[Gale is a little more reserved when it comes to his naked body, grabbing his towel before taking Astarion's hand, wrapping it around his waist once he's up.
It's been a long time since he had a lover who actually cared about his physical body - who actually appreciated it. He stretches as well, albeit slowly, carefully to accommodate for his soreness. He needs to get used to that again, too.]
You're welcome to monopolize all my time after we eat, you know.
[Astarion will certainly appreciate Gale's body enough to make up for Mystra ignoring it. The sweeping gaze he gives Gale when he stands is evidence enough of that.]
I think I'll be taking you up on that offer. But, for now, you did mention a rather dashing man who would lend you clothes for the night.
[Astarion's already moving towards his packs, rifling through to find something that would suit Gale.]
[He takes the shirt, holding onto it until he has some pants.]
I daresay she has been championing us for some time now. Even if she weren't, you'd best prepare your back for the hug she's likely to give you. She's quite proud of you for what you did today.
[That gives Astarion reason to pause, a pair of fine black pants in hand. He and Karlach share a similarity in their time spent enslaved by an immortal power and he's grown very fond of her particular brand of humor and banter. But pride?
With the earlier revelation still at the edges of his thoughts, it's like a piece falling into place. He rubs a hand at his chest, quietly wondering at the warmth spreading there. When he turns back to offer Gale his pants it's with a wide grin across his face.]
[Gale smiles in return. He might be Astarion's most fervent defender on account of their relationship, but Gale has no doubt each and every one of their companions would have faced Cazador on Astarion's behalf without a second thought if it came right down to it. Astarion might not think it himself, but he has more friends than he knows, ones who would - and will, no doubt - defend him until the very end. When on a shared journey that's been as arduous as theirs since the very beginning with the Nautiloid, it's nigh impossible not to make some strong bonds, no matter how different they all may be as individuals.
He slips into the pants, pulling the shirt on next to tuck it in. It's not a bad look thus far.]
Ah, there's that quality in your clothing I liked so well. Such fine fabric, even all the way out here.
[Astarion does like how Gale looks in his clothes. He could very easily get used to this. He gives Gale one more appreciative glance before setting about dressing himself.]
It's a comfort to have some semblance of civilization even when our surroundings would say otherwise.
Ah, a pity we didn't invite that tiefling bard to join our merry little band. Or bring along their stores of drink.
[Despite the talk of celebration, Astarion isn't dressing himself in anything too elaborate. A white linen shirt with a modestly embroidered dark silk vest over the top of it, and his usual slim fitting black pants. His sleeves are rolled up as usual, and he takes a moment to run a hand through his hair, twisting his curls into place between his fingertips.]
[Even dressed down, Astarion manages to cut a fine figure. The vest is a particularly nice touch, one Gale can't help but fiddle with. He straightens it across his shoulders as Astarion fixes his hair.]
[Astarion keeps his hold on Gale, stepping back out into the camp. Though he rather promptly loses that hold as he's pulled into a bear hug by a very enthusiastic Karlach.
It's an odd feeling, knowing they all care so much. It tilts him off balance and leaves him floundering at times throughout the evening. But despite that unease, he never falls. It's his first night of being truly free, in the company of those he loves and nothing in the nine hells could stop him from savoring it.]
Once she's done hugging him, Karlach attempts to drag Astarion toward the fire - and the food. Wyll dug deep into their stores to not only bring out the finest wines, but he even managed to make a spread from the meats, cheeses, vegetables, and spices they've collected to rival even those in the Upper City. Everyone is in the finest of spirits: Halsin tells stories around the fire, Karlach and Lae'zel arm wrestle until the barrel they're using as a table cracks from the pressure atop its musty lid, and even without music, Wyll is happy to dance with any partner who will have him.
For the most part, Gale is by Astarion's side the entire time, occasionally reaching for his hand, even giving him a peck on the cheek in front of everyone before excusing himself. By the time Shadowheart and the leader of their merry band propose a drinking game, he seems to have more or less exited the scene, returning to his tent - well, what's his tent for now.
Maybe it's the celebration, or the wine, or their earlier intimacy, but whatever the reason, Gale has been inspired to get to work. On the table in his tent, he's arranged what antidotes and antitoxins he's managed to scrounge up, as well as his notes on their potency and how they affect him. It seems he's been doing some experiments in his free time over the past several days toward a very specific purpose, one he'd like to accomplish sooner rather than later.]
[Even if Astarion can't really get drunk himself, not without some very strong blood, he's more than happy to take part of the festivities. He'll provide some color commentary for Lae'zel and Karlach's competition, take Wyll up on his offer for a dance or two, and he's more than happy to do everything he can to help Shadowheart cheat the rest of their party under the floor once it comes time to start drinking. It's only when most of the party has been forced to retire to the evening that he returns to his tent, somewhat surprised to find that Gale isn't there.
