"Stabbed an innocent man in the face mid-conversation, full time sex pet slash bait, and that you'd forgotten what your face looks like," he answers evenly.
"But I like to think I would have been paying enough attention to be careful anyway."
Astarion isn't sure he believes that, and having so much of his life laid out quite so baldly isn't the most pleasant thing to hear. But he did ask. Maybe he's just easier to read than he likes to imagine, in the company of someone who's actually watching.
useless child
"I think you would," he agrees, and strokes the ear he pinched. "Personally, I would be very content to do this again just as we have, and if you'd prefer to wait to discuss anything further, I'm happy to do that."
"I truly don't know if I could have done any better," Jedao admits. "I got made with a lot of weird skills built in, but I don't see how the whip would be an especially practical assassin's weapon. But I did want to be sure."
"Oh, I'd never use a whip to kill someone. Incredibly unwieldy," he
agrees. "Two knives, a shortbow, a little magic and a quiet tread have
always served me perfectly well."
Up until they didn't, but no amount of stealth would have saved him in the
end.
"Magic," he agrees. "I keep forgetting that people don't just see the ears
and know, here. The Admiral took most of it, but - I still have a few
tricks up my sleeve, if you'd like a demonstration?"
He casts Mage Hand - invisible to anyone but himself - and uses it to pick
up the coiled whip from where it's been placed, letting it uncoil and
giving it a light little spin in midair.
The urge to twist around and kiss him, in spite of all his principles and everything he's said, squeezes Jedao breathless for a moment. He feels so pathetically unalone, even though he knows intellectually that whatever Astarion is, he's no voidmoth. There's something so gently familiar about the way he handles the whip in the air; no silly arm-waving, like telekinetics in Eiffel's movies. Just will and motion. Jedao reaches out with a mothpull and gives a little tug at the handle.
Astarion lets out a delighted little laugh and tugs back. The spell isn't as powerful as it should be, the strength it can exert here is honestly pathetic, but he only ever really used it for picking locks from across a room anyway. (Maybe the occasional shove if some idiot happened to be standing on the edge of a cliff.)
"Isn't that something. You've been holding out on me, darling."
Jedao isn't trying to fight him for it; he can bring far more power to bear, but it hurts like hell, and anyway, it's not a power struggle, just a nudge. "I have been," he agrees, because it's true. "Almost everyone is human, where I came from."
He always says came from, not come from, a disjunct between himself and the world of his past.
"So I don't like letting most people see the ways I'm not." Plenty of people have seen his blood, after the latest barge disasters, but he keeps it quiet when he can. Astarion is no longer most people.
Astarion doesn't ask what he is, if not human. He might not understand
the answer and it doesn't matter much anyway. The important takeaway here
is what he's been entrusted with.
"...Thank you. I, ah, I know it can be difficult to try to keep secret
something so central to who you are."
"I'm...between ourselves, I'm happier to be here than the alternative. If
I'd just died, that would be one thing, but what I had to look forward to
was an eternity spent in the lowest Hells."
A pause.
"I'm not making a poetic remark about the sins I've committed. My soul had
been very literally promised to a devil."
"I'm feeling lovely," Jedao promises, which is true, but also he's probably about five minutes away from starting to fret about how to wrap things up without seeming callous. His erection has also mostly faded, which is another point in favor of moving. "You've done a wonderful job taking care of me. Is there anything else I can do for you before we go?"
"Alright," Jedao says warmly. He does feel grounded and ready to go, but he's still just a little wistfully reluctant as he eases out of Astarion's arms.
He groans a little as he stretches. Astarion can see the effects of his healing: the places he broke the skin are already mostly healed, with only tiny dark seams in place of cuts, like little lines of ink on his skin. The welts are still starkly visible, red and raised, surrounded by lurid purple bruises fading to green in a few places, day-old bruises instead of less than an hour.
Astarion looks, and fights down the impulse to reach out and touch. To
worry at those bruises with his fingertips and bring their sting up fresh.
His healing, certainly, is fast. Faster than he'd expected, honestly. He
glances down at the dark, sticky patches of blood left on his shirt.
"Ah - will this launder out by normal methods, or do I need to be more
cautious?"
It doesn't feel caustic where it's making contact with his skin, but one
can't be too careful.
Jedao looks sheepish as he shrugs on his own black sweater.
"Uh - probably good to soak it quick, actually, with something mildly acidic, I can give you some vinegar." It's not caustic - and is slightly alkaline, if anything - but it's also not fully machine washable. "It should wash out after that, but if it stains, just bring me the shirt, I'll stick it in the drawer with my uniforms for a day, they have cleaning nanites - very tiny little machines that just do one job."
