[ He's curious what sort of establishment keeps bloodwine on the menu.
Two days come and go, and he arrives (mostly) on time at the chosen destination. As soon as he pulls down the hood of his cloak he feels the weight of eyes on him, most only for a brief moment - though he's aware of a few that linger. Those he gives a wide berth as he seeks out a certain familiar face amongst the rest of the patrons. ]
[Mostly one that he and Alucard frequent, and which Jaskier has put in a special request for keeping it in stock for his dhampir friend. (And Jaskier is not totally opposed to it himself. It has a bite he appreciates on some harder days.)
Jaskier, as promised once he's sent Astarion a time, has occupied a prime table and already has two glasses waiting, placed atop lacy coasters.
And once the vampire walks in, Jaskier gives him a wave. Alongside the two glasses is a canvas, carefully wrapped with delicate red ribbon.]
I brought a little surprise for you.
[The finished painting, which he'd put off some performances to finish. Now he sort of understands the appeal -- how he would find a certain energy, and paint for hours without feeling time pass.
And... he took the vampire's careful criticisms into account. There is no more (tasteful) mole, and the wrinkles are far less noticeable.] I do hope that, this time, it's more what you expected. And no, you needn't look at it in front of me.
[Lest the vampire finds more company to run from. Though considering it was Geralt, smelling of horse and holding dripping scorpions, he supposes he can't blame Astarion for it. Entirely.]
[ Astarion gracefully makes his way to the table, seating himself and reaching for the wine - though the ribbon-wrapped canvas gets a raised eyebrow before Jaskier begins to explain.
It takes him a moment to connect the dots, seeing as how he happily put the whole episode behind him the moment he skittered out of Jaskier's abode. And with the unexpected gift around the holidays, he assumed the bard had done the same.
He glances down at canvas with a blank look and then - oh. His brow furrows as the memory of secondhand embarrassment threatens to rush back in like the tide (along with the unnatural stench of his hunter companion...) ]
Darling, you really didn't have to - [ take everything I said so seriously... no, he can be nice. He can... salvage this before it turns sideways again. It's just going to take - he sighs, glancing toward the ceiling as though there's anyone up there that can help - what a joke. ]
I suppose... I owe you an explanation of sorts.
[ A pause, and he sets his glass down again, looking a bit tired. He doesn't really know how much Jaskier understands about vampires, let alone the similarities and differences between all the different realms... ]
One of the very few and far between benefits of being... what I am, is ageless immortality. I remain beautiful forever - and the only catch is that I can never see my own face in the mirror again. No reflection, nothing.
[ So, he maybe gets a little sensitive when confronted with certain details, let alone artistic interpretation... ]
[He has to say, there are very few people, if any, that could make Jaskier feel a pang of guilt for being a little petty. There is certainly a petty part of him that listened to Astarion's requests, after he got over that initial desire to destroy it (which he put far too much work into, and suffered a neck ache for, to do.)
It's not what he says, but the tone -- the look on his face as if he is seeking patience from a higher power.]
I believe I've heard such a thing before. If it sets your heart at ease, know I do nothing because I must.
[Possibly outside of breathing. But he sees no point in being cruel about it, especially when he recalls how Astarion mentioned keeping that little sketch of his. And though Jaskier is about to say you really owe me nothing, the curious part of him wins over his mouth in order to keep him silent, giving Astarion the room to reconsider.
Of course he wishes to know more. He's not stupid. And if the chance comes...
His brows raise behind the hanging strands of his hair that have fallen from behind his ears.] You what? [He squawks, pounding the table without meaning to. A few eyes glance their way, then away.] Ever? How is that possible? Is that -- some sort of curse?
[Oh, no. He's already formulating how he's going to make this happen, past a painting. Every man deserves his gods-given right to fret over his physical appearance for the rest of his days! (Even if, now, it certainly does make sense. Beyond being a bit of a peacock.)]
[ He's kept the little sketch, even after the painting debacle.