It's not hard to figure out where Gale's gotten off to, though. He makes his way across camp to Gale's tent, stepping inside without any preamble.]
[It seems Gale got so lost in his fervent inspiration that he lost track of the time, not even realizing the party had died down. He smiles as Astarion comes in, a vial of near-iridescent liquid in one hand while his alembic distills another.]
Ah, Astarion. Forgive me leaving you to enjoy the festivities on your own. I just...
[A beat as he looks toward his work, to the various bottles and tonics he has lined up across the only work surface he has in his tent.]
I found myself possessed by a singular thought: that everyone else was feasting, and it was a shame you couldn't do the same at a celebration held in your honor.
[If the smell of wine on him is any indication, he's still a little tipsy. This is apparently what he does when he's tipsy.]
[He relinquishes the vial to Astarion; the concoction inside is a delicate pearl with a green undertone, a hue closer to the other bottles he has set out, almost all of which are elixirs for poison or necrotic resistance. Beside each elixir is a smaller bottle, their colors ranging from nearly black to a vibrant crimson: from the looks of it, he's been trying to make the potions even more concentrated, testing them against samples of his own blood.
He collects the latest distillation from the alembic, capping the glass bottle with a cork.]
I'm not an expert alchemist, but I believe I've found the right concentration to neutralize the orb's effects on my blood, for a time. I wanted to have this done so much sooner, but supplies have been rather limited at times.
[Gale's eyes flick to the bottle, its contents as normal as he could have hoped for. Liquid courage fuels him; he gives a nod.]
I cannot guarantee the flavor. Even with perfect proportions, I assume the elixirs will color the aftertaste. I have tried to distill them to their purest form so that so that I need as little of them as possible.
[Of course, making it work in a controlled sample is far different from making it work within his body. He chews his lip, the wine allowing his feelings of frustration to slip from him.]
You deserve to have this. Everyone else gets to eat what I make for them. Why must it be different for the one most important to me?
[Gale's hazel eyes meet Astarion's ruby ones; his gaze is one of determined melancholy, as though he cannot give up because he doesn't know how to accept the failure that comes with it.]
[He takes the bottle, lifting it up to take a sip. There isn't any immediate foul taste, nothing that repels him. In fact there's a richness to it, the inherent arcane power in Gale's blood still present despite the treatment. He lets it linger on his tongue for a while, waiting to see how the elixir does color the aftertaste. When it does come, it's with an earthy flavor not unlike a finely aged wine. He's about to upend the rest of the bottle when the sudden astringent flavor of the blood reasserts itself. It's hardly so strong to make him retch, but he can't keep it from showing on his face, his lips twisting into a grimace.]
[Seeing that change in Astarion's expression, Gale can't help how his own falls in equal parts frustration and disappointment. Still, he scrawls down the results in a nearby journal, his apparently logbook for his experiments.]
Damn. I truly thought I had it that time.
[He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he looks over his notes for what feels like the thousandth time, the numbers and ratios starting to feel like wasted ink on the pages.]
Even if you were to take an elixir to resist the necrotic energies and I were to drink a purifying concoction, I doubt it'd make enough of a difference.
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It's been a long time since he had a lover who actually cared about his physical body - who actually appreciated it. He stretches as well, albeit slowly, carefully to accommodate for his soreness. He needs to get used to that again, too.]
You're welcome to monopolize all my time after we eat, you know.
I meant Gale's hand in that last tag. Whups
I think I'll be taking you up on that offer. But, for now, you did mention a rather dashing man who would lend you clothes for the night.
[Astarion's already moving towards his packs, rifling through to find something that would suit Gale.]
I figured as much. ;)
Karlach is going to tease me about this, no doubt.
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Oh, I doubt that either of us will hear the end of this from dear Karlach anytime soon.
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I daresay she has been championing us for some time now. Even if she weren't, you'd best prepare your back for the hug she's likely to give you. She's quite proud of you for what you did today.
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With the earlier revelation still at the edges of his thoughts, it's like a piece falling into place. He rubs a hand at his chest, quietly wondering at the warmth spreading there. When he turns back to offer Gale his pants it's with a wide grin across his face.]
I'll prepare my ribs for her onslaught.
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He slips into the pants, pulling the shirt on next to tuck it in. It's not a bad look thus far.]
Ah, there's that quality in your clothing I liked so well. Such fine fabric, even all the way out here.
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It's a comfort to have some semblance of civilization even when our surroundings would say otherwise.
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[It's Gale's turn for an appreciative glance, though he doesn't like to get caught looking. He's supposed to be the one with manners.]
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[Despite the talk of celebration, Astarion isn't dressing himself in anything too elaborate. A white linen shirt with a modestly embroidered dark silk vest over the top of it, and his usual slim fitting black pants. His sleeves are rolled up as usual, and he takes a moment to run a hand through his hair, twisting his curls into place between his fingertips.]
