[Hello, guess who's barging his way into her inn room like he owns the place? Uninvited, because he can do that, which still manages to make him giddy every time he's able to. Regardless, he flops himself down onto her bed, armed with the little handmirror Bone-Jangles gave him.]
I've been meaning to ask, is this really what I look like?
[He's laying on his back, holding it up in front of himself and examining the curve of his jaw.]
[Hi there, just come on in, make yourself at home. It wasn't like she was doing anything.
she sets the little piece of charcoal she was using down between the pages of her journal, closing it and setting it aside to be able to take him in. It tugged at her heart seeing him glued to that mirror, but it drew a smile across her face nonetheless.]
It is.
[She moved over, crawling across the bed to lay beside him, her hair was no longer pulled into the usual ponytail, and instead was simply wild and falling over her shoulders. She could see a portion of herself in the mirror, but this wasn't about her or what she currently looked like.
Instead, she reached over and combed her fingers through his hair.]
I'm gorgeous, naturally. Although, we both knew that.
[His response was flippant and casual, and after looking for a few moments longer he was letting his arm drop, resting the mirror face down on his chest. Drumming his fingertips against the handle, he let out a soft, exhaling sigh.]
Be that as it may, I can't help but feel a little... Well. This is me now, and as much as I enjoy endlessly gazing upon my beauty, I can't help but wonder if it's anything like it once was. If it's anything like the me from before.
[Taliira hummed softly in response. She couldn't know what it was like to not remember what she looked like. Then again, if she ever wondered about that she would just need to look into a mirror. She would never have to wonder... well unless she was suddenly struck with amnesia or with a similar affliction.]
Perhaps.
[She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows so she was able to look down at him.]
I'm not an expert in vampiric... well, anything, but I can't imagine you changed too much from back then.
Neither can I, but the confirmation wouldn't hurt.
[He's spoken about this particular topic with her in passing prior to their arrival here, but it's hard not to rehash old topics now that he had the ability to look at himself. To see himself.
He hummed softly in thought, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her pointed ear.]
If I ask you something... Would you mind humoring me? I'd say, "just this once," but you tend to have a habit of caving when I bat my eyelashes at you.
[Taliira narrowed her eyes at his comment, though knew immediately that he was right. Sometimes he could play her like a fiddle, and that wasn't something she was proud of. Or at the least, that wasn't something that was inherently bad.
He had never asked her for something she was unwilling to do, and when something like that would come up, he was at least willing to listen to her. Stubborn as he was.]
[For a moment he remained silent, absentmindedly running the tip of his tongue across the sharp points of his fangs a few times before his eyes were flitting away to look elsewhere. Avoiding direct eye contact, which was usually the primary indicator that he was embarrassed by what he was about to inquire.]
You've... Well, I've seen you scribbling away in that little journal enough times to be able to infer that you must have some sort of artistic talent, so...
[A clearing of the throat, hesitating briefly before he forced himself to continue.]
What color would you make them? My eyes, I mean, before they turned red. I'd ah... Like to have at least some starting point to go off of in my personal imaginings.
[Gods, this probably sounded pathetic, didn't it?]
[She was silent for a minute or two, just watching him. She could draw him from memory by now; knew every curve, every dimple, even the way his brows would crease together when he was upset. The number of sketches of him in her journal was almost embarrassing — though, to be fair, she also had sketches of the others in there as well.
She didn't touch him, though, despite wanting to be able to look into his eyes for this. She didn't move to grab his chin and turn his head. Instead, she tilted hers, moving to accommodate him but not catching his gaze.]
[In all honesty - and despite knowing her better - a part of him had been fully prepared for her not to play along and give him a genuine answer. When she did give a response the surprise was written clearly on his face, eyes darting back to meet hers once again as he mulled it over. Green... Green wouldn't look terrible on his face at all, actually, from what he'd seen of it these past few days.]