That loud reaction wasn't one he was expecting... Astarion's eyes widen as he's startled by the table pounding, and then his gaze darts to the table at their left, locking eyes with another patron long enough for his gaze to narrow in a glare at them before turning back to Jaskier. ]
Well - yes? I suppose? A curse, a vampiric bane, whatever you'd like to call it... [ it's all fairly common knowledge in adventuring circles. Clearly it's different in Jaskier's realm for vampires, though. ] ... I suppose it's one of the lesser issues we're burdened with - but it's taken over two centuries to catch even so much as a glimpse of myself.
[ Which, at this point, he's fairly certain is a problem Jaskier can empathize with. There's something cold and distant in his tone as he explains, but then he sighs, shaking his head and waving his hand again. ]
A friend's been instructing me on a spell to get around it to a degree. A loophole.
[ So don't pity him too much. Or at all. That's the last thing he wants or needs. ]
[Ah. Oops.] Sorry. [He smooths his hand over the table as if that makes the sound have no longer happened. It's hardly in Jaskier to think twice of such things when he's already got eyes on him most of the time; he can, however, recognize Astarion does not appreciate the same.] I just -- can't imagine.
[He sits back, taking a breath. Yes, yes, it does take a backseat to all the drinking of blood and being unable to eat, but this is. It just feels like an additional bit of curse that offers nothing except to be an annoyance.] Especially with how bloody annoying it would be to dress and do one's hair.
[He's lived almost the entirety of his life without mirrors, but he did have reflections in other things. Glass, water. It was more than having absolutely nothing.]
Oh! Really? I didn't realize you could use magic. I mean. Already. Besides being, ah... [An elf. He recognizes not all elves from other worlds necessarily know magic. He moves on. Obviously Summoned have access to it, but not all even bother. His brows lift, and he relaxes once again.] Some sort of illusion, I imagine?
[ Astarion too casually brushes off the apology. The first time he'd ever spoken about this to anyone, he'd been made to feel like he was overreacting. The topic hasn't often come up since then.
As for the additional attention, it's one thing to draw eyes because of your fame and reputation. Astarion, for better or worse, draws curious glances wherever he goes. He supposes most people would assume he enjoys the attention, but the truth is more complicated than he cares to explain or think about. Sometimes it would be nice, he thinks, to just be able to turn it off without the need to draw his hood, or lurk in the shadows. It'd be nice to control it. ]
It's a struggle few have appreciated. [ But he'll tell everyone that he wakes up like this. Vampirism does have some benefits, he supposes.
He doesn't want to linger on the topic too long, though, lest this burst of empathy bleed into something closer to pity. So an eyebrow arches at besides being... ]
A Mirror Image, as it's so aptly named. [ He tilts his head slightly, then sighs. ] I never had any particular magical aptitude, but we all learn a spell or two when we're still young. [ It's all a blur, like so many memories of his mortal life. ]
It's similar for the elven folk of your world, I take it?
[At least the name of it lends some suspicions onto what, exactly, such magic does. And for it to have a proper name, seemingly with Capital Letters, Jaskier can guess it is either something from his home, or... well, not from the schools around here, though one would be hard-pressed to find a willing teach of magic without resorting to the black market. At least in Cadens. Perhaps especially in Cadens.
Aquila... maybe. Perhaps not black markets, but certainly shadier ones.]
"We"? [Oh. Ah. There's a bit of a sad pall to Jaskier's face at the mention; not for Astarion so much as what elves and magic and children as a topic together entails.]
If they had young to teach, I would think so. [He rubs a hand over his face. Quite a change from the man so excited to share the painting, but -- his heart is still so heavy when he thinks of them. As it always will be.] If the stories are true, the elves were the ones who taught us -- humans -- magic. Until it was turned against them. I suppose it is hardly a surprisingly conclusion to most stories, but... the effects of such a tide turned against them has led rise to an angry sea. When I left my sphere, I'm afraid a great war was brewing, and the elves still living were caught in the middle of it.
[He sighs.] Well. Suppose the war's officially started now.
[A moment of quiet, and his eyes come back to the present, to meet Astarion's pretty garnet-colored ones.] I hardly should think you wish to hear the ills of elves from my sphere.
[ He settles a little more comfortable in his seat, leaning back with one elbow draped over the back of the chair and toying with his glass with the other hand. His expression gives away little more than mild curiosity with the arch of an eyebrow.
