finalflight | PSL; SUNSET HIGH AND OUR BODIES LOW

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?

[ 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 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.]

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. ]

Hm.

[Not a bad price for power at all.]

Have you been sharing things… about me?

Why? Does that notion bother you?

I can't really say.

[Does it bother him? It's more of a strange thought than it is a discomforting one.]

That depends, really.

On? What I've been telling them?

[ Astarion do you think Winter just gossips to his patron about his crushes all day or-? ]

[ 1) You mean you don’t? and 2) is he a CRUSH?

Anyway, he teases-]

Yes, if they’re all only flattering things. What if they don’t approve, after all?

[ WHAT IF HE IS A CRUSH HUH? But also his patron still doesn't quite understand more human matters. They observe everything with a polite, academic sort of interest. Things like love (or the inklings thereof) are not exactly on their radar. ]

I don't go seeking their approval for every little thing I do, or the people I choose to keep company with.

But don't worry, I've been sure to tell them how devastatingly handsome you are.

[JUST INTERESTING, THAT’S ALL—

Off-handedly:]

Or the people you sleep with.

[And though he knows the “handsome” bit is a joke, he can’t help but preen a little at it.]

Oh, good. Because it does feel a bit like seeking the approval of a… giant, space cephalopod in-law. The worst thing would be if they thought I was plain.

[ A laugh. ]

Cephalopod in-law? Why, Astarion, is that a proposal?

[A wh-? WINTER....]

I... that's not what I-

[That's not what he meant!! And though he's hardly the kind of vampire that flusters at that kind of remark, he suddenly finds himself a little more interested in the wine bottle, leaning forward to grasp it and tilt it towards his lips.

...And finding it empty. He clicks his tongue and lowers it again, looking at Winter.]

If I was ever to propose to anyone, do you think it'd be in the Underdark of all places? Yes, very charming and very romantic.

[ Oh no. He lets Astarion take the bottle, but the vampire soon discovers for himself that it's empty without Winter having to remind him. Sorry he's like this. ]

No? Then where would you propose?

[ SORRY HE'S LIKE THIS. ]

[YOU'RE NOT SORRY HE'S LIKE THIS

Why does he!! Keep getting teased!! By this man!!!]

I've never given it thought. [He brings his free hand to his chest.] I'm sure there have been plenty of poor fools who humored the idea in my direction, but never the other way around, of course.

[Because the art of seduction is one he's very much adept in. Painting pretty little pictures of a whirlwind romance and some kind of future for those he was stringing along, when he knew that there was no future at all. For them, for him. Just trickery, and then just death.]

[ I AM A LITTLE SORRY ]

"Not in the Underdark" is as far as that thought goes, hm? [ Said with a laugh. ] That's fair enough. Besides, I'm only teasing you.

Oh, I know you are. You're good at that.

[But the admission seems to earn him a considering glance, a once-over, and a thought experiment. The kind he feels like he'd need more wine for, but they're well past that point now.]

Hypothetically, though... with you- [Hmm. What seems to suit, Winter? What would adhere to a theme?] -maybe a flowery love confession beneath the blanket of a starry night? So clear and quiet it would feel like the entire universe itself was made audience to our promises to each other.

[Even Squiggles could bear witness to it, probably.]

[ He just smiles, as if in agreement with Astarion's assessment. It's not his fault the vampire is so fun to tease, so used to being on the other end of such interactions. ]

Under a blanket of stars? [ He chuckles, though it tapers off into a wistful sort of sigh. Winter leans back again, supporting his weight on his hands just behind him, and turns his eyes upward. Up, up, at the fathomless dark above them. ] I do miss them, when I can't see them. So perhaps you're on the right track.

[ Again, there's some part of him that is okay with this place, being so far underground, but more of him still longs to see the sky. ]

[He watches as Winter leans back, watches the whole frame of him look towards the sky that isn't present so deep underground. Appreciates the slope of his pale neck, in a way that is somehow, miraculously, not related to the hunger that is always, always gnawing at his core.]

Only "on the right track"?

[He says, almost to himself. Winter really is striking-looking; darkly beautiful in that way of his. It makes something dangerously fond clench in his chest.]

Then tell me, what am I missing?

[ Winter angles his head, ever slight, in Astarion's direction. A bit of his hair cascades from his shoulder in a dark wave. ]

A good question. It's not something I've ever thought about, either.

[He arches a brow, a little amused by the reply. Uncertain if he should be surprised by it, though.]

Really?

[To him, this is less indicative about being a romantic at heart, and more how one perceives their future. How you want to spend it, how far you can peer down that path. For Astarion, well, there are obvious reasons why this has never been a consideration in his mind. What is a serious, committed relationship, and can you eat it? ~~If you're a vampire, I guess you technically can.~~]

Not anything you ever thought to see in your own future, hm?

Not really.

[ Obviously Winter cannot hope to match Astarion in sheer numbers, but he's done more than his fair share of sleeping around, with no real purpose other than a bit of fun. ]

I guess I wouldn't be opposed, given the right partner, but I've never been out looking to fall in love or settle down.

[Perhaps so. But even a "bit of fun" is a step above what seduction has turned into for this vampire. Sex is only ever a tool, an essential part of his repertoire. It gets people doing what they want him to do, going where he wants them to go.

Not unlike how he's used it with Winter, to draw him close enough that he'll want to keep him protected, so that he's not just seen as a vampire that needs a stake through the heart should he suddenly not be useful to these traveling party. He has to mean something to the warlock, or it all counts for nothing. Even if they're both probably aware of this fact, at least to an unspoken degree.

And so. There is something about "given the right partner" that shouldn't make him feel... disappointed the way he does. It's expected, and they're talking about obscenely unlikely hypotheticals, anyhow. But it still settles strangely in the pit of his stomach.]

I can't help but wonder what "the right partner" means to a man with a lifestyle like yours.

[A thieving criminal. (Fond.) But thieving criminals settle down once in a while, don't they? Well. He wouldn't know.]

[ The thought had crossed his mind that Astarion could be using him. Trying to draw him in so deeply that he has no choice but to keep him by his side, but then days like today happen and have him rethinking everything. It's not very self-preserving to throw oneself in front of a monster.

And even now, these moments that they sit together and talk, sharing memories and secrets and jokes and, yes, even talk about obscenely unlikely hypotheticals, feel... genuine. Surely they must count toward something real, whatever they might be to each other. ]

I couldn't tell you that, either, since I've yet to find them.

[ So he says, but there's a moment where his gaze lingers on Astarion just a moment too long, searching for the answer to a question he's yet to ask. Or have I? ]

[No, and then there days like this one, where he's thrown himself into bodily harm for the sake of another, where he's gotten angry at Winter for doing the same for him. There are moments that do feel sincere, and the enjoyment derived from them very much so. Astarion looks forward to these talks, kept to themselves under the blanket of night (or the caverns of the Underdark), and more and more he realizes that isn't necessarily because he wants to sate the hunger perpetually living inside of him.

And then there are moments like precisely now, where Winter says such things and raises his eyes to meet his own, an unspoken question hanging between them. Astarion feels like he's had his heart gently scooped out and put on display between them; that foreign openness of vulnerability, something he doesn't know what to do with. Doesn't know how to approach it. It's almost... embarrassing.

Yet he finds he can't look away.]

...Well. You'll tell me once you do, won't you? I'd like to know for myself.

[Oh gods, what's wrong with him?]

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