[ Gale raises his eyebrows, lifting a pointed finger. ]
I don't—
[ He catches himself, curling that finger down as if deliberately restraining himself. No need to make himself appear so easily ruffled, especially in front of such an inveterate ruffler. He steeples his fingers, the very picture of placidity aside from the small twitch of his eyebrow that gives him away. ]
What I mean to say is, it's rather more of a magical absorbing of the Weave to quell the orb's more unstable properties.
[ When he phrases it the right way, it sounds downright respectable. When Astarion phrases it that way, it sounds asinine. ]
But if consuming the tome's magical energy is your concern, [ he says, pointedly, ] you can be certain that I swear not to absorb any of the Weave from it. ...Without your express permission, of course.
[ He really does make it far too easy, doesn't he?
Astarion watches, eyebrow twitching a little as his eyes regard the way that the wizard seems to fluff up a little, as if he really has poked a sore spot - and perhaps he has. The strange things that happened to Gale on his quest for whatever hope he had with Mystra must have left him with more than the physical scars. It's something he can relate to a little too much.
He knows this, but the wizard will get too morose if he lets him get away with it. ]
Well, that's good to know. I'd hate to wake up and find ripped up pages scattered around our lovely campsite.
[ Even if he just said he wasn't going to eat it -
Astarion leans over, making the offering. The book in question? A wizard's grimoire. ]
[ He half-expects Astarion to leave him hanging, having gotten his hopes up for a laugh. When he actually offers the tome, Gale's eyes widen in surprise, first that he's actually relinquishing the damn thing and then that it's unexpectedly... good. Gale wouldn't peg Astarion as the type to part with just about anything valuable without receiving something in return, but he chooses not to look a gift horse in the mouth. For now, anyway.
His gaze ping-pongs from Astarion's face to the grimoire and back for a few moments before his greedy hands snatch it for himself, eyes scanning over the cover in excitement. ]
Oh! Well, my gratitude was always going to be sincere, but it's... particularly sincere now. The idea of digging into this is quite thrilling indeed.
[ Gale holds the grimoire to his chest, as if worried Astarion is going to take it away. ]
Oh, I plucked it from a bookshelf here or there ago and had it in my bag since.
[ Which is mostly true. The fact that it happened to be the bookshelf of a mage that they had been snooping around on was neither here nor there, not as far as he was concerned, and he lets himself have the gleeful knowledge that the theft was a success, and clearly the book was worth it.
He had been concerned, at least for a little while, that he might have just taken a poor attempt at scrabbling together some words.
He's no wizard.
Waving his hand, his lips curl into that familiar, sanguine grin. ]
[ Astarion has such a way of seeming like he doesn't care at all, like this is nothing to him. For Gale, who cares far too much about everything all the time, it's impossible to imagine ever being that way. He certainly would have remembered exactly where he found the book. ]
Ah, [ he says, knowingly. Theft. ] Your misappropriation is greatly appreciated! Well, by me, at least. I imagine someone is sorely missing this.
[ He would be heartbroken if someone stole something like this from him — and yet his tone shows little empathy for the grimoire's former owner. Whatever sorry soul Astarion took a souvenir from, it's Gale's now. Difficult to get bogged down in morality when Astarion's misdeeds have produced such an exciting prize. Besides, it's not as if he can return it now.
Gale takes a moment, deep in thought, then says, ] I suppose I could offer more than my gratitude, if you were interested. I couldn't help but notice you're quite the reader yourself.
[ At least, if how he spends his time in camp is any indication. He can't imagine Astarion's taste in literature, but whatever it is, Gale's certain it could be improved with his input (as could all things). ]
Perhaps you might like to borrow something. I've a veritable cornucopia of excellent literary taste.
[ It does do him some good to have the wizard in his debt, especially the further they go on their journey - who knows when he will need a little magic to ensure his survival, especially when they sneak closer and closer to Cazador? If snatching a book that hardly works for Astarion will earn a vote of confidence, well, consider it done. ]
It's entirely likely we've already killed them, in which case they're not missing anything.
