She's never been bowed to before, not with anything approaching seriousness anyway; not that she would say this is, but also he's not drunk and guffawing and flirting, so. It counts.
She adds it to the list, raising her glass in a toast by way of reply and smiling, anyway.
She knows the smell, even though she's only human; it's not strong though, not baked in the sun and congealed on rotting ribs, so she just takes a drink out of her own glass until the alcohol in it numbs her sinus passages at least for a moment.
"Not much changed: pretty bullshit," she comments, drily. "Got wardens running around that don't even know how to apologize offering counseling, and I don't know why putting us through puberty twice was a good idea."
She eyes him. "That wasn't teenage vampirism, was it?"
"It was early in my vampiric career, so to speak, but the lightly deranged behaviour on my part was due to having been buried alive for about a year," Astarion says briskly, and sips his blood. "To a given value of 'alive', obviously."
"I mean. That'll probably do it," she blinks, eyes widening slightly, but it doesn't quite reach horrified levels; just surprised, in more than one way.
But, despite the fact she asked: "We don't have to talk about it, but I do think it's relevant to ask: was it the drinking from humans thing that got you in trouble with him?"
"Ha! Yes, but not in the way you're thinking. It was my failure - rather, my refusal to bring home a human for him to drink that did it."
He's been keeping the finer details of his previous life fairly close to his chest, to this point, but...at this point, he's finding it hard to care. His very first flood was one that literally advertised some of his most closely held secrets. Why bother?
She studies him over the rim of her glass, sipping at it while she thinks. She has pretty good gut instincts about people, she usually knows when someone is being dishonest with her or holding back, and she hasn't gotten that impression with him specifically.
But none of the people she's used to can survive a year being buried alive, either, so what else is different? Still.
"Why refuse?" she asks, since he gave more details himself.
"The consequences of teenage vampirism, you might say. I was testing his boundaries, and...I didn't expect them to be quite so barbed when I found them."
It's a half-truth at best, but the whole truth still feels too much like a raw wound, over a century later.
"I'm sure John could be more imaginative in his tortures if he so chose,
but he's a warden because he's choosing not to. You might have seen him
around? A yellow cloak, a white mask, no body to speak of."
"Well, then. Having a face to punch would also be desirable - but in the
absence of those, I haven't seen any specific wardens wandering the halls
and daydreamed about what might have been. You haven't been assigned yet, I
take it?"
"Temporary pairing," she answers, shrugging. No file. She's confident in her ability to back off anyone she wants backed off, but the file is intimidating.
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There's a first time for everything. Half an hour?
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[And she will be there, indeed some days old bruising to mostly one side of her face, but otherwise apparently un-revenged.
She also already has a drink.]
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Astarion arrives roughly on time, pauses a few paces away and offers a fluttering bow.
"A fine evening to you, dear lady. May I join you?"
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She adds it to the list, raising her glass in a toast by way of reply and smiling, anyway.
"Please do. You found the place."
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"Thank you."
He finds a glass to decant a bag of Barge-provided blood into - he's not an animal, after all - and then takes a seat next to her.
"So. What are your impressions of this redemptive voyage so far, darling?"
cw: minor gore
"Not much changed: pretty bullshit," she comments, drily. "Got wardens running around that don't even know how to apologize offering counseling, and I don't know why putting us through puberty twice was a good idea."
She eyes him. "That wasn't teenage vampirism, was it?"
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"It was early in my vampiric career, so to speak, but the lightly deranged behaviour on my part was due to having been buried alive for about a year," Astarion says briskly, and sips his blood. "To a given value of 'alive', obviously."
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But, despite the fact she asked: "We don't have to talk about it, but I do think it's relevant to ask: was it the drinking from humans thing that got you in trouble with him?"
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"Ha! Yes, but not in the way you're thinking. It was my failure - rather, my refusal to bring home a human for him to drink that did it."
He's been keeping the finer details of his previous life fairly close to his chest, to this point, but...at this point, he's finding it hard to care. His very first flood was one that literally advertised some of his most closely held secrets. Why bother?
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But none of the people she's used to can survive a year being buried alive, either, so what else is different? Still.
"Why refuse?" she asks, since he gave more details himself.
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"The consequences of teenage vampirism, you might say. I was testing his boundaries, and...I didn't expect them to be quite so barbed when I found them."
It's a half-truth at best, but the whole truth still feels too much like a raw wound, over a century later.
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Matters what you would say.
"Well I'm glad it wasn't your warden. I'd hate to get a reputation as a troublemaker this early on."
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Astarion smiles.
"I'm sure John could be more imaginative in his tortures if he so chose, but he's a warden because he's choosing not to. You might have seen him around? A yellow cloak, a white mask, no body to speak of."
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No use arguing though. She nods. "I have. I tend to stay away from those."
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His smile becomes a curious smirk; he lifts an eyebrow.
"Stay away from - what? Unknowable, disembodied entities from other planes?"
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Unrepentant.
"Mama always told me to mind the ancestors."
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"Probably very wise of her," Astarion says, unfazed. "Though John isn't a ghost. He's....well. A different species of being altogether."
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"You like him?"
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"He's...fine," is Astarion's review of John Doe. "I don't dislike him."
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"Is there anyone you'd rather?"
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"It'd be petty to say 'anyone I'd find it easier to get demoted', wouldn't it?"
But, you know. That.
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"But I think in this particular case, petty is closer to fair than most would want to admit."
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"Well, then. Having a face to punch would also be desirable - but in the absence of those, I haven't seen any specific wardens wandering the halls and daydreamed about what might have been. You haven't been assigned yet, I take it?"
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"She's younger than I am."
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