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It's too brief for Abby, but she isn't sure how to ask for more. She's never been shy and still isn't, but there is a hesitance that goes hand in hand with this comradery when the wounds from losing her friends back home haven't healed. She's never felt so aware of a relationship before, or been this beholden to not fucking something up; like stepping out onto an icy lake, and hoping it has frozen all the way through.
He's trying too. Loki is right out on the lake with her.
Abby clears her throat, stepping briefly ahead of him to bellow for the dog. He comes running, tearing across the grass to get back, and leaps up the moment he reaches her, painting her pants with his muddy paws. "Wags– no, bad–"
Might want to step back for a moment while she gets him settled.
He's trying too. Loki is right out on the lake with her.
Abby clears her throat, stepping briefly ahead of him to bellow for the dog. He comes running, tearing across the grass to get back, and leaps up the moment he reaches her, painting her pants with his muddy paws. "Wags– no, bad–"
Might want to step back for a moment while she gets him settled.
Loki does step back because filthy, wet, and muddy pawprints all over his clothes are definitely not the look he's going for today. His hands stay in his pockets as he watches the two of them, expression distant and eyes slightly unfocused.
His mind is definitely elsewhere.
He's thinking of Asgard and its people. How there's an entire timeline of people he's never going to see again, like his brother. His mother. If he does ever see them again, they won't be exactly the same as the ones he left behind.
It makes him wonder what Abby's family is like. If she misses them.
But once Abby has Wagner settled down again Loki approaches once more, taking steps carefully measured as to get the least amount of mud on his boots as possible. "I'll admit, the 'you won't fuck this up' part was not what I expected you to open with."
His mind is definitely elsewhere.
He's thinking of Asgard and its people. How there's an entire timeline of people he's never going to see again, like his brother. His mother. If he does ever see them again, they won't be exactly the same as the ones he left behind.
It makes him wonder what Abby's family is like. If she misses them.
But once Abby has Wagner settled down again Loki approaches once more, taking steps carefully measured as to get the least amount of mud on his boots as possible. "I'll admit, the 'you won't fuck this up' part was not what I expected you to open with."
She's pretty muddy once she gets him seated, but she can't stay exasperated with him, it's just so hard to be mad at a face like that... she gives a frown, and a huff, but her heart isn't in it. Moments later, she's allowing Wags to lick her chin.
"Yeah?"
Loki is back by her side, and the puppy is wriggly when she pushes him gently down to sit. He looks attentively between the two of them when she stands.
"What did you expect me to open with? I wasn't gonna agree with you." No pity parties allowed, not in this case. He hasn't lost anything, and so they shouldn't indulge in worrying.
"Yeah?"
Loki is back by her side, and the puppy is wriggly when she pushes him gently down to sit. He looks attentively between the two of them when she stands.
"What did you expect me to open with? I wasn't gonna agree with you." No pity parties allowed, not in this case. He hasn't lost anything, and so they shouldn't indulge in worrying.
If being this muddy and dirty is what it takes to properly raise a dog, Loki will be opting out, thanks.
He is a very sweet and intelligent creature though; Loki can see the appeal.
"Hm. Well. Something something husband something something disapproval something something what are you doing is what I expected the opening salvo to be, honestly." But, you know. There's something refreshing about being surprised in a pleasant direction.
He is a very sweet and intelligent creature though; Loki can see the appeal.
"Hm. Well. Something something husband something something disapproval something something what are you doing is what I expected the opening salvo to be, honestly." But, you know. There's something refreshing about being surprised in a pleasant direction.
Abby snorts humourlessly, and bears through an uncomfortable recollection of Owen and the boat with a strange look on her face before she answers him. She's staring at the puppy; eventually her expression softens again.
"It would be hypocritical if I judged you for your relationship choices." Mutter, shrug... "So."
Nice, honest advice instead. You're welcome! "But what does her husband think of you? And what does–" What term did he use? Oh, yeah, "'Native variant' mean, anyway."
"It would be hypocritical if I judged you for your relationship choices." Mutter, shrug... "So."
Nice, honest advice instead. You're welcome! "But what does her husband think of you? And what does–" What term did he use? Oh, yeah, "'Native variant' mean, anyway."
"Doesn't stop most," he points out, albeit gently, because he doesn't exactly want Abby to change her practice towards him and his...unconventional relationship choices. Like, at all. But he still feels it requires note. "Not that I want you to be like most people."
Most people would not be his friend.