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"Of course. What did you learn about me during the flood last month?"
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"But I like to think I would have been paying enough attention to be careful anyway."
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Astarion isn't sure he believes that, and having so much of his life laid out quite so baldly isn't the most pleasant thing to hear. But he did ask. Maybe he's just easier to read than he likes to imagine, in the company of someone who's actually watching.
useless child
"I think you would," he agrees, and strokes the ear he pinched. "Personally, I would be very content to do this again just as we have, and if you'd prefer to wait to discuss anything further, I'm happy to do that."
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"But that sounds perfect."
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"Mmm. It does."
His arousal has faded now, at least, though he'll be recalling this fondly in private.
"I haven't been this pleased to win a bet in quite some time. Or allowed to win one," he adds, teasing.
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"I truly don't know if I could have done any better," Jedao admits. "I got made with a lot of weird skills built in, but I don't see how the whip would be an especially practical assassin's weapon. But I did want to be sure."
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"Oh, I'd never use a whip to kill someone. Incredibly unwieldy," he agrees. "Two knives, a shortbow, a little magic and a quiet tread have always served me perfectly well."
Up until they didn't, but no amount of stealth would have saved him in the end.
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"Magic," he agrees. "I keep forgetting that people don't just see the ears and know, here. The Admiral took most of it, but - I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, if you'd like a demonstration?"
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Although he did hear Hakkai made a blunder in that area.
"I'd love to see something, if it's not taxing?"
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"Not at all."
He casts Mage Hand - invisible to anyone but himself - and uses it to pick up the coiled whip from where it's been placed, letting it uncoil and giving it a light little spin in midair.
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"Ah-"
Astarion lets out a delighted little laugh and tugs back. The spell isn't as powerful as it should be, the strength it can exert here is honestly pathetic, but he only ever really used it for picking locks from across a room anyway. (Maybe the occasional shove if some idiot happened to be standing on the edge of a cliff.)
"Isn't that something. You've been holding out on me, darling."
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He always says came from, not come from, a disjunct between himself and the world of his past.
"So I don't like letting most people see the ways I'm not." Plenty of people have seen his blood, after the latest barge disasters, but he keeps it quiet when he can. Astarion is no longer most people.
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Astarion doesn't ask what he is, if not human. He might not understand the answer and it doesn't matter much anyway. The important takeaway here is what he's been entrusted with.
"...Thank you. I, ah, I know it can be difficult to try to keep secret something so central to who you are."
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Not suffocating silence as much as echoing empty loneliness.
"I know this might be rude to say to a prisoner, but I'm really glad you're here."
For Jedao's sake and for his own; he's not asking what Astarion had to hide, but he is listening.
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"I'm...between ourselves, I'm happier to be here than the alternative. If I'd just died, that would be one thing, but what I had to look forward to was an eternity spent in the lowest Hells."
A pause.
"I'm not making a poetic remark about the sins I've committed. My soul had been very literally promised to a devil."
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"I couldn't agree more."
He returns to touching Jedao's hair, petting lightly.
"How are you feeling now? You seem a little more...centred."
Less floaty, more focused.
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"No," he says. "No, you've been excellent company, pet. We can relinquish this place to other visitors as soon as you're ready."
He's not particularly elegant on the dismount, simply for lack of practice, so being able to couch this in terms of Jedao's needs is...easier.
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He groans a little as he stretches. Astarion can see the effects of his healing: the places he broke the skin are already mostly healed, with only tiny dark seams in place of cuts, like little lines of ink on his skin. The welts are still starkly visible, red and raised, surrounded by lurid purple bruises fading to green in a few places, day-old bruises instead of less than an hour.
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Astarion looks, and fights down the impulse to reach out and touch. To worry at those bruises with his fingertips and bring their sting up fresh. His healing, certainly, is fast. Faster than he'd expected, honestly. He glances down at the dark, sticky patches of blood left on his shirt.
"Ah - will this launder out by normal methods, or do I need to be more cautious?"
It doesn't feel caustic where it's making contact with his skin, but one can't be too careful.
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"Uh - probably good to soak it quick, actually, with something mildly acidic, I can give you some vinegar." It's not caustic - and is slightly alkaline, if anything - but it's also not fully machine washable. "It should wash out after that, but if it stains, just bring me the shirt, I'll stick it in the drawer with my uniforms for a day, they have cleaning nanites - very tiny little machines that just do one job."
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"Thank you. I have vinegar in my cabin, I think - it's useful for more mundane bloodstains, in my experience."
He stretches languidly, like a cat deciding it's had enough time at rest, and then unfolds onto his feet.
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