[ And he will be waiting, though the airship domain will not be particularly high off the ground today. It hovers just above a space that appears like an open meadow, with a long rope ladder hung over the side - though of course she could just Fly.
The sun is overhead, amongst soft white clouds. He awaits her on the open deck, the area made into a miniature hedge maze. He's not dressed in any particular finery today, only his simple white blouse and fitted trousers, his regular sleeping clothes at camp. She'll find him lounging on the manicured grass near a stone fountain that's not running. ]
( Haevla takes the ladder, glad for the change in atmosphere than the day she'd confessed to Astarion what she feared she was. What the look into their futures allowed her to see who she could be, if she wanted it. But that life is not it. That the sun is out is a far better sign, a far better wish for something better.
She can't help but smile, seeing him in such familiar clothes. They will find where this takes them, and deal with what problems arise. )
There you are. ( Haelva conjures up her own camp clothes: a leather vest and pants. Perhaps Astarion had seen his Tav in something similar, perhaps he didn't. But she wishes to make it clear that she does not want to have this conversation as anything other than who she is at her simplest -- a lost woman, trying to find answers and trying to find herself.
She sits next to him, tucking her knees up under her chin, gaze focused on him. ) It is good to see you, Astarion. Truly.
( As himself, and not the god he became. Yet, at the end-- )
[ Tav, in his humble opinion, had all the fashion sense of someone who let their mother embroider their own name on their underthings up to the day they left the farmhouse. Which is to say, no, the clothing is new to him, though he does recognize the decision to dress casual - just as he has done.
He greets her with a smile (Deception: 9, though she may glimpse a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, lining his expression before he can attempt to hide it ), and he straightens where he sits as she takes a place at his side. ]
And you, darling.
[ It's a tell, in a way, when there's no flourish in his words or expressed with his hands. ]
I admit... I'm not certain where to begin.
[ He offers a sort of hopeless smile, eyebrows raised in question. How does one try to speak about centuries of life that might never have truly occurred, but have left a mark on them all the same. Had they not been what they are to each other he might've attempted to avoid this conversation altogether.
But had they not been what they are to each other, there might have been nothing to speak of in the first place. ]
( She answers his own smile with one of her own, though not as hopeless as his, and a hand for him to take if he wishes. Haelva only realizes after that he has yet to see the change that lingered from her dreams -- transparent flesh and muscle and tissue, exposing the white bone of her fingers, fading back into purple skin by her palm. This is not over, she wants to say, but the words somehow get stuck in her throat. How uncharacteristic of her, who always has something sharp to say, or something encouraging for the party as a whole, even if they don't like it.
Perhaps... perhaps to start at the parts that are true. )
Nothing of what I feel for you has changed. And-- it was not all terrible, at the beginning. ( There was a comfort to be found in an existence with someone she cared for at the beginning. That as the years went by there was a constant presence, someone who was there for her as much as she was for him. It is not an unpleasant memory, before things turned sour. Before they both indulged in the parts of themselves that Haelva found the most disturbing. That she wonders if Astarion truly wants for himself.
And that's the most difficult thing, isn't it? Discovering what they want, and the uncertainty that comes with not knowing if Astarion is in agreement. If she, and what she desires, is no longer in line with Astarion.
She knows he claims to want the power of the ritual for himself. They have never talked about it here, nor in their future, but she cannot-- Astarion can be more than what Cazador expects of him. Together they can fight the chains of their cursed blood. Together they can be more than simply the tools of the men who who created them, and break their influence on their hearts, their minds, their very souls.
[ He hesitates for only a moment before taking her hand in his - and of course now he notices the change. It had been similar for Alucard, one of his fingers mirroring the strange, glass form of his godly appearance. Concern colors his features, uncertainty as he brings her hand closer, his gaze traveling across the transparent flesh to where it returns to solid purple, everything beneath exposed. ]
It wasn't... [ he agrees slowly. It wasn't all terrible at the start. He closes his eyes, some of that uncertainty vanishing from his features as he brings the tips of her transformed fingers to his lips, kissing them at the tips.
He indulged in carnal desire to the point of gluttony in those early centuries - with her, with others, little care or thought put to his decisions. His body belonged to him, and it was for him to enjoy as he pleased, the rot of Cazador's tortures excised by time and freedom, and - of course, power beyond imagining. It was everything he hoped the Ascension could be and more, he wasn't just a vampire god, he was elevated to something greater than that.
Looking back, really trying to look back in a way that is difficult and painful, and he doesn't at all want to have to do - he can't recognize that person, that god he became. It still frightens him, even with Haelva close to him again, even being able to touch her again.
