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It's nice to have several weeks of warning, but the several weeks of warning also mean that Gale fusses. Should he bring something? Shouldn't he? What would be a good thing to bring? What would Astarion like? Would it be overly forward? He does, from a distance, know the sort of things Astarion likes. They've just not... spoken a great deal, personally. He ends up giving up on the gift idea, and just feels guilty about it the entire time instead.

When Gale turns up, he is gently dishevelled. He's in a plain green-blue travelling robe, hair half tied up, hair neatly combed but falling more over his face than usual. The adjustment of hairstyle isn't, however, likely what draws Astarion's eye. The tendrils of the orb that reached up Gale's neck were faint by the time they reached his face, barely-there blue-purple lines that creeped towards his eye. The sort of thing it might even be possible not to notice, unless one were paying attention to the finer points of his features.

They're definitely noticeable now. Darker, more prominent, and there's a faint glow to them. Would that he had learned Disguise Self, eminently more practical than Wall of Fire but he'd never expected to need to hide something like this.

Perhaps Astarion... won't notice? He's tried to encourage his loose hair to cover it somewhat, but given the whole thing reaches up to his eye it only does so much. He steels himself, heads into the tavern and looks around. Weave save him, it's been so long since he's relaxed in a tavern. It's almost nostalgic. His eyes brighten when he finally spots the vampire.

"Astarion! There you are."

He turns to begin threading his way past people over towards the table in the back, apologising under his breath every so often as he pushes past someone.

Considering how often they were covered in dirt and gods-knows-what-else from their adventuring on the road, Astarion almost never really noticed the faint purple lines that reach Gale's face - they might've just been oddly thick veins.

Now, though -

It takes until Gale finally reaches the table, seeming to bump into almost every other patron on the way. Truly, if Astarion didn't know better, he'd assume the man were some kind of novice pickpocket. Gale in a tavern setting is quite new, either way, unless you're counting the undead infested establishment in the shadow cursed lands... which Astarion is choosing not to. He'd rather not think about Ketheric Thorm's exploding uncle or whoever he was, and at the thought he downs his drink.

"Gale, what a sight for sore - " eyes goes unfinished, his smarmy expression shifting as he narrows his eyes at the darkened marks creeping up Gale's face. "... I truly hope that isn't what I think it is."

There's an unguarded hint of concern in his tone.

Please don't blow them up, Gale.

Gale's eyes flit over Astarion, then away as he moves to sit down. He cannot actually promise that, unfortunately, so blithely moving on it is.

"I did ask around to see if there was any of that blood wine you mentioned in Thorne, but I'm afraid I came up entirely empty handed! Quite an array of decent clothing, however, so if you find you've reached the limits of your current shopping choices do let me know. I considered bringing you something, but I wasn't sure if my array of selections would be approved."

He flickers a wry, playful smile. See, everything is fine! Completely fine, moving on.

"Now, I don't suppose they have any Sembian wine here do they? I'd ask what you recommend, but you'd be passing on second-hand opinions, so only offer them if they're from a trusted source!"

Astarion continues to narrow his eyes at Gale in a manner that should make it clear he's neither amused by the way Gale is dodging the question, nor likely to let it go.

"I am not in the mood for games, Gale," he grimaces, his gaze settling on his neck again.

"When did that start? Has it been like that since you were summoned?"

Does he need to start telling everyone the wizard might be a danger to them? He hasn't been lying, after what they've been through in their own world he does care about the man's well-being, but he won't risk his own skin - nor that of everyone else here, especially when he's come to care about their well-being too...

Not in the mood for games. The wry smile drops from Gale's face, and for a moment his expression is blank as he tries to process how to feel about this.

He settles on... irritated, faintly. That seems right? He hasn't the energy to work up much more than that. His brow furrows, just a little, and he straightens in his seat.

"I'm not playing games, Astarion."