His interest is caught in the promise of a book, however, and he raises his eyebrows. He is curious to see what kind of literature Gale thinks that he might be interested in, and what suggestions he could offer, carrying around a library of his own making as he does.
Crossing his arms, his lip twitches. ]
What would the great Wizard of Waterdeep offer me, hm?
[ Gale carefully sets aside the grimoire, trying not to dwell on whether he might have ignited its former owner. He crouches by a stack of books he's piled precariously by his tent; each appears meticulously cared for, with nary a creased spine in sight. As he sorts through the stack, he feels a familiar thrum of nerves. Not anxiety or worry, but something he's felt far more times: eagerness for approval, a desire to impress.
As intolerable as he can be, Astarion is also an interesting person. Gale wouldn't mind blowing him away with his refined literary inclinations. ]
Oh! This one is brilliant, [ he says, holding up a tome so heavy it nearly falls out of his hand. ] A complete and total history of Aglarond from 1065 to— [ He trails off, thinking better of it. ] But... perhaps not for you.
[ Maybe fiction is a safer bet. He immediately sets aside the classics, assuming Astarion has either already read them or finds them boring. Lifting another, he considers it for a moment before glancing back at Astarion. ]
Ah, the protagonist here is a bona fide rake. You might relate.
[ Astarion watches with an odd sense of curious wonder as Gale starts to examine his books, as if each one is a precious commodity all of its own; not something he can particularly understand himself, not when the book he had been reading the most had a singular focus on necromancy. His interest lay with weapons, jewels, fine clothes, the sort of things he might not have been permitted to keep before now and was enjoying the pleasures of once again. Another thing stolen from him by his Master.
As soon as the first book is drawn, Astarion is raising his eyebrows. It's not as if he requires much in the way of history, not of the last few decades, anyway - even if he had been under house arrest, so to speak, more often than not, he was aware enough of the goings on in the world.
That and the book looked sickeningly dull.
Tilting his head, he huffs a short, sharp little laugh at the comparison, waving a hand. ]
Darling, you think me a rake? Should I be flattered or scandalised?
[ In Gale's opinion, Astarion should be neither flattered nor scandalized. He is a rake, especially in the eyes of a serial monogamist whose idea of a wild night is cooking without a recipe.
He stares at Astarion with a quirked eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. He gives him a pointed once-over: good-looking man, expensive tastes, libertine morals. 'Rakish' seems an understatement; Astarion is as if the anti-hero from a lowbrow romance novel came to life (not that Gale would know anything about those, of course). He has to wonder which parts of the persona are genuine. All of it? None of it? With Astarion, it's difficult to tell.
His gaze flicks back to Astarion's face and he tilts his head, dubious. ]
Do you mean to deny the allegation, then?
[ Translation: yes, I absolutely think you're a rake. ]
[ It's not as if he wants to go into detail about the complicated reasons for his rakish behaviour, not right now, and for a moment he does little more than idly play with the threads of his silk shirt, considering what he ought to say in response. His behaviour - flirtatious, idly so, as if it comes naturally (it does) - would lend itself to such a diagnosis of his attitude, but...
It was rakish seduction or another year imprisoned. Rakish behaviour or punishment. He had quickly learned which one was preferably.
Forcing a little laugh to his face, Astarion waves a hand, brushing the notion aside with an easy flourish that comes second nature to him these days. ]
Very well, I admit it. A rake I am, through and thought. It tends to be quite appreciated by those who witness it, I'll have you know.
[ With the attitude of an adult patting a child's head: ] I'm sure your devil-may-care charm has captured many a heart.
[ There's far more interesting things about Astarion than his debauchery, but his head is plenty big enough already without being told that. Let him get knocked down a peg. Or maybe three.
Gale isn't the most socially perceptive, but even he can tell when the vibe is off; he sets the book aside and gets to rifling through the stack again. Too dry, too soppy. Too long, too short. The kind of books someone reads make a statement about who they are, and he certainly doesn't want the statement Astarion gets to be 'booooooring'. He holds up another book, the cover embossed in gold. ]
Perhaps this one. It follows a gentleman thief and his detested rival, a detective, as they must work together to clear their names of the murder they've been accused of — quite thrilling, really. And the ending— [ Ah. He stops himself. ] Well. I suppose that's for me to know and you to find out.