"I don't know what he thinks of me; he's currently missing." Loki weighs his hands. "It means...it means that I know there are versions of me in different worlds. People like me, with different lives but similar arcs, if that makes sense? Some of them may even have my name. This one does.
It's part of the multiverse. Well. It would be the theory, except we are living examples that it is more than that."
Most people would not be his friend.
"I don't know what he thinks of me; he's currently missing." Loki weighs his hands. "It means...it means that I know there are versions of me in different worlds. People like me, with different lives but similar arcs, if that makes sense? Some of them may even have my name. This one does.
It's part of the multiverse. Well. It would be the theory, except we are living examples that it is more than that."
"I'm not most," she agrees, giving him a funny look, "Do you want me to tell you I'm disappointed in you, or something?"
Lest he forget she comes from a place where people you love can be ripped away from you at any moment; if he has happiness with Alexandrie, he should grab it in both hands and take it.
And his explanation makes more sense to her than it really should.
Abby worries her lower lip for half a second, thinking hard. "Yeah. It– I think there are other versions of me, too."
The one that Ellie talked about. The one she fought with in Santa Barbara. "Is it normal?"
Lest he forget she comes from a place where people you love can be ripped away from you at any moment; if he has happiness with Alexandrie, he should grab it in both hands and take it.
And his explanation makes more sense to her than it really should.
Abby worries her lower lip for half a second, thinking hard. "Yeah. It– I think there are other versions of me, too."
The one that Ellie talked about. The one she fought with in Santa Barbara. "Is it normal?"
"While the familiar can be very comforting... no, not really."
He would internalize that, if she said it, and part of him would really rather not go through that process. To be haunted by the specter of disappointment of others has driven him near to madness before.
Fairly, he'd prefer to avoid that this time around.
She makes a face, while she's biting at her lip, which makes Loki wonder what she's thinking of exactly. Has she encountered some timeline divergence, between herself and her enemy here? "It's... common; I don't think it's abnormal. You don't tend to know about it until you do."
He would internalize that, if she said it, and part of him would really rather not go through that process. To be haunted by the specter of disappointment of others has driven him near to madness before.
Fairly, he'd prefer to avoid that this time around.
She makes a face, while she's biting at her lip, which makes Loki wonder what she's thinking of exactly. Has she encountered some timeline divergence, between herself and her enemy here? "It's... common; I don't think it's abnormal. You don't tend to know about it until you do."
"Good," she says, watching him, expression suddenly softer, "I wasn't gonna." It's hard for people like them to ask for affection, she knows that. Just as much as she knows they desperately need it anyway.
It would be nicer to stay in that moment than stew over the variant thing, but Abby has far too many questions to be able to let it lie. "Don't tend to know about it until the person who does bothers to actually tell you about it, you mean."
Which may answer his question perfectly.
It would be nicer to stay in that moment than stew over the variant thing, but Abby has far too many questions to be able to let it lie. "Don't tend to know about it until the person who does bothers to actually tell you about it, you mean."
Which may answer his question perfectly.
Loki raises his eyebrows. Yes, that does answer his question, though he follows it up with: "I take that to mean your enemy, here, has some temporal variance that you don't? Memories that go beyond your own, or end before yours do?"
He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I know things that the Provost didn't, when I arrived. I don't know if that's still true. I doubt he'd let me know."
He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I know things that the Provost didn't, when I arrived. I don't know if that's still true. I doubt he'd let me know."
She nods, clearly troubled.
"She told me some of it." The worst part: Abby's certain she wasn't being fucked with. The story cast Ellie in a bad light; worse still, she can't think of why Ellie would want to fuck with her at this point. They did terrible things to each other, but they've never lied about it.
Another glance at Loki, and this time she lingers, seeking reassurance. "... Do you find it hard? To be here with him?"
"She told me some of it." The worst part: Abby's certain she wasn't being fucked with. The story cast Ellie in a bad light; worse still, she can't think of why Ellie would want to fuck with her at this point. They did terrible things to each other, but they've never lied about it.
Another glance at Loki, and this time she lingers, seeking reassurance. "... Do you find it hard? To be here with him?"
"It feels like it shouldn't; he made it clear where we stood." But that isn't exactly an answer to her question, is it? "It's hard to leave a past behind when you know people are telling true stories about your bad behavior. It's hard to have the only familiar face be one that you don't get along with, that doesn't trust you."
His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he shrugs. "But if I wanted to be remembered better I suppose I should have acted differently."
