Well, you know what they say; art is best done in the dark, when you can't see what you're doing.
[ No one says that. Having to draw by moonlight is a little irritating, but at least it means he doesn't have to clean the empty bottles of alcohol out of his tent yet. ]
Until then, my friend.
[ True to his word, he's there in the clearing after most of their campmates have retired to their tents. Astarion is lucky that Verso is an inveterate insomniac, or he'd be annoyed about having to lose sleep, too. As it is, he's not particularly put out. If it weren't this, he'd just be lying awake in his bedroll or penning some embarrassing poetry. Really, this is probably the least pathetic way he's spent his night in a while.
He holds his notebook and pencil to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Astarion when he approaches. ]
Before we start, I want proof of life of my hairbrush.
[ To quote some mischievous children he heard the other day: ]
That sounds like a skill issue.
[ Not his fault you don't have darkvision, Verso. Git gud.
Similarly, Verso's lack of sleep is hardly his problem or remotely his concern. It isn't as if he would be the only one haunted by visions behind closed lids anyway. All that matters is that he's lucid enough to uphold his end of the bargain.
Despite the half-assed attempt he made at bartering--more for amusement than looking for any true reward--Verso incidentally offers him something far more valuable than a days worth of gold. He's suspicious this is just going to fall apart with Astarion being the butt of the joke. But he's curious enough to put his pride on the line for the night.
He was being very honest about giving the brush to the owlbear cub.
As such, Astarion pulls said hairbrush out of the gods know where with a flourish. He gives a silly little wiggle, flips it once not unlike he does with his knives when he's bored, and a testing sweep through his curls as if to prove its sustained functionality. ]
Still perfectly happy with its newest companion.
[ And away it goes. ]
And still perfectly capable of becoming a favored chew toy.
[ He eyes the notebook as he steps closer, motioning at it with a limp wrist. ]
Before we begin, do you have any samples of your past works?
[ Well, he'll try not to think about where in the world Astarion could be keeping that hairbrush, given the tightness of his pants.
Luckily (or unluckily, perhaps, for Astarion's entertainment), the tension between them is primarily one-sided; it's just a hairbrush, and he's not looking to make waves over a little bit of light theft. Besides, Astarion is— well. Not nice, but he can be witty, and he gets the job done with a dagger or a lockpick. Verso's learning to let the insults roll off of his back in the name of teamwork.
Somewhere between amused and exasperated: ] Do you always give people who are offering you free things the third degree?
[ Some people would pay good money for a commissioned sketch! He lays a protective palm over the cover of his notebook. ]
My notebook is... private.
[ Not a lot of traditional art in there, anyway. A lot more overwrought poetry about the agony of being alive, et cetera. Verso takes a slow, performative step back. ]
If that means you're no longer interested in a portrait... [ He trails off, obviously waiting for Astarion to cut him off. ]
[ To some, that may raise the value of the hairbrush.
If anyone is a victim here, it's Scratch. Astarion hadn't exactly been lying--Scratch had found the hairbrush misplaced about camp, but Astarion had absolutely claimed it even knowing it's origins and then blamed the poor scapegoatdog for it all. Luckily he won't know anything about it.
Astarion makes a sound that's a mix of a scoff of disbelief and an amused huff. ]
Of course, darling. Nothing is ever really free.
[ And anyone who believes otherwise is either trying to fool themselves or about to find out a very harsh truth.
Well, Verso is making his notebook much more interesting. What sort of secrets is he hiding in there? Dashed hopes? Shattered dreams? Caricatures of the entire camp? Oh he hopes it's the last one. He wants to see how Verso drew Lae'zel. ]
--Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
[ Cut off perfectly on cue. ]
I did put in the effort to schedule you between re-reading the same book for the fourth time and tracking down dinner. Now, where do you want me?
[ He asks as steps out into the direct moonlight. ]
sorry for editing 40 minutes later like a freak i picked my phone up again and saw something i hated
[ Very flattering, that getting his portrait drawn (for the price of a hairbrush) is more appealing than a fourth re-read.
It doesn't particularly matter where he is; Verso can't see well even in the moonlight given his dumb human eyes, and therefore he'll either have to approximate some details from memory or squint and lean in real close, whichever Astarion finds less heinous. He gets the feeling that telling Astarion it doesn't matter where he poses would be offensive somehow, though, so he says, ] Here's good.
[ As for himself, he sits with his back flush against a tree, notebook propped on his lap. He flips through the book—mostly writing on the pages, if Astarion is nosy enough to look—before landing on an empty page.
With some audible doubt that Astarion can: ] Just relax. Try to look natural.
[ The corner of his mouth tugs up. ]
Don't worry, I'll make it flattering.
Edited 2025-10-27 13:41 (UTC)
no i'm apologizing for writing a lot about a guy just standing
[ To be fair, it's the first book he collected for himself after the kidnapping so it's a little sentimental. It's a GOOD book. Sort of. But it's his book, and that's what matters.
Just like how this is his hairbrush for the time being.
Though the commands of "relax" and "look natural" are a little antithetical to Astarion. Relaxing is not something you do generally do around other people, nor is looking "natural" when you need to be "on". But in some strange way, this camp full of misfits who may explode into tentacled monstrosities at any moment is the most relaxing setting he's gotten to enjoy in quite some time.
At the very least, he's adept at feigning whatever mood or expression suits the situation, so after a necessary eye-roll-- ]
I sincerely hope so for your sake.
