[OPEN] Young Blood, say you want me out of your life

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Astarion and, gasp, maybe you
WHAT: catch-all for Kirkwall mayhem involving a certain vampire
WHEN: ~whenever~ pick your poison
WHERE: Gallows, Kirkwall proper, anywhere you want
NOTES: 1 intolerable vampire pretending he doesn't give a damn

I: CHARITY

He keeps odd hours, that’s the nature of being a nocturnal monster designed to feed on the blood of his prey— or, well, former monster, as luck would have it. He certainly isn’t turning to ash each time the sun rises, and he isn’t burning to death every time he sinks into a nice, hot, afternoon bath. Food, even, that’s a new luxury too, though he isn’t entirely fond of what the Gallows serves on the regular: his taste runs a touch finer, as a habit— which might be why one passing trip through the market sees an arm slung sweetly around your own for a cheerful bout of unprompted conversation at Astarion’s mercy.

It’s quick, takes barely more than a few moments of lingering closeness, and then—

And then nothing. He’s gone as quickly as he came. Wait— do your pockets feel noticeably lighter?

Pursuit would only find him sometime later, slung casually across a table in some smoky little hole in the wall: drinking a glass of vivid red, eating a very lovely meal and chatting up someone with cheekbones so sharp they could open envelopes via proximity alone.

And he probably paid for all of it with your coin. Oh dear.

II: VICE CITY

“Aha, no, wrong again, darling— that win belongs to me.”

He’s learned the rules quickly. He’s learned everything, quickly, in fact, winking slyly as he rakes a meager mess of coins and knickknacks across the table towards him. Hardly a vivid sum, but enough that the brute opposite to him growls something unintelligible— veering away as the chair they’d been occupying topples right to the floor, the noise of it snapping right through an otherwise pleasant scene.

“Well.” Astarion scoffs, silvered brows raising.  “Talk about a sore loser.”

He’d only cheated a little, besides. Still, red eyes snap to, the edges of his lips curling into an easy smile, gesturing with slender fingers towards the now-emptied seat across.

“Your turn, dearest.”

III: A VAMPIRE STILL

He haunts dark spaces in later hours. Bright eyes in shadow, attentive without exhaustion. The Gallows is bustling in daylight, and near silent without, and he prowls like a cat in the gaps between lanterns, searching for something nameless and shapeless.

Perhaps out of sight until the very last, unsettling second when pale features seem to cut through pitch-soaked corners.

Try not to shriek, if you stumble into his path, won’t you? It is late, after all, and he doesn't fancy a headache.

IV: WILDCARD

[ooc: pick your poison, swap one of the prompts around, opt for daylight and cheerful drinking— the sky's the limit. Astarion can even be caught doing a little studious reading in closed-off spaces, though don't expect him to take kindly to being noticed.

Also I'll match tagging format to whatever suits you, and/or hit me up if you want something else plotwise entirely!]

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[illithidnapped]

“Why sweetheart...you’re a part of that evening, now.”

New tracks, newer ventures; Astarion could no doubt easily recover from the blow he’d been ever so gently dealt— but it’s clear enough in the sharpness of that crimson-eyed stare, unblinking in its potent fix, that he’s adjusted his own personal wants for the moment. “Sit down. Drink.”

Graceful fingers gesture towards the open seat beside him, rather than the one across the table that Ellis had snatched up as an opportunity, that frigid shade of albinism worn across Astarion’s extended fingertips (across all of him, actually) painted warm by dim tavern light.

Come here.

“And if you’re afraid I’m going to gobble you up at the end of our picturesque exchange, don’t be: I’ll only play dirty if you ask me to. Promise.”

[illithidnapped]

To his credit, Astarion betrays nothing. His lips move to widen his smile by nothing more than a flicker, his eyes made slightly more narrow by the gesture.

He looks, for all the world, like a cat studying something through glass. And if he had a tail to flick— it’d no doubt be flicking.

“Quite right,” he breathes, sounding all at once relieved. “It’s the grievously overfed I just can’t seem to abide. Spoiled creatures who haven’t a shred of mercy in their hearts.”

He says it as though he doesn’t look the part himself. But then again, considering where he is and how he’s opting to cut his teeth, that’s all facade.

“Someone really should do something about that. And by someone, I mean us.”

[heorte]

The invitation is very clear. There is a beat of stillness in the wake of it as Ellis looks at Astarion and takes the measure of everything set before him. It's a very particular tableau: a beautiful man, a good meal, what promises to be a very fine wine to drink. Things that tempted, once.

That still tempt, apparently.

The passing flicker of interest comes to him like a hand reaching out of the dark, catching him by the ankle. But his scrutiny still lapses into a shake of the head, signaling no before Ellis has dredged up the words for it.

His hands had flexed over the back of the chair they'd come to settle upon. Now they lift away. (That he's paused at all, that it took time to consider—)

"It's a generous offer," is a true thing, rather than a politeness. "But I can't."

Shouldn't. Won't. There's a complicated snarl of reasoning behind it.

"I've an obligation," is a true thing too. "Guard duty with Kirkwall's dock patrol. You'll have to forgive me."

