[ Something they've shared ever since the beginning was their love for bullying Gale, and that hasn't changed, even now. It's become more affectionate bullying, less sharp on both of their ends, but it's still bullying. Case in point: ]
We've just told you of the upcoming happiest day of our lives, and your response is oh, no?
[ He's teasing. (Mostly.) But Gale turns even redder, shaking his hands and his head. "I can assure you, I meant no disrespect! I was simply—" Gale rubs his face, which is undoubtedly warm with embarrassment by now. "You two, before Shadowheart and Lae'zel?" ]
We've always had more chemistry.
[ Patently false. He's pretty sure Shadowheart and Lae'zel were hatefucking when he and Iorveth still only spoke to each other in odd, vaguely hostile ways. ]
[ From what he's heard from Lae'zel, she hated Shadowheart from the moment she laid eyes on Shadowheart on the Illithid ship-- which means she fell in love with her at first sight. Hard to beat that kind of romantic chemistry.
Whatever. The point is: ]
We're a certainty. [ Too much so, as Reginald pointed out. ] But you've made your opinion of our union abundantly clear, I think.
[ Still teasing. Playing at uninviting Gale, who shakes his head and waves his hands, doing everything a person possibly could do to say 'I take everything back'.
"No! Which is to say-- I'm very happy, make no mistake! I should have known..."
Babbling. Iorveth notes that Gale is getting choked up again, tears welling up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Do grant me the honor of attending, my dearest friends. Let it be known that if you need anything, anything at all..."
As Gale struggles not to cry, Tara's familiar voice rings from the stairs leading down into the sitting room:
"Gale! Are you letting your guests strongarm you into something ridiculous again? You really must hold your ground!" ]
[ A certainty. Astarion melts into his seat a little bit, a boneless pile of happiness. He suddenly wishes Gale weren't around, so that he could kiss Iorveth some more. Not that public displays of affection are a concern of his, really, but he imagines the sort of kissing he'd like to do would draw a reaction from Gale.
He tunes out most of what happens after that, a cartoon character with hearts for eyes, until he hears Tara's voice calling out. Coming to, he rolls his eyes at the assertion that they 'strongarm' Gale into anything. He's perfectly willing! It's not Astarion's fault that he's so easily manipulated by an attaboy. ]
We're only inviting him to our wedding, that's all, [ Astarion calls back, then adds, ] where pets shall not be allowed.
[ "Come now, Astarion, Tara is hardly a pet," Gale chides. ]
Well, we'll figure out the particulars later. [ Again: not a details person. ] It's all rather new. And, quite frankly, I haven't fantasized about a wedding since I was twelve.
[ Fantasized. Iorveth's turn, now, to look lovestruck by that notion; crazy, to think that anyone could fantasize fondly about being saddled with a one-eyed terrorist who's still liable to get thrown in jail if anyone recognizes his face. It's unbelievable, and Iorveth wants to lean over to kiss Astarion's temple―
―but is intercepted by a furious ball of fur and wings. A fuzzy little torpedo that swoops from stairs to armchair, lands with deadly precision on Astarion's lap, and kneads at vulnerable knees with sharp claws.
"Pet?! Why, the audacity! We'll teach you manners yet!"
Teeth bared, hissing. Iorveth blinks, but doesn't move to try to yank the tressym away― she might take all the skin off Astarion's thighs in the process, he realizes. ]
He's injured, [ Iorveth barks, syncing up perfectly with Gale's distressed "Tara, no!" ]
[ Astarion squeals in the most undignified way, shaking his injured leg wildly in an attempt to get Tara off of him, which only results in her digging in harder. Let it never be said that he can't make a situation worse. ]
Get off of me, you rotten thing—
[ "Tara, please—" Gale says, horrified, and then, "Astarion, please! You have to stop moving!"
Once Astarion obeys, Gale carefully extracts Tara's claws from the fabric of his trousers, a feat only possible because Tara would rather die than harm her precious Gale. "Tara," he scolds as he lifts her furry little body away. She perches on his shoulder, glaring daggers at Astarion. "You know he didn't mean it." ]
[ Cat on cat violence. Iorveth wonders how a conversation about a wedding could have gone so sideways, but of course it did; a whistling sigh between his teeth later, he moves closer to Astarion and takes his hand again, squeezing it with the intent to comfort. ]
A lesson not to antagonized winged creatures with claws, [ he notes, watching as Tara huffily starts licking one (very sweet) marshmallow-white paw. "There are limits to the things one can allow others to say," is her very terse reply, to which Gale implores "you call me your pet all the time! Don't think I haven't noticed."
