[ Astarion hikes up his chin, sniffing imperiously. Quite frankly, he doesn't like this healer's tone. Or the way he's acting as if Astarion is hiding something.
Which, admittedly, he sort of is. He's not sure he can tell Anders about the whole plane-shifting thing without sounding (more) insane, and he can't afford to scare off the only person who might be able to help him if this thing starts gnawing on his frontal lobe. ]
I already told you everything.
[ Mostly everything. ]
One moment, I was on the streets of— [ A pause. Fuck, what is this place called again? ] The city. The next, I was being kidnapped by some horrible monsters and having a wriggly little worm implanted in my eye.
[ ... ]
And there have been some... other changes. Some... things that I used to not be able to do, that now I can.
[ Anders sets the two potions next to Astarion, a little crook in his eyebrow at the elf's tone. But, whatever, he deals with assholes on a regular basis; as long as this jerk isn't a templar, Anders will manage. ]
First of all: any changes in your body or behavior because of the worm are relevant, considering where it is, unless you'd like a brief anatomy lesson in how crucial your brain happens to be.
[ As he speaks, Anders is gathering more magic into his hand, absently warming the wax around the first potion's cork. ]
Second of all: I've never had to treat a worm with teeth in someone's brain, so sorting this is trial-and-error. Who knows what killing the worm would do to you – and as long as it isn't reproducing and spreading, it's better to maintain homeostasis for you than it is to try experimentally plucking it out.
[ His magic little scan allowed him to visualize that tadpole fully and: ew.
He holds up the glass bottle. ]
Thirdly: drink this. It's just elfroot, but it should heal any damage caused by that thing wriggling into your head and any other wounds these "tentacle monsters" may have managed while they were at it.
[ Demons? Anders is trying to wrap his head around what "tentacle monsters" could be, because if that worm is real, he has to entertain the idea that someone did indeed put it into Astarion's head. Maybe Tevinter mages using magic to conceal their identities or drugging their kidnapped victims? ]
[ Astarion sniffs the offered potion, suspicious. He's not just going to drink any random thing offered to him!! He doesn't even know this healer's name, much less his credentials. For all he knows, this is poison. Or worse, it tastes bad. ]
Don't put quotation marks around "tentacle monsters".
[ He could HEAR IT, you dick. ]
If I were going to make up some ridiculous story about how I got a worm in my eye, it certainly wouldn't involve that.
[ While a tentacled monster is definitely an oddity on Toril, it's not an impossibility by any means. Everything else that exists there is strange—why not one more thing? Perhaps, though, this world is a bit more mundane. He worries his lip. ]
...You've really never heard of such a thing before?
[ Anders gives Astarion a pointed look, eyebrows lifted as he crosses his arms loosely over his chest. ]
Outside of the Fade and magical pranks, no, I can't say I encounter many "tentacle monsters" or worms in people's eyes.
[ Still putting quotation marks around it!! Not sorry!!! ]
Unless you found it in the Deep Roads and ended up on the wrong end of a Broodmother, but there's no trace of the taint on you, so at least you aren't blighted.
[ What the fuck are all these words he's saying. Fade? Deep Roads? Broodmother? Taint? Blighted? Astarion stares blankly, still holding the unconsumed elfroot potion in his hand. He's been handling the sudden upheaval well, he thinks, but he feels abruptly very out of his depth, and it gives him a little zing of anxiety. ]
Er, no, I don't think I did that.
[ Honestly, he has no idea. The freaky tentacle guys didn't look like they'd be called Broodmothers, though. ]
I don't even know what it is, at this point, so I can only guess at what effects my magic will have on it.
[ He points at the open potion. ]
Don't waste that. I didn't heal anything on your body yet, so whatever damage the worm has done this far, I haven't touched. It'll at least make you feel marginally less like the shit I imagine you must be right about now.
[ Since he still doesn't have an explanation for what or how or why... Anders is more focused on what he can treat, at this point.