[illithidnapped]

“I don’t.”

Is the reply that comes, Astarion’s expression narrowing as it bottoms out. Whether it’s in regards to the concept of having to forgive Ellis for forsaking his offer in favor of guard duty, or just forgiving him at all, isn’t clear.

Maybe it’s both.

“But...enjoy your little walk.” said as he pours himself another glass of deep red, leaning back in his seat to make a show of sipping it— his attention not yet diverted to anyone else in sight.

“Here’s hoping nothing frightful finds you in the dark.”

https://i.ibb.co/qddRtd9/image.png

[heorte]

It is inadvertently a very funny thing to say to a Grey Warden.

"Don't worry. I'm well-protected."

This is not the vote of confidence in Kirkwall's night watch that it sounds like.

But still, Ellis steps away in the wake of this statement rather than linger. He makes for the door. He doesn't look back.

[kantikoy]

It seems silly, almost, to ask 'have you made any friends yet' because both Adrasteia considers the two of them to be friends despite the fraught introduction they'd had to one another and because it feels a little too... motherly, or something similar, to ask an adult who is possibly actually several hundred years older than she is if they've been social recently.

So. Adrasteia doesn't, but she does have that question in mind when she asks: "Anyone in particular stand out?"

She is going to get the eggs and hash, she's already decided, along with some coffee and is very excited about the entire prospect.

[illithidnapped]

"Gods, no." Astarion scoffs casually, waving away the concept with a dismissive hand in recline. His attention lies fixed on Bastien regardless, however. He's nothing if not content to make himself a captive audience for this. Every bit as willing as he is winsome. "Granted if you had a lute tucked away somewhere I might be able to string something together, I suppose."

Don't you dare reward him for that joke.

[illithidnapped]

He opens his mouth to respond, but the matter is quickly cut off by a need to place their orders, and Astarion opts for a more delicate cheese and toast spread coupled with pale wine and fresh herbs. Simple ingridients, hard to bungle in even the worst of places.

From there, his focus returns to her, knuckles resting against his cheek as he leans against his own hand in thought.

"Mm. Fenris is the first that comes to mind. The boy Ellis, as well— and your own magic, of course. I haven't yet forgotten its bite."

[kantikoy]

Asterion probably notices the way that Adrasteia's eyes go a slight bit wider at the mention of Ellis, and her cheeks flush suddenly, but she simply nods and waits for their drinks to arrive before she decides to comment on any of that.

"I think that Fenris is angry with me." She has some suspicions as to why. "Ellis is very capable, and I'm glad to have made the list." She's also glad that there are no hard feelings between them over his exposure to her magic.

[illithidnapped]

Oh indeed he does. It's like a compass needle spinning wildly, a moth to a flame, that gravitational pull that magnetically draws him with bright, noticeable interest to her words—

Interrupted only a moment later by their drinks and fulfilled orders, and he has to swat the staff away to secure her full attention once more: his own entirely uninterested in the matter of food, now.

"Fenris? Angry with you? Oh my dear, you're but a darling dove. What on earth could you possibly have done to earn his ire?"

[kantikoy]

For her part, she has not lost her interest in food, but it's so rare that someone is interested in her life to the point of gossiping that she ignores it long enough to do two things: firstly, she pulls off her gloves, and flashes her left palm in his direction, long enough for the shine of a shard embedded there to be seen.

Secondly, she shrugs, and then she takes a drink of the ale she'd ordered.

"It's either that," meaning the shard, "or that I'm a mage. I tried to ask when he stopped talking to me, but." Clearly he didn't answer.

[illithidnapped]

"Ah— no, then, it must be the latter." Which, knowing all the man has suffered, all that haunts him still, hardly surprises.

Yet, she is a gentle little thing, isn’t she? Forthright. Earnest. He’ll have to dig, he decides. He wants to know exactly where those tangled threads might lead. "I’ve the same little affliction, you see. Minus the magical inclination. Well— ever since turning up here, anyway. Whatever I used to be able to do, I can’t."

A pause before he adds, one finger raised between them:

"A secret to be kept between us, of course. I’m rather fond of his company. Keeps the boredom away from time to time." His hand drops, his attention turning instead towards his own meal at last, the fragrance of it undeniable.

"But I’ll ask. No better way to figure out what has him all tangled up than to hear it straight from the man himself."

[kantikoy]

"I got it while we were rescuing a woman from a tear in the Fade; I got it on purpose, so a few people have been upset with me." Ellis, for one. Vance. Tony, though he matters a bit less in the greater scheme of things, to Adrasteia, if only because she doesn't know him well. She'd assumed that Fenris was part of that group, but it's a bit relieving to find it might be because of something she couldn't help.

Like being a mage.

"I wouldn't dream of telling anyone." Adrasteia gives Asterion a smile before attacking her hash with a fork. "Also... this is going to be an odd question, and rather a change of topic, but. Does exchanging handkerchiefs with anyone mean anything to you?"

[illithidnapped]

His head tilts, his eyes gleaming for it in the midday light. He's forgotten his meal again, leaving a sliver of crusted bread hovering idle between his fingertips.