Very offended that she's getting chastised, Tara turns her little nose up. Very Astarion-esque of her, Iorveth (delusionally) thinks. ]
I should fetch you a potion.
[ To Astarion, who's has to put up with a painful leg, burned by the sun, and clawed by Tara, all in the same day. Iorveth would have told anyone else to suck it the fuck up, but Astarion is always the exception to the rule. ]
[ Astarion glowers at Tara's prim little face for a moment longer, before sighing and turning to look at Iorveth, eyes big and imploring. Is it insane to try to cutely manipulate Iorveth multiple times in one day? Unfortunately, Astarion chronically pushes his luck. ]
Yes, you should, [ he agrees, bringing their joined hands to his face and resting his cheek against them. ] I'm in desperate need of your tender ministrations.
[ Gale looks a little perturbed. "Oh, please, not in the middle of the sitting room—" ]
Not that kind of tender ministration, you filthy little boy.
[ Is Iorveth actually going to let Astarion treat him like his pageboy tonight??? The answer is yes, because Astarion suffered enough for three lifetimes over the span of the last few days. The least Iorveth can do is fetch him a potion.
Also, he is cute. Very vexing. Iorveth watches Astarion nest against their joined hands for longer than strictly necessary before gently relinquishing his hold. ]
The wizard protests too much. I'm starting to think he wants to watch.
[ The thought of they fucking rigorously lives rent-free in Gale's head, apparently. Iorveth ignores Gale's sputtered objection, and turns to return to their room－
－where he runs into Damris on the stairs. Gods, this is like every nightmare scenario rolled into one. The tiefling glowers at him, then rolls his infernal-red eyes so hard they might fall out of his pretty head.
"Can you please tell your annoying companion to keep it down? His dramatic shrieking is giving me a headache."
Loud enough for everyone in the sitting room to hear, emphasis on shrieking. ]
Dramatic shrieking?! [ Astarion shrieks dramatically from the sitting room.
With great effort, he gets up from his chair, limping along (even worse now, with Tara's abuse!) out to the stairs, where he leans on the banister and shoots daggers at Damris's pretty face. If only he could throw an actual dagger at it. ]
What excellent timing. I'm sure your little hanger-on will show up any minute.
[ Maybe. Gale had sent a message, but that doesn't guarantee Linus's arrival. Portals are expensive, and it's only for Damris. ]
[ Cat on cat on cat violence. Iorveth is surrounded by cats. He looks over at Gale, who is similarly a dog surrounded by too many cats, but who also doesn't seem to mind having company over in his lonely bachelor tower.
It's too many cats. \Damris hikes his chin up with feline imperiousness, his literal tail swishing aggravatedly behind him like a pointed pendulum.
"I told you, I'm not going." Dramatic not-shrieking. He points at Astarion, the rude gesture made even ruder by the fact that he points over Iorveth's shoulder, as if he's just an elf-shaped object in his way. "I'm going to stay in Waterdeep and become an alchemist. I've ambitions, unlike you."
Iorveth raises a brow. ]
Planning to poison someone again?
[ He gets a scoff in return. "Maybe next time I'll concoct something more fast-acting, just for you." ]
[ Astarion might as well turn bright red in fury. The stairs are still impossibly difficult for him with this leg, but he laboriously takes a few steps up regardless, just enough so that he can tug on Iorveth's sleeve and urge him to step away from Damris. He wouldn't really be so stupid, Astarion hopes, as to try to hurt Iorveth in front of everyone, but it still makes his heart clench in anxiety regardless. ]
You won't become anything but a corpse if you speak to him like that again.
[ Maybe they should have just killed him in the first place. He's so fucking complicated, with his hopes and dreams. ]
I don't know what sort of nonsense Gale filled your head with, but we can't have a rabid vampire roaming the streets of Waterdeep.
[ Entirely hypocritical. Astarion's the only one here who's actually drained the blood of a Waterdhavian citizen. ]
You could eat Tara! And that would be horrible. [ Or would it... ]
[ Tugged (weak to the sleeve-pulling), Iorveth steps away from Damris and moves to let Astarion lean against his side, mindful of that injured leg; he notes that the tiefling looks less than pleased by the display, as if it rankles that there's anyone in the world more immediately fortunate than he is.
