PSL; SUNSET HIGH AND OUR BODIES LOW

[astarion]

🐙 ✨ 🧛🏻‍♂️ ❤️
(( blood rush in a hazy glow ))

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[icyspicy]

[ It is strange to relive those moments, to beam them into the mind of another for them to see, to feel. He's not ashamed of what he did or why, but maybe there are some people who wouldn't understand. Who would have tried for the peaceable route, first.

He very much doubts Astarion is one of those people.

When it's over and their minds recede from one another, Astarion is looking at him wide-eyed. Shocked, perhaps, but not upset. ]

I haven't been that angry since.

[ He might have come close earlier, when he turned his magic on that spectator for hurting Astarion. One more thing he's not going to examine closely right now. ]

[astarion]

[No, Astarion very much understands. (Astarion probably thinks it's kind of hot.) The things he would do to his own master if he was ever given the chance to tear him apart, bit by bit. He knows he would feel the same, with a wave of heightened relief crashing into him not soon after. Freedom would make him so, so happy. He would absolutely not break down or anything of the sort.

He leans in again, red-eyed gaze sharp. He's utterly forgotten about the task of ushering wine back and forth.]

Well, darling, it's a good look on you, I think.

[But with that, another laugh, easing back again.]

Though I certainly never want to see it directed my way. Remind me never to cross you.

[icyspicy]

[ (Astarion is correct.)

Winter doesn't need the connection between their minds to let him hazard a guess at what Astarion is thinking about. His own situation. His own master. How it would feel to put that bastard in the ground for good. Flights of fancy for now, but perhaps not for long. ]

Considering I've yet to want to blast a hole in your chest, despite our... rocky start [ you know with the pulling a knife on him and the trying to bite him in the middle of the night and all ] I'd say you're safe.

[astarion]

[How sweet of him, calling acts of violence and trying to use him as a capri sun without his permission something as generous as "rocky start".]

It's my charm, isn't it?

[Don't answer that. Or do.]

Maybe someday I'll follow in your footsteps, gods willing.

[icyspicy]

[ "Rocky start" is no less accurate to how he's met most of the other people in their little group. Lae'zel also tried to kill him at first, and would probably try to again if given enough of a reason.

Anyway, he won't answer that, but he will respond to the rest, with a sort of readiness that surprises even him. ]

If there's anything I can do to help make that happen... please tell me.

[astarion]

[Sounds like a you problem, Winter.

The warlock says those words, as easy as anything, and Astarion finds himself briefly thrown by them — by how readily they came from his mouth like the sentiment almost needn’t be said, only expected.

It surprises him, too.]

Oh. [He forces his smile to twitch into a familiar slant, but it lacks the rakishness of its usual angle.] Wouldn’t that be something. To make that a reality like it were so easy, so simple — charge back into Baldur’s Gate, you at my side, straight into Cazador’s chambers, eyes raging with anger while we tear him a new one. A hundred times over.

[What a thought, indeed. One that delights him in one moment, and then turns around and offers him a harsher reality in the next: it’s more likely that he will be hunted down than the alternative. More likely that he would be the one torn apart should that happen, and that’s if he’s lucky.

If he was unlucky, he would revert to being a slave, no more free will of his own, just a tool to be used and abused and recycled, again and again. Trapped in ceaseless torture for more centuries to come.

Where’s that wine bottle, now? Ah, yes, still in his hand — he takes a long pull from it, in tandem with a slightly deflating demeanor.]

We can dream, can’t we?

[icyspicy]

[ It's a protag problem and he didn't ask for it!!

What starts as a mote of hope quickly goes sour, as he can see Astarion crumpling a little before his eyes. Not in any major way, but he'd like to think he knows the vampire well enough by now to spot it when the sheen of sincerity drifts off.

It strangely makes him want to make good on his offer even more. ]

We can. But who knows, I can't even begin to predict where we'd end up after all this.

[astarion]

[What a curse it is, to be known — and to be known by this man well enough that he can find the sincerity amid the flippancy, the cavalier attitude, the sharp-edged grins.

He brings the bottle down again, offers it to Winter. There’s a question on his tongue—]

You know, I do wonder…

[A pause. That question is thought better of, and transformed into something else.]

…What this patron of yours is like. I did say I would ask. So will you tell me?

[icyspicy]

[ That question feels like it twists halfway through, going one way and then redirected to go another. He won't prod on the matter, for now. They've all had a rough day, no need to go opening old wounds on top of ones that are already fresh. ]

I suppose I don't mind.

[ He makes no move to take the offered bottle just yet, instead asking, ]

What would you like to know?

[astarion]

[Take the bottle or Astarion will selfishly drink it all for himself. It’s indeed been one of those days.]

What’s it look like, for one?

[icyspicy]

[ Fine, fine. He does eventually reach out to grab the bottle by the neck, turning it in his fingers to watch the light play off the glass again. ]

I assume you're familiar with what an octopus looks like. Picture that, but instead of flesh, it's carved out of space itself, all stars and darkness. It swallows light and somehow gives it off at the same time. Now, make it impossibly large, big enough to swallow an entire world if it wanted.

