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"During our misadventure? Enough that I would have a few decent arrows on me," Astarion chuckles. "Smokepowder was more useful with humanoids."
"...Yes. Though it's a little odd to know he's not quite the Gale I travelled with. Close enough to get along with, though, certainly."
He hands the arrow back to him.
Astarion tucks it back in the quiver.
"Don't tell me you've never hurled an explosive at someone who was giving you trouble, Jacob."
"Ah, well. It's a similar experience for the wretched souls at the receiving end, I'm sure."
After some rummaging, he produces an arrow with a small glass bulb at its tip, filled with something blue and shimmering.
"Try this one. Just aim at an open space."
It's an Arrow of Transposition, that will have him teleporting to the spot the arrow lands, but he's not going to tell him that.
"Alright."
He draws the bow back, letting it fly into the clearing. But when he turns to ask Astarion about what was supposed to happen, he's suddenly in the fucking clearing.
"What the fuck?!" he calls out, looking around.
"Jesus is from a few years ahead of me. I get what you mean about the weirdness."
Astarion laughs - actually laughs, rather than his usual high giggle.
"An Arrow of Transposition!" he calls, as he closes the distance between them more conventionally. "Useful for crossing ravines and the like."
"You asshole! What if I shot it up a tree?"
Astarion plasters himself close and kisses his cheek.
"I told you not to! But if you'd ignored me, well, you'd have had to test your balance."
"I prefer watching you," he murmurs. "Especially when I can see you trying new things."
"Yes. I'm from ahead of Gale, as well, though it seems our paths have diverged somewhat regardless. He...kept slightly different company to myself."
"Why?" Astarion wonders. He became a creature of habit when he had no other choice, when his habits were forced upon him, but now he's here his behaviour is rather aimless. Is it so different for Jacob?
He rubs the back of his neck.
"Hm. I...have to admit, I feel the precise opposite," Astarion says. "I don't...I can't stand it when things are predictable. I know I complain about the floods and so on, but without them, I'm sure I'd have gone mad."
There's something a little manic in his giggle. "Isn't that peculiar?"
Astarion huffs and leans into Jacob's shoulder.
"But being in control feels better. Shouldn't it be easier to feel in control if I know what's going to happen? Like you say."
"Not that creating my own routines feels any better," Astarion sighs, then groans. "I'll stop. Whining isn't an attractive quality."
He leans over and kisses the top of his head. "What does it feel like? To have a routine?"
Astarion pulls a face for a moment - not out of any protest over the question, just because it's never occurred to him to reflect on it.
"It feels like...like I'm walking down a narrow hallway, with doors on each side that I'd be punished for opening. And it never ends. It never changes."
He passes a hand over his mouth, frowning, as something occurs to him.
"I think...if there's any hesitation I have about the idea of a quiet life out in the wilderness, it's that. Things becoming routine. Feeling...trapped."
"That's why we stay near the city," he adds. "So you can fuck off, go enjoy yourself, have your adventures. If Ro comes with us, she's gonna need that too. I'm happy keeping house by myself for a while."
And he knows he needs to be by himself sometimes.
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