"I have self-control! I would never eat Gale's cat," he says, to which Tara yowls, offended: "A tressym, thank you very much!" Again, there are so many cats here, Iorveth can't even believe it.
"And, if anything, you're more of a threat than I am. A vampire, stalking around during the day, acting like he owns the city." Damris wrinkles his shapely nose at Astarion, then glances at Iorveth. "I bet you'll get bored of your canteen now that you can walk around and sample whoever you want in broad daylight."
Iorveth blinks, then barks a laugh: ] Pay him no mind, love. He hasn't enough brainpower to understand― [ a tip of his head, lips pressing against the side of Astarion's head. ] ―that he'll never be cared for in the way you care for me.
[ A rare admission, on Iorveth's part. Always more willing to say something about how he loves Astarion, and far more hesitant to speak on the possibility of Astarion loving him in return. Relinquishing I love you more for this specific moment. ]
[ Oh, if Damris weren't pissing him the fuck off right now, Astarion would beam. It feels very good to hear Iorveth say the way you care for me, to validate that, yes, he feels Astarion's love even though he's so terribly deficient at giving it in the normal ways. He wraps a hand around Iorveth's wrist and squeezes gently.
—But Damris is pissing him the fuck off, so. ]
Too true. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if that lover boy of yours doesn't even show.
[ There's a rapping at the door of Gale's tower. ]
...That could be anyone.
[ From the foyer, Linus's voice: "Is this the home of one, ah, Wizard of Waterdeep?" ]
[ Obviously, the universe exists to spite Astarion. The triumphant grin that spreads across Damris's face when Astarion is instantly proven wrong is the look of someone who's more pleased to take Astarion down a peg than to hear that Linus is here, though it's subsumed moments later by what Iorveth interprets as vague anxiety.
Bracing himself, Damris smooths his long hair and tucks it artfully over his shoulder.
"It must be nice, being so stupid. Life must feel so simple," the tiefling says, and brushes by the pair with aristocratic flair. Iorveth doesn't deign to reply to that, and instead, points out with sharp acuity: ]
Your hands are shaking.
[ To which Damris scowls over his shoulder and flounces off, heading to the foyer; a few moments later, happy cries of reunion ring through the tower, though Iorveth isn't actually sure if Linus even knows about the whole 'Damris is a vampire' thing yet.
He turns to Astarion, and huffs softly. ] Do you wish to see how this disaster plays out? [ It might not actually be a disaster, but. You know. ]
[ It actually sucks being so stupid, and life feels very complicated. But Damris walks away before Astarion has the chance to snark back, and he sighs as he lists against Iorveth, leg still very much hurting. ]
What I wish is to take that potion, but— [ This could be fun, too. He squares his shoulders, using Iorveth as a humanoid crutch while he hobbles down the stairs. ] It would be fun to be the one to break the news that his sweetheart is a horrible vampire spawn.
[ Which is probably not a great indication of how he views himself, if he thinks vampire spawn are horrible, but they kind of are. As they make it into the foyer, Astarion waves at Linus. ]
Look who it is, a knight in shining armor come to the rescue of his princess. [ Damris, of course.
Linus's eyebrows lift into his hairline, and he points: "You— both of you! I was so certain you'd..." ]
Done something horrible to Damris? Ugh, please. As it turns out, we're... cousins, of a sort. [ Heh. ]
[ Iorveth would pinch Astarion's ear for implying that he's horrible, but Damris is, in fact, a little shit, so he lets that one slide. It's also why he feels less sorry for Damris than he should, when the perfectly pleasant veneer of sweet guilelessness freezes awkwardly on the tiefling's pretty face.
"Not at all, really," Damris says through grit teeth, still smiling despite his obvious desire to throttle Astarion into a second grave. "Actually, we have nothing in common. He just happened to be there to..."
Damris doesn't seem to be able to continue, so Iorveth chimes in: ] Help.
[ It must hurt to admit it; Iorveth can see how Damris grits his molars. "Yes, well. I was in a bad situation, and wanted to get out of Athkatla."
Regrouping, he bats his long, long lashes at Linus. "I would have told you, but I didn't want you to worry."
