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diademlogs2026-03-15 08:38 pm
sanguineus) wrote in diademlogs2026-03-15 08:38 pmEntry tags:
sanguineus) wrote in diademlogs2026-03-15 08:38 pm
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It really shouldn't. It's not like he's actually starving or anything, but he is feeling peckish and it's definitely been around a tenday. What actually bothers him more than his growing hunger, though, is the fact that she hasn't responded. Wanda is certainly not at his beck and call but she responds. And despite how often Astarion will do it to others, he doesn't like being "left on read".
And it simply just isn't like her, not really. If he's being dramatic or annoying, sure, but any time they attempt to plan for something, she always confirms or makes suggestions or changes. She doesn't just say nothing.
So...yes. He may be worried. Just a tad. Just a little. Which feels ridiculous because even he doesn't understand the true extent of her powers, but knows that she would reasonably be able to defend herself if something happened. (It's always easy to assume the threats are coming from without.)
Eventually, Astarion decides its within his rights to simply invite himself over. He doesn't need permission to enter people's homes these days, after all, but the pretense of a standing appointment gives him the cover he needs. The fact that he finds himself in front of her room with some wine is entirely coincidental. (Not like he is supposed to be the one coming to her for something to drink.)
He leans in slightly, trying to see if he can hear any telltale signs of life or lackthereof. But after a moment, he simply knocks, rapping the door with the back of his knuckles. ]
Knock knock.
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turning onto her back, she looks up at the ceiling, wonders if she imagined the knocking on the door. something from a dream that felt too close to reality. she blinks several times, feeling her lungs flatten even as she takes a deep breath. her brother has been in her dreams as of late, and it makes the ache of missing him even more painful still. would that she could remain in those fantasies where she is with him again, and not come back to reality, where tears stream unbidden from a sorrow so deep that wanda knows she'll never be free of.
wanda, darling, is all she hears, the rest feeling like a mumble of words, as she turns back around, to face the wall, and bring the duvet up to her face. just hearing his voice, she knows it's astarion; it's been a week, hasn't it?
though she doesn't come to the door, the lock will click, the chain will move, and it will open outward a touch to show that he is welcome to step inside. no lights are on but for the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, further inside the room, past the entrance hall. )
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Astarion raises a brow as he nudges the door open a little further and steps inside, door falling shut behind him. Wanda isn't there, but his darkvision can easily catch her outline in the dim light as he breeches the line to the main room. A familiar lump on the bed.
Well, growing familiar.
He has the ability to move near silently, but Astarion makes a point to let his footfalls make noise as he steps closer. Setting the bottle of wine on the little table, he regards the woman turned towards the wall. ]
Aren't you a vision.
[ His voice is soft despite the flat line of delivery. Astarion squints, glancing about the room. Curtains drawn to keep it as dark as possible, he can see it's messier than usual, and the light click of the stereo says that it's trying to play something but it's got nothing left to run. He's not an idiot—she's trying to shut the world out and herself in.
Astarion knows how tape decks work now, so he walks no over to that. ]
Taking a lazy day, are we?
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at his words, wanda rubs at her face with her blanket to dry her eyes, getting herself to sit up and sit up against the corner. now that she has considered it, the idea of him drinking her blood to that end feels quite welcome. her heart thunders against her ribcage in anticipation and wonder if he will do just that. she does glance at him, green eyes following from the wine bottle on the table to his form as he moves towards the stereo. )
That's not a crime.
( she says, her words scratchy, meaning that she is sorely dehydrated and hasn't spoken with someone else for quite a significant amount of time of late. in the dim, pale yellow glow of the fairy lights, wanda looks rather forlorn: hair unbrushed, the shirt she wears crumpled from lying down too long, her eyes red and puffy.
her fingers curl tight on the duvet, pulling it up to cover her legs and up to her lap. )
Is the same arm alright with you?
( the cut on her arm has since healed plenty, now something of a scab over what once was an open cut. his bite mark, on the other hand, has long since faded, leaving only faint, pink lines on her skin.
surely this is the only reason he's come, and would rather it not be delayed. for wanda's intents and purposes, it'll give her the reprieve she is (wrongly) looking for. )
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No, I suppose not.
[ He puts the tape back in the slot in reverse, closes the hatch, and then hits "play". Letting it play whatever is recorded on the opposite side. He's learned quite a bit since his first days in the city.
But the sound of music starting to seep out of the speakers is nothing in comparison to the sound of her heart. He's honed in as always to the organ responsible for moving blood all about her system. The uptick in pace isn't unfamiliar now, as she does seem to get a tad excited prior to Astarion's feeding. But when he turns around to face her fully again, there is none of that frantic anticipation in her face or demeanor.
