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

Loki, for his part, is reminded that he probably doesn't want to sleep in the pants he rode all day in and thus has to rummage through his own pack for a pair of softer pants to change in to, which he does before sitting down on the bed without shame or hesitation. He's also not wearing underwear, so enjoy that, Asterion.

He notes the shirt, the change in position, and determines that another story lies there but not one he's going to press tonight. He's too tired to be properly nosy.

Asterion gets between the sheets and Loki follows to do the same, extinguishing any lamps left lit in the room before doing so. He rolls his eyes at Asterion's sighing but it's more of an amused annoyance than anything; Loki's more than glad to not be vertical any longer.

He's laying on his back, one hand behind his head, when Asterion speaks up. In the dark, he frowns. "Is this a question of spouses or tenses?" Is the important thing that Loki said 'was' as opposed to 'is'? Or is Asterion asking who d'Asgard is married to?

"I imagine if you're going to pretend to be him, tense isn't something I need to worry about." Or to be curious about, for that matter. If the man's vanished, bled to death, eloped or gone missing— well, the only way it'll matter to Astarion is if Loki d'Asgard comes waltzing into the casino when they're there.

"I'm just curious if you've met his spouse. Former spouse? Whichever."

"A good point."

Instead of sighing, Loki sucks his teeth a little. Asterion would ask that, and he wonders if he's being honest, but the one time that it was aired out in public, as it were, was also a time in which Asterion loudly flounced from the conversation over the crystals. So there's a good chance he doesn't know, and is honestly inquiring.

"I know her well."

"Well."

Well is something, isn't it? Not just met, not just familiar with, but he knows her well. The implication's written on the wall. He resembles her absent love, he— a Rifter— somehow has funds of his own, and he—

Astarion stops there. Thinks back on the twinge of familiarity lurking even in his own exhausted mind. D'Asgard. And while some names are startlingly common, while he might absolutely be mistaken, he rolls onto his side with a sudden intake of breath:

"Is it Lady Alexandrie?"

The noise Loki makes is neither confirmation nor denial, just... a sound, but it is indicative that he's heard the implication in that one word and isn't arguing with it directly.

It says a lot, that noise on the exhale. It doesn't say everything, however.

What does is probably Loki's also turning on his side to face Asterion with a frown. "Why, what did you do?"

So, yes.

"What did I—" He balks at the accusation, even in the dark, sharing the same bed like a pair of indulged children having some sort of sleepover. Next comes the part where they braid each others' hair.

Or it would, if Astarion weren't so affronted.

"I didn't do anything at all! Why, we were fast friends, the dear Lady and myself. Musically inclined, in fact— but nothing more, if that's your fear. Cross my dear, frigid little heart."

Friends might be stretching it, considering the f-word means about as much to him as spun sugar in a rainstorm, but there's no denying the fact that he uses it liberally when referring to anyone he finds even vaguely useful.

"That is not —" He snorts, softly, an indication of how little he were to care if Asterion had slept with Alexandrie, but that wasn't what he'd been asking after. "She didn't seem terribly fond when I mentioned you at dinner before we left Kirkwall, is all," but it's entirely possible Asterion has severely misstepped with her and is simply unaware of it.

Easily done for people like them, or so firsthand experience has taught him.

Also, he doubts they're friends of any stretch of the imagination. But. Not important.

"She...what?"

Defensiveness turns to disbelief, scrawled clear across the sharp lines of his face, catlike eyes gone wide in the dark. And then, just as quickly—

"Nonsense. You were probably just imagining things. Or you didn't hear her right."

Which, naturally, were Astarion completely assured of his own innocence in everything, would be the absolute end of it. Instead, the inhale that follows is audible, and sharp— his voice uniquely quiet.

"...what did she say, exactly?"

"Very little, honestly. The topic shifted in a moment, and she only expressed a degree of distaste at your name and then a level of concern after my well-being on this trip." But. He knows what he understood to be her dismay to also be true.

He knows her well, after all.

Loki narrows his eyes at his companion in the dark.

"So I'll ask again: what did you do, Asterion?"

His scoff is harsher this time, puncuated by an almost ragged exhale. The joke's worn off. This isn't funny anymore.