Subtly, subtly (while Linus is busy drawing hearts around his head), Damris slaps both Iorveth and Astarion's legs with his tail. You two better shut the fuck up, basically. ]
[ That's very fucking rude, actually, considering Astarion's leg is still very sore. He flinches, gritting his own teeth to avoid giving Damris the satisfaction of having hurt him. The little brat would like that.
"Oh, Damris," Linus says, ever the romantic hero. "I should have noticed. I should have done something." ]
Yes, you should have, [ Astarion pipes up, because, well. Damris is a little shit, but someone still should have helped him, if only because someone should have helped Astarion.
"We have so much to discuss," Linus says, eyes wide and, ugh, filled with adoration. ]
Mm, there's still a bit of sun yet. Perhaps you might like to take a walk.
[ Sweet summer Linus is Iorveth's inverse: sincere to a fault, incredibly unparanoid, probably a little stupid. Emotions come easily to him, given his emphatic response to the suggestion that they go outside－ "yes! Gods, my working night shifts meant that I only got to see you after sunset. But we're not beholden to my schedule anymore!"
He beams, the poor idiot. Iorveth spots the flutter of anxiety that runs through Damris again, a tremor that travels from his hands up to his shoulders.
"Don't be inconsiderate", Damris snaps at Astarion, still managing to keep the strained smile on his face. "Linus was just outside, looking for the tower. He should sit down and rest."
Another tail-slap, this time to their feet. Iorveth considers stomping on the tapered end of it, but decides to pull Astarion closer to him instead, keeping him propped against his side. ]
Either way, an honest discussion would be worth having, [ he drawls. Emphasis on honest. Unlike Linus, he'd hated when Astarion tried to curry favour; he was glad when the mask came off. ]
[ Astarion raises an eyebrow when he realizes, gods, did Linus quit his job to come here? For Damris? There really is no accounting for taste.
"Honesty," Linus says, nodding. "Yes, that's exactly what we need."
Unfortunately, Astarion can tell that he's actually talking about confessing his everlasting love or some stupid nonsense like that. It's endlessly romantic when it's him and Iorveth doing it; when it's someone else, it's embarrassing. Have some decorum and get a room!
As Astarion watches Damris wring his hands, he realizes just how anxious he must be. He'd been anxious about having his secret found out, too, once upon a time. He'd been sure that the people who'd thought to call themselves his companions would turn on him in an instant, just another monster for them to kill and loot. He still can't quite believe they didn't. (Lae'zel seriously considered it.)
That anxiety must be killing Damris. The uncertainty. The fear. Oh, it's delicious. ]
Mm, yes, [ he coos. ] You'd hate to find out that someone you care for wasn't honest with you, wouldn't you?
[ He loops an arm around Iorveth's, gently tugging. ]
Well, we've a walk to take, [ even if he doesn't love the idea of having to do it in this ugly cloak, ] but we really should catch up later, Linus. I'll fill you in on all of the ugly details.
[ More agitated tail-lashing from Damris, though it doesn't hit either of them this time around. Linus looks confused by the implication that there are any ugly details to hear, but is instantly distracted by a suggestion that they go somewhere more private to converse; he practically floats behind Damris, trailing after him like a lovesick puppy.
Gods, Iorveth wonders if they've ever looked like that. They couldn't possibly have, he concludes. Surely they're not so pathetic-looking or obvious. Surely.
So he thinks, as he's effectively tugged by his own vampire, away from the sitting room and towards the foyer. ]
How do you fancy Damris's odds?
[ Either they come back to find Damris gloating with his new love, or find him sobbing hysterically into a pillow. Not ideal for them either way, but the former will be slightly less awkward to deal with than the latter. Iorveth steps out of the door and into the blood-red curtain of the sunset, marveling for a moment at the fact that Astarion remains intact despite the light still screaming across the sky. ]
[ It's less a walk and more a lean, Astarion resting his weight against Iorveth's. He'd hoped to heal quickly enough to be fully back in action tomorrow, but that ridiculous tressym had to assault him; gods, Gale really should get a more domesticated pet. ]
Well, I certainly hope they're terrible, but—
[ He spares a glance behind his shoulder at the tower door. ]
Ugh. That little idiot came all the way to Waterdeep for him.