[ Astarion takes another suspicious sniff before deciding fuck it and downing the potion all in one go. It tastes fucking awful, and he actually gags after, worried it's going to come up accompanied by whatever minuscule amounts of vermin blood he still has in his body. Gods, he doesn't want to have to explain that. He wills it to stay down, though, and unfortunately, Anders is right—it does help him feel (marginally) better. A little less like he just got knocked out and had something shoved in his eye, at least. ]
You could have warned me that the taste would be even more objectionable than your decor.
[ A reasonable person would thank Anders for the free potion. Astarion is not a reasonable person. ]
—Wait, [ he says, backing up. ] Does that mean you won't be using your magic on it?
[ Beggars can't be choosers, but Astarion still complains. ]
I thought you were supposed to be the best healer in this city. [ A pause. ] ...Or perhaps they just said you were the cheapest healer in this city.
[ Gods, has he gone to a budget healer for his worm-in-eye problem? That's not good. It's not like he has any better option, but suddenly, he feels a bit hesitant to let Anders at his eye. ]
Before you start experimenting on my brain, which I've been informed is quite crucial, maybe you should do some more research first.
[ He donates his skills. Refugees and the people who slip through the cracks of Kirkwall don't have access to any other services, and very few of them can afford to pay for healing. They return what they can, how they can.
Sighing, Anders leans his hip against a table, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ]
If that thing isn't going to imminently eat your brain, then yes, I'd rather take time to research before diving magic-first into your skull. I have contacts in the Circle here, and they have access to the magical libraries. They might have a better lead than I do with the resources I have here. Unless you have coin to shake at any of the doctors in Hightown, but I'd put good gold on the fact that thing in your skull is magical, so I doubt they can help you.
[ He's thinking out loud at this point, and he also doubts the doctors in Hightown would be willing to treat an elf, so... ]
[ Ugh, this guy is talking a lot. Astarion does try to listen, but he's sort of wired to start tuning out once someone reaches their third sentence or so. Eventually, he just interrupts when Anders stops to breathe— ]
Well, I can't be absolutely certain it isn't going to imminently eat my brain. I thought that's what you were for.
[ Are you a cleric or not!!! ]
But if the alternative is having you shove your magic inside me without any prelude [ —grossest way to describe that ever, probably— ] then I suppose it'll have to do. How long will it take you to research? A day?
[ The Gallows. Astarion stares blankly at that, although he's been staring blankly at a lot of things Anders has said, so it's probably easy to mistake him as having 'resting dumb face'. He stares even more blankly at the word 'week'. There's no way he can just come out and say 'what the fuck is a week' without sounding even more insane than he already has, so he just scratches his chin anxiously. ]
Of course, periodically. Every day of the week, I'm assuming. So that would be...
[ He trails off. Feel free to step in with the number of days in a week!! ]
[ That is finally enough to give Anders pause. He understands confusion to a degree, and he was perfectly fine assuming Astarion was dealing with perhaps a head injury or shock, but... His eyes narrow slightly at the elf as he takes a small step closer, scrutinizing the man like he can see the worm behind his eye. (He can't, but also... he knows it's there. ]
No, I would say every other day, at the most.
[ Super unhelpful about how many days are in a week, oops.
He doesn't ask before magic glows around his fingertips, and he reaches up to hover a hand by Astarion's head, intending to once more visualize the weird parasite wiggling about his skull. ]
Are you sure that thing hasn't been making a meal of your brain already?
[ Astarion flinches away. Now that he knows Anders doesn't know what the fuck is going on, he's significantly less willing to let him mess around with Astarion's very sensitive brain-parts. ]
I thought we agreed you'd be buying me dinner first before you fooled around in there.
[ ...But. Perhaps Astarion's complete lack of understanding about the way things work here does make him seem as if his brain has been nibbled on by a worm. ]
I happen not to be from around these parts, that's all. The aforementioned tentacle monsters dropped me off here.
