(swf) Astarion - Tumblr Posts
The elf and the gith, she fears, are going to be the easy ones to sell on the idea. Bloodthirsty killers interested in violence and intrigued by the personal stakes involved—can’t say she’d feel too differently, if their positions were reversed.
It’s a shame she’s got to lie to keep them on the hook.
“Oh aye,” she agrees, despite knowing Jack Rackham is the poorest (in all senses of the word) excuse for a pirate on these waters, “whatever his take is, it’ll be took. I only want what’s owed t’me; the rest can be split amongst the hands that help.” She knows every nick and knot of the Ranger, every splinter of wood in the hull, every thread in the sail: whatever treasure is left aboard the Ranger, be it Astarion’s dreams of gold or a remembered stash of particularly lush wine, it’ll be rendered in return for getting the deed done. After all, to kill confront Jack, there’ll be most of a crew to carve through first, and of them only one worth wasting breath on trying to save. And that’s supposing Read didn’t split when those tentacled freaks took Anne.
“Dunno how much like shoppin ye’ll feel, arter I replace his eyeballs with knives and feed him his own cock.” …she hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound….
@neverhangd liked this post for a starter!
"You know, I believe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!" Astarion said with a smile. He hadn't been expecting to get to know her, even if his plans were mostly to stick beside her and the others, finding a way to survive while plotting revenge against Cazador. But after learning more about her, and seeing some similarities between them, he felt his statement was true. "I wouldn't mind helping you confront your ex. I always do love it when things get a little... bloody! Can we steal his gold too? We could go shopping afterwards with it. It's the best way to celebrate a victory."
❝ eugh, don’t be nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back. ❞ (from Astarion of course XD)
baldur's gate 3 starters (part 1)
Anne opens her mouth, her brows lowered, to argue with Astarion—it’s not being nice, it’s being even—when a new thought occurs and draws her brows up, mouth closing. If he doesn’t want to be “nice” back, she just won’t be “nice” in the first place. She shrugs and pockets the trinket instead.
“Say no more. Kindness be gone—poof!”
Anne rolls her eyes, but affection sits at the corners of her smirking lips. Quite the drama queen, isn’t he? Still. There are worse sorts to have thrown your lot in with. Anne pulls the magpie bait back out—small and shiny and suitably expensive-looking—tossing it in Astarion’s direction. She’s no use for baubles, anyway, and lacks sufficient charms to barter it away at a better price. Let the sulker have his fix. Besides, she knew what he’d meant. She’s learned that most of their little adventuring party shares that trait in common with her and him, that dearth of kindness that makes any gesture towards it so intimidatingly grand. When she’d pocketed the little treasure, she’d only been fucking with him.
“Take back what, exactly? ‘T’en’t like ye complimented me, or gave me nothing.” She isn’t really complaining, of course, only filling the air between them with noise. Small talk isn’t her strong suit—not that banter is, but at least that’s a skill she’s willing to learn. “When ye listen to yerself talk, do ye hear the words or only the sound of yer own voice?”
@neverhangd continued from HERE!
"What?! No that wasn't---"
The vampire spawn now regrets opening his mouth, but more than that, he regrets laying down his guard and briefly thinking that for one moment someone could be kind without strings attached. Perhaps it's his fault? After all, he did tell her to not be nice to him because it did make him want to be kind in return.
Astarion sighs dramatically. "I didn't mean it like that. It was a figure of speech! I said that because I'm not used to people giving me a kind word or offering me things." Watching her pocket the trinket, he holds his head high. "But forget what I said." He huffs. "I take it back too."
Anne levels a look Astarion’s way—at first because of the cunty stance he takes after getting his way and then because he’s the gall to call her a weirdo after not only getting his way, but getting it by making no damned sense! Her own hands go to her hips, her mouth falling open in offense with a scoff. She wouldn’t have cared if he’d managed to show in some way he were grateful for the gesture, but this was taking her kindness and slapping her in the face with it.
“How’s that for a bloody fucking thank ye? Spat on thrice in two fuckin sentences! I’ll keep that in mind, next fuckin time yer idiot arse goes down in a fight. Maybe one of the other ‘weirdos’ will feel like helping a thankless prick. Won’t be me, though.” Not without a sincere apology and a real show of change first, at least.
She makes a point of stepping too close for comfort to him in an effort to remind him of certain immutable facts he seems to have forgotten: namely that despite her nonchalance in most matters, she remains at all times the same raging, just-over six feet of lithe hellcat he sees on the battlefield. That she’s a fucking pirate besides, one of a company not famous for their charity to others. That her kindness comes free only until it’s slapped out of her hand.
“Step aside, little man. Ye’re in my way now.” There’s meaning layered here, for one cares to pursue it.
Anne rolls her eyes, but affection sits at the corners of her smirking lips. Quite the drama queen, isn’t he? Still. There are worse sorts to have thrown your lot in with. Anne pulls the magpie bait back out—small and shiny and suitably expensive-looking—tossing it in Astarion’s direction. She’s no use for baubles, anyway, and lacks sufficient charms to barter it away at a better price. Let the sulker have his fix. Besides, she knew what he’d meant. She’s learned that most of their little adventuring party shares that trait in common with her and him, that dearth of kindness that makes any gesture towards it so intimidatingly grand. When she’d pocketed the little treasure, she’d only been fucking with him.
“Take back what, exactly? ‘T’en’t like ye complimented me, or gave me nothing.” She isn’t really complaining, of course, only filling the air between them with noise. Small talk isn’t her strong suit—not that banter is, but at least that’s a skill she’s willing to learn. “When ye listen to yerself talk, do ye hear the words or only the sound of yer own voice?”