[ --he assumes a somewhat "relaxed" stance. Running a hand through his hair, he does make sure that some of his curls look lightly tousled. The ends need to hang just at the edge of his vision to be right, that fine line between "effortlessly beautiful" and "put together" that has usually been a win. The faint smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is also practiced, but unassuming. The kind that says "I'm approachable" rather than "don't talk to me".
That's how he should want to appear to others, right?
At first, crimson eyes lay on Verso, but the reality is that does make him a bit anxious, if only in anticipation. He wants to believe that Verso doesn't know the full weight of what this might mean to him, but he wouldn't have offered otherwise, would he? Surely he knows such a thing would be more valuable than the damnable hairbrush. But if he does, then why offer something of greater value? This could put Astarion further in Verso's debt, if that is the case.
So, instead, he focuses his gaze on the tree Verso leans on, following the lines of the bark and trying to map out recognizable patterns and shapes. ]
astarion deserves 5 paragraphs every time he so much as blinks!!
[ Verso takes a pencil to the notebook, mapping out Astarion's outline first. Gestural, capturing the essence first: his wiry limbs in their 'relaxed' state, the outline of his curls. Somehow, Astarion manages to exude an air of superiority even without trying to. Verso doesn't quite chuckle to himself about that, since he imagines Astarion might be offended if he starts laughing while drawing his portrait, but he does grin a little.
It's been a while since he's done any art. Sketching is less his thing than painting, and even painting is something he's not particularly passionate about, but it's always been a natural skill. Inborn and reinforced through a frankly excessive amount of childhood lessons. The outline comes easily and quickly enough, and he glances back up from the notebook to start on the detail work. ]
Must be difficult, [ he says idly, just making conversation as he squints at Astarion in the darkness, ] not being able to see yourself.
[ It's an elf thing. Well, it's also an Astarion thing, but it's definitely an elf thing as well. And it creates a nice, protective barrier from disappointment. If everyone else is already beneath you then what else did you expect?
Every now and then he glances back to Verso, trying to gauge anything in the man's expression as to what he thinks as he's drawing. Less so about his process and concentration, but what he's seeing. Surely he's had worst subjects to sketch, but...how does Astarion compare? Is he noticing features he hadn't before? Does that make Astarion more or less appealing?
The sound of Verso's voice breaks him free from that small line of thought. He refocuses his gaze, catching Verso's eyes even under the shade of the tree before quickly shifting it back to the trunk. He lifts his chin a bit, leaning into that aura of haughtiness he so effortlessly exudes. ]
You get used to it.
[ He tries to make it sound as off-hand and unimportant as possible. ]
All that matters is how other people see you, in the end.
[ Whether they believe what you're selling them, for better or for ill. Even if it shouldn't be that way. ]
[ Good art requires you to draw what you see, not what you think you'll see. As he sketches out the basic shapes of Astarion's face, he's surprised to realize that his features are actually quite a bit softer and rounder than he would have expected. Had he drawn Astarion from memory, it would have been all sharp angles, eyes narrowed in suspicion and mouth turned down in scorn. It's not that his features are actually sharp, though, it's just that he knows how to wield them in such a way as to appear that they are. Interesting.
He doesn't mention this aloud, because like most everything else, he gets the feeling Astarion would take it the wrong way.
Light: ] Being seen by other people? I think most people have that in common.
[ Being hyperaware of it might be something they have in common, but he's less inclined to acknowledge that.
He can tell that Astarion is nervous. Can see the gears in his mind turning every time he looks at Verso and looks away. Astarion is deeply unpleasant toward him even at the best of times, but unfortunately, Verso has a pathological need to make things better. So, a distraction, apropos of nothing: ]
[ Astarion narrows his eyes a bit at Verso in that way that says "I know you're being purposefully obtuse", but he doesn't refute the point just yet. Taking stock of each ingredient in their weird pot of adventurers has been an important, ongoing process.
Some were painfully straightforward--people like Lae'zel and Wyll, for example, who wear their intentions like badges of success and failures. Karlach is likewise an open book of her dreams and her pain, but there is a kinship there he feels in years lost to the torment of others. That, despite some initial jealousy that she hasn't lost the shine and curiosity for the world that was torn from him decades ago, allows her some leeway and gentleness the other companions don't receive.
Shadowheart and Gale were a little more mysterious, both in their chosen elusiveness and how they deign to wield their abilities. While Astarion appreciates Shadowheart's often sardonic take on things, mirroring his own desire to see the world in blacks and grays, she's in a little too deep with subterfuge and greater powers to really relax around. Hells, she named herself Shadow Heart. Who does that? And Gale, well, amusing banter aside, he's a literal time bomb looking for an excuse to martyr himself. Astarion still takes a lot of umbrage with that.
But Verso is a wildcard. A combination of elusive and charming in a way that begs to be trusted and congenial but indicates he ought to be anything but. It's a tactic that Astarion is all too familiar with. A spark of kinship that hits different than Karlach, something that makes Verso all the more dangerous. They all have their secrets, their demons--some more literally than others--but Astarion has been having trouble pinning Verso down. It makes him a difficult, if interesting mark.
It's that thing he does, the desire to keep the peace and not ruffle too many feathers that Astarion focuses on. Ultimately, that has to be his way in, because even when Astarion is being very purposefully difficult, Verso still tries. Like an idiot. ]
To go find some small, hapless woodland creature and bleed them dry. What else?
