bass-boosted whitney houston intensifies in the distance;

[doggish]

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[doggish]

[That's what love and a healthy look at the realities of the justice system does to a man, baybeeeeeee]

. . . does she?

Though I think I may be more surprised she didn't eat the poor girl in the womb.

[illithidnapped]

[Hah! That gets a snorting cackle out of the little patriar.]

Oh now don't be so quick to discount your own theory: they might've been septuplets to start with, and she just ran out of time.

[doggish]

It explains the origin of her particularly driven viciousness, at least.

How did rumors of a twin begin? And do not tell me that it was because she wanted to blame everything she did on another; even she isn't that stupid.

[...right?]

[illithidnapped]

I believe it was around the time unearthing affairs was all the rage, and one of her former working servants was said to bear a striking resemblance. One thing led to another (mostly on Petras' gossiping end, if I remember his drunken tomfoolery correctly) and sure as you're born, up came the tale of a pair of illegitimate twins, with one kept to save face, while the other was left with her birth mother, destined to work as a scullery maid for the rest of her years.

[doggish]

Hm. Petras came up with that?

Tell him 5/10. Inconvenient bastards are common, but to elevate one for the mere reason of saving face? Hardly. Danarius had any number of half-elven bastards running around, and I assure you, whether he was married at the time made no difference in how they were treated.

How many times did you manage to repeat said rumor to her before she attempted to claw someone's eyes out?

1/2

[illithidnapped]

[There's a notable enough pause here to signal to his counterpart that he is, in fact, telling Petras word for word exactly what Fenris thinks about his sordid gossip.]

Me? Do something so crass? Never.

But all in all I think my record was somewhere about the thirty mark at any given evening out.

2/2

[illithidnapped]

How many of his weanlings- bastards or otherwise- actually managed to survive, anyway?

[doggish]

[Oh, he grins for that first part. The two of them jointly waging war against Petras is a bit like shooting a particularly stupid fish in a barrel, but on the other hand, it's not as though he doesn't deserve it.]

How you survived before me is a wonder. Though you should try it again now that I am protecting you; you might well reach sixty if you try hard.

More than you would think survived. Danarius' style lies not in killing his children off, but ignoring them until they can prove themselves useful. One died after joining the military, presumably in an attempt to rise in rank; another ran afoul of a local drug lord, or so I heard. Most of them have the good sense to melt away and pursue their own paths; only one or two stick around, vying for his attention as if there is a chance he will make them heir.

Tractus is the one you stand the most chance of recognizing. He is conniving, I will admit, in a particularly weaselish way, and manages to find his way into attaching himself to other Houses.

[Gods, Fenris hasn't bothered checking, but he should, shouldn't he? If he's attached himself to anyone who remotely comes near Astarion . . . well. One thing leads to another, and Tractus will report anything he can see to his father. It's not such a danger that Fenris is worried— for better or worse, the contract Lord Ancunín has him under is ironclad— but still, it's something for him to mind. Anyway:]

Though I doubt he's interesting enough to even make for good sport among you and your peers.

Did you expect a different answer?

[illithidnapped]

A whole sixty? My goodness, what life or limb won't you risk just to spoil me?

I'll return the favor when I teach you how to ♡ with the best of us.

[But that'll have to wait till he's in the same room.]

I don't know what I expected, frankly. Your former wretch of a keeper is a mystery to me in every aspect of the definition, none pleasant or wanted.

But if the intractable Tractus comes near- or his father-

well

there are benefits to being able to make the law mean whatever I wish.

[doggish]

Oh?

Don't be a tease.

Would you condemn them to an execution or a more damning fate?

[illithidnapped]

Oh execution, inevitably.

But I'm a just custodian of greater orders whose ear naturally turns itself to the desires of those most wronged. I'd gladly listen to someone with opinions on how or how long they might suffer beforehand- if someone were possessed of an opinion on the subject.

[doggish]

The son can be executed immediately, for he isn't worth much more.