A light shrug with one shoulder. ]
You're not wrong. [ That he's not particularly interested in the subject. With Urianger, another elf, it's a little different. No, with Jaskier his curiosity lies in an adjacent space. ]
I've been this longer than I was living elf. [ Another bitter edge to his tone, and he scoffs. ] I wager that most of my own people don't consider me kin anymore. I could hardly blame them, honestly. [ He could. ]
Difficult to get past the business of bloodlust and fangs.
[ He swirls the wine in his glass, watching the liquid lap close to the rim. ]
I suppose... I merely wondered why you always look so despondent whenever you speak of them.
[The answer is so frank it does give rise to a slightly deflated laugh. It is a struggle, he thinks, that is foreign to Astarion -- for the reasons he describes. The Continent cannot have an elf turned into a vampire, for they are born as such, but... well. Perhaps he is more optimistic. The elves, he thinks, have even embraced those with only part-elven ancestry.
Being a vampire is, of course, a far different matter.]
Couldn't you? [Blame them. He senses Astarion is not very charitable about such things. Or about most things. Which isn't a tick against him, of course. Jaskier is quite volatile in offenses himself.
The bard resettles himself, fiddling with the edges of his coat and how they lay over his legs.] Do I come off that depressing? [He teases, but it's a little startling to know it's so... obvious.] The people were turning against them, as the war grew closer. Before I came here, I was... helping move those that could find me to somewhere safer. Possibly illegally. And often now, I think, if those routes I set up remained. If someone else has taken up the mantle that I created.
[He swirls his glass, then takes a long, long draw of it. Even the burst of alcohol is not enough to slurry through his mind fast enough.] Maudlin. And it matters little now that the war is full in effect. Now I'm here, with a whole new plane to make trouble in. Perhaps by next year, I'll have the queen's head on a platter instead.
[ Couldn't you? He allows himself to grimace, which ought to be answer enough. Here, maybe, he can be an elf and a vampire - both are a novelty to most. In his own world, he's just another monster lurking in the shadows. Worse, even - a monster's slave, fodder for bright shining heroes to vanquish before they reach the master.
Gods, now he's just depressing himself. And he's acutely aware that it's making the man on the other side of the table uncomfortable as well. Normally he enjoys making people squirm. Not this time, though. He doesn't mask the way his gaze fixes on Jaskier as he explains his hero's journey. Some months ago the same story would have incurred venomous barbs from Astarion. He's had no patience for heroes. But - ]
I suppose it makes some sort of sense for you to dwell on their fate, then. [ While there's a condescending lilt to his tone at first - he's incapable of saying such a thing otherwise, the way he ends it is strikingly sincere, and a little sad: ] You seem like you have a good heart.
[ It still feels foolish of him to genuinely trust such a thing about anyone, but apparently that's what meeting a string of decent people will do to you when you're temporarily no longer crushed under the heel of a sadist. He sighs, and then a mischievous gleam returns to his eye. ]
It is, like you well know, only the mental barbs left by work unfinished. [Whether it's killing one's master or trying to ensure that elves are not systematically wiped out by a population grown to hate them.
Jaskier cannot say he did not add salt upon the wound. Toss a Coin is a favourite, but it is not favourable to elves. It never was meant to be, all things considered. Perhaps Astarion can put two and two together one day, and think that this is a point especially in why Jaskier wished to help him.
Jaskier's laugh in response is low and dry.]
Perhaps. I claim nothing about my heart but that it beats. [He waves such an accusation away, as pretty as it is. He has done horrible things to get by, just as many have. Though he can't say there's blood on his hands, so he has a bit of an advantage on some.
It strikes him that Astarion seems to comment on such things -- the morals of others, and quite directly. He wonders if such musings turn internally... or perhaps they hardly ever leave him. Two hundred years is such an ungraspable amount of time to spend in one's mind. It is worth mentioning enough that is yet still sane.]
You did unfortunately miss the last hanging, but surely the Free Cities will find plenty more scapegoats to kill for the delight of others. [That's simply a fact.] The queen of Thorne is a bit more personal. I've hardly ever been a royalist.
