thirsted | SALTBURNT

[ As they stand by the water's edge, Astarion keeps Matt in his periphery, never fully turning his head to face him but allowing his gaze to flicker every now and then - a sort of equivalent to the easy distance Matt puts between them, faintly aware that it could be more, could be less. It's a vantage point from which it's easy to pretend he isn't thinking about it, to let out a thoughtful hum at the idea of a little gift in return. ]

What sort of enchantments did you have in mind, my dear? [ he asks, as he brings his mug up to his face, not quite pantomiming drinking from it as he breathes in its scent. ]

Not that I expect you'd leave me with a curse, but it seems worth asking.

[ Matt feels a bittersweet pang over this reaction. Sweet, because my dear, like all of Astarion's endearments, sinks warmly into his skin. Matt gets the sense that Astarion peppers affectionate terms into conversation in general, but it doesn't make him like them any less. Endearments feel as tangible to him as caresses, little touches made of sound and syllable.

Bitter, because the question strikes Matt as a very reasonable one. In their brief history thus far, Astarion can't be sure what he's going to get from Matt, can he? ]

Charms to ward off nightmares have been popular this month, [ Matt notes with a rueful smile. ] Um, I've made enchanted items that alert people to danger or untruths, that calm and center you emotionally, that turn you invisible ... all kinds of things. [ Another sip from his diminishing, but still-warm toddy. Speaking of enchanted items, this spell was such a good call. ] And I like trying to figure out how new ones would work, so even if I've never created an effect before, it doesn't necessarily mean I can't.

A charm for calm does sound quite nice, [ Astarion hums, as he tries to make out their reflections in the dark water. Two murky silhouettes. ] As for invisibility — I'll have you know I can do that myself.

[ He wonders faintly if that will come as a surprise — Matt knows he can do some magic, after all, but it's not like they've really talked about it in much more explicit terms. ]

All that to say I'll happily take you up on it. I do love a little trinket.

Sold, then. [ Matt smiles. ] I usually do sachets or jewelry, just because those are easy to wear next to the skin. But I won't be offended if you find my accessory efforts a little inelegant.

[ He'd like to circle back to how Astarion defines the word trinket, but a more pressing matter presents itself. At least, more pressing in his current frame of mind, smoothed by whiskey and softened by the pleasant evening. ]

Wait, you already know how to turn invisible? [ He does seem surprised, but only en route to delight. ] Can you do it now, can I see? Or ... not see?

Of course, dear. All you had to do was ask.

[ Carefully, Astarion passes Matt the mug he's holding, then taking a step back — out of a sense of showmanship more than anything else, really, considering that it's hardly as though he's about to conjure an explosion out of thin air. The spell itself takes only a second: Astarion draws his hands through the air as a blue light begins to shimmer around him, and then, when he draws them together, he — and the light — abruptly disappear, as though he'd never been there at all. There's only the slight compression of the grass where his feet used to be to suggest his presence, an indication that it really is invisibility as opposed to spiriting himself away entirely.

Still, there's no reflection, either — just an empty space where he used to be. ]

[ Matt accepts the mug easily, though not without a moment spent tipsily contemplating the delta between Astarion's mug (full) and his own (near the dregs). Half of him thinks maybe he should just drink both? While the other half wonders, with a guilty pang, if he should've offered to--

Hold that thought. Astarion's small flourish is the kind of attention to detail that Matt always appreciates, even if he doesn't think he could carry it off himself. He watches his hands move, notes the cool blue like the color of those lights he'd summoned the night of the feast.

And he's gone.

Matt blinks, then peers with narrowed eyes at the spot Astarion just occupied. ]

Oh, wow. [ He takes a step forward, wondering if he'll be able to--not hear him, or smell him, and probably not detect body heat. But maybe feel that sense of gravity he experiences when he's near enough to someone else. ] That's really good. I usually need spell components for mine, or else looking in my direction makes the whole thing break.

[ Matt steps forward, and in accordance, Astarion leans back, his frame hanging in that reclined state for a moment before he slips out of Matt's immediate periphery, treading quietly to stop a few steps behind him before dispelling the illusion. ]

I suppose it's a trade-off, [ he says, as he brushes off his hands (despite having absolutely no reason to do so — it's just a little extra melodrama). ] I don't need any components, but my ability to channel magic is— limited. It isn't as though I can cast spells as many times as I'd like. And more difficult spells take more effort.

[ Or so goes the most reasonable explanation for spell slots one can muster without breaking the fourth wall. ]

Some people just use scrolls. It's an easy in to more complicated magic, if also, well, limited by how many you have.

[ Matt has a pretty good attunement to bodies in space, but this is hard mode. And Astarion's so quiet. When his voice comes from the unexpected direction, Matt lets out a startled sound--something that might be transcribed as gyAHh--and whirls around with a grin. Despite his surprise, ~~due to rolling a 19 on die~~ Matt manages not to spill a drop from either of their mugs. ]

Ah--

Well, I can't cast them as many times as I want either, [ he notes wryly. He's always known that, but recent events have proved it to him beyond a shadow of a doubt. ] Pretty sure that's entropy at work, law of conservation of something. But either way--that's nice. That's really neat.

[ He offers Astarion his mug back. ]

I should've asked this hours ago, [ he adds with a crooked smile, ] but if I put some blood in this, could you actually drink it?

[ Trickster that he is, Astarion can't help a laugh at Matt's surprise, a bright ha! that leans into an easier timbre of his voice, freed of anything performative. Still, he composes himself quickly enough, his expression settling into something more thoughtful as Matt explains his own school of magic before— startling, in turn, at the implied offer.

Hawk, now Matt— he doesn't quite understand what it is that makes it so easy for them to make an offer that he thinks of as gargantuan. Part of him balks, afraid of being caught in some kind of trap; another part of him wants to laugh, that the people here are so generally trusting; and another part of him simply hungers. The eternal curse of vampire-kind, to never be sated, to constantly be in a state of wanting. ]

You know, I don't know, [ he says, looking down into the mug as he takes his back. ] I've never tried—

[ He's never tried drinking from a human. ]

Best not to waste such a thing, [ is what he settles on, momentarily. ] But thank you. Truly.

[ Matt watches Astarion's face, trying to gauge his response. If he'd met him back home, he wouldn't have thought anything at all of asking. He doesn't think much now, but he's gleaned enough from the other vampires here to figure out that blood-drinking isn't always a straightforward proposition. ]

Sure. No problem. [ A gentle shrug. ] If you do ever want to, I used to do it pretty frequently back home, for--not just my ex. People I knew.

[ For a given value of "know," which may or may not have included their last names or more than a few hours of an evening. Matt pauses a moment; then, as if bracing himself, he tips his head back to drain his mug, straightens with a roll of his shoulders. Exhales on a whew. ]

Okay. [ With a smile. ] Should we keep going?

[ He finds himself envious, every now and then, of the other vampires. It's not just a matter of numbers, but— for so long, he's considered his lot in life to be one of permanent struggle. He has no bond to his fellow spawn, no friends until relatively recently, no one who'd bare their neck to him with such little fanfare.

And in this case, it's even more abstract. For blood-giving to be presumably such a fact of life that Matt should be able to speak about it so casually ...

But he shakes the thought away for now, focusing on the moment, on the unfamiliar sensations of comfort and gratefulness. ]

Let's.

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