[ With all the authority of a petulant little child who has been told he's doing a very good job.
Astarion watches Gale go through his books and he finds himself just a little bit amused by the process of it all. This seems almost important to the wizard, and yes, he will be judging whatever tome or text he chooses to bring out next, but he finds himself almost touched at the care being given.
Almost. Wouldn't do to be considered soft, now, would it?
The gold immediately catches his attention, and he peers at it carefully. ]
No, no, no. Do not spoil the ending for me. Give it here.
[ Gale doesn't attempt to hide the proud grin on his face, pleased with himself for choosing well enough to pique Astarion's interest. He stands, book in hand, and makes a move to surrender it to Astarion — before thinking better of it. He holds the novel close to his chest, protective. ]
Some ground rules, if you will.
[ Allowing Astarion to borrow the book is meant as a kind gesture, but it has its limits. For the past year, these books were some of Gale's only friends. Even disregarding his natural perfectionistic desire to keep them pristine, he thinks they've earned a certain level of treatment that he needs to be sure Astarion will commit to. ]
Do not put pressure on the spine. Use caution when turning the pages. And the respectable way to hold one's place is with a bookmark, not a folded corner.
I do know how to read a book. I am over two hundred years old.
[ He especially knows how to read a book that needs to be taken care of. Astarion might well be a bit of an ass - he would admit that to anyone who asked him, no matter the occasion - but he wouldn't go out of his way to be that deliberately cruel. The books are important to Gale, so that means he will at least attempt to treat them with proper respect.
If he had any prized possessions to speak of, he might be just as careful with them, but alas, he only has himself. The decorative items around his tent are handsome, and expensive, but don't mean anything to him. Not in the grand scheme of things. ]
[ Astarion was supposed to say something like, "Oh, yes, I pinky promise I'll be the gentlest vampire there ever was." ...But this will have to do. ]
It wouldn't do to deprive you of the greatest gift of all — the occasion to earn my trust.
[ He relinquishes the novel to Astarion with a flourish, unbothered by any offense he took at Gale's rules. It's clear that the content of Astarion's character will be judged by the condition in which he returns this book, for good or ill. If Astarion can treat one of Gale's precious possessions kindly, that speaks well of him. If he can't, perhaps an errant fire bolt finds him when he least expects it. ]
Besides, it's been quite some time since I had the chance for intelligent conversation with someone other than a tressym. It would be a waste to throw away the opportunity to engage in some spirited literary discourse.
[ Gale tries very hard to make this sound like a coveted opportunity for intellectual dialogue and less like mandatory book report with a lonely wizard. ]
[ These days, it's rather rare for Astarion to do anything like he is supposed to do - the whole point of throwing away the mantle of being controlled and finding some measure of peace in the man you've become. Something like that - not that he thinks about it terribly often.
Anyway.
Astarion takes the book carefully enough, turning it in his hands before he opens it to the first page to have a quick glance through. He is gentle with it, despite his irritation and the flick of a glare he laid Gale with, careful if all things like nails and errant hair and the like. As much as it might be novel to torment the wizard, he has no reason to be this brutish.
Lifting his head back up, he closes the book with a careful snap. ]
Are you telling me you distrust me, after all we've been through? How heartbreaking.
[ He sounds utterly desolate. In the most sarcastic way possible. ]
I'll read the book and, if I enjoyed it, we can discuss it.
Oh, please — prepare yourself to be delighted. After all, you've a recommendation from a man of incomparable taste.
[ And he's modest, too! With all the thought he put into picking this particular novel for Astarion to read, he had better enjoy it. It's a little more exciting, a little more bloody than his usual fare. He figured Astarion might appreciate something more thrilling. Of course, it's not entirely solving murders and running from the guards; there's the unlikely bond that forms between two sworn rivals, too, but that seems less of a selling point for Astarion. He doesn't strike Gale as the type to be invested in real people's relationships, much less fictional ones'. He likes to think that this will be the story to change that. ]
As works of fiction go, I assure you it's among the greats. I'm quite fond of the character of Detective Morin myself. A polymath and prodigious investigator, intellect second to none. [ With slight irritation in his voice: ] Some may find him egotistical, but I dare say they lack reading comprehension.
