[ In contrast, Mat finds steadier ground in the nebulousness of where this thread is leading. Perhaps he has cause to remain wary in Astarion's crosshairs; perhaps it matters to indulge in areas not merely the paranoia from prior bites and resulting shyness; perhaps he'll see how frequently Astarion and laughter flirt; perhaps it'll be a horror show and they'll find each other so loathsome they'll strangle each other to (un)death; perhaps the thing he cannot trust anymore is his ability to make guarantees, and he would be remiss to act as though he could.
But this he can do and do well. Nebulous and casual need not make anyone a loser. He and partners had had their time together, or things ran their course as they do, and partings were amicable more often than not. In a perfect world he'd entice kisses from someone with beautiful eyes and more besides, but all he'd ever really sought was fishing out the means to a laugh and a smile. To leave an impression better than it was worse. (And he hasn't survived slaloming around matchmaking housewives, or pretty Darkfriends, or Trollocs with fangs the size of his forearm to trip up at his own bloody game now.) ]
You do know how to sweet talk a person. I can tell I'm getting warmer on the spectrum. I'll win your cold dead feet over yet.
You're not so terrible, either, whatever you feel like being.
[ Space for blanks to be filled.
That being said, he still isn't entirely convinced Astarion isn't going to try boxing him into formal ballroom waltzes, prim spines and trim distancing, likely fit for someone born to the city and high off the ground, at that. The second half of the message does little to assuage the suspicion. ]
So come as you are?
[ Mat at Mat, looking bemusedly down at what he's wearing (at least 50% what he also slept in, a solid 100% what his plotting mind had yet to consider): wait, we have to adhere to real date best practices on a fake date? To Astarion's credit, it's a gracious step removed from a you have to dress up, but nonetheless destined to be a simple selection process from an otherwise limited wardrobe.
Gracious is as gracious does, he leaves it open for an interpretive freebie: the general "you" or a specific and directed "you could fasten a potato sack over your birthday suit and be fine." All the same... a quaint thought Astarion's plotting mind might already be engaging seriously on the matter of primping and grooming, pouncing on all four paws. ]
Light, I'm flattered you find me boundlessly handsome and not starting a list of demands. [ "I also choose to take this as—" ] But I suppose if you had those, you had better tell me beforehand.
[ On the day-to-day, for the majority of comers? Intractably uncooperative and as quick to slip off the hook as a greased eel. Inside the practices of taking someone out? It may have started as poking a vampire spawn with a stick to see what he does, but if he's doing this, he'll do it going all in on it, no takebacks. Fashion sense aside, which will assuredly not be improving in great leaps and bounds in the time it takes to sort out any last skeptical second thoughts and carve out a suitable opportunity. Astarion did make the choice to poke back at a raccoon person and they'll both just have to live with that. ]
no subject
But this he can do and do well. Nebulous and casual need not make anyone a loser. He and partners had had their time together, or things ran their course as they do, and partings were amicable more often than not. In a perfect world he'd entice kisses from someone with beautiful eyes and more besides, but all he'd ever really sought was fishing out the means to a laugh and a smile. To leave an impression better than it was worse. (And he hasn't survived slaloming around matchmaking housewives, or pretty Darkfriends, or Trollocs with fangs the size of his forearm to trip up at his own bloody game now.) ]
You do know how to sweet talk a person. I can tell I'm getting warmer on the spectrum. I'll win your cold dead feet over yet.
You're not so terrible, either, whatever you feel like being.
[ Space for blanks to be filled.
That being said, he still isn't entirely convinced Astarion isn't going to try boxing him into formal ballroom waltzes, prim spines and trim distancing, likely fit for someone born to the city and high off the ground, at that. The second half of the message does little to assuage the suspicion. ]
So come as you are?
[ Mat at Mat, looking bemusedly down at what he's wearing (at least 50% what he also slept in, a solid 100% what his plotting mind had yet to consider): wait, we have to adhere to real date best practices on a fake date? To Astarion's credit, it's a gracious step removed from a you have to dress up, but nonetheless destined to be a simple selection process from an otherwise limited wardrobe.
Gracious is as gracious does, he leaves it open for an interpretive freebie: the general "you" or a specific and directed "you could fasten a potato sack over your birthday suit and be fine." All the same... a quaint thought Astarion's plotting mind might already be engaging seriously on the matter of primping and grooming, pouncing on all four paws. ]
Light, I'm flattered you find me boundlessly handsome and not starting a list of demands. [ "I also choose to take this as—" ] But I suppose if you had those, you had better tell me beforehand.
[ On the day-to-day, for the majority of comers? Intractably uncooperative and as quick to slip off the hook as a greased eel. Inside the practices of taking someone out? It may have started as poking a vampire spawn with a stick to see what he does, but if he's doing this, he'll do it going all in on it, no takebacks. Fashion sense aside, which will assuredly not be improving in great leaps and bounds in the time it takes to sort out any last skeptical second thoughts and carve out a suitable opportunity. Astarion did make the choice to poke back at a raccoon person and they'll both just have to live with that. ]