[ Astarion's right in the middle of figuring out how to explain that apparently no one around here has actually heard of the place he's from, if the few people he'd tried to speak to are any indication—
but then Anders says that, and it brings back memories of odd and unexpected hostility, suggestions that he make his way to the alienage, whatever that means. He throws his hands up, scoffing. ]
[ "You people" like... "you shemlen"? Not the first time Anders has heard an elf balk at the response they get in the cities, but Kirkwall seems especially awful about it. (Though he doubts it's much different in other alienages.) ]
I don't think either of us has time to debate the origin of the oppression of elves, but I'd like it noted I personally have nothing against elves.
[ Some of his best friends are elves!!! ]
Edited (oh my god that word changed everything woop) 2025-11-24 03:41 (UTC)
[ Anders may not think they have the time to 'debate the origin of the oppression of elves', but unfortunately, that's exactly what he's about to have to do. Astarion's eyebrows jump up before coming right back down to a furrow. He leans forward, shoulders rising— ]
I'm sorry, oppression?
[ What kind of shitshow has he landed in? ]
u would not BELIEVE how racist this dude is personally against elves
[ So maybe he shouts a little. So what?! In his defense, this is the first he's learning of some fucking elven enslavement. What, is he at risk of this? Why didn't anyone tell him sooner? He's been here for hours already.
The very thought makes him so anxious he could vomit—if he had anything inside him to retch up—and, unfortunately, Anders is the only one nearby for him to take out these emotions on. He's shooting up off his chair with a start, teeth grinding. ]
[ Anders blinks somewhat owlishly at the reaction – not because it's the wrong one to have, necessarily, but because it seems like this elf has never heard a whisper of Thedosian history.
He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and considering Astarion. He doesn't look cowed by the outburst, but rather, considering. ]
This whole place was built on the backs of Tevinter slaves. Kirkwall is the City of Chains, even if the Imperium no longer holds it.
So, no, not a joke. Slavery may be illegal as it once stood, but elves without magic are segregated in the alienages, and those with it are enslaved in the Circles with other mages.
[ Astarion swipes a hand over his mouth, panicking a little. Landing here had seemed like a boon, but perhaps it isn't. Quickly, he runs through all the possible next steps— ]
Which one is better?
[ The alienage or the Circle? He can do a little magic. Elven blood. If it'll get him better privileges, he's all for it. ]
If that's your idea of a joke, it's certainly not funny.
[ People? Love? Magic? ]
This isn't Tevinter. Mages in the south either live in the bloody prisons they make for us or they hunt us down over and over and over again. And if they find a flimsy enough excuse for it on a bad day, they might just execute a mage or turn them into a mindless slave for the rest of their existence.
[ So he's picking up on the fact that 'mage' is obviously the word here for— wizard? Cleric? General caster of magic? Something like that. The idea of executing someone or turning them into a thrall—he assumes???—for the crime of a little arcane aptitude seems a bit ridiculous, and it's obvious on his face. Nose scrunched, lip curled.
Trying to make sense of it: ] ...Well, clearly not all wizards. Mages. —Whatever.
[ #NotAllMages ]
You're doing just fine.
[ He says, standing in Anders's fuckass little clinic in the shittiest part of town. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Which, admittedly, he sort of is. He's not sure he can tell Anders about the whole plane-shifting thing without sounding (more) insane, and he can't afford to scare off the only person who might be able to help him if this thing starts gnawing on his frontal lobe. ]
I already told you everything.
[ Mostly everything. ]
One moment, I was on the streets of— [ A pause. Fuck, what is this place called again? ] The city. The next, I was being kidnapped by some horrible monsters and having a wriggly little worm implanted in my eye.
[ ... ]
And there have been some... other changes. Some... things that I used to not be able to do, that now I can.
[ Quickly: ] I'm sure that's hardly relevant, though.
no subject
First of all: any changes in your body or behavior because of the worm are relevant, considering where it is, unless you'd like a brief anatomy lesson in how crucial your brain happens to be.
[ As he speaks, Anders is gathering more magic into his hand, absently warming the wax around the first potion's cork. ]
Second of all: I've never had to treat a worm with teeth in someone's brain, so sorting this is trial-and-error. Who knows what killing the worm would do to you – and as long as it isn't reproducing and spreading, it's better to maintain homeostasis for you than it is to try experimentally plucking it out.