[ He relates to this character. Perhaps a little too much. ]
Yes, your taste is easily the most noticeable thing about you.
[ Is that shade about his choice in wizarding robes? Perhaps, but who's to say.
Astarion is, in fact, going to sit down and read this book; not just because it was offered to him, and he would apparently like it, but also because he's going to be bored otherwise, lounging around in camp, so he might as well do something useful with his time. If it means he earns a little favour with one of their magical companions, then surely that's just a little plus.
He cannot help, however, the way his lips curl into a smirk as he draws the book against his chest. ]
Would you say, perhaps, that he is one of your favoured literary characters? You seem to have the impression you've a lot in common, Gale.
[ Because Gale is also intelligent but also egotistical and, from the sounds of it, both could be considered irritating on a bad day. ]
[ Gale chuckles sheepishly, as if exposed. Make no mistake, however: he finds great joy in Astarion comparing them, even if it was only due to Gale's own words. Underneath his modesty, he's practically glowing with excitement to have the opportunity to liken himself to such a bright character. ]
I suppose, if one were to compare him and myself, they'd find we share a number of characteristics. We've both had a lifelong relationship with and deep affection for that most enticing of paramours: learning. [ Said in the most sickeningly genuine tone one can imagine. ] We've both a dogged dedication to pursuing our chosen craft. Ah — and as of recently, we share robust facial hair.
[ Gale strokes his beard, just in case Astarion has gone this long without noticing. ]
I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I would identify with such a character.
You can summon all those descriptors for yourself, and all I get is rake? Tsk, tsk, Gale.
[ Astarion is so easily teasing him, poking fun at his own self appreciation. While he might make a good game of pretending to have arrogance and confidence (he's aware of his own handsomeness, of course, and his skills, but more of it is bravado than he would like to admit) there are limitations to what he can do or say, and the walls are being worn down the more time he spends with this group.
Tucking the book under his arm, he sighs. ]
Tell me, does this menace also have a paramour that he is fascinated with that is below him, or has he found his sanity?
[ Has Astarion just said that Mystra herself isn't good enough for Gale, even if subtly?
[ Of course Gale waxes poetic about himself. No one else is going to do it for him.
Sunnily, before he's fully grasped the intent behind Astarion's words: ] That's where we differ. The detective is married only to his job, a true bachelor— [ Then, as his mind catches up with his mouth, he stops himself, bristling in offense. ] Oh.
[ He splutters for a moment, uncertain how to respond to such a disrespectful notion. Leave it to Astarion to blaspheme so flippantly. ]
Mystra is no longer my paramour, thank you, [ he finally clarifies, as if this is somehow important. Their relationship is over and he's being so mature about it. ] And I know you've no love for the natural order of things, but to claim her beneath any mortal is preposterous. She's the very essence of magic. Power incarnate.
[ It's amusing, to watch the expression flicker across the wizard's face as he processes what Astarion has said, and he waves his hand. He doesn't much care what Mystra does or does not think about him; much like many of the other Gods in this realm, she had not responded to any of his cries for aid or his prayers. Thus, he has no time for her now, and will not engage in any worship of her being, no matter the intent.
It seems as though Gale has entirely missed his attempt at being complimentary. He sighs, tilting his head and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. ]
That is likely for the best. What I said a moment ago? Repeat that.
[ Blah, blah, Gale is better off without her from what little he has heard, can make his own choices, and so forth. ]
That does not mean she is better than you simply because she has power. I can assure you, there are many men more powerful than me who are far less charming and fun to be around.
[ Gale scoffs, incredulous at Astarion's boldness to compare the Mother of Magic to simply 'powerful' (and apparently charmless and boring) men. He shakes his head again, unable to even quip back at Astarion's immodest claims. They'll have to go unchallenged for now.
