helluvamess | [tlv] character inbox

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"If you're hearing this then I can't be fucked answering right now or some other shit-covered fuckwich is going down on this boat so I'll get back to you when the fuck I can!"

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[The door to Blitzø's cabin looks like a typical shitty apartment door. Inside is pretty much exactly a shitty apartment. The door marked "Loona's room" does not open when tried and it appears that Blitzø himself sleeps on the couch. The walls are covered with images and drawings of horses, however every picture of Blitzø has his face scribbled over.]

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Astarion stretches, arching his back, curling and flexing his feet. The aftershocks of orgasm run through him pleasantly.

"There's towels in the bathroom," he murmurs, tucking a hand behind his head. "I can drink water but it doesn't really do anything for me."

There's towels and a face cloth, which is even better, and when Blitzø returns he sets a glass of water down for himself and takes a moment to clean them both up a bit before giving in to the desire to lay down. He curls on his side next to Astarion, his tail curling loosely against the vampire's leg.

"Can't fucking help with any other kinds of rehydration so hope you don't need that." Not that getting bitten by a vampire wouldn't be hot in the right situation, but he's pretty sure demon blood is not among the recommended food groups.

Astarion does not submit to being cleaned, but instead takes the cloth to fix himself up. It's an odd kind of intimacy he's nowhere near accepting from a one-time partner. He does, however, let his hand slip down to stroke a thumb along Blitzø's tail.

"No, not at all. Considerate of you, though."

The devil hadn't really struck him as someone likely to be a thoughtful lover, and he'd gone into this not expecting one. He's not sure if it's a pleasant surprise or not.

He just shrugs. "Not exactly any fun for future rounds if you end up too wrung out to get it up."

He will help himself to a sip of the water before settling down, because while he probably could keep going if Astarion wanted, it's also nice to just chill.

"So, never heard of the colour thing?"

"Mm? No," he says, unconcerned. "It rings a bell, I might have encountered it in a book at some point? But not in the heat of any particular moment."

"Makes sense." He tilts his head, still watching Astarion relaxing, looking for anything that might mean he's not entirely comfortable here.

"It's a thing to check in while you're, you know, fucking someone's brains out. Or anything like that where someone might not be ok. Green is good, red is bad, orange is slow it down."

He scratches his chin absently. There'd definitely been times in the past where he could have used this kind of information himself, so it feels a little dumb telling Astarion now but he's... a little worried.

"Listen, I don't give a fuck if you want me to rail you until you lose yourself, but I need to know that you're fine with it too. And if anyone keeps going after you've wanted to stop or called red, I'll fucking shoot them myself."

Astarion has some other questions now (why those colours? are these used instead of a safeword, or alongside it?) but that's something to look up on his own time.

When Blitzø goes on to offer to - protect him? - his lips twist into a joyless smile, but he doesn't laugh. That didn't go down well when he was accused of being a prude, after all.

"I'm fine with it, darling. More than fine. Thank you."

He doesn't believe that for a second but it's Astarion's choice if he wants to say anything more about it. Instead he curls on his side again, facing Astarion but not touching him beyond the light brush of his tail.

"So do you talk or sleep or want me to fuck off? I'm not good at this whole... after thing."

Astarion does laugh, now, but there's more relief to it than anything.

"Gods, neither am I. I was going to go - I don't really sleep anyway."

He gently dislodges Blitzø's tail and then sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh thank Satan. Usually I sneak out when they fall asleep but that wouldn't have fucking worked here."

Usually... after staying a while enjoying the stupid fantasy that he could stay if he wanted. Like it could ever mean anything. At least here there's some reassurance in the fact that they don't have to pretend.

He lets Astarion get up first, watching the way he moves... and then seeing those marks. He lets out a low whistle.

"That's fucking detailed work. Must have taken a while."

"...One long night."

He rolls his shoulders.

"I don't suppose you can read it? It's Infernal. The language of the Hells, where I come from."

There's a temptation to make a crude joke, but he's still feeling pleasantly relaxed and can't really come up with anything good, so just shakes his head.

"Fuck no, we speak the same shit humans do, since so many of the fuckers are down there. Wouldn't have even known it was another language if you hadn't said.

