faderift | [CLOSED] You hate my bad behavior

The disbelief on his companion's face is the last thing etched into mind before Dante slips into unconsciousness. He's out before Astarion even begins dressing his wounds, his body slipping into full recovery mode, sleep being the greatest healer but also the most time consuming. For Astarion that was likely a blessing in disguise, it would give him all the time he needed to sink the cargo and then some.

Blissfully unaware, he wouldn't know what to mage of the sabotage if it was a factor in his mind, considering they'd come all this way for it together. Sticking it to the man? Upset that their lives had been endangered because of some paltry items they'd only be getting scraps off of? The reality was that Dante could sympathize with the sentiment and a part of him ached at Astarion being out here so close to getting hurt because of his own stubborn and competitive nature. Dante's self-awareness was the reason he often worked alone, he didn't even like the thought of bringing Trish or Lady with him on missions and they were the most badass women he knew.

He cared too much, and he'd lost to much in front of his own eyes to put himself through it.

Fortunately, his thoughts were plagued by nothing, just emptiness a black void of nothing for an extended period of time that the half-demon couldn't even begin to wonder at. It was probably the best kind of healing sleep, within hours the smaller injuries had closed, stitching themselves back together as though they'd never been there. Like perfectly polished alabaster, impervious and untouchable. The deeper wounds took much longer to heal, was he there for a day, was he there longer, he didn't know, but when he finally opened his eyes those injuries, while not completely healed, were raw and pink and still ached.

It was enough to move, to stretch his arms and scrub his face and finally roll himself up into a sitting position. He wasn't fully aware of where he was, if he was alone or not, he was aware of the weight of his jacket falling into his lap, the heavy, well-worn material as faithful to him as it had ever been, "damn...how long have I been out..."

Spoken mostly to himself.

“Long enough that I had to check to make sure you weren’t dead on more than one occasion.” Astarion hums with a mellow sort of cheer. The kind that chases an exceedingly long day— or in this case, a particularly long stretch of them.

From where he’s settled at Dante’s side, Astarion lifts one hand to pat gently along the midpoint of that coat where it rests across his ribs. Good morning.

Well. Good morning despite the hour, which— between a lit fire and the dismal blanketing of pitch-dark rain outside, seems to indicate it’s the dead of night.

“Feeling better?”

It was Dante's turn to be surprised, that Astarion had kept watch over him for this long, that he'd stayed was really more than anyone could ask. It's more than what Dante would have asked, there were a dozen other things Astarion could have done that didn't involve tending to a temporarily comatose Dante.

"My hero. I'd be lost without you," it was meant to be playful, but the reality of it wasn't too far off. There was appreciation there as well and an understanding that Astarion must have been on guard and doing the lion's share of the work to tend to the fire and make sure they weren't disturbed by anything untoward.

"Much better and all I needed was a nap," hooking an arm around Astarion's shoulder he dragged him in for a playful head nudge before pulling back with a pat to the shoulder that expressed his gratitude, "I owe you one."

Of course, how he'd repay the debt was another question entirely and one he could square up another day.

"Have you slept at all; you look a little beat?"

That grasp (and its accompanying rough-edged, affectionate scuff) earns a faint hiss from Astarion, who wasn’t ever really built for such adoring, teasing engagements— though it’s all bark and no literal bite, given that he doesn’t do anything more than huff and snarl. Quick to bloom, quicker to vanish.

“You do owe me,” he presses, the words easily mistaken for humor if it wasn’t Astarion himself breathing them.

Astarion, who’d been aided at a detrimental cost by the man at his side not one full day prior. Astarion, who just finished sabotaging those efforts without so much as a moment of hesitation.

And still, he tries to level the scales in his favor.

“But you’re right. I spent most of my time scouting for our missing cargo while you were out, trusting that with the threat removed you’d be more than safe.”

He reaches for the pack nearby, pulling out those patches of tattered cloth, and offering them to his own companion.

“...I’m afraid this is all that was left.”

Unfortunately for Astarion, Dante's playful affections were on the roughhousing side, something that tends to happen when growing up with a brother he'd spent most of his formative years playfighting with. A gentle head butting and a light cuffing around the shoulder was tender compared to what he'd grown up with, but it took time for Dante to learn his own strength and he managed it well when playing with others.

"Whatever you want," Dante began, pausing thoughtfully to consider before adding an addendum, "within reason."

He left it open, but not too open, even Dante's ability to redeem on favors was limited especially if satisfaction was meant to be immediate. Why he felt the need to owe anyone anything was something deeply rooted into his conscience and his own peculiar code of honor. If he felt a debt was great enough then there was never really an end to the repayment maybe it was a flaw on his part, but he didn't see it that way as long as he had what he needed then he wanted very little else.