[ And he'd looked so besotted. Astarion scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ]
Perhaps he'll be able to overlook that his sweetheart is a bloodthirsty creature of the night. [ A pause. ] And a poisoner. [ Another. ] And irritating.
He does have a skillset, [ is the only concession Iorveth will make, deranged as he is. It's likely Damris had to prove himself useful beyond being just a pretty face, and he became good enough at making insidious concoctions to have Iorveth fall for it, so.
Credit where it's due. ] After all, he did almost kill me. No mean feat.
[ Every human who's been after him for all these years would've been so mad to hear that the Woodland Fox got taken out by a tiefling in Athkatla. Iorveth smiles about it, wry, as he slowly makes his way down the street and towards a nearby apothecary (speaking of poisoning). First things first: potions and salve for the injured leg. ]
Whether Linus would appreciate Damris being capable of cold-blooded murder is yet to be seen, however.
[ Linus seems so... normal. A hapless fool who probably dreams of living in a nice house by the waterside with two dogs. ]
[ Iorveth reminds him that Damris did nearly kill him, and Astarion scowls. He should have made Damris suffer more. There's no amount of torture that could ever absolve him of that particular sin, but it would still feel good. ]
Not everyone can be as appreciative of the lethal arts as you are, my sweet.
[ Astarion strokes Iorveth's bicep, adoring. Iorveth's complete lack of moralizing on murder is by far one of his best qualities. There's a part of Astarion that feels incredibly shameful when he thinks about all of the less-than-ethical things he's done, but Iorveth doesn't even care. It's a relief. ]
But all vampires are gifted in manipulation and deceit. I'm sure he'll bat his eyes and say that none of it was his fault.
[ Forced into servitude for the sake of survival; no place for poetry or ethics in that particular situation. Not everyone could choose death over dignity, and if Astarion hates himself for the things he's had to do to live, then that's punishment enough for two hundred years of committing crimes on Cazador's behalf.
Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
[ Into the apothecary they go. Astarion wrinkles his nose at the pungent aroma of alchemical supplies; he has experience with making concoctions himself—poisons, mostly—but he's never been particularly passionate about the process of making them, only what happens once they hit someone's bloodstream. Perhaps this is the sort of life Damris imagines for himself, creating admixtures at his workbench before returning home to Linus and their 2.5 adopted children. Gross. ]
Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
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We've just told you of the upcoming happiest day of our lives, and your response is oh, no?
[ He's teasing. (Mostly.) But Gale turns even redder, shaking his hands and his head. "I can assure you, I meant no disrespect! I was simply—" Gale rubs his face, which is undoubtedly warm with embarrassment by now. "You two, before Shadowheart and Lae'zel?" ]
We've always had more chemistry.
[ Patently false. He's pretty sure Shadowheart and Lae'zel were hatefucking when he and Iorveth still only spoke to each other in odd, vaguely hostile ways. ]
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Whatever. The point is: ]
We're a certainty. [ Too much so, as Reginald pointed out. ] But you've made your opinion of our union abundantly clear, I think.
[ Still teasing. Playing at uninviting Gale, who shakes his head and waves his hands, doing everything a person possibly could do to say 'I take everything back'.
"No! Which is to say-- I'm very happy, make no mistake! I should have known..."
Babbling. Iorveth notes that Gale is getting choked up again, tears welling up in his soulful brown eyes.
"Do grant me the honor of attending, my dearest friends. Let it be known that if you need anything, anything at all..."
As Gale struggles not to cry, Tara's familiar voice rings from the stairs leading down into the sitting room:
"Gale! Are you letting your guests strongarm you into something ridiculous again? You really must hold your ground!" ]
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He tunes out most of what happens after that, a cartoon character with hearts for eyes, until he hears Tara's voice calling out. Coming to, he rolls his eyes at the assertion that they 'strongarm' Gale into anything. He's perfectly willing! It's not Astarion's fault that he's so easily manipulated by an attaboy. ]
We're only inviting him to our wedding, that's all, [ Astarion calls back, then adds, ] where pets shall not be allowed.
[ "Come now, Astarion, Tara is hardly a pet," Gale chides. ]
Well, we'll figure out the particulars later. [ Again: not a details person. ] It's all rather new. And, quite frankly, I haven't fantasized about a wedding since I was twelve.