The memory of her blushing hasn't left him yet.

"...was it Ellis?"

[kantikoy]

Her eyes go a little wide and that blush returns with no indication it'll go anywhere.

"I can't imagine Ellis exchanging embroidered handkerchiefs with anyone, much less me." Adrasteia shakes her head. She reaches into her robes and procures two handkerchiefs. "No, this was the Lady Sidony Rutyer. We had a meal, in Orzammar, and are friendly with one another. I sent her one back, that seemed... appropriate? But as much as I enjoy giving others gifts I'm very unused to receiving them, and so I wondered if I'd done the wrong thing."

Or if she's reading too much into it.

[illithidnapped]

[illithidnapped]

"Gods above, my dear girl." He isn't laughing, his mouth instead aghast in a gasping look of pure, distilled shock. The hand at his side rises, pressing gently at his own cheek.

"You don't even know."

This is ambrosia. This is honeyed wine, sweet and rare and strange for its uniqueness. A blushing dove without so much as the faintest idea just how far her heart's been reaching without her.

"Courting, sweetheart. You've been courting. That is what those kerchiefs mean."

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia blinks, fork halfway to her mouth before she remembers what she's doing, and sets it back down on her plate. "You're sure? No, of course, you're sure." She sighs but can't keep her face from doing a mix of horrified and pleased. She's going to misstep, she's sure of it, but what had Sidony said? I've had quite my fill of politeness.

Maybe she won't complete bungle this. Her eyes go from Asterion's face to her plate.

"Maker, I've never courted anyone in my life and I don't know if you know this but the Lady Sidony Rutyer is ...very pretty, and it's slightly intimidating, how intelligent she is. Plus she's married to the head of the Diplomacy Division, but..." A slight wrinkle in her forehead. "She said that she sleeps alone. And offered to put on a picnic for the two of us. Oh." Was a handkerchief in return enough? Should I get her something else?"

[illithidnapped]

Oh.

Oh.

Hells' teeth, his world is spinning. He swears he sees stars— no, not just stars, but the very celestial map itself laid out like an endless ocean encircling his vision, teeming with the divine. The ruinous. The most beautiful creatures ever rumored to walk this plane or any other.

Byerly Rutyer's wife is pursuing someone else.

"She sleeps alone? A beautiful creature like that? Gods, my darling, you simply must rescue her— if you do indeed fancy her, that is. Maybe even if you don't. But under whichever assumption, my answer to your latter question remains a sincere and resounding yes."

[cozen]

Sorry, no, Bastien's snorting in a way that's more laugh than derision. Hilarious.

"I have one," he says, "but not here. Another time—unless?"

He looks at Alexandrie, who could have any number of things tucked in her skirts, never mind in this entire house.

[kantikoy]

Adrasteia stabs at her food. "She said it as if that's what she preferred, and she spoke of loving her husband for allowing her to live her life, amongst other things, so I don't think there's... trouble, between them?" She's not sure how else to explain that feeling, but there it is.

"I have no idea what else to get her. I'll bring flowers to the picnic but..." Help a girl out, Asterion. "But I did include some hair sticks with the handkerchief, I just remembered. Glass, sea glass actually, and very pretty."

[notathreat]

There's somebody who doesn't trust anything as far as they can throw it. Ellie follows the look, one corner of her mouth pulled in, her eyes older than the rest of her. Yeah. She's seen that before. She waits for that heartbeat, for him to argue -- and gives a slight nod when he doesn't.

She's seen that before, too.

But the response isn't anything she expected, and Ellie sputters, turns red, and pulls a face at him.

"Shit, how do you know that about her?"

Don't think about the rest. Doooon't think about the rest.

[muckspout]

Edgard raises an eyebrow.

"Did you have someone in mind?"

He looks around the bar and then back at him.

"Because if I were to make a guess as to who that was in here, I'd guess you."

He meets Astarion's eyes again.

"We could just raid the kitchens."

[illithidnapped]

No. Nothing about that reads as trouble to Astarion's mind so much as the hope of its avoidance. Even so, it speaks volumes— he's going to slither ever so nearer to this delicious bit of gossip later.

"Hair sticks? Not bad." Maybe the woman's more capable of this than Astarion had previously given her credit for. He finishes off the crusted sliver of bread in hand and then dusts his palms, settling back in his seat with a single sip from his woefully un-fluted glass. "But you'll want something truly memorable to win what remains of her untamed heart. Perfume, I'd suggest. Something fragrant, delicate. Not overpowering, mind— but unmistakable in its presence."

Coming from a man that smells faintly of lilac more often than not, this likely comes as no surprise whatsoever.

"Memory is linked to scent I hear. Each time she takes it in, she'll think of nothing but you."

[illithidnapped]

“Because it’s my job to know everything about everything, particularly when it comes to those with money— or power.”

How close he’d been to aligning himself with Diplomacy. How much more he enjoys wicked, wicked secrets uncovered only in shadow. Her expression, however, sparks a proud widening of his own toothy grin. He does love it, dearly, the way her responses run so vivid. So mirthful.

So utterly sincere.

He’d never expected that. To find actual enjoyment in....well. No matter.