[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]

“Raid the— what? Gods no.”

Her suggestion, merited as it might be, pulls only the most aghast of responses from Astarion, who already works to steer her in whichever direction suits him as they walk along into the heart of city streets.

“We’re not rats, darling. Not beggars. No. Today, you and I are going to find a lovely little place by the sea to take our breakfast. Something with decent service, too, I think.”

Well, 'decent' in Kirkwall beyond Hightown is asking much, but he’s certain he can find something passable at least.

[kantikoy]

"Ah," she replies, because that? Makes sense, for what she knows of Asterion. There's even coin in her pockets, which should help their questing.

She smiles and inclines her head. "Alright. I'll let you choose." And lead the way, of course, but she won't be letting go of his arm until they arrive at wherever their destination happens to be.

[illithidnapped]

“Of course you will. I’m paying, after all. It’s only fair that I get to choose.” There's something about Astarion that makes even condescension seem sweet, when he has his heart set to task.

“Also I have good taste, so. Make of it what you will.”

He settles on a narrow little place, more shack with spaces punched out for windows, barely anything more than street food, but the smells that waft from it are as divine as— well, the Divine, maybe. Alluring even so early on in the day.

The seating is cramped, more for Astarion than Adrasteia, and he whittles away a little space for them at the corner of what's available. Musty, beneath the scent of cooking oil and hot meals— strangely not unpleasant.

"Could be worse." he muses, setting his chin against his palm.

[kantikoy]

For her part, Adrasteia is beyond charmed by the small place, being sure to commit some of the nearby landmarks to memory so that she can find it again if the possibility presents itself. She looks around the both of them with wide eyes and a wider smile, more than happy to fold herself into whatever small space is available at Asterion's side.

"It smells wonderful in here." She grins at her friend. "Thank you for this." She needs the opportunity to do... something different with her day than the routines she's fallen into, from time to time, but has difficulty managing it herself.

Besides which, meals are always better with company. "How are you finding Riftwatch so far?"

[illithidnapped]

To her happiness, he says nothing, turning his head away to avoid overtly showing any hint of pride. Instead he works for haughtiness— as though this place is beneath the both of them— though it's a touch tamer than it otherwise could be, if he intended to truly make himself petty.

It is, after all, a suitable enough place to feed.

"Mmm? Oh, passable I suppose." He thumbs through listed offerings, attention meandering. "Some of them are competent enough to inspire a certain sense of security."

Some, of course. Not all.

[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]

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."

[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."

[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."

[kantikoy]

"Hm." She considers this as she chews her food, taking a moment to appreciate the goodness of the runny egg yolks and sauce on her plate. It buys her a moment to consider what sort of scent she might choose for Sidony, and how long it may take to find something suitable. "I'll probably have to go to Orlais proper for that."

Not that she's complaining, but she'd hate to find a scent for Sidony only to be thwarted by it being local enough for the woman to have bought it for herself already.

"Thank you, really, Asterion. I'm not sure I wouldn't have bungled this if not for you." She'd told Sidony that taking the next step was always difficult for her, and that hasn't stopped being true. "Do you have a favorite? Courtship, not scent," she teases, "I can recognize lilacs well enough."

[illithidnapped]

He makes a noise in his throat at that, a light puff of a sound, bordering on amusement, and only faintly laced with something else.

"Oh, no. Love was never my game." This is not, after all, where he confesses to being struck by arrows fired from untouchable bowstrings. And it certainly isn't love besides, only carnal wanting, out of reach— a strange new irritant, that.

[kantikoy]

"Never? Ach," she immediately responds to herself, "don't feel the need to answer that."

She knows she was very lucky, in a way. To fall in love with someone and begin to build a life with them, to have those few years in which things were not perfect but they were good. Not everyone gets that. Not everyone wants it.

"I only wonder after your own happiness."

[illithidnapped]

She wonders after his happiness? Surely she's joking— yet there's no dilation of her pupils, no hint of deception when she says it. She isn't lying, and whatever laugh he almost gives on instinct is caught uselessly in that strange, simple truth.

"Happiness can be bought, my darling. And passion more than suffices when it comes to a whetted appetite." His hand reaches across to take up her own, giving it an overly chilled little pat.

[kantikoy]

"Contentment can be bought. Happiness is a different thing entirely, I think."

She won't speak on passions; she's ignored her own for far too long and recognizes that would be a failing in the argument, and so it's let go. It does turn her mind back to her own strange sort of predicament. "Oh Maker," she murmurs, turning a little red all over again. "Anyway. If you tell me you're not discontent I'll leave it alone."

Otherwise, she'll... what, exactly? Occasionally ask him if he's happy? (Yes, probably.)