His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he shrugs. "But if I wanted to be remembered better I suppose I should have acted differently."
Abby snorts in understanding, mulling over this answer. She doesn't particularly care if Ellie ever trusts her. Abby doesn't much trust her either, and yet they exist together in the same space without any disruption. Maybe that is a form of trust, even though thinking about it that way feels cloying and heavy, like the cling of mud.
She wrinkles her nose.
"You told me you tried to take over an entire planet," she says eventually, looking up. "Why?"
She wrinkles her nose.
"You told me you tried to take over an entire planet," she says eventually, looking up. "Why?"
Loki would say that it is a form of trust, albeit a very uneasy sort.
But he sighs, at that question, and gives a little shrug. "I was angry. At my family. And I wanted power, legitimized power, and that seemed a way to do it." Not an easy one, mind, but a way nonetheless. "Not the best plan I've ever had, by far."
But none of his plans have been excellent, really.
But he sighs, at that question, and gives a little shrug. "I was angry. At my family. And I wanted power, legitimized power, and that seemed a way to do it." Not an easy one, mind, but a way nonetheless. "Not the best plan I've ever had, by far."
But none of his plans have been excellent, really.
Uneasy; pathetic? Trust that you try too hard to explain away.
"I'm guessing it didn't work out so well." And the Provost here is an enemy because of it. Abby is guessing that isn't the only enemy Loki received as a result of this plan. "Sorry," she adds, hoping she didn't make him uncomfortable, "We don't have to talk about it."
"I'm guessing it didn't work out so well." And the Provost here is an enemy because of it. Abby is guessing that isn't the only enemy Loki received as a result of this plan. "Sorry," she adds, hoping she didn't make him uncomfortable, "We don't have to talk about it."
Necessary. Pathetic, not so much, not by his measure.
"Definitely not." It could have been much worse, honestly. He could have been usurped by a revolutionary underground after the fact instead. That would have been an embarrassment.
Loki shakes his head. "It's fine." It doesn't make him uncomfortable, just annoyed at how everything went down. "You should know."
"Definitely not." It could have been much worse, honestly. He could have been usurped by a revolutionary underground after the fact instead. That would have been an embarrassment.
Loki shakes his head. "It's fine." It doesn't make him uncomfortable, just annoyed at how everything went down. "You should know."
She makes a noise of understanding, hands pressing into her pockets. She can't exactly ask him why he thinks she should know, not when she did the exact same to him: you should know before you decide to get close to me.
Is it weird that she likes that they have this odd thing in common: bad decisions on a cataclysmic scale. Makes her feel a little more grounded.
The dog has shot off at a mad sprint again while they've been talking. He's gonna be so tired later. Abby chuckles, and scuffs at the ground with her shoe. She holds her breath for a moment. "... D'you regret it?"
Is it weird that she likes that they have this odd thing in common: bad decisions on a cataclysmic scale. Makes her feel a little more grounded.
The dog has shot off at a mad sprint again while they've been talking. He's gonna be so tired later. Abby chuckles, and scuffs at the ground with her shoe. She holds her breath for a moment. "... D'you regret it?"
[He meets her in Lowtown, the alley where they’d first met. Neutral territory, and unlike his home, won’t put her back on her heels only a few steps into conversation (and not the Gallows, either, where Astarion frequently sours over the miserable history that clings miasmic to its high walls).
The moment he sees her, he doesn’t wait.]
You said you wanted to talk. [It isn’t barbed or sharp, it isn’t cruel or pushing— only a little wary.
Which is, for the record, what he is by default in everything.]
So talk.
The moment he sees her, he doesn’t wait.]
You said you wanted to talk. [It isn’t barbed or sharp, it isn’t cruel or pushing— only a little wary.
Which is, for the record, what he is by default in everything.]
So talk.
(... Uh yeah she was going to, but he just had to get the first word in didn't he. She regards him with both arms folded across her chest, containing herself. It's for his safety; her feelings toward him are volatile at best. She's still testing them, prodding gently at bruising skin.
In short: Abby has been thinking about this a lot, specifically what she wants. She's decided what would make this feel right instead of fragile, imbalanced.)
I want you to tell me something about yourself.
(There could be room for a sly comment here which is why she keeps going, determined to stomp out any opportunity for him to make one of his shit, crass jokes. It would ruin the entire conversation before its really started,) Something like what that place took from me.
(Something of equal value.)
It's only fair.
