🔮 exsanguinated (with @sangwhine)

[mystracal]

tfln | invitations | and there was only one bed | undermountain alurlyath | what could be | blood bond | the price of freedom
it wore his face | dinner with morena dekarios | rediscovery

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[sangwhine]

Flattery will get you everywhere.

[Astarion turns, dropping a kiss to Gale's temple before reaching up to catch his hand with a soft squeeze.]

[mystracal]

[Gale returns that squeeze, and gestures toward the front of the tent, still holding Astarion's hand.]

Shall we?

[sangwhine]

We shall.

[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.]

[mystracal]

[And a celebration it is.

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.]

[sangwhine]

[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.]

What is it that you've been working on, dearest?

[mystracal]

[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.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion slides in behind Gale, putting an arm around his waist as he drops a kiss to his temple.]

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?

[mystracal]

No time like the present.

[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.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion passes the vial back to Gale, reaching for the brightest of the bottles.]

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.]

[mystracal]

[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?

[sangwhine]

[Astarion sets the bottle down for a moment, catching Gale's chin in his hand so he can turn Gale to meet his gaze.]

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.

[mystracal]

[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.]

I won't be satisfied until you can.

[He's ever the wizard, always wanting more.]

[sangwhine]

[Astarion leans forward, kissing Gale's forehead.]

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.

[mystracal]

[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.

[sangwhine]

[Astarion frowns, putting the bottle down to set his hands to Gale's shoulders.]

Gale, please. How long have you been at this? I would hardly class the improvements you've made as a failure.

[mystracal]

[Gale's eyes land somewhere on Astarion's fine shirt.]

I've been working on it since that night your siblings attacked us. Which isn't terribly long, I'll grant you that, and perhaps I'd be farther if I'd not run out of elixirs. [He lowers his voice.] I might've taken what we had in our supply chest, as well.

[And by 'might have,' he means he did. He did take it in his desperation for a cure.]

[sangwhine]

[Ah, well. Astarion's not one to care too much about that. He cups Gale's cheek in his hand, brushing over it with his thumb.]

I suppose then we know where we'll be shopping tomorrow. Once you've rested.

[He kisses Gale's forehead again, then his lips.]

[mystracal]

[Gale leans into that kiss, then takes another for himself. His blood might still be foul, but his lips taste and smell like the sweet, mulled wine he's been sipping on all night, using it as fuel for his inspiration.]

You really should go eat. Even if it's not from me.

[sangwhine]

Unless I take from Halsin, I think that the rest of our companions have retired for the night.

[He gives Gale another kiss, before brushing a hand through his hair.]

Perhaps we should follow their examples?

[mystracal]

[He closes his eyes, acquiescing to that hand in his hair. He could be up all night at this if it weren't for that inviting touch.]

I suppose we should. But I insist you drink tomorrow. Cazador may be gone, but you still need your strength.

[He fiddles with the lapels of Astarion's vest.]

I want you taken care of, my love.

[sangwhine]

Dearest, I would say that I've been quite well taken care of today.

[He continues to run his fingers through Gale's hair, knowing full well how much that soothes him.]

[mystracal]

And all because you took care of your old master - in a manner of speaking.

[He leans into Astarion's fingers, his smile wide. He gestures with his free hand, but with his lack of focus, it takes a second before he manages to conjure a cushioned chaise lounge into existence.]

[sangwhine]

In a manner of speaking, yes.

[Honestly, Astarion's just finding it more and more endearing when Gale's not quite with it enough to perform magic. He curls his hand against the nape of Gale's neck before leaning in to kiss him properly.]

[mystracal]

[He might be just this side of drunk, but Gale is still able to return that kiss with fervor, a quiet rumble from the back of his throat pushing out of him as he gives that vest a tug. He wants to lie down; he wants Astarion to keep threading his fingers through his hair; he wants his lover to be able to drink from him, wants to provide all he could need.

He wants a lot of things, but most pertinent seems to be getting Astarion to that seat so the two of them can keep locking lips.]

[sangwhine]

[Getting to the chaise is absolutely Astarion's priority. He moves with the tug, putting his hands to Gale's waist to maneuver them over and press Gale down and onto the chaise. He doesn't break the kiss for more than a moment between it all, crawling over Gale to bracket his body against the cushions.]