[ Astarion doesn't want to turn the attention back to himself - for once - as the conversation is a little too... Real for him. The idea of admitting anything about himself aloud is a painful one, and his eyes glance over to Godfrey before he breathes out a little huff of noise, waving his hand absently. What a silly, foolish thing, to be so emotional over nothing more than a simple little story. ]
Many people do, or so I've heard.
[ The stars captivate him again, for a little while, and before he can get too lost in all his thoughts he tries to muster some kind of words. ]
Must there be something? When I look at the stars nothing in particular comes to mind. Simply the silence of a world that has rarely given any answer.
[ His expression flickers, and then he turns to look at Godfrey again, properly. ]
I don't have stories of husbands, or learning a language, or working in a church.
[ The notion of which makes his words curl with disdain. ]
Just what you already know.
[ The scrabbling of rats, hunger that never ends, his body under others with nothing but the darkness of a ceiling to keep him present in the moment. ]
[ There are a number of things he would know, if he could.
His companions, on the whole, had been reticent where their pasts were concerned - and that was their right. He doesn't think any of them had Astarion's nervous and timid secrecy. It was something he'd thought he understood, once he'd learned one truth of him - of course he would be cagey and secretive of his past, lest someone discover his undeath.
Not that he'd expected that would be the complete end of it, as vampires so often left a trail of broken lives behind them. But there had been a sense of false understanding in him then; that this would be, perhaps, the biggest secret, and like a plug pulled, the rest might come more easily. Not so. Instead, it seemed to Godfrey that some new tragedy tangled there to stopper things again. There seemed to him a multitude of unfairness, of horrible sadness and trauma, almost too much to keep so neatly contained in such a body.
And it was, of course, his right to contain it all. Astarion owed him nothing - certainly not a look at what hurt him. But it has been a challenge to keep this barrier in place when he sees the pain so clearly as he does now - the mere reminder of a tranquil and domestic life souring his mood entirely. Questions well up in him; he wants to know what about his anecdote, specifically, had tugged his mood downward so. He wants to know if there's anything happier he remembers - any scraps from before his life had been yanked from him. He wants to know what his aspirations were then, he wants to know what he was like, what he dreamt of, what he wanted, who he knew.
Godfrey wants to help, and in the case of a man like Astarion, that's a detrimental urge to give in to. The more questions he asked, the further he would push him.
So, instead, he swallows them back and smiles. ]
There need not be anything at all. [ Godfrey picks himself up from his bedroll and draws a little closer. ] Restlessness without cause is just as much a detriment as the sort that leads your thoughts somewhere. I can make my presence a quieter one, if that would better suit you.
[ Astarion doesn't like the idea of sharing too much of himself.
It is easier to keep people at arm's length, to allow himself the distance. When your entire world is only for the purpose of seduction and murder, it because easier to make sure you never get too close to someone, that you never permit them to see behind the walls you put up. The notion of not having that measure of control over a situation is a little alarming for Astarion, who would much rather play the game of it than have anything real.
That's what he had thought for a long time, at least, but perhaps some things are beginning to change his mind.
There's surprise about the situation, that a Paladin hadn't simply culled him where he stood, that the revelation of him being a vampire spawn hadn't been enough to offer divine retribution, but he can be thankful for what little life he has that remains. Godfrey has not killed him yet, and that might well have to be enough for Astarion. Still, the possibility of a future, of becoming stronger, of being more... It is a heady desire to ignore, even if a small part of him thinks he should.
Shaking his head, Astarion hums absently, as if it doesn't matter at all. ]
It doesn't bother me at all. Sometimes it's quite nice to hear some voices in the silence. Ones that aren't screaming, anyway.
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Many people do, or so I've heard.
[ The stars captivate him again, for a little while, and before he can get too lost in all his thoughts he tries to muster some kind of words. ]
Must there be something? When I look at the stars nothing in particular comes to mind. Simply the silence of a world that has rarely given any answer.
[ His expression flickers, and then he turns to look at Godfrey again, properly. ]
I don't have stories of husbands, or learning a language, or working in a church.
[ The notion of which makes his words curl with disdain. ]
Just what you already know.
[ The scrabbling of rats, hunger that never ends, his body under others with nothing but the darkness of a ceiling to keep him present in the moment. ]
sorry for the wait!!
His companions, on the whole, had been reticent where their pasts were concerned - and that was their right. He doesn't think any of them had Astarion's nervous and timid secrecy. It was something he'd thought he understood, once he'd learned one truth of him - of course he would be cagey and secretive of his past, lest someone discover his undeath.
Not that he'd expected that would be the complete end of it, as vampires so often left a trail of broken lives behind them. But there had been a sense of false understanding in him then; that this would be, perhaps, the biggest secret, and like a plug pulled, the rest might come more easily. Not so. Instead, it seemed to Godfrey that some new tragedy tangled there to stopper things again. There seemed to him a multitude of unfairness, of horrible sadness and trauma, almost too much to keep so neatly contained in such a body.
And it was, of course, his right to contain it all. Astarion owed him nothing - certainly not a look at what hurt him. But it has been a challenge to keep this barrier in place when he sees the pain so clearly as he does now - the mere reminder of a tranquil and domestic life souring his mood entirely. Questions well up in him; he wants to know what about his anecdote, specifically, had tugged his mood downward so. He wants to know if there's anything happier he remembers - any scraps from before his life had been yanked from him. He wants to know what his aspirations were then, he wants to know what he was like, what he dreamt of, what he wanted, who he knew.
Godfrey wants to help, and in the case of a man like Astarion, that's a detrimental urge to give in to. The more questions he asked, the further he would push him.
So, instead, he swallows them back and smiles. ]
There need not be anything at all. [ Godfrey picks himself up from his bedroll and draws a little closer. ] Restlessness without cause is just as much a detriment as the sort that leads your thoughts somewhere. I can make my presence a quieter one, if that would better suit you.
samesies, curse my lack of internet
It is easier to keep people at arm's length, to allow himself the distance. When your entire world is only for the purpose of seduction and murder, it because easier to make sure you never get too close to someone, that you never permit them to see behind the walls you put up. The notion of not having that measure of control over a situation is a little alarming for Astarion, who would much rather play the game of it than have anything real.
That's what he had thought for a long time, at least, but perhaps some things are beginning to change his mind.
There's surprise about the situation, that a Paladin hadn't simply culled him where he stood, that the revelation of him being a vampire spawn hadn't been enough to offer divine retribution, but he can be thankful for what little life he has that remains. Godfrey has not killed him yet, and that might well have to be enough for Astarion. Still, the possibility of a future, of becoming stronger, of being more... It is a heady desire to ignore, even if a small part of him thinks he should.
Shaking his head, Astarion hums absently, as if it doesn't matter at all. ]
It doesn't bother me at all. Sometimes it's quite nice to hear some voices in the silence. Ones that aren't screaming, anyway.