PSL — EXSANGUE

[corporeity]

— TEXTS, PROMPTS, STARTERS

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[corporeity]

[ A trick of the light sharpens Astarion’s incisor to a fine point. There’s a strange sensation at his back, a disruption in the Weave that he’d think was a warning, if he were still Mystra’s chosen. He isn’t, so he ignores it.

For a brief moment, he wonders if this is a third trick — the fool, the flirt, the damsel — but Astarion’s voice has a different tenor from before. ]

I see. [ measured, his countenance set in careful neutrality. ] Then I hope you spend your time in Waterdeep doing whatever you please. [ and, in the spirit of honesty: ] Though I’d suggest not wasting a perfectly lovely evening on a lush, even if he is your date.

[exsangue]

[ Doing whatever you please. Astarion yearns for exactly that, but there's a quiet, yawning terror barely a pace behind him that knows what will happen to him if - when, the voice provides - Cazador catches up to him.

Death would be too kind. He spent a year in a tomb, once, for a much simpler disobedience than this, his fingers bloody from clawing at stone, only silence and the rot of time his constant companions.

Astarion's gaze is somewhere else, for a moment, before he finds himself back in the library with Gale. He can feel the way he's drained most of the goodwill from their encounter, and doesn't have it in him to put one of his masks back on to try salvaging this for a longer con. ]

You're right. [ Astarion summons one last burst of the charlatan, busying himself with putting the books back on the shelf. ]
It won't be so hard to give him the slip and enjoy the stars on my own. I think I'll do just that.

[ He takes Gale's hand, suddenly, bending just so to press a kiss to his knuckles. As he straightens, a gleam in his eye, ]

It was a pleasure to meet you, Gale Dekarios.

[ Hands him Volo's instead, while he's potentially distracted by the kiss, the covers and weight not dissimilar. Strides back to the hearth with Arkhenneld tucked out of sight, sweeps up his jacket - and the gold cufflinks - and hides both book and cufflinks amidst the fur.

Gale will notice shortly. Which is why Astarion wastes no time in slipping back to the door, the very brief hourglass with which he has to escape unseen already beginning to tick down. ]

I'll give the ladies your regards. [ From the crack of the door, before it's shut behind him and he's sprinting down the hall to the exit to vanish entirely from this man's life. ]

fin.

[corporeity]

[ One second, Astarion is there, and the next, Gale watches him disappear, gone away inside or somewhere else entirely. Can’t help but wonder if he overstepped, by disparaging his escort for the night.

To his relief, the moment passes. Gale chooses not to inspect the spark of pleasure he feels, at Astarion abandoning his date. It’s a natural thing, when one has helped another see clearly. More difficult to ignore is the rush of warmth, flushing his face, as Astarion kisses his hand. He even forgets to fret over Astarion’s haphazard treatment of these precious books, too dumbstruck by the surprising tenderness. ]

And you, Astarion. [ called out to his retreating form, book clasped against his chest. ]

[ Absorbed in his thoughts, he’s halfway up the ladder before he realises the book in his hand isn’t, in fact, the priceless journal of Arkhenneld. Searching the shelves for the misplaced item yields only other, incorrectly slotted books (that Gale swiftly rearranges). It’s only when Gale moves to collect his things and finds them equally lacking that he comprehends what happened. Fuck. ]