Frustration at being at cross purposes worms its way into his voice. ] You misunderstand. Mystra is not only powerful, she is power.
[ An unimportant distinction to some, but everything to him. She's the embodiment of the Weave. The thing that gives his life purpose. The only reason Gale even matters. He would be a fool not to worship her. ]
Without Mystra, there is no Gale of Waterdeep. [ Metaphorically. Literally, there may be no Gale with her soon enough, but that's another story. ]
[ Astarion watches him, expression darker now. This is taking a turn he didn't imagine with his idle prodding at Mystra, but... The book is clutched a little tighter in his hands. There's too much here for him alone to unpick, but the familiarity of it all makes the anger inside of him burn a little brighter. He remembers how it felt, crawling out of his own grave to peer out at the night sky, to see Cazador looming over him, feeling stronger and better at first, but...
Cazador is power. Mystra is power. Not the same kind, but they're both bound in the same way, are they not? ]
Would you say the same of me, I wonder? Without Cazador, there is no Astarion. Is that true, Gale of Waterdeep?
[ Gale's eyes widen, a flash of repulsion welling up inside him at hearing Astarion say this — then, anger at the mere insinuation. Astarion's really batting a thousand today when it comes to offending him.
He throws his hands up, exasperated. ]
Hells, Astarion. I think you know very well I would never even think to utter such vile words.
[ Because they aren't true. Astarion's right: he's charming and fun to be around, if caught in the right mood. Cunning. Eloquent. Unfortunately indispensable in a battle and out of it. A fair bit more than just 'rakish', and none of it thanks to Cazador. ]
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I don't—
[ He catches himself, curling that finger down as if deliberately restraining himself. No need to make himself appear so easily ruffled, especially in front of such an inveterate ruffler. He steeples his fingers, the very picture of placidity aside from the small twitch of his eyebrow that gives him away. ]
What I mean to say is, it's rather more of a magical absorbing of the Weave to quell the orb's more unstable properties.
[ When he phrases it the right way, it sounds downright respectable. When Astarion phrases it that way, it sounds asinine. ]
But if consuming the tome's magical energy is your concern, [ he says, pointedly, ] you can be certain that I swear not to absorb any of the Weave from it. ...Without your express permission, of course.
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Astarion watches, eyebrow twitching a little as his eyes regard the way that the wizard seems to fluff up a little, as if he really has poked a sore spot - and perhaps he has. The strange things that happened to Gale on his quest for whatever hope he had with Mystra must have left him with more than the physical scars. It's something he can relate to a little too much.
He knows this, but the wizard will get too morose if he lets him get away with it. ]
Well, that's good to know. I'd hate to wake up and find ripped up pages scattered around our lovely campsite.
[ Even if he just said he wasn't going to eat it -
Astarion leans over, making the offering. The book in question? A wizard's grimoire. ]
Do enjoy yourself, won't you?
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His gaze ping-pongs from Astarion's face to the grimoire and back for a few moments before his greedy hands snatch it for himself, eyes scanning over the cover in excitement. ]
Oh! Well, my gratitude was always going to be sincere, but it's... particularly sincere now. The idea of digging into this is quite thrilling indeed.
[ Gale holds the grimoire to his chest, as if worried Astarion is going to take it away. ]
You must tell me where you found this.
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[ Which is mostly true. The fact that it happened to be the bookshelf of a mage that they had been snooping around on was neither here nor there, not as far as he was concerned, and he lets himself have the gleeful knowledge that the theft was a success, and clearly the book was worth it.
He had been concerned, at least for a little while, that he might have just taken a poor attempt at scrabbling together some words.
He's no wizard.
Waving his hand, his lips curl into that familiar, sanguine grin. ]
I'll see if I can quite recall where I found it.
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Ah, [ he says, knowingly. Theft. ] Your misappropriation is greatly appreciated! Well, by me, at least. I imagine someone is sorely missing this.
