[There’s no hesitation on his part. No embellishment this time: his voice so uncharacteristically level and low-set that it barely registers as Astarion at all, given his usual adorning flair.
Without it, he’s someone else entirely.
Maybe who he was before his sire's corruptive bite.]
Thedas did.
[And isn’t that a wonderful and wretched lot all at once, knowing the one thing that rescued you from the jaws of madness is the one thing that— at any moment— could so easily be rescinded.
Rifters are demons. Rifters are spirits. Rifters are dreams. They’re nothing. They don't last. It’s so easily said, here. So easily dismissed, the weight and worth of the souls stumbling desperately out of the Fade without a single choice in the matter.
They don’t know what it’s like. And Astarion resents every last Thedosian that dares to say it in front of him.]
(Her voice is low like his, and a little rueful.) Somebody else did.
(Half of their story is the same. The first part, the part where Abby couldn't save herself; she wasn't trying hard enough, she thinks, or maybe she didn't really want to. Maybe she didn't see anything worth salvaging. Lev saw something different.
And Thedas took him away. Thedas put a whole world between them.
She looks at him carefully, her arms drawn across herself.)
I'm glad that you're free here.
(Abby can mean that and still mourn what she lost. It's not like Thedas hasn't tried its best to placate her. She isn't lonely here, and she's met people she thinks she could, one day, try to love.)
[It takes him by surprise, that confession; everything that he’d expected from her, everything that they’ve wrought from one another’s company: tense and sharp and brittle besides, difficult in all the wrong ways (how he’d tried to comfort her, and even that failed— though still he remembers her locking grip against his chest, shivering sharp and fierce, laced with indescribable anguish).
Incompatible might be the word for it.
And yet.
And yet here she is, open and far from snapping when she says she’s glad he’s found his freedom.
Sincere.
He—
He doesn’t know what to do with that, if he’s honest. His stare a little too hangdog, his eyes low and lifted all at once in clear disbelief: eyebrows pinched, chin set nearer to his shoulders.
No preening. No sneers.]
Mm. [A hum that sticks to the back of his fangs.
Somewhere beyond the alley where they’ve met, cargo clatters as it’s hauled roughly into place, chased by the sounds of barking. Distant.]
...thank you.
[He doesn’t know if he means it. He doesn’t know if he can, but...it is trying, isn’t it.
(Abby's head turns in the direction of the faint ruckus. Her body turns too, almost imperceptibly, to face the unknown threat. She's used to reacting to the slightest sound, having to take every rustle seriously, but maybe she looks to give them both a moment to recover, too. Astarion from the surprise of hearing her say that to him and Abby from the surprise of having said it at all because she's unsure where it came from. It was a strange need to empathise.
His gratitude receives a grunt in reply in lieu of knowing what to say.
Then, lightly,) I don't know. (As if it doesn't ache like a slow-healing wound. Every single day.) It was him, and me. We didn't have anybody else.
(He isn't alone. He's still with whatever part of Abby that was left behind when she came here, but it's difficult to wrap her head around the notion. Here, she's without him. She's been having dreams of him struggling, without her.
Her breath catches. A quick in-in-out.)
I hope he's okay.
(God, she misses him.)
hey me too.....I say, looking at my mess of a backtag laden inbox....
[Softness feels uncomfortable; they aren’t there just yet, the two of them. Not him with her, not her with him— not even with the painful memories they’ve shared like a buffer, or the weight of the words thank you and I’m glad that you're free here still lingering.
But standing there in the negative space their lives have cut, empty air and immediate silence pervading, only one thing comes to mind. So there's no pretense when he asks, bluntly:]
(She doesn't look at him to assess whether or not he's being serious, simply leans into the ease of being told to do something, and following instruction. Abby is good at doing that. And she's barely spoken about Lev the entire time she's been living here, even though guarding him isn't her job any more.
It helps that Astarion doesn't act as if this is a soft moment between them, but more like a blood-letting.)
Just a– stupid kid, (she says, but her voice breaks over the sentence, cuz he was hers.) Saved my life back home. Cut me down after his people strung me up. (A sharp inhale, in memory.) They were going to cut my stomach open and pull my guts out with their bare fucking hands, and he– stopped them.
