OPEN - Follow me home, if you dare to

[helpinghidinghaunting]

WHO: Cole and YOU!
WHAT: Catch-all for Cole's first month!
WHEN: September
WHERE: Various - the Gallows, Kirkwall, possibly TBD
NOTES: Astarion thread: CW - Mentions of abuse, torture, murder, and starving

If you want something special, let me know and I will write us a starter! And a reminder, you can fill out Cole's permissions HERE if you would like him to read your character's pain/past!

Starters in comments.

Comments

[helpinghidinghaunting]

That tiny release of tension is caught - and Cole feels glad for his restraint paying off. Not least of all because, regardless of how the conversation had begun...if he didn't know any better, it really sounds like Astarion wants to help him. Creatures such as ourselves. A comparison, a grouping instead of more othering.

His expression becomes just a little less sad.

"Oh. I think...I could do that. I can try, test." A tilt of the head, but this one isn't him reading - it's pure curiosity. He lifts his chin to gesture to the flask. "Do you...like that? I know it has alcohol in it. But I don't understand it. Why people drink it."

His relationship with humans drinking is...complicated.

[illithidnapped]

“Lots of reasons.” Astarion says with a shrug, opting to answer that particular detail first. “Sometimes it’s for the simple matter of taste: the richness of flavor and heat, potent as anything if it’s finely made. But alcohol also has the added effect of lowering inhibitions. Forgetting, to put it in your own terms.”

It's the only way the spirit might actually grasp something of mortal reasoning, Astarion imagines.

“Forgetting the strain of lucid thought, forgetting stress, focus, fear— or. Well.” He stops there, breath catching in the back of his throat. Fingertips gesticulating for a single moment, before, “It’s not always pretty. Depending on the person, they might not be capable of...letting go, shall we say, without surrendering to grief or guilt or anger. Or controlling their own bladder. It varies. The point is, sometimes people just want the tension of living to fade a little bit.”

He inspects the flask, catching both sight and scent of something faint he hadn’t noticed before.

“Is this....blood staining the bottom of this flask?”

Faded and worn away, but not so far gone that sharp senses can’t detect its ruddied aftermath.

[helpinghidinghaunting]

The information is taken in with rapt attention as quickly as it is dispensed, fascination plain on Cole's face. This is the first time anyone has actually explained this to him - he had watched many people drink, of course, but had never tried it himself and wasn't sure what the real purpose was. The way Astarion puts it is in a way he can grasp, and he nods in understanding, comprehending why some people find themselves in need of a drink.

But then the blood on the flask is noticed, questioned. For a moment, the spirit is quiet, figuring out how to explain.

"...Yes. It belonged to someone who...couldn't help but surrender, succumb to sorrow and anger," he rasps, mirroring Astarion's turn of phrase. "He was hurting others. Hurting his wife. Horribly. She needed help."

There is, for just a moment, something low and dangerous in Cole's voice, in his eyes. A righteous sort of anger, echoes of the real Cole, hiding in cupboards from his father's drunken rage. With the knives sheathed on his back, there's little doubt that the man in question was very, very dead.

"He's gone now. I thought...someone else could use the flask. Now it's yours."

[illithidnapped]

One silver brow arches at that. And for a moment, flask in hand, that’s the only reaction Astarion offers.

Funny, in a way. He’d been terrified of kindness, acting as though the creature beside him was a demon— knowing, in fact, that it might still be, in a sense: Thedas’ rules about what does and doesn’t qualify are at times utterly nebulous. But the thought that ‘Cole’ is capable of helping through harm....

Astarion tips his head to one side. Exhales a little breath that acts as something of an audible shrug. He approves.

"If you happen to find more..."

[helpinghidinghaunting]

Honestly, the fact that Astarion seems to like what Cole had done bolsters him a little bit. A tiny laugh escapes him - it's a strange little sound, from such a mournful creature. He feels...accepted. Its a novelty, and in spite of how they had began? He likes the pale elf.

"...I will keep you in mind. Some people need it taken away."

He's aware he's letting the Rifter see some edges to him that he considers a little scary...but it seems to be what he needs to know to be at ease.

"You have been...more patient with me than many mean to be. I...thank you. For not...running away."

[illithidnapped]

“Oh don’t thank me.”

Much as he thrives on attention, affection, and so on— the sincerity of that remark instantly cripples any sparked urge to preen. His dismissal is quick, and sharp, and uncomfortable.

But only just.

“I’m only looking after myself, after all.” Petulance lives in his voice, even as he takes yet another (slightly more indulgent) sip. “Because if I’m going to be haunted, I’m going to make damn well sure it’s at least relatively bearable.”

Even so. Astarion’s still there. Still talking. Still choosing to stay.

Take that as you will, Cole.

[helpinghidinghaunting]

The bristling doesn't wound Cole at all at this point - he understands. This is how Astarion is. He sounds a little like a child, the spirit thinks, the pout audible even around a sip of alcohol. There's still a lot of healing to do. Years worth of hurt. It's going to take time.

They both have time, though, don't they?

"That's okay," he finally answers, not quite smiling, but not quite frowning either.

"You know...much more than I do. About this."

[illithidnapped]

"Obviously I do." Astarion agrees, capping the flask and lifting his chin as though proving something with his own flaunted pride. The air is dry, even with the ocean breeze rolling through Kirkwall from the docks, and Astarion finds himself far too impatient to tolerate it any longer.

"So do us both an overwhelming favor, and don't forget it."

And with that— without the courtesy of pretense or propriety— he pulls away to wind into the milling crowds. Disappearing as if he were nothing but a ghost himself.

[helpinghidinghaunting]

When Astarion leaves, sudden and succinct, Cole stares after him for a moment, contemplating all that had just transpired. It had been a strange talk, to be sure, but...if he didn't know any better, he might think he had been offered just a little bit of a hand.

Cole smiles to himself as he lets his image dissolve, fading into obscurity as he strikes out on his own way.

After all, he still has a coin purse to return.