[To say the least. Jaskier takes him in for a moment, then leans on his hand with a smile. He hasn't even looked at the painting. And while Jaskier really wishes to needle him about it... perhaps it is best left to Astarion's privacy.] Now come. Don't be shy. Order as much bloodwine on my tab as you wish, and we'll speak on less maudlin things. I heard you've found some work...?
[ There's no point in lingering on the topic as they begin to move on, and he gladly takes another drink from his glass, feeling suddenly disquieted while unable (and unwilling) to reflect on why.
And so he latches onto the morbid in place of the maudlin - ]
Pah -! Hangings are a bit too bloodless for my liking...
[ But court gossip is something he quite enjoys. Something to ask again about in a moment. As for the question turned back to him... he rolls his eyes, although not directed at Jaskier peronally. ]
I have! Something of a cross between legal counsel, promoter, and minder-of-infants...
[ To which he will begin to explain his adventures at Rio Enterprises and his possibly one-sided feud with some of the other employees - he might not have a bard's gift for storytelling, but he's hardly a bore. He won't take up all the air in the room, though, and is still keen to ask Jaskier about his own adventures...
And yes, he will order plenty of bloodwine, too. ]
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cointosser) wrote2021-04-12 08:58 pm
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Two days it is.
Until then.
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I'm only patient when it's absolutely necessary.
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Two days come and go, and he arrives (mostly) on time at the chosen destination. As soon as he pulls down the hood of his cloak he feels the weight of eyes on him, most only for a brief moment - though he's aware of a few that linger. Those he gives a wide berth as he seeks out a certain familiar face amongst the rest of the patrons. ]
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Jaskier, as promised once he's sent Astarion a time, has occupied a prime table and already has two glasses waiting, placed atop lacy coasters.
And once the vampire walks in, Jaskier gives him a wave. Alongside the two glasses is a canvas, carefully wrapped with delicate red ribbon.]
I brought a little surprise for you.
[The finished painting, which he'd put off some performances to finish. Now he sort of understands the appeal -- how he would find a certain energy, and paint for hours without feeling time pass.
And... he took the vampire's careful criticisms into account. There is no more (tasteful) mole, and the wrinkles are far less noticeable.] I do hope that, this time, it's more what you expected. And no, you needn't look at it in front of me.
[Lest the vampire finds more company to run from. Though considering it was Geralt, smelling of horse and holding dripping scorpions, he supposes he can't blame Astarion for it. Entirely.]
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It takes him a moment to connect the dots, seeing as how he happily put the whole episode behind him the moment he skittered out of Jaskier's abode. And with the unexpected gift around the holidays, he assumed the bard had done the same.
He glances down at canvas with a blank look and then - oh. His brow furrows as the memory of secondhand embarrassment threatens to rush back in like the tide (along with the unnatural stench of his hunter companion...) ]
Darling, you really didn't have to - [ take everything I said so seriously... no, he can be nice. He can... salvage this before it turns sideways again. It's just going to take - he sighs, glancing toward the ceiling as though there's anyone up there that can help - what a joke. ]
I suppose... I owe you an explanation of sorts.
[ A pause, and he sets his glass down again, looking a bit tired. He doesn't really know how much Jaskier understands about vampires, let alone the similarities and differences between all the different realms... ]
One of the very few and far between benefits of being... what I am, is ageless immortality. I remain beautiful forever - and the only catch is that I can never see my own face in the mirror again. No reflection, nothing.
[ So, he maybe gets a little sensitive when confronted with certain details, let alone artistic interpretation... ]
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It's not what he says, but the tone -- the look on his face as if he is seeking patience from a higher power.]
I believe I've heard such a thing before. If it sets your heart at ease, know I do nothing because I must.
[Possibly outside of breathing. But he sees no point in being cruel about it, especially when he recalls how Astarion mentioned keeping that little sketch of his. And though Jaskier is about to say you really owe me nothing, the curious part of him wins over his mouth in order to keep him silent, giving Astarion the room to reconsider.
Of course he wishes to know more. He's not stupid. And if the chance comes...
