abraxaslogs | open: free cities

[ In contrast to literally everyone else, the Doctor has never observed anyone or anything nervously. Okay — rarely. Where others avoid, run away, or look with uncertainty, the Doctor hurries towards. A fan of the arts — an artist himself on rare occasions — he's drawn ever closer when he catches sight of someone having their portrait done.

He steps back a little, framing the elf-creature's face with his hands, like he's taking a picture. The Doctor can be blunt, certainly truthful, but equally kind when asked a question like this. ]

Bit of an abstract, this piece. Captures you but leaves a little mystery. The eyes are stunning — really, good job. Both of you!

[ Yes, good job on your eyes...or something. ]

Absolutely a looker! I'd frame this one, personally.

[ Most of that sounds fine enough, but then - ]

Bit of a... what - ?!

[ It takes him a moment to process that first part. He shoots upright from the bench he's been sitting at and strides around the seated painter to stare at what she's been working on with narrowed eyes and very obvious displeasure written across his expression, bordering on seething. ]

I didn't pay for artistic interpretation. [ He spits the words out, then snatches back his coin from the little pail next to her stool. The painter looks flabbergasted, and for a second it looks like she might reach to grab his wrist but something in his eyes makes her blanch, and she pulls back. ]

Throw in a frame and sell it to him if you need the coin so bad, you'll get none of mine.

[ He begins stalking off. ]

[ Oh, good! Well done, Doctor. Impressive marks all around, making steadfast friends. Glancing at the painter whose day he's just accidentally ruined, the Doctor offers a reassuring...well, something closer to a wince than a smile, though it's an attempt at a smile, an apologetic one.

He's mucked this up. And he hardly has coin enough to make up for the trouble, but he's quick to toss a bit her way before he follows after. Because naturally! Wouldn't anyone follow the angry customer stomping away? Or just strange alien creatures who have muddled perspectives on boundaries, etiquette, and when to leave well enough alone? ]

Funny, that! When you say something in your head and it sounds absolutely fine.

[ He also picked up on interesting things about this elf-man so naturally he's ever more curious and until he's physically pushed away, he'll keep following. ]

With supplies enough, I could paint you a new one if you're after a portrait. A jaw like that, stunner! Going in the right direction, good angles, perfect proportions, the whole thing, I'm a big fan.

[ Of what, he leaves unsaid. ]

[ Why this man is following after him is a mystery, and in general being followed makes him antsy at best, paranoid at worst - so this isn't doing much to improve his already soured mood.

Compliments, though. Those he'll take. He doesn't stop walking, but neither does he attempt to quicken his pace to lose him. Yet. ]

I don't have the coin to supply you, if that's what you're after. [ He's not paying for his 'supplies', or whatever he would attempt to spend it on. Astarion is the least charitable person someone could ever hope to beg from. This is also probably one of the worst attempts he's seen, if that's what this is supposed to be.

Astarion doesn't look over at him as they walk, his gaze fixed forward and his expression still tense - his words less so as he waves his hand dismissively: ] But do go on telling me how perfect I am, if you must.

[ He breezily waves a hand at the mention of supplies, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he, perhaps, should not be following at all. But then, he's oblivious to many things and most especially when he has it in his head that he can right a wrong, slight as it may be. ]

Promise, all I'm after is fixing the portrait I ruined. I'll sort out the details myself.

Your features, though, where do I start, where do I stop? I do need to be stopped sometimes, as a sidenote. Pity the artist chose an abstract interpretation, really well done on the whole of you. No need for artistic embellishments!

[ As he's...continuing to follow him, amazingly he does think to ask — ] Would you rather be left alone? Is this one of those moments I've completely gone wrong? I do that sometimes. A thousand years mucking about the universe and I'm still learning!

[ Truthfully, he's only half listening to the compliments - and he's hardly expecting an actual replacement portrait.

Something within the rambling does seem to catch his attention, though - ]

Excuse me - a thousand what?

[ He doesn't stop walking, but he does slide him a curious up-and-down look. Surely he misheard that. ]

Give or take, with some wobbly bits a few hundred years ago.

