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?"
"I - hm. 'Food' is a rather broad category," he says dryly. "It's rather
like jumping from complete illiteracy to choosing a single book from the
library. Perhaps - something you enjoy? As a place to start."
"I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything you'd seen in passing, or heard someone else talk about."
She smirks.
"I kind of already shoved most of my favorites at you. But we can try them actually warm this time, and I'll probably be better at making them a second time around."
"There's no precise translation," Astarion says, lightly batting at her fingers with his own. "The closest would be - 'sweetheart', perhaps. It's used between partners, or parents and children."
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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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And then she circles back: "Maybe we should start small. What would you like for dinner?"
Now that he can choose.
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Astarion blinks at her.
"I, ah - the only thing I'm actually hungry for hasn't changed," he says delicately. "Food is more of a...curiosity."
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"But what are you curious to try? I have an in with the kitchen."
It's her. She's the in.
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"I - hm. 'Food' is a rather broad category," he says dryly. "It's rather like jumping from complete illiteracy to choosing a single book from the library. Perhaps - something you enjoy? As a place to start."
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She smirks.
"I kind of already shoved most of my favorites at you. But we can try them actually warm this time, and I'll probably be better at making them a second time around."
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"All right. I did like the things you gave me, though I know my tolerance for spice may be a work in progress," he admits.
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"Treat me like a what? I need to learn this other language," Astarion murmurs.
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"My mother's language. But you wouldn't really get that one, probably, even if I explained. Just know I mean it fondly."
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"You're calling me a child or a foreigner or a coward or somesuch, aren't you?" Astarion rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "I'll allow it."
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"And I think it'd serve you right, since you won't tell me what damia means."
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"There's no precise translation," Astarion says, lightly batting at her fingers with his own. "The closest would be - 'sweetheart', perhaps. It's used between partners, or parents and children."
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"Pale. White."
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