I believe yours would be a soft lilac, were you not sworn to the spider-god by chance of birth. [He hadn't really meant to say such things aloud, but it was too late now, and he'd have to commit.] They'd be rosy and warm in the sunlight, almost like carnations.
[She had expected a snide comment disagreeing with her — perhaps blue would be more suited for him, or even a brown. She had even expected him to change the topic, to ask about skin tone, or perhaps hair color. Nothing could have prepared her for what he actually said, and the shock of it was clear on her face.
Taliira stared at Astarion for a few seconds, the heat in her cheeks hard to ignore as his words replayed in her mind over and over again. She had never thought about what her eyes might have been had she been born anywhere else. It had never been a question. Lolth had been her entire life that anything outside of it was almost impossible to think of, so contemplating what could have been was...
She let her head drop to his chest as a way to hide her face. There was no need to show him how deep that blush was.]
I've never thought about it, honestly.
Backdating this to sometime mid November bc we both died but also there’s so much angst potential
[It’s not necessarily a premeditated thing, nor is it something that he’s thought through all that much. In fact, Astarion had been barely thinking much at all, given the circumstances; an hour prior, that… Thing had nearly succeeded in dragging him off to gods-know-where, and he’d only barely managed to pry his wrist free of the wretched grasp of its horrid little chains before sprinting into the safety of the indoors.
…Indoors may be just as much a hunting ground as the outside, of course, but he had a feeling that it might be playing by vampiric rules just to toy with him regardless.
What freedom his escape had afforded was ill lived, as he could still feel the lingering sensation of its touch like a frigid, icy brand. Astarion paced about his own quarters, rubbing at the skin of his wrist in an almost feverish manner. Forcing himself back together again felt harder this time, like he was dragging his entrails along on the floor behind him in a grotesque trail of viscera, unable to simply will the wounds closed again.
Because he’d had worse. A slobbering mangy creature was at least something he could fight back against, it shouldn’t be this difficult to recover from the encounters.
Except it wasn’t that easy to brush past, and the delicate sutures he’d meticulously maintained over the years hadn’t popped open now merely at the sight of a giant vermin. It was the after that wouldn’t let him settle, the after that made him feel like some caged lion on display at a festival, pacing about in a room too small and panting like a rabid animal of his own design. The after, where the phantom touches of thousands lingered on his skin.
Caressing. Prodding. Touching. As familiar as they were foreign, a reminder of the not-so-distant days when his body existed to be used, and never on his own terms.
It occurred to him as he resided in that hazy, foggy, safe environment within his own mind that perhaps the silence of his own lonely company wasn’t doing him any favors. Acting on that discovery took much longer, of course, but eventually he felt present enough in his own skin to start taking steps to improve his chances.
The mattress was dragged off of the bed frame, pillows and sheets haphazardly scattering about in his wake as he hauled it across the floor and out into the hallway. He didn’t bother with the door - it didn’t matter much if he didn’t plan on returning, after all, and it wasn’t as if he had much in the way of personal items to guard against the other inhabitants here. Astarion only noticed the shaking of his hands when he twisted the knob of Taliira’s door and found it blessedly unlocked.
As quick as he was with his nimble fingers, lock picking didn’t seem entirely feasible right now.
The room inside was… Deserted, a detail he noted with a pang of increased discomfort. No doubt she was out seeing to one of her pet projects in her study of altruism, and logically would be back sometime this evening. Even so, the continued solitude curdled in his gut like spoiled milk, and he shouldered the door open with an agitated, frustrated huff.
The doorknob slammed into - then bounced off of - the wall, and he proceeded to drag his mattress fully into the room before letting it fall onto the floor with a loud slap. May as well get settled in her absence regardless.]
[A wet tongue roused her from her unconscious state, frantically lapping at her cheek and neck. Red eyes fluttered opened and for a second all she should see was white — white fur all but suffocating her as Scratch bounced around her head to her hands and back. Taliira reached a hand up, pressing her fingers against his neck to try to calm him down. Scratch pressed his nose against her throat as he laid down, a whine piercing the silence of the room.]
