"I'm doing fine here," Astarion says mildly, "where all my needs are met
and little changes from month to month. I....honestly don't know if I'd
last a tenday in a world like yours."
"I wouldn't let you fall," is what she offers, seriously.
"But that's the rub, isn't it? Here is not there, or wherever either of us goes next, or anywhere but here. I have no idea if I should adapt to here, or hold on to what's allowed me to survive out there. I wouldn't know what to tell you even if you were asking."
She reaches to pick up the pants, to study the stitches he's put in and the way the edges match up.
"Can't you do both?" Astarion wonders, as he watches her. "You spent years
in that place. The lessons you learned won't be so easily forgotten just
because you're taking up some new ones, surely."
"Two," she answers, quietly. It feels like more, but the truth is, "It's been two years since the virus. And the hardest lessons are the ones I'd have to forget about to be happy here."
Always be ready for what you have to be taken from you. Always be ready to be lied to, or stepped on, or traded.
"People are hideous, Astarion. All that keeps most of them in line is the threat of punishment."
"I know," he says - quietly, solemnly. He's seen, and intimately
experienced, what even people in a 'civil' society are capable of when that
threat of punishment is removed.
"But is that kind of lawless world the one you plan on returning to?"
Having inspected the patch, she turns the garment to another tear and starts setting it up how she remembers him doing.
"I don't know. But even if it isn't, I'm worried I wouldn't be able to stop waiting for the new world to fall, too." That's the price for thinking ahead.
He watches carefully, making a couple of slight corrections - little more
than suggesting she give herself more space to work.
"All worlds fall eventually, darling, but just because you've been witness
to one once-in-an-epoch eventuality, that's no reason to believe they'll
start following you around. Hells, once you've graduated, stay. Make a deal
and use it to apocalypse-proof wherever you go next."
"And I did all that as an inmate. Seems like it's more important that I'm me than a warden." But she shakes her head, because that isn't actually the bone to chew here, with him. It's not his fault in any way, shape, or form that she hates the system here.
"But I'm... glad. I just don't know. I know more about what I don't want than what I do."
"Ah. That, I understand." He smiles balefully. "I don't think either of us
have had nearly so much of an opportunity to work up a wishlist, so much as
we've kept encountering things we never want to experience again."
It's easy to agree with, even if it makes her... sad.
"It's not how Mama raised me. But that particular part feels like it belongs to Before, and there's little enough left of that now. Do you - what keeps you from it? From thinking about what'd be nice to have?"
Astarion goes quiet for a while. Aylin strolls over to bump her head into his leg, and he reaches down to pull her into his lap for a fuss.
"...There's a few reasons. Mostly? Anything, everything that could be perceived as the smallest kindness from Cazador or his cronies - it had a cost. There were never gifts given, only debts accrued. When I think about the future, about some nebulous somewhere else beyond the Barge, it's hard not to think - what will this cost? How will I have to pay for this?"
Which is half the reason the Rite has such appeal. Payment up front. Power enough to protect his interests, and a deal already done.
Rosita gives him that, working diligently and with more focus than strictly necessary, but she's watching him with the cat out of the corner of her eye. It occurs to her that she should reach out, too, but Aylin is already there so she keeps her hands to herself.
And when he finally says that, she understands enough. Her experience is slightly different, but the end product comes out very similar, and she nods.
"Exactly. I stopped indulging in fantasies of what could be, a very long
time ago. It just made the reality feel harder, colder. Another reason I
struggle now to imagine what I want."
She nods. Her problem isn't imagining as much as it is believing - really believing - that she can have it. She finishes up the last few stitches on the current patch and holds it out for his inspection before she ties off the knot.
"It's taken a lot for Jacob to say he wants something else besides Eden's Gate or dying, too. I feel bad because I can't get behind it as much as I want to encourage him."
She notices. Of course she does. She also abruptly realizes she didn't exactly mean to put herself into a place to have to answer this particular question honestly.
"Because nothing has so far, for me," she finally settles on - and she does look up when she says, "And I've tried. I've tried a lot, both before and after."
"And so the greatest temptation is to stop trying," Astarion agrees, with a
sigh. "But I - certainly for myself, I can't. I can't just lie down and
stop."
"I'd made up my mind to do exactly that," she admits. "When I got here I didn't want any more friends, any more projects or goals or anything at all - I didn't want to keep going. But you all had to fucking ruin that."
