divinestrike | Overflow / Open Post

[ Ugh. He really doesn't fancy the idea of getting wet, but it wouldn't be the first time he's done something unpalatable for the sake of someone else. Astarion stands, kicking off his boots to protect the leather. He hesitates upon stepping into the river; old habits die hard, and running water has historically not been his friend. Still, he pushes through, wading into the river and suppressing a grimace at the feeling of waterlogged trouser legs, instead smiling coyly. ]

I'm listening.

[That's promising.

She waits very patiently, arms folded across her as he takes the time to remove his boots. Easier for him to come to her than the other way around, though that isn't really true. Maybe it is just a touch of selfishness on her part. When he is near enough, she finally shifts, lifting her hands and if he'll let her, she carefully reach up to his face simply to hold it, simply to carefully splay her claws along the line of his jaw.

If only because he really does need to hear what she's going to say.]

You... don't serve me. [Despite how very pointed she can be with him, these words are considerably more gentle, more marked with concern.] You aren't a thing. You aren't a possession. [And she knows that it's complicated. She gets that.] You are my equal and I cannot bear to hear you say ridiculous things like you only want to give me what I want. That's not how this should be.

[ Astarion's smile stays perfectly unchanged the entire time she speaks, a carefully constructed mask to hide the true thoughts and feelings beneath. Her gentleness is so overt and unabashed that it almost angers him; if it weren't for her demonstrated pattern of idealistic naiveté, he'd question her sincerity.

She is sincere, though, and disgustingly so. Being on the receiving end of such genuineness makes him want to recoil in shame, but he smothers such feelings before they ever reach the outside, instead merely peering at her curiously. ]

And how should it be?

[That's. A question, for certain. One that she's transparently not prepared for. She doesn't even have time to try concealing that. So instead for some moments, she simply lingers in a heavy quiet. And then she begins to reclaim her hands.]

Whatever your truth is.

[Sounds like an easy answer, but it's not.]

No one else can tell you that except you. You don't have to tell anyone else either, if you don't want to, because it's yours.

[ His truth. She really is the perfect little cleric.

Astarion's smile drops. His own dignity has been hidden from him for so long that he wouldn't even begin to know what his 'truth' is, nor how to find it. Disinclined to let Nepione know what thoughts she's stirred up inside him, he lifts the corners of his mouth back into a grin and playfully bops her on the nose. ]

How very twee. You thought of that inspirational speech just now?

[Too much? Probably too much. Not the first time she's crossed a line somewhere, even if her intentions are supposed to be good. Won't be the last time either. With Astarion, not knowing what to expect from him makes it a lot more difficult to remain stalwart.

There is a moment where she thinks she sees... something in him. She can't tell what, but surely something. But just like that it's gone. His smile returns and the moment he reaches over, she immediately backs down. A flush strikes her features and she folds her arms back across her chest.]

I'm not one for speeches. I just... said the truth the way I see it. [Nepione's words are quiet and murmured.] I was probably out of line for saying it. I know that I have a very different way of doing things and seeing things. Sometimes...

[Sometimes, it would be better if she kept those things to herself. She shakes her head.]

It doesn't matter. You can disregard it if you want.

[ Oh, she's like a kicked puppy. Emotionally and physically vulnerable. Despite himself, Astarion feels an awful, foreign sensation in his gut. ]

There's that shame again. A terribly unproductive emotion, if you ask me.

[ He would know. It's not exactly an emotion he's unfamiliar with. ]

You needn't feel guilty. [ He places a hand on his chest. ] I thought your speech was quite impassioned.

It's not—

[Sucking in a breath, she draws her composition tightly together, and then looses it. Maybe the problem is more to do with her than with him. To some extent, it must. Why must she hear everything he says and question it? Why not just... accept it as it is, let it go, and move on?]

It isn't that. Reassessing myself and my position where you're concerned isn't the same thing. Now—

[She lifts a hand to shoo him.] I'm going to continue my bath, unless you've decided you are so comfortable here that you're inclined to join me. Highly unlikely.

[To be fair, if he really wanted to take a gander at her naked? He's had all of the time to do so. Really quite generous of her, actually.]

