𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋

gale  turned  his  head  and  sighed  realizing  that  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  have  a  bath  before  breakfast.         ❝   i  assume  you  already  had  your  breakfast  but  would  you  like  some  tea,  coffee?  or  wine?   ❞   even  though  it  was  way  to  early  to  consume  a  alcohol  beverage  in  gale's  opinion  he  thought  that  maybe  his  vampiric  companion  wouldn't  want  something  so  light?

he  quickly  grabbed  all  his  stuff  and  slowly  walked  back  towards  the  slowly  dying  fire  and  the  make  shift  kitchen  next  to  it  that  gale  had  been  able  to  make  to  have  a  bit  of  of  a  place  to  prepare  things  instead  of  on  the  ground.

       ❝   do  you  want  to  help  out  with  preparing  breakfast  or  not?  you  don't  have  to  if  you  don't  want.  but  the  help  would  be  appreciated.   ❞

fortunately,  the  change  of  subject  distracts  astarion  before  he  has  the  opportunity  to  surrender  to  the  urge  to  say  something  unapologetically  petty.  ❝  mmh ...  none  of  the  above. ❞  the  spawn  replies,  waving  a  hand  as  he  follows  behind  him.   ❝  coffee  and  tea  aren't  to  my  tastes,  i'm  afraid. ❞  and  he  doubts  they  would  be  capable  of  waking  him  up  even  if  he  did  manage  to  gag  his  way  through  a  cup  or  two.  (  he  hasn't  tried  it,  but  vampiric  anatomy  is  so  stingy  with  its  small  mercies.  )  ❝  and  as  much  as  i  love  immersing  myself  in  shameless  decadence ...  it's  a  bit  too  early  for  wine. ❞  a  pause.  then,  ❝  also  if  you're  offering  the  swill  i  think  you're  offering,  it  tastes  like  vinegar  anyway.  so  no,  i'll  have  to  decline. ❞   save  it  for  someone  with  lower  standards.  the  rest  of  their  little  group  seem  to  have  no  problem  indulging  in  a  glass  or  two  when  the  mood  strikes  them.

he  watches  gale  make  his  way  over  to  the  space  he's  evidently  commandeered  as  a  rather  rustic  kitchen.  astarion  thinks  now  is  probably  the  perfect  opportunity  to  slip  away  —  only  for  the  wizard's  question  to  bring  him  pause.  ❝  i  don't ... ❞   the  spawn  starts  to  say,  only  to  cut  himself  off  by  faking  a  cough.  he  doesn't  remember  how  to  cook.  not  really.  (  certainly  not  enough  to  avoid  embarrassing  himself  in  the  process.  )  ❝  that's  more  your  area  of  expertise,  my  friend.  do  get  to  work,  though.  i  like  to  watch. ❞

"Ah, yes, we wouldn't want anything to ruin your beautiful hair." Synnove replies sarcastically with a smile. Once he finishes looting the corpses, she begins to lead the way. Luckily, they had managed to set up camp not too far away. If anything, the walk back would at least be a scenic one. The sun was starting to set in the sky and she knew their friends would be waiting for them to hear about what had happened. In the meantime, she took out the Scratch's ball and begin throwing it back and forth as they made their way back.

he's  relatively  silent  on  the  short  walk  back  to  camp.  while  that  might  ordinarily  be  cause  for  alarm,  the  intermittent  clicking  of  coins  suggests  astarion  is  merely  taking  inventory  of  the  spoils.  he  is  so  unaccustomed  to  having  —  well,  anything  that  the  concept  of  a  pocket  filled  with  gold  admittedly  feels  a  bit  novel.  he  doesn't  even  know  how  he  would  begin  to  spend  it.  more  pillows  for  the  exterior  of  his  tent?  fine  clothes?  yet  another  dagger  he  can  slip  away  up  a  sleeve  or  in  his  boot  for  whenever  he  finds  himself  in  a  pinch?  he  could  buy  another  book  to  read  during  the  long  hours  spent  loitering  around  camp,  but  it's  honestly  more  entertaining  to  snatch  up  fresh  reading  material  from  the  other's  belongings.  ah  well.  being  able  to  choose  at  all  is  honestly  a  bit  exhausting.  in  the  meantime,  astarion  supposes  he'll  simply  enjoy  the  thrill  of  having  money  to  spend.

