[CLOSED] I lie so you won't have to

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Astarion and Loki
WHAT: Wycome? more like Wygo amirite? Anyway they're looking for a foothold with the Duke, and sniffing out any potential Tevinter agents/connections that might be hovering around within the upper echelons of society
WHEN: literally now
WHERE: Wycome
NOTES: mission info | warnings will follow if applicable

Comments

prelude | on the road

[illithidnapped]

“I hear it’s beautiful in Wycome. Or at the very least entertaining.” Astarion remarks, casting a sidelong glance from horseback towards his raven-haired companion.

Loki, the man had called himself— first across the network, and then once they'd met for their assignment, effectively putting a face to the voice. To all of it, in fact. A noticeably striking one, at that, though Astarion's appreciation for finer features plays second fiddle to his need to prep for what's ahead.

Because he trusts himself. He's done this for the better part of two centuries, stealing love and loyalty from strangers, no matter how wary. Granted it'll be the first time managing it without vampiric magic on his side, but he never relied heavily on it to begin with, given that sending someone into a doting trance always had a habit of being utterly transparent, even to the least observant of fools.

His partner, however, is nothing but a mystery in comparison. And help or hindrance, Astarion wants to be sure he's ready for anything.

The state of things being what they are, there's not much room for making a mess of things. Again.

[icasm]

"I hear there are casinos on the Minanter there. I hope you're good at Wicked Grace." Loki taps a finger against his bottom lip, thinking. "Val Royeaux is the only city that imports more wine from Antiva, which implies a great deal, actually." Mostly that people are souced on the regular, which Loki can appreciate.

It also implies most of their people have a higher tolerance for alcohol. Something to consider at any given point. "I'd be curious to know what their import numbers of, say, Elfroot looks like." Plus whatever other stand-ins for pharmaceuticals would be in this world, he doesn't know enough to answer that question for himself.

"So. Asterion." The man he knows a relative few things about; namely that he has lived a longer life than most humans and that he gets a great deal of pleasure out of riling up people like Allumin — since Loki himself enjoys riling up Allumin greatly, he has very little negative feelings about that in particular. Beyond those details, he has heard the man lives in Lowtown, and he appears to be an elf, but his eyes are red and his teeth are rather sharp, so he supposes they are similar in that they were both something else, once upon a time. Before Thedas, anyway.

"What is your plan, exactly? I'm presuming you have one." Loki was instructed to come, but he was also told that this was, more or less, Asterion's show.

[illithidnapped]

“I could always ask around for you, though I imagine by the time we get there you’ll have plenty of opportunity to conduct a few studies of your own.”

The implication— sly a thing as Astarion himself— is self explanatory: get there, do your job, and then get as utterly wasted as you like.

He leans back in the saddle, stretching out the arch of his back while one hand braces loosely behind him. They’ve been out here just long enough that the road’s beginning to feel bruising, but it’s not the worst trip he’s ever had, and it’s certainly better than going on griffonback.

“But of course I have a plan, my dear. Luckily for you, I’m no amateur.” Spoken as his attention drifts back towards the road, a little more lax under the assumption that he’s not vying for attention. That this is the moment where they get down to business, so to speak.

“First things first, though: did she tell you what the point of this little adventure is?”

[icasm]

Quite the concept, but Loki thinks he'd rather take the drugs with him than get too out of his mind and body in a foreign city, with only Asterion around. Something something they're not friends like that yet, something something wanting to be somewhere familiar when he does new drugs, something something there's such a thing as being chaotic and then there's tiptoeing the line of courting disaster.

"I should hope not, based on our earlier conversation." An amateur, at their big ages? Disastrous, surely.

Loki hasn't bothered with the griffons yet. He's waiting to see if flying horses exist, because those he knows; large lion-birds, not so much. Still. The temptation to complain about how long it takes, getting around like this, is in the back of his mind.

He'll wait, perhaps, until the riding is done for the day.

"To find if the Duke will put his support with the southerners in the war effort, and to see if there are any Venatori within his immediate retinue."

[illithidnapped]

"And there will be, I'm sure." Astarion quickly tacks on in addendum, once more taking up the reigns of his borrowed horse. The beast tossing its heavy head as though irritated at some perceived lack of trust between them.

"Which is why we'll both need to fit ourselves in first as a fortunate pair without any ties to Riftwatch whatsoever."

He stresses the word fortunate for good reason: it's high society, something Loki's no doubt also aware of— and acting as anything less is a surefire way to see them either ignored, shunned, or just banned in short order.

For the road he's dressed simply. For this mission, however....

Well, there's a case on the back of his horse that'll take care of that little detail.

"How comfortable are you with that sort of arrangement? Or should I bank on letting you play distraction while I charm my way into all those collective good graces."

