy to try to find out for you, of course, but I—all of this find out but don't let her know why business. She's very clever. If something has happened and then I show up asking about you right on its heels, she will be able to guess. [ And lightly musing, in a cheer up sort of way: ] I suppose she might be less wary if she thinks both of us are idiots.
Nothing has happened. I haven't so much as seen the woman since I first turned up, and now suddenly she's warning her false-husband about me—
[He stops. Clicks his tongue.]
You know her better, maybe she's always been this duplicitous. Maybe she's held a grudge against me right from the start, fine. I can admit that. But to tell my assigned partner to be wary— it stinks of something else. Something far more knowing, shall we say.
And if she thinks I sent you to her, who knows if she'll tell the truth.
[He stops. Clicks his tongue.]
You know her better, maybe she's always been this duplicitous. Maybe she's held a grudge against me right from the start, fine. I can admit that. But to tell my assigned partner to be wary— it stinks of something else. Something far more knowing, shall we say.
And if she thinks I sent you to her, who knows if she'll tell the truth.
There is no guarantee she will tell me the truth if she thinks you haven't.
[ Bastien would call her less duplicitous than she used to be. But he thinks there are things Alexandrie would guard from him. If Loki II is involved somehow, the odds that this is one of them are that much higher. ]
Could it be that you said in front of all of us that you'd leave Madame Baudin's mangled corpse in the dirt?
[ Bastien would call her less duplicitous than she used to be. But he thinks there are things Alexandrie would guard from him. If Loki II is involved somehow, the odds that this is one of them are that much higher. ]
Could it be that you said in front of all of us that you'd leave Madame Baudin's mangled corpse in the dirt?
Edited (attacking typos with a steak knife) 2021-09-20 02:41 (UTC)
...wait.
[Wait.]
She's friends with Gwenaëlle?
[Wait.]
She's friends with Gwenaëlle?
[Astarion laughs a little, far too withering to be sincere.
Shit. All this fuss— all this apprehension— and the answer was hovering right in front of his nose.]
Ahah. Mm. Yes, of course.
[He clears his throat, that drop in tone a sure sign he's thoroughly done the verbal equivalent of tucking his tail between his legs.]
My apologies, my dear. I...admittedly got a little carried away, snapping at you like that.
[He's not apologizing for Gwen tho. Not that.]
Shit. All this fuss— all this apprehension— and the answer was hovering right in front of his nose.]
Ahah. Mm. Yes, of course.
[He clears his throat, that drop in tone a sure sign he's thoroughly done the verbal equivalent of tucking his tail between his legs.]
My apologies, my dear. I...admittedly got a little carried away, snapping at you like that.
[He's not apologizing for Gwen tho. Not that.]
Don't tempt me with a good time, darling—
Mm? Oh. No. No need. [As a matter of fact, Bastien, please don't!!1] Best not to rouse moderately sleeping ire, and all that.
Mm? Oh. No. No need. [As a matter of fact, Bastien, please don't!!1] Best not to rouse moderately sleeping ire, and all that.
Mmhm. [ That’s a whatever you say, chéri sort of mmhm. ] Very wise.
—but you know, to be safe, I think you should feed my curiosity something else. To tide it over, ouais? If it is still ravenous next time I see her—I will try to contain it, for you, of course, but—
[ This is not a real threat. Curiosity might be his middle name, but only if he can have two middle names and the other one is Self-Control. ]
—but you know, to be safe, I think you should feed my curiosity something else. To tide it over, ouais? If it is still ravenous next time I see her—I will try to contain it, for you, of course, but—
[ This is not a real threat. Curiosity might be his middle name, but only if he can have two middle names and the other one is Self-Control. ]
[And this time, he laughs.
How he’d hoped you’d say yes, Bastien.]
Very good.
[And then the amusement fades, leaving something akin to—
Something much gentler, in fact.]
Mm.
Well you don’t have gith here. Or dragonborn. Or drow. But going in for races just seems too easy, all things considered.
I will say magic here is much different. And so are demons for that matter.