And as for the father . . .

[There's a longer pause than one might expect.]

I would want his wealth taken from him. Slowly, so that he might feel every loss. I would have you steal his life out from under him and redistribute it to all those he sneered at before, all his slaves and servants . . . and when he has liquidated every asset and drowned himself in loans to pay off debts he can never hope to begin to repay . . . then I would have him imprisoned for a long while, so that he might rue his own helplessness— and then executed.

But I would see him lose all that which he holds dearest. All his wealth and power and influence, gone for no other reason than my whim and your will.

[illithidnapped]

[My whim and your will....what a beautiful saying.]

I'll have to see what I can do.

Just in case he ever happens to break the law, that is. Not that any patriar would, of course, but these days....oh it's just so hard to be certain anyone is an upstanding citizen anymore. Worth an audit or two to check, I say.

[doggish]

Could you truly?

I am not asking you to. But if you wished for it . . . could you truly do such a thing? Or are you merely flirting?

[illithidnapped]

I might joke about a great many things, Fenris.

Not this.

[Never this.]

Unless you've some reason for me not to look into this, that is.

[doggish]

[Oh . . . and he doesn't know how to express the sudden, unexpected tightness in his heart for those words. It's shocking and not, all at once: something that bowls him over even as some small part of him shivers in satisfaction.]

There is a saying about letting sleeping dogs lie that comes to mind.

I still do not understand why he sold me. Nor what your father saw in me to spend such money. Until I do . . . perhaps not.

[. . .]

I would not say no to your disrupting the lives of a few others, though. Friends of his, a few particularly vicious or cruel members of the elite . . . they could do with a few inconveniences.

[That's not enough, and yet to cram the enormity of all he's feeling into a text message— oh, it can't be done.]

Thank you. For the offer and the willingness both.

It means a great deal to me.

[Gods, more than that, but he doesn't know how to say it.]

1/3

[illithidnapped]

[A last ditch effort, most likely, Astarion thinks to himself regarding why his father would've spent a fortune on an asset likely touted as a peerless acquisition. When all else fails, maybe a guard dog is in order, or something along those lines.

He can't be sure of it, though.

Neither of them can be. Fenris really isn't wrong.]

Name them, and they'll suffer in an instant. Believe me when I tell you that it's nothing- I owe you a great deal more yet for what you've done for me.

2/3

[illithidnapped]

And to me.

[wink.]

3/3

[illithidnapped]

Did you really think I was Siri?

[doggish]

[He has a few names in mind already, and oh, trust that they'll spend a fair few hours going over them. Curled up together in Astarion's bed, perhaps, as Fenris lists out names and Astarion seeks them out on his cell phone, digging up information and tidbits in preparation for their downfall (or at least incredible inconvenience). It'll be intimate, Fenris thinks, and finds himself smiling faintly at the thought. He'll gather him up and pull him into his lap, peering over his shoulder as his little magistrate gleefully reads out gossip . . .]

2/2

[doggish]

[And then they go back to the Siri thing, and all that warmth is dropped in an instant.]

I do not want to talk about it.

[He sure did! He sure did, and for way, way too long. And you know, he says that, but immediately follows it with:]

You were the one who encouraged me to use the damn thing. You didn't mention it was utterly useless. It couldn't even call you, never mind delete anything.

[illithidnapped]

[Ohhh he did! Oh he absolutely did if this is his reproach— how utterly delightful as far as revelations go.]

My love, the microphone button? The little one there in the lower righthand corner? That's not Siri.

That's text to speech.

1/?

[doggish]

[doggish]

3/3

[doggish]

You are a nuisance, and so is this phone, that has a thousand useless methods of making things more complex than they need to be.

[No, actually, he'll find text to speech quite helpful, but right now he's in no mood to be charitable.]

What microphone is a person meant to press if they want to call her, then?

Never mind. Show me later, before I take your phone and teach you how to communicate like a person.