faderift | [CLOSED] You hate my bad behavior

“The more compliments you give— accurate as they are— the more your timer on this little trade extends.”

Just for the record.

“...thank you, by the way.” He adds after a lone, tepid little beat. Something clearly weighing on his mind regardless of the fact that he’s currently carting his companion along like an oversized satchel, tipping his own chin once more to knock damp curls from his eyes.

He doesn’t specify what he’s thanking Dante for, but tone itself might hint: it’s not the shallower flattery that preceded it.

"You mean like beautiful and clever," Dante was more than a little amused by the idea that his piggy back ride is fueled by compliments, "brave...and you smell good too."

The last one was an afterthought, but it was interesting, considering what they've endured over the past few days, that Astarion didn't smell overwhelmingly like a bog. Whatever that floral smell was, it was the most enduring scent that had clung to him through all of it, or maybe Astarion rolls around in flower beds when no one is paying attention.

Now there's a mental image that holds his attention for several moments until he's snapped out of it by Astarion's gratitude.

It's not done out of self-adulation and it doesn't hold the levity Dante would associate with accepting compliments. It's certainly information Dante doesn't know what to do with especially since there could be a few things he's being thanked for. He doesn't require it, but accepts that this is probably not an everyday occurrence either.

"Anytime," Dante offers in return, smoothing his fingers through Astarion's wilted curls to keep them out of his face.

It's that kindness that always catches Astarion so off-guard. Strikes that oh-so-familiar chord of once-blooming trust that served to make a fool of him, once. He likes to think he's better suited to rejecting it now. Smarter, or harsher, or—

Or he doesn't know, tipping his head into the softer slide of those fingertips for as long as it lasts.

Dangerous, always. Getting attached. He wears that warning like the coat across his shoulders, leaning into the set of a smile under the weight of an easy exhale.

"If you remember one thing from all this trouble, it had better be that flattery will always get you everywhere."

Even back to Kirkwall— on foot— for as long as it can be managed.

...or until Astarion just doesn't want to anymore.

Dante was not unfamiliar with the hurt and the pain or even the fear that paired with letting people close or trusting their intentions. He's been burned, but it's not a lesson that he's learned anything from, it doesn't stop him from feeling as much as he can and embracing the better parts of his nature when he can even if he shares himself with others just so, just enough so they can endure it.

It's a different kind of pain, Astarion hasn't dipped into many details of his own past, but Dante's aware that whatever darkness is there it's different.

"Hmmm...that is true, but even if it is you can always say no, or hell no, or fuck in the direction of off," Dante mused propping his chin back on top of Astarion's head, "and when you get there, fuck off from there too. Then fuck off some more. Keep fucking off until you get back here. Then fuck off again."

Giving Astarion a pat across the chest for reassurance.

"Even if you do have seductive eyes, flirty lashes, and a soothing voice," he tacked that on just to ham it up.

It makes him laugh more than it should, that ridiculous commentary. Or— maybe just as much as it should, given the way it somehow seems to come from a place of sincerity just as much as it does pure, unfiltered humor.

So that pat eases something in him. Prompts the faintest, rumbling little breath let out without pretense, already hefting Dante a touch higher for good measure.

"Flirty lashes?" He snorts in sheer amusement, his boots sinking slightly in the muck as he works his way across the muddied edges of a waterside road. The temptation to put Dante down lingers, of course, but...well, he's a prideful thing at heart. The half-demon's earned a few more steps at least. "That's a new one."

Not unfond. Not anything but warm, despite the ever-present cooler temperature of Astarion himself.

"Is that what won you over, then?"

A joke, of course. All teasing humor.

"It was the flirty lashes one-thousand percent. I was a goner before, but I just fell in love even harder," it was so playful and blasé, but Dante enjoyed banter and leaning into the absurd. He felt comfortable enough with Astarion and his thick skin for humor to let it fly, "in fact I think the mop has competition in you that is unconquerable."

Dipping his face forward Dante gave his companions ear a nudge with his cheek. A conspiratorial nod to his awful anecdote when they first met.

"That dance card is full though mmmm?" Dante would be surprised if it wasn't honestly.

While he was all for ribbing and compliments it didn't escape his notice that Astarion might be sinking into the mud a bit under his weight. He was impressed that the smaller man had hiked him this far, but he didn't want him to suffer for pride. He'll indulge himself a bit more before turning the tables, however, this is pretty enjoyable after all.

In competition with a mop. Truly, he’s come so far.

“My dance card? Oh, darling. Sweet of you, but Thedas is...mm.”

Difficult, to say the least.

Spoken while ignoring the way fine boots have to tug with every step until they’re finally out on the main road: stony pathway quick to knock the mud loose, affording him a significantly easier time of trudging along.

“There’s the occasional pretty face, true, but when you dwell in Lowtown with my— everything, you very quickly learn just how difficult it is to snare anything worthwhile.”

Wycome had been kinder. There at least Astarion was a novelty. A curiosity, well entertained and appropriately admired (barring the nuisance of one initial, decidedly irritating incident). Sometimes he thinks if he could just make it to Hightown, something in Kirkwall would finally, properly give.

“No, my dear, my card remains uniquely unmarked these days— though even if it were full, I’d still happily make room for you.”

