[ The liquid in the bottle is a dark pink-purple, ever-so-slightly shimmery. Pretty, really, if it weren't a potion for forcing feelings of love onto unwitting bystanders (he assumes). Not that he particularly cares about the ethics of it, but it's a little gauche to not even be able to seduce people the old-fashioned way. ]
Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
[ Iorveth could say something about not having fallen in love with Astarion's face, but he decides not to ruin the moment with it. (It's a vexingly pretty face, at any rate.) Instead, he unstoppers one of the potion vials and offers it to Astarion to drink, which makes the young man with his dirty hands look up from where he's hunched over his bench and call out:
"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
[ Peering over Iorveth's shoulder, he says, ] Oh, don't worry, darling. I've already purchased a rather large amount of oil for that purpose in Athkatla.
[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ A 'rather large amount'. Iorveth's brow shoots up, making his eyepatch strap slip somewhat in the process; there's something a bit embarrassing about how just the suggestion of that is enough to make Iorveth feel slightly hotter under his collar, but it does. Astarion should be able to feel it, nestled close as he is－ just a faint hike in temperature, and a skip of Iorveth's pulse.
He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
[ Most of Astarion's affection is out of a genuine desire—or urge, or perhaps need—to be as close to Iorveth as he can, but a small part of it is performative. He enjoys showing off, proving to the world that he has someone who loves him, someone who cares. That's why he catches the shopkeep's exhausted eyes (he can't ever catch a break; just last tenday some irritating wizard came in and started questioning if his fleshwort was ethically sourced) and presses a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
[ The shopkeep is tired of people coming in to buy the most basic of items when they could be sampling some of his more eccentric offerings, but that's life. Meanwhile, Iorveth sways sideways and loops an arm around Astarion's waist, hugging him close－
－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
I could attempt to love you less, [ Iorveth shoots back, though the threat is toothless-- as ever, not a fan of claiming something he has no intention of doing. He does intend to apply salve on Astarion's injured leg, however, so he makes sure to drop the tin into his basket of potions for later use...
...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
[ Iorveth isn't allowed to love him less ever, so thank the gods the threat is halfhearted at best. He's also not allowed to disparage his looks, which are incredibly handsome according to Astarion's totally unbiased opinion; he tugs on Iorveth's ear, scolding. ]
You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
[ 'Prince' is hilarious, actually－ another raised brow (not enough to dislodge the eyepatch this time), and a half-laugh later, Iorveth moves to pay for their purchases, much to the relief of the young man with his stained fingers. ]
I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
[ Ugh!!!! Planning. Astarion has an instant negative reaction to the thought, frowning even as he snatches Iorveth's hand up to hold in his the moment it's free. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being and, for the most part, he just wants to be close to him. Iorveth is also his security blanket, though, and Astarion feels the need to latch onto him whenever his emotional state veers even slightly unpleasant.
It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
[ Credit where it's due (?), it's a good short-sightedness; one that speaks to Astarion's desire to live the most uncomplicated, indulgent life that he can. Perhaps he didn't let himself want even that, at some point.
But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
[ A century is whatever. A century's fine! Astarion can spend a century as a fugitive knowing that they have many more centuries ahead of them. He just shrugs at the statement, hoping that since Iorveth drops this whole 'future' thing in the store, he's dropped it entirely.
Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
[ Mention of the unrealized dream of becoming vampire ascendant evokes an obvious reaction; a small but noticeable twitch of Iorveth's scarred lips, the shadow of a frown tugging at the corner or it. It's the one thing that he fears will fester in the future, a thing that Iorveth thinks that Astarion might regret centuries later, when the novelty of being loved by Iorveth might have worn off. A disservice to Astarion to think that way, perhaps, but it's the one small bone in Iorveth's throat that keeps sticking.
He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.
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Mm, I don't need that. When you've a face like this, it does the difficult work for you.
[ The only people who don't fall in love with him within the first ten minutes are blind or stupid, obviously. It just so happens that most people are blind or stupid.
He leans against Iorveth's arm, just this side of 'too shmoopy for the public'. ]
And I already have my one true love.
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"Hey, I hope you're going to pay for that!"
Iorveth ignores him. ] You're not even a bit curious as to how Damris would act if he were madly in love with you?
[ Not that Iorveth would drug Damris even as a prank (he hates magical coercion by principle), but gossiping about him is free.
With the vial passed on, Iorveth can move on to inspecting salves and oils. Primarily looking at things that might help soothe cat-related injuries, but also looking skeptically towards the various so-called 'massage oils' to be used for 'creative purposes'. Gods. ]
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[ More things he probably shouldn't be saying in public. Oh, well!!! He would have already dipped into his lubrication supply, if not for this stupid leg. Being close to Iorveth is not enough, he needs one of them to be inside the other.
But he's still on stupid canoodling restrictions, so he sighs and rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder. ]
I wouldn't mind having you tenderly rub some of that [ —a salve in a soothing, pale blue tin— ] on my wounds, though. [ A pause. ] Tenderly.
[ He's delicate. ]
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He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
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You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
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－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
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[ That is—
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
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...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
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You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
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I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
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It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
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But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
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Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
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He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.