There's barely any heat in it. Gale leans back, fingers lifting to brush over his chest. The orb sleeps, beneath his skin, a horrific spectacle of destruction waiting to be unleashed. He wonders if he should just leave. If Astarion is right -- surely he is thinking about how he shouldn't be here, is worried it's a sign of the orbs instability? It feels stable, to him, but how is it even meant to feel now? When as far as he knows he--

"I'd hoped you knew me better than that."

His eyes flit up from where they'd landed on the table, expression blank again.

"To answer your question, it's a recent development."

Gale's expression falls and tension settles between them - and perhaps Astarion feels a twinge of regret for casting his words like an accusation. Only a twinge, though. This is important, not to mention potentially dangerous to everyone currently in town. His gaze follows Gale's hand as he touches the place where - presumably - the magical bomb sits within him, however that works.

At least Gale is swift to answer this time rather than brushing his concern aside, and he gives a stiff nod. That Gale hoped you knew me better than that, well, hasn't Gale been questioning his overtures of friendship recently? At least in the real world. It had been easier, in that strange vision, but then they had centuries to sort out their differences...

"There. Was that so hard to answer?" He drums his nails against the table, glancing past Gale's shoulder and then sighing.

"Have you... shared your predicament with anyone else in this realm? In Thorne?" He frowns slightly, turning his red gaze back on Gale, brow furrowing. Perhaps some now know, either way, thanks to the future they shared. "The sort of people summoned here with us have... surprised me."

With how so many of them appear genuinely honest and helpful. Gale should understand the weight of that admission, coming from Astarion.

Gale slides his eyes away, watching Astarion's fingers drum against the table.

"It isn't unstable," he offers, "I wouldn't have come to meet you if it was. Mystra's charm still keeps it from needing to be fed. I don't know why it..."

Well, why the tendrils spread up his face. Why they glow. Why he still has the orb at all. Why he remains alive. Why he is here. So many questions, so few answers.

"I've thought about asking Istredd's opinion. I'm not keen to burden another with the consequences of my own follies, but the alternatives are bleak also."

That mostly being his safely secluding himself far from anyone else, lest it explode.

"If it comes to it, I will be sure no others are caught in the fallout. You have my word on that."

Astarion nods again, slowly.

"I think, perhaps, it might be worth reaching out to him." This Istredd person. The name isn't familiar to Astarion, but he imagines they must be knowledgeable in magic if Gale is considering them an option.

His mouth twists into a frown. Now he feels more than a twinge of guilt at Gale's promise to keep others from harm.

"I know. I... do believe you." For whatever that's worth to Gale, after his earlier near-accusations. He pulls in a deep breath and sighs, his expression softening by a degree. He pauses, shaking his head.

"What exactly do you make of... all that?" He waves his hand with a dismissive gesture that is anything but. Their vision of the future, he means. Astarion might've been on the upturn at the end there, but it hadn't been without quite a bit of sacrifice. Gale, on the other hand... he's not sure what to make of his journey to godhood. Was it everything the man hoped it to be?

"Ha."

What did he make of it? Gale's smile is more of a grimace. Quite the sick joke, wasn't it? To come so close to happiness, then lose it -- and have none of it be real regardless.

"I did wonder before if the Singularity can dream. It follows that our shared experience could have been its dream of the future, or the Singularity may be trying to show us something. Perhaps what it believes us capable of, for better or worse."

He drops his hand from his chest, presses it flat against the table.

"Just when I had given up all hope of ever regaining my strength, to have it all returned..."

Then, to lose it again. To never really have had it. Gale shakes his head, lets out a slow sigh.

"Whatever Mystra's purpose is in bringing me here, it's unclear. A study of the Singularity itself, perhaps? To what end?"

She's had no contact with him, since he arrived. If she's known here by another name, he has yet to discover it.

Astarion would love to deny that he would never become the sum of all of his worst impulses. And yet, he knows that he's absolutely capable of becoming that monster. The power, the relative freedom - for over two centuries he's been desperate for it. If this is a dream about their shared future, he will try to avoid the same pitfalls.