[ He knows that's not what Verso was asking, but he wants to see if he'll be corrected or if Verso will be too inclined to go with the flow. ]
[ Astarion sidesteps the real question, and Verso wonders if it's out of discomfort sharing or if it's just an attempt to punish him for doing the same just prior. Either way, he lets it happen, pencil sketching out the strong, straight bridge of Astarion's aristocratic nose. The vampirism doesn't bother him overmuch, primarily because it's no threat to him, and the rather evocative description of draining a squirrel or something squirrel-adjacent only garners the slight raise of an eyebrow.
As for the question, he shrugs. ]
The night's young. There's still plenty of time for brooding left.
[ His eyes turn downward again as he illustrates Astarion's mouth, that charming-but-practiced smile. One of his fangs peeks out a little, when he does it. Verso makes sure to include that. ]
Maybe I'll ruminate about all the poor squirrels whose lives are being cut short.
[ Allows it, as expected. Astarion isn't sure if he should be glad to identify the pattern or disappointed won't correct him and say what he really wants. Still, he supposes now would be a poor time for an argument, not when Astarion's features are very literally on the line. So he likewise lets it go. ]
Ah, haven't gotten your required eight hours in?
[ Verso does seem to brood more than sleep. ]
You looked rather pitiful after that run-in with the gnolls. What was so upsetting? I thought you'd have hit your daily quota.
[ And he does smile again with a hint of self-amusement. Maybe it was more the horrified screams of exploding hyenas that brought Verso down? Or maybe his mind was really somewhere else, as it seems to wander from time to time whenever his expression turns a little dark and distant. Astarion doubts it will really get a rise out of the knight, but it sparks a moment of joy for Astarion and that's what matters. ]
Please, I've had my fill of small rodents. [ He looks down at his nails with disinterest. ] I won't go lower than a rabbit if I can help it. You can save your eulogies for something more worthwhile.
the way i was like obviously he should have been a paladin... pretend i said that instead
[ Ugh, the gnolls. Verso wrinkles his nose in displeasure. He's a dog lover, and watching that bloated hyena suffer and whine before 'birthing' a gnoll from its stomach had made him want to throw up. Obviously, Astarion has no such tender heart for animals, so he says nothing on the matter.
Instead, he focuses on Astarion. The point of his chin, the long line of his neck, the two little pinprick bite marks there. He takes it in as an artist does, piece by piece, nonjudgmental.
Not unkindly: ] Ooh, okay, Monsieur Scourge of Rabbits.
[ Every bunny rabbit runs in fear at the sound of Astarion's footsteps, obviously. ]
I would have thought you'd prefer something more substantial, though. [ He chooses not to bring up the time Astarion tried to bite Gale in the middle of the night. Still, he'd imagine a deer or boar or bear might be more filling. ] Do you know how to hunt?
[ Actually hunt. Not just skulk around and snatch up innocent bunnies. ]
[ Let's be honest, if it were Scratch or even the owlbear cub and not a hyena, there would be hell to pay. Mostly he just finds gnolls troublesome. Not the sort of creature you want to run into on the road by yourself.
Astarion makes an unnecessary huffing noise as he looks up, waving off the (admittedly) amusing title Verso just bestowed up on him. ]
I did say I wouldn't go lower than rabbit.
[ But the fact he has choices now...options! That is a lovely novelty that hasn't fully worn off. He's found that when you're not starving, the blood of different creatures actually does taste different. Small undertones and notes of bitterness or sweet to mark one animal from the other. He almost forgot what it was like to get to have preferences. ]
If I have my pick, I will always go for a boar.
[ Because after trying people, well, boar is certainly the closest in regards to flavor profile. But Verso doesn't need to know that.
Notably people who aren't cursed by condensed balls of magical energy, of course. Gale, you disappointment.
Astarion raises his brow as he lets his hand fall. ]
What, like with a bow and arrow?
[ A curious question. Is Verso looking for something to judge him on? He narrows his eyes slightly. Growing up in the city to some level of comfort means that you don't need to hunt to survive, but hunting for sport is something else entirely.
Rather than answer, he turns it around on Verso with a lilt of amusement in his voice. ]
Looking for a companion when the camp supplies are running now?
[ It doesn't have to be with a bow and arrow, but that tells Verso what he wanted to know. He's gleaned enough about Astarion to figure that he wasn't the type to willingly brave the wilderness even before the vampirism. Meanwhile, Verso isn't exactly built for survivalism—he was made to be a poet-slash-musician who drapes himself lazily over chaise lounges—but he's gotten decent at it by necessity. A little consideration, and— sure, he could probably hunt a boar. The blood is of no use to him, so it wouldn't matter if Astarion drained it. ]
I think you'll have to compete with Scratch for that position.
[ What he wouldn't give to see the two of them go head-to-head in a competition of 'play dead' and 'sit pretty'. ]
You're free to come along, though. I happen to be an excellent teacher.
[ Astarion always sits pretty, thank you very much. "Play dead" would just be rude, Verso. Aren't you supposed to get a gentleman? ]
Ah, so now I'm the same level as a mutt?
[ There's a bit less bite in his voice than there rightfully ought to be. Because, no matter how prissy Astarion can be, Scratch is a very good boy. He always seems to know when trancing isn't quite working how Astarion wants, offer a conciliatory huff, and rest his head nearby. He may not feel he's really even worth the attention of a dog, but he'll take it. ]
An artist, a huntsman, and a teacher, then? You really are a man of many talents.
[ It comes out easily, the sort of lazy flattery he's used to laying on anyone who he wants to be in the good graces of. Verso, doubtlessly, will see right through it, but it is the sort of banter they seem to bat back and forth, so it works just as well.