It's okay, boy. I'm okay.
[It took her a moment to come back to herself, using Scratch's weight to anchor her. The pain was still there, unsurprising, but at least her wound was more or less closed and she wasn't on the verge of dying pathetically alone in the snow anymore.
Someone had found her outside and dragged her ass back inside. The whole thing after the attack was a blur, which she would blame on the blood loss and fear. She didn't recall having her wound treated, or when Scratch showed up, but she would imagine it had been a few hours now and she wanted nothing more than go to her room and not think about what just happened.
After about ten minutes of letting Scratch use her as a bed, Taliira pushed herself up, a hand on her middle as she let out a slow groan. It was less pain, and more of a tightness in her stomach. If she moved too fast or the wrong way then she would pull at the stitches and sharp pain would shoot up her chest and make her nauseous.
Slow and easy it was then.
It was about ten minutes later that her door opened, and Scratch was the first one to rush inside. He jumped onto Astarion's bed, a bark loud in the silence of the hallway. She pushed the door open a little more, surprise clear on her face when she saw him there.
And his mattress.
She probably looked as if she had been fed to a bear and spat out, seeing as her clothes were torn and had dried blood all over it. Her hair was also no longer in a ponytail, falling down her back in waves and curls.
And yet her first concern was why he was here, why he had dragged his mattress into her room, and why he looked so scared. She shut the door behind her and made her way towards him.]
Hey. If you wanted to have a sleep over, you could have just asked.
[She smiled at him, careful as she sat down before her legs gave out under her. Her tone was playful, but she doubted the concern was gone from her features. She didn't have the energy to mask it to make him feel better.]
[In his continued solitude he has in fact gone and made himself comfortable, eventually deciding to go back and retrieve his pillows and blankets to pile them on top of his mattress. Busy work had managed to calm some of his nerves, at least, even if that sour attitude still lingered over him like a dark cloud.
For the briefest of moments he considered putting his lockpicking skills to work now that his hands had stopped their trembling. Surely no one would miss a pillow or two, right? Or a few blankets here and there?
The urge was resisted in the end, but only because pilfering the inn rooms felt like too much work to deal with right now when he really just wanted to laze about and sulk. You're welcome, Aldric's Grove.
He'd just finished rearranging his mattress to his own aesthetic tastes when he heard the doorknob begin to twist and open. Astarion turned to face the doorway, hands on his hips, a complaint already prepared on the tip of his tongue.
The scent of blood hit him before a single word escaped his lips. Rich, aromatic, familiar silken tones that made his head spin and his mouth water. The appeal was short lived, however, and that hunger was very quickly ran off by worry and concern. Normally, he'd have shooed the dog off of his clean linen, but he was too busy taking in the state of Tal in all her fucked up glory to even consider it.
He blinked a few times, clearly stunned stupid with concern, and then he narrowed his eyes and huffed out a slow breath.]
I leave you be for a handful of minutes and you nearly get yourself killed. Well, who was it this time then?
[Don't mind him, he's heading off into her bathroom to draw up a bath.]
[The question was met with silence as Astarion busied himself with running her a bath. She let her gaze fall on the mattress, examining his sheets and pillows as if they held the answer to his question. Scratch had made himself comfortable on his bed, curled up against the pillows and blankets as if he owned them.
Her hand was still pressed against her stomach; she was almost afraid of letting go, as if releasing the grip on herself would mean her end. Astarion would return to her lying on his perfectly clean sheets, now ruined with her blood, and all her insides spilling out of her.
The thought alone had her frozen to her spot on the bed for longer than she wished to admit. Death was nothing new to her, so why was this affecting her so much? It was just a wound, she had suffered worse! There was no need to make a big deal out of something so minor, and yet her fingers began to tremble as the sound of water filled the room.
