[ Torgal is a very good boy, and doesn't understand why the strange-smelling pale man who doesn't feel alive doesn't LOVE him!!!! He noses at Astarion's pant leg and paws at his boot, and gets chided by Clive for the trouble ("leave him alone, Torgal").
There's Lae'zel with her no-nonsense demand to get a move on, though. Clive huffs a laugh, and slaps his palm against Astarion's shoulder. ]
Not even fifteen minutes to ourselves. [ To the tune of "I told you you should come earlier". ] ―If we stumble across anything that looks good enough for you to eat, I'll sound the call.
[ A quirk of his lips. ] Or you could try my blood, with no guarantees on its taste.
[ Again, it probably tastes like embers and old, old magic. A strange thing, since Clive doesn't particularly come across as someone with arcane powers. His blood probably smells a little unusual, too. ]
[ Clive slaps a palm to his shoulder, and Astarion primly brushes off the area after he removes it. The lingering heat feels strange. Clive should probably get tested for some sort of disease, if he's running that warm. ]
I appreciate the offer [ —genuinely, although he doesn't sound genuine— ] but I'm hesitant to burn my tongue.
[ A shrug. ]
Perhaps if you can't procure me anything better. [ As if this is somehow a privilege for Clive??? ] But don't take that as an excuse not to try.
[ The barest, barest flick of melancholy when Astarion mentions burning his tongue. As if he's aware of the anomaly that sits under his skin (he is), and is reticent to trouble anyone about it (he is). Astarion is likely the only one that actually has any real idea about how strange Clive is under his warmly stoic demeanor, and, in a way, Clive is somewhat grateful that Astarion hasn't gone around and started yelling about it.
Yet. If he's giving the guy too much credit for something he hasn't done, well. That's Clive. ]
I'll do my utmost, [ he says, and he's actually being sincere about it. Gross. ] And thank you for the lesson.
[ Wow. The sincerity actually makes Astarion want to throw up in his mouth a little.
—But it's good to have allies, especially ones who are big and burly and willing to hunt food for him. Clive may be an overly genuine idiot, but he's also proving to be a useful idiot. He can stay for now.
Of course, he still shrugs off the gratitude. ]
I only did it because your form was so poor that I was afraid you might accidentally hit me with one of those daggers.
[ Ten feet away, Lae'zel barks at Gale to pack his books up already. ]
If that's all, I have to go pretend to be ill so Lae'zel won't make me go on whatever ridiculous mission she has planned for the day.
[ Prickly. Fortunately, no one in any realm could treat Clive worse than his own mother did, so Astarion's attitude just reads as slightly familiar instead of irritating.
With the sort of troubled, knowing smile that says "Lae'zel is definitely going to single you out for the most cumbersome mission just because you just said that", Clive whistles to Torgal and brushes by Astarion to go pack up his own meager belongings. ]
Good luck. Your acting skills will need it.
[ The good dog can throw a little shade!!!!!! With that, he waves and sees himself off, dutiful paladin that he is.
(That night, Astarion will find a freshly-killed bugbear deposited outside his tent. On it, a note in Clive's neat handwriting: Torgal hasn't touched him, I promise.) ]
[ Astarion does not verbally acknowledge the bugbear — although Gale does, hemming and hawwing about a corpse in their camp. (To which Shadowheart says don't talk about Withers that way.)
In the morning, though, there's a note similarly placed outside Clive's tent, Astarion's handwriting as flowery and filled with flourishes as one would expect:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
There's Lae'zel with her no-nonsense demand to get a move on, though. Clive huffs a laugh, and slaps his palm against Astarion's shoulder. ]
Not even fifteen minutes to ourselves. [ To the tune of "I told you you should come earlier". ] ―If we stumble across anything that looks good enough for you to eat, I'll sound the call.
[ A quirk of his lips. ] Or you could try my blood, with no guarantees on its taste.
[ Again, it probably tastes like embers and old, old magic. A strange thing, since Clive doesn't particularly come across as someone with arcane powers. His blood probably smells a little unusual, too. ]
no subject
I appreciate the offer [ —genuinely, although he doesn't sound genuine— ] but I'm hesitant to burn my tongue.
[ A shrug. ]
Perhaps if you can't procure me anything better. [ As if this is somehow a privilege for Clive??? ] But don't take that as an excuse not to try.
no subject
Yet. If he's giving the guy too much credit for something he hasn't done, well. That's Clive. ]
I'll do my utmost, [ he says, and he's actually being sincere about it. Gross. ] And thank you for the lesson.
no subject
—But it's good to have allies, especially ones who are big and burly and willing to hunt food for him. Clive may be an overly genuine idiot, but he's also proving to be a useful idiot. He can stay for now.
Of course, he still shrugs off the gratitude. ]
I only did it because your form was so poor that I was afraid you might accidentally hit me with one of those daggers.
[ Ten feet away, Lae'zel barks at Gale to pack his books up already. ]
If that's all, I have to go pretend to be ill so Lae'zel won't make me go on whatever ridiculous mission she has planned for the day.
no subject
With the sort of troubled, knowing smile that says "Lae'zel is definitely going to single you out for the most cumbersome mission just because you just said that", Clive whistles to Torgal and brushes by Astarion to go pack up his own meager belongings. ]
Good luck. Your acting skills will need it.
[ The good dog can throw a little shade!!!!!! With that, he waves and sees himself off, dutiful paladin that he is.
(That night, Astarion will find a freshly-killed bugbear deposited outside his tent. On it, a note in Clive's neat handwriting: Torgal hasn't touched him, I promise.) ]
no subject
In the morning, though, there's a note similarly placed outside Clive's tent, Astarion's handwriting as flowery and filled with flourishes as one would expect:
Too furry.
But thank you.]