#dsfhksfd

[m-chromatic]

technically this stuff is part of an au that may never actually get posted (where they’re swapped with the lightners) but i will allow you a small glimpse into my twisted mind.... as a treat 

[alcriti]

“ you’re staring, ” sylas bluntly says. 🖤

Westgate was… different. Mimicking that of the Gate's Lower City but with more crime, fish markets, and an all around hardened populace, where a look from any one sailor could wilt the fainthearted. In submerging himself within Westhavian customs, he had come to understand where Laera developed her toughened skin from her. Sailors were an interesting sort of a people — a group all their own — that had been tempered by the choppy seas. Their wills had been broken against the bows of their great ships, and when they came to dock again in Westgate's Great Port, they're a changed lot.

Astarion is beginning to recognise some of them, and despite his exceptional ability to charm almost anyone, it isn't so with the sailors and the local regulars. Maybe they sense his frustation as his constitution, too, continues to been whittled down from the haggling and playful taunting. As an honourary barmaid at The Dove's Nest, where he might settle disputes with a bloody knife fight, his sharpened retorts are about all he can manage as not to upset his much beloved host.

One such patron, however, has caught his eye — and not because he deems them a worthy target; he has gladly retired from that — but because something, something, is off about this one.

❝ I am. ❞ Astarion admits, attempting to quietly deduce his suspicions from behind the bar. The man, and his wife, have taken a room upstairs, some three doors down from where he and Laera sleep. Generally, they keep to themselves, but Astarion has begun to notice the wife making more of an appearance since they first arrived. She's more social; he isn't, so it doubly surprises the vampire when his elusive guest begins first conversation. ❝ You've been here three days, and I simply don't you see you very often. Your wife, is she, is much more social than you are. Although, I don't entirely blame you for avoiding the sailors; they're a lot to handle, regardless of if they've drank or not. ❞ Their laughing and singing rattles the walls of the dockside establishment, and for a moment, he forgets he's supposed to be working! Reluctantly, he takes to stacking glassware behind him, if only to keep this rare talk going. ❝ I'm usually discouraged from prying too much, but I can't help myself: What brings you to beautiful Westgate? ❞