[ Loki, in what is probably the most comical should anyone be watching, spins in a rapid circle in the middle of the street he'd been walking down when his crystal lit up. ]
Oh come on, normally you love hide-and-seek. [He almost sounds like he's near to sulking at being rebuffed, though it's gone the next moment.] I'd have thought a pleasant tussle would've left you in a good mood, not a bad one.
Hanged man, then. [He chimes in not a minute or so later, tucking his gloved hands into his own pocketsβ and tilting his head just to one side to study the look on Loki's face.
It's a habit that clings, owlish and sharp, as he sits across from Loki once they're at a rickety little table shoved halfway into a corner, the place reeking of so much body odor tonight.]
All right, go on, then. Tell me what's eating away at you...
[ The Hanged Man it is. Loki kind of hates this place, namely because it is rowdy as all get out, but he wasn't the one choosing and he doesn't mind deferring to Astarion's tastes now and again. ]
Oh nothing much, just a concern that I've made and continue to make a series of terrible choices and am hurting those I care about in the process.
[ It's about Alexandrie, as much as it's about Sylvie, but since they were discussing the latter: ]
Why did you say it like that? As if her loving me was a given?
Mm. Well. That's because you probably are. [Astarion counters offhandedly, his tone far, far milder than his commentary, busy fiddling with the neck of a still-sealed bottle of wine.]
It's the nature of companionship, darling.
You're going to say something awful, inevitably. Do something awful orβ I don't know, inadvertently shatter all their hopes and dreams. Leave them weeping once or twice. Maybe more.
If you don't want that, you don't get involved.
[But, given that neither Astarion nor Loki are capable of that:]
Anyway I said it because I'm fairly certain it is. Narcissism in people like usβ collective usβ runs strong as anything. And you two share the same heart, the same mind, the same soul.
Not the same perfect breasts, but I'll forgive you for your shortcomings.
[The smallest pause as his chin lifts; he's eyeing Loki from the corner of his peripheral vision, and it's only a passing thing. Perhaps with good reason.]
I also happen to know it's true.
When we last spoke, she said your affection was too much. That she almost couldn't stand it, bright a thing as it is.
[Which, yes, sounds....not good, but there's a point to all this. Bear with him.]
Sylvie is, much like myself, a beast inclined to run under the sting of discomfort. Not by an inch or a step, mind, but by figurative miles.
Darling, she knows how much she means to you, and despite the weight of it, she's still right there at your side. She still looks for you. Still cares for you.
[ Loki sighs, at all of that. Because he doesn't imagine Astarion is wrong, on any count. That he will, eventually, hurt someone he cares about; that it will be inevitable as a matter of course.
That Sylvie finds his affection overwhelming and is fighting the impulse to run.
Instead of answering, however, he simply narrows his eyes at his friend and then uncorks one of the wine bottles. Might as well do this thing properly. ]
No, it's a choice she's making. A decision. One that could be easily rescinded.
[ Loki says this with a sort of graceful finality, pouring wine, ever the courtier's manners. But it's probably clear, at least to Astarion, that he is not as comfortable with this idea as his tone would imply. ]
She has never needed anything, anyone before. How could it not chafe? And there is something to be said of me. A divided loyalty. Eventually she'll be driven to test it, to strike out on her own in this world.
[It isn't the first time Loki's mentioned divisions, tonight. At least in a sense, given the context of 'people he cares about' being hurt. The way Sylvie herself spoke of his 'divided affections'β but that ended with four words.
Now I'm not sure.
A detail Astarion won't betray or surrender, despite all his wicked inclinations.]
Every collar chafes at first, darling. [Friendship or love, calm or docile loyalty, necessary or desired.] No change comes without its messy little growing pains.
In other words: don't take that as a sign she's done just yet; she's never seemed so weak, to me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crystal;
[Heavy-hung, that word. Comes with a click of his tongue.]
Someone's been keeping themselves busy as of late, I've noticed.
Are the blonde hairs on your shoulders decorative? Or....
Practial.
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They're a trophy if you must know.
Where are you right now?
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[A beat:]
Has she told you she loves you yet?
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Maybe. ]
I don't want to have this conversation over a crystal when you're watching me. Let's have a drink, at least.
[ That's a no, Astarion. She has not. ]
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[Here, he'll flip to the cheat sheet.]
Up on the rooftops, darling.
[Hello!]
I'll be right down.
....unless you feel like coming up?
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But he does squint at the rooftops until he spots his friend. ]
No I meant it about drinks if you and I are discussing Sylvie... and her feelings for me.
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It's a habit that clings, owlish and sharp, as he sits across from Loki once they're at a rickety little table shoved halfway into a corner, the place reeking of so much body odor tonight.]
All right, go on, then. Tell me what's eating away at you...
Aside from her, that is.
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Oh nothing much, just a concern that I've made and continue to make a series of terrible choices and am hurting those I care about in the process.
[ It's about Alexandrie, as much as it's about Sylvie, but since they were discussing the latter: ]
Why did you say it like that? As if her loving me was a given?
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It's the nature of companionship, darling.
You're going to say something awful, inevitably. Do something awful orβ I don't know, inadvertently shatter all their hopes and dreams. Leave them weeping once or twice. Maybe more.
If you don't want that, you don't get involved.
[But, given that neither Astarion nor Loki are capable of that:]
Anyway I said it because I'm fairly certain it is. Narcissism in people like usβ collective usβ runs strong as anything. And you two share the same heart, the same mind, the same soul.
Not the same perfect breasts, but I'll forgive you for your shortcomings.
[The smallest pause as his chin lifts; he's eyeing Loki from the corner of his peripheral vision, and it's only a passing thing. Perhaps with good reason.]
I also happen to know it's true.
When we last spoke, she said your affection was too much. That she almost couldn't stand it, bright a thing as it is.
[Which, yes, sounds....not good, but there's a point to all this. Bear with him.]
Sylvie is, much like myself, a beast inclined to run under the sting of discomfort. Not by an inch or a step, mind, but by figurative miles.
Darling, she knows how much she means to you, and despite the weight of it, she's still right there at your side. She still looks for you. Still cares for you.
Trust me.
That's not by chance.
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That Sylvie finds his affection overwhelming and is fighting the impulse to run.
Instead of answering, however, he simply narrows his eyes at his friend and then uncorks one of the wine bottles. Might as well do this thing properly. ]
No, it's a choice she's making. A decision. One that could be easily rescinded.
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[Astarion sounds deeply skeptical, for the record.]
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[ Loki says this with a sort of graceful finality, pouring wine, ever the courtier's manners. But it's probably clear, at least to Astarion, that he is not as comfortable with this idea as his tone would imply. ]
She has never needed anything, anyone before. How could it not chafe? And there is something to be said of me. A divided loyalty. Eventually she'll be driven to test it, to strike out on her own in this world.
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Now I'm not sure.
A detail Astarion won't betray or surrender, despite all his wicked inclinations.]
Every collar chafes at first, darling. [Friendship or love, calm or docile loyalty, necessary or desired.] No change comes without its messy little growing pains.
In other words: don't take that as a sign she's done just yet; she's never seemed so weak, to me.
[But still.]
What about Alexandrie, though?
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He might be though. ]
Alexandrie was injured in the last battle, badly. Recovery has been slow. I can't imagine it is easy for her, either, the way I am about Sylvie.
[ He picks up his wine glass and peers at the liquid before taking a drink. ]
This was all much easier when I loved no one, much less myself.