[icasm]

"I possess multitudes." He gestures with one hand holding the reigns while resting on the pommel in front of him, the other moving through the air, "and better clothes than these, thankfully, not to mention quite a bit of coin." Thanks to the recent tourney event. "That said, I am my mother's son, and I would not so tarnish her memory as to not know how to behave as expected amongst the aristocracy of any place, much less one in a locale so focused on debauchery and excess.

So." To put a pin in it: "I am very comfortable with that arrangement, actually, but can also craft wonderful distractions while you turn heads and convince hearts to fall for you. What will be your own story?" Asterion is an elf, here, which complicates matters; in most places, they aren't allowed to join any noblesse or even own property, by Loki's understanding.

He wishes his Tevene was better than it is, but he supposes occasional conversational studies with Alexandrie over the last few months do not a native speaker make. Fortunately, Wycome is close enough to Tevinter that his accent will not be extraordinarily out of place.

[illithidnapped]

'Quite a bit of coin', Loki says, and Astarion's eyes practically glimmer in the same breath with a flash of unmasked greed. Opportunity, beautiful as a song. How it calls to him.

"I'll be yours: companion, confidant, servitor, fashionable accessory, alluring plus one— I'll defer to whatever suits the story you intend to weave for yourself. No need to complicate things." The simpler their shared cover, the harder it'll be to mangle the details, in essence. And given the airy tone in which he proposes it all, he certainly isn't balking at the idea of operating within a lower caste, so to speak.

"An albino elf with the fangs of a tiger, surely that'll turn more than a few heads when it comes to getting our foot in the figurative door."

And as for the person that could afford such a curiosity, well...Astarion imagines this should work perfectly for them both in regards to desirable advantages.

[icasm]

He sees that greed and understands it immediately, curious as to whether or not Riftwatch provided him with gold for this little venture. Probably.

If it all ends up in Asterion's pockets, that's fine by Loki.

"The easiest story to weave will depend on the presumptions of those in our company. Should they think me the Altus with whom I share a name and several other features, that will be simple enough to follow along with." All he'll have to do is keep his rift shard hidden, which is true of both of them actually. He knows enough about the politics and features of Loki d'Asgard's life and family to rock with the presumption that they are one and the same, plus, well. He's a good liar.

He decides he'll leave the exact nature of his relationship with Asterion vague enough for whomever to fill in the blanks however they opt to, but he'll have to be mindful of how the Tevene tend to look at elves as lower caste. Not too difficult, really, but he's just trying to arrange a list in his head of considerations.

[illithidnapped]

“Mm.” It’s a thoughtful sound. An impressed sound.

The kind of sound that means Astarion’s made a sudden realization about the man at his side: he’s an experienced liar, probably. The best always know better than to be inflexible, or wholly composed. Better to pick a navigational direction rather than snagging a figurative map, so to speak.

“....you’ve a counterpart here?” He asks, head cocking almost entirely sidelong.

They hadn’t spoken much before this, and all Astarion had truly come away from it with is that the man was supposedly erased.

Or maybe misplaced is the more accurate term, given that he’s wound up here instead.

[icasm]

"He's been away from Riftwatch for some time." And missing for the latter half of that, but he's not going to spread what is essentially Alexandrie's business far and wide. "Perhaps enough to the point that his association with them, as unexpected as it was, would be forgotten in Wycome. We'll have to see."

He glances over at Asterion and shrugs, a little. "I have counterparts in many worlds, by my understanding. Thedas is merely one in a long series."

[illithidnapped]

"Part of that time thing again, right?" Astarion tacks on, only somewhat distracted by the thoughts rattling around in his skull. He'll have time to ask about that later, the details of Loki's mirror here. What he'll need to understand to avoid making a fool of himself throughout the mission itself.

[icasm]

A sigh. It bothers Asterion, the situation of the TVA and Loki being erased from time, and it'd be amusing if the entire topic didn't exhaust him on a near-spiritual level.

"That is how I became aware of that reality, yes."

[illithidnapped]

"Is it...that way for everyone?"

His brow is pinched a little more, his stare narrowed. The thing about Rifters— like himself— is that they could, theoretically, say anything at all they want, and no one would be any wiser. The fact that Loki's clearly a proficient wordsmith and/or liar only makes that stance all the more likely.

But then there's the idea that he's got someone here like him, in a sense. The veil, the rifts— even the planes back home all had the potential for the strangest of anomalies, as Astarion (a nobleman with exactly none studies under his belt) understands it. It's not so far-fetched, even if it is unsettling.

"Do you think there's a handsome elf in this world with...strikingly beautiful eyes and hair as brilliant as moonlight itself?"

THE ACTUAL MISSION!!!