the  spawn  is  lost  in  thought  when  synnove  speaks  up.  crimson  gaze  flicks  to  her  face  —  and  it  takes  a  befuddled  blink  before  astarion's  eyes  seem  to  refocus  and  he  remembers  where  he  is.  ❝  oh,  you  generous  little  thing. ❞   unsurprisingly,  he's  able  to  switch  back  into  the  charming  facade  in  an  instant;  it's  grafted  so  meticulously  to  his  personality  the  line  between  the  two  is  nearly  impossible  to  distinguish.  ❝  i  could  go  for  dessert ...  if  you're  offering,  i'm  not  going  to  say  no. ❞  she  trusts  him,  she  says  —  and  there's  a  part  of  astarion  that  wants  to  squirm  a  bit  at  that,  like  he  can't  quite  comfortably  wrap  his  head  around  it.  he's  quick  to  push  those  feelings  down,  however,  lest  they  sour  his  good  mood.  ❝  do  take  care  of  yourself  first,  of  course.  i  am  capable  of  being  a  gentleman  about  these  things;  i  can  wait. ❞

A brief respite after defeating the leadership of the Goblin Camp was certainly in order, bringing the tadpoled adventurers back to their camp. Amalica took a place just outside of her tent, carefully washing the blood from her newly acquired Spidersilk Armor, trying to swallow the fact that now a daughter of the Baenre was one of her enemies.

It was almost like she was back home again. Lovely.

A glance up to the vampire next door, flipping through the pages of... something. She couldn't make out the title from where she was.

"You fight well, Astarion," She noted, though, hoping to catch his attention, "I didn't have much trust in the aristocracy of surface's ability to defend itself, but it seems you don't mind a little blood on your fancy shirt."

he  glances  up  from  his  book  when  amalica  speaks,  crimson  eyes  peering  quizzically  over  the  pages.  it  takes  astarion  a  moment  to  process  what  she's  actually  saying  —  magistrate?  ah,  right.  he  did  spoon-feed  her  that  lovely  little  lie,  now  didn't  he?  it  feels  like  a  lifetime  ago  where  he  was  threatening  her  with  his  trusty  dagger.  now  he's  turning  it  on  their  shared  enemies  —  how  novel!  ❝  i'm  not  actually  a  magistrate  these  days,  darling. ❞  he  almost  wants  to  laugh  (  bitterly  )  at  the  thought.  a  vampire  spawn  magistrate?  if  she  wasn't  so  utterly  clueless  about  the  surface,  he  might  make  some  petty  dig  against  her  intellect.  it's  nothing  personal;  being  reminded  of  all  that  he's  lost  is  just  an  excellent  way  to  kill  his  good  mood.   ❝  from  what  little  i  can  recall,  being  skilled  with  a  blade  was  never  part  of  my  resume ...  that  came  after. ❞

it  was  the  only  form  of  self-defense  he  had,  really.  he  couldn't  simply  bite  if  a  mark  became  violent  —  and  they  did  become  violent,  more  often  than  he  feels  like  thinking  about.

Farrow sat quietly now he found himself being the one to stare ,before responding to the rather..interesting inquiry while avoiding a bit of eyecontact , ["Novel?,I highly doubt another traveler could be seen as such"] aside from the more obvious differences the warforged has going for him.

["I thought it would be good to team up with others..sticking to a group always seems to be the best option when traveling than it is alone yes?"] or at least that was the partial truth of it he doesn't really know how (or if he wishes in the current moment) to delve into the rest he crossed his arms looking back to astarion.

shaking  his  head,  astarion  resumes  his  pacing.  it's  hard  to  tell  what  his  goal  really  is  —  to  observe,  to  unsettle.  honestly  he's  just  feeling  unapologetically  nosy.  ❝  we're  sharing  a  campsite  these  days,  aren't  we? ❞   he  asks,  voice  light  with  faux-innocence.  ❝  you're  acting  like  it's  a  crime  to  get  to  know  my  neighbor.  i'm  just  trying  to  be  friendly,  honestly. ❞  he's  going  to  very  pointedly  ignore  the  blatant  hypocrisy  in  such  an  excuse  —  astarion  isn't  exactly  jumping  at  the  chance  to  share  much  about  himself,  either.  but  this  isn't  about  him,  and  he's  hoping  farrow  doesn't  have  the  gall  to  try  to  make  it  that  way,  either.

