There tend to be a few torches lying around the city in any given spot, either to light the streets from wall sconces or for Flaming Fist patrols to pick up. He finds one not far away and lights it with another fire mote, casting a flickering glow around them.
He starts a meandering path along the waterfront, intending eventually to circle back around to where they started.
This is the city I was familiar with. When we returned here and I saw it in daylight for the first time in centuries, it was...almost confusing. I was so used to seeing it in shades of grey that I'd forgotten there was so much colour.
That's a bit of a tricky question, darling. Most of the places I think of fondly, I grew fond of because they made for easy hunting. The taverns, the brothels.
He didn't really have the luxury of liking a place just for its own sake.
I tend to like outside places with a lot of green growing things. It's almost like I can smell it, the way plants look when the light shines through the leaves and the branches. I can't, but I can imagine it. Inside, I like warm colors, like the hosting room I brought you to in my cabin. ]
[Okay. Let me slip off for a moment and slip back in.
...careful as I might get a leg.]
And he'll do just that, shifting the mask off for a moment before popping back into place, catching the scent on the first inhale as Astarion will suddenly lose all sense of smell.
Which limb he gets, well... that's anyone's guess.
It's lovely, and there's a little burst of warm gold fondness at the gift of the scent, the experience. It's something that's been a part of Astarion's life for centuries. And Astarion shared it with him.
[I can smell- is that the ocean? I didn't know salt had a smell... And the earth- I remember that, that's earth. Open earth. It adds weight to the green and balances the sweetness? Is that the right word?that- of the flowers. ]
There's almost a whirring of processing, all the different smells. It's rare that someone gives them his sense of smell: taste was the most often used, with the occasional hearing use for when Natalie needed the world to be smaller and more private. Smell is a whole new world in many ways.
[I can smell both of them! The oil is... acrid, heavy, clinging in a way while the paper is like dried wood. ...which makes sense, of course. Is that other thing the ink? I don't think I've ever smelled ink. It's... sharp and a little stinging.
Or is that the oil?
The herbs- those I'm a little familiar with. The ash as well but they're so *different* like this, night and day. Each time you breath in, there's something *new*-
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Probably to keep things interesting.
Hard to fight something you can't collide with. ]
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Not impossible, though. Maybe I'll come back here for target practice sometime.
He turns away from the temple, heading back inland.
Can you still make much out? I assume you're working with human vision.
And elves have a much easier time seeing in the dark.
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And Astarion might feel the trepidation at that. He doesn't like the dark.
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Ah. One moment-
There tend to be a few torches lying around the city in any given spot, either to light the streets from wall sconces or for Flaming Fist patrols to pick up. He finds one not far away and lights it with another fire mote, casting a flickering glow around them.
Better?
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[Yes. Thank you.]
Fondness comes a moment later. Small kindness is still kindness.
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He starts a meandering path along the waterfront, intending eventually to circle back around to where they started.
This is the city I was familiar with. When we returned here and I saw it in daylight for the first time in centuries, it was...almost confusing. I was so used to seeing it in shades of grey that I'd forgotten there was so much colour.
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He means that. If there's anything he can empathize with, being really fucked with by things that most people take for granted is it.
[Do they have anything like movies in your world?]
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Just the theatre. I've seen certain forms of magical projection, but that was - happening in the moment, not a recording. Why do you ask?
They pass another building which has not exploded but has definitely been extremely on fire. A charred sign declares it to be Felogyr's Fireworks.
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Re: the burnt building. He shakes that off after a moment.
[Some of the movies have so much color. When you're interested, we should see one together.]
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...Yes. All right.
A flicker of curiosity. Anticipation.
The firework shop was our handiwork as well. They were stuffing toys with explosives and donating them to refugees outside the city.
Which seemed grotesque even to him, and he's not overburdened by...ethics.
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[What the fuck?!]
A low growl and then-
[Good that you burned that place down. That's horrific!]
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Dealing with people who planned to blow up children for the crime of losing their homes did seem like it was worth the detour.
And that isn't something he'd say about a lot of the idiot errands they'd gotten distracted by.
His route takes them back uphill, past the newspaper offices and the Elfsong Tavern, the gates of the graveyard.
I was buried in there. Haven't been back since, for reasons I'm sure you can guess.
He doesn't go inside now, either.
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[Were there any places you liked around here?]
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That's a bit of a tricky question, darling. Most of the places I think of fondly, I grew fond of because they made for easy hunting. The taverns, the brothels.
He didn't really have the luxury of liking a place just for its own sake.
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I tend to like outside places with a lot of green growing things. It's almost like I can smell it, the way plants look when the light shines through the leaves and the branches. I can't, but I can imagine it. Inside, I like warm colors, like the hosting room I brought you to in my cabin. ]
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Hm.
We're going to end up back in the park in a moment. You could take my sense of smell, couldn't you? Some of the flowers are night-scented.
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Did you get a chance to smell them earlier? ]
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I've had centuries of chances. Trust me, I don't need any more.
There's nothing in his emotional affect to suggest that he's being anything but honest.
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...careful as I might get a leg.]
And he'll do just that, shifting the mask off for a moment before popping back into place, catching the scent on the first inhale as Astarion will suddenly lose all sense of smell.
Which limb he gets, well... that's anyone's guess.
[Oh...]
A sound of softly-delighted wonder.
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It's his other arm. He shakes out his now-sensate hand.
You like it?
There's a brief hum of something like surprise.
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It's lovely, and there's a little burst of warm gold fondness at the gift of the scent, the experience. It's something that's been a part of Astarion's life for centuries. And Astarion shared it with him.
[I can smell- is that the ocean?
I didn't know salt had a smell... And the earth- I remember that, that's earth. Open earth. It adds weight to the green and balances the sweetness? Is that the right word?that- of the flowers. ]
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Yes.
He breathes in, deep and deliberate, as the breeze comes in from the south.
You might be able to smell the printing press. Engine oil, paper, ink. Or herbs and ash, from the apothecary.
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[I can smell both of them! The oil is... acrid, heavy, clinging in a way while the paper is like dried wood. ...which makes sense, of course. Is that other thing the ink? I don't think I've ever smelled ink. It's... sharp and a little stinging.
Or is that the oil?
The herbs- those I'm a little familiar with. The ash as well but they're so *different* like this, night and day. Each time you breath in, there's something *new*-
It's so much! ]
He's delighted.
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I barely even notice it myself, these days. It's just...background noise. Background smell. You know what I mean.
But I do like hearing you experience it for the first time.
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[ I do.
And I like it too. Thank you for sharing with me.
Maybe I could show you Arkham next time. It's where Arthur lives, but it's the first place I got to see after the Dark World. ]
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