[ Easy to lose track when you're traveling backwards and forwards in time. There are also a few hundred of those years he'd rather forget he ever lived at all.

This is the youngest he's ever looked, though, old as he is. When he was young, only a few hundred years old, he had different faces, several more aged and withered, more seemingly haunted by a life unsteadily lived, but he knew so little then. In his first life — oh, he'd been cruel at times. One dreads to recall. Even now, there's still so much he's learning, as evidenced by his sometimes awkward and off-putting manner of engaging with others. ]

[ Wobbly bits. Uh huh... Alright. Now he stops, a hand resting on his hip as he points at the man's chest. ]

So - it sounds to me that either you're absolutely mad oooor [ his hand waves up and down to indicate the whole of him ] - you're looking very good for your age.

[ What are we dealing with here? Not a vampire. He's too... peppy for that. Some mages can live far longer than the normal mortal lifespan, take Gale's grandfatherly Elminster, but there's an emphasis on the grandfatherly part with him that's lacking in this particular subject... ]

What's your secret? [ He leans in, faux-conspiratorial. ] Sworn to a god? Bathing in the blood of ten thousand virgins?

Oh good, I have thought this face is a vast improvement over the last one! And the one before. Mad — yes I am that, though not about this.

[ Sworn to a god. He's been called as much by others. The wanderer. The man without a home. The lonely god. A dreadful thought, and he hasn't much use for gods or deities of any sort, though he enjoys learning about all the belief systems scattered across the universe.

Leaning in just a little bit himself, he offers — ] Wished on a falling star, won a bet against a siren, oh, the list goes on. But no, no, nothing quite that fantastical. Ordinary, I suppose, depending on your perspective. I'm a Time Lord. [ The last of, in fact, but there are some things he holds close, or tries to. ] We're long-lived.

[ And the one in front of him, well, the Doctor isn't as oblivious as he might seem. ]

I've met lords of all kinds - [ the way he says that: leaning in slightly to meet him halfway and with a sly twist of his mouth, gives the impression he's known lords in all kinds of ways too ] - but a lord of time? [ he pulls back, eyeing him up and down again ] That's a new one.

[ Whether Astarion believes him or not doesn't really matter yet. He does enjoy the ones that are a little mad. ]

What else does a Time Lord do exactly? Besides change his handsomely boyish face and wander in and out of fairy tales?

[ Yes, he heard that first thing about faces. ]

And the lords were lucky to meet you. As am I!

[ The Doctor is both keenly perceptive and incredibly oblivious about certain behaviors so while he mimics leaning in playfully, even looking the others' face over appreciatively, he's not entirely clued in about how he might come across. ]

[ The lord really is a misnomer. Is it what he is, technically? Yes. His species. As titles go, though, he far prefers the one he chose, and the connotations the word generally carries with it. Doctor. Healer. Helper. Full-time madman with a time-and-space traveling box darting about the universe doing the occasional planet saving. Or not so occasional. Though, that's the one thing he doesn't really boast about. ]

What you think a Time Lord does is likely to be vastly more interesting than what a Time Lord actually does. Guesses keep it interesting. Have a go at it? I won't keep you waiting long, though, promise.

[ That isn't to say that what the Doctor himself does isn't terribly interesting. He thinks it is, certainly. He thinks it's the best thing there is, the endless adventure across the stars. Endless because he can't stop, not ever. There's too much to see, he tells himself, that is true, but he can't stop because — no, messy thoughts. ]

You have no idea. [ He counters, the sly nature of his words belies a darker current. The mark they gave him, The Wheel of Fortune, Astarion has learned that it has some association with luck.

Oh, the irony.

He pulls back from the time lord's space. ]

A riddle, is it? [ And a pun, too. Was that intentional? Now he's back to straddling the line of amusing and annoying, but Astarion continues to play along, lifting his hand to his chin as he pretends to muse thoughtfully. ]

If I must give you an answer, then - with all that you've told me, what else can a time lord be but a fool?