❝  unless  you  have  something  to  hide,  of  course. ❞  the  spawn  continues  aloud,  clicking  his  tongue.  he  really  doesn't  think  that  he  does  —  but  it's  always  fun  to  throw  unsavory  implications  around.  like  tossing  scraps  of  bait  into  a  pond  and  seeing  what  rises  to  the  surface  for  a  bite.

Serendipity is many things, yes. An actor, a musician, a...decent leader. He prides himself on many of these titles -- but when Astarion calls him a coward, it's effective enough of a sting. Any hesitation the bard might have had is burned away with a scoff as he watches the vampire scale the wall easily. He takes the offered hand deftly and, with a grunt, manages to join the rogue at the top.

a  little  balm  for  ren's  conscience.  assuming  he  actually  needs  it  —  certainly  can't  hurt!

gracefully,  the  spawn  crawls  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  wall.  there's  a  bed  of  meticulously  kept  flowers  in  the  soft  soil  below  and  the  pollen  shaken  free  from  his  sneaking  around  is  enough  to  make  astarion  sneeze.  (  eugh.  so  much  for  stealth.  )  ❝  they  must  have  a  wine  cellar. ❞  he  says  almost  greedily.   ❝  and  a  lock  just  begging  to  be  picked. ❞

glancing  up,  a  little  smile  pulls  at  the  corners  of  the  spawn's  lips.  ❝  what's  the  occasion?  not  that  i  need  an  excuse  to  accept  gifts  —  gods  no.  but ...  let's  just  call  it  a  hunch,  shall  we? ❞

Not that he was going to lead on that he was just as lost. Nah, best to just wait it out. See what his doppelganger struggles to come up with while he folds his arms and waits out the suspense.

"Oooh." The elf's interest is finally drawn as the so called plan comes to light. "Well, the menace is practically a bloody cockroach. Of course he's not going be done in one go." Astarion points out with a huff, but more directed towards the fact than anything else.

That was when something popped into his head.

"Or..." He begins. "If he's going to perform his little ritual to gain more power, he'll obviously need one of us to complete it." Or at least he thinks just one of them. Who knows at this point? "What if he gets sacrificed instead of us?"

and  that's  the  truth,  isn't  it?  they  don't.  knowing  their  luck,  they  probably  can't.  which  means  astarion  has  to  do  whatever  he  possibly  can  to  ensure  the  benefits  go  to  him  and  him  alone  —  the...  him-version  of  himself.  the  best  one.  (  gods,  this  is  so  confusing.  )  by  his  own  reasoning,  they  are  nothing  if  not  the  biggest  threat  to  each  other  —  vampires  being  vampires,  and  their  myriad  of  paranoid,  power-hungry  delights.

still,  until  that  moment  comes,  he  can  pretend  to  play  nice.  he's  good  at  that.

❝  shall  we  shake  on  it? ❞   the  spawn  asks  aloud,  pairing  a  practiced  smile  with  an  offered  hand  —  extended  with  an  appropriate  amount  of  dramatic  flourish.   ❝  seal  the  deal,  so  to  speak? ❞

She had been trying to pay careful attention to her surroundings, but the enemy in front of her was putting up quite the fight. It wasn't long before she was finally able to put them in their place, taking them down with her sword as a loud sound of broken glass and a crash sounds directly behind her. Synnove felt her heart almost leap out of her chest, turning quickly behind her to see the body on the floor. That was a close one! Golden eyes look to see her savior-- Astarion-- waving at her. She can't help but wave back gratefully before returning to the fight.

Once the last of their enemies are done for, the bard glances around at all the bloody bodies on the floor, letting out a sigh and putting her sword away. Being on the road for as long as they've been, she was starting to get used to things either going perfectly or ending in a battle of some kind. At least it was nothing like home. But it still didn't change the fact that fighting seemed to remind her of some elaborate dance none of the patriar's would ever be caught doing in a ballroom, or much less in general. After all, they didn't want to be seen getting their hands dirty.

