#byteing

Screaming in the dms with @byteing

The Corinthian—Alex—bristles. It isn’t lost on him that this beast, starving as it always seems to be, hasn’t harmed him: something is keeping him in check, and he suspects that it’s loyalty to a version of him that no longer exists. Maybe the only good thing the first Corinthian ever did for him: inadvertently making sure this fucking ghoul doesn’t eat him alive. Dream was very clear on the rules: if he dies here as a man, he will be Death’s. Permanently.

The marks in question: left over from a beautiful boy that Alex hadn’t been able to say no to (and hadn’t wanted to, though he knew he should), who had taken him to lunch and been so fun to talk with on the way back to the boy’s apartment that Alex almost forgot what they were going there to do until they started kissing his neck on the stairwell.

He rubs his neck. His fingertips come away slightly stained with pink. The scratches from long, manicured nails sting—they’re all over his back and sides, too—but he finds he likes it. It’s different to the usual pain of an injury.

“I don’t see what that has to do with you,” he says flatly. He watches as Cid shrugs and leans against the invisible barrier of the doorway between them. Like a mime playing pretend, only Alex knows it’s very, very real.

“Jus’sayin’. Got some perfume on you, too - phew, that’s strong. Distinctive, too. Why, I bet I could follow that smell all the way back to ‘em, you know? Maybe introduce myself, say hello.”

“I really don’t care.“

Something flickers in Cid’s black eyes then: a little glimmer that says, so you haven’t completely changed, have you?

Then the man laughs and all the threat in the air disappears. Like breaking a spell - or putting on a mask.

Or taking one off.

“C’mon, I’m just foolin’! You oughta lighten up a little, anyone ever tell you that? Face made for smilin’ and you ain’t never crack one!” Cid cackles, pushing his weight off of the doorway. He shrugs, grinning like a fool as he backs off. “Hey, I’ll see you later then, huh? We got a lot of catching up to do, when you’re ready.”

Something in the back of the Corinthian’s eye pulses, hurts. Recognises the man now walking away.

He has been watching the group for a while, now.

Each and every one of them is more than meets the eye, that is certain, carrying themselves in a self-assured way that contrasts with the habitual business and tired familiarity of the rest of the inn's patrons. But one member of the group interests him in particular -- the lone shock of red hair standing out, the tip of his tail calmly twitching from side to side.

Astarion prides himself in his ability to read people, but this one is a puzzle he can't quite put together. He looks young, and there's an air of restlessness about him that matches his appearance; but there is something else there, as well. An...attentiveness. A depth that Astarion can't help but be curious about.

So when the figure finally parts from his group to speak to the woman at the counter, Astarion abandons his untouched flagon and follows suit, stepping up alongside him.

The moment his business with the proprietress is finished, Astarion slides his hand over to take the strangers', and lift it up to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his fingers.