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―but is intercepted by a furious ball of fur and wings. A fuzzy little torpedo that swoops from stairs to armchair, lands with deadly precision on Astarion's lap, and kneads at vulnerable knees with sharp claws.
"Pet?! Why, the audacity! We'll teach you manners yet!"
Teeth bared, hissing. Iorveth blinks, but doesn't move to try to yank the tressym away― she might take all the skin off Astarion's thighs in the process, he realizes. ]
He's injured, [ Iorveth barks, syncing up perfectly with Gale's distressed "Tara, no!" ]
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Get off of me, you rotten thing—
[ "Tara, please—" Gale says, horrified, and then, "Astarion, please! You have to stop moving!"
Once Astarion obeys, Gale carefully extracts Tara's claws from the fabric of his trousers, a feat only possible because Tara would rather die than harm her precious Gale. "Tara," he scolds as he lifts her furry little body away. She perches on his shoulder, glaring daggers at Astarion. "You know he didn't mean it." ]
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A lesson not to antagonized winged creatures with claws, [ he notes, watching as Tara huffily starts licking one (very sweet) marshmallow-white paw. "There are limits to the things one can allow others to say," is her very terse reply, to which Gale implores "you call me your pet all the time! Don't think I haven't noticed."
Very offended that she's getting chastised, Tara turns her little nose up. Very Astarion-esque of her, Iorveth (delusionally) thinks. ]
I should fetch you a potion.
[ To Astarion, who's has to put up with a painful leg, burned by the sun, and clawed by Tara, all in the same day. Iorveth would have told anyone else to suck it the fuck up, but Astarion is always the exception to the rule. ]
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Yes, you should, [ he agrees, bringing their joined hands to his face and resting his cheek against them. ] I'm in desperate need of your tender ministrations.
[ Gale looks a little perturbed. "Oh, please, not in the middle of the sitting room—" ]
Not that kind of tender ministration, you filthy little boy.
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Also, he is cute. Very vexing. Iorveth watches Astarion nest against their joined hands for longer than strictly necessary before gently relinquishing his hold. ]
The wizard protests too much. I'm starting to think he wants to watch.
[ The thought of they fucking rigorously lives rent-free in Gale's head, apparently. Iorveth ignores Gale's sputtered objection, and turns to return to their room－
－where he runs into Damris on the stairs. Gods, this is like every nightmare scenario rolled into one. The tiefling glowers at him, then rolls his infernal-red eyes so hard they might fall out of his pretty head.
"Can you please tell your annoying companion to keep it down? His dramatic shrieking is giving me a headache."
Loud enough for everyone in the sitting room to hear, emphasis on shrieking. ]
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With great effort, he gets up from his chair, limping along (even worse now, with Tara's abuse!) out to the stairs, where he leans on the banister and shoots daggers at Damris's pretty face. If only he could throw an actual dagger at it. ]
What excellent timing. I'm sure your little hanger-on will show up any minute.
[ Maybe. Gale had sent a message, but that doesn't guarantee Linus's arrival. Portals are expensive, and it's only for Damris. ]
Then we can discuss sending you to the Underdark.
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It's too many cats. \Damris hikes his chin up with feline imperiousness, his literal tail swishing aggravatedly behind him like a pointed pendulum.
"I told you, I'm not going." Dramatic not-shrieking. He points at Astarion, the rude gesture made even ruder by the fact that he points over Iorveth's shoulder, as if he's just an elf-shaped object in his way. "I'm going to stay in Waterdeep and become an alchemist. I've ambitions, unlike you."
Iorveth raises a brow. ]
Planning to poison someone again?
[ He gets a scoff in return. "Maybe next time I'll concoct something more fast-acting, just for you." ]
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You won't become anything but a corpse if you speak to him like that again.
[ Maybe they should have just killed him in the first place. He's so fucking complicated, with his hopes and dreams. ]
I don't know what sort of nonsense Gale filled your head with, but we can't have a rabid vampire roaming the streets of Waterdeep.
[ Entirely hypocritical. Astarion's the only one here who's actually drained the blood of a Waterdhavian citizen. ]
You could eat Tara! And that would be horrible. [ Or would it... ]
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"I have self-control! I would never eat Gale's cat," he says, to which Tara yowls, offended: "A tressym, thank you very much!" Again, there are so many cats here, Iorveth can't even believe it.
