[when it came to choosing someone to drag along on this little adventure-- well. of course it wasn't a hard decision, although good luck getting emet-selch to admit to that. he trusts astarion to be capable enough for this, and doesn't dislike his company, which are absolutely the only two reasons his name came to mind. it's fine.
the trip, at least, was not a terribly eventful one. he's kept to himself for much of it, outwardly as detached as ever, but he's kept a close eye on his surroundings ever since they departed. it's all unfamiliar territory, now, and he isn't one to be caught unaware, nor is he one to take unnecessary risks; he'd insisted on leaving enough time to properly prepare after arriving, to evaluate and observe and decide upon their course of action, and to find where to discuss that safely enough.]
Just how adept a climber are you, exactly.
[a reasonable enough place to start. if they can't go up from the exterior, that'll be one route struck from the list.]
Impressively adept. [Astarion offers proudly, still a touch transfixed by their afforded surroundings: Antiva's a far cry from its southern parallels (and near-parallels, in fact) and the balmy sea air coupled with only the most bustling trade-filled streets or sprawling vineyards is a remarkable change of pace.
It's entirely possible, were the world itself not tilted on its axis under the sway of a bastard Magister with delusions of grandeur, Astarion might simply take this opportunity at face value, and stay.
But that's not the way things are, right now, and the present moment is demanding.] If you'd like me to scale up onto the roof, I'd be more than happy to...but the matter of that excessive moonlight might make even my own pale silhouette stick out like a sore thumb.
The balconies would be safer, of course— although staff could easily be flitting about.
They could very well be, which is why it may be best to split our efforts. Move separately until we can join up once more-- at which point I ought to be able to let you know whether it is safe.
[because, yes, he is physically fit enough, but he would prefer not to have to scale up to a damn balcony. he's yet to test whether his so-called teleportation, as it is now, works going up quite as well. it should, but then many things should work better than they do.]
Fair enough. Far be it from me to dictate how to orchestrate your delectable show of subterfuge. [Yours, he says, as though this mission was entirely Emet-Selch's doing.]
But if you're not scampering along ledges with feline grace, where will you be headed?
[must he use this particular choice of words. emet-selch rolls his eyes, at that, but moves on easily enough.]
Inside, naturally. The internal route, while you take the external-- otherwise we've no idea of what's happening in there, or whether anyone may be passing by.
You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb with that hair. And you’re too tall.
[It’s an idle remark, not a real criticism. If he wanted to, he could truly press: make an effort to scrape up a more solid, perfectly precise plan of attack.
Instead he keeps that heavy banner (the tightened pack of it) tucked beneath his own arm, certain that if trouble sniffs out Emet-Selch, it won’t find Astarion.
One gloved hand wraps itself around a nearby trellis, fingers sinking into the grate.]
[give him SOME credit, he knows better than to pull this off with very distinct features just out there.]
I cannot do anything about my height, no, but I still stand out less than you might. If either of us were to go this route, it's a clear enough choice.
Unless, of course, you're saying you would simply prefer not to be left alone.
[which is, in his own way, an invitation to offer objections if astarion has them.]
[He clicks his tongue against that little dig, eyes narrowing as he smiles in a way that almost speaks to the offense inspired by it. Tolerated, of course.
This is what they do.]
I’m just saying, you have an aura, darling.
If you manage this without any trouble whatsoever, I’ll buy you a drink. With my own coin, in fact.
[It's become a familiar enough thing-- a dig here, a comment there. Not sharp enough or pointed enough to truly cross a line, a nip rather than a bite. It keeps, he thinks, something of a comfortable space between them.
And so he simply exhales a huff at the mention of his aura, though with the breath that leaves him he lets his posture shift, holds himself with less bearing. The familiar tone leaves his voice as well, softer and more neutral.]
Well, we'll just have to see how it goes.
[how many identities do you think someone who's been alive several thousand years has had, Astarion.]
