Tʜᴇ Pᴀʟᴇ Eʟғ | Asᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ Aɴᴄᴜɴíɴ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
illithidnapped) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2021-06-01 01:09 pm
illithidnapped) wrote in faderift2021-06-01 01:09 pm
[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
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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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."
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"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.
no subject
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."
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"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.
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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.)
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It’s a strange little noise, the start of something he can’t finish. His lips sink into a pout, he turns away to sip his drink as though stalling, browline entirely stern set.
He’s been deprived of much. So much so that even divorced from it, it’s hard to see the leylines themselves. He knows he’s better off. Pleased.
But happy?
“We weren’t talking about me. This is about you, and if you don’t get back on the subject at hand, rest assured I’ll be the first to tell Ellis everything you no doubt feel for him in that delicate little chest of yours.”
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"You're my friend and I worry about my friends! Besides this, I have to keep working with Ellis, so if you don't mind I would prefer that he go on about his life blissfully unaware that I have feelings in his direction, thank you very much."
She stabs her eggs to make a point.
"Not being happy eats at people in the darkest places, and while you're quite accustomed to such things I'm sure, I am allowed to worry."
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He balks at that, incredulously, neck swiveling like a snake’s as he leans back in his seat.
“What in the hells gave you the impression of—“
He bites down on his own tongue. Figuratively speaking. Literally, a bite like that would be wounding under sharp, vampiric teeth— so no, he only cinches those fangs across one another, expression flickering back and forth as he weighs something vital in the forefront of his mind.
He needs friends. He’s done all he can to force them to his side, to use them as a shield in case things here turn sour. A means to protect him from anything awful dwelling in Thedas.
“Mm.” Settling, he gives her an acidic sidelong glance, lips thinning out into a mellower frown. “Fine, I suppose. Do as you like, my dear, I won’t stop you.”
https://tenor.com/view/judge-judy-facepalm-disappointed-gif-5020968
She can worry about him to her little heart's contentment.
"Thank you." What sort of life, she wonders does one have to lead to bristle at the very idea of being friends with someone? A fairly lonely one in her imagining. She takes another bite of her eggs.
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"And do keep me apprised of how your little affair progresses. I'd be heartbroken if I were kept out of the loop."
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"And you'll tell me what Fenris says? Unless he swears you to secrecy, that is." An eyebrow raise as she takes a sip from her cup.
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For good measure, of course, he draws a single, cheerful 'x' across the near-center of his chest, fingertip dragging against the leather of his dark doublet.
"Would I lie to you?"
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No judgment; she's just calling them as she sees them. But she does smile widely and earnestly, hopefully softening the blow.
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"Only for the sake of fun, if it came to that. But I do mean it this time, I won’t keep it secret from you. Promise."