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*-
For now, he's heading back towards the door they came in through - and the
torch disappears from his hand when he crosses the threshold. A moment of
surprise, then:
[ Yeah. Nothing from in there exists out here. So if you eat food made in there, you can taste it but you'd be hungry again once you left. Just so you know. ]
[You're allowed to touch me if we're sharing, yes. Pull me off. And if you'd like to share for some reason, like a discussion where you want a better read on me or you need to be sure I get it or you want to show me something, we can.
But you can also just ask me to separate. Either way is fine.]
And he'll take that as the cue to carefully pop off of Astarion's shoulder. The feeling of warm fondness fades as he does and as the feeling returns to his arm, the scent of the barge returns to his nose.
At the same time, the yellow robes will flow from the edges of the mask until John is in his more 'normal' form.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.]
no subject
...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.
no subject
[What the fuck?!]
A low growl and then-
[Good that you burned that place down. That's horrific!]
no subject
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.
no subject
[Were there any places you liked around here?]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
Did you get a chance to smell them earlier? ]
no subject
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.
no subject
...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.
no subject
It's his other arm. He shakes out his now-sensate hand.
You like it?
There's a brief hum of something like surprise.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
I'd appreciate that. Thank you, John.
For now, he's heading back towards the door they came in through - and the torch disappears from his hand when he crosses the threshold. A moment of surprise, then:
...I suppose I should have seen that coming.
no subject
no subject
So I can't drain anything and feel the benefit when I leave? I suppose if that were true, nobody would need to cook.
He closes the door behind them, then reaches for the mask on his shoulder, then hesitates before touching it.
Should you, or can I just...?
no subject
But you can also just ask me to separate. Either way is fine.]
And he'll take that as the cue to carefully pop off of Astarion's shoulder. The feeling of warm fondness fades as he does and as the feeling returns to his arm, the scent of the barge returns to his nose.
At the same time, the yellow robes will flow from the edges of the mask until John is in his more 'normal' form.
no subject
Astarion rolls both his shoulders and takes a deep breath.
"...Thank you for joining me, John."
no subject