[ His magic little scan allowed him to visualize that tadpole fully and: ew.
He holds up the glass bottle. ]
Thirdly: drink this. It's just elfroot, but it should heal any damage caused by that thing wriggling into your head and any other wounds these "tentacle monsters" may have managed while they were at it.
[ Demons? Anders is trying to wrap his head around what "tentacle monsters" could be, because if that worm is real, he has to entertain the idea that someone did indeed put it into Astarion's head. Maybe Tevinter mages using magic to conceal their identities or drugging their kidnapped victims? ]
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Don't put quotation marks around "tentacle monsters".
[ He could HEAR IT, you dick. ]
If I were going to make up some ridiculous story about how I got a worm in my eye, it certainly wouldn't involve that.
[ While a tentacled monster is definitely an oddity on Toril, it's not an impossibility by any means. Everything else that exists there is strange—why not one more thing? Perhaps, though, this world is a bit more mundane. He worries his lip. ]
...You've really never heard of such a thing before?
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Outside of the Fade and magical pranks, no, I can't say I encounter many "tentacle monsters" or worms in people's eyes.
[ Still putting quotation marks around it!! Not sorry!!! ]
Unless you found it in the Deep Roads and ended up on the wrong end of a Broodmother, but there's no trace of the taint on you, so at least you aren't blighted.
[ No Darkspawn shenanigans here! ]
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Er, no, I don't think I did that.
[ Honestly, he has no idea. The freaky tentacle guys didn't look like they'd be called Broodmothers, though. ]
Regardless. You can keep it in stasis?
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[ He certainly can't make any promises. ]
I don't even know what it is, at this point, so I can only guess at what effects my magic will have on it.
[ He points at the open potion. ]
Don't waste that. I didn't heal anything on your body yet, so whatever damage the worm has done this far, I haven't touched. It'll at least make you feel marginally less like the shit I imagine you must be right about now.
[ Since he still doesn't have an explanation for what or how or why... Anders is more focused on what he can treat, at this point.
... It does taste awful, though. Bitter shit. ]
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You could have warned me that the taste would be even more objectionable than your decor.
[ A reasonable person would thank Anders for the free potion. Astarion is not a reasonable person. ]
—Wait, [ he says, backing up. ] Does that mean you won't be using your magic on it?
[ Why did he even come here, then??? ]
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[ Why would he warn Astarion about the normal nature of things that everyone should know? Water is wet, the sky is blue, and elfroot is bitter. ]
And no, I'll use my magic on it, if you'll let me try. I just can't guarantee that thing will stay in stasis permanently.
[ He can't make any guarantees about it, actually. It could explode in Astarion's skull when Anders tries to magic it! Who knows! Not him! ]
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I thought you were supposed to be the best healer in this city. [ A pause. ] ...Or perhaps they just said you were the cheapest healer in this city.
[ Gods, has he gone to a budget healer for his worm-in-eye problem? That's not good. It's not like he has any better option, but suddenly, he feels a bit hesitant to let Anders at his eye. ]
Before you start experimenting on my brain, which I've been informed is quite crucial, maybe you should do some more research first.
no subject
[ He donates his skills. Refugees and the people who slip through the cracks of Kirkwall don't have access to any other services, and very few of them can afford to pay for healing. They return what they can, how they can.
Sighing, Anders leans his hip against a table, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ]
If that thing isn't going to imminently eat your brain, then yes, I'd rather take time to research before diving magic-first into your skull. I have contacts in the Circle here, and they have access to the magical libraries. They might have a better lead than I do with the resources I have here. Unless you have coin to shake at any of the doctors in Hightown, but I'd put good gold on the fact that thing in your skull is magical, so I doubt they can help you.
[ He's thinking out loud at this point, and he also doubts the doctors in Hightown would be willing to treat an elf, so... ]
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Well, I can't be absolutely certain it isn't going to imminently eat my brain. I thought that's what you were for.