His brows raise behind the hanging strands of his hair that have fallen from behind his ears.] You what? [He squawks, pounding the table without meaning to. A few eyes glance their way, then away.] Ever? How is that possible? Is that -- some sort of curse?
[Oh, no. He's already formulating how he's going to make this happen, past a painting. Every man deserves his gods-given right to fret over his physical appearance for the rest of his days! (Even if, now, it certainly does make sense. Beyond being a bit of a peacock.)]
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That loud reaction wasn't one he was expecting... Astarion's eyes widen as he's startled by the table pounding, and then his gaze darts to the table at their left, locking eyes with another patron long enough for his gaze to narrow in a glare at them before turning back to Jaskier. ]
Well - yes? I suppose? A curse, a vampiric bane, whatever you'd like to call it... [ it's all fairly common knowledge in adventuring circles. Clearly it's different in Jaskier's realm for vampires, though. ] ... I suppose it's one of the lesser issues we're burdened with - but it's taken over two centuries to catch even so much as a glimpse of myself.
[ Which, at this point, he's fairly certain is a problem Jaskier can empathize with. There's something cold and distant in his tone as he explains, but then he sighs, shaking his head and waving his hand again. ]
A friend's been instructing me on a spell to get around it to a degree. A loophole.
[ So don't pity him too much. Or at all. That's the last thing he wants or needs. ]
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[He sits back, taking a breath. Yes, yes, it does take a backseat to all the drinking of blood and being unable to eat, but this is. It just feels like an additional bit of curse that offers nothing except to be an annoyance.] Especially with how bloody annoying it would be to dress and do one's hair.
[He's lived almost the entirety of his life without mirrors, but he did have reflections in other things. Glass, water. It was more than having absolutely nothing.]
Oh! Really? I didn't realize you could use magic. I mean. Already. Besides being, ah... [An elf. He recognizes not all elves from other worlds necessarily know magic. He moves on. Obviously Summoned have access to it, but not all even bother. His brows lift, and he relaxes once again.] Some sort of illusion, I imagine?
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As for the additional attention, it's one thing to draw eyes because of your fame and reputation. Astarion, for better or worse, draws curious glances wherever he goes. He supposes most people would assume he enjoys the attention, but the truth is more complicated than he cares to explain or think about. Sometimes it would be nice, he thinks, to just be able to turn it off without the need to draw his hood, or lurk in the shadows. It'd be nice to control it. ]
It's a struggle few have appreciated. [ But he'll tell everyone that he wakes up like this. Vampirism does have some benefits, he supposes.
He doesn't want to linger on the topic too long, though, lest this burst of empathy bleed into something closer to pity. So an eyebrow arches at besides being... ]
A Mirror Image, as it's so aptly named. [ He tilts his head slightly, then sighs. ] I never had any particular magical aptitude, but we all learn a spell or two when we're still young. [ It's all a blur, like so many memories of his mortal life. ]
It's similar for the elven folk of your world, I take it?
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Aquila... maybe. Perhaps not black markets, but certainly shadier ones.]
"We"? [Oh. Ah. There's a bit of a sad pall to Jaskier's face at the mention; not for Astarion so much as what elves and magic and children as a topic together entails.]
If they had young to teach, I would think so. [He rubs a hand over his face. Quite a change from the man so excited to share the painting, but -- his heart is still so heavy when he thinks of them. As it always will be.] If the stories are true, the elves were the ones who taught us -- humans -- magic. Until it was turned against them. I suppose it is hardly a surprisingly conclusion to most stories, but... the effects of such a tide turned against them has led rise to an angry sea. When I left my sphere, I'm afraid a great war was brewing, and the elves still living were caught in the middle of it.
[He sighs.] Well. Suppose the war's officially started now.
[A moment of quiet, and his eyes come back to the present, to meet Astarion's pretty garnet-colored ones.] I hardly should think you wish to hear the ills of elves from my sphere.
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A light shrug with one shoulder. ]
You're not wrong. [ That he's not particularly interested in the subject. With Urianger, another elf, it's a little different. No, with Jaskier his curiosity lies in an adjacent space. ]
I've been this longer than I was living elf. [ Another bitter edge to his tone, and he scoffs. ] I wager that most of my own people don't consider me kin anymore. I could hardly blame them, honestly. [ He could. ]
Difficult to get past the business of bloodlust and fangs.