So we shall. [The scent of sweeter things is in the air, now. They haven't much time before the soiree starts— and much as Astarion's sweet on the concept of trouble, failing yet another assignment doesn't exactly thrill at the moment. Particularly in such a lovely place as this.
He fits the folded banner tighter to him, already nimbly beginning the taxing work of scaling a trellis thick with plantlife, and light on architectural reinforcement. If he's not careful, he'll pull the whole thing from its moorings in short order.
[What, he doesn't want attention this time? Say it isn't so.
In the course of observation, he'd taken care to identify potentially-useful entrances, and after keeping a further eye on which seemed to be used more and which were less likely to see as much activity, he at least has some idea of where to start. With a last glance at the target balcony, he waves Astarion off and sets off on his own route, brushing his white-streaked bangs back and fitting a hat on over them; it matches the clothing he's acquired, more of a local fashion than his off-world outfit.
Locks aren't terribly much of a deterrent to him, and he's done just enough listening around to learn the names of a few figures likely to be in attendance. Obviously it'll be best to avoid people entirely, but if it can't be helped, well. It's fine. He's got a few ideas in mind to spin a lie or three, and while it's hardly a motivation for success, while he doesn't exactly feel he needs to prove anything to anyone in particular-- it would still be satisfying to make Astarion eat those words. He has every intention of doing so.]
[From on high, his view is a stunning one in its own right. The estate, already set on a sprawling hillside, seems to overlook just about everything in the countryside: countless glittering lights, the paler blue-green of vineyards and gardens underneath a moonlit sky. He leaves himself tucked against a balcony pillar for a few beats, ankles crossed, arms folded, watching the first few (unforgivably early, no doubt) guests arrive.
The banner is in his arms, but he doesn’t bother unfolding it yet.
This is a two-person job, after all. And they’ll still need to undo the one set up by the staff already.
From across the crystal, he makes it a point to whine:]
You do realize, [comes the hushed reply,] that distraction will only make it longer.
[Honestly. He has half a mind to slow down on purpose, and if they didn't have work to do he just might. It will still be a few minutes, in fact, allowing for time to make his way there without interference and a near miss or two, but one of the benefits of the abilities he's retained is that his magic lets him get out of the way Very quickly.
There's a quiet, odd noise or three from the door in the room beyond the balcony before Emet-Selch finally joins him, brushing his hands off, keeping out of the way and keeping his voice low when he speaks.]
Oh darling, I expired long ago. [Astarion purrs, though the knife in his hand seems to suggest he'd been expecting trouble to walk through that door, rather than a friend.
Still, once he recognizes the voice calling out, he hops down silent as a cat from his perch, setting the intended banner down to one side.]
Do you pack? [He asks, without bothering to clarify what.]
Yes, yes-- and you're still moving despite it, more's the pity for the rest of us.
[anyway. me, looking at ffxiv, squinting, looking back at this, looking back at ffxiv. honestly i just get the Vibe this wouldn't be a familiar turn of phrase.
So what Astarion gets in response to that last question is a slowly arched brow-- before he just turns to get to work on the banner they need to replace, gesturing for Astarion to take the other end. Hurry up, time to work.]
If you mean whether I came armed, then technically speaking, I do not require a weapon.
[...but he also flicks a knife into his hand. Quicker work than just untying something, after all. If it looks like a slightly familiar blade, well... it probably is.]
Everyone needs a weapon. Especially in this world.
I’m told Templars have a nasty habit of cutting magic quick as thread.
[But yes, in fact: he’d asked because he wanted to be sure Emet-Selch would have a way to cut down the correct banner— given how swiftly they need to work, it’s going to make up for tight timing.
His dagger's flicked opposite-wise in his grip, he sets to work sawing at one end.]
[A roll of his eyes, there. Frankly, the thought of potentially being susceptible to that is one he dislikes; he's never been without his magic before. It's a part of him, and good luck to any mortal trying to interfere with that.