When the subject shifted to their objective Dante took the tattered cloth from Astarion, turning it over in his hands. His expression was unfathomable and for several moments he just looked at the cloth as though it had any capacity to tell him anything, it didn't, so he just exhaled, it was a dispirited sound verging on just a touch of frustration.

"All that for nothing huh?" He moved from his spot to stand his coat pooling on the floor along with anything else not attached to him. As for the fabric, he dropped it unceremoniously onto the pack, "well I guess there's nothing for it, is what it is."

He grabbed his shirt it was still hanging near the fire, warm, and stuffed himself into it heedless of his own state, but there didn't seem to be any pain. He couldn't quite look at Astarion, not for the moment anyway, the guilt he felt for being out here and the danger Astarion had been in etching its way into the trusty old Dante conscience.

Once he was mostly put together, he wound his way back to his companion, snatching up his coat to wrap around the other man he managed to half-way find his gaze, "we'll leave in the morning so get some rest."

“Not going back to sleep?” He asks, studying Dante’s silhouette as it slips beneath the surface of his shirt.

As the man refuses to face him directly, even as that coat settles heavily across his shoulders. So deliberate a choice, that Astarion can’t stop the rise of welling—

Something.

Something he can’t quite place.

"Heh not sure I could sleep anymore even if I wanted to," Dante did sit back down scooting up against a wall for support, it seemed stable enough, "besides, it's your turn to take a break and my turn to keep watch."

More than true considering Astarion offered to keep watch first beore the storm of undead, granted he dozed off but that didn't change the fact. Coupled with him doing more than his share of work when Dante had been out of commission. That didn't include tending to his injuries and finding the cargo or lack thereof.

"Hey," he gave Astarion a gentle nudge, "I'm not going anywhere so if you want...well I'm not exactly pillowy, but it's better than nothing."

Dante was offering his uninjured side to Astarion if he wanted to rest against something that wasn't the tarped floor.

It'll keep him here, he thinks. The first notion that comes slithering to mind in the moments between Dante's offer and the subsequent nudge that chases it. Because if Dante decides to press further out into the mire, inhuman as he is, Astarion wonders if there might be some trace to be picked up on. The supplies would still be ruined of course, but what of scent? Footprints? What if, despite the ease of his entire appearance, he managed to unravel Astarion's act?

Disappointment, maybe. Or...nothing. At times there seems to be so little capable of fazing him.

Still, though, the thought twists in the back of Astarion's skull, uncomfortable. He doesn't want it, the possibility of transparency in this deception, tame or not.

So he sinks without hesitation into that offer, winding near and close like a wounded animal seeking out warmth. Comfort. Heavy in his posture, arms curling around Dante's own, fingers twisting in thin fabric. A slow, docile descent into rest, anchored by contact. The scent of lilac oil clinging just as much.

"You'll do just fine," Astarion promises, his eyes shut. Breathing slowed with each passing second.

"So long as you stay."

Making room as Astarion curled up at his side Dante took note of all of the things he already knew about him but stood out in stark contrast anyway Dante ran warmer than normal and Astarion naturally ran a bit cooler than most. It was probably due to the riddle of his being, but the half-demon was no less inclined to bundle him closer anyway. He detected the scent of something floral, though Dante was not up to specs on his ability to scent out different kinds of flora. This amused him for a few moments because how this scent could still cling to him after everything else...well it wasn't a complain...it was almost soothing.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere," he murmured as Astarion began drifting off and while he might have been mildly curious about the site of the cargo, it wasn't enough to break his promise or to leave Astarion without his protection. True they defeated a demon prowling the area and there'd been no corpses shambling about sense, but it was also about repaying Astarion for taking care of his injuries and for the danger he'd been in. So here he remained wide awake and still entertaining his thoughts with every bit of vampire lore, both good and bad, he could think of while every now and then reaching over to stoke the fire or checking on Astarion.

It used to be that sleep was restorative. Necessary. More of a ritual than something truly restful. Here in Thedas, gnawed at by paranoia and nightmare as part of his own regular nightly routine, it’s far more difficult for him to find it in any substantial amount. But relaxed and unspokenly exhausted at present, Astarion doesn’t seem plagued by much of anything, strangely enough. No twitching, no snapping or snarling, only deep drawn breaths and lowered defenses.

Of course for Dante, who hasn’t been party to the vampire’s alternative sleep patterns, it likely just seems normal.

When he wakes, he truly does feel better. Free of pent-up strain, body heavier for warmth— even the bitter resentment he’s nursed along like wine is duller now. Something he’ll have to press himself to stoke later, when urging maliciousness wells the way it always inevitably does.