"What's it mean, wrong way, please turn over?"

Astarion coughs a laugh.

"Ha. No. It's part of a contract, between my former vampiric master and the archdevil Mephistopheles. The simple exchange of my soul and thousands more besides, for power beyond the imagining of any vampire preceding him."

He hasn't told anyone this. He hasn't even told John. Why is he telling the imp, now? No fucking idea. Maybe he's just tired.

The idea of a 'contract' makes his lip curl to begin with; all the rage in Hell, especially among sinners who at least had souls to trade with, they rarely meant anything good. The fact that Astarion didn't even agree to this though...

"Wait a minute, why the fuck do you have the mark if someone else made the deal?"

"The scars tie me to a ritual." Astarion gets off the bed and starts fishing around for his clothes. "The Rite of Profane Ascension. Myself and my six 'brothers and sisters' became the means of channelling its power, through these marks."

"Six..." Of fucking course. He groans and jumps off the bed himself to get dressed. "Satan's ass, what the fuck is with Hell and the number 7?"

It's probably a coincidence but he does wonder if there's some connections between the different Hells. Not enough to really dig into it but still.

"Still think that your shitstain master should have been included in it if he wanted it that fucking bad." Pants on and in the process of pulling on a boot, he pauses to look back up at Astarion.

"Guess at least here that shit won't happen?"

"He was halfway through it when I got here. Which is how I got here," he adds, as he slides back into his trousers.

"...My plan was to replace him. Kill his lackeys, overpower him, and repay the kindness he did me at the tip of a blade. Force him to take my place in the ritual and take the power he was promised."

Honestly that plan? Sounds perfectly fucking reasonable to him. Blitzø doesn't even seem concerned about the massive cost of life that would still entail.

"You think if you graduate you can go back and do that?"

Astarion is fairly sure that murdering seven thousand strangers in cold blood isn't graduation-compliant, but he doesn't point that out.

"My warden claims that if I graduate, I won't have to. I can use his deal for anything I want."

"...what if you wanna use it to go back and kill him and do the ritual though?" He sighs because he's pretty sure he knows what a warden would say to that anyway.

"So it's held over your fucking head like you've gotta, what, give up on revenge and hope that the deal works out for you?"

"Assuming that John doesn't find some use for it that he thinks is more worthwhile in the meantime. Assuming that he doesn't already have one."

Astarion starts tucking his shirt into his trousers.

"I would settle for killing the bastard, if there were a guarantee of getting what I want any other way."

He just doesn't believe there is one.

Blitzø settles for watching Astarion dress, figuring he'll grab his own things on the way out along with the towels they'd used. Custodial work was neverending, after all.

"Seems like a lot of fucking 'what ifs' to bet on. What is it you want anyway, other than killing this used cumrag of an ex-master of yours? Cause if John's saying that you can't do that if you want to graduate but that's also what you'd want the deal for, seems like that's just going to keep you stuck here forever."

"...I want what the Rite would grant him. To walk in the sun and cross running water without fear, to drink wine and actually taste it - to be free of the neverending hunger for blood. To have real power and real freedom. To reclaim everything he took from me, with interest."

He exhales, letting his tense shoulders relax and the restrained fury leach from his voice.

"...but...you're right. It seems that I can't have what I want unless I stop wanting it! Quite the predicament in which I've found myself."

He doesn't point out that it seems like a bunch of those things aren't an issue for Astarion right now; it's the barge after all and who knows how much of that is reliant on the fact that the Admiral bought Astarion here. And he knows already that the food thing hasn't changed.

"Of fucking course it's that bullshit about having to not want it so you can get it. Like anyone's ever managed that level of whatever." Words are not always his strongest suit.

"And you can't even fucking graduate and if John doesn't follow through, do it anyway?"

"I'm sure if it works out how he wants, I wouldn't care," Astarion says, and affects a much softer, sweeter version of himself, pressing the back of his hand to his brow as if swooning.

"'Take the lives of my poor, benighted siblings? By the gods, I couldn't possibly imagine such a thing! No, I shall merely scuttle back into the darkness like an insect, I'm sure it's for the best'."

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