[ He would be heartbroken if someone stole something like this from him — and yet his tone shows little empathy for the grimoire's former owner. Whatever sorry soul Astarion took a souvenir from, it's Gale's now. Difficult to get bogged down in morality when Astarion's misdeeds have produced such an exciting prize. Besides, it's not as if he can return it now.
Gale takes a moment, deep in thought, then says, ] I suppose I could offer more than my gratitude, if you were interested. I couldn't help but notice you're quite the reader yourself.
[ At least, if how he spends his time in camp is any indication. He can't imagine Astarion's taste in literature, but whatever it is, Gale's certain it could be improved with his input (as could all things). ]
Perhaps you might like to borrow something. I've a veritable cornucopia of excellent literary taste.
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It's entirely likely we've already killed them, in which case they're not missing anything.
[ Such a blasé attitude to death might upset some, but Astarion is a spawn and his master's spawn both, and he has long since accepted that death is simply something that comes hand in hand with survival. In an us versus them situation, he's well aware of whom he'd like to be the victor.
His interest is caught in the promise of a book, however, and he raises his eyebrows. He is curious to see what kind of literature Gale thinks that he might be interested in, and what suggestions he could offer, carrying around a library of his own making as he does.
Crossing his arms, his lip twitches. ]
What would the great Wizard of Waterdeep offer me, hm?
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As intolerable as he can be, Astarion is also an interesting person. Gale wouldn't mind blowing him away with his refined literary inclinations. ]
Oh! This one is brilliant, [ he says, holding up a tome so heavy it nearly falls out of his hand. ] A complete and total history of Aglarond from 1065 to— [ He trails off, thinking better of it. ] But... perhaps not for you.
[ Maybe fiction is a safer bet. He immediately sets aside the classics, assuming Astarion has either already read them or finds them boring. Lifting another, he considers it for a moment before glancing back at Astarion. ]
Ah, the protagonist here is a bona fide rake. You might relate.
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As soon as the first book is drawn, Astarion is raising his eyebrows. It's not as if he requires much in the way of history, not of the last few decades, anyway - even if he had been under house arrest, so to speak, more often than not, he was aware enough of the goings on in the world.
That and the book looked sickeningly dull.
Tilting his head, he huffs a short, sharp little laugh at the comparison, waving a hand. ]
Darling, you think me a rake? Should I be flattered or scandalised?
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He stares at Astarion with a quirked eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. He gives him a pointed once-over: good-looking man, expensive tastes, libertine morals. 'Rakish' seems an understatement; Astarion is as if the anti-hero from a lowbrow romance novel came to life (not that Gale would know anything about those, of course). He has to wonder which parts of the persona are genuine. All of it? None of it? With Astarion, it's difficult to tell.
His gaze flicks back to Astarion's face and he tilts his head, dubious. ]
Do you mean to deny the allegation, then?
[ Translation: yes, I absolutely think you're a rake. ]
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[ It's not as if he wants to go into detail about the complicated reasons for his rakish behaviour, not right now, and for a moment he does little more than idly play with the threads of his silk shirt, considering what he ought to say in response. His behaviour - flirtatious, idly so, as if it comes naturally (it does) - would lend itself to such a diagnosis of his attitude, but...
It was rakish seduction or another year imprisoned. Rakish behaviour or punishment. He had quickly learned which one was preferably.
Forcing a little laugh to his face, Astarion waves a hand, brushing the notion aside with an easy flourish that comes second nature to him these days. ]
Very well, I admit it. A rake I am, through and thought. It tends to be quite appreciated by those who witness it, I'll have you know.
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[ There's far more interesting things about Astarion than his debauchery, but his head is plenty big enough already without being told that. Let him get knocked down a peg. Or maybe three.
Gale isn't the most socially perceptive, but even he can tell when the vibe is off; he sets the book aside and gets to rifling through the stack again. Too dry, too soppy. Too long, too short. The kind of books someone reads make a statement about who they are, and he certainly doesn't want the statement Astarion gets to be 'booooooring'. He holds up another book, the cover embossed in gold. ]
Perhaps this one. It follows a gentleman thief and his detested rival, a detective, as they must work together to clear their names of the murder they've been accused of — quite thrilling, really. And the ending— [ Ah. He stops himself. ] Well. I suppose that's for me to know and you to find out.