Still. He'll push it, this time keeping his gaze on the dark-haired man against the tree, eyes flicking down to where Verso normally has his sword at his side to the grip on his book. ]
You do seem to be good with your hands. [ A very long, pointed silence. ] What else have you been keeping from us?
[ Here's the thing: Verso, approval-seeking and achievement-oriented as he is, loves a good compliment. Fantasy Frenchman that he is, he loves a good flirtation. Unfortunately, this cannot be qualified as 'good'. He is talented with his hands! It's just that he doesn't really believe Astarion has any interest in what he can do with them, so the compliment bounces off instead of whatever its intended effect may be.
(And he's not actually sure what that intended effect actually is. He's already here, drawing Astarion a portrait, when he could be resting. Clearly, he doesn't need flattery to convince him to do something that's to Astarion's benefit.)
A glance up, as he works on getting the ruffles of Astarion's shirt collar just right. ]
Not much. Lazy and talentless, remember?
[ It's the gentlest call-out, flippant and unbothered. ]
[ There's a short pause, very short, before Astarion lets out a bubble of a laugh. ]
Ha! I did say that, didn't I?
[ He sounds like he's recalling a fond memory, smiling almost conspiratorially with himself. That was a good one. He's glad Verso remembers. ]
Well, I am open to being proven wrong... [ A very quick pause. ] --Despite what a rare event that is, as I'm sure you've noticed.
[ Please ignore every failed perception and insight check, thank you. ]
Though we'll have to wait and see...
[ His eyes drop again to the book. Now the pause is less intentional and a little more hesitant. There is something he's concerned about. Something he actually cares about, and is both eager to see and wary. Astarion does his best to sound indifferent. ]
[ It's coming along. It's a portrait, so Verso hasn't bothered including any details below the chest; Astarion's collar is the final detail. It's not as good as something Clea or his mother might create—Verso's interest in art always leaned toward the fantastical rather than absolute recreations of reality. A little boy's art, escapist.
The sketch gets the job done regardless; it does look like Astarion, although everything aside from his facial features is lacking in some of the finer details given the time crunch. Somehow, he imagines Astarion doesn't have the patience for him to painstakingly draw every strand of hair.
Verso scoots over slightly, patting the ground beside him. ]
[ There's only the slightest hesitation, the one where his heart would skip a beat if it still had the ability to. Try as he might to be laissez-faire about the whole thing, this is a potentially hallowing moment, all hinging on Verso's good graces despite how frequently Astarion likes to dig at him. A wholly undeserved treasure, should the paladin come through. A trick, now, he would deserve. ]
Know that the threat still stands.
[ The hairbrush feels like a nonentity now. But he has to offer some threat just to make himself feel better.
He tries not to get his hopes up as he approaches, but they are already rising. Shoving them down takes more effort than he's used to. An unfortunate side-effect of being around people who have yet to outright betray him.
Give it time, he tells himself instinctively.
He shoves that down too.
Taking the invitation, Astarion gingerly sits on the ground beside Verso. He's holding an unnecessary breath, eyes focused on the other man's face for a moment before he leans in a bit to take a look at the book-- ]
...
[ --and his features instantly soften, his brows raising and his eyes widening. His voice, likewise, is a bit deeper, less biting. ]
This...is what you see?
[ There are things about the drawing that ring familiar, pieces of himself that suddenly come to light in a way that tells him that yes, Verso wasn't just making something up as a grand prank. His nose, for one thing, that feels right. A faint memory of his mother, face obscured in the past, tapping it gently and calling him "such a handsome boy".
I can't remember her face...
But maybe it looks a bit like this, he muses. Like him. ]
[ Honestly, he feels a little suddenly nervous himself, primarily at the thought that Astarion could very well look at his portrait, think for a moment, and then say 'this sucks'. Verso doesn't tolerate less-than-perfection well to begin with, and Astarion is... discerning, to put it kindly.
Luckily, Astarion doesn't immediately scrunch up his nose in disgust. Still, now that someone else has their eyes on it, he can immediately see flaws that should be fixed. It's going to drive him insane.
He can't quite tell if Astarion is pleased with the work or not, but Verso angles the notebook so that he can get a better look, watching his expressions for feedback. ]
Well, usually what I see is scowling at me, but it's close enough.
[ Yes, Astarion certainly has flaws, but they're not on the surface. Not in this drawing.
No, what Verso has done is truly amazing in ways that Astarion isn't sure he wants to voice. To see himself depicted in this way makes him feel surprisingly vulnerable, no matter how much he hadn't been able to get this very potential out of his head since it was offered hours ago.
Gods, this is. This is him.
As soon as Verso moves it closer, Astarion readily grabs the notebook away from him a little too readily. ]
Only ever when it's deserved, surely.
[ Which is often. But there are no such scowls now, only an growing open curiosity. He follows the shape of his face, the arch of his brows, the slant of his jaw, noting a few lines he didn't realize were there. Astarion cocks his head to the side a bit--is that really what is hair is doing? Well, he's better at doing all this without a mirror than he ever realized. (Maybe the hairbrush is better served in Verso's care.) His eyes dart frantically over the drawing, back and forth, like he's trying to recognize and memorize every detail.
It's just--it's a lot. Such a silly thing that you take for granted passing by reflective surfaces every day until suddenly it's gone. Irrevocably a piece of yourself is lost no matter how many compliments--or degradation--you might receive, it's all only for a very specific end. It's what you can do for them, or what they can do to you.
But here he just appears...a man. A person. Not a phantom. Not a thing.