Once they were on stable territory Dante shimmied off of Astarion's back, giving him a break knowing that he would probably keep going and could keep going, but aside from stretching his own legs he was more than aware of his own burden. He still kept an arm slung companionably over Astarion's shoulders while they strolled and he listened to Astarion discuss the ways in which this world bottlenecked Astarion from reaching his potential for simply being himelf.

"Trying to snare anything in particular?" Lowtown wasn't exactly reeking with prosperity and opportunity, it was urban and industrial and reeked of other things. It didn't really pair with Astarion, based on what Dante had assessed, while clearly able to rough it when he needed to, those fine boots covered in mud told a different story. So naturally he was curious, he knew Astarion's direction was up, and Dante wasn't beyond giving a boost if he could and when he could.

"You'd pencil me in? I'm flattered...but that's probably good all around, ignore me for long periods and I'll have to ugly cry and no one wants that," not that he's one for crying easily or anything, but he might just have to cut in in a very show stopping way if it ever came to that.

With someone else, he’d feign innocuity. Mischief. Always easier to let the most obvious impression be read as truth, even if it isn’t the entirety of it.

But he supposes he’s kept more than enough from Dante for one evening.

“Fortune. Security.” An anchor in a world rife with uncertainty. “I refuse to spend my time in this Realm plucking at spare coin or rotting in the arms of fate.”

Fate, after all, has never been kind to Astarion in any respect.

Expecting Thedas to be any different would be a fool’s folly; he knows that now.

“But like I said: you’re nice enough that I’d be willing to make an exception— it can’t be all work, after all.” Damp curls settling easy against Dante’s shoulder, grin gone sharp as a knife.

“That, and I’d hate to see you weep.”

Dante pondered the word fate as it was breathed into the universe, not being a huge believer in fate. Still he understood how fate could be comforting to people who have suffered, that there had to be meaning to it, some grandiose plan in the endless chasm of reality. In the hands of the cruel and deranged it was a way to abdicate responsibility for their own actions to some inglorious design.

Maybe Dante was pessimistic in that regard, maybe he was pragmatic, or maybe he thought determination and grit were more cogent than things like fate and luck. Sometimes it paid you a visit and sometimes it didn't.

"I think you'll silence any opposition with a master stroke," Astarion had plenty of guile and charm, reputation and fortune took work and time, but Dante didn't think it was impossible in spite of Astarion's...everything.

"And when hobnobbing with the rich and powerful starts boring you to tears I'll be easy to find," a life of luxury meant security and predictability, Dante couldn't imagine how that would be endlessly enjoyable without breaking it up somehow.

"That's very merciful of you, I'd hate to see me weep too."

He laughs for that final little quip, clear and easy. Arching high in one beat before silence simply carries it away into an almost pensive juncture.

“I didn’t use to find it so tiresome, you know.” Astarion confesses gently, devoid of all pretense. “Strange, how things change when one isn’t looking.”

It feels like a blink, his time in Thedas. Over half a year, yet so much has already shifted. Microcosms and macrocosms.

“What I mean is...well. You might not need to wait all that long, I suppose, after I start working my way back into those gilded halls once more.”

Without the occasional thrill of the hunt? There’s no telling how much he might tire of old games.

It's all so different now.

"Well if I have to vie for your attention then I'd feel sorry for the whole of the upper echelon," Dante said keeping the touch of humor in his voice, he understood that people could change for whatever reasons they wanted to change. Sometimes things that were once appealing were less so by comparison to other things and that was just fine, "they don't know how nicely I clean up."

Another playful nudge of Astarion's shoulder.

"A little polish here, a wardrobe upgrade there, a dramatic entrance...I do like a good dramatic entrance," Dante swept his hand in front of him as if trying to express it with a gesture, "and ka-boom, the competition will be blasted right out of the water. Like some kind of bourgeoisie pirate."

Dante tried to picture that one too. The bourgeoisie of the sea and he turned his face to Astarion cupping one hand over his eye in mock pirate fashion.

"If I do have to wait, I'll have no choice but to come throw a spanner in your works to liven things up a bit. So you don't have to worry."

“Charmer.” He snorts under the weight of that nudge, only meeting Dante's one-eyed stare with a peripheral glance of his own— just before turning it back towards the winding path ahead.

“They’ll all be absolutely livid, losing to a rogue like you.”

"Better hope I don't get a ship, I'll be unstoppable," as if ships just fell out of the sky and even if they did Dante wouldn't know the first thing about manning one, "I think I just found my new goal in life."

His scoff is light. It twists the corner of his mouth into an easy smile.

“You’re already unstoppable, darling. Even without the rest.”

Edited 2022-01-04 12:34 (UTC)

"You know what they say about flattery, don't you?"

Though, just like anyone else Dante enjoyed a little bit of flattery, whether he felt worthy of it particularly was an entirely different question. In the spirit of play, however, he was an eager enough recipient.

“That it gets you everywhere?” He asks, grin running a touch higher.

And without hesitancy Dante dipped down to scoop Astarion off of his muddy feet, jacket, pack, and all hoisted into his arms. They still had plenty of space between them and anything close to civilization.

"Hmmm...that's definitely along the right lines," he said agreeably.

[CLOSED] You hate my bad behavior

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