TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

Comments

[greatoldjohn]

He nods.

"I'm not surprised. The shift in timescale is... difficult." It's why he's tried not to push too often. He slips, no doubt, but he tries.

"Is this the first time something major has... hit?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

Is it?

Mm. The breaches haven't been easy, but they weren't real, insofar as anything here feels real. John is gone now. Will Astarion remember him in five years? Ten? A hundred?

"Yes. I suppose so."

[greatoldjohn]

He nods.

"Do you know why it made you wreck your room?" A hand up. "Which is not scolding. I don't care. We can fix it. I'm just trying to help you figure out the feelings."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I don't know," he says, sounding - irritated, but aimlessly so, not at John. "I was - frustrated. It was done before I gave much thought to the why."

[greatoldjohn]

He nods.

"You were frustrated and the need to express that was more important than the need to keep your room the way you like it." He tilts his head. "But not enough to upset or inconvenience anyone else."

He points to the cat dish and water.

"It wasn't mindless. You still cared more about Ayelin's comfort than your frustration."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I don't know. Maybe? I wasn't making calculations in the moment," he says, sounding mildly aggrieved. "...and I cleaned up Aylin's things afterwards."

[greatoldjohn]

There's a moment where he's clearly recalibrating; that is a slightly different understanding. He nods.

"Then maybe you just wanted it to be private?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Certainly more than I wanted to be seen destroying someone else's things and be accused of throwing a tantrum," he allows.

[greatoldjohn]

He considers that for another moment.

"Because you didn't want to get in trouble or you didn't want anyone to judge you?" Beat. "If you know. It's okay if you don't."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Trouble." He scoffs. "Neither. I just didn't want anyone to see it, or ask, or - it's nobody's business."

[greatoldjohn]

Privacy. Christ. Well, at least he knows how that goes.

"Including me?"

Matter-of-fact. And not assuming anything. Just putting the question there.

"Also fine if the answer is 'yes'."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I actually don't care whether or not you approve of my answers, but - yes, including you."

He sighs. More of a huff, honestly.

"That being said, I've accepted that you will poke my nose into my affairs regardless."

[greatoldjohn]

"I don't think you do," he admits, "but I meant it more like 'I'm not going to press if that's the case, and it doesn't mean I'm going to give up and walk away' either."

He sighs himself.

"I don't like doing it either. But I don't really see an alternative. Do you see one?" He will let the 'we never talk and you just eventually disappear after languishing here for years' obvious addendum be obvious but silent.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion considers this.

"...I can't say I really understand what you're trying to accomplish by these conversations. I assume it's 'wardening', but that's rather vague."

[greatoldjohn]

"Let's start there. It's been a while since we had this conversation, after all," and Astarion had just arrived. He looks at Astarion.

"What do you think wardening is? What do you think I'm supposed to do?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Make me a 'better person'," he says immediately. "Or - nudge me into making myself a 'better person'."

[greatoldjohn]

He's not going to nod or shake his head. He wants to hear a little more.

"And why do you think that?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Because - well, because that's what this whole thing is, isn't it?" It's a rhetorical question. "The Admiral sorts people into 'better' and 'worse' and stations one above the other."

[greatoldjohn]

He shakes his head.

"I don't think I'm better than you." Not hardly. "And if you don't believe me, I hope you can believe I don't think I'm better than Arthur."

He shakes his head again.

"It's not about some people being 'better' and other people being 'worse'. Or at least, I don't think about it that way. Not like... not like I'm a 'better' person. I'm not here to change you."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion's lips twist.

"Then what are you here to do? What am I here to do?"

[greatoldjohn]

"I'm here to help you find a path away from the life that brought you here," he says as he seeks out Astarion's eyes, "and you're here to figure out what that looks like and start walking it towards a life actually worth living. You. Not some mythical magical perfect version of you that you can't even imagine."

He pats his chest.

"I'm still the same person who killed my first host because she wouldn't do what I wanted. Because I was scared and I needed to control the situation because if I didn't, I'd end up in the Dark World again. And what happened was I ended up right the fuck back there. If the Admiral had taken me then, I'd have been an inmate."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion frowns.

"Well, fuck the Admiral, then," he says bluntly. "I was already well on my way to that new path. All I need is to go back and deal with Cazador."

[greatoldjohn]

John is going to swear internally instead of externally. Because he loves you, Astarion.

"'Deal' with him? How?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"The same way he was going to deal with me," Astarion spits. "I was going to kill his lackeys, beat him senseless, and then take his place in his damned rite."

He's honestly a little surprised his file doesn't say so!

[greatoldjohn]

We live in hope of progress. Even if it's futile.

"Right. So." Nope, gonna say it. "Exactly not that."

Beat.

"Not because killing him is a bad or wrong thing. Fuck that guy. If you want, I'll rip his head off and give it to you for a birthday present." Christ. Okay. Baby steps. "Why do you want to take his place in the rite?"