If this is what Verso sees...that may be acceptable. ]
Well. [ He starts, sounding a little breathless. ] You could have easily just told me I was beautiful and be done with it.
[ Astarion is vain enough that he must have some awareness of his own handsomeness, although Verso supposes it might be a surprise to see all the details laid out like this. Bright eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a charming smile. There was no need to make it flattering; Astarion is already objectively good-looking. Aesthete that he is, Verso can admit that easily.
He lets out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. ] I did offer cheap flattery.
[ Which is what that would be, undoubtedly. He can't imagine a person who looks as Astarion does hasn't heard how pleasing he is to the eye a million times over.
Besides, Astarion seems to be happy with the result, and that means Verso is happy with his work, too. External validation of his achievements: better than any drug. Particularly when it's coming from someone who's so typically withholding. Fishing a little: ] Does that mean you like it?
[ Astarion makes a quick, huffing sound of half-amusement as he forces his eyes upwards to the artist himself. ]
You did, didn't you?
[ And Astarion had turned it down. This is hardly cheap flattery, no matter how appealing the work may be. Verso objectively does have a talent for this sort of thing, even if he really can't compare it to much else. But telling him that would be a little too kind, even if what Verso has just done for him is something monumental.
He can't know that. ]
Of course, darling, who wouldn't want to look at this? I'm almost jealous of you lot.
[ Slipping quickly back into a well-crafted persona, he straightens a bit and glances back at the portrait with a little more detachment, wearing the echoes of an almost smile. Like he's looking at someone else and not himself. Just lines on a page.
Why had Verso offered this? Having caught Astarion trying to catch the ghost of a reflection in his own hand mirror too many times? To think that the paladin might actually know what weight it would hold to him is...something. He's not sure how he feels about that. To be seen and seen.
Quickly-- ]
I suppose is a deal is a deal.
[ He pulls out the hairbrush from that secret place no one needs to know about, holding it aloft and turning it over. Admiring it a bit for the last time. Then with a little flourish and a limp wrist, he holds it over. ]
Never let it be said there's no honor amongst thieves.
[ "Honor" in this case being a synonym for "coercion". ]
[ Verso is not certain he would consider this honor, but since he has no honor to speak of himself, he has no room to judge. He takes the hairbrush, picking a curly silver hair off of it. The last thing he needs is more white in his hair.
He sets the brush down, then, reaching for the notebook. Not to take it away—it's still well within Astarion's line of sight. He signs the portrait with his name, something he's only willing to do now that the work has been approved of, and carefully tears the page from the book. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@sanguineus
Well, you know what they say; art is best done in the dark, when you can't see what you're doing.
[ No one says that. Having to draw by moonlight is a little irritating, but at least it means he doesn't have to clean the empty bottles of alcohol out of his tent yet. ]
Until then, my friend.
[ True to his word, he's there in the clearing after most of their campmates have retired to their tents. Astarion is lucky that Verso is an inveterate insomniac, or he'd be annoyed about having to lose sleep, too. As it is, he's not particularly put out. If it weren't this, he'd just be lying awake in his bedroll or penning some embarrassing poetry. Really, this is probably the least pathetic way he's spent his night in a while.
He holds his notebook and pencil to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Astarion when he approaches. ]
Before we start, I want proof of life of my hairbrush.
[ Kidding. (Mostly.) ]
no subject
That sounds like a skill issue.
[ Not his fault you don't have darkvision, Verso. Git gud.
Similarly, Verso's lack of sleep is hardly his problem or remotely his concern. It isn't as if he would be the only one haunted by visions behind closed lids anyway. All that matters is that he's lucid enough to uphold his end of the bargain.
Despite the half-assed attempt he made at bartering--more for amusement than looking for any true reward--Verso incidentally offers him something far more valuable than a days worth of gold. He's suspicious this is just going to fall apart with Astarion being the butt of the joke. But he's curious enough to put his pride on the line for the night.
He was being very honest about giving the brush to the owlbear cub.
As such, Astarion pulls said hairbrush out of the gods know where with a flourish. He gives a silly little wiggle, flips it once not unlike he does with his knives when he's bored, and a testing sweep through his curls as if to prove its sustained functionality. ]
Still perfectly happy with its newest companion.
[ And away it goes. ]
And still perfectly capable of becoming a favored chew toy.
[ He eyes the notebook as he steps closer, motioning at it with a limp wrist. ]
Before we begin, do you have any samples of your past works?
no subject
Luckily (or unluckily, perhaps, for Astarion's entertainment), the tension between them is primarily one-sided; it's just a hairbrush, and he's not looking to make waves over a little bit of light theft. Besides, Astarion is— well. Not nice, but he can be witty, and he gets the job done with a dagger or a lockpick. Verso's learning to let the insults roll off of his back in the name of teamwork.
Somewhere between amused and exasperated: ] Do you always give people who are offering you free things the third degree?
[ Some people would pay good money for a commissioned sketch! He lays a protective palm over the cover of his notebook. ]
My notebook is... private.
[ Not a lot of traditional art in there, anyway. A lot more overwrought poetry about the agony of being alive, et cetera. Verso takes a slow, performative step back. ]
If that means you're no longer interested in a portrait... [ He trails off, obviously waiting for Astarion to cut him off. ]
no subject
If anyone is a victim here, it's Scratch. Astarion hadn't exactly been lying--Scratch had found the hairbrush misplaced about camp, but Astarion had absolutely claimed it even knowing it's origins and then blamed the poor scape
goatdog for it all. Luckily he won't know anything about it.Astarion makes a sound that's a mix of a scoff of disbelief and an amused huff. ]
Of course, darling. Nothing is ever really free.
