[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!]

Comments

[illithidnapped]

And I suppose that depends on your definition of the word alive. I myself for example remain technically a very lovely corpse and yet—

[He lifts his hands for show, gesturing with a flourish towards his whole....everything, in fact.]

I died all the same, technically speaking.

[arkitect]

...then I suppose we find ourselves in relatively similar situations, though doubtless not the same.

[Being undead and being deceased are separate states of being, after all, and vampiric creatures do tend to be the former; Astarion gets another look-over there, though, a slow consideration.]

I'd wager our experiences in death are quite different, for one.

[illithidnapped]

Oh, no doubt. Believe me, I’d be shocked if you and I had anything in common in the...figurative afterlife. [In so many more ways than Astarion cares to detail, in fact.]

But I’m not here to judge. Just to indulge a little curiosity.

[For that, he smiles pleasantly at that fixed attention on Emet-Selch's part, placing a few soft fingertips across his heart— tap tap tap.]

And now I find myself utterly satisfied. So thank you.

[arkitect]

Are you, truly? I'd just begun to wonder if such a thing was possible.

[Nevermind that he literally interrupted Astarion first, clearly it's all been Astarion's doing-- or so his tone implies.]

You're quite welcome. Really, you ought to take some pride in being indulged so.

[illithidnapped]

As a general rule of thumb, I don’t like to make it easy.

[Speaking of, however...]

What will you do with the rest of your night?

[arkitect]

Oh, you know.

[He spares a sidelong glance to the door, shifting position where he's perched to keep himself comfortable, though he doesn't yet bother to stand.]

What else does one do in the late hours besides lurk in appropriately dark corners, or even engage in a bit of prowling... [A pause, before he waves that off with an idle gesture.] But no, none of that. I had thought I might take advantage of the quiet for a bit of time to myself. A little light reading, possibly.

[illithidnapped]

How painfully dull that sounds to my ears. [His head cants just so, his attention briefly wandering— before circling back towards golden eyes.]

You could do better.

[arkitect]

Does it? And here I could have sworn you were here doing the same, before.

[His gaze drifts pointedly to the book set aside, before traveling back to Astarion.]

But I assume you have something particular in mind.

[illithidnapped]

I never said I enjoyed it. [He counters easily, all smooth syllables as his fingertips fold listlessly in his lap.]

Companionship, I'd argue, is a far better way to whittle away even the most tedious of hours before dawn.

[arkitect]

And I presume you mean to graciously offer yours.

[A moment or two of silence in which he considers the idea.]

Unless you mean to simply continue talking 'til sunrise, then I suppose it depends largely upon your proposal.

[If it's interesting enough, maybe he'll set his own plans aside. Maybe.]

[illithidnapped]

Naturally. Unless there's...someone else here that's already caught your eye. Wouldn't want to make myself a thief.

[His intent couldn't be more clear now, but— just in case:]

I've spent all my words for the evening, darling. I'm of a mind to be a little more physical.

How are those old bones of yours, I wonder?

[arkitect]

I can't say that there's anyone who has.

[The intent is very clear, yes. It's 1 am and I'll be real I don't remember if he was still sitting down-- but either he stands or just steps closer if he already was, shifting more to Astarion's side as if half-circling him. Head inclined toward him, he drops his voice to a lower pitch, quieter.]

But if that's what you're requesting...

[Not offering, but asking of him. Something he would then be gracious enough to provide rather than accept.]

...I think not, though it is bold of you to ask so soon. I am not wont to indulge so easily.

[illithidnapped]

[For a moment, he thinks he’s won. Practically arches forward in his seat to draw himself nearer to that attention, the sound of that lowered voice, before—

No. Apparently not.

...pity.]

A shame. I suppose I’ll just have to concede my own meager losses, for now. [Difficult as it is to work up the will to slither out of his own seat and draw himself up at a more...shall we say chaste distance, he manages it all the same with little fuss, and not a hint of whinging. Dignity is his tonight, even in defeat.]

You’ll call on me, won’t you? If you change your mind.