Having slipped down closer to Dante’s lap, his eyes chase the tarps overhead, meandering for a silent beat. Two.

“....how long was I...”

It wasn't the most entertainment he's had in his life, but Dante managed to stay rooted the entire time Astarion was asleep. Once he'd fallen into a deep sleep it was less about keeping himself physically occupied a more about keeping himself mentally occupied than physically occupied and there was very little mental stimulation to be had. He would even read a book right now if he'd had the access to one, but with enough fortitude he was able to maintain himself. There were no stars for him to count with the rain to hide them, no moon for him to watch roll across the sky to track the time.

At some point he took to observing Astarion, he might not have stars to count, but the man had a spattering of freckles? Beauty marks? Not very noticeable but if you had the time and the effort to stare at his face log and hard enough then you'd become acquainted with some of the features. He counted them and, worse yet, he named them, each and every one that he could see and that was a time-consuming task because he didn't have the best handle on naming anything let alone aspects of someone else that had no bearing on him whatsoever. Once he'd completed that task, he stroked Astarion's hair for a while listening to him breathe and watching him sink slowly into a more comfortable position. Dante shifted occasionally so they were both comfortable.

At some point after the sun had risen, he wasn't sure how long because the sky was still so dull and there was nothing to verify the time for him, Dante sang to himself, softly. He was often musically inclined but had no instruments on hand and certainly nothing that would be quite so controlled or soothing. Somewhere during a mid-song, he felt Astarion stir and open his eyes and Dante didn't move him letting Astarion sit up when he was ready to.

"Mmmm? You slept throughout the night and the sun came up a while ago...I think, it's hard to tell," Dante tilted his head back a bit looking through the cracks to see if he could gauge the situation outiside...daytime, that was all he could tell...late morning, early afternoon maybe, "feeling better?"

"Mmhm. Much." Concise, that confirmation. Mostly painted by drowsiness more than anything else, and chased by the back of his knuckles as they run slow over the span of one still-very-exhaustedly-dry eye, coaxing it back into focus along with the rest of him.

From there, he scrapes his nails back along his own scalp, attempting to right curls that— don't. Between the humidity and the heat, the mess of the last few days, there's no salvaging it in the slightest.

Fine.

He sits up in his own time. Stretches his spine with all the prolonged effort of a stirring cat.

"Didn't know you sang."

Once Astarion begins to move Dante takes that as his cue to push himself up onto his feet and stretch out his own unused muscles. He'd been idle for so long that his body was protesting against the very audacity of even moving, but he knew he couldn't stay on the floor either, not if they wanted to rendezvous and get back to report their mission.

He'll just have to choke on this loss.

"Yeah, I can croon out a tune when the mood strikes, I can dance, play musical instruments...it's expression and I guess I've always enjoyed the freedom of that kind of expression."

"Aren't you just full of surprises." Said as he slips onto his side, the stilling of rainfall outside drawing his attention.

A good omen.

"Once we get back, remind me to introduce you to some of our other resident bards, then." This, finally, manages to reach the usual level of lilting cheer that Astarion typically invokes. A sign he's shaken off the last throes of oddly blissful sleep, replacing it instead with a keen awareness of just how long this assignment's taken in total— prompting him to slowly begin scooping up the smallest amount of scattered supplies.

"I'm sure they'd appreciate another talent among their number. Though do mind the Orlesians, won't you? The term has its own meaning in their very tumultuous world."

"Hm, singing and dancing nobility right out of their unearned gains to fund a lifestyle for myself does sound appealing," muse a little harder why don't you? But it has occurred to him that he could use his other talents to his own benefit if he really wanted to.

"Benefits outweigh the risks, I hurt no one but myself, and I do enjoy it," he thought out loud as he began pulling down tarp and folding it up haphazardly.

"And what does bard mean to Orlesians? If it's too offensive then entertainer works for me as a title," he is that.

“Assassin. Spy. Informant.” He corrects mildly, working a grin over his own shoulder. “Musician still, in addition to the rest, but— definitely all of the above.”

A job that hardly seems to suit Dante, much as Astarion struggles to picture even the vaguest possibility of the man going undercover within gilded halls.

"Hmmm...let's see the last time I assassinated anyone it was a vicar giving a sermon in front of a pew full of people," it could be considered an assassination, even though there was very little ceremony or subtlety to it, "I was about as stealthy as a bull in an antique shop."

Crashing through windows and dropping down on a demon disguised as a holy man was hardly the stuff of assassins, spies, and informants, "I mean they could put me on the payroll if they want less orthodox."

But the reality was Dante would not be inclined to assassinate a person, he was already doing is best just to disable on the battlefield.

"You killed a..."

