Astarion, & the tadfools, have just finished watching the movie, Titanic
The credits are rolling & My Heart Will Go On is now playing
The credits begin to roll. “My Heart Will Go On” fills the room.
Gale rises from the couch and, with nothing short of solemn dignity, pulls out a notebook. He flips through it with complete seriousness before clearing his throat.
“Right. First of all, the ship’s structural failure was historically inaccurate, and I’m quite certain the collapse was heavily dramatized to add even more pathos to the sinking.
Second, the pacing of the romance is rather implausible. The protagonists have known each other for… what? Two days? Three at most? And they’re already proclaiming eternal love. Frankly, it’s terribly rushed.
Third, Cal is almost entirely devoid of psychological nuance. I understand the narrative necessity of an antagonist, but a little emotional complexity would have greatly benefited the story.
Fourth, the film leans far too heavily on the symbolism of the ship as a metaphor for human hubris, but the point was already perfectly clear—”
“Tsk’va!” Lae’zel’s exclamation cut Gale’s monologue short. “Do you intend to go on much longer, wizard?”
“Well, this is only the first of four pages,” Gale replied matter-of-factly.
“Nonsense! The captain displayed appalling military leadership, is’tark. The iceberg should have been engaged immediately.”
Gale inhaled sharply and raised a finger, clearly debating whether to correct her or not.
“…It’s an iceberg,” he said at last, in the interest of academic accuracy.
“Ballistae,” Lae’zel insisted.
“And if that proved insufficient, a boarding party,” the githyanki continued, chin held high, looking thoroughly satisfied with her strategy.
“But it’s a floating mountain of ice!” Gale exclaimed.
“It was clearly hostile. The captain should have struck first.”
“You’ve just watched a three-hour love story, and that’s your takeaway?” Karlach interjected, her voice trembling.
Even Gale let his notebook slip from his hands, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Chk! What?” Lae’zel scoffed. “Wasn’t it a story about a ship full of softlings who failed to adapt to a crisis?? Naturally they died. The sea merely judged them unworthy of survival.”
Karlach let out an incoherent wail—something that sounded vaguely like, “I can’t believe it”—between sobs, tightening her grip around her two companions and crying without the slightest restraint.
Wyll sniffled as he fought to keep his tears at bay.
Astarion, somehow wedged between them in an almost suffocating embrace without the faintest idea how he’d ended up there, rolled his eyes.
Then he cleared his throat.
Wyll and Karlach immediately sprang apart, suddenly aware of what they were doing. Astarion dusted off his sleeves with theatrical dignity. Then he raised a finger and pointed it accusingly at his companions.
“For the record…” he announced, “I was not crying.”
He looked first at Karlach, his finger following in her direction.
Then he turned to Wyll, lazily shifting the accusing finger toward him.
“And emotionally assaulted by this appalling display of," he hesitated, wrinkling both his nose and lips into an expression of utter disgust. “Whatever this was,” he concluded.
Karlach and Wyll exchanged a puzzled glance.
“You hugged me back,” Karlach protested.
“You held on even tighter, Astarion,” the tiefling pointed out.
“…It was a complicated maneuver.”
“And your eyes are all red,” Wyll added with a mischievous little smile.
“A simple allergy,” Astarion shot back.
“Love stories,” the vampire spawn declared with a dismissive flick of his hand.
With a wistful sigh and a gentle shake of his head, Wyll chose to ignore Astarion’s increasingly implausible excuses and drifted back to the memory of the film.
“But what about the romance?” he said dreamily. “The way they stood together at the bow of the ship… the chase through the flooding corridors… how they refused to abandon each other even as everything around them was falling apart.”
He placed a hand over his heart.
“Jack was a true hero. He gave up his place on that piece of driftwood without a moment’s hesitation. He chose certain death so Rose could live… so she could have the chance to grow old, to tell their story, to keep living for the both of them.”
“That’s the kind of sacrifice bards should sing about for generations.”
“Jack was a complete idiot,” Astarion replied.
Wyll stared at him in utter disbelief.
“If I’d been Rose, I’d have shoved him into the water myself. At those temperatures, trying to keep him alive was simply too risky. He could have dragged me into the freezing water with him.”
He paused to consider it.
