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She smirks. "Well obviously," she agrees with a little bow of her head. "Although most of them would probably say the same." At least one of them managed not to get shot dead in the middle of an ambush, though.
"Come over here and talk with me a bit."
"Ah - come with me," he retorts, gesturing for her to follow Rosita through the newly-appeared door at the corner of the room. He has a living room now, with a sofa and armchair, some bookshelves, even a television. There's a kitchen beyond, as well.
The aesthetic is still rather inoffensive in a 'luxury chain hotel' sort of way. He's still working out what he likes.
And then she grins.
"It's nice - but it doesn't feel like you," she offers, flopping down onto the sofa, because she may be a gross feral survivor now but she used to have expensive taste. "Did you get to pick?"
He sits down next to her, draping an arm over the backrest.
"Not the precise details. I suppose this is what I wanted, more of a...blank canvas? I know how I like to dress, but in terms of interior design I'm at a loss."
He knows what he doesn't like but that barely helps.
"Do they have furniture stores in Faerun? Or do you remember IKEA from any of the breaches?"
"I do remember IKEA, and we had nothing of the like," he reports, dryly. "We didn't have that kind of mass production. Most people buy furniture from a carpenter if they can afford it, or second-hand if they can't. Or make it badly themselves, if they're truly desperate."
She leans her head back against his arm, looking around the room, realizing she hasn't been in here yet. Realizing how ridiculous that is.
"We haven't really talked since you've been back. Or me, really."
"We haven't. I'm sorry. It's been...well, honestly, I can't really say it's been any more strange than usual, can I?"
Admittedly their circumstances are different, but some of the same things carry.
"How are you?"
"I...I don't know," he admits. "I'm free. For the first time I can remember, I'm where I am by choice. Obviously it's an improvement on the alternative, but in some ways I feel...paralysed."
"Yes. That is - I know where I want to end up. Or rather, who I want to end up with." He smiles at her. "But it's still...well. Being able to make all my choices means being able to make them all badly."
"What worries you most about it?" she asks instead. "About making bad choices."
"The consequences of those choices, I'm sure you'll be unsurprised to hear." He sighs. "Take Gale. I don't want to read his file unless he literally insists on it, but - is that the right choice, or is it just what I would have wanted for myself?"
"Do you think you need it to understand him? Is he stonewalling you out or unwilling to talk to you?"
"I don't think I need it. I understand well enough how he got to this point," Astarion says. "And frankly, he's spent long enough stewing in his own past. I'd rather talk to him about his future, at least insofar as I need to convince him he has one."
"Godric and I - we tried to get through mine. He insisted it would help, and maybe it did. We didn't even get to most of the worst parts, though. I couldn't."
"I'm sorry," Astarion murmurs. "I never read my file. I felt I didn't need to. I was already there for everything that would be mentioned, and I didn't enjoy any of it the first time around, so..."
But also, she tells the ceiling, "I felt the same way about a lot of it. But some of it... I just didn't want to see his face when he found out about some of it." She rolls her head to look at him, asking the silent question if it was like that for him, too.
Astarion considers that.
"That - may be true for Gale. For me, I...there has been so much shame, and pain, and humiliation. There would be nothing in my file I could take pride in, or enjoy recounting. So - if anything, the reverse is true. I should have wanted to see my wardens' faces, just to know they could tolerate being in the same room as me."
Should doesn't have a very pronounced place in their lives, from what she can tell, and she's not trying to say it now either. But he's the one saying it, so she just prompts.
"I don't know. Maybe," he says, shrugging it off. "It all feels rather academic now. I at least recognised early on that John wasn't enough of a person to relate to anything I'd experienced, so what he thought of my file was besides the point."
"Well. Mostly I just- it's important to me that you know. If that changes and you do need to get something out of your head, I'm still here. That hasn't changed even if other things have. And I'm not going to shame or humiliate you over it."
"I know. Thank you." He shifts a little closer, puts an arm around her. "And I - lack your talents for knowing the right thing to say, but I can at least lend a pointy ear if ever it's needed."
"I've been wanting to check back in with both of you anyway, now that some of the... reunion bliss has had a chance to wear off."
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