[ No, he really isn't comfortable at all. Standing here in the river, fully clothed, he feels more like a wet cat than anything else. Still, he clasps his hands behind his back, leaning forward with an expectant smirk. ]

Are you inviting me to join?

That's... not what I said.

[Well. She kind of did. Sort of. Slightly. She leans back, dipping her chin, though she does keep her attention on him.]

But that— [She sweeps a hand over him from head to toe indicatively.] —is probably not great. Probably should have removed all of that before coming out here.

[ That's all the hint he needs. He unbuttons his shirt, slowly and deliberately, making a performance out of it, before removing it and tossing it aside. It hits the grass with a decidedly unsexy wet thwop that he ignores. In stark contrast to her modesty, he doesn't make any moves to cover his body, instead toying with the button at the waistband of his trousers as if waiting for approval before continuing. ]

Better?

[He's too much. That's all it is. He's too much for her to handle. Despite how very weighted their conversation has been, he kind of ruins (saves) all of that by his display. Before she can stop herself, she releases a laugh. Politely, she turns aside, folding her hands together.]

You tell me. I'm not going to watch you do this. Not because you aren't... most of what you say you are. Just because... you know.

[A pent-up cleric's sensitivities.]

[ Well, there's no point in trying to sensually remove his clothing if she's not watching. He unbuttons his trousers without fanfare, slipping out of them and his underwear with only some difficulty considering their sodden quality. The rest of his clothing joins his shirt on the riverbank, sopping wet and collecting bits of grass and dirt. He'll have to do laundry now, but it's worth it to curry further favor with their resident goody two-shoes.

And what a goody two-shoes she is, turning away to preserve his modesty — or is it hers? Stealthily, he approaches, whispering in her ear, ] I'm afraid you're going to have to look eventually.

[It likely more for herself than for him. Not that she doesn't think she can control herself. She's the very embodiment of control. But she's not above the others. Just because she doesn't expose herself to the same temptations doesn't mean she's not capable of still having them.

He leaves his words in her ear and she draws her arms in against herself, fighting the small shudder that crawls up her ridged spine. Not well, at that.]

Oh, am I? [She huffs a softer laugh.] Here I thought I might be polite and focus on the striking features of your face. [Indicatively, she casts a look over her shoulder, turning just in slight to do precisely that. She can fight the temptation.

Probably.]

[ How cute — she's shy. He's always had a bit of a soft spot for the shy ones. Not a big enough soft spot not to screw them over to protect his own hide, but circumstances necessitated eradicating anything soft to survive back then.

He frames his face with his own hands, posing playfully for Nepione's perusal. ]

Tell me, what strikes you?

[She prefers this version of him, she thinks. Or whatever it is that might be happening. Not enough to say she's one hundred percent comfortable, and she isn't about to go flaunting herself anywhere, but it could be worse. He really does frustrate her, but she feels like she can't stay frustrated forever. It's harder to be frustrated when he can amuse her.]

Hm...? [Her head tilts as she takes in all of his features. trying to give his question worthy consideration, though she suspects he's probably just teasing her. Yet. Again.] Oh—

[Turning to better face him, she lifts her own hands and points out the features on her own face. Cheekbones, right beneath the eye. His brow line, it seems. His eyes. The line of his jaw. The last place she touches she hesitates just a moment on, because she's not sure she should admit it or not...]

This here, too. [She finally decides she might as well humour him and thoughtfully, she taps her lower lip.] I'm not blind. You are handsome in an eerie sort of way.

[ Astarion clasps his hands behind his back, preening as she points out all of his features. He does rather pride himself on appearances, even if his lack of reflection adds some difficulty in that arena. When all you have is how you look, one finds ways to work around little things such as being unable to use a mirror.

Then, the preening stops. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, for once genuinely curious. ]

'Eerie'? Do I frighten you, darling?

[ If he does, asking it like that probably didn't help matters. ]

Mmmmmno? [It shouldn't come out of her like a question, but what can one do. She quickly explains—] Well, you stand out. That's not necessarily a bad thing. We know what happens to people who do, though. Not everyone is as accepting of differences. I say 'eerie,' but in a good sense.