... but he's mortal, it seems, and it would be foolish to think himself immune when his powers have already waned. Despite his external dismissiveness, it's an uncomfortable thought, and the movement of the dagger is harsher and more intent than perhaps it needs to be. He'll make quick work of his end, at least.]
[Sore subject? How delightful. He continues working at his own portion, albeit slightly slower— a little less viciously.
They’re making good time, at least.]
Tevinter has them too, you know. Templars, I mean.
Their roles are slightly different from what I hear, but given Corypheus’ hunger for power, and his influence amongst the north, I wouldn’t be surprised if we squared off against one or two eventually.
[This, of course, is just Astarion needling. Sinking in his claws for fun.]
[of course. it won't do to seem ruffled, and so he's composed enough by the time he answers.]
Well, if and when that comes to pass, I assure you I am prepared enough. It isn't the only way I can fight.
[though that may still be something to work on. staying at range is his preference, but as his chosen weaponry is not a thing here, maybe he's just going to have to take up a bow at this rate. ugh.
with the extra vigor he'd given it, he's finished first-- pausing before making the final cut.]
Ready yourself. The thing's large enough to carry a bit of weight to it.
[If he were only as strong as he looks, they might have issues with this-- but Emet-Selch holds his own as well when they let that banner down, lowering it to set it aside.]
It will be something to think about, at the least, but-- really, I would expect you to be more interested in the scandal than how helpful it proves to be.
Naturally. [He snorts, winding down carefully from his ledge to begin the tiresome work of rolling the now-disposed banner; leaving it out would only invoke curiosity from the staff when it comes time to unveil the celebratory arrangements before a gathered throng.]
Which is why I intend to stick around once this is done. Enjoy the party. Bask.
Surely you recall that we were meant to be present here as little as possible.
[Said in the faintly exasperated tone of someone who knows damn well that's unlikely to end up being the case.]
While I doubt too many would suspect whoever did this would have stayed for the show, if you want to risk making yourself recognizable, I'm afraid it will be up to you.
Here, take the other. Start putting it up on your end.
[Sliding the pre-packed bundle Emet-Selch's way is a simple effort: he manages it with one hand whilst still rolling up the banner they've torn down, letting it skid across polished balcony stone.]
And don't fret. It's unbecoming: I know exactly how to blend in at these sorts of affairs, ears and fangs and all.
Well, if you intend to put that to the test here, I suppose I cannot stop you.
[It isn't his problem. He won't snitch about it, he'll just let it happen and wander off and say later they took separate routes out.
For the moment, though, he hefts his end of the banner and sets to work securing it; his height is, in this case, pretty beneficial. And as he works, he idly throws out:]
I expect they'll have some time to discuss our intended message, if you'd care to listen in. They ought to find it more difficult than expected to access this balcony from the inside and take it back down.
[...which may well explain the noises in there earlier, before he joined Astarion outdoors.]
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(for astarion)
[when it came to choosing someone to drag along on this little adventure-- well. of course it wasn't a hard decision, although good luck getting emet-selch to admit to that. he trusts astarion to be capable enough for this, and doesn't dislike his company, which are absolutely the only two reasons his name came to mind. it's fine.
the trip, at least, was not a terribly eventful one. he's kept to himself for much of it, outwardly as detached as ever, but he's kept a close eye on his surroundings ever since they departed. it's all unfamiliar territory, now, and he isn't one to be caught unaware, nor is he one to take unnecessary risks; he'd insisted on leaving enough time to properly prepare after arriving, to evaluate and observe and decide upon their course of action, and to find where to discuss that safely enough.]
Just how adept a climber are you, exactly.
[a reasonable enough place to start. if they can't go up from the exterior, that'll be one route struck from the list.]
no subject
It's entirely possible, were the world itself not tilted on its axis under the sway of a bastard Magister with delusions of grandeur, Astarion might simply take this opportunity at face value, and stay.
But that's not the way things are, right now, and the present moment is demanding.] If you'd like me to scale up onto the roof, I'd be more than happy to...but the matter of that excessive moonlight might make even my own pale silhouette stick out like a sore thumb.
