thirsted | SALTBURNT

[ 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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