[She studies him a few moments longer and then clears her throat.] It's captivating, is what I mean to say. You have the kind of look that is worthy of curiosity. Makes one want to know more. To learn more. But whilst I think many things of you, I don't think you're frightening. I'm not afraid of you.

And you needn't be.

[ It might do her well to have a little healthy fear, but Astarion certainly won't be the one to point that out. The last thing he needs is for his campmates to come at him with pitchforks and torches. No — let them see him as their friendly neighborhood vampire spawn. Practically defanged!

He leans in, voice low and deliberate. ]

You can trust me.

[Can she?

No. She doesn't think so. Not... any more than the bounds of travelling with the others, that is. She trusts that he will act in his best interest and assumes that right now, those interests align. Should they ever not? He'd be within his right to ensure his own survival. Wouldn't most of them do the same? Lae'zel almost certainly.

Nepione studies him, settles on his words and she resists the temptation to duck away, which is frequently her normal response to such things. There's that tone again. He uses it in very... specific circumstances, she thinks, though hasn't quite been able to define what that is just yet.]

Oh? [She finally asks.] I think I trust you just enough. I'm not sure what more you could ask for from me.

[ 'Just enough' sounds like a euphemistic way of saying 'not as far as she can throw him'. If it bothers him, it doesn't show on his face, which remains pleasantly placid. ]

Mmm. I suppose we'll just have to do some relationship building.

[ One might consider building trust through demonstrating reliability, showing vulnerability, sharing thoughts and feelings — but not Astarion. His favored forms of relationship development have always tended towards the physical. ]

Why don't you let me help you clean up? 'You wash my back, I'll wash yours'?

[ He certainly doesn't expect to limit himself to the back, but that isn't quite as pithy. ]

['Relationship building.'

Those are almost frightening words. Open-ended somewhat. She imagines that their definitions of that may differ. Isn't their journey as it is relationship building? To continue moving forward, they have to pick between relying on one another and surrendering their peers for another day of...

Well. This.

What he follows up with tells her, marginally, what his definition might be more similar to. She looks mildly suspicious, but she supposes there is... something about trust in there. If she lets him, it's an indication that she's at least willing to trust him. That he's offering means he trusts her to some degree.]

...You first.

[She lifts a hand and gestures for him to turn.]

[ He smirks at her response, resisting the urge to laugh. She couldn't make her hesitance any more obvious. He wonders if it's true disinclination or more to do with fear of her own vulnerability. After all, to be the one touching puts you in far more control than to be the one touched. Astarion is acutely aware of this dynamic as he slowly turns, water gently splashing as he exposes his back to her. ]

As you wish, [ he says, only somewhat sarcastic. ]

[A part of her, fleeting, considers the idea of retreating out of this situation. However, she's a woman of her word. Always has been. Always will be, if she has anything to say about it. She waits, playing through different hypotheticals in her head where he's concerned as she reaches for the cloth and soap she was using before.

Faced with his back, she pauses for several long moments. The scarring there is intricate. She could just as easily not look. Not ask. But as she nears him, she hesitates a touch. Those aren't unfamiliar marks. Not to say she's ever really seen them before, but she can, at the very least, recognise them. Know their source.

...Does... he know what they say? Does he know what they are? Maybe it's better not to bring it up. So instead, she leaves a hand at his shoulder and with the other, she tends to him, about as careful and reverent as she would be with any other touch.]

You're a bit softer than I thought you might be.

[To the touch, she means.]

[ They're both aware of the elephant in the room. It's polite of her not to mention the scarring, perhaps, or maybe just gutless — he hasn't yet decided. She wouldn't be the first. He certainly won't be the one to verbalize what they're both thinking about, so any observations will have to remain unsaid. ]

I am as I was when I was turned.

[ He'll forever remain in the body of someone soft and privileged. Someone who — he can only assume — never spent a day sleeping in a tent, much less in a dungeon. ]

How very lucky I am to have been fastidious about my skincare. [ He pauses briefly, then waves a hand. ] I presume.

[ He remembers very little of the time before clawing his way out of his grave, but it does seem like him to attend to his appearance. ]

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You're slaying me here.

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