[ And anyone who believes otherwise is either trying to fool themselves or about to find out a very harsh truth.
Well, Verso is making his notebook much more interesting. What sort of secrets is he hiding in there? Dashed hopes? Shattered dreams? Caricatures of the entire camp? Oh he hopes it's the last one. He wants to see how Verso drew Lae'zel. ]
--Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
[ Cut off perfectly on cue. ]
I did put in the effort to schedule you between re-reading the same book for the fourth time and tracking down dinner. Now, where do you want me?
[ He asks as steps out into the direct moonlight. ]
sorry for editing 40 minutes later like a freak i picked my phone up again and saw something i hated
It doesn't particularly matter where he is; Verso can't see well even in the moonlight given his dumb human eyes, and therefore he'll either have to approximate some details from memory or squint and lean in real close, whichever Astarion finds less heinous. He gets the feeling that telling Astarion it doesn't matter where he poses would be offensive somehow, though, so he says, ] Here's good.
[ As for himself, he sits with his back flush against a tree, notebook propped on his lap. He flips through the book—mostly writing on the pages, if Astarion is nosy enough to look—before landing on an empty page.
With some audible doubt that Astarion can: ] Just relax. Try to look natural.
[ The corner of his mouth tugs up. ]
Don't worry, I'll make it flattering.
no i'm apologizing for writing a lot about a guy just standing
Just like how this is his hairbrush for the time being.
Though the commands of "relax" and "look natural" are a little antithetical to Astarion. Relaxing is not something you do generally do around other people, nor is looking "natural" when you need to be "on". But in some strange way, this camp full of misfits who may explode into tentacled monstrosities at any moment is the most relaxing setting he's gotten to enjoy in quite some time.
At the very least, he's adept at feigning whatever mood or expression suits the situation, so after a necessary eye-roll-- ]
I sincerely hope so for your sake.
[ --he assumes a somewhat "relaxed" stance. Running a hand through his hair, he does make sure that some of his curls look lightly tousled. The ends need to hang just at the edge of his vision to be right, that fine line between "effortlessly beautiful" and "put together" that has usually been a win. The faint smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is also practiced, but unassuming. The kind that says "I'm approachable" rather than "don't talk to me".
That's how he should want to appear to others, right?
At first, crimson eyes lay on Verso, but the reality is that does make him a bit anxious, if only in anticipation. He wants to believe that Verso doesn't know the full weight of what this might mean to him, but he wouldn't have offered otherwise, would he? Surely he knows such a thing would be more valuable than the damnable hairbrush. But if he does, then why offer something of greater value? This could put Astarion further in Verso's debt, if that is the case.
So, instead, he focuses his gaze on the tree Verso leans on, following the lines of the bark and trying to map out recognizable patterns and shapes. ]
astarion deserves 5 paragraphs every time he so much as blinks!!
It's been a while since he's done any art. Sketching is less his thing than painting, and even painting is something he's not particularly passionate about, but it's always been a natural skill. Inborn and reinforced through a frankly excessive amount of childhood lessons. The outline comes easily and quickly enough, and he glances back up from the notebook to start on the detail work. ]
Must be difficult, [ he says idly, just making conversation as he squints at Astarion in the darkness, ] not being able to see yourself.
don't encourage him!!
Every now and then he glances back to Verso, trying to gauge anything in the man's expression as to what he thinks as he's drawing. Less so about his process and concentration, but what he's seeing. Surely he's had worst subjects to sketch, but...how does Astarion compare? Is he noticing features he hadn't before? Does that make Astarion more or less appealing?
The sound of Verso's voice breaks him free from that small line of thought. He refocuses his gaze, catching Verso's eyes even under the shade of the tree before quickly shifting it back to the trunk. He lifts his chin a bit, leaning into that aura of haughtiness he so effortlessly exudes. ]
You get used to it.
[ He tries to make it sound as off-hand and unimportant as possible. ]
All that matters is how other people see you, in the end.
[ Whether they believe what you're selling them, for better or for ill. Even if it shouldn't be that way. ]
But that's something we have in common, isn't it?
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He doesn't mention this aloud, because like most everything else, he gets the feeling Astarion would take it the wrong way.
Light: ] Being seen by other people? I think most people have that in common.
[ Being hyperaware of it might be something they have in common, but he's less inclined to acknowledge that.
He can tell that Astarion is nervous. Can see the gears in his mind turning every time he looks at Verso and looks away. Astarion is deeply unpleasant toward him even at the best of times, but unfortunately, Verso has a pathological need to make things better. So, a distraction, apropos of nothing: ]
What are you planning on doing after all of this?
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Some were painfully straightforward--people like Lae'zel and Wyll, for example, who wear their intentions like badges of success and failures. Karlach is likewise an open book of her dreams and her pain, but there is a kinship there he feels in years lost to the torment of others. That, despite some initial jealousy that she hasn't lost the shine and curiosity for the world that was torn from him decades ago, allows her some leeway and gentleness the other companions don't receive.
Shadowheart and Gale were a little more mysterious, both in their chosen elusiveness and how they deign to wield their abilities. While Astarion appreciates Shadowheart's often sardonic take on things, mirroring his own desire to see the world in blacks and grays, she's in a little too deep with subterfuge and greater powers to really relax around. Hells, she named herself Shadow Heart. Who does that? And Gale, well, amusing banter aside, he's a literal time bomb looking for an excuse to martyr himself. Astarion still takes a lot of umbrage with that.
