[ If Astarion's honest -- which is rarely, to be fair -- he hasn't made up his mind on Tav just yet. There is a gravitational pull around her, as de facto leader of their group of tadpoled misfits; and their individual aims are disparate enough, Astarion won't be surprised if the weakest links get lost in the shuffle.
So he makes himself useful. Indispensable, really. Every cave and crypt is trapped to the hells and back, full of locked chests that require a dextrous touch, and Tav can hardly go anywhere without him.
Nor can she go anywhere without the wizard. At first, Astarion thinks she's just humoring Gale's endless string of anecdotes about magic and Waterdeep and all his favorite books, but soon enough they're accompanying each other on private little strolls around camp after dinner, chaste promenades that happen more often than not.
There's an odd part of Astarion that's -- relieved, maybe, that Tav's attention in that particular arena has been caught by someone else. But another, much louder part that insists his usefulness to her will run dry if she follows this thread with Gale to its conclusion. Already, Astarion's had his lockpicks at hand only for Gale to open a chest with a flash of colored light, a flourish, and a knowing look in his direction.
Astarion can't afford to be cast aside. One night, over a bottle of wine, Shadowheart notes that Tav seems to still be playing the field, despite the way Astarion's vision has narrowed solely to her interest in Gale; Tav has flirted with her, she shares, and has given her fair share of thinly-veiled advances to Wyll as well. No harm in any of it, with which Astarion agrees.
The Grove is a messy, exhausting affair, but Astarion is Tav's second pick for her frontline party, after Gale. Casualties on both sides, but they save more tieflings than they lose, and Astarion catches that heady flush of victory on her face as she embraces her comrades in turn. A party tonight will be perfect, she says with her arms wound around Astarion's neck, and Astarion can't help but agree.
Tav graciously entertains their guests before getting around to her companions, which means she's at least a bottle deep by the time Astarion intercepts her by the fire. She is pretty, Astarion thinks; conventionally so, by human standards. Whether or not she's nice to look at doesn't matter to him, in the end, but he can see why Gale's been casting his big brown puppy dog eyes upon her. Pretty and kind with a talent for drawing people together, while Astarion knows he's only the first of those things.
But Astarion also knows precisely how to turn on the rogueish charm. He's fairly certain no one's directly propositioned her, yet -- and he correctly clocks that that alone excites her. The thrill, the passion of sleeping with the vampire after a major victory! Who could resist?
Naturally, word of his early claim spreads quickly. Astarion doesn't bother listening in on any of her other conversations, but he is curious about Gale: he tucks himself into the shadows, close enough to a small group of tieflings to seem like he's just socializing.
Gale cedes victory for the night, but not without the implication that he's not giving up on her. There's a dark pleasure that skirts across Astarion's shoulders when Gale likens him to a tiger, of all things -- that Gale has been forced to think about Astarion during his courtship with Tav at all.
It would be stupid to tell Gale that it's nothing personal, but for Astarion, it truly isn't. Purely tactical, which is perhaps exactly what Gale is warning Tav against.
Still, she comes to Astarion willingly. Drinks up all of his lines and opens her body to him, just as planned; even gives him the gift of her bare throat. In the afterglow, she tells Astarion she'd rather get back to her bedroll than sleep on the hard ground, which is just as well. They throw their rumpled clothing back on and Astarion pulls her in for one more long, lingering kiss before she stumbles back to camp, grinning at him until she disappears amongst the foliage.
Astarion cuts over to the wooded edge of the river, instead of following. He's buzzed, both from the alcohol in Tav's blood and an adrenaline that's not unlike the urge to run, now that he doesn't have to play for her. It's a discomfiting combination, twisting in his gut, and Astarion follows his body to the shoreline just as dawn threatens to spill over the dark water. Not such a threat, anymore. Still a strange feeling.
His bare feet are light on the sand, and he clocks the other figure long before they're likely to clock him. Astarion can't say he's surprised to see Gale, dressed down and looking beautifully sullen with a near-empty bottle of wine by his side, though he had intended to wash this night away in private. It takes him a moment to pull a mask back on, something exuding the confidence of a sated lover rather than a desperate animal who's locked in on their quarry as he saunters to Gale's side. ]
Isn't it a bit late to be sulking into a bottle all by yourself? Or early, I suppose.
jealousy o'clock
So he makes himself useful. Indispensable, really. Every cave and crypt is trapped to the hells and back, full of locked chests that require a dextrous touch, and Tav can hardly go anywhere without him.