Scratch seemed to notice, and he was moving towards her, pressing her head into her lap. Her fingers found his fur, and she began to slowly brush his neck.
A deep breath in.
A smile.]
No one you know.
[She tried to make her voice sound as carefree and relaxed as possible, so she prayed that the slight tremble went unnoticed. She knew better, but one could hope.]
[She is going to protect and cherish this bird for the rest of her life. It now sits on her bedside table forever — or until she has to wrestle it out of Scratch's mouth and put it somewhere else.
Thank you Elsword.
She is also keeping the note safe in a drawer because it makes her feel soft.
[Hi hello, guess who’s not at all good at giving gifts or celebrating special occasions? If you guessed Astarion you’re correct.
He did remember the date, of course, because it would be pretty terrible for him not to. But beyond that? He hasn’t celebrated a birthday in centuries, and as far as he knows Menzoberranzan culture might dictate that such occasions must be commemorated in death by combat or something along those lines.
Simply put: local vampire has no idea what to get his girlfriendnotgirlfriendyesgirlfriend(???) for her birthday.
Instead of a gift, Tal might notice that her everyday wear has been recently patched up; worn sections of cloth have been reinforced, holes have been mended with expert precision, and any embroidered details have been touched up. In some places, the detailing has even been added to, and each addition blends beautifully with the base layer beneath it.
It’s probably the most thought and care he’s put into another person’s benefit in some time, and he definitely does not want to talk about it, thank you very much. Both parties can continue on as if nothing has occurred.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
10/10
I've been meaning to ask, is this really what I look like?
[He's laying on his back, holding it up in front of himself and examining the curve of his jaw.]
no subject
she sets the little piece of charcoal she was using down between the pages of her journal, closing it and setting it aside to be able to take him in. It tugged at her heart seeing him glued to that mirror, but it drew a smile across her face nonetheless.]
It is.
[She moved over, crawling across the bed to lay beside him, her hair was no longer pulled into the usual ponytail, and instead was simply wild and falling over her shoulders. She could see a portion of herself in the mirror, but this wasn't about her or what she currently looked like.
Instead, she reached over and combed her fingers through his hair.]
What do you think?
no subject
[His response was flippant and casual, and after looking for a few moments longer he was letting his arm drop, resting the mirror face down on his chest. Drumming his fingertips against the handle, he let out a soft, exhaling sigh.]
Be that as it may, I can't help but feel a little... Well. This is me now, and as much as I enjoy endlessly gazing upon my beauty, I can't help but wonder if it's anything like it once was. If it's anything like the me from before.
no subject
Perhaps.
[She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows so she was able to look down at him.]
I'm not an expert in vampiric... well, anything, but I can't imagine you changed too much from back then.
no subject
[He's spoken about this particular topic with her in passing prior to their arrival here, but it's hard not to rehash old topics now that he had the ability to look at himself. To see himself.
He hummed softly in thought, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her pointed ear.]
If I ask you something... Would you mind humoring me? I'd say, "just this once," but you tend to have a habit of caving when I bat my eyelashes at you.
no subject
He had never asked her for something she was unwilling to do, and when something like that would come up, he was at least willing to listen to her. Stubborn as he was.]
What is it?
no subject
You've... Well, I've seen you scribbling away in that little journal enough times to be able to infer that you must have some sort of artistic talent, so...
[A clearing of the throat, hesitating briefly before he forced himself to continue.]
What color would you make them? My eyes, I mean, before they turned red. I'd ah... Like to have at least some starting point to go off of in my personal imaginings.
[Gods, this probably sounded pathetic, didn't it?]
no subject
She didn't touch him, though, despite wanting to be able to look into his eyes for this. She didn't move to grab his chin and turn his head. Instead, she tilted hers, moving to accommodate him but not catching his gaze.]
