sixfeetofdirt | TLV: IC Contact

"Oh yes. We'd never talked, I'd never even seen him, I was merely his target of choice."

Asshole psychopath things indeed. Astarion isn't the most discerning killer, but he tends not to murder people just to test how easily or reversibly they die.

She's aware that Astarion is not the most readily truthful person, for a few reasons; but she flatters herself that he wouldn't outright lie to her when asked a direct question, and so she nods.

"It occurred to me he'd learn more about it by going through a death toll himself," is where she's arrived at, honestly.

"Oh, he's probably already factored into his plans that I'll be returning the favour," Astarion says, rolling his eyes. "Now that he's confirmed his death won't stick."

"Yeah, well. No one gets off this ship, so joke's on him," she answers, tipping her head to look at him.

"You didn't want an apology."

Astarion scoffs.

"I don't think he's sorry and I wouldn't forgive him regardless. We can level the field, and then we can move on."

"No. That's fair."

She folds her arms, eases down to a seat nearby.

"I wanted to come because I was worried you wouldn't want to do anything about it."

"Darling, when I've lost my interest in retribution you might as well just bury me."

He watches her, idly reaching to stroke Aylin when she decides to sprawl against his hip.

"How have you been?"

'Since recovering from the vampirism' is unsaid but, in his mind, doesn't need to be specified.

"I've done my fair share of that, thanks, I'd rather knock some sense into you."

She looks like shit, although at least it's warmed over shit now; she feels like it too, but it's easier to focus on others, and it's getting better.

She shrugs. "I'm here."

"I think being present and conscious is the best we can hope for, sometimes," Astarion sighs. "You're looking better."

Not good, but...better.

"I think being present and conscious is sometimes massively unfair."

She shakes her head.

"If I let us talk about me for a little bit, are you going to be annoyed when I turn it back on you after?"

"...No," Astarion says, after a moment, with a lifted eyebrow. "I'll accept exchange in kind."

There is a part of her, a very small part, that sees that raised eyebrow and wants to shrink out from under it right now. She's exhausted, and she's tired of hurting, and she is sick of being doubted.

But the world isn't fair. She tightens her jaw on it, and looks away.

"I'm taking things a day at a time right now."

"I have yet to find another way to take them," Astarion admits, slipping back into looking just tired and unwell. "Had your - guest left anything for you, after all that was done?"

"Glenn," she fills in, smiling.

"We left notes for each other. We kept switching back and forth. He left me a letter."

"Something encouraging, I hope?"

Her expression suggests as much.

She sighs.

"He was worried about me. Said if I decide not to give people here a chance, make sure it's actually them and not... other things. And that's dirty fucking pool, considering."

There's fondness under the exasperation.

"It is. On the other hand, there are so many people here who don't deserve that much of a chance," Astarion remarks.

She chuckles.

"That's why it's not just 'give people a chance.' We both survived the same virus, the same world. He knows as well as I do the kind of shit people will do to other people if given half a chance."

Both good and bad.

"Did you - get to talk to him?"

"I'm afraid I didn't," Astarion says. "I was...absent, for much of that week."

Meeting Arthur's daughter was surreal enough.

She knows not all f them swapped back and forth like she and Glenn did. She doesn't know what that means, if anything, but for now her plate is full.

"If I bothered wishing, it would be that he got to stay. He deserves another chance."

That rather clearly indicates what happened to him back home, then. Astarion nods, solemn.

"Another Barge, perhaps. We can't know what other opportunities might present themselves."

She chuckles, shakes her head.

"God, I'd hate to wish for that instead," she admits.

"Do your people have thoughts about what happens after you die?"

"So many thoughts," Astarion sighs. "But most schools of belief hold certain things in common. In most cases, the soul of the deceased passes to the Fugue Plane, a sort of...I think 'limbo' or 'Purgatory' would be the closest concepts on Earth.

"From there, if they were faithful to a particular deity in their mortal life, their eternal fate is addressed by that deity. Some are punished, some rewarded, some reborn to the mortal plane. Devils will occasionally use bargaining or force to seize souls for the Hells. Faithless souls like myself will someday enter the City of Judgement, and the Death Lord Kelemvor will decide how we live out eternity in the City."

She nods along, acknowledgment more than agreement - although in all honesty, she'd rather that, given how close it is to what she's been raised to believe herself.

"It's nature, isn't it? To wonder about the unknowable," she hedges, chewing her lip.

"Deities are more directly involved in your world than mine, though, aren't they?"

"Much more," Astarion says. "When I say I don't place faith in any of our gods, it's not that I don't think they aren't there. It's more like the way you might say you don't trust a politician to keep their promises."

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