The balconies would be safer, of course— although staff could easily be flitting about.
no subject
[because, yes, he is physically fit enough, but he would prefer not to have to scale up to a damn balcony. he's yet to test whether his so-called teleportation, as it is now, works going up quite as well. it should, but then many things should work better than they do.]
no subject
But if you're not scampering along ledges with feline grace, where will you be headed?
no subject
Inside, naturally. The internal route, while you take the external-- otherwise we've no idea of what's happening in there, or whether anyone may be passing by.
no subject
[It’s an idle remark, not a real criticism. If he wanted to, he could truly press: make an effort to scrape up a more solid, perfectly precise plan of attack.
Instead he keeps that heavy banner (the tightened pack of it) tucked beneath his own arm, certain that if trouble sniffs out Emet-Selch, it won’t find Astarion.
One gloved hand wraps itself around a nearby trellis, fingers sinking into the grate.]
no subject
[give him SOME credit, he knows better than to pull this off with very distinct features just out there.]
I cannot do anything about my height, no, but I still stand out less than you might. If either of us were to go this route, it's a clear enough choice.
Unless, of course, you're saying you would simply prefer not to be left alone.
[which is, in his own way, an invitation to offer objections if astarion has them.]
no subject
This is what they do.]
I’m just saying, you have an aura, darling.
If you manage this without any trouble whatsoever, I’ll buy you a drink. With my own coin, in fact.
no subject
And so he simply exhales a huff at the mention of his aura, though with the breath that leaves him he lets his posture shift, holds himself with less bearing. The familiar tone leaves his voice as well, softer and more neutral.]
Well, we'll just have to see how it goes.
[how many identities do you think someone who's been alive several thousand years has had, Astarion.]
no subject
So we shall. [The scent of sweeter things is in the air, now. They haven't much time before the soiree starts— and much as Astarion's sweet on the concept of trouble, failing yet another assignment doesn't exactly thrill at the moment. Particularly in such a lovely place as this.
He fits the folded banner tighter to him, already nimbly beginning the taxing work of scaling a trellis thick with plantlife, and light on architectural reinforcement. If he's not careful, he'll pull the whole thing from its moorings in short order.
Good thing this isn't his first garden party.]
no subject
In the course of observation, he'd taken care to identify potentially-useful entrances, and after keeping a further eye on which seemed to be used more and which were less likely to see as much activity, he at least has some idea of where to start. With a last glance at the target balcony, he waves Astarion off and sets off on his own route, brushing his white-streaked bangs back and fitting a hat on over them; it matches the clothing he's acquired, more of a local fashion than his off-world outfit.
Locks aren't terribly much of a deterrent to him, and he's done just enough listening around to learn the names of a few figures likely to be in attendance. Obviously it'll be best to avoid people entirely, but if it can't be helped, well. It's fine. He's got a few ideas in mind to spin a lie or three, and while it's hardly a motivation for success, while he doesn't exactly feel he needs to prove anything to anyone in particular-- it would still be satisfying to make Astarion eat those words. He has every intention of doing so.]
no subject
The banner is in his arms, but he doesn’t bother unfolding it yet.
This is a two-person job, after all. And they’ll still need to undo the one set up by the staff already.
From across the crystal, he makes it a point to whine:]
Are you finished yet?
no subject
[Honestly. He has half a mind to slow down on purpose, and if they didn't have work to do he just might. It will still be a few minutes, in fact, allowing for time to make his way there without interference and a near miss or two, but one of the benefits of the abilities he's retained is that his magic lets him get out of the way Very quickly.
There's a quiet, odd noise or three from the door in the room beyond the balcony before Emet-Selch finally joins him, brushing his hands off, keeping out of the way and keeping his voice low when he speaks.]
If you haven't expired of boredom yet-- shall we?
no subject
Still, once he recognizes the voice calling out, he hops down silent as a cat from his perch, setting the intended banner down to one side.]