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You look perfect, as always.
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[Astarion turns, dropping a kiss to Gale's temple before reaching up to catch his hand with a soft squeeze.]
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Shall we?
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[Astarion keeps his hold on Gale, stepping back out into the camp. Though he rather promptly loses that hold as he's pulled into a bear hug by a very enthusiastic Karlach.
It's an odd feeling, knowing they all care so much. It tilts him off balance and leaves him floundering at times throughout the evening. But despite that unease, he never falls. It's his first night of being truly free, in the company of those he loves and nothing in the nine hells could stop him from savoring it.]
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Once she's done hugging him, Karlach attempts to drag Astarion toward the fire - and the food. Wyll dug deep into their stores to not only bring out the finest wines, but he even managed to make a spread from the meats, cheeses, vegetables, and spices they've collected to rival even those in the Upper City. Everyone is in the finest of spirits: Halsin tells stories around the fire, Karlach and Lae'zel arm wrestle until the barrel they're using as a table cracks from the pressure atop its musty lid, and even without music, Wyll is happy to dance with any partner who will have him.
For the most part, Gale is by Astarion's side the entire time, occasionally reaching for his hand, even giving him a peck on the cheek in front of everyone before excusing himself. By the time Shadowheart and the leader of their merry band propose a drinking game, he seems to have more or less exited the scene, returning to his tent - well, what's his tent for now.
Maybe it's the celebration, or the wine, or their earlier intimacy, but whatever the reason, Gale has been inspired to get to work. On the table in his tent, he's arranged what antidotes and antitoxins he's managed to scrounge up, as well as his notes on their potency and how they affect him. It seems he's been doing some experiments in his free time over the past several days toward a very specific purpose, one he'd like to accomplish sooner rather than later.]
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It's not hard to figure out where Gale's gotten off to, though. He makes his way across camp to Gale's tent, stepping inside without any preamble.]
What is it that you've been working on, dearest?
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Ah, Astarion. Forgive me leaving you to enjoy the festivities on your own. I just...
[A beat as he looks toward his work, to the various bottles and tonics he has lined up across the only work surface he has in his tent.]
I found myself possessed by a singular thought: that everyone else was feasting, and it was a shame you couldn't do the same at a celebration held in your honor.
[If the smell of wine on him is any indication, he's still a little tipsy. This is apparently what he does when he's tipsy.]
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Our dear fearless leader did offer their neck, but I think they might have been a bit too far gone for that to be wise.
[He gives the bottles that Gale's assembled a look, reaching for the vial so he can get a closer look at it.]
Is it ready to be tested?
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[He relinquishes the vial to Astarion; the concoction inside is a delicate pearl with a green undertone, a hue closer to the other bottles he has set out, almost all of which are elixirs for poison or necrotic resistance. Beside each elixir is a smaller bottle, their colors ranging from nearly black to a vibrant crimson: from the looks of it, he's been trying to make the potions even more concentrated, testing them against samples of his own blood.
He collects the latest distillation from the alembic, capping the glass bottle with a cork.]
I'm not an expert alchemist, but I believe I've found the right concentration to neutralize the orb's effects on my blood, for a time. I wanted to have this done so much sooner, but supplies have been rather limited at times.
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The Gate does have much to offer in that regard. Shall I take a sip?
[He gives the bottle a little bit of a shake, pulling the top open to sniff at it.]
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I cannot guarantee the flavor. Even with perfect proportions, I assume the elixirs will color the aftertaste. I have tried to distill them to their purest form so that so that I need as little of them as possible.
[Of course, making it work in a controlled sample is far different from making it work within his body. He chews his lip, the wine allowing his feelings of frustration to slip from him.]
You deserve to have this. Everyone else gets to eat what I make for them. Why must it be different for the one most important to me?
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Gale, dearest. You give me so much that I never thought that I deserved. Don't think less of yourself simply because I cannot drink from you.
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I won't be satisfied until you can.
[He's ever the wizard, always wanting more.]
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I'll love you even if I never can.
[He takes the bottle, lifting it up to take a sip. There isn't any immediate foul taste, nothing that repels him. In fact there's a richness to it, the inherent arcane power in Gale's blood still present despite the treatment. He lets it linger on his tongue for a while, waiting to see how the elixir does color the aftertaste. When it does come, it's with an earthy flavor not unlike a finely aged wine. He's about to upend the rest of the bottle when the sudden astringent flavor of the blood reasserts itself. It's hardly so strong to make him retch, but he can't keep it from showing on his face, his lips twisting into a grimace.]
Oh—well.
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Damn. I truly thought I had it that time.
[He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he looks over his notes for what feels like the thousandth time, the numbers and ratios starting to feel like wasted ink on the pages.]
Even if you were to take an elixir to resist the necrotic energies and I were to drink a purifying concoction, I doubt it'd make enough of a difference.
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