the  proverbial  dust  has  barely  settled  before  the  spawn  comes  slinking  out  from  his  hiding  place  to  rifle  through  the  pockets  of  the  nearest  corpse.  poor  bastard  hasn't  even  had  the  chance  to  go  cold  yet  —  oh  well!  his  loss.  astarion  pulls  out  a  tastefully  embroidered  bag  and  gives  it  a  little  shake,  eyes  sparkling  with  shameless  avarice  at  the  clinking  of  coins  that  greets  him.  ❝  i  could  always  go  for  another  bite. ❞   the  spawn  says  —  and  that  is  true.  his  hunger  is  never  sated  completely;  it  only  dulls  to  a  point  where  it  isn't  so  painful  as  to  be  distracting.  like  the  buzzing  of  a  particularly  pesky  insect  clever  enough  to  stay  just  out  of  swatting  range.  he  feels  wonderful  right  now,  of  course  —  yet  even  the  irritating  buzzing  would  be  akin  to  the  musical  genius  of  a  renowned  composer  compared  to  dragon's  roar  of  pure  vampiric  hunger  he's  usually  saddled  with.  ❝  ...  but  picking  at  the  dead  like  a  carrion  crow  isn't  to  my  tastes. ❞   these  days,  at  least.  of  course,  he's  moving  to  loot  the  next  corpse  as  he  speaks.  that  is  clearly  different,  though.  everyone  does  it.

once  he's  snatched  up  as  much  treasure  as  he's  willing  to  carry,  astarion  then  rises  to  his  feet.  ❝  i  suppose  we  should  get  out  of  here  before  more  of  them  show  up. ❞   he  agrees,  a  touch  of  reluctance  in  his  voice.  ❝  i  think  i  have  wine  drying  in  my  hair  —  and  i'm  not  sure  if  it's  of  the  poisoned  variety  or  not,  but  either  way ...  i  want  it  out. ❞

The dhampir chuckled being called altruistic, in many ways that was true and a good way to describe him. "That would be pretty accurate to describe me. I've might not explored the world much or been around for hundreds of years, but I know enough the right thing to do is not always good thing to do. Sometimes that involves killing someone and putting them on a pike." He said in a playful way of joking about something his father was well known for.

As much as Alucard strived not to be like Vlad, he was still his father's son and that ruthlessness ran through his veins just as much as the vampiric blood. He took the knight in shining armor bit as a compliment, the dhampir always helped people even when it didn't benefit himself. That was true selfless kindness to him. But then the bitterness followed and Astarious words rang true, if people didn't fear him then they wanted to use him. Alucard could sense the pale elf under his arm knew that very well.

He rises to his feet, and there is a small part of him that mourns the loss of physical contact that doesn't see disgust pooling in the pit of his stomach. It's a rare thing indeed — but the dhampir is right, and they really should get moving before they start to grow roots. Yet it's Alucard's offer that brings Astarion pause. Stay with him? That's... surprisingly generous. ( Not to mention ironic; a vampire giving another vampire an invitation and all that. ) He shoots him a glance from the corner of his eye, wary as a stray being presented with a bowl of milk. The spawn turns away just as quickly, pretending to stretch with a soft hum. ❝ I suppose. ❞ He eventually says. ❝ If you wanted to kill me, you could have saved yourself the trouble and poisoned that blood. ❞ It's a joke. Kind of. He is a bit paranoid, but Alucard feels so shockingly transparent in his intentions it's honestly throwing him for a bit of a loop.

❝ Lead the way, then. I know I make for delightful conversation, but we can't have you making yourself sick. ❞ Also he is somewhat curious about where such an individual of such high esteem might live. He hopes that it's fancy.

there is little to savour about their immediate environs -- wasting away as this world is prone to do --, and yet raphael surveys it with well-performed wistfulness. ❝ ah, i do enjoy being in this neighbourhood again. it has such a rich history of abject tragedy. ❞ there's little chance of telling how genuine he's being; nor is it the point. ❝ and tragedy, my friend, well there's my bread and bloody butter. ❞

he's  almost  a  bit  jealous,  honestly.  although  that  might  just  be  the  hunger  talking  —  there's  hardly  a  drop  to  be  spared  in  this  awful  land  of  death  and  decay.  if  the  spawn  wasn't  accustomed  to  starving,  he  imagines  it  would  have  driven  him  half  mad  by  now.

❝  if  my  immediate  survival  didn't  depend  on  being  here,  i  would  not  be. ❞   he  rolls  his  eyes,  offended  by  the  mere  implication.  ❝  though  honestly ...  you'd  think  a  group  of  people  with  no  tomorrow  would  live  like  it.  i  don't  even  think  they're  serving  the  good  wine. ❞

"I haven't had to spit a petal in a year..." she admitted before snuggling back into his arms. But this time, she took the blanket with her, so both were cozy underneath it. "Please, stay with me... I don't like the Underdark... When you're with me, I don't see her face, I don't feel her touch. I can blissfully sleep." Did she ramble again? She did, didn't she? "...Please, I don't need anything except your arms around me," she clarified. Yes, it was easier to lure Astarion into her tent for shared otherworldly pleasures, but she was tired of pretending. The petal told her so. Just be honest.