"Yes, well. I didn't want to feel the faintest trace of affection or
commitment towards anybody," Astarion drawls. "I had every intention of
being a beautiful undead monolith. Yet here we are. Dreadful, isn't it?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"I'm doing fine here," Astarion says mildly, "where all my needs are met and little changes from month to month. I....honestly don't know if I'd last a tenday in a world like yours."
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"But that's the rub, isn't it? Here is not there, or wherever either of us goes next, or anywhere but here. I have no idea if I should adapt to here, or hold on to what's allowed me to survive out there. I wouldn't know what to tell you even if you were asking."
She reaches to pick up the pants, to study the stitches he's put in and the way the edges match up.
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"Can't you do both?" Astarion wonders, as he watches her. "You spent years in that place. The lessons you learned won't be so easily forgotten just because you're taking up some new ones, surely."
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Always be ready for what you have to be taken from you. Always be ready to be lied to, or stepped on, or traded.
"People are hideous, Astarion. All that keeps most of them in line is the threat of punishment."
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"I know," he says - quietly, solemnly. He's seen, and intimately experienced, what even people in a 'civil' society are capable of when that threat of punishment is removed.
"But is that kind of lawless world the one you plan on returning to?"
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"I don't know. But even if it isn't, I'm worried I wouldn't be able to stop waiting for the new world to fall, too." That's the price for thinking ahead.
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He watches carefully, making a couple of slight corrections - little more than suggesting she give herself more space to work.
"All worlds fall eventually, darling, but just because you've been witness to one once-in-an-epoch eventuality, that's no reason to believe they'll start following you around. Hells, once you've graduated, stay. Make a deal and use it to apocalypse-proof wherever you go next."
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"And be a warden?" She withers the word in her mouth.
"I'm almost certain the fact I won't commit to what you're saying is what's keeping me here."
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"Why wouldn't you? You've...helped me think differently," Astarion shrugs. "Others too, I don't doubt."
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"But I'm... glad. I just don't know. I know more about what I don't want than what I do."
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"Ah. That, I understand." He smiles balefully. "I don't think either of us have had nearly so much of an opportunity to work up a wishlist, so much as we've kept encountering things we never want to experience again."
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It's easy to agree with, even if it makes her... sad.
"It's not how Mama raised me. But that particular part feels like it belongs to Before, and there's little enough left of that now. Do you - what keeps you from it? From thinking about what'd be nice to have?"
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Astarion goes quiet for a while. Aylin strolls over to bump her head into his leg, and he reaches down to pull her into his lap for a fuss.
"...There's a few reasons. Mostly? Anything, everything that could be perceived as the smallest kindness from Cazador or his cronies - it had a cost. There were never gifts given, only debts accrued. When I think about the future, about some nebulous somewhere else beyond the Barge, it's hard not to think - what will this cost? How will I have to pay for this?"
Which is half the reason the Rite has such appeal. Payment up front. Power enough to protect his interests, and a deal already done.
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And when he finally says that, she understands enough. Her experience is slightly different, but the end product comes out very similar, and she nods.
"How will it feel when it's taken away."
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"Exactly. I stopped indulging in fantasies of what could be, a very long time ago. It just made the reality feel harder, colder. Another reason I struggle now to imagine what I want."
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"It's taken a lot for Jacob to say he wants something else besides Eden's Gate or dying, too. I feel bad because I can't get behind it as much as I want to encourage him."
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"Because you can't see it working out for him?" Astarion asks.
The alternative - working out for us - feels far too delicate, too fragile a question.
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"Because nothing has so far, for me," she finally settles on - and she does look up when she says, "And I've tried. I've tried a lot, both before and after."
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"And so the greatest temptation is to stop trying," Astarion agrees, with a sigh. "But I - certainly for myself, I can't. I can't just lie down and stop."
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It's a fond exasperation.
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"Yes, well. I didn't want to feel the faintest trace of affection or commitment towards anybody," Astarion drawls. "I had every intention of being a beautiful undead monolith. Yet here we are. Dreadful, isn't it?"
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"I'm glad you're not," she offers. "But I'm also a little sorry. It's... harder."
Feeling affection. Feeling commitment.
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"It's terrifying, actually." Astarion laughs. "But I...if I could choose to stop feeling this way, I wouldn't."
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"We were friends first, querido," she reminds him. "If I can ever - if you ever need. I'm not afraid of you, or anything you could need to talk out."
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"...thank you."
He leans over to have a proper look at her patch job.
"A strong first attempt, darling."
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