"And, if anything, you're more of a threat than I am. A vampire, stalking around during the day, acting like he owns the city." Damris wrinkles his shapely nose at Astarion, then glances at Iorveth. "I bet you'll get bored of your canteen now that you can walk around and sample whoever you want in broad daylight."
Iorveth blinks, then barks a laugh: ] Pay him no mind, love. He hasn't enough brainpower to understand― [ a tip of his head, lips pressing against the side of Astarion's head. ] ―that he'll never be cared for in the way you care for me.
[ A rare admission, on Iorveth's part. Always more willing to say something about how he loves Astarion, and far more hesitant to speak on the possibility of Astarion loving him in return. Relinquishing I love you more for this specific moment. ]
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—But Damris is pissing him the fuck off, so. ]
Too true. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if that lover boy of yours doesn't even show.
[ There's a rapping at the door of Gale's tower. ]
...That could be anyone.
[ From the foyer, Linus's voice: "Is this the home of one, ah, Wizard of Waterdeep?" ]
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Bracing himself, Damris smooths his long hair and tucks it artfully over his shoulder.
"It must be nice, being so stupid. Life must feel so simple," the tiefling says, and brushes by the pair with aristocratic flair. Iorveth doesn't deign to reply to that, and instead, points out with sharp acuity: ]
Your hands are shaking.
[ To which Damris scowls over his shoulder and flounces off, heading to the foyer; a few moments later, happy cries of reunion ring through the tower, though Iorveth isn't actually sure if Linus even knows about the whole 'Damris is a vampire' thing yet.
He turns to Astarion, and huffs softly. ] Do you wish to see how this disaster plays out? [ It might not actually be a disaster, but. You know. ]
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What I wish is to take that potion, but— [ This could be fun, too. He squares his shoulders, using Iorveth as a humanoid crutch while he hobbles down the stairs. ] It would be fun to be the one to break the news that his sweetheart is a horrible vampire spawn.
[ Which is probably not a great indication of how he views himself, if he thinks vampire spawn are horrible, but they kind of are. As they make it into the foyer, Astarion waves at Linus. ]
Look who it is, a knight in shining armor come to the rescue of his princess. [ Damris, of course.
Linus's eyebrows lift into his hairline, and he points: "You— both of you! I was so certain you'd..." ]
Done something horrible to Damris? Ugh, please. As it turns out, we're... cousins, of a sort. [ Heh. ]
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"Not at all, really," Damris says through grit teeth, still smiling despite his obvious desire to throttle Astarion into a second grave. "Actually, we have nothing in common. He just happened to be there to..."
Damris doesn't seem to be able to continue, so Iorveth chimes in: ] Help.
[ It must hurt to admit it; Iorveth can see how Damris grits his molars. "Yes, well. I was in a bad situation, and wanted to get out of Athkatla."
Regrouping, he bats his long, long lashes at Linus. "I would have told you, but I didn't want you to worry."
Subtly, subtly (while Linus is busy drawing hearts around his head), Damris slaps both Iorveth and Astarion's legs with his tail. You two better shut the fuck up, basically. ]
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"Oh, Damris," Linus says, ever the romantic hero. "I should have noticed. I should have done something." ]
Yes, you should have, [ Astarion pipes up, because, well. Damris is a little shit, but someone still should have helped him, if only because someone should have helped Astarion.
"We have so much to discuss," Linus says, eyes wide and, ugh, filled with adoration. ]
Mm, there's still a bit of sun yet. Perhaps you might like to take a walk.
[ He grins maliciously. ]
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He beams, the poor idiot. Iorveth spots the flutter of anxiety that runs through Damris again, a tremor that travels from his hands up to his shoulders.
"Don't be inconsiderate", Damris snaps at Astarion, still managing to keep the strained smile on his face. "Linus was just outside, looking for the tower. He should sit down and rest."
Another tail-slap, this time to their feet. Iorveth considers stomping on the tapered end of it, but decides to pull Astarion closer to him instead, keeping him propped against his side. ]
Either way, an honest discussion would be worth having, [ he drawls. Emphasis on honest. Unlike Linus, he'd hated when Astarion tried to curry favour; he was glad when the mask came off. ]
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"Honesty," Linus says, nodding. "Yes, that's exactly what we need."