[illithidnapped]

The first night is nothing short of dazzling— at least to Astarion's mind: there's such life within this city, and given the nature of vice and pleasure and (perhaps most importantly) coin, it's rather easy for a Tevinter Altus and his chosen servitor to snake their way in with a higher crowd. Easier still to draw attention when Astarion's more than happy to flash his fangs over cards or conversation, red eyes gleaming in the dim, golden glow of gilded halls.

Eventually, once they've laid the most basic of groundwork, they separate. It's easier to gather more intimate information one-on-one— or at the very least without the oppressive weight of a gathered crowd.

Sometime just after midnight, Astarion slinks out towards the quieter space of a moonlit balcony, gesturing towards his partner in subterfuge with a sidelong glance and two discreetly raised fingertips. Ones that subsequently slip back to tuck a few curls behind his own ear.

The space is unmanned at this late hour. He waits by the ledge, sipping wine as if it were water.

[icasm]

There's a hand of cards to finish before Loki can politely break away from the table and stands to cross the room to head out of the doors towards the balcony. To any outside observer, they make quite the pair, standing in the moonlight; one of Loki's hands settles at the small of Asterion's back briefly as he leans against the railing, half facing the interior, half facing Asterion, while his other hand procures a metal case from an interior pocket and opens it to show the other man a series of hand-rolled cigarettes. Elfroot, obviously.

"Would you like one?"

Loki has not, for the most part, had more than a drink and a half at this point in the evening. He's still finding the limits of his newfound tolerance and has no interest in becoming fully inebriated, here.

(Is this why he imagines Asterion has gestured him out here? No, not at all.)

[illithidnapped]

It's definitely not, in fact, what Astarion had intended, but it works as a fairly satisfying cover story, all things considered, and to that extent he plucks one cigarette with deft care from Loki's offered case. Still, lacking a means to light it, he simply fits it between his own slender knuckles as he leans into that singular point of contact between them— head to shoulder, spine relaxed.

Like this, no one can read their lips. And so far out, no one will overhear, either.

"I assume, given the fact that you haven't signaled me at all this evening, that you've been doing rather well for yourself."

[icasm]

Loki has matches — plus a pocket lighter from Riftwatch hidden away in a separate pocket — and once Asterion takes the cigarette he has every intention of lighting it for him. But the elf's body language has him pausing.

Ah. It's time for business.

"I've lost a little, but not as much as I've won overall." It's been balanced enough, as far as Loki can tell, but he also usually knows when not to push his luck. Loki d'Asgard has been out of the social circulation long enough that no one here could really claim to know what he's up to these days, and their story has been well-received thus far.

"How are you finding things?"

[illithidnapped]

“I’m finding quite a bit.” He says, holding out the cigarette at the sight of that faint little pause.

Business and pleasure— for Astarion, at least— have always gone hand in hand.

“One of the merchants here, a man by the name of Abram Vanda— I haven’t sniffed out his interest yet, but my gods, the man has such a predatory way about him. In another life, I’d spend the entirety of this affair at his side.”

He scuffs his temple against Loki’s shoulder like a touch-starved cat. Expensive fabric smooth and warm against chilled bare skin. “But that’s neither here nor there, I suppose. There’ll be time for personal sport later.”

Which, to that extent:

“The Duke seems to be having a particularly fine night with his gathered ensemble, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Can’t get near the man, but the crowd around him is....colorful, to say the least. That woman, Zuzana, comes to mind. She's quite insightful."

He pauses, lips curling for the full extent of a somewhat ridiculous little joke.

"Or should I say incite-ful?"

[icasm]

Ah, well. His mistake, clearly; Loki procures his matches and with an elegant gesture, lights Asterion's cigarette and extinguishes the match, putting the burnt one in the case with the rest of the cigarettes.

When Asterion rubs his temple against Loki's shoulder, the hand at the small of Asterion's back comes up to rest against the back of his neck instead, fingers tangling in his hair but carefully, so as not to disrupt the Look™ Asterion has going on. He wonders about that comment regarding Vanda and makes a mental note to keep more tabs on him.

"Maris, the one in the blue uniform? Is one of the Duke's cousins, and is definitely fucking her and is more than a little anxious about it." You can read so much into the body language of two people, especially at card games, even moreso when one of them is too young to keep their own business off their face. "She does seem to have a particular hatred of Orlais." To put it very lightly.

Loki procures a cigarette of his own and lights it as well. "Also the concierge is Tevene, and seems to have a relationship with Zuzana. They've exchanged several looks as someone or another loses a great deal of coin."

[illithidnapped]

“Hm,” Astarion hums, practically thrumming under the slide of Loki’s touch. He’s thinking, of course— transparent as the twitching tail of a cat when he takes a long pull from that cigarette, crimson eyes bright in cold moonlight.

Some part of him almost wishes they were noticed out here, like this. Their performance is excellent, their proficiency natural, and it means they’re performing for an empty theater at present.

