bass-boosted whitney houston intensifies in the distance;

[doggish]

Comments

[illithidnapped]

I mean ultimately the girl was fine though.












after a quickly applied shot.

[doggish]

Which was a great comfort to her, I'm sure. Why don't we raise the stakes and see how much rat poison she can tolerate next time, hm?

[illithidnapped]

Keep that up and you'll start giving her ideas.

'child safe rat poison' would be the biggest hit since sliced waterdavian nut cake.

[And come to think of it, so would the medical journal titled 'how much rat poison can a small human child eat without consequence.]

[doggish]

[Oh, god. Astarion has an unfortunately valid point, and frankly, Fenris wouldn't put it past any in their group (save Leon, who was near apocalyptic when he found out about the peanut incident) not to spur her on.]

Do not mention this to her. She's menace enough already.

[Is that an insult or compliment? Likely more the latter than the former, for he does like Dal, but still. She's a little too eager to lean into the mad scientist route.]

In any case: explain your choice of putting Leon ahead of either of us.

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[illithidnapped]

He has a child.

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[illithidnapped]

And it isn't dead yet.

[doggish]

We could keep a child alive. I have kept a child alive. And an infant, when my sister was still young. It isn't that hard.

[illithidnapped]

[....]

you reared your own sister?

[doggish]

I watched over her often while our mother worked, especially when she was an infant. It occupied most of my time. She was [hm] energetic and surprisingly fast, and prone to getting into trouble if I did not mind her.

[illithidnapped]

I don't understand.

You must've been no more than a child yourself at the time, no?

[doggish]

Yes. I was . . . I think six or so, when she was born. Something around there. Around Avouriel's age.

[It's because he says I don't understand that Fenris finds himself inclined to explain. There's no posturing, merely curiosity, and that makes all the difference.]

My mother was tasked to work all day, and we could not afford a nanny or nursemaid. Even if we could, the money would have been put to other uses. I do not know who my father was, and even if I did, he would not have been there to care for either of us.

I was a willing set of arms who could hold seven pounds and knew not to drop her; that qualified me to act as nanny. Nor did we have any other kin to help us.

It isn't so uncommon, not among the poor and the enslaved. It's one of the reasons having so many children is a useful endeavor, for all that it adds more expense: there are more hands to work, yes, but to help around the house, too. I can still cook and clean on a rudimentary level, though I do not compare to the likes of Talindra.

[A pause, and then:]

I can remember panicking when she cried. Perhaps it was not the first time, but early, certainly. It took me too long to discover all she wanted was a pacifier, and how easily that would soothe her in times of fretfulness.

[illithidnapped]

Gods.

[Reads as incredulously as it truly is, perhaps, as there's no way to soften the blow of his own wondering. An alchemical mix of shock and awe and impress, safe from any slaggish hints of revulsion or pity like what (at least a number of) the others in his pack of friends might express at learning something like this if they hadn't known about it beforehand— yet that, however, is a truth that can't be conveyed over text; good faith has to carry the burden of it. Fenris' impression of him has to carry the burden of it, because otherwise it might well as not exist.]

what about your studies? when did you sleep? play?

did you carry her around like a nursemaid? you had to have been so small

[So damned small.]

[doggish]

[The funny thing is, he does have faith. It isn't even a question, not really, and it's that lack of balking that makes Fenris double back and wonder at himself, for anyone else would be snarled at. Did you think I was indulged as you are, did you think the life of a slave was anything but misery— and indeed, he can feel that impulse rise in him.

But he knows Astarion better now, youthful thing that he is. He can hear the bafflement in his written words, ignorance foolish but not malicious. And while it doesn't make everything perfectly all right— well. Perhaps this is part of teaching, he thinks, and finds himself grateful for the distance texting brings, for it gives him time enough to release that initial snappish response.]

Small and skinny. I carried her at first like a sack of flour once her neck was strong enough to bear it: both hands around her belly and hauling her as well as I could. Later, my mother taught me how to tie her to my back.

[She was such a fat baby, too. So dense despite her short stature, and he can still remember grunting and complaining as he'd hauled her to and fro. Fenris pauses for a moment, his eyes lingering on the word studies, and then adds:]

I will answer your questions about studies and sleep and play, but first, answer me this. What do you imagine it was like, when you think of my childhood?

[illithidnapped]

[If he was snarled at, he wouldn't so much as spare a second blink before carrying on. It was how they started, after all. Warring things, so much tamer now.]

