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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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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.

"Doesn't really matter what I would say, does it?" she asks, but that's just word games. Just semantics. Still, she raises an eyebrow.

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."

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."

"Mmhmm," she answers, skeptically, because she has strong opinions these days on what's considered moral and what's not.

No use arguing though. She nods. "I have. I tend to stay away from those."

His smile becomes a curious smirk; he lifts an eyebrow.

"Stay away from - what? Unknowable, disembodied entities from other planes?"

"Whenever possible, yes."

Unrepentant.

"Mama always told me to mind the ancestors."

"Probably very wise of her," Astarion says, unfazed. "Though John isn't a ghost. He's....well. A different species of being altogether."

"Not for us to say what the ancestors are," she replies with such sage severity she can't possibly be serious.

"You like him?"

"He's...fine," is Astarion's review of John Doe. "I don't dislike him."

"Strong praise," she comments nonetheless, finishing off her drink and standing to get another.

"Is there anyone you'd rather?"

"It'd be petty to say 'anyone I'd find it easier to get demoted', wouldn't it?"

But, you know. That.

"Probably," she answers, lips quirking.

"But I think in this particular case, petty is closer to fair than most would want to admit."

"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.

"She's younger than I am."

"Is that a problem?"

He's asking the question levelly; he honestly doesn't know how she would feel about it, but the simple fact of her saying so implies that it's an issue.

"Problem isnt the right word," she decides after a moment, chewing on her lip.

"It's just weird, mostly. I have a hard enough time believing anyone here has anything useful for me. Throw in age and it's whatever."

Astarion sighs.

"I'm sure their reasoning would be that they aren't trying to give you anything," he drawls. "Merely...guide, or help, or whatever nonsense."

"Which is even more nonsense, when almost no one here even knows what they're allegedly trying to guide me through."

She finishes her drink, and stands to get herself another. Whenever she starts thinking about it too much, she realizes she's not drunk enough for it.