sixfeetofdirt | TLV: IC Contact

And turn up later she does, bringing a small package of sweets with her, knocking on his door even though she lets herself in a moment later.

"Astarion?" she calls, careful to block Aylin from running out. "I come bearing gifts as well as my usual amazingness."

Astarion appears from another room - he has multiple rooms now! It's still rather thrilling! - a moment later. Aylin, for her part, is a homebody and comes to sing the song of her people to Rosita but makes no attempt to escape.

"Hello, damia. I don't need the bribes, but I do appreciate them - come in."

"They're not bribes, they're gifts, I said that," she admonishes, but she's smiling. She also offers the parcel out to him, murmuring a greeting to Aylin in passing.

With Erskine everywhere in tow, she's been scarce since the pairing announcement, so her, "It's so good to see you," is a bit warmer even than usual.

"And you."

He takes the parcel, but just holds on to it for a moment as he steps forward to give her a hug.

"How did the flood treat you?"

She's tense and starts to be brief about it - a quick hug and then to step back, but she stops herself and settles in for a moment instead.

"Honestly?" Obviously. "Hated it. I barely got any fucking sleep, I don't like being that close to anyone that long but I was trying to avoid that guy in particular, so naturally, we get to spend three days practically - and occasionally literally - holding hands."

She's had worse floods, for sure, but this one rubbed the wrong way against quite a bit of the way her traumas manifest.

"How'd you and Gale go?"

"Fine. He's such a miserable lump at the moment that it was basically the equivalent of dragging a large, sad suitcase about. I'm sorry you had a poor time of it."

Rosita, as per usual, shrugs her own shit off.

"I've gotten the impression that's kind of how he always is," she admits. "Am I wrong and he's upset about the pairing?"

"No, no. He seems - I think he shares a degree of my relief that he doesn't have to catch someone up on centuries of Faerunian history," Astarion remarks. "I think I've gotten used to him now. The differences between the one I've got here and the one I met back home."

"Yeah," she agrees. "It's nice to not have to explain every little thing. I feel that way with Jesus, and it must be that much harder without at least being from earth." Which most other passengers are, at least.

"Does he know a version of you back home?"

"He does. I haven't asked about him much," Astarion admits. "Though given the way Gale's journey unfolded compared to mine, I can only imagine that other Astarion was giving free rein to impulses that I was being constantly pressured to control."

"I never asked Jesus much about the Rosita he knew, either," she admits.

"It's... weird. To think there are other versions of us out there. For me, anyway."

"I try not to think about it too hard," he admits.

If there's one other Astarion, who's to say there aren't a thousand others? A thousand Cazadors, a thousand rituals, a thousand Elder Brains-

If he follows that thought, he can't help but think his own efforts are rather cheapened.

"Besides, I'm sure you're the best Rosita these many planes have to offer."

She watches him as he answers, gaze steady; Astarion can be subtle on the truth of what he's thinking or feeling and warrants attention to catch it. Sometimes she can, if she's clever.

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.

She raises an eyebrow, but she smiles, too, and trails after him.

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.

"We should go shopping," she suggests.

"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."

"Well, I'm sure we can get Jacob to make you something badly," she teases, "Or we can just use it to pick out a theme. I think I still remember how to do that."

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?"

"I can certainly say it's fucking strange being on this side of graduation."

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."

"There's a lot of choices to make now, huh?" she asks, from the point of view of someone who feels it as well, but it is a genuine question in case she's wrong.

"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."

She has worried about that - worries about it. She changed the game on them all while she was gone, brought in a new element they would both be well within their rights to want nothing to do with. She smiles back, and keeps that to herself a while longer.

"What worries you most about it?" she asks instead. "About making bad choices."

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