Green, I think. A deep emerald, perhaps?
no subject
I believe yours would be a soft lilac, were you not sworn to the spider-god by chance of birth. [He hadn't really meant to say such things aloud, but it was too late now, and he'd have to commit.] They'd be rosy and warm in the sunlight, almost like carnations.
no subject
Taliira stared at Astarion for a few seconds, the heat in her cheeks hard to ignore as his words replayed in her mind over and over again. She had never thought about what her eyes might have been had she been born anywhere else. It had never been a question. Lolth had been her entire life that anything outside of it was almost impossible to think of, so contemplating what could have been was...
She let her head drop to his chest as a way to hide her face. There was no need to show him how deep that blush was.]
I've never thought about it, honestly.
Backdating this to sometime mid November bc we both died but also there’s so much angst potential
…Indoors may be just as much a hunting ground as the outside, of course, but he had a feeling that it might be playing by vampiric rules just to toy with him regardless.
What freedom his escape had afforded was ill lived, as he could still feel the lingering sensation of its touch like a frigid, icy brand. Astarion paced about his own quarters, rubbing at the skin of his wrist in an almost feverish manner. Forcing himself back together again felt harder this time, like he was dragging his entrails along on the floor behind him in a grotesque trail of viscera, unable to simply will the wounds closed again.
Because he’d had worse. A slobbering mangy creature was at least something he could fight back against, it shouldn’t be this difficult to recover from the encounters.
Except it wasn’t that easy to brush past, and the delicate sutures he’d meticulously maintained over the years hadn’t popped open now merely at the sight of a giant vermin. It was the after that wouldn’t let him settle, the after that made him feel like some caged lion on display at a festival, pacing about in a room too small and panting like a rabid animal of his own design. The after, where the phantom touches of thousands lingered on his skin.
Caressing. Prodding. Touching. As familiar as they were foreign, a reminder of the not-so-distant days when his body existed to be used, and never on his own terms.
It occurred to him as he resided in that hazy, foggy, safe environment within his own mind that perhaps the silence of his own lonely company wasn’t doing him any favors. Acting on that discovery took much longer, of course, but eventually he felt present enough in his own skin to start taking steps to improve his chances.
The mattress was dragged off of the bed frame, pillows and sheets haphazardly scattering about in his wake as he hauled it across the floor and out into the hallway. He didn’t bother with the door - it didn’t matter much if he didn’t plan on returning, after all, and it wasn’t as if he had much in the way of personal items to guard against the other inhabitants here. Astarion only noticed the shaking of his hands when he twisted the knob of Taliira’s door and found it blessedly unlocked.
As quick as he was with his nimble fingers, lock picking didn’t seem entirely feasible right now.
The room inside was… Deserted, a detail he noted with a pang of increased discomfort. No doubt she was out seeing to one of her pet projects in her study of altruism, and logically would be back sometime this evening. Even so, the continued solitude curdled in his gut like spoiled milk, and he shouldered the door open with an agitated, frustrated huff.
The doorknob slammed into - then bounced off of - the wall, and he proceeded to drag his mattress fully into the room before letting it fall onto the floor with a loud slap. May as well get settled in her absence regardless.]
no subject
It's okay, boy. I'm okay.
[It took her a moment to come back to herself, using Scratch's weight to anchor her. The pain was still there, unsurprising, but at least her wound was more or less closed and she wasn't on the verge of dying pathetically alone in the snow anymore.
Someone had found her outside and dragged her ass back inside. The whole thing after the attack was a blur, which she would blame on the blood loss and fear. She didn't recall having her wound treated, or when Scratch showed up, but she would imagine it had been a few hours now and she wanted nothing more than go to her room and not think about what just happened.
After about ten minutes of letting Scratch use her as a bed, Taliira pushed herself up, a hand on her middle as she let out a slow groan. It was less pain, and more of a tightness in her stomach. If she moved too fast or the wrong way then she would pull at the stitches and sharp pain would shoot up her chest and make her nauseous.
Slow and easy it was then.