His brow tangles for a moment, as if he's trying to translate something that doesn't quite fit. Sermon he's more than familiar with in theory, having never truly ventured beyond Baldur's Gate itself in memory— and not praying at any altar save for his master's own besides.

Or hedonism. That altar, too.

Bag mostly packed, he shifts to sit down beside it, fitting Dante with the whole of his stare as one hand scuffs gently beneath his own chin.

"What, a cleric of sorts?"

"Yes, a cleric, a religious leader," Dante punctuated religious leader with air quotes as he naturally didn't believe the vicar was a religious leader in any capacity. He then proceeded to stuff the rolled-up tarps into the pack successfully balling them in there like a heathen.

Once properly stuffed he knelt in front of Astarion his canting his head to the side a bit before adding, "he was a demon disguised as a human pretending to be a holy man. He also wanted to use my blood to power a titan-sized demonic statue of my father, so he had a bullet to the face coming."

Granted that's probably not what it looked like to the hundreds of people bowing their heads in prayer.

"...oh. Well that sounds pleasant." Said in the distinct way of something decidedly unpleasant, his head lifting to meet Dante's focus in passing just before he rises.

"I'm sure everyone attending was very pleased to be so liberated."

"I doubt they were initially, no, they spent their entire lives on Fortuna in this cult that believed a whole lotta bullshit about Sparda that was only half true," Dante rolled back into a sitting position, legs stretched out in front of him with his arms propping his body up as he leaned back, "taking out their puppet master was an upset to their orderly lives."

Seemingly perfect lives if you didn't care to look too deep.

"But it was a necessary upset," Dante said it as simply as if it were nothing more than a fact.

Their puppet master.

It isn't the same, of course, but something about that phrasing ticks along the back of his neck, practically making the hairs stand up on their own. With little ceremony, he steps beside Dante, leaning over where he's fallen into recline and plucking up that heavy pack. Still wearing Dante's coat, it means the longer tails brush loosely against his legs for the effort.

"That, my dear, is why heroism never pays." He scoffs lightly, tucking the pack across his own shoulder.

"No one will ever thank you for bleeding on their behalf."

Tipping his head back Dante looks up at Astarion as he leans over to pick up the pack still wearing Dante's coat as if he were right at home and it was fine. He took in the expression on his companion's face trying to make heads or tails of what was going on inside of his head and then decided it was probably an exercise in futility.

Rolling all the way back onto his shoulders, Dante flipped himself onto his feet sensing, at the very least, that Astarion was ready to head out and he seemed intent on shouldering their bags. For his part he scooped up his sword and slug it over his shoulder.

"I don't do what I do for recognition, rank, or reward," Dante said in what was perhaps the most serious thing he's probably ever said as he opened the door for both himself and Astarion, "I have to live in the world as well, and there's no way in hell I'm sharing it with hostile demons wanting to take a dump all over it while subjugating people to their power."

Maybe there was honor and duty in it as well, maybe part of him was his father's son, but he liked to think he had his own reasons.

"I can be a hero or a monster to that end, I can be whatever I need to be."

“And now that you’re here,” words trailing off as he moves to stand by the crooked doorway, swollen wood turned slanted at its hinges, “I wonder what you’ll become.”

The demons in Thedas aren’t like the ones from either of their worlds. No cambions, no incubi or succubi or anything in between. Dante can fight them the same as he’d done days before now to his heart’s content, but it certainly won’t be the same battle he knew prior to his trip through the Fade.

So. What does a man like that have left? Corypheus? The noble cause? Himself? Or...perhaps nothing leashing at all.

"Come on, darling." Astarion's head cants towards his shoulder, toeing the door open to reveal a swath of daylight outside.

"Road's waiting."

Dante stood in the frame of the door wondering about the strange exchange and what it was all about. V was cryptic in a similar way as well, except V constantly spoke in riddles or poetry, so much William Blake that Dante had it all nearly memorized by now. Astarion wasn't that extreme but he couldn't help wondering what the other man kept so close to the chest that it broke to the surface like this every so often to say hello.

If it was really bothering him he'd say something, Dante figured, but he often figured more about people than he expected and rarely pried for the information himself. If it was private then it was private.

Nudging the door closed with his foot after exiting the shanty, as if it was some kind of house he'd be returning to one day, he watched Astarion for a moment. It should be kind of silly, Astarion marching down the hill, pack on his back, and Dante's overly large coat billowing around him like a miniature Dante missing only a sword. Instead of laughing he gamboled up behind him and slung an arm around Astarion's shoulders.

"Alright, now that you're acting all impressive, smooth, and mysterious...is it my turn to ride on your back?"

Because that really would be the cherry on top of this entire strange scene.

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