“And if I’d been Jack, I’d have pushed her off and claimed the raft for myself.”
Karlach slammed a foot onto the floor and forcefully inserted herself between the vampire spawn and the Blade of Frontiers. Veins bulged in her neck, every muscle in her body tensed, and she wore the unmistakable expression of a barbarian seconds away from flying into a rage.
“Jack froze to death because NEITHER OF THEM TOOK THIRTY DAMN SECONDS TO TEST THE BUOYANCY OF THAT STUPID DOOR! THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED!”
She jabbed an accusing finger at the screen.
“THEY BOTH WOULD’VE FIT ON THAT GODSDAMN RAFT! AND NONE OF YOU SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THAT!”
A murmur rose between Lae’zel and Gale as they exchanged thoughtful nods.
“I must admit,” Gale said, raising a finger, “if we estimate the surface area of the door, its average thickness, and account for the buoyant force exerted by seawater…”
He paused, already mentally performing the calculations.
“…assuming an even distribution of weight and proper positioning to avoid compromising the center of buoyancy, which, incidental—”
At that exact moment, Shadowheart jolted awake.
The empty wine goblet slipped from her hand and rolled across the floor, a thin crimson trail spilling from the last drops that clung to its rim.
The cleric blinked. Once. Twice.
Her gaze slowly swept across the room, lingering on each of her companions as they all talked over one another in utter chaos.
Karlach was still crying unabashedly, passionately insisting that the door had been more than big enough for two people.
Wyll seemed to be pouring every ounce of his conviction into explaining to Astarion that Jack’s sacrifice transcended mere survival—that it embodied the very ideals of chivalry, love, honor, and selflessness.
Astarion kept scoffing, occasionally rubbing at his still-reddened eyes whenever he thought no one was looking, while vehemently denying every accusation that he had been even remotely moved by the film.
Gale had somehow procured yet another sheet of parchment and was sketching a cross-section of the Titanic while muttering equations about buoyancy under his breath. An entire section of notes had already been devoted to the final raft and its actual load-bearing capacity.
Meanwhile, Lae’zel was demonstrating what she confidently referred to as “the optimal tactical formation for engaging an iceberg.”
Shadowheart simply stared.
“…What did I miss? I think I passed out around that ridiculous ‘King of the World’ scene at the bow.”
“You missed the ending! Jack froze to death!” Karlach sniffled. “He saved Rose…”
She picked up her goblet, reached for the bottle of wine, and filled it. She considered it for a moment. Then topped it off a little more.
“I’ll wait until you all start behaving like normal people.”
Just to be sure, she gave the room one last once-over, seriously considering whether her goblet might be due for a third refill.
Lae’zel was still explaining how a well-coordinated volley of ballistae could have neutralized the iceberg—particularly if it had been properly surrounded.
Gale had long since abandoned the ship altogether and was now devising an alternative evacuation plan involving an elaborate network of teleportation circles, while lamenting that no one had thought to hire at least one competent wizard.
Astarion still maintained that Jack had been an absolute fool. He should have seduced Rose, acquired the Heart of the Ocean, and disappeared into the night. Falling in love had been his first mistake. The second, of course, was failing to push Rose into the water first.
Karlach was desperately trying to convince Wyll that she could prove her theory once and for all with a door, a lake, and two willing volunteers.
Wyll, meanwhile, seemed far more interested in composing a ballad of his own entitled The Last Breath of Jack Dawson.
Shadowheart quietly refilled her goblet for the third time before taking a long, resigned sip of wine.
”…No.” Another sip. “I think I’ll just keep drinking.”
She drained the goblet in one swallow and studied it in silence for a long moment, slowly turning it between her fingers as though expecting it to offer some profound insight.
She shrugged, tossed it onto the floor once more, and took a long swig straight from the bottle.
Okay, I think I may have gone a tiny bit overboard with the insanity.
You absolutely cannot send me asks like this! xD
My hopelessly broken brain immediately went sprinting into the glorious lands of complete nonsense… which, as you may have noticed, is basically my favorite genre.
I love it.
I absolutely love writing utter nonsense. Thank goodness it exists—it does wonders for my soul.
Alright, I’ll stop rambling now. See you all next time I decide to write something completely unhinged!
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