It was about ten minutes later that her door opened, and Scratch was the first one to rush inside. He jumped onto Astarion's bed, a bark loud in the silence of the hallway. She pushed the door open a little more, surprise clear on her face when she saw him there.
And his mattress.
She probably looked as if she had been fed to a bear and spat out, seeing as her clothes were torn and had dried blood all over it. Her hair was also no longer in a ponytail, falling down her back in waves and curls.
And yet her first concern was why he was here, why he had dragged his mattress into her room, and why he looked so scared. She shut the door behind her and made her way towards him.]
Hey. If you wanted to have a sleep over, you could have just asked.
[She smiled at him, careful as she sat down before her legs gave out under her. Her tone was playful, but she doubted the concern was gone from her features. She didn't have the energy to mask it to make him feel better.]
no subject
For the briefest of moments he considered putting his lockpicking skills to work now that his hands had stopped their trembling. Surely no one would miss a pillow or two, right? Or a few blankets here and there?
The urge was resisted in the end, but only because pilfering the inn rooms felt like too much work to deal with right now when he really just wanted to laze about and sulk. You're welcome, Aldric's Grove.
He'd just finished rearranging his mattress to his own aesthetic tastes when he heard the doorknob begin to twist and open. Astarion turned to face the doorway, hands on his hips, a complaint already prepared on the tip of his tongue.
The scent of blood hit him before a single word escaped his lips. Rich, aromatic, familiar silken tones that made his head spin and his mouth water. The appeal was short lived, however, and that hunger was very quickly ran off by worry and concern. Normally, he'd have shooed the dog off of his clean linen, but he was too busy taking in the state of Tal in all her fucked up glory to even consider it.
He blinked a few times, clearly stunned stupid with concern, and then he narrowed his eyes and huffed out a slow breath.]
I leave you be for a handful of minutes and you nearly get yourself killed. Well, who was it this time then?
[Don't mind him, he's heading off into her bathroom to draw up a bath.]
no subject
Her hand was still pressed against her stomach; she was almost afraid of letting go, as if releasing the grip on herself would mean her end. Astarion would return to her lying on his perfectly clean sheets, now ruined with her blood, and all her insides spilling out of her.
The thought alone had her frozen to her spot on the bed for longer than she wished to admit. Death was nothing new to her, so why was this affecting her so much? It was just a wound, she had suffered worse! There was no need to make a big deal out of something so minor, and yet her fingers began to tremble as the sound of water filled the room.
Scratch seemed to notice, and he was moving towards her, pressing her head into her lap. Her fingers found his fur, and she began to slowly brush his neck.
A deep breath in.
A smile.]
No one you know.
[She tried to make her voice sound as carefree and relaxed as possible, so she prayed that the slight tremble went unnoticed. She knew better, but one could hope.]
Christmas Day
Hi Taleera-noona!
[Well, he tried.]
I made you a gift! I hope you like it!
[It's a handmade, knit bird. He tried his best, but it's kinda cute, right?]
crying and sobbing
Thank you Elsword.
She is also keeping the note safe in a drawer because it makes her feel soft.
Gift 10/10.]
2/18
He did remember the date, of course, because it would be pretty terrible for him not to. But beyond that? He hasn’t celebrated a birthday in centuries, and as far as he knows Menzoberranzan culture might dictate that such occasions must be commemorated in death by combat or something along those lines.
Simply put: local vampire has no idea what to get his girlfriendnotgirlfriendyesgirlfriend(???) for her birthday.
Instead of a gift, Tal might notice that her everyday wear has been recently patched up; worn sections of cloth have been reinforced, holes have been mended with expert precision, and any embroidered details have been touched up. In some places, the detailing has even been added to, and each addition blends beautifully with the base layer beneath it.
It’s probably the most thought and care he’s put into another person’s benefit in some time, and he definitely does not want to talk about it, thank you very much. Both parties can continue on as if nothing has occurred.]