nibbling: (Default)
the lockpicking lawyer ([personal profile] nibbling) wrote2024-06-08 03:58 pm
essea: (44.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-23 01:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ For a searing moment, the illithid parasite in Iorveth's brain flares. It alerts him to the presence of its cousin nearby, whispers to him in a voice that isn't his to connect, to know.

It's easy to silence that alien murmur, because he knows anyway. It kills Iorveth, that he knows. Once upon a time, maybe this could have meant nothing― a physical attraction, curiosity sated through idle, shallow indulgence― but gods, it's gutting that that isn't the way of things anymore. His feelings won't spare anyone.

Still, a surge of affection runs through him. Makes him shiver, and press the pads of his fingers more firmly against Astarion's skin.
]

Fool, [ he sighs. ] Keep talking like that, and I'll not let you go.

[ Want claws at Iorveth's ribs again. A desire that has fangs and claws and sharp edges. Iorveth would burn villages for his Aen Seidhe, and he'd kill anyone if they mistreated Astarion; the same side of the same coin.

He's close to passing out, but he kisses Astarion's temple before the blissful void of his trance can claim him. He mouths something in his language, close enough to standard Elvish that it almost sounds like three words he shouldn't string together. He passes into unconsciousness seconds later, wrapped around Astarion with gentle vehemence.
]
essea: (32.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-23 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Blight's done a number on him; Iorveth sleeps like the dead, and no part of the rest is meditative. His limbs feel like lead when he's woken up by Astarion's mewling (sluggish mental associations conjuring an image of a white cat begging for a meal), so he rolls over and away instead of gracefully sitting up, letting one arm dangle off the side of the bed so that he can fish blindly for the pack that he tossed onto the floor the night prior.

Tired fingers catch the edge of a strap, and with a light grunt, Iorveth tugs the bag onto the mattress.
]

Here, [ he murmurs, still drowsy. Another roll, to deliver his supplies to Astarion. ] There's one or two, drink them both if you're in such pain.

[ Not quite as grumpy as he could've been. Heartened, in some measure, by the complaining― far preferable to the Astarion he'd seen in the manor, head down and docile. ]
essea: (24.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-23 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ They must look ridiculous, naked and trying to drink potions without sitting up. Iorveth grunts at the clumsy offering of the vial, considering if he should refuse it and insist that Astarion drink this one too, but decides that he really is no use to the guy if he's an aching lump on the mattress.

He laps the fluid out of the bottle, narrowing his eye in vague annoyance when a bit of it trickles out of his mouth and down his chin. The process is clumsy, but the result is relief; he licks around the rim once there's nothing else to drink, and wipes his face with the back of his hand.
]

Mm. [ Edging closer, reaching for the pack to dump it back onto the floor behind him. He wraps a lazy arm around Astarion's middle again. ] I'm starving.

[ He'll probably be even sweeter after he gets some food in him. ]
essea: (1.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ A soft huff, laugh-adjacent. ]

Mind what you say about that "old biddy". She's the only sensible human I've met in an age.

[ (Gale, somewhere: "am I a joke to you?" Poor Gale, suffering the brunt of Iorveth's casual hatred of both humans and wizards.)

Iorveth lingers, loosely holding Astarion against him. Force of habit tells him that there's no reason for him to be idle― he's already thought of five things he should be doing by the end of the day― but he quells that automatic reflex and glances at Astarion, maps the lines of fatigue on his face.
]

You can't go anywhere in your ruined clothes. [ It's also the truth that Iorveth doesn't want Astarion to pull them back on, what with them being covered in Cazador. He should burn them, really. ] I'll go find something for you after I fetch myself some food.

[ His own clothes are... well, they're not fine, but no one's going to be scandalized by a shirtless elf in grimy pants. ]
essea: (45.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ Up Iorveth goes, fighting valiantly against the forces of gravity to stand, unwaveringly, back on his own two feet. It sucks. It sucks even more to have to preserve his modesty with stained clothes, but then again, he's not picky: he's stripped gear from corpses, and he's used to living in filth. He just prefers not to have to.

Pants are pulled on, boots are laced. The shirt-and-vest combo that he bought literally two days ago are too ruined to consider wearing, so they're thrown on top of the "to-burn" pile. Hopefully, the cafe doesn't have a dress code.

With that done, he tucks his coinpurse into his pocket, and meanders over to Astarion, who does, in fact, look very lovely and very distracting. Even with all his burns and cuts, he's the prettiest thing Iorveth has seen. It's incredibly annoying.

He bends forward, and kisses his navel.
]

I'll make you look like Halsin.

[ Like, yeah, they're both wood elves, but Iorveth can acknowledge that Halsin lays it on thick. ]
essea: (42.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
[ In the past, he might have scowled at being shooed away. Iorveth doesn't have it in him today. One more light brush of his fingers along Astarion's hair, and he steps away to put his eyepatch over his face, still preferring to cover as much as he can of his scar in front of strangers. ]

I'll announce myself when I get back. If anyone knocks, don't answer.

[ A word of caution, before he leaves and finds the world outside of the inn in the same exact state as they'd left it the day prior, entirely unaffected by the symbolic collapse of the Szarr mansion that still stands, like a tombstone, beyond the ramparts running through the city like veins; it reminds Iorveth of the grand emptiness of his victory against Henselt, and the sinking loneliness of that feeling, daunting enough that he'd asked Astarion to share a bed with him.

He should get back quickly.

His errands don't take long. The kind proprietress― who blushes when Iorveth shows up, "oh dear, it isn't that warm outside"― obliges his request to have his food to go with bursting enthusiasm, and makes sure, again, to pack extra for his "pretty darling, I do hope he's feeling better now."