Do you pack? [He asks, without bothering to clarify what.]
no subject
[anyway. me, looking at ffxiv, squinting, looking back at this, looking back at ffxiv. honestly i just get the Vibe this wouldn't be a familiar turn of phrase.
So what Astarion gets in response to that last question is a slowly arched brow-- before he just turns to get to work on the banner they need to replace, gesturing for Astarion to take the other end. Hurry up, time to work.]
If you mean whether I came armed, then technically speaking, I do not require a weapon.
[...but he also flicks a knife into his hand. Quicker work than just untying something, after all. If it looks like a slightly familiar blade, well... it probably is.]
no subject
I’m told Templars have a nasty habit of cutting magic quick as thread.
[But yes, in fact: he’d asked because he wanted to be sure Emet-Selch would have a way to cut down the correct banner— given how swiftly they need to work, it’s going to make up for tight timing.
His dagger's flicked opposite-wise in his grip, he sets to work sawing at one end.]
no subject
[A roll of his eyes, there. Frankly, the thought of potentially being susceptible to that is one he dislikes; he's never been without his magic before. It's a part of him, and good luck to any mortal trying to interfere with that.
... but he's mortal, it seems, and it would be foolish to think himself immune when his powers have already waned. Despite his external dismissiveness, it's an uncomfortable thought, and the movement of the dagger is harsher and more intent than perhaps it needs to be. He'll make quick work of his end, at least.]
no subject
They’re making good time, at least.]
Tevinter has them too, you know. Templars, I mean.
Their roles are slightly different from what I hear, but given Corypheus’ hunger for power, and his influence amongst the north, I wouldn’t be surprised if we squared off against one or two eventually.
[This, of course, is just Astarion needling. Sinking in his claws for fun.]
no subject
Well, if and when that comes to pass, I assure you I am prepared enough. It isn't the only way I can fight.
[though that may still be something to work on. staying at range is his preference, but as his chosen weaponry is not a thing here, maybe he's just going to have to take up a bow at this rate. ugh.
with the extra vigor he'd given it, he's finished first-- pausing before making the final cut.]
Ready yourself. The thing's large enough to carry a bit of weight to it.
no subject
[He braces his unburdened hand against the underside of the banner just overhead, finishing the last necessary cut before his dagger’s tucked away.]
Come on. Let it fall. I’m stronger than I look.
[And to that extent, he does, in fact, manage to hold his own once the thing drops down, sagging between those shared points of contact.]
Do you think this’ll help? Causing such a scandal.
no subject
[If he were only as strong as he looks, they might have issues with this-- but Emet-Selch holds his own as well when they let that banner down, lowering it to set it aside.]
It will be something to think about, at the least, but-- really, I would expect you to be more interested in the scandal than how helpful it proves to be.
no subject
Which is why I intend to stick around once this is done. Enjoy the party. Bask.
no subject
[Said in the faintly exasperated tone of someone who knows damn well that's unlikely to end up being the case.]
While I doubt too many would suspect whoever did this would have stayed for the show, if you want to risk making yourself recognizable, I'm afraid it will be up to you.
[He will ditch him at this party, just watch.*
*Probably.]
no subject
[Sliding the pre-packed bundle Emet-Selch's way is a simple effort: he manages it with one hand whilst still rolling up the banner they've torn down, letting it skid across polished balcony stone.]
And don't fret. It's unbecoming: I know exactly how to blend in at these sorts of affairs, ears and fangs and all.
no subject
[It isn't his problem. He won't snitch about it, he'll just let it happen and wander off and say later they took separate routes out.
For the moment, though, he hefts his end of the banner and sets to work securing it; his height is, in this case, pretty beneficial. And as he works, he idly throws out:]
I expect they'll have some time to discuss our intended message, if you'd care to listen in. They ought to find it more difficult than expected to access this balcony from the inside and take it back down.
[...which may well explain the noises in there earlier, before he joined Astarion outdoors.]
(no subject)