"I haven't done a damn thing. I haven't gone near the woman since the first time we met— "

Concern. Concern. The word knifes its way through him, like little pinpricks running just up his spine. Like bristling fur. What does she know? What does she think of him? Where did she get it from?

Bastien? Had he blabbed about—

"I don't know what it is she's so upset about but I mind my own business, darling, and I have right from the start." Bitterly, his shoulder sinks to the mattress, chased by his back. Covers tugged almost comically high when he rolls over to face away from Loki instead.

"Go to sleep. We've work to do, in case you've forgotten."

Edited 2021-09-19 01:40 (UTC)

Believing Asterion is easy; he's so clearly agitated by the idea that Alexandrie doesn't like him that Loki doesn't think he's lying about it. Still. She must have had some reason, even if as Asterion protests he's done nothing to Alexandrie directly.

He considers it as Asterion turns over, clearly prepared to ignore him. She has deep ties to Riftwatch and its people, so it could simply be a matter of someone else he's managed to slight boiling over into Alexandrie's regard.

That's how it is, when people have ties, friendships, family in a place.

"She is my business," he informs the darkness of the room, slightly amused at Asterion's hurt feelings, but his words are as much truth as they are disliking not having the last word. "Goodnight, then."

He isn’t the most pleasant partner to share a bed with. Loki may have wanted that lounger after all: the man talks in his sleep, whines in his sleep, snores faintly and thrashes (intermittently) like a man drowning—

Morning comes. Astarion sleeps in. Maybe, in a sense, to make up for a night of restless slumber.

They've the entire day to prepare for what's ahead of them. Put their ear to the wind, pick up information, familiarity, lines of contact— potentially even scouting out the city in advance. Whatever Loki decides, it's clear enough that Astarion isn't going to rise any time before noon...ish.

Loki doesn't sleep well most nights to begin with, and he doesn't sleep well with strangers in the bed beyond that; Asterion sounds and smells and the presence of his body on the other side of the mattress feels very differently from what Loki's grown used to, so there's a good chance he'd not have gotten much sleep even without the snoring, the talking, the moving about.

Morning comes. Loki gets up, cleans himself up a bit, and wanders off to find food, news, and gossip to start his day. Also coffee, which has grown very expensive with the war growing closer, but he has the coin to spend so why not make a few very subtle waves with a Tevene accent and the means to buy coffee for more than one person. It's half past noon by the time he's had enough of Asterion's laying about, and sets the coffee on the bedside table before shaking the other man's shoulder gently.

"Up with you, come on. I've brought food."

His response is— it’s poor. A snarl at touch, a snort at the flood of consciousness as it comes rolling in, and if Loki isn’t careful Astarion jolts upright fast enough to likely knock into the man responsible for rousing him.

Either way, he blearily clears his throat. Squints.

“You....what?”

Where is—

“Oh. Yes. Right.” Wycome, he thinks to himself, shrugging off the blur of memories from a day of travel mixing with a full night of half-formed haunts. Two slender fingers work against the bridge of his nose on either side. He exhales slowly.

“What time is it?”

He can smell food. The faint tang of acrid sea salt. The overly distinct traces of sunlight heating stone. Loki himself. Sharp senses.

Loki jerks back just in time to avoid a collision, straightening himself up and tugging at the bottom of his jacket while Asterion gathers his wits about him.

"It's halfway through the midday hour," he tells him, picking up the coffee, and handing it to Asterion. Carefully. "Here." It should help wake him up, at the very least.

Anyway, he waits for about the count of five to ask: "Do you always sleep so poorly?"

The coffee’s taken unceremoniously, sipped at even less formally, tired eyes so heavy in those initial waking moments that they might as well be operating independently of one another.

But the heat of the drink helps, and in short order he looks a touch more alert: spare hand rising to comb a heavy tangle of pale hair away from his eyes.

“Only when I don’t...” he stops, starts again, “only when my mind is, shall we say, a little too active for its own good.”

In other words, yes.

“It’s better here than it was in my own world, at least— so I’ve got that for a consolation prize, if nothing else.”

He takes another sip. Lifts his stare.

“Thank you for this, by the way. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you last night. Sleeping, I mean.”

Edited 2021-09-20 06:15 (UTC)

Instead of just looming over Asterion as coffee works its magic, Loki moves to set the breakfast he'd purchased (sausage sandwiches on pastry, honestly, and some fruit) on the end table where he'd placed the coffee.