What that means for when he goes back to his own realm, in his own time - he's been avoiding thinking about any of that. It means also thinking about leaving Haelva behind.

He offers Gale a slight nod, a sort of sympathetic look when he speaks of his own strength returning, although he raises an eyebrow.

"Was it worth it - that ascension, the power of a god..." he trails off, raising an eyebrow, "... you don't have any regrets?"

As for Mystra, well, Astarion simply scoffs at the mention of her name.

"Truly, I doubt your goddess had any hand in placing you here."

They have very, very different opinions on the pantheon of their home realm, and Mystra has done very little to endear herself to Astarion by trying to turn Gale into a living bomb. The man didn't deserved to be tossed aside like a broken toy, practically brainwashed into believing this was his path to redemption. It sickens him.

Gale frowns at the way Astarion scoffs at Mystra, then hesitates -- tilts his head.

"You mean in our... shared image of the future? Was it worth it?"

He... doesn't know if he knows.

"We all ascended, did we not? Took the power to change our future. You did, too."

Not an answer, in truth. Was he happier? Not really. Would he have been happier without all that...? He doesn't know. He's had no power for so long, but only able to... accept his fate. To be able to do something, finally...

"Whatever you believe, Astarion, our being here has some... purpose. The Singularity has immense power. Even just a fraction of it gave us the ability to do so much..."

What more could they do, if they tapped into it? What more could Gale do?

Perhaps he could... remove the orb himself? Perhaps he wouldn't even need Mystra's approval?

"You're dodging the question again, darling."

Astarion takes up his glass again, carefully swirling the dark red liquid.

"Yes, I did. And for a while, it was nearly everything I could have wanted." Even more than what Cazador's Ascension promises, should he succeed in usurping his master's place. His gaze is on his glass, and he cocks his head to one side.

"But - well, you already know. My little kingdom fell apart in the end, didn't it? I couldn't hold the damn thing together, and... perhaps, that was for the best, in the end."

He'd lost Haelva. He'd lost his domain. Had there not been a handful of people who still tolerated him - he's not sure what he might've done. Astarion sighs.

"Purpose? Our being here is simply happenstance. We're not chosen, whatever they might tell you in your pretty little castle."

Nothing Gale can say will make him believe otherwise.

Gale shakes his head, frowning a little.

"I do not speak of Thorne. As much as their little summoning ritual seems impressive, something more is going on here. If they truly knew of our exploits, as they say, I sincerely doubt I'd be the person they chose to summon. No, something more than mortal power was required for me to be here. Mystra's hand must have intervened, it's the only way."

How else can he be here, back from death, whole?

Astarion narrows his eyes - but then his expression very suddenly almost softens.

"Not everything need be attributed to the goddess of magic. You are not her puppet, Gale. Your life is your own."

He hopes one day his companion might understand that. Then he adds:

"And sometimes - fate rolls the dice and simply grants us absolute shit luck."

Astarion takes another drink from his glass.

Edited 2024-06-16 17:30 (UTC)

Gale studies Astarion, unease crawling under his skin.

Your life is your own, Astarion says, and is it? It feels like it hasn't been, for so long. The orb is a weight on his chest, stifling his ability to breathe. Gale would love to claim he doesn't fear death, but he does. He doesn't want to die.

He didn't want to die.

There's no running from it, however. Mystra's charm was placed on him only to hold it back, a ticking timer. If he still... has it, for whatever reason, if he's still here there must be a new purpose. His voice drops, an uncertain whisper.

"For some of us, death is assured. Is it not better to find meaning where we can? In our lives, and perhaps our ultimate demise -- as untimely as it might be."

This is an exercise in futility, it feels. He gives Gale a look almost akin to pity.

"Better to live, Gale of Waterdeep. Whether you can accept it or not, you've been given a chance in this realm. Maybe not quite a fresh start, but perhaps as close as any of us might ever receive. You may believe your death is assured but... nothing really is."

That's what he's learned.

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