TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

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[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion giggles delightedly, watching not one but four birds drop back to earth.

"They're very useful."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I - wow." He doesn't quite know how to express what he's thinking. "You'd be unstoppable," he manages to laugh.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"The downside is that the subsequent strikes don't do as much damage as the first. But in a pack of wild dogs, say, it can make quite a difference."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"And how many packs of wild dogs do you usually come across?"

He trots through the clearing and finds the bird, pulling the arrow from it.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"During our misadventure? Enough that I would have a few decent arrows on me," Astarion chuckles. "Smokepowder was more useful with humanoids."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Smokepowder?" he laughs. "Why?"

He hands the arrow back to him.

[sixfeetofdirt]

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."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Yeah," he answers, still grinning. "We call it a grenade, though."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"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.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He takes the arrow and inspects it, frowning in thought.

"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.

[sixfeetofdirt]

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."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

As soon as Astarion's close enough, Jacob is wrapping an arm around him to try and pull him in playfully.

"You asshole! What if I shot it up a tree?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

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."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I guess so," he laughs and holds him close for a minute. "I thought you were going to be shooting."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I prefer watching you," he murmurs. "Especially when I can see you trying new things."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile. "I like trying new shit, too. I have - I don't know. I have my routine and everything, but it's hard to shift things around sometimes."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"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?

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I like it. The routine. The structure. It makes things more tolerable when I can predict them. Control them, you know?"

He rubs the back of his neck.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"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?"

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"No, it ain't," he assures him, sliding an arm around his waist. "You've had predictable shit that's all been bad your whole life."

[sixfeetofdirt]

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."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"I had a therapist help me unpack this once," he laughs. "But uh - it's probably because even the routine here feels forced. You don't have a job, but you'd only have one because someone made you. That's not a routine you created."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Not that creating my own routines feels any better," Astarion sighs, then groans. "I'll stop. Whining isn't an attractive quality."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Hey, you aren't whining. I - this is what we're supposed to do."

He leans over and kisses the top of his head. "What does it feel like? To have a routine?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

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."