🔮 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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[mystracal]

It should take off just about anything you get on it. Probably the most useful enchantment I was ever taught, and one of the earliest. My mother was quite proud of that.

[He slips out of his shoes, pants, and undergarments, setting his entire ensemble aside as he conjures himself a towel to put around his waist. No, there's nothing terribly alarming under all his clothes, save for the occasional scar and the mark of the orb that crawls up his chest and onto his face, but he doesn't even like to undress in front of his tressym, let alone a foppish vampire with a penchant for prodding at one's insecurities.]

There. Done.

[sangwhine]

How practical.

[He sets the shirt down before turning back to Gale and gesturing him towards the basin>]

In you go, then. If she was proud to see you clean your garments then the least you can do is properly clean yourself.

[mystracal]

[Gale is regretting all the choices that led him up to this point.]

Not sure she's going to be proud of anything I'm doing now, frankly.

[With a slight noise of discontent from the back of his throat, Gale steps into the basin, waiting until his waist is below the water line to remove the towel. He's not coy when he feels like he's the one in charge or in the arms of a romantic partner, but this is wholly embarrassing.

And it's cold. He murmurs a word and calls fiery magic to his hand, dipping it into the water. There's a tiny explosion from beneath the surface, and finally, a fine mist of steam rising from the basin.]

[sangwhine]

[It's not like Astarion was trying to make it uncomfortable for Gale by keeping the water cold, he just didn't have the means to warm it. But he does make a small, somewhat impressed sound at the sight of that spell.]

You are just full of little tricks, aren't you?

[He moves over to crouch next to the basin, grabbing one of the wash cloths he's laid out and dipping it into the warm water before wringing it out.]

But not to worry, we'll turn you into a good and proper son any mother would beam with pride to call her own.

[He makes a gesture with the cloth, asking permission to touch Gale.]

[mystracal]

[Gale nods, wordless permission granted. There's color beneath his eyes now, a red right along his cheekbones.]

I don't expect this is something you've done very often, or at least not in the last two hundred years.

[sangwhine]

Hm? Do you mean cleaning someone? Or meeting with a parent?

[Astarion spreads the cloth over Gale's back, focused on wetting his skin for now, wiping off any surface dirt and grime.]

[mystracal]

[Despite his embarrassment, Gale has to admit - however privately - that the warm cloth on his back does feel good. And he'll be cleaner than he's been in some time. Small victories.]

The former, though I suppose the latter isn't out of the question.

[sangwhine]

I've made a point of avoiding the latter. The former isn't as uncommon as you might think.

[Which is likely becoming more evident at how practiced Astarion's touch is to Gale's back, how quickly he clears most of the dirt, reaching for Gale's arms once he's done.]

[mystracal]

[He lets Astarion handle his arms, his eyes anywhere but on his companion and what he's doing. Gale settles them on a book across the tent, its weathered spine drawing his attention.]

I'd have thought that'd give you trouble, being a spawn.

[sangwhine]

[Gods, really? Astarion gives a heavy sigh.]

Running water is the issue, darling. Streams, rivers, the like. I could always draw a basin and bathe in it. That water isn't going anywhere.

[He shifts around the basin now, his attention now moving to Gale's chest.]

[mystracal]

[Gale continues to deliberately avoid eye contact; he has a glance down instead, taking note of just how much dirt is coming off him. Gods, he does not want to know how much is trapped somewhere in his hair.]

Any idea why that is? Why still water is fine, but running water is dangerous? I'll admit that my studies haven't often included vampiric lore and the stipulations behind their weaknesses.

[sangwhine]

[Oh, he'll find out soon enough. Astarion's wringing the cloth out as he works, so at least it's cleaner while he scrubs Gale down.]

I haven't the faintest clue. It's hardly an issue that I ran into, hunting in the flop houses and seedy underbelly of Baldur's Gate.

[mystracal]

[The mark on his chest glows with his nerves, barely visible in the light; even in its temporarily sated state, he can feel the orb thrumming in his chest, riled by his embarrassment.]

I imagine a worse issue was the sunlight? Well, relatively speaking.

[sangwhine]

In terms of the limitations placed on my by my nature as a spawn? Oh, certainly. Though I'd hardly classify it as the worst issue I faced at that time.

[There's a sharp edge to Astarion's voice. You're treading on the border to some dangerous territory, Gale. He all but flings the wet cloth over the edge of the basin, reaching now for a flask of oil set on a low table next to the basin itself.]

[mystracal]

[He hears that edge, and backs away from it; it's a dangerous precipice, and not one he wants to stick his nose too far into. Inquisitive as he is, he respects the value of privacy.]

Of course. Merely... making conversation.

[He falls silent, eyeing the flask Astarion has gone for and hoping it's a better distraction than his words.]

[sangwhine]

[Maybe you'll be so lucky, Gale. Astarion's spreading it between his hands before he starts to gently spread the oil across Gale's chest and arms.]

Perhaps some advice to consider when engaging with your mother, dredging up one's unpleasant memories makes for very poor conversation.

[mystracal]

[Oh, they're back on the chest. Gale turns his head, setting his gaze elsewhere so he doesn't have to look Astarion in the eye.]

I'll keep that in mind. I've not even thought of what I'm going to say to her. I have in the past, but my situation is far more complicated now than it was then.

[sangwhine]

[It's almost charming how shy Gale is about all of this, if Astarion lets himself think on it.

Hm.

He tries flicking a finger across one of Gale's nipples on the next pass, something that could easily be excused as a harmless accident.]

Well, if you're trying to keep her from worrying over you, I'd say it's best to avoid any mention of tadpoles or cults.

[mystracal]

[Gale stiffens in response, wondering just how much he can blame the water temperature for how red he's sure he is across his face. That had better have been a slip of your finger, Astarion.]

Tadpoles, cults, or the orb. Or what I've been doing for the past several years.

[sangwhine]

[Just a slip of the finger, of course. He notes that reaction, then reaches for a clean cloth, wetting it and wiping the oil from Gale's skin.]

It sounds to me like you might want to devise another story to sell her.

[mystracal]

[He might never admit it aloud, but to be doted on and cared for in this way feels... kind of nice. You know, when he's not reconsidering detonating the orb to save himself from all this embarrassment.]

I've been trying to think of one for days now. I'm not a natural-born liar.

[sangwhine]

Well, as your luck would have it, I am.

[Astarion is quite good at doting. Just don't think too deeply on where he got his practice in. But lucky for Gale he's done with the front now, moving to oil up his back.]

The first rule is to always leave as much of the truth in the lie as you can.

[mystracal]

[Oh thank the gods, he can go back to affixing his eyes on that book across the tent. And from the back, surely Astarion can't tell how mortified he is by this entire experience. Surely.]

I've done that so far, but there's only so long I can insist I'm traveling for my health before she starts to get suspicious.

[sangwhine]

I'm surprised she's believed you so far. No one travels the Chionthar for health.

[mystracal]

[He lets out a quiet sigh.]

Hence why I'll need to come up with a more substantial excuse. I'd rather not break her heart.