Unfortunately, Astarion can tell that he's actually talking about confessing his everlasting love or some stupid nonsense like that. It's endlessly romantic when it's him and Iorveth doing it; when it's someone else, it's embarrassing. Have some decorum and get a room!
As Astarion watches Damris wring his hands, he realizes just how anxious he must be. He'd been anxious about having his secret found out, too, once upon a time. He'd been sure that the people who'd thought to call themselves his companions would turn on him in an instant, just another monster for them to kill and loot. He still can't quite believe they didn't. (Lae'zel seriously considered it.)
That anxiety must be killing Damris. The uncertainty. The fear. Oh, it's delicious. ]
Mm, yes, [ he coos. ] You'd hate to find out that someone you care for wasn't honest with you, wouldn't you?
[ He loops an arm around Iorveth's, gently tugging. ]
Well, we've a walk to take, [ even if he doesn't love the idea of having to do it in this ugly cloak, ] but we really should catch up later, Linus. I'll fill you in on all of the ugly details.
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Gods, Iorveth wonders if they've ever looked like that. They couldn't possibly have, he concludes. Surely they're not so pathetic-looking or obvious. Surely.
So he thinks, as he's effectively tugged by his own vampire, away from the sitting room and towards the foyer. ]
How do you fancy Damris's odds?
[ Either they come back to find Damris gloating with his new love, or find him sobbing hysterically into a pillow. Not ideal for them either way, but the former will be slightly less awkward to deal with than the latter. Iorveth steps out of the door and into the blood-red curtain of the sunset, marveling for a moment at the fact that Astarion remains intact despite the light still screaming across the sky. ]
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Well, I certainly hope they're terrible, but—
[ He spares a glance behind his shoulder at the tower door. ]
Ugh. That little idiot came all the way to Waterdeep for him.
[ And he'd looked so besotted. Astarion scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ]
Perhaps he'll be able to overlook that his sweetheart is a bloodthirsty creature of the night. [ A pause. ] And a poisoner. [ Another. ] And irritating.
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Credit where it's due. ] After all, he did almost kill me. No mean feat.
[ Every human who's been after him for all these years would've been so mad to hear that the Woodland Fox got taken out by a tiefling in Athkatla. Iorveth smiles about it, wry, as he slowly makes his way down the street and towards a nearby apothecary (speaking of poisoning). First things first: potions and salve for the injured leg. ]
Whether Linus would appreciate Damris being capable of cold-blooded murder is yet to be seen, however.
[ Linus seems so... normal. A hapless fool who probably dreams of living in a nice house by the waterside with two dogs. ]
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Not everyone can be as appreciative of the lethal arts as you are, my sweet.
[ Astarion strokes Iorveth's bicep, adoring. Iorveth's complete lack of moralizing on murder is by far one of his best qualities. There's a part of Astarion that feels incredibly shameful when he thinks about all of the less-than-ethical things he's done, but Iorveth doesn't even care. It's a relief. ]
But all vampires are gifted in manipulation and deceit. I'm sure he'll bat his eyes and say that none of it was his fault.
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Still, Iorveth laughs under his breath at the comment about vampires being gifted in being shady. It seems almost like a self-own, so: ]
Is that what you'll say to me if you ever do anything questionable in the future?
[ Teasing, but also curious. A part of him hopes that Astarion would know better by now than to try to win him over with pretty lies, but another part of him kind of likes when Astarion looks at him with big doe eyes. Insulted by the insult to his intelligence, but also, like. Astarion's cute. Sue him.
Into the apothecary they go, met by the sharp stinging smell of dried herbs and half-made decoctions. A young-looking human wearing an apron waves to the both of them, but goes back to grinding something using mortar and pestle. ]
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Little old me, do something questionable?
[ He does bat his lashes, the picture of innocence except for the malicious little twinkle he'll never quite be able to get out of his eyes. ]
Darling, I would never.
[ So, yes. If Iorveth ever finds himself in a position to be upset with Astarion for something he's done, Astarion will gladly pull out all of the manipulation tactics in his repertoire. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being, but that doesn't mean he's willing to tolerate his disappointment or distaste for the sake of honesty.
Still hanging off of Iorveth's arm, he reaches with his free hand to pick up and sniff a nearby bottle on a shelf. Gods, it's acrid; his nose hairs are practically singed. ]
You don't think there's any chance they have a 'tincture of immortality' here, do you?
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