He meets her gaze, still holding her hand, still with that hopeless, almost self-deprecating look on his face. ]
I... don't think I could bear losing you again.
[ Whether it be from warring with each other in some forsaken future, or leaving this world for their own separate realms. ]
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[ Everything that went wrong between them. ]
( she is hoping, at least, that he will not become like that. it is not the future she wants for them, haelva knows that much. )
[ And he will be waiting, though the airship domain will not be particularly high off the ground today. It hovers just above a space that appears like an open meadow, with a long rope ladder hung over the side - though of course she could just Fly.
The sun is overhead, amongst soft white clouds. He awaits her on the open deck, the area made into a miniature hedge maze. He's not dressed in any particular finery today, only his simple white blouse and fitted trousers, his regular sleeping clothes at camp. She'll find him lounging on the manicured grass near a stone fountain that's not running. ]
She can't help but smile, seeing him in such familiar clothes. They will find where this takes them, and deal with what problems arise. )
There you are. ( Haelva conjures up her own camp clothes: a leather vest and pants. Perhaps Astarion had seen his Tav in something similar, perhaps he didn't. But she wishes to make it clear that she does not want to have this conversation as anything other than who she is at her simplest -- a lost woman, trying to find answers and trying to find herself.
She sits next to him, tucking her knees up under her chin, gaze focused on him. ) It is good to see you, Astarion. Truly.
( As himself, and not the god he became. Yet, at the end-- )
He greets her with a smile (Deception: 9, though she may glimpse a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, lining his expression before he can attempt to hide it ), and he straightens where he sits as she takes a place at his side. ]
And you, darling.
[ It's a tell, in a way, when there's no flourish in his words or expressed with his hands. ]
I admit... I'm not certain where to begin.
[ He offers a sort of hopeless smile, eyebrows raised in question. How does one try to speak about centuries of life that might never have truly occurred, but have left a mark on them all the same. Had they not been what they are to each other he might've attempted to avoid this conversation altogether.
But had they not been what they are to each other, there might have been nothing to speak of in the first place. ]
( She answers his own smile with one of her own, though not as hopeless as his, and a hand for him to take if he wishes. Haelva only realizes after that he has yet to see the change that lingered from her dreams -- transparent flesh and muscle and tissue, exposing the white bone of her fingers, fading back into purple skin by her palm. This is not over, she wants to say, but the words somehow get stuck in her throat. How uncharacteristic of her, who always has something sharp to say, or something encouraging for the party as a whole, even if they don't like it.
Perhaps... perhaps to start at the parts that are true. )
Nothing of what I feel for you has changed. And-- it was not all terrible, at the beginning. ( There was a comfort to be found in an existence with someone she cared for at the beginning. That as the years went by there was a constant presence, someone who was there for her as much as she was for him. It is not an unpleasant memory, before things turned sour. Before they both indulged in the parts of themselves that Haelva found the most disturbing. That she wonders if Astarion truly wants for himself.
And that's the most difficult thing, isn't it? Discovering what they want, and the uncertainty that comes with not knowing if Astarion is in agreement. If she, and what she desires, is no longer in line with Astarion.
She knows he claims to want the power of the ritual for himself. They have never talked about it here, nor in their future, but she cannot-- Astarion can be more than what Cazador expects of him. Together they can fight the chains of their cursed blood. Together they can be more than simply the tools of the men who who created them, and break their influence on their hearts, their minds, their very souls.
If he wants. )
It wasn't... [ he agrees slowly. It wasn't all terrible at the start. He closes his eyes, some of that uncertainty vanishing from his features as he brings the tips of her transformed fingers to his lips, kissing them at the tips.
He indulged in carnal desire to the point of gluttony in those early centuries - with her, with others, little care or thought put to his decisions. His body belonged to him, and it was for him to enjoy as he pleased, the rot of Cazador's tortures excised by time and freedom, and - of course, power beyond imagining. It was everything he hoped the Ascension could be and more, he wasn't just a vampire god, he was elevated to something greater than that.
Looking back, really trying to look back in a way that is difficult and painful, and he doesn't at all want to have to do - he can't recognize that person, that god he became. It still frightens him, even with Haelva close to him again, even being able to touch her again.
He meets her gaze, still holding her hand, still with that hopeless, almost self-deprecating look on his face. ]
I... don't think I could bear losing you again.
[ Whether it be from warring with each other in some forsaken future, or leaving this world for their own separate realms. ]