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

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Ah. A lifted eyebrow. ]

You're learning your history.

Don’t go making a fuss over it.

[And please don’t mistake him for a scholar. He couldn’t bear the thought of being so banal.]

Knowing one’s options is an absolute must— and to know that I needed to dig into the heart of what makes your world tick, so to speak.

I realize first come first served is a favored course for many, but I much prefer best-aligned, longest lived.

Don't go making a fuss? Now you disappoint me. I thought you were a man who'd like to be fussed over.

Only when it's on my own terms.

[Grin segueing into pride, knuckles dusting along the back of his neck just so.]

No, I'm afraid all academic knowledge is out of bounds. But you're quite free to select something else, if you like: my hair, my excellent bone structure— my radiant personality. I'm not picky.

[Says he.]

Hm. [ A tilt of his head, considering, and then he decides: ] You have a lovely, pouty little mouth. Very pleasing.

[Lovely. A fine word. He’ll take it, thank you.]

Good to affirm you’re a man of taste. Distinction.

But now that I've stolen a few kind compliments from your own equally beguiling lips, back to our earlier topic of conversation— I do hope you weren't attempting to sidestep it, otherwise I'll feel simply monstrous for continuing to pick at old wounds.

You see, I'm genuinely curious to know what swayed your pretty little heart to this cause in the first place.

Are you interested in me? I'm flattered.

[ By grins. But then he relents. It's not that there's any reason to keep it a secret, really; it's just that letting the other person talk about himself, and keeping yourself in reserve, is, well, a good recipe for retaining some measure of power. But he doesn't need to do that, here.

Not, of course, that he's about to tell the truth. ]

I'm the son of a cadet branch of a very populous family. Nothing to inherit - and even if there were, I wouldn't be inheriting it anyway. So a ne'er-do-well like myself, well...He finds work where he can. As long as that work is entertaining and doesn't strain one's constitution. One such job happened to be here.

Mm.

[Just mm. His head tilting slightly, wearing a look of distant amusement that often comes from seeing a particularly interesting painting— or bug. Depends.]

Mmmmmm.

[ He returns the noise with a mocking little shimmy. ]

Disappointed that I'm poor?

Wondering how much it pays.

[So yes.]

Your neck is a pretty thing to risk, after all. Even if it’s from a desk, your allegiances certainly wouldn’t be favorable to your enemies.

So I hope they’re at least covering more than your meals and simple luxuries.

Why do you think I chose Diplomacy? For me to do my job effectively, I must be decked out in fine velvets, and I must be pleasantly perfumed, and I must attend these marvelous feasts. To build up my network of friends, you see!

[ His grin holds a measure of rather unkind glee. ]

Enjoy keeping watch in the rain, though.

Oh, you're cruel. [He gasps it out as though struck, one hand falling tight across his heart, dragging itself over golden filigree.]

You could at least do me the favor of a little gentleness before you go twisting the knife. A parting kiss. A glancing touch.

Hm. You strike me as a man far more pleased by a slap than by a caress.

[The flicker of a grin that twitches in response is devious to the bone, and he does little to suppress it, even as his feigned performance wanes.]

Maybe. But I'm not inclined to tell the truth, now.

[Tap tap tap go his fingers in thought, subtle drumming signaling a shift in subject matter. It is late, after all.] You know, I'm shocked you're not falling asleep upright.

Or are you just as nocturnal as I am?

[ He grins easily. ]

A day you don't at least catch the sun coming up is a failure of a day, I say.

Then I'm interrupting your game. [Astarion asserts, amusement evident in his voice, even as he feigns at sounding sincerely remorseful for making himself an intrusion.]

Because certainly standing out in this balmy weather [it's muggy, Astarion, you're just cold-blooded] smoking in the dark can't be the...climax of your nightly plans.

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

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