Like mine, only [....] plainer?

Less gold and glamour, more wood. Plaster. [Dirt? Is dirt too much?]

Less lonely.

[doggish]

[Gods. He starts and stops a few times, deleting and retyping, for this is not the way he would have chosen to have this discussion. But nor will he put it off, for perhaps it is long overdue.

(And he thinks again of that first night when they laid in bed together. What do you mean you were property, and for as long as he lives, Fenris will never forget the horror in Astarion's voice— nor the frantic, misplaced offer that followed. It fills him with bittersweet grief and gratitude all at once, a tangle of emotions he has yet to sort through— but it also means that he's more patient than he might otherwise be.]

Education was only for those who could afford it. I had no studies, Astarion. I simply had Varania— and when she was old enough to follow me around, she kept me company while I worked, until the day came that she, too, was able enough to be put to work.

It is not an uncommon story: a family who was in so much debt they were drowning could not afford to send an able pair of hands out to idle the day away with lessons. What use was history or science when compared to the additional money I could bring in? It was not forbidden, not officially, but it was a rare person who could ever manage it anyway. And in that way, the magisters kept us all beneath their boots.

My mother knew how to read— a rarity. She taught the rudimentary basics to me, and I have learned more since then.

Someday soon, perhaps, I will show you how expensive it is to be poor. And how little education matters when faced with the prospect of an empty belly or fending for yourself on the streets.

But . . .

Less lonely, yes. That, I think, you have the right of, for there were no shortage of children whose families were in the same pit mine was.

[. . .]

Do not think it an entirely miserable past— and do not take my words as condemnation for your question, for I [...] am unused to speaking of this. I have never done it before. But my past is a part of me, and one I would share with you.

[illithidnapped]

[Things like flattery and depth are wasted on the young. Astarion feels them keener than a knife to tender skin, but it's a warm, balmy aura rather than a present awareness he can track, make use of— voice. He is glad to have something so precious shared with him. Grateful to know that Fenris doesn't hide a thing anymore, only strives to stitch bonds back and forth whenever opportunity walks in. It's the undernote to everything; it swells heady in his chest, and he knows, intrinsically without thinking, that he is happy in this moment.

But all he types is:]

Would you want to see them again?

[doggish]

They know where I reside. You are hardly a private person, and they are free to travel as they wish— indeed, I assume they have more than enough money to spare on a transportation spell. And yet they have not come, not once, in over a decade.

Would you, if it was your brother and mother?

[illithidnapped]

I didn't raise my brother.

[He'd have been so much worse if he had.]

Perhaps they

lost the funding for it somewhere along the way.

[doggish]

Do you truly believe that?

You have never lied to soothe me before, Astarion. Do not start now.

Would you have raised Avouriel, if you had no other choice? You rarely speak of him.

[illithidnapped]

I rarely think of him.

I realize it might sound callous, but

I suppose if I raised him, I might think differently.

[Then again there's no guarantee Avouriel would reflect any of that sentimentality back, had Astarion reared him.]

And if I had to raise him, I suppose I would've lugged the little bastard back and forth as much as needed for his tiny tea and cakes.

[doggish]

[You know, at least it's honest. And be fair: Fenris, himself, rarely thinks of Avouriel either, though at least he has the excuse of not having the boy as his charge. He's tried being friendly to him once or twice, but the boy had just stared back at him; it was somewhat offputting.]

Not callous. Honest. There is a difference. And that answer is no different than anyone else among your social class, I suspect.

Take heart: you would only have had to raise him for most of the day. My mother returned at night, and took over then. It was easier once Varania could walk and talk— I could order her around then, and she was, for the most part, obedient, depending on the day.

How old were you when he was born? Forty?

He must have been a shock.

[illithidnapped]

Not as much as you might think. Heirs are vital commodities, after all.

Though with as much as my parents struggle to get along the only real shock is that they've managed to touch one another long enough to have two of us.

[doggish]

Is it arranged? I thought that was an archaic practice.

[And then, on the heels of that:]

Are you fated to have such a marriage?

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[illithidnapped]

We're nobility. Miserable archaism is practically synonymous with catnip to us.

Remember that one time the Duchess Coveyette's niece claimed she unearthed the 'ancient ritual for beauty magic' using boiled chimera piss ?



ah. right.

I'd forgotten you weren't in our employ yet.

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[illithidnapped]

But yes. Eventually.