thirsted | SALTBURNT

[ There is fondness in her for Astarion, not just because they are from the same world. He has been nothing but kind and charming to her - many people here have been so, there's no denying that - but there's something about him that makes her want to spend more time with him. Perhaps this place is having more of an influence upon her than she first imagined. ]

I would like that.

[ She's not unused to the sun, but it still feels strange to have it directly on her skin. Shutting the door behind her, checking her bag for her own items, checking that her gloves are in place and pinned to her dress, she nods and begins to walk beside him without hesitation. ]

Have you been well? No problems?

[ One might think it natural for an elf to find solace in the company of another, but Astarion knows better: shared race means little, if anything at all, in the end. What matters is shared spirit, in whatever form might be applicable. And, even if they haven't really spoken of it out loud, there's some strange thread holding them together, an intimate familiarity with loneliness that forms a ribbon between them.

Granted, if such a thing — if anything — weighs on him, Astarion makes no show of it. His step is light as they pass through the manor's halls on their way to the grounds, a slight smile on his features as he looks sidelong as his companion. ]

Well enough, by the standards of this place.

[ A thought occurs to him, as punctuated by a feigned gasp and a leap of his eyebrows. ]

Actually, something has happened that might be of interest to you — not a problem, per se, but— do you recall that pumpkin hunt? My prize was a dear little chicken. I'd have brought her with me, but it— well, she has a bit of an aversion to sunlight.

[ The truth of the matter is this: being an elf is something that Lauralae disdains rather than celebrates, and had she approached Astarion, and he had made merit of it, she might well have dismissed him entirely. It is the fact that he has been kind, that there is some burn of consciousness that makes her think they share something similar that has made her wish for his company in earnest. He is good, she thinks, in a way she cannot name, and that pleases her.

They understand one another, without the need to voice it. That is pleasant. ]

That does depend on the nature of the mansion, does it not? So many games to play, and no means to escape.

[ Not that she minds too much. The encounters she has had - with men and women - have been good, and the exploration has been fun, if not overwhelming at times.

Lifting her head, she watches Astarion for a moment before something twitches on her lip, and she leans a little closer, curious, almost childishly so. ]

A... Vampiric chicken? Is that what they gifted you?

[ That he has kept mostly to himself — that the intimacy this place encourages is something he has deliberately shunned — is something Astarion keeps to himself. It's not that he expects much interrogation as to why (he expects that I'm just not interested would be a sufficient explanation for most), but, well. It's his own business, isn't it? It's the first time he's had the latitude to make such a choice for himself, to keep a secret, to be untouched.

So he nods, at what Lauralae says — after all, he understands why others might indulge — allowing the conversation to move smoothly on. She's right, in essence. That this place offers him a sort of freedom isn't a benefit that's been lost on him.

She leans in, and so does he, as though they were sharing a secret, the pattern of his breath breaking into a laugh. ]

She even drinks blood, [ he whispers, eyes widening in mock scandal, before straightening up. ] In other words, yes, a vampiric chicken. [ A pause, then, ] I'd be more annoyed by the choice, but ... she isn't particularly demanding, beyond needing to be fed. Perhaps I've grown soft, due to our shared nature, though I can't imagine who would have turned her.

Would you like to meet her?

So is the nature of the creatures.

[ Lauralae does not seem offended by the notion of it, at least; only curious, her eyes flickering a little. Blood is a familiar companion to her, the taste of it warm and friendly on her tongue, an old kin that she had never been able to leave behind. It is not necessary for her survival, but she does not shun it either, content to drown herself in whatever she is given.

Blood is a part of her, in a sense both literal and less so.

Tilting her head up, she watches him for a moment before her lips curl, a proper smile at least. It's slight, a small slash on her mouth, but it remains all the same. ]

I would like to meet her. I might give her blood, if she is of need of it. I would not mind.

[ She's fed vampires before, and she would do it again. ]

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