And if I’m honest, I’m not entirely convinced our worlds aren’t still one and the same: that if I look up into the night sky, I won’t see a glimmering star that’s actually Toril, in all its distant glory.
[He’d told Fenris the same thing, once. When they were stargazing beneath an open sky. Eased back into the grass, and forgetting the worst of everything that surrounded.
It feels like an eternity ago now. And yesterday.]
You don’t have ships that soar through the air as if it were water. And you don’t have illithid either— which actually isn’t a bad thing.
You don’t have gods that meddle. You don’t have the misery of knowing when they shut you out.
[A pause, tepid.]
...although I suppose your Maker isn’t much kinder, if the stories are true.
How he’d hoped you’d say yes, Bastien.]
Very good.
[And then the amusement fades, leaving something akin to—
Something much gentler, in fact.]
Mm.
Well you don’t have gith here. Or dragonborn. Or drow. But going in for races just seems too easy, all things considered.
I will say magic here is much different. And so are demons for that matter.
And if I’m honest, I’m not entirely convinced our worlds aren’t still one and the same: that if I look up into the night sky, I won’t see a glimmering star that’s actually Toril, in all its distant glory.
[He’d told Fenris the same thing, once. When they were stargazing beneath an open sky. Eased back into the grass, and forgetting the worst of everything that surrounded.
It feels like an eternity ago now. And yesterday.]
You don’t have ships that soar through the air as if it were water. And you don’t have illithid either— which actually isn’t a bad thing.
You don’t have gods that meddle. You don’t have the misery of knowing when they shut you out.
[A pause, tepid.]
...although I suppose your Maker isn’t much kinder, if the stories are true.
I like to imagine Him with His arms crossed and His chin jutting out, while He refuses to look at us.
[ Like a spoiled toddler, you know.
And sooner or later, over drinks or cards or a walk, Bastien will come for all of those unfamiliar words–gith and dragonborn and drow and illithid. And what about the magic, and what about the demons, and how do the ships soar, and why is it called Toril, and why would it be in the sky?
For now: ]
Did a god shut you out?
[ Like a spoiled toddler, you know.
And sooner or later, over drinks or cards or a walk, Bastien will come for all of those unfamiliar words–gith and dragonborn and drow and illithid. And what about the magic, and what about the demons, and how do the ships soar, and why is it called Toril, and why would it be in the sky?
For now: ]
Did a god shut you out?
I spent two hundred years chained to the cruelest bastard imaginable, adoring him as if he were the sun itself, hating him as if he were every bit the monster he was.
[His inhale is sharp. Pointed.]
I did my begging. My weeping. Said my prayers in the dark, and for what.
[There's no such thing as heroism. No divine mercy. No white knights on horseback charging in to slay dragons.]
No one ever came.
[And then, with a milder scoff. The weariest start of a more humorous tone:]
Not until this mess of a world, anyway.
[His inhale is sharp. Pointed.]
I did my begging. My weeping. Said my prayers in the dark, and for what.
[There's no such thing as heroism. No divine mercy. No white knights on horseback charging in to slay dragons.]
No one ever came.
[And then, with a milder scoff. The weariest start of a more humorous tone:]
Not until this mess of a world, anyway.
That means you have to take another.
[ He knows very well how unlikely that is, but he says it anyway, and gives her shoulder a light squeeze before he goes to fetch that chair. ]
I got into the place they were holding you, after you were gone. It looked bad.
[ He knows very well how unlikely that is, but he says it anyway, and gives her shoulder a light squeeze before he goes to fetch that chair. ]
I got into the place they were holding you, after you were gone. It looked bad.
[ Yseult follows him with her eyes after that comment, carefully watching what she can see of his expression. ]
Dungeons never look good. [ Her little shrug is not entirely dismissive, but it is deflecting. ] Did you tell anyone other than Stark and Rutyer about it?
Dungeons never look good. [ Her little shrug is not entirely dismissive, but it is deflecting. ] Did you tell anyone other than Stark and Rutyer about it?
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