Nor can she go anywhere without the wizard. At first, Astarion thinks she's just humoring Gale's endless string of anecdotes about magic and Waterdeep and all his favorite books, but soon enough they're accompanying each other on private little strolls around camp after dinner, chaste promenades that happen more often than not.
There's an odd part of Astarion that's -- relieved, maybe, that Tav's attention in that particular arena has been caught by someone else. But another, much louder part that insists his usefulness to her will run dry if she follows this thread with Gale to its conclusion. Already, Astarion's had his lockpicks at hand only for Gale to open a chest with a flash of colored light, a flourish, and a knowing look in his direction.
Astarion can't afford to be cast aside. One night, over a bottle of wine, Shadowheart notes that Tav seems to still be playing the field, despite the way Astarion's vision has narrowed solely to her interest in Gale; Tav has flirted with her, she shares, and has given her fair share of thinly-veiled advances to Wyll as well. No harm in any of it, with which Astarion agrees.
The Grove is a messy, exhausting affair, but Astarion is Tav's second pick for her frontline party, after Gale. Casualties on both sides, but they save more tieflings than they lose, and Astarion catches that heady flush of victory on her face as she embraces her comrades in turn. A party tonight will be perfect, she says with her arms wound around Astarion's neck, and Astarion can't help but agree.
Tav graciously entertains their guests before getting around to her companions, which means she's at least a bottle deep by the time Astarion intercepts her by the fire. She is pretty, Astarion thinks; conventionally so, by human standards. Whether or not she's nice to look at doesn't matter to him, in the end, but he can see why Gale's been casting his big brown puppy dog eyes upon her. Pretty and kind with a talent for drawing people together, while Astarion knows he's only the first of those things.
But Astarion also knows precisely how to turn on the rogueish charm. He's fairly certain no one's directly propositioned her, yet -- and he correctly clocks that that alone excites her. The thrill, the passion of sleeping with the vampire after a major victory! Who could resist?
Naturally, word of his early claim spreads quickly. Astarion doesn't bother listening in on any of her other conversations, but he is curious about Gale: he tucks himself into the shadows, close enough to a small group of tieflings to seem like he's just socializing.
Gale cedes victory for the night, but not without the implication that he's not giving up on her. There's a dark pleasure that skirts across Astarion's shoulders when Gale likens him to a tiger, of all things -- that Gale has been forced to think about Astarion during his courtship with Tav at all.
It would be stupid to tell Gale that it's nothing personal, but for Astarion, it truly isn't. Purely tactical, which is perhaps exactly what Gale is warning Tav against.
Still, she comes to Astarion willingly. Drinks up all of his lines and opens her body to him, just as planned; even gives him the gift of her bare throat. In the afterglow, she tells Astarion she'd rather get back to her bedroll than sleep on the hard ground, which is just as well. They throw their rumpled clothing back on and Astarion pulls her in for one more long, lingering kiss before she stumbles back to camp, grinning at him until she disappears amongst the foliage.
Astarion cuts over to the wooded edge of the river, instead of following. He's buzzed, both from the alcohol in Tav's blood and an adrenaline that's not unlike the urge to run, now that he doesn't have to play for her. It's a discomfiting combination, twisting in his gut, and Astarion follows his body to the shoreline just as dawn threatens to spill over the dark water. Not such a threat, anymore. Still a strange feeling.
His bare feet are light on the sand, and he clocks the other figure long before they're likely to clock him. Astarion can't say he's surprised to see Gale, dressed down and looking beautifully sullen with a near-empty bottle of wine by his side, though he had intended to wash this night away in private. It takes him a moment to pull a mask back on, something exuding the confidence of a sated lover rather than a desperate animal who's locked in on their quarry as he saunters to Gale's side. ]
Isn't it a bit late to be sulking into a bottle all by yourself? Or early, I suppose.