TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

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[handleyourshit]

[And she does turn up shortly thereafter, bundled in layers, pack on her back, and -]

I brought some kitchen scraps for Aylin. [- she says when the door is opened, and she's holding out a parchment paper wrapped packet that will turn out to be beef trimmings from lunch.]

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Oh - that's thoughtful of you, thank you. Do come in."

Aylin can smell what's going on the moment Astarion opens the parchment, and goes threading around his feet until he's placed the treats into her dish.

"Spoiled creature," he murmurs, scratching lightly behind her ears.

There's a new addition to his room: a full length mirror near his closet, with an elegant wooden frame.

[handleyourshit]

She clocks it immediately, of course, because there is no world in which she's capable of entering a room without scoping it out; she takes the time he's feeding the cat to drop her pack and a few layers, and she's looking at the mirror by the time he comes back, albeit from across the room.

"I see you didn't come up empty handed from Christmas," she comments. She has an addition of her own, the gleam of a gold chain around her neck, but the pendant is between her shirt and her skin. "Anything good?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Oh, a few things. Two people had the same idea, actually-"

He holds up his right hand, showing her a silver ring there.

"This lets me taste food and drink, just as I could in the island's dawnlight."

[handleyourshit]

She blinks at the ring, taking a moment to catch up and a moment longer to wonder about who, but it's not important.

She'll just have to find another gift herself - because three people, actually - but that doesn't diminish the fact that:

"Oh, that's wonderful. Is there a limit on it? Side effects?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"No, nothing. It's...honestly, I haven't even used it much. If overeating will make me sick, I'd rather not find out," he admits, with a weak laugh. "And then there's this."

He turns to the mirror, which currently seems like any other - which is to say, unable to show his reflection. He touches a hand to the frame and seems to take a moment to focus, or reach for something inside himself.

"Imago."

The silver shimmers, then shows him his reflection, life-size and complete in a way his little device could never accomplish.

[handleyourshit]

"We'll have to test it," she decides. "I bet you'll like spicy food."

She has no idea actually, but she wants to get ahead of someone discouraging him from that. But then he's messing with the mirror and she trails over to see, though she gives him space just in case and, behind him, she's smiling.

"You like it?" she asks, stepping up beside him, just to hear and see him say it.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Yes," he says. "I've spent far too long looking for wrinkles, but - yes. It's a rather fine gift. Even if Aylin does keep trying to fight herself."

[handleyourshit]

"Just like the rest of us."

She can't imagine what it's like not to be able to look over and see herself; can't imagine how it might feel to have it back.

But she does know the overall value of a good full length mirror.

"We'll have to put this through its paces, too," she says, bumping his shoulder eith hers. "Find you something extra special to show off in."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion smiles slyly at her reflection.

"Are you saying you're tired of my regular wardrobe, my sweet?"

[handleyourshit]

"I would never," she assures him.

"But you wouldn't deprive all of us - yourself included - of a bit of novelty, would you?"

[sixfeetofdirt]

"No, of course not. Though nothing ridiculous," he says. "I don't care to see myself looking foolish, mm?"

[handleyourshit]

"I'd never allow it. Not my boys," she promises.

"We'll need to drag Jacob on a shopping trip next port that allows for it, though. Do some taste sampling."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"We can manage that, I think."

But he can see in his reflection how his smile has turned brittle, and he knows she'll see it, too.

"I, ah...I know it's absurd, but - don't call me 'boy', please."

[handleyourshit]

She does, and she's deciding how to get at it without doing more damage when he says that. The playfulness vanishes from her smile and she nods.

"It's not absurd," she says simply. As simply: "I won't. I'm sorry."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion nods. It feels at once good and horribly, squirmingly uncomfortable to assert a boundary. Rosita's response is as good as he might have hoped for.

"Thank you, darling. No harm done."

The way his posture and expression relax is subtle but noticeable.

[handleyourshit]

She notices the way he relaxes, too, as she had the way he tensed up. She kisses his shoulder - it's okay, she is sorry, and she is proud of him all in one - and steps back a bit.

"Godric got me a small miracle," she offers instead, reaching to pull the small gold, heartshaped locket up from the collar of her shirt. The way she smoothly pops it open with one hand speaks to how often she's done exactly this, holding it out to show him the picture inside of it: a woman only a little older than she is now, with her steady eyes and thick black hair and stubborn jawline.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion looks closely at the photograph, then at Rosita.

"Your mother," he says, quietly.

[handleyourshit]

She nods; she's looking at it too.

"Yeah. I lost everything when I left Dallas back home, and I only had a few pictures of her even before that." As did pretty much everyone who managed to survive, but.

"Her name was Reyna. In Spanish, it means queen."

[sixfeetofdirt]

He nods solemnly.

"You look very much like her. It's a beautiful gift."

[handleyourshit]

"Thank you."

She still misses her so much. She spends a few moments longer looking at it, then gently closes it and drops it back out of sight, safe.

"She also tried to teach me to sew when I was younger," she continues, clearing her throat. "I didn't listen then, so you have your work cut out for you now."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion exhales a laugh and kisses her cheek.

"Fortunately, I don't believe for a moment that the woman standing in front of me now will allow herself to be anything but proficient at any skill she sets her mind to."

[handleyourshit]

"And don't you forget it," she agrees, smiling again too. She bumps his shoulder again and then goes for her pack.

"I brought pants. If the tear is pretty straightforward I can mostly manage, but this one's not been going well."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Alright. Why don't you set the patient down over there?" he says, gesturing at the worktable where his sewing machine sits. His image in the mirror flickers and fades away.

[handleyourshit]

She glances back at the mirror at the movement, thoughtful, but she keeps moving to do as he says and find a seat.

"Clothes have been less pressing than food. It doesn't go bad, at least, but we'll run out of things to scavenge eventually."