In short: Abby has been thinking about this a lot, specifically what she wants. She's decided what would make this feel right instead of fragile, imbalanced.)
I want you to tell me something about yourself.
(There could be room for a sly comment here which is why she keeps going, determined to stomp out any opportunity for him to make one of his shit, crass jokes. It would ruin the entire conversation before its really started,) Something like what that place took from me.
(Something of equal value.)
It's only fair.
Life isn’t fair, as you well know. Why you expect me to be is baffling.
But fine. In the interest of our necessary ongoing camaraderie— and maybe, just a little bit, because you put in a decent effort in Val Chevin on my behalf— all right. [This isn't a concession made out of contempt, despite his fuss. He's simply guarded, and maybe it shows, just a touch, in his tightened posture. Rigid and sharp, stiff through his own shoulders.]
One fact, equally damning, and if you so much as breathe a snide little joke about it in my direction, know that I'll either happily air the nasty little details of what I witnessed in that castle to the network at large, or simply rip your throat out with my teeth.
And even I can't say which one will be more appealing in the moment.
So.
[He holds out his hand, gloved palm turned upwards.]
Deal?
But fine. In the interest of our necessary ongoing camaraderie— and maybe, just a little bit, because you put in a decent effort in Val Chevin on my behalf— all right. [This isn't a concession made out of contempt, despite his fuss. He's simply guarded, and maybe it shows, just a touch, in his tightened posture. Rigid and sharp, stiff through his own shoulders.]
One fact, equally damning, and if you so much as breathe a snide little joke about it in my direction, know that I'll either happily air the nasty little details of what I witnessed in that castle to the network at large, or simply rip your throat out with my teeth.
And even I can't say which one will be more appealing in the moment.
So.
[He holds out his hand, gloved palm turned upwards.]
Deal?
(She stares at him, one eyebrow raised as if to ask 'are you finished?', and the pause before she reaches out to take his hand is deliberate. She has no idea why he thinks she might say anything. She never has, this entire time, has she. Wasn't that the entire fucking point behind why she's so embarrassed that he now knows.)
Deal.
(Angling her own hand, she turns it the gesture into more of a curt shake. In her mind's eye, she can see how he might have pulled the back of her hand toward his mouth and she's not in the mood for his version of charming.
But is she ever?
With his hand released, all she has to do now is wait.)
Deal.
(Angling her own hand, she turns it the gesture into more of a curt shake. In her mind's eye, she can see how he might have pulled the back of her hand toward his mouth and she's not in the mood for his version of charming.
But is she ever?
With his hand released, all she has to do now is wait.)
[If ever voiced aloud, he might press the one time she'd gone straight to Ellie to crack the figurative hammer down right overtop his very finely sculpted skull— but that was, after all, blackmail, and even Astarion knows the difference.]
Then without further adieu, I offer you what few memories I still have of my own prior existence: and the knowledge that even amongst vampires, not every monster is created equal. [If nothing else, he has a storyteller's voice: it works now to twist the pain of recounting something far deeper into a tapestry of well-distanced recitation, as though the life he's talking about isn't his own, despite the obvious truth. As though discussing whether or not rats have been in the Gallows kitchen again, or when the snowfall might come to a sudden stop at last, making room for warmer stretches.]
All that I can remember of my former life was that I was attacked in the street the night I died. [One memory. One left, etched into his mind like stone.] A lone elf cornered by a pack of Gur— humans, to oversimplify for the uninformed— and subsequently unmade by their contempt.
I was bleeding to death when he found me, the vampire that sired me, Cazador Szarr. A vision cloaked in power itself.
He cut down my assailants with indescribable ease, scattered them all like rats. And, as I lay dying, he offered me salvation. Rescue from the inevitability of my own fate.
I took it.
[Of course he took it.]
Or so I thought.
You see, vampirism is a shockingly tricky thing: get bitten, and you turn, yes, but to secure the bargain, you need to bite your sire in return. [The little caveat no one ever talks about. The one not mentioned in superstition.
Astarion wonders now just how deliberate a factor that is.]
The second part, Cazador had no interest in. He never did.
Instead, without his blood on my lips, I became a vampire spawn. [He says it with all due ugliness: tongue curling, eyes narrowed. Bile pooling across his tongue:] A thrall, bound body and soul to its master, unable to resist his every command, right down to the very last uttered detail.
He could demand I throw myself from the highest tower in the city, and, no matter how much my mind might rail against it, on my body would walk, all too happy to damn me for his amusement.