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[ With all the authority of a petulant little child who has been told he's doing a very good job.
Astarion watches Gale go through his books and he finds himself just a little bit amused by the process of it all. This seems almost important to the wizard, and yes, he will be judging whatever tome or text he chooses to bring out next, but he finds himself almost touched at the care being given.
Almost. Wouldn't do to be considered soft, now, would it?
The gold immediately catches his attention, and he peers at it carefully. ]
No, no, no. Do not spoil the ending for me. Give it here.
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Some ground rules, if you will.
[ Allowing Astarion to borrow the book is meant as a kind gesture, but it has its limits. For the past year, these books were some of Gale's only friends. Even disregarding his natural perfectionistic desire to keep them pristine, he thinks they've earned a certain level of treatment that he needs to be sure Astarion will commit to. ]
Do not put pressure on the spine. Use caution when turning the pages. And the respectable way to hold one's place is with a bookmark, not a folded corner.
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[ He especially knows how to read a book that needs to be taken care of. Astarion might well be a bit of an ass - he would admit that to anyone who asked him, no matter the occasion - but he wouldn't go out of his way to be that deliberately cruel. The books are important to Gale, so that means he will at least attempt to treat them with proper respect.
If he had any prized possessions to speak of, he might be just as careful with them, but alas, he only has himself. The decorative items around his tent are handsome, and expensive, but don't mean anything to him. Not in the grand scheme of things. ]
If you don't trust me, then keep it.
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It wouldn't do to deprive you of the greatest gift of all — the occasion to earn my trust.
[ He relinquishes the novel to Astarion with a flourish, unbothered by any offense he took at Gale's rules. It's clear that the content of Astarion's character will be judged by the condition in which he returns this book, for good or ill. If Astarion can treat one of Gale's precious possessions kindly, that speaks well of him. If he can't, perhaps an errant fire bolt finds him when he least expects it. ]
Besides, it's been quite some time since I had the chance for intelligent conversation with someone other than a tressym. It would be a waste to throw away the opportunity to engage in some spirited literary discourse.
[ Gale tries very hard to make this sound like a coveted opportunity for intellectual dialogue and less like mandatory book report with a lonely wizard. ]
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Anyway.
Astarion takes the book carefully enough, turning it in his hands before he opens it to the first page to have a quick glance through. He is gentle with it, despite his irritation and the flick of a glare he laid Gale with, careful if all things like nails and errant hair and the like. As much as it might be novel to torment the wizard, he has no reason to be this brutish.
Lifting his head back up, he closes the book with a careful snap. ]
Are you telling me you distrust me, after all we've been through? How heartbreaking.
[ He sounds utterly desolate. In the most sarcastic way possible. ]
I'll read the book and, if I enjoyed it, we can discuss it.
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Oh, please — prepare yourself to be delighted. After all, you've a recommendation from a man of incomparable taste.
[ And he's modest, too! With all the thought he put into picking this particular novel for Astarion to read, he had better enjoy it. It's a little more exciting, a little more bloody than his usual fare. He figured Astarion might appreciate something more thrilling. Of course, it's not entirely solving murders and running from the guards; there's the unlikely bond that forms between two sworn rivals, too, but that seems less of a selling point for Astarion. He doesn't strike Gale as the type to be invested in real people's relationships, much less fictional ones'. He likes to think that this will be the story to change that. ]
As works of fiction go, I assure you it's among the greats. I'm quite fond of the character of Detective Morin myself. A polymath and prodigious investigator, intellect second to none. [ With slight irritation in his voice: ] Some may find him egotistical, but I dare say they lack reading comprehension.
[ He relates to this character. Perhaps a little too much. ]
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[ Is that shade about his choice in wizarding robes? Perhaps, but who's to say.
Astarion is, in fact, going to sit down and read this book; not just because it was offered to him, and he would apparently like it, but also because he's going to be bored otherwise, lounging around in camp, so he might as well do something useful with his time. If it means he earns a little favour with one of their magical companions, then surely that's just a little plus.
