[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.
[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.
[ 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.
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.
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. ]
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.
[ 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.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ is cheerful revenge for the sweetheart, which he doesn't really mind. ]
What can I do for you?
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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.
no subject
What would you say are the odds I will have to explain your urgent errand to the city guards later?
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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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
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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 subject
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
no subject
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.