But Verso is a wildcard. A combination of elusive and charming in a way that begs to be trusted and congenial but indicates he ought to be anything but. It's a tactic that Astarion is all too familiar with. A spark of kinship that hits different than Karlach, something that makes Verso all the more dangerous. They all have their secrets, their demons--some more literally than others--but Astarion has been having trouble pinning Verso down. It makes him a difficult, if interesting mark.
It's that thing he does, the desire to keep the peace and not ruffle too many feathers that Astarion focuses on. Ultimately, that has to be his way in, because even when Astarion is being very purposefully difficult, Verso still tries. Like an idiot. ]
To go find some small, hapless woodland creature and bleed them dry. What else?
[ He knows that's not what Verso was asking, but he wants to see if he'll be corrected or if Verso will be too inclined to go with the flow. ]
And yourself?
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As for the question, he shrugs. ]
The night's young. There's still plenty of time for brooding left.
[ His eyes turn downward again as he illustrates Astarion's mouth, that charming-but-practiced smile. One of his fangs peeks out a little, when he does it. Verso makes sure to include that. ]
Maybe I'll ruminate about all the poor squirrels whose lives are being cut short.
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Ah, haven't gotten your required eight hours in?
[ Verso does seem to brood more than sleep. ]
You looked rather pitiful after that run-in with the gnolls. What was so upsetting? I thought you'd have hit your daily quota.
[ And he does smile again with a hint of self-amusement. Maybe it was more the horrified screams of exploding hyenas that brought Verso down? Or maybe his mind was really somewhere else, as it seems to wander from time to time whenever his expression turns a little dark and distant. Astarion doubts it will really get a rise out of the knight, but it sparks a moment of joy for Astarion and that's what matters. ]
Please, I've had my fill of small rodents. [ He looks down at his nails with disinterest. ] I won't go lower than a rabbit if I can help it. You can save your eulogies for something more worthwhile.
the way i was like obviously he should have been a paladin... pretend i said that instead
Instead, he focuses on Astarion. The point of his chin, the long line of his neck, the two little pinprick bite marks there. He takes it in as an artist does, piece by piece, nonjudgmental.
Not unkindly: ] Ooh, okay, Monsieur Scourge of Rabbits.
[ Every bunny rabbit runs in fear at the sound of Astarion's footsteps, obviously. ]
I would have thought you'd prefer something more substantial, though. [ He chooses not to bring up the time Astarion tried to bite Gale in the middle of the night. Still, he'd imagine a deer or boar or bear might be more filling. ] Do you know how to hunt?
[ Actually hunt. Not just skulk around and snatch up innocent bunnies. ]
paladin verso, my heart cannot take this
Astarion makes an unnecessary huffing noise as he looks up, waving off the (admittedly) amusing title Verso just bestowed up on him. ]
I did say I wouldn't go lower than rabbit.
[ But the fact he has choices now...options! That is a lovely novelty that hasn't fully worn off. He's found that when you're not starving, the blood of different creatures actually does taste different. Small undertones and notes of bitterness or sweet to mark one animal from the other. He almost forgot what it was like to get to have preferences. ]
If I have my pick, I will always go for a boar.
[ Because after trying people, well, boar is certainly the closest in regards to flavor profile. But Verso doesn't need to know that.
Notably people who aren't cursed by condensed balls of magical energy, of course. Gale, you disappointment.
Astarion raises his brow as he lets his hand fall. ]
What, like with a bow and arrow?
[ A curious question. Is Verso looking for something to judge him on? He narrows his eyes slightly. Growing up in the city to some level of comfort means that you don't need to hunt to survive, but hunting for sport is something else entirely.
Rather than answer, he turns it around on Verso with a lilt of amusement in his voice. ]
Looking for a companion when the camp supplies are running now?
oath of [vin diesel voice] family
I think you'll have to compete with Scratch for that position.
[ What he wouldn't give to see the two of them go head-to-head in a competition of 'play dead' and 'sit pretty'. ]
You're free to come along, though. I happen to be an excellent teacher.
you got me again with your witty one-liners
Ah, so now I'm the same level as a mutt?
[ There's a bit less bite in his voice than there rightfully ought to be. Because, no matter how prissy Astarion can be, Scratch is a very good boy. He always seems to know when trancing isn't quite working how Astarion wants, offer a conciliatory huff, and rest his head nearby. He may not feel he's really even worth the attention of a dog, but he'll take it. ]
An artist, a huntsman, and a teacher, then? You really are a man of many talents.
[ It comes out easily, the sort of lazy flattery he's used to laying on anyone who he wants to be in the good graces of. Verso, doubtlessly, will see right through it, but it is the sort of banter they seem to bat back and forth, so it works just as well.
Still. He'll push it, this time keeping his gaze on the dark-haired man against the tree, eyes flicking down to where Verso normally has his sword at his side to the grip on his book. ]
You do seem to be good with your hands. [ A very long, pointed silence. ] What else have you been keeping from us?
i'll be here all week!!
(And he's not actually sure what that intended effect actually is. He's already here, drawing Astarion a portrait, when he could be resting. Clearly, he doesn't need flattery to convince him to do something that's to Astarion's benefit.)
A glance up, as he works on getting the ruffles of Astarion's shirt collar just right. ]
Not much. Lazy and talentless, remember?
[ It's the gentlest call-out, flippant and unbothered. ]
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Ha! I did say that, didn't I?
[ He sounds like he's recalling a fond memory, smiling almost conspiratorially with himself. That was a good one. He's glad Verso remembers. ]
Well, I am open to being proven wrong... [ A very quick pause. ] --Despite what a rare event that is, as I'm sure you've noticed.