[ All he's missing is his belled shoes and cockscomb. ]

[ Apart from the very obvious given his features, there's a unique aspect to his newfound friend's nature that intrigues the Doctor on a deeper level than he would betray on the surface. Friend, of course, because the other hasn't completely run away from him ~~yet~~, thus a positive reaction, thus auto-friend until or unless told otherwise.

The Doctor is used to being a few steps ahead and playing oblivious. But, despite enjoying the chance to make it known how very clever he is whenever he gets the opportunity, he's also the first to admit when he's wrong. Perhaps he's wrong about his suspicions now, in fact. More to the point, he finds no reason to mention it. Yet.

A coy, slightly mischievous, slightly knowing and most assuredly annoying little smirk spreads on the Doctor's face as a reasonable guess is offered. ]

How did you know?

[ He likes to deflect. Prefers it. Particularly when talking about his true nature, his past. But he can give a little, he supposes. A true thing that still doesn't betray much about him. ]

A fool who wanders about across the stars, observes time and space, straightens out the wibbly wobbly bits. Ever in search of the most perfect cup of coffee, yet to be bested by Elisabeth Pepys.

[ All of that is still nonsense to Astarion, hardly the promised answer. Not that he cares. This is a large city and he doesn't expect to meet this man again - not guessing or assuming he might be another Summoned yet.

Who in the hells is Elisabeth Pepys? Is he supposed to know?

He hums, his gaze tracing the curved line of the Time Lord's lips without any subtly. ]

And where exactly did you first hail from, my wandering fool?

[ If you won't tell him the truth, at least tell him something entertaining. ]

[ And here, for a moment, the Doctor's strange, absurd, overly enthusiastic energy actually settles. Just a bit. A question that should be ordinary and easy to answer. Oh, yes, he can name the planet. He can see it, even, in the days of his youth when he walked amongst the fields of flowers, and on the very last day when those flowers burned, along with everything and everyone else. By his own hand.

Tricky business, then, giving a straight answer. At least for him. So he gives an answer that's not entirely a lie. ]

The constellation of Kasterborous in the Stellian Spiral Galaxy. I was a tiny little blip there for a hundred years and then I ran away to explore the universe.

[ His eyes linger back on Astarion, though, and he takes note at last. Sort of. ]

Has anyone ever told you that you really excel at giving your full attention to your conversation partner?

[ At that he laughs. ]

They have. It's one of my many, many charms.

[ And it's so automatic he barely registers doing it half the time. He's better off not thinking about it too hard (though he does, all too frequently). Those are dark waters to tread. He wants more than anything to stay in the sun. ]

And who or what were you running from, my freakishly tall friend?

[ Here, at least, he can maybe emphasize with this strange man, even if he still wears the expression of a haughty, careless flirt.

[ Oh, where to start. Time Lords — watch and observe all of time and space, but don't interfere even when horrible things happen. Let others suffer. He couldn't stand for that. Corruption, people hungry for power, a story as old as time. He was a renegade in his time, and he was running from...well, he's never really stopped running. ]

I ran away to — towards, that is. Have you known the feeling of not being able to catch your breath where you stood, when all around you was choking it out of you? I ran away towards an open door and I've never stopped.

Good thing, too! It led me here, by and by, in a twisty-turvy way. Now do I want to be trapped somewhere against my choosing? Hardly. But! Am I glad to be standing before you now? Of course!

[ — as if just catching the other words, then. ]

Freakishly tall? Oh, I do like that. Enough about me, though, I'm far more interested in you. You and your...way about you.

[ Yes, very specific and not at all vague. ]

I know the literal feeling of being choked - and I'm not overly fond of that in most situations, so - sure.

[ He draws out the last vowel. Although his reply begins mockingly, there's a sense that the Doctor might've struck some kind of cord. He knows what it's like to be trapped in a place called home: stuck roaming long, windowless halls until called upon - and that was better than being banished to the kennels.