And there you have it, my patron, whose name I will not bother to try to pronounce. There are far too many consonants far too close together.

[astarion]

[That sounds... terrible and beautiful all at once. A being so big, so swathed in stars and the blackest void of space, must be quite a sight. Must have been utterly frightening to see for the first time — or perhaps Winter was too determined to live to have cared.]

Well, you must call it something. Just going about calling it “my patron” sounds so bland — give it a nickname.

[Yes, this is what the vampire chooses to latch onto for now. It amuses him.]

[icyspicy]

[ It was, frankly a lot to have seen for the first time, not to mention all the stuff it was beaming into his brain at the time. ]

I'm not giving my patron a nickname. It's not a dog, or a child.

[ It is a regal and unknowable space octopus!!! ]

[astarion]

[Yeah, pretending he didn’t hear ANY of that-]

Might I suggest… Squiggles.

[icyspicy]

No.

[ ASTARION PLEASE. ]

[astarion]

Squigly?

[His turn to give you shit.]

[icyspicy]

Stop.

[ There's no real anger, though, and he can't quite help the way his faux annoyance bubbles into laughter. ]

Gods, it's a good thing you're so pretty, or you'd be insufferable.

[astarion]

[Fine, he'll stop. But not without his own brand of laughter, sincere and bright, bubbling up from his throat to join Winter's in concert.

Moments like these, and he can almost forget about all the terrible things hanging over their heads at every moment of every waking hour. Moments that only ever seem to originate from this man.]

You know what they say. It takes one to know one. Now finish off the rest of that wine while I think of other delightful nicknames to call your patron while you're not listening.

[icyspicy]

[ It's not the first time he's gotten that sincere, bright laughter out of Astarion, but every time it happens, he finds himself hoping it's not the last. It seems so strange to want to give someone a reason to laugh, especially when their circumstances are so dire, but... he wants it all the same. ]

You're hilarious.

[ But he does indeed polish off the rest of the bottle. The alcohol and the company have done a lot to smooth away the strange ball of anxiousness and fear that had coiled in him earlier. ]

Do you really want to know their name?

[astarion]

[He is hilarious, thank you.

There goes the rest of the wine. It was put to good use, as far as he's concerned. His brows hitch up at the question, still smiling.]

Why... yes. Why wouldn't I? [He's curious. A beat.] It isn't some forbidden knowledge that you can't share with me, is it? Not breaking any warlock rules?

[icyspicy]

No, but it is... rather a lot, if only because I only know how to share it in the same way it was shared with me. That is to say, directly into your head.

[ Space octopi work in mysterious ways. ]

[astarion]

[Directly into his head.]

Given that all manner of images and emotions have been relayed directly into my head these days, why should I balk at one more?

[As long as this doesn’t scramble his brain or whatever, Astarion is far from concerned about hearing some baffling name with too many consonants he can’t hope to pronounce, probably.]

Come on, let’s see it. Or hear it, I suppose.

[icyspicy]

[ He shrugs, as if to say "suit yourself" and then once again that prodding connection reaches out to Astarion's mind. Once he's allowed access, what flows through the connection is more like a series of feelings and images and events. The guttering light of a dying star, the bright and explosive births of myriad galaxies, eons of knowledge — knowledge, knowing, the desire for more, ever craving, ever giving — and the cold, vast expanse of what lies beyond the clouds.

And yet somehow, conveyed in the midst of all of that, there is also an absolute fucking mash of letters: Khaluxszhutrithrh’thod.

Told you it was a lot! Now please imagine having all of this shoved into your head in the middle of a dark temple, while you lay bleeding on the floor. No wonder he doesn't care to give voice to it. "My patron" is fine, and truly, his patron doesn't seem to mind it either. ]

[astarion]

[He lets him in—of course he does—happy share in the memories and experiences. Though what he sees this time weighs rather heavily on the cosmic side of things, the light of dying stars and the explosive nova-bursts of galaxies being born. Insatiable knowledge that extends far past his ken, more than he'd ever be able to comprehend. A vacuous space waiting to be filled in.

And then, finally, the name.

...There is no way Astarion is ever going to remember that name, much less ever pronounce it correctly. But, well. At least he "heard" it the once.

And yes, it sure is a lot. Once he's free of the memory, he leans back a little, a whole array of emotions flitting through him. Feeling overcome, awed, and even indignant on Winter's behalf.]

What in the hells was that? [tf my guy] All that went through your head while you were bleeding out?

[icyspicy]

[ Like before, he lets Astarion kind of reel back from the whole thing, lets it settle in his mind — for as much as all that could settle in anyone's mind. It's been years for Winter, and even now when he tries to recall it, the sensation is nearly overwhelming. ]

Oh, yes. [ He laughs. ] Subtlety is rather lost on something such as my patron. As you can tell, there's a bit of a difference of scale at play.