[ Please ignore every failed perception and insight check, thank you. ]
Though we'll have to wait and see...
[ His eyes drop again to the book. Now the pause is less intentional and a little more hesitant. There is something he's concerned about. Something he actually cares about, and is both eager to see and wary. Astarion does his best to sound indifferent. ]
How is it coming along?
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The sketch gets the job done regardless; it does look like Astarion, although everything aside from his facial features is lacking in some of the finer details given the time crunch. Somehow, he imagines Astarion doesn't have the patience for him to painstakingly draw every strand of hair.
Verso scoots over slightly, patting the ground beside him. ]
You tell me.
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Know that the threat still stands.
[ The hairbrush feels like a nonentity now. But he has to offer some threat just to make himself feel better.
He tries not to get his hopes up as he approaches, but they are already rising. Shoving them down takes more effort than he's used to. An unfortunate side-effect of being around people who have yet to outright betray him.
Give it time, he tells himself instinctively.
He shoves that down too.
Taking the invitation, Astarion gingerly sits on the ground beside Verso. He's holding an unnecessary breath, eyes focused on the other man's face for a moment before he leans in a bit to take a look at the book-- ]
...
[ --and his features instantly soften, his brows raising and his eyes widening. His voice, likewise, is a bit deeper, less biting. ]
This...is what you see?
[ There are things about the drawing that ring familiar, pieces of himself that suddenly come to light in a way that tells him that yes, Verso wasn't just making something up as a grand prank. His nose, for one thing, that feels right. A faint memory of his mother, face obscured in the past, tapping it gently and calling him "such a handsome boy".
I can't remember her face...
But maybe it looks a bit like this, he muses. Like him. ]
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Luckily, Astarion doesn't immediately scrunch up his nose in disgust. Still, now that someone else has their eyes on it, he can immediately see flaws that should be fixed. It's going to drive him insane.
He can't quite tell if Astarion is pleased with the work or not, but Verso angles the notebook so that he can get a better look, watching his expressions for feedback. ]
Well, usually what I see is scowling at me, but it's close enough.
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No, what Verso has done is truly amazing in ways that Astarion isn't sure he wants to voice. To see himself depicted in this way makes him feel surprisingly vulnerable, no matter how much he hadn't been able to get this very potential out of his head since it was offered hours ago.
Gods, this is. This is him.
As soon as Verso moves it closer, Astarion readily grabs the notebook away from him a little too readily. ]
Only ever when it's deserved, surely.
[ Which is often. But there are no such scowls now, only an growing open curiosity. He follows the shape of his face, the arch of his brows, the slant of his jaw, noting a few lines he didn't realize were there. Astarion cocks his head to the side a bit--is that really what is hair is doing? Well, he's better at doing all this without a mirror than he ever realized. (Maybe the hairbrush is better served in Verso's care.) His eyes dart frantically over the drawing, back and forth, like he's trying to recognize and memorize every detail.
It's just--it's a lot. Such a silly thing that you take for granted passing by reflective surfaces every day until suddenly it's gone. Irrevocably a piece of yourself is lost no matter how many compliments--or degradation--you might receive, it's all only for a very specific end. It's what you can do for them, or what they can do to you.
But here he just appears...a man. A person. Not a phantom. Not a thing.
If this is what Verso sees...that may be acceptable. ]
Well. [ He starts, sounding a little breathless. ] You could have easily just told me I was beautiful and be done with it.
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He lets out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. ] I did offer cheap flattery.
[ Which is what that would be, undoubtedly. He can't imagine a person who looks as Astarion does hasn't heard how pleasing he is to the eye a million times over.
Besides, Astarion seems to be happy with the result, and that means Verso is happy with his work, too. External validation of his achievements: better than any drug. Particularly when it's coming from someone who's so typically withholding. Fishing a little: ] Does that mean you like it?
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You did, didn't you?
[ And Astarion had turned it down. This is hardly cheap flattery, no matter how appealing the work may be. Verso objectively does have a talent for this sort of thing, even if he really can't compare it to much else. But telling him that would be a little too kind, even if what Verso has just done for him is something monumental.
He can't know that. ]
Of course, darling, who wouldn't want to look at this? I'm almost jealous of you lot.
[ Slipping quickly back into a well-crafted persona, he straightens a bit and glances back at the portrait with a little more detachment, wearing the echoes of an almost smile. Like he's looking at someone else and not himself. Just lines on a page.
Why had Verso offered this? Having caught Astarion trying to catch the ghost of a reflection in his own hand mirror too many times? To think that the paladin might actually know what weight it would hold to him is...something. He's not sure how he feels about that. To be seen and seen.
Quickly-- ]
I suppose is a deal is a deal.
[ He pulls out the hairbrush from that secret place no one needs to know about, holding it aloft and turning it over. Admiring it a bit for the last time. Then with a little flourish and a limp wrist, he holds it over. ]
Never let it be said there's no honor amongst thieves.
[ "Honor" in this case being a synonym for "coercion". ]
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[ Verso is not certain he would consider this honor, but since he has no honor to speak of himself, he has no room to judge. He takes the hairbrush, picking a curly silver hair off of it. The last thing he needs is more white in his hair.
He sets the brush down, then, reaching for the notebook. Not to take it away—it's still well within Astarion's line of sight. He signs the portrait with his name, something he's only willing to do now that the work has been approved of, and carefully tears the page from the book. ]
You can keep it, if you want.
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