[CLOSED] You hate my bad behavior

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Astarion, Loki, Emet-Selch, Dante, possibly others etc
WHAT: catch all for doing some Good for the Cause
WHEN: somewhere around the week following Satinalia party 2.0
WHERE: various
NOTES: violence, brief gore (noted in the specific subject line)

Comments

[illithidnapped]

The assurance helps, at least.

Granted it could be a lie, and there was— some time well before now, possibly even a month or two ago— a point where Astarion would've taken this as a bid at simply coaxing him into dropping his guard. A lie. A trap. The back and forth of clever creatures destined to always need to stay one step ahead of each other.

Right now, though, for better or worse, he believes the Ascian.

But then again, how does Astarion even begin to explain it?

"They don't deserve it, you know."

Like that, apparently. That's how he opts to start.

[arkitect]

It's a start, at least. He'd half expected Astarion to simply deflect, or to put it off if he did mean to answer. As far as places to begin go, it isn't a terrible one.

"Deserve what, precisely-- the effort expended, or are you speaking of something separate?"

Clarification, first, before carrying on.

[illithidnapped]

"The people here. This world. Everything they set about demanding— expecting from us."

It'd come with the bliss of freedom, and for that, to some extent, Astarion knows he should be grateful. But bitterness burns like bile in his throat, boiling deep within his skin. A resentment he doesn't know how to let go of, prompting the whole of his posture to close off for one tepid beat, arms folding.

[arkitect]

"All while viewing us the way that some of them do. Particularly you, given what you are."

Not even necessarily thanks to his vampirism, but just because of the ears. It's an understandable sentiment to have, he believes, in the face of everything that this world is.

"I do expect that less would be expected, had you not joined up, but then again... there are truly not an abundance of options for our kind."

[illithidnapped]

“Well. That, and if Corypheus wins, my kind— ” Elves “And our kind— ” Rifters “Won’t have anywhere left to run. Won’t have any sort of choice.”

Enslavement or enslavement. Neither appeals.

“So no, I can’t exactly see myself abandoning the only group fighting to make a dent in this without resorting to petty squabbling amongst themselves. No matter what they might aim for, or how disjointed their effort. Their leadership.” It’d be beyond selfish or short-sighted.

It’d just be stupid.

“And in light of that— knowing full well precisely how the people of this world will look at us with affection in their hearts until they tire of it, or decide we’re not needed anymore— I don’t think it’s so much wretchedness to have a little of what they deserve.”

Not enough to hurt. Not enough to damage Riftwatch. Just enough so they feel it for once, just how unpleasant it is to be so pitiably unlucky.

[arkitect]

"And you have chosen to do so like this, at least for the time being."

It isn't condescending, just... idle musing, as he takes all of that in, considering Astarion's answer. He isn't wrong, necessarily, about what the future could potentially look like.

But there are other considerations, such as:

"You draw dangerously close to severing your nose to spite your face, you realize," he says, equally mildly. "Turning a situation you potentially stood to gain from in favor of serving that purpose instead-- I hadn't thought I would see you pass up such an opportunity."

[illithidnapped]

"Oh please. I have Riftwatch wrapped around my finger." he counters, lifting one dark-gloved hand, littlefinger extended as punctuation.

"Missions fall apart all the time. I'm due for a little failure, if I'm honest."

And it had, admittedly, been why he'd asked beforehand how Emet-Selch might take to that exact outcome.

[arkitect]

"Do you?"

A brow arches, at that. Not to doubt his capability, but-- well, yes, he doubts that claim.

"Rather than aim for failure, surely you might get what you desire in some other fashion."

[illithidnapped]

There, at least, Emet-Selch seems to have won some small measure of Astarion's interest, prompting a pale brow to lift just so.

"...and what other fashion might that be, exactly?"

[arkitect]

He thought that just might do it.

"Tell me, if you would," he begins, arms folded behind his back. "What sort of person, in your estimation, best deserves this ire of yours?"

[illithidnapped]

"I—" He starts. Stops. Air catching against the backs of his fangs when he scoffs:

"What."

This time, his expression seems to drop. A prelude to all his entirely feral bristling, hunching through his own shoulders as he leans forward. Teeth glinting. "What do you mean 'what sort of person'— everyone. Anyone. If they draw breath in this wretched, Blighted world, believe me. They deserve it."

[arkitect]

"A bit more aggressive than expected, but it is a start."

He's not visibly put off by the answer, but he is observing more closely than he appears to be, quiet for a moment as he evaluates.

Eventually, he decides to abandon talking through it less directly.

"What is truly the problem, Astarion. You would lash out thoughtlessly-- what is it that spurs you to turn upon the world in its entirety rather than address the root? Something that you either cannot or will not strike at more directly, I should think, but you may correct me."