(Yara did too, but Yara is far too sore a subject; she omits the detail, and hopes she'll be forgiven for it.)
Where he came from wasn't safe. (Nothing unusual for either of them but,) I wanted to be that for him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[There’s no hesitation on his part. No embellishment this time: his voice so uncharacteristically level and low-set that it barely registers as Astarion at all, given his usual adorning flair.
Without it, he’s someone else entirely.
Maybe who he was before his sire's corruptive bite.]
Thedas did.
[And isn’t that a wonderful and wretched lot all at once, knowing the one thing that rescued you from the jaws of madness is the one thing that— at any moment— could so easily be rescinded.
Rifters are demons. Rifters are spirits. Rifters are dreams. They’re nothing. They don't last. It’s so easily said, here. So easily dismissed, the weight and worth of the souls stumbling desperately out of the Fade without a single choice in the matter.
They don’t know what it’s like. And Astarion resents every last Thedosian that dares to say it in front of him.]
How did you save yourself.
no subject
(Her voice is low like his, and a little rueful.) Somebody else did.
(Half of their story is the same. The first part, the part where Abby couldn't save herself; she wasn't trying hard enough, she thinks, or maybe she didn't really want to. Maybe she didn't see anything worth salvaging. Lev saw something different.
And Thedas took him away. Thedas put a whole world between them.
She looks at him carefully, her arms drawn across herself.)
I'm glad that you're free here.
(Abby can mean that and still mourn what she lost. It's not like Thedas hasn't tried its best to placate her. She isn't lonely here, and she's met people she thinks she could, one day, try to love.)
no subject
[It takes him by surprise, that confession; everything that he’d expected from her, everything that they’ve wrought from one another’s company: tense and sharp and brittle besides, difficult in all the wrong ways (how he’d tried to comfort her, and even that failed— though still he remembers her locking grip against his chest, shivering sharp and fierce, laced with indescribable anguish).
Incompatible might be the word for it.
And yet.
And yet here she is, open and far from snapping when she says she’s glad he’s found his freedom.
Sincere.
He—
He doesn’t know what to do with that, if he’s honest. His stare a little too hangdog, his eyes low and lifted all at once in clear disbelief: eyebrows pinched, chin set nearer to his shoulders.
No preening. No sneers.]
Mm. [A hum that sticks to the back of his fangs.
Somewhere beyond the alley where they’ve met, cargo clatters as it’s hauled roughly into place, chased by the sounds of barking. Distant.]
...thank you.
[He doesn’t know if he means it. He doesn’t know if he can, but...it is trying, isn’t it.
He is trying.]
What happened to them. The person that saved you.
i know how to tag in a timely manner
His gratitude receives a grunt in reply in lieu of knowing what to say.
Then, lightly,) I don't know. (As if it doesn't ache like a slow-healing wound. Every single day.) It was him, and me. We didn't have anybody else.
(He isn't alone. He's still with whatever part of Abby that was left behind when she came here, but it's difficult to wrap her head around the notion. Here, she's without him. She's been having dreams of him struggling, without her.
Her breath catches. A quick in-in-out.)
I hope he's okay.
(God, she misses him.)
hey me too.....I say, looking at my mess of a backtag laden inbox....
But standing there in the negative space their lives have cut, empty air and immediate silence pervading, only one thing comes to mind. So there's no pretense when he asks, bluntly:]
Tell me about him.
grips your hand also cw gore/violence mention
It helps that Astarion doesn't act as if this is a soft moment between them, but more like a blood-letting.)
Just a– stupid kid, (she says, but her voice breaks over the sentence, cuz he was hers.) Saved my life back home. Cut me down after his people strung me up. (A sharp inhale, in memory.) They were going to cut my stomach open and pull my guts out with their bare fucking hands, and he– stopped them.
(Yara did too, but Yara is far too sore a subject; she omits the detail, and hopes she'll be forgiven for it.)
Where he came from wasn't safe. (Nothing unusual for either of them but,) I wanted to be that for him.
(Lev wasn't asking for much. Only to be himself.)