"Is there ever a time when your mind isn't too active for its own good?" Gentle ribbing, but ribbing nonetheless. He knows what that means, and he feels a tiny bit bad for Asterion, as witnessed by the fact that he didn't sprinkle the man with water again just to hear him hissing.

"You're welcome." He picks up his own coffee and then gives a little shrug. "Probably wouldn't have slept much even if you'd been a rock."

"Kindred spirits?" Astarion asks in turn, blearily offering the most waning of smiles. So dull, in fact, that not even a single fang shows for it.

He sets the coffee aside, stretching out for a few beats as Loki pulls away— loose shirt having fallen fully off one shoulder, a fact he neither seems to care about nor wants to acknowledge.

Wake first, appearances later.

"A long life with a healthy dose of paranoia and plenty of regrets does not equate to a heavy sleeper," is said easily enough, Loki raising his coffee to his lips. "Besides, I'm only recently used to sharing a bed through the night."

The falling arm of the loose shirt is noted, but Loki doesn't want to ask why he bothered to wear one in the first place. Seems a little rude, when put that way.

“Hm.” Astarion hums in thoughtful assent, head tilted almost entirely sideways as his arms drop.

Kindred spirits indeed.

He clambers to the edge of the mattress, stealing his own meal with all the grace of a magpie plucking up trash.

“So. I was thinking we’d spend today doing a little prowling. Get to know the lay of the land, take in a little gossip, maybe even make a few friends in lower places— if the opportunity arises.” Granted, that final addition is a longer shot than the rest, but if they can get even the most minor of advantages, it’ll be worth looking into.

Servants know so much, after all. Especially the ones right near the top.

There's a slight chuckle at Asterion's grab for the food.

"Not a bad idea; you'll probably have better luck with the servants than I will, especially if they are also elves." Not a dig, just an expression of facts as he understands them to be. Another sip of coffee. "Considering where we are, whichever of the casinos or gaming institutions the Duke tends to frequent might be a good start; the servants of the Duke proper likely won't speak to strangers."

If they're any good they won't, anyway.

“My thoughts exactly,” he snaps back brightly, clearly having shaken off the height of his own initial exhaustion now that discussion of opportunity’s in play. “Sharp as daggers, aren’t you?”

Another bite, another momentary pause, before— impatiently, considering he’s still chewing on one side of his own mouth—

“Mm, and— " the back of his hand lifts, held in front of where he’s eating, “your funding. I’m certain it’ll cover us both throughout the days to come, but if you start to lose at any point, we should work out a signal of sorts. Some way that I can discreetly come to your rescue.”

It’s not cheating, after all, if you’re not the one responsible for rigging the game.

"One does try." Smirk, smirk. Sharp as daggers indeed. The last of his coffee is consumed, the cup set aside, and Loki picks up a piece of fruit, considering it and Asterion in the same gaze.

"A gesture, then, or a word for our signal?" He hums. "A word or phrase is probably better, so you don't have to be looking at me to know I'm in need of assistance."

Even if it was cheating, Loki would not be against it. Chaos, after all, requires some finessing of reality.

“Indeed— although we should pick it nightly, I think: it’ll be far too obvious if every time you lose you start chatting about Ferelden stratagem or rain in Tevinter.”

His legs cross where he’s settled, a contrast to the absurd sense of refinement he sometimes nurses— now wholly lost to wicked enthusiasm.

“Have you any abilities?” The wording is careful, the question just as much. Here in Thedas, it’s the sort of thing that might inspire either suspicion or tension in equal measure, after all.

“Magic, unusual proficiencies— that sort of thing.”

A nod. "Sensible." The last thing he wants is for this to all go awry, or even for them to be caught cheating at cards. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would move them very far towards their goals, or Riftwatch's for that matter.

"I do, as does Loki d'Asgard, though the overlap there is not complete." He gives a little shrug. "I can summon a blade and copy the appearance of another person, though I cannot maintain that for long and I must study them a while first. I can change into a snake. I can remove myself from the field of vision of most people but I still take up space, so there's always the chance of knocking into someone. I can cast illusions, but they don't last as long as I'd like, here."

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there's a delay of almost an HOUR on notifs on my end

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