Debatable. But Iorveth can't say that, so he thanks the lady with a bow of his head, and a promise to pass on her well-wishes. She looks pleased, leaving Iorveth feeling confident that, despite his hatred of the human race, he's found at least one that he wouldn't want to kill.

His visit to Facemaker's is less pleasant, but similarly fruitful: the dwarf looks slightly relieved that the weird elf duo has returned as a weird elf single, and though the customer service from Figaro lacks the flourish of a man who owes his life to the freak demanding clothes from his store, Iorveth isn't denied Figaro's vast collection of wares. He winds up leaving with an entirely new outfit for himself to change into later, and two other ensembles for Astarion, neither of them in green.

Arms full and warmed by morning sun, he returns to their room in the Spearhead. As promised, he announces himself with a measured "Astarion, it's me, I'm coming inside", and quietly pokes his head in through the door, just in case Astarion's fallen asleep again.
]
Edited 2024-08-24 03:26 (UTC)
essea: (35.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 04:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ Silver hair, red eyes, pale skin warming under sunlight. Iorveth is still convinced that the way Astarion looks is definitively the least interesting thing about him, but even the least interesting thing about him still makes Iorveth stop in his tracks every so often.

The door closes behind them; gods forbid anyone passes by and tries to get curious. Iorveth moves to the bed, where he deposits his things and marinates on the question of whether or not he did miss Astarion, in the not-actually-significant amount of time that he'd spent away.

Ridiculous. Still, the verdict is an absentminded:
] Somewhat. [ Difficult to deny that Astarion was on his mind, when every choice Iorveth'd made after leaving the room hinged on what would please him. ]

If you need the space, I'll go.
essea: (38.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
Brooding might do you some good. [ Reflection is healthy, is the implication. Probably very funny, coming from a wood elf who has chosen to systematically murder his oppressors instead of literally anything else; he is likely not the patron saint of healthy decisions made by individuals with perfect mental health.

But, well. Astarion probably should put some clothes on. Iorveth reaches inside his bag and fishes out his purchases for Astarion's perusal. The first outfit is the more expensive cousin to Astarion's usual campwear: a white shirt with a V-shaped neckline, collar and sleeves embroidered with delicate gold thread, and a pair of smartly-tailored midnight-black pants to accompany it. The second is a long, tastefully decorated black robe with an accompanying silver belt to keep everything in place, meant more for comfort than anything else; the pants accompanying it are softer, easier to lounge in. Some clean underwear, too, though handing it over feels a bit, hm.

His eye flicks to the side, not quite bashful, but polite for his own sake.
]

None of these are scandalous enough for your taste, I assume.
essea: (8.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 11:45 am (UTC)(link)
[ Well, if Astarion is going to change, he might as well too. His selection is far more modest, just a pair of dark brown pants and a jade-green tunic; he slips on the former, decides to wear the latter when he feels more like it. He also replaces his eyepatch with a new one, temporarily― the one Astarion chose for him will have to be tended to later, soaked carefully to get some stains out. Iorveth wants it to last as long as it can, so he substitutes it for a strip of soft cloth that covers more of his face.

With that done:
] Pretty as always. [ As promised, tending to Astarion. (Specifically, his ego.) Iorveth settles next to him with his basket of food, leaving a polite inch of space between them as he starts to rummage through his breakfast, caught with a mouthful of pastry when Astarion mentions never having been gifted anything.

Hm, he hums, and swallows.
] I may be the first, but I'll not be the last.

[ Maybe Astarion didn't have the freedom to receive anything from anyone before, but that doesn't hold true anymore. Iorveth glances towards Astarion, expression softening a fraction. ] Do you see your worth more clearly, now?
essea: (24.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-24 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Iorveth of the past would've drawn his shoulders back and scowled at being treated like a parkside pigeon being fed breadcrumbs, but Iorveth of now parts his lips for the mouthful, nibbling at Astarion's fingertips in idle provocation. Stupid cat, doing cute things.

He thinks about "I'm delightful" as he chews, and replies:
] You're compelling. [ An assent, so he can go back to his original point. ] If you see yourself clearly, others will follow.

[ And they'll want to stay with him, is Iorveth's point. There's no reason for Astarion to be alone anymore. Tipping his head, he opens his mouth again, silently asking for another bite of food. ]
essea: (45.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-25 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ Iorveth wasn't lying when he'd said that he was starving: he attacks every morsel with the intentness of a feral animal, teeth and tongue scraping at bits of frosting on Astarion's fingers. There'll be nothing like this for a while when he decides to journey back north, so he'll enjoy it for now, when he can.

(This, encompassing Astarion's steady presence. Still up in the air.)

He holds Astarion's wrist in place to lick a crumb off the side of his index, and hums in return.
]

Fair. [ A soft understatement, as he lets go. ] It's your life to live.

[ A daunting prospect, Iorveth knows. He feels a twinge of sympathy, and it softens him enough to attempt a brief bump of forehead to forehead in quiet solidarity. Sometimes, living is more difficult than anything else. ]
essea: (8.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-25 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
[ A quick demolishing of his pastry and a mouthful of water later: ]

I'd planned to tend to you, and little else.

[ Pigs may fly: the freak with a plan doesn't have a plan. Or, well, he does, but it boils down to "spoil Astarion for the day", which is not something he'll say out loud, so. Aside from that, he has vague next steps of action for Astarion's future sunlight problem, but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself― after all, Astarion might not even want his help, specifically, for that issue.

Fifty things to do, at all times. The parasite problem, the cultist problem, the politics up north, his place in all of these things. If he lets the cogs of his mind start turning, they'd never stop.
]

If you can believe it, [ he drawls, ] I do worry about you.

[ Shoving a piece of sausage in his mouth, as a distraction. ]

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