PSL; SUNSET HIGH AND OUR BODIES LOW

[astarion]

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(( blood rush in a hazy glow ))

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[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.

[astarion]

[He huffs out a "ha!"]

Yes, I did notice that. Just a slight difference.

[Space octopus... big.]

As for their name... Something of a tongue twister, isn't it. I suppose "Squiggles" just won't do.

[Winter wasn't kidding about that.]

[icyspicy]

[ Big... but relatively chill, at least. ]

Does that mean you've given up on the idea of a nickname?

[ He can only hope, right? ]

[astarion]

For now. Until I’m struck with inspiration. But as it stands? I’m not sure I even remember it as more than just a jumble of consonants.

[Hard to make a nickname out of that.]

Your patron really doesn’t ask for anything in return? They’re simply… happy, then, with their freedom?

[icyspicy]

[ He's spared for the moment, then, it seems. ]

Not nothing. You felt it, right? That desire for knowledge. My patron spent generations in that temple, having cultists and who knows what else siphon information out of them for generations, with nothing in return.

So, yes, they are happy with their freedom, but they also like to learn. I share things with them.

[astarion]

[Astarion did feel it, that constant want, an almost hunger -- but not in the way he experiences it, no. A desire for knowledge, to know and expand that knowledge constantly.]

What sort of things? Anything at all?

[His patron, then, must be thrilled about the veritable library of books they've picked up during their travels, Astarion thinks to himself wryly.]

[icyspicy]

Anything at all.

[ His patron has been learning so many things lately. Not just from the books, but about tadpoles and Sharrans and vampires and druids and— well, you get it. ]

[astarion]

Hm.

[Not a bad price for power at all.]

Have you been sharing things… about me?