He cannot help, however, the way his lips curl into a smirk as he draws the book against his chest. ]
Would you say, perhaps, that he is one of your favoured literary characters? You seem to have the impression you've a lot in common, Gale.
[ Because Gale is also intelligent but also egotistical and, from the sounds of it, both could be considered irritating on a bad day. ]
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[ Gale chuckles sheepishly, as if exposed. Make no mistake, however: he finds great joy in Astarion comparing them, even if it was only due to Gale's own words. Underneath his modesty, he's practically glowing with excitement to have the opportunity to liken himself to such a bright character. ]
I suppose, if one were to compare him and myself, they'd find we share a number of characteristics. We've both had a lifelong relationship with and deep affection for that most enticing of paramours: learning. [ Said in the most sickeningly genuine tone one can imagine. ] We've both a dogged dedication to pursuing our chosen craft. Ah — and as of recently, we share robust facial hair.
[ Gale strokes his beard, just in case Astarion has gone this long without noticing. ]
I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I would identify with such a character.
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[ Astarion is so easily teasing him, poking fun at his own self appreciation. While he might make a good game of pretending to have arrogance and confidence (he's aware of his own handsomeness, of course, and his skills, but more of it is bravado than he would like to admit) there are limitations to what he can do or say, and the walls are being worn down the more time he spends with this group.
Tucking the book under his arm, he sighs. ]
Tell me, does this menace also have a paramour that he is fascinated with that is below him, or has he found his sanity?
[ Has Astarion just said that Mystra herself isn't good enough for Gale, even if subtly?
Perhaps he has. ]
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Sunnily, before he's fully grasped the intent behind Astarion's words: ] That's where we differ. The detective is married only to his job, a true bachelor— [ Then, as his mind catches up with his mouth, he stops himself, bristling in offense. ] Oh.
[ He splutters for a moment, uncertain how to respond to such a disrespectful notion. Leave it to Astarion to blaspheme so flippantly. ]
Mystra is no longer my paramour, thank you, [ he finally clarifies, as if this is somehow important. Their relationship is over and he's being so mature about it. ] And I know you've no love for the natural order of things, but to claim her beneath any mortal is preposterous. She's the very essence of magic. Power incarnate.
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It seems as though Gale has entirely missed his attempt at being complimentary. He sighs, tilting his head and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. ]
That is likely for the best. What I said a moment ago? Repeat that.
[ Blah, blah, Gale is better off without her from what little he has heard, can make his own choices, and so forth. ]
That does not mean she is better than you simply because she has power. I can assure you, there are many men more powerful than me who are far less charming and fun to be around.
[ Like, you know, vampire lords. ]
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Frustration at being at cross purposes worms its way into his voice. ] You misunderstand. Mystra is not only powerful, she is power.
[ An unimportant distinction to some, but everything to him. She's the embodiment of the Weave. The thing that gives his life purpose. The only reason Gale even matters. He would be a fool not to worship her. ]
Without Mystra, there is no Gale of Waterdeep. [ Metaphorically. Literally, there may be no Gale with her soon enough, but that's another story. ]
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[ Astarion watches him, expression darker now. This is taking a turn he didn't imagine with his idle prodding at Mystra, but... The book is clutched a little tighter in his hands. There's too much here for him alone to unpick, but the familiarity of it all makes the anger inside of him burn a little brighter. He remembers how it felt, crawling out of his own grave to peer out at the night sky, to see Cazador looming over him, feeling stronger and better at first, but...
Cazador is power. Mystra is power. Not the same kind, but they're both bound in the same way, are they not? ]
Would you say the same of me, I wonder? Without Cazador, there is no Astarion. Is that true, Gale of Waterdeep?
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He throws his hands up, exasperated. ]
Hells, Astarion. I think you know very well I would never even think to utter such vile words.
[ Because they aren't true. Astarion's right: he's charming and fun to be around, if caught in the right mood. Cunning. Eloquent. Unfortunately indispensable in a battle and out of it. A fair bit more than just 'rakish', and none of it thanks to Cazador. ]
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