overflow.

[flamebrand]

nsfw included in the threads! please skim through at your own risk...!

Comments

[nibbling]

When you say 'join', I hope you do mean as a motivating spectator.

[ Astarion can't even do one push-up without whining. ]

[flamebrand]

You don't want to know how it feels to swing a broadsword?

[nibbling]

Mm. I'll leave the grunting and sweating with your hands wrapped around something girthy to you.

[ Broadsword 2 heavy. :( ]

[flamebrand]

Then you might teach me how to handle a dagger. I've been told that I could stand to show some more finesse with it. Usually, I just throw mine.

[ is he hellbent on making this a joint activity???? yes ]

[nibbling]

You want me to teach you how to properly use a dagger?

[ oddly... flattered...??? ]

Well, I don't usually do that sort of thing for free, but considering your aim [ it's fine, he's just mean ] I suppose you are a bit of a charity case.

[flamebrand]

[ he has enough self-respect not to get mad about being called a charity case, but: ]

Good. I'll see you at first light tomorrow.

[ at first light ]

[nibbling]

So, what, ten AM?

[ SURELY 'FIRST LIGHT' IS JUST A SAYING... ]

[flamebrand]

[ laughing! ]

Take ten, and divide it in half.

[nibbling]

[ NOT laughing: ] You're going to make me do math, AND you're going to make me get up early?

[flamebrand]

Oh, I agree. I don't think my shirtlessness is worth all that.

[nibbling]

Well. I guess you can continue throwing your daggers off-center, then.

[flamebrand]

[ 🥺🥺🥺...!!!! ]

Seven in the morning, then.

[nibbling]

Sure. You can start practicing at seven.

I'll be there at eight, of course.

[flamebrand]

[ that leaves them with precisely like, fifteen minutes of training before they have to break camp and get a move on!!!!! oh well. ]

Fine. Eight it is. I'll have my dagger ready.

[nibbling]

[ Implying Astarion is going to actually be at all educational for more than five minutes!!! ]

And your shirt off.

[flamebrand]

[ Clive needs a lawyer. or like, someone who will negotiate terms on his behalf. he literally got five percent of what he wanted from this conversation with Astarion, but also: five percent isn't zero percent!!!! ]

And my shirt off, yes. I'll see you in the morning.

[nibbling]

Rest up! I'm quite an exacting teacher, and I do believe in corporal punishment.

[flamebrand]

[ Clive leaves the conversation at that. The very optional, no obligation text-to-action followup is thus: at precisely 7:50 in the morning, Clive sics his giant dog on Astarion, forcing him awake via very insistent doggy kisses. Alternately, I'll terrorize another person on your roster if you want to spare Astarion!!!!!! ]

[nibbling]

[ pls it's me who's doing the terrorizing... which is to say that Astarion stalks out of his tent moments after, face gleaming with slobber, hair in a horrific state. Everyone in this game sleeps in their regular ass clothes for some reason, so the small mercy is that at least he's not in pajamas. He finds Clive quickly, glowering as he stomps up to him. ]

That dog of yours should be sent to a farm up north.

[flamebrand]

[ Meanwhile, Clive―

―is shirtless as promised, dripping sweat from a prolonged run and his usual comically high number of swings with his broadsword. He looks over his shoulder at Astarion, and knits his brows in mild exasperation. ]

His name is Torgal. [ put some RESPECT on his dog's name ] And I invite you to try doing anything to him that he doesn't want.

[ Read: 'it won't happen'. ]

[nibbling]

Well, I think Torbjorn needs to be treated for fleas.

[ Hmph!!!

Mercurial as always, though, Astarion's mood changes quickly at the sight of The Promised Abs™. He's entirely covered up himself, as there's really no reason anyone should need to be shirtless while throwing daggers, but given that this is essentially a free service, he deserves a little eye candy. ]

—Mm. Perhaps a few more laps around camp before we get started.

[ Just so he can watch!! ]

[flamebrand]

Torgal.

[ He will KEEP correcting Astarion about his beloved dog until the name sticks!!! A meager protest in the face of what he's already giving Astarion, which is the dubious blessing of his bared upper body, but whatever.

Clive tips his head. ] ―And it'll be noon if I let you put this off, Astarion. Best to do this before we draw a crowd.

[ Namely, Shadowheart heckling them about being friends. Clive doesn't mind at all, but he thinks Astarion might. ]

[nibbling]

[ Torgal is a dumb name for a dog, sorry! All dogs are named 'Rex' to him.

Hands on his hips, he gives Clive a once-over. ]

...Well, I'm not sure your physique is crowd-drawing. Let's not get too carried away.

[ That's not what he meant, and Astarion knows that's not what he meant, but never shall he pass up the opportunity to neg someone. ]

[flamebrand]

I meant, [ he laughs a little, dry, ] us consorting would.

[ Clive, the most paladin of paladins, and Astarion, the most rogue of rogues. ]

Come on. These daggers won't throw themselves. [ Flicking one deftly from his extensive toolbelt, and motioning to a tree that's been enduring the worst of Clive's morning training. ]

[nibbling]

[ 'Consorting'. Very lame way to describe what's actually happening here, which is that they're throwing knives and Astarion is ogling Clive.

As they approach the poor, victimized tree, Astarion realizes for the first time that he actually has no idea how one goes about teaching people things. His only education in two hundred years has been— nonstandard, to say the least. 'Tough love', put euphemistically. As annoying as Clive's do-gooder tendencies are, Astarion is still hesitant to pull out the pliers and start torturing him when he gets it wrong.

(Currently. That could change.) ]

Ah— [ He falters for a moment, then squares his shoulders, pushing down any uncertainty. ] Well, go on. Pretend that tree is a goblin, and kill it.