"I was hoping the Book of Thay has an answer to halt it... I don't want to die, I don't want to become a tree," her voice broke suddenly, and big tears streamed down her face as she admitted, "I don't want to be in the Underdark... I know the Underdark is vast, I know the chances of meeting her are so low, I know it's irrational..." She couldn't stop anymore, her feelings spilling out like a leather bag whose seams were about to burst open in Astarion's arms. "...I want to see the sun, the stars. I'm so tired of the darkness... By the nine hells... please don't let her find me."

only  half  of  the  words  coming  out  of  the  changeling's  mouth  are  really  making  sense  to  him.  perhaps  it's  by  instinct  that  astarion  pulls  her  closer,  regardless  —  it's  easier  to  think  of  it  as  a  thoughtless  compulsion.  (  force  of  habit  guiding  his  movements.  )  she  is  crying  and  that  makes  him  uncomfortable,  so  he  acts  in  the  interest  of  alleviating  that  discomfort.  nothing  more  and  nothing  less.  ❝  we  won't  be  here  long. ❞  the  spawn  hears  himself  say.   ❝  she  won't  find  you. ❞  but  he's  been  on  the  opposite  end  of  this  particular  flavor  of  paranoia  —  and  with  a  touch  of  irony,  astarion  can't  help  but  think  it's  like  he's  staring  at  a  reflection  of  himself.

...  those  shallow  reassurances  would  do  little  to  quiet  his  own  fears.  he  doesn't  know  if  words  possibly  could  —  it  feels  like  only  the  sight  of  cazador  dead  at  his  feet  would  truly  do  the  trick.

a  soft  exhale  spills  from  the  spawn's  lips.  ❝  ...  she  can't  have  you. ❞   it's  not  a  promise  of  protection  so  much  as  it  is  a  declaration  of  defiance.  it's  the  best  he  can  offer  —  that  and  simply  holding  ceres  close  until  her  tears  run  dry.

[Arcana roll-- 1d20; 6 + 0 + 2 = 8: Failed.]

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ Yunae held no doubt Astarion had done this sort of thing before. Vampires needed humanoid blood to live, they were pretty sure. Their limited knowledge of vampires and their spawn told them that they also tended to feed from sleeping victims and most would wake up none the wiser. Everything would be fine. Probably.

"All... right then," as instructed, the bard laid back down on their bedroll, eyeing Astarion as he leaned over them. Already, they seemed a little regretful on humouring the vampire, but he had already paid, and they weren't going to give that money up, greed giving way to common sense.

"Hey, you *did* brush your teeth tonight ri-- Ack!!" They yelped as what felt like sharp, cold, cat-like teeth dug into their skin, right into one of the carotid artery in their neck, and their blood pooled out like a low-pressured spring.

Their breath hitched, hands immediately pressing to Astarion's chest, ready to push him off, until the pain subsided and a strange, warm-cold numbness set in, like menthol and lidocaine on an aching muscle. Still breathing harshly and keeping their hands ready to shove him away, the muscles in their neck relaxed.

Their blood was thick, dry, and fat on the pallette, not dissimilar to a full-bodied wine, should one compare the life-giving liquid to such things. One might also conclude that they were dehydrated from how thick their blood was, and how hard it was to extract. Another factor that might play in, one might note, was that their pulse was still abnormally slow, both before and during the bite.

it's  that  thought  more  than  yunae's  struggles  that  finally  convince  astarion  to  let  go.  no,  no,  no.  tempting  as  it  may  be,  better  to  quit  while  he's  ahead.  a  thumb  drags  across  one  red-stained  corner  of  the  spawn's  lips.  he  laughs  —  shaky  and  breathless,  tongue  darting  out  to  savor  that  drop.  ❝  that  was ...  amazing. ❞   he  murmurs.  and  for  a  moment  his  eyes  seem  unfocused,  like  his  thoughts  are  a  million  miles  away.  it  takes  astarion  several  long  seconds  to  come  back  to  his  senses  completely,  giving  his  head  a  brisk  little  shake.  hunger  still  gnaws  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  but  the  ever-present  ache  seems  dulled  somewhat  —  and  he  feels  strangely...  energetic?  he  tries  to  claw  through  the  fog  of  his  memories  to  recall  the  high  of  a  caffeine  buzz.  he  thinks  he  had  a  taste  for  that  sort  of  thing  once,  but ...  no,  the  sensation  is  completely  lost  to  him.  shame.

