[open + closed]

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow, Benedict, Brother Gideon, Bfifi, Bmado, you??
WHAT: June catch-all
WHEN: Justinianish
WHERE: around and about the Gallows
NOTES: Individual character starters below, hit me up if you want something specific.

Comments

[illithidnapped]

He does, despite all his fussing about Gwenaëlle's storytelling prowess, remember that particular peculiar fact about this world: Half-elves— Cha'Tel'Quessir— in this world look entirely human. Indistinguishable, in fact. And where Astarion would think that'd make a world like this all the more favorable to them, it seems only to have made it all the more harsh.

"And thank goodness for that, I mean. I can imagine my arrival going quite differently if I'd wound up in someone else's care." Not that it would matter. He's adaptable. Capable. He wouldn't suffer arrogant fools.

"So they kicked you out, I take it?"

[lumelume]

Mado's smile is wry-- thank goodness for that, indeed, as he can't imagine anyone would have fared well trying to put Astarion in any place other than the one he chooses.

"When I was old enough, the clan sent me on my way," he replies, softening the blow somewhat for his own sake, even if the elf has the truth of it.

[illithidnapped]

"Utter pricks," he scoffs airily, turning his nose to the air in a milder show of distaste. "You see this is why I never had any sort of affinity for druids: it's always closed circles this, nature that— utter bollocks if you ask me. They're cowards."

Cowards, says Astarion. The man that would shed his own skin to save it.

"But you could always have found a different...what do they call themselves. Tribes? Enclaves? Nuisances? It's possible another set of them wouldn't have been such cocks to one of their own."

[lumelume]

"Perhaps."

The grin returns, Mado endeared by Astarion's strong feelings on the matter.

"In a way, I did! The streets of Rialto aren't easily survived alone, especially for a boy from the forest. I had a second chance to prove myself worthy, and. Well."

He smiles fondly down at his lute. "I did all right, I think."

[illithidnapped]

"Well you can't pick pockets, dear boy. That remains a point against you."

Astarion, after all, dislikes cheerful mirth. Sincere sweetness. It grates so much on a creature designed to be, at its core, wicked. But he's already given his opinion in regards to the Dalish and their frivolous traditions, so there's only so much bite left to give.

In the end, that's his only true criticism; the man does carry a fair tune.

[lumelume]

At that, Mado laughs, any tension broken.

"I never said I couldn't, amico," he replies with a cheerful clap to Astarion's shoulder, "I'm just better at being the diversion."

[illithidnapped]

"Astarion," he corrects primly, delicately lifting those fingertips from his shoulder and setting them to one side. It isn't a rough gesture, equivalent to taking off a scarf, but it's deliberate all the same.

"My name is Astarion, darling."

[lumelume]

Accepting the gesture, Mado lifts his hand away and wiggles his fingers as if to say 'yes, it's going away', then folds it in his lap.

"Astarion," he repeats pleasantly, "a name like that, it's quite noble sounding. I hope I haven't offended you."

[illithidnapped]

“Oh. Noble.”

There, as simple as a wound string, Astarion’s demeanor slithers back into something warm. Pleasant. If it wasn’t obvious before (it was), flattery is the key to keeping him tame.

...probably.

“No, no. Not offended at all. But I won’t know what to call you unless you tell me your name in turn.”

[lumelume]

A little gasp, and Mado beams.

"Amador," he replies, extending his hand for a proper shake, "or Felasil, my name by birth. But I prefer the other one."

Seeing as they were talking about it, it seems right to be upfront.

[illithidnapped]

"Amador it is, then." He concedes, tipping his chin just so.

The other name? He'll reserve that one should he come to despise the man. Never hurts to keep a thorn in hand for darker days.

"A pleasure. For now."

[lumelume]

"A pleasure in kind!"

Mado curls his fingers back to retract his hand, opting instead for a cheerful little two-fingered salute from his forehead.

If he takes the rejection personally, he doesn't show it.