[ He swirls the wine in his glass, watching the liquid lap close to the rim. ]
I suppose... I merely wondered why you always look so despondent whenever you speak of them.
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Being a vampire is, of course, a far different matter.]
Couldn't you? [Blame them. He senses Astarion is not very charitable about such things. Or about most things. Which isn't a tick against him, of course. Jaskier is quite volatile in offenses himself.
The bard resettles himself, fiddling with the edges of his coat and how they lay over his legs.] Do I come off that depressing? [He teases, but it's a little startling to know it's so... obvious.] The people were turning against them, as the war grew closer. Before I came here, I was... helping move those that could find me to somewhere safer. Possibly illegally. And often now, I think, if those routes I set up remained. If someone else has taken up the mantle that I created.
[He swirls his glass, then takes a long, long draw of it. Even the burst of alcohol is not enough to slurry through his mind fast enough.] Maudlin. And it matters little now that the war is full in effect. Now I'm here, with a whole new plane to make trouble in. Perhaps by next year, I'll have the queen's head on a platter instead.
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Gods, now he's just depressing himself. And he's acutely aware that it's making the man on the other side of the table uncomfortable as well. Normally he enjoys making people squirm. Not this time, though. He doesn't mask the way his gaze fixes on Jaskier as he explains his hero's journey. Some months ago the same story would have incurred venomous barbs from Astarion. He's had no patience for heroes. But - ]
I suppose it makes some sort of sense for you to dwell on their fate, then. [ While there's a condescending lilt to his tone at first - he's incapable of saying such a thing otherwise, the way he ends it is strikingly sincere, and a little sad: ] You seem like you have a good heart.
[ It still feels foolish of him to genuinely trust such a thing about anyone, but apparently that's what meeting a string of decent people will do to you when you're temporarily no longer crushed under the heel of a sadist. He sighs, and then a mischievous gleam returns to his eye. ]
I do like the sound of a beheading, though.
we can wrap whenever!!
Jaskier cannot say he did not add salt upon the wound. Toss a Coin is a favourite, but it is not favourable to elves. It never was meant to be, all things considered. Perhaps Astarion can put two and two together one day, and think that this is a point especially in why Jaskier wished to help him.
Jaskier's laugh in response is low and dry.]
Perhaps. I claim nothing about my heart but that it beats. [He waves such an accusation away, as pretty as it is. He has done horrible things to get by, just as many have. Though he can't say there's blood on his hands, so he has a bit of an advantage on some.
It strikes him that Astarion seems to comment on such things -- the morals of others, and quite directly. He wonders if such musings turn internally... or perhaps they hardly ever leave him. Two hundred years is such an ungraspable amount of time to spend in one's mind. It is worth mentioning enough that is yet still sane.]
You did unfortunately miss the last hanging, but surely the Free Cities will find plenty more scapegoats to kill for the delight of others. [That's simply a fact.] The queen of Thorne is a bit more personal. I've hardly ever been a royalist.
[To say the least. Jaskier takes him in for a moment, then leans on his hand with a smile. He hasn't even looked at the painting. And while Jaskier really wishes to needle him about it... perhaps it is best left to Astarion's privacy.] Now come. Don't be shy. Order as much bloodwine on my tab as you wish, and we'll speak on less maudlin things. I heard you've found some work...?
🎀
And so he latches onto the morbid in place of the maudlin - ]
Pah -! Hangings are a bit too bloodless for my liking...
[ But court gossip is something he quite enjoys. Something to ask again about in a moment. As for the question turned back to him... he rolls his eyes, although not directed at Jaskier peronally. ]
I have! Something of a cross between legal counsel, promoter, and minder-of-infants...
[ To which he will begin to explain his adventures at Rio Enterprises and his possibly one-sided feud with some of the other employees - he might not have a bard's gift for storytelling, but he's hardly a bore. He won't take up all the air in the room, though, and is still keen to ask Jaskier about his own adventures...
And yes, he will order plenty of bloodwine, too. ]