[ Are you a cleric or not!!! ]
But if the alternative is having you shove your magic inside me without any prelude [ —grossest way to describe that ever, probably— ] then I suppose it'll have to do. How long will it take you to research? A day?
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A day? It'll take a day just to get a message into the Gallows. I wouldn't expect to hear back in under a week, if we're lucky.
[ It's not exactly easy to get shit past the templars and then people have to research. ]
I can attempt to put a temporary shield around the worm, in case it decides to start... wriggling. But that would need to be reinforced periodically.
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Of course, periodically. Every day of the week, I'm assuming. So that would be...
[ He trails off. Feel free to step in with the number of days in a week!! ]
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No, I would say every other day, at the most.
[ Super unhelpful about how many days are in a week, oops.
He doesn't ask before magic glows around his fingertips, and he reaches up to hover a hand by Astarion's head, intending to once more visualize the weird parasite wiggling about his skull. ]
Are you sure that thing hasn't been making a meal of your brain already?
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I thought we agreed you'd be buying me dinner first before you fooled around in there.
[ ...But. Perhaps Astarion's complete lack of understanding about the way things work here does make him seem as if his brain has been nibbled on by a worm. ]
I happen not to be from around these parts, that's all. The aforementioned tentacle monsters dropped me off here.
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I was just going to have a more thorough look, I wasn't going to do anything to it.
[ But also, not a bad impulse to be more cautious about those sensitive brain meats. ]
Where are you from, then? Tevinter? I didn't think they'd allow elves to dress so finely there.
[ Astarion's clothes are nice, if a bit of a mess now. ]
covers timestamp.
but then Anders says that, and it brings back memories of odd and unexpected hostility, suggestions that he make his way to the alienage, whatever that means. He throws his hands up, scoffing. ]
What is you people's issue with elves?
[ Yes, 'you people'. ]
bats my eyelashes at u
I don't think either of us has time to debate the origin of the oppression of elves, but I'd like it noted I personally have nothing against elves.
[ Some of his best friends are elves!!! ]
anders: i personally fucking hate elves btw
I'm sorry, oppression?
[ What kind of shitshow has he landed in? ]
u would not BELIEVE how racist this dude is personally against elves
What else would you call centuries of systematic cultural eradication and enslavement?
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[ So maybe he shouts a little. So what?! In his defense, this is the first he's learning of some fucking elven enslavement. What, is he at risk of this? Why didn't anyone tell him sooner? He's been here for hours already.
The very thought makes him so anxious he could vomit—if he had anything inside him to retch up—and, unfortunately, Anders is the only one nearby for him to take out these emotions on. He's shooting up off his chair with a start, teeth grinding. ]
Tell me you're joking.
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He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and considering Astarion. He doesn't look cowed by the outburst, but rather, considering. ]
This whole place was built on the backs of Tevinter slaves. Kirkwall is the City of Chains, even if the Imperium no longer holds it.
So, no, not a joke. Slavery may be illegal as it once stood, but elves without magic are segregated in the alienages, and those with it are enslaved in the Circles with other mages.
[ Oops preachy mage rights moment. ]
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[ Astarion swipes a hand over his mouth, panicking a little. Landing here had seemed like a boon, but perhaps it isn't. Quickly, he runs through all the possible next steps— ]
Which one is better?
[ The alienage or the Circle? He can do a little magic. Elven blood. If it'll get him better privileges, he's all for it. ]
The magic one, I assume. The people love magic.
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If that's your idea of a joke, it's certainly not funny.
[ People? Love? Magic? ]
This isn't Tevinter. Mages in the south either live in the bloody prisons they make for us or they hunt us down over and over and over again. And if they find a flimsy enough excuse for it on a bad day, they might just execute a mage or turn them into a mindless slave for the rest of their existence.
But sure, they love magic.
[ Sassy bitch o'clock. ]
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Trying to make sense of it: ] ...Well, clearly not all wizards. Mages. —Whatever.
[ #NotAllMages ]
You're doing just fine.
[ He says, standing in Anders's fuckass little clinic in the shittiest part of town. ]
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