For two hundred years, he and his sadistic ilk asked infinitely more of me than that.
[So. As he clasps his hands and smiles.]
Let’s just say I would’ve preferred the tower.
Then without further adieu, I offer you what few memories I still have of my own prior existence: and the knowledge that even amongst vampires, not every monster is created equal. [If nothing else, he has a storyteller's voice: it works now to twist the pain of recounting something far deeper into a tapestry of well-distanced recitation, as though the life he's talking about isn't his own, despite the obvious truth. As though discussing whether or not rats have been in the Gallows kitchen again, or when the snowfall might come to a sudden stop at last, making room for warmer stretches.]
All that I can remember of my former life was that I was attacked in the street the night I died. [One memory. One left, etched into his mind like stone.] A lone elf cornered by a pack of Gur— humans, to oversimplify for the uninformed— and subsequently unmade by their contempt.
I was bleeding to death when he found me, the vampire that sired me, Cazador Szarr. A vision cloaked in power itself.
He cut down my assailants with indescribable ease, scattered them all like rats. And, as I lay dying, he offered me salvation. Rescue from the inevitability of my own fate.
I took it.
[Of course he took it.]
Or so I thought.
You see, vampirism is a shockingly tricky thing: get bitten, and you turn, yes, but to secure the bargain, you need to bite your sire in return. [The little caveat no one ever talks about. The one not mentioned in superstition.
Astarion wonders now just how deliberate a factor that is.]
The second part, Cazador had no interest in. He never did.
Instead, without his blood on my lips, I became a vampire spawn. [He says it with all due ugliness: tongue curling, eyes narrowed. Bile pooling across his tongue:] A thrall, bound body and soul to its master, unable to resist his every command, right down to the very last uttered detail.
He could demand I throw myself from the highest tower in the city, and, no matter how much my mind might rail against it, on my body would walk, all too happy to damn me for his amusement.
For two hundred years, he and his sadistic ilk asked infinitely more of me than that.
[So. As he clasps his hands and smiles.]
Let’s just say I would’ve preferred the tower.
(He does have a storyteller's voice. He uses it to glorify two centuries worth of suffering for her and while Abby listens, the lick of righteous anger in her chest fizzles out completely. Something sharp takes its place, something she can hardly bear to examine. He's the victim of a single person who carelessly turned his life upside down, and how could she possibly not empathise with that. It sits so uncomfortably. It brings no relief. It seems childish to her that she ever thought this might balance something out between them.
It's not the first time she's forgotten she doesn't have a monopoly on pain, and loss.)
... I won't tell, (is the only thing she can think of to say, short and aching. She won't tell anybody about this or make snide jokes, and not only out of self-preservation.
It occurs to her that this is exactly how her and Ellie have been operating around each other. They carefully hold onto each other's key bits of information, and relax under the assurance of mutual self-destruction. It's no way to live, but people like them don't know many other ways.)
It's not the first time she's forgotten she doesn't have a monopoly on pain, and loss.)
... I won't tell, (is the only thing she can think of to say, short and aching. She won't tell anybody about this or make snide jokes, and not only out of self-preservation.
It occurs to her that this is exactly how her and Ellie have been operating around each other. They carefully hold onto each other's key bits of information, and relax under the assurance of mutual self-destruction. It's no way to live, but people like them don't know many other ways.)
Loki also watches the dog run as he turns her question over in his head.
"Yes," comes after a beat, because he needed to figure out if they were really regrets, what he felt, or just annoyance at the aftermath; a chain reaction he didn't properly predict. "Oh, certainly, it would have been grand if it had been ever capable of working, but it wasn't. At any point. Besides which, I don't really want to run an entire planet when one gets down to the brass tacks of the matter."
"Yes," comes after a beat, because he needed to figure out if they were really regrets, what he felt, or just annoyance at the aftermath; a chain reaction he didn't properly predict. "Oh, certainly, it would have been grand if it had been ever capable of working, but it wasn't. At any point. Besides which, I don't really want to run an entire planet when one gets down to the brass tacks of the matter."
She snorts, kicking at the ground. It might be the same scale, but destroying a planet, and hunting down one, specific person? They're at opposite ends: two completely different extremes, and regret, for Abby, is a messy process. She doesn't know how to make jokes about it yet.
"Yeah," she says, just to say something. Maybe she'd expected something a little more sincere in response.
"Yeah," she says, just to say something. Maybe she'd expected something a little more sincere in response.
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