Astarion finds @erinnya to connect further on their shared love for poetry.
A stack of old poem collections in hand, Astarion sauntered up the long path to the Delaney Estate. It felt familiar, the old stones stirring memories that he couldn't grasp well enough to visualize. But he must've been here before, he concluded. Cazador, his master, might have taken him here. Much had been too long ago to remember now. And some things he had simply forgotten because trauma had made him forget. As he knocked at the great door in front he didn't want to remember either. He simply wanted to enjoy and further explore the connection to Harriet, something that felt curios and exciting, because he had never experienced something innocent like it. Astarion didn't quite trust that he was even capable of making such a connection, a friendship. Still concerned that he wasn't allowed. But he had never been this close to freedom and didn't want to wait until it got snatched away again. Of course he also knew that, as much as she didn't identify with it, Harriet was a useful person to know. This would probably all be hers one day and he liked having powerful friends. It made him feel safe. She was enticing in so many ways.
As the door opened a male figure appeared. The black and white suit, more neat than many a noble, he knew that this had to be a servant, perhaps even the household's butler. Astarion remembered the servants of their house, all entranced humans that had always been treated much better than him and the other spawn under their cruel master. He had never been this well cared for and even now he couldn't help himself but feel envious. Of course he didn't show it and softly smiled at the servant. “Hello,” he greeted the man with a gentle nod. “I would like to see Miss Delaney.”
He was invited into the foyer and asked to wait. The butler would fetch the Lady. The expression made him chuckle under his breath, suspecting that Harriet wouldn't enjoy the formal title. While he waited he wandered a few steps and took in his surroundings. Still, the familiarity of the estate made him wonder. Astarion could almost see shadows and shapes walking along the halls and up the stairs, but not well enough to remember. When the sound of feet caught his attention he turned around smiling, expecting to find Harriet, but it was another man. And as if he was trying to remember, too, he eyed Astarion cautiously. It took him a second, but he was quite confident in the assumption that this had to be Walton Delaney. He, too, felt familiar to Astarion.
“What do you think you're doing here?” he asked. Surprised by the forwardness the pale visitor blinked. A second later and he would've come up with a stammer of a response, but the slim figure of Harriet appeared and saved him the embarrassment. He slinked past the Lord and walked up to her. Pushing whatever confrontation this could have been into the back of his head, it was easy to greet her with a smile. It never lost any slyness, but it was a warm smile.
“Hello, dear,” he raised his hand and presented the booklets as he closed the distance to her. “I came to fulfill a promise.” He winked and handed them over. They were old little books, some first editions. He hadn't picked these randomly. Mary Shelley, Lord Byron, all poets he had seen come and go because he had been around when they were alive. He also had a weakness for 18th century poetry, but she knew that already since he had recited one or two on their evening in the maze.