Hardly lamentable, but....still. Astarion’s always craved attention.

“Divide and conquer, perhaps? You take the concierge over the next few days, confess you’ve an interest in the Duke. If the man’s Tevene, he’ll no doubt recognize your aspirations. Maybe even respect them. Sniffing around Maris might not hurt, either.”

Astarion, meanwhile, imagines his own presence in that respect would only seem irritating and nagging. About as good as a bracelet or a pet cat asking after a king.

“But with Zuzana, I might be in the perfect position to wend my way in. Flattery and charm and a certain level of curiosity can do wonders for a woman in high places who feels utterly divine in her own circle: as your darling, I can play to that.”

“And as for Vanda, well. I won’t be jealous if you get to him first, but I suppose we’ll just have to see which of us does their job better in finding his ear. Or his arm. Or— ”

He trails off there, teasing.

....probably teasing.

“Sound fair?”

been misspelling astarion's name this whole time, great googly moogly

[icasm]

Loki has the feeling they're being casually observed, at the very least; not that it would change his behavior in the slightest. He, like Astarion, thrives on attention but the small gestures are mostly for the benefit of the two of them.

Because he likes Astarion, strangely enough.

"Alright," he agrees easily. "I'll speak with the concierge, then, and see what I can discover. Probably tomorrow, as starting that project tonight would seem... suspicious, I think, or at the very least a little rushed." Better still that he have an improved sense of all of the pieces involved, and the appearance of taking a good night at the tables amongst his peers to improve his standing with the various courtiers currently flocking around the Duke, not to mention the Duke himself.

"Maris should be easily handled, albeit gently so." Though Loki will still be careful; can't have the boy running back to his lover with something that neither he nor Astarion wants him to repeat.

She strikes him as someone well-equipped to play the Game, even though she gives the appearance of hating all things Orlesian. Perhaps she, like others, would claim the Game is a Tevene import.

"Be careful of Vanda," is all he says to the last. Loki thrives on chaos, but that man seems to him the sort to thrive on suffering, which is a different matter entirely. "Though I have no reason to doubt you will be."

and here I didn’t even notice lmao— ADD powers, activate

[illithidnapped]

“You say that like I’m not the same.”

Spoken with a wicked half-breath of laughter, smoke curling vividly between sharp teeth. A little drunk, a little high, a little relaxed— and overwhelmingly thrilled by the prospects that lie ahead of them.

What more could he ask for?

Mm. Much more, actually. But he’ll start with this. For now.

His spine arches. He stretches languidly like a cat, never once pulling away from Loki, only angling in.

“Are you tired, darling?”

attention deficit brains for the win!

[icasm]

"Are you, now?" Loki doesn't actually know; he's had half of a story (which may very well be just a fiction, he has no way of corroborating what Astarion has told him thus far) and a conversation about extended lifetimes, a conversation he observed from a distance, and that's about it. As much as Loki sees the familiarity of himself within Astarion he knows that this, too, is possible. "Don't take my concern as any statement of disbelieving you're not capable of handling yourself."

Once upon a time, not long ago, Loki could have said that he was the same as Vanda as well.

Still. Astarion stretches and Loki's fingers continue their carding through the hair at the base of Astarion's skull as he ponders the question, checking in with himself to see if he is tired. The answer is yes, he's tired, but not overly so and not enough that he can't keep minding cards.

"I think I have another four hours or so in me." A strange realization but: physically and physiologically human now. What can one do about it? "What time do things wrap up here?"

[illithidnapped]

“Oh you sweetheart.”

He croons those words, and between the way his voice hitches slightly as he fawns, or the way his body rests a little more soundly against Loki’s own, he might actually mean that. “But no, you’re right about one thing: I can handle myself just fine— and without making a mess, too. I trust you’ll do the same.”

Astarion’s usage of the word trust is always loose, but in this case, he really does feel confident enough to bet on the idea that Loki won’t butcher their work here where someone else might. In fact he’d expected to go this alone, when the assignment had been given to him: do the heavy lifting himself, charm and tease and make fast friends however necessary, and at whatever cost—

But now he doesn’t have to. It’s quite novel. Charming, even.

He stamps out the stub of his cigarette against the gilded balcony beneath them.

“Sunrise, according to the staff. I doubt the Duke will last that long, but as for his companions? Mm. Could go either way.”

[icasm]

"I can be, at times." A sweetheart, that is; and as much as he'd love to make a mess of things here, the task at hand requires a minimum of chaos in the end, so he's reigning the impulse in, so to speak.

Winning at cards? Helps.

Loki makes a little noise of consideration, taking another pull on his own cigarette before he, too, puts it out. "I should have taken a page from your book and slept in." Still. He can order coffee, it'll be fine most likely. "Do we want to stay for the entirety of it, then, or just until only a few remain?"