As the conversation is turned around back at him, he raises an eyebrow. The path they've been taking - that he's been leading them on, is toward the portal back to Cadens. ]

What is it about my way that has you curious, exactly? [ He grins with amusement, offering nothing for free. If you've got a question, spit it out, darling. ]

Nor am I. Personally, and as it pertains to you. We'll have none of that here — the not-metaphorical kind — at least, though. They'd have to come through me first.

[ It's habit, really. Automatic. Whether someone needs protecting, whether they want it, whether they're even offended by the notion, it's inherent in his nature. Nothing about his newfound friend suggests to the Doctor he suddenly needs protecting in the very least, or would welcome it particularly from the likes of him, but hearing that he was choked does compel the more protective part of his nature to the surface. ]

As for your way, my very fine fellow, it's that smile of yours — a good one, by the way — I can't stop thinking about it.

[ He also has no awareness of how overly personal this sounds. The look of the man is curious enough, but the Doctor's sense of smell and hearing are far better than that of a human. He'd caught the brief flash of scars, like puncture wounds on his neck, and those teeth — particularly sharp. And so, details are noticed. ]

Vamp...ish, are you? [ Though the sunlight is an interesting factor. Still, he's not the expert on vampires, either, and there are all types of all creatures in the universe. But then he holds a hand up quickly. ]

I know, I know, our first meeting and I'm already asking the personal questions, skipping straight past favorite color and your favorite song to sing on karaoke night. You don't have to answer yet, or at all, or it could be delayed. Slip a note under my door sometime. We're all allowed our secrets, for as long as we want to keep them.

[ Another practiced smile when the Time Lord makes his promises, when all he really feels is a mixture of disbelief, annoyance and exhaustion. My knight in shining armor. Such sweet words from a man who looks like he'd provide all the cover of standing behind a wooden post and hoping for the best.

If his senses are so keen, he might catch the faintest whiff of undead from the man with no discernable beating heart, not that he needs any more give aways - and he's particular about the scent thing, one of the first things on his list once he gathers more coin is to head to a perfumer...

Either way, the man hit's the nail on the head. Astarion, for his part, doesn't appear too alarmed to be outed. As bizarre as this is, he's come to realize that vampires are at the very least tolerated in public - something impossible to imagine in his own city, let alone the rest of the Sword Coast. ]

I suppose it's not that much of a secret... [ He inches into the Doctor's space again, leaning in as though they are co-conspirators. ] Would it be too predictable to say my favorite color is red? A rich carmine, if we're to be specific. And I have absolutely no idea what karaoke is, but I assume it involves copious amounts of liquor.

[ Which sadly all tastes like vinegar to him these days. ]

Edited 2023-11-08 01:44 (UTC)

[ Where some might react with fear or even hostility, the Doctor's own reaction — at least for the moment — can best be explained as curiosity and an open mind. A very, very long time ago when Gallifrey still existed, there were the Great Vampires. Before the Doctor's time, Time Lords fought against the Great Vampires in the Eternal War. And he'd encountered vampires himself with Romana, but those circumstances had been entirely different. They were met with hostility and aggression, their lives and the whole of the universe threatened nearly from the outset.

Astarion is...not that. At least, not at all from his sense of him thus far. And if the Doctor is wrong, or proven to be wrong, it wouldn't be the first time he's ever been so.

No, for him it goes back to curiosity and an open mind. He leads with the intent to understand, to make connections where possible, to not judge based on stories, legends, actions of others and not of the one standing in front of him. ]

More's the pity, my friend, you'd have a grand time! Karaoke — singing songs that others have written, but the point is to sing badly actually. You want to be dreadful at it. It does involve a fair bit of liquor, generally speaking. It's good fun.

[ He leans in to meet Astarion, a smile on his face. ]

Carmine, of course. Easy to remember at least! Your predictability is charming. Now I know what to get you for Secret Santa! And I'm glad we've met.

open: free cities

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lmk if this is okay lmao...

I love it lol

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doctor pls, im laughing at this

astarion is a champ lol i'm sorry for him XD

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cw: mention of past abuse

cw: past abuse (to be safe) & also lmk if this is too presumptuous

it is perfect

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