[ 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. ]
[ A shame as that hair was definitely better looking that any of the greys that Verso has growing in, but go off.
There is a slight moment of panic inside Astarion when Verso reaches for the notebook, an urge to immediately pull back and protect it like a dragon with gold. But, blessedly, Astarion is properly gifted the piece without having to embarrass himself for it. ]
Well, this is what I'm paying you for.
[ "Paying". He takes the drawing, now so much more fragile as a single piece of paper, and regards it once again.
But Verso can see the gentle way Astarion handles the paper, like it's something precious. He'd offered to appeal purely to Astarion's vanity, but perhaps it's more than that. Although he can't relate to spending however many centuries Astarion has been alive without seeing himself, he does know what it's like to spend an exceedingly long life feeling that something is missing. ]
[ A moment that is subsequently ruined by Verso's comment, but it was probably coming anyway. Vulnerability is a dangerous thing and that he deigned to even show a glimpse of it says just as much, if not more, than the phrase itself.
So Astarion, predictably, scoffs. His face twists like he's taken a whiff of something unpleasant. ]
Right...all warm and fuzzy.
[ He pulls back, moving to stand and put a bit of distance between them as he presses the drawing to his chest. ]
But let's not push our luck. Making a habit of it ruins the allure.
[ Astarion looks a little as if he expects Verso to snatch the drawing back and tear it up, so he doesn't take the distance to heart. Honestly, he's a bit surprised no one else has ever offered this before; it's not like Astarion is an unpleasant model (to look at, anyway; jury's still out on having to interact with him).
Oh, well. It got Verso back his hairbrush, and perhaps Astarion will be a little more inclined to stop the next goblin who tries to chop off Verso's head. Instead of, you know, letting it happen. Like last time. ]
Ah, you're right. More of an 'every once in a while' treat, hm?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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". ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
There is a slight moment of panic inside Astarion when Verso reaches for the notebook, an urge to immediately pull back and protect it like a dragon with gold. But, blessedly, Astarion is properly gifted the piece without having to embarrass himself for it. ]
Well, this is what I'm paying you for.
[ "Paying". He takes the drawing, now so much more fragile as a single piece of paper, and regards it once again.
He's going to need to pack this very carefully. ]
...
[ And in a rare moment of sincerity: ]
Thank you.
no subject
But Verso can see the gentle way Astarion handles the paper, like it's something precious. He'd offered to appeal purely to Astarion's vanity, but perhaps it's more than that. Although he can't relate to spending however many centuries Astarion has been alive without seeing himself, he does know what it's like to spend an exceedingly long life feeling that something is missing. ]
Feels good to say something nice, doesn't it?
no subject
So Astarion, predictably, scoffs. His face twists like he's taken a whiff of something unpleasant. ]
Right...all warm and fuzzy.
[ He pulls back, moving to stand and put a bit of distance between them as he presses the drawing to his chest. ]
But let's not push our luck. Making a habit of it ruins the allure.
no subject
Oh, well. It got Verso back his hairbrush, and perhaps Astarion will be a little more inclined to stop the next goblin who tries to chop off Verso's head. Instead of, you know, letting it happen. Like last time. ]
Ah, you're right. More of an 'every once in a while' treat, hm?
[ Like ice cream. ]
Well. Bonne nuit, Astarion.