❝  mmh ...  this  has  been  a  lovely  transaction. ❞   well.  it  would  be  lovelier  if  he  didn't  actually  have  to  pay  for  it,  but  astarion  is  in  high  enough  spirits  to  put  that  little  transgression  to  the  side  for  now.  the  spawn  stretches,  slow  and  languid  like  a  cat  roused  from  slumber.  ❝  although ...  something  about  your  vintage  strikes  me  as  a  little  bit  peculiar.  the  wine  has  been  aged  longer  than  the  label  suggests,  so  to  speak. ❞   his  eyes  suddenly  seem  a  bit  brighter  than  usual  as  they  study  yunae's  features  —  searching  for  a  reaction,  perhaps.

yet  just  as  quickly  as  he  brought  it  up,  astarion  drops  the  subject  altogether.  ❝  don't  worry  —  we  all  have  our  secrets  here,  don't  we? ❞   it  sure  seems  that  way,  considering  the  company  they  keep.  though  as  an  afterthought,  he  adds,  ❝  although ...  you  really  should  drink  more  water,  dear.  you  taste  positively  parched. ❞

Synnove can't help but agree with him. If things went wrong, she wouldn't enjoy this one bit...but at least Astarion would no doubt be happy sinking his teeth into their enemies. Even though she had been through her fair share of battles now with her companions, the bard still preferred speaking her way out of problems (yet wasn't afraid to fight, using cutting words if needed too.) Despite the racing of her heart at the fear of failure, she forced a smile on her face, bringing forth her charm.

Going through the motions of accepting handshakes and even complimenting their potential allies, her eyes glance around the room cautiously every now and then, trying to keep an eye out for Scratch. So far it seems things will be going well. They might not have to shed blood.

That is... until the dog returns to her side, speaking to her and barking about them putting poison into the drinks they intended to serve them with a smile. Synnove sighs, shaking her head. "Why can't anyone just offer drinks and merriment without any problems or hidden agendas? Things would be better if you didn't try to poison your guests, it's rude..." reaching for her sword, she glances at Astarion, giving him the signal. "Let's play!"

let's  play,  synnove  says  —  and  oh,  they  will.

the  wine  is  splashed  in  the  face  of  the  nearest  prospective  ally  turned  enemy.  they  recoil  and  scream,  but  not  loud  enough  to  drown  out  the  cruel  laughter  of  a  certain  vampire  spawn  having  more  fun  than  he  probably  should.  as  their  surroundings  erupt  into  chaos,  astarion  plunges  his  dagger  into  a  conveniently  unarmored  stomach  —  then  shoves  the  fool  into  their  wine-blinded  cohort,  leaving  them  to  collapse  into  a  tangle  of  flailing  gore.  there's  a  bar  nearby,  and  he  hops  (  graceful  as  a  cat  )  over  the  counter,  teeth  sinking  into  the  throat  of  the  man  presumably  responsible  for  spiking  their  drinks.  well,  astarion  supposes  the  least  he  could  do  is  provide  some  actual  refreshments.  (  blood.  he  means  blood.  at  least  he  tastes  delicious  —  unlike  that  toxic  swill  he  was  trying  to  serve  them.  )  when  the  spawn  peeks  over  the  bar  a  few  moments  later,  his  mood  has  improved  considerably  and  a  bit  of  red  drips  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  eyes  sweep  to  and  fro  across  the  room,  before  settling  on  his  ally.

there's  some  fool  with  a  blade  in  hand  trying  to  sneak  up  behind  synnove.  cute,  but  slinking  around  in  the  shadows  is  more  his  territory.  astarion's  fingers  curl  around  an  unopened  bottle  and  he  throws  it  —  successfully  shattering  the  thing  on  their  forehead  and  sending  their  would-be  assassin  crumpling  to  the  ground.  he  offers  synnove  a  little  wave  while  he's  at  it.  for  encouragement.