His eyes narrow slightly. There is something to be said about bedhead, but she doesn't appear sleepy—she looks exhausted. The kind that comes with feeling a heaviness down to your bones. Her face is red in places that don't indicate it's only a rise in blood flow. She's flushed from pain. And if he takes a whiff of the air, he she smells a bit different.
Despair.
He lets a silence linger between them for a moment longer before he sighs somewhat dramatically. ]
What is a crime is whatever you're doing with your hair right now. Have you seen yourself? A bird might sooner confuse it for its nest.
[ He walks past her towards her kitchenette as he prattles on, waving at Wanda dismissively to put her arm away. He shuffles through the mess of her empty bottles before he finds one that's still half full. Then he closes the short distance to her bed and holds it out to her expectantly. ]
You're dehydrated again. That's becoming a nasty little habit of yours.
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part of her doesn't anticipate astarion to see this as anything but transactional, and yet there he goes, destroying her expectations.
the comment on her hair has her raising a hand up to the crown of her head, trying to fix her messy hair as best she can without any kind of guidance. when he's by the kitchen, his back turned, wanda just — gives up on the endeavor, realizing that he won't, after all, just do as they had discussed. she can feel it thrumming in his thoughts, in the annoyed emotion that he directs towards her current state. taking the bottle from him, wanda swallows hard. he's said it before: dehydration isn't necessarily key to him enjoying drinking blood.
though the bottle is now in her hand, as well as the comment that she should hydrate, wanda just lets it linger on her lap. and then, she's scooting down against the wall, so she's more lying down than sitting up. the back of her shirt catches in the movement, the collar pulling up to just under her jawline.
the hungry vampire doesn't even want to drink her blood? man, )
You came over for nothing, then.
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He assumes that watching her drink will be satisfying, yet she doesn't even try. Doesn't even pretend to try. Astarion places his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to one side as she stares with a light frown. Wanda just curls in on herself against the wall, like she might melt into it and away from everything else.
She looks pathetic like this. ]
Kicking me out already?
[ Astarion doesn't think she well. She entertains his antics far too often to shove him away now. And he gets the feeling that she's been alone for far too long. ]
Or do you want to wallow with company?
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( what does that word even mean? she had figured that a comment from astarion in that fashion would spur her into wanting to do more than what she's currently at—emotionally and mentally. it's a lot kinder a remark than what he could say, though, should he really speak his mind: that much wanda is certain of.
the crunching sound of the water bottle in her hand is what warns her that she's holding too tightly to it. it's also her cue to the rise of these feelings inside her which have chained her to this pathetic wallowing in her bed. wanda inhales a shaky breath through barely parted lips, and in that same motion brings an arm up to her face to cover her eyes. there's a rather telling tremble of her chin, tears catching on her lashes and the arm which shields her eyes.
(the futility of yearning for her brother crawls its way back onto her bones. the reason she can't bring herself to care about her current state and why an otherwise innocent comment gets to her. wanda really did not have to let him in, but she wanted to badly to not be alone, but what would astarion or anyone else even care for her. they're not pietro, and pietro is the only one who ever understood her, what point is there now without him, how is she even supposed to sort herself out all on her own when she hadn't come into this world alone—)
astarion will wish she had kicked him out. )
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[ That's—
Not what he was going for.
It isn't as if Astarion hasn't seen someone cry before—hasn't been an ugly crier himself on numerous occasions. But despite his clear effort at being supportive, he's not known for his empathy.
Hells, seeing someone cry was usually an opening for him to move in and see what he can get out of it. A lonely older woman fighting tears near a bar can use some comfort, after all, and will usually pay for it. But this is Wanda. She isn't a mark, even if he immediately tried to form an alliance for his own benefit. He hadn't done it because he wanted to be friends, he did it because she was clearly powerful, but somewhat directionless.
Astarion's hands drop from his hips as he instantly straightens, his disapproving frown turning into a more open look of surprise and, despite himself, concern. Wanda may be a lot of things, but she's been fairly even-keeled for most of their interactions. This just...isn't like her. ]
...
[ He flexes his fingers as he thinks. Worries his bottom lip and considers leaving. But he doesn't.
Instead, he steps a bit closer like one might an animal they think could bite them at any moment, holding one hand out in a placating manner. ]
Now...I didn't mean it. About your hair.
[ Levity. A joke? He knows that's not what she's upset about. They have traded worse barbs than that.
Once he's close enough, he looks down at the crushed water bottle. Cathartic. Sometimes violence can be a much-needed release. Maybe she could crush a few more? ]
Do you want another one of those?
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so, wanda does what is most mature in this situation: she hides. she pulls the duvet all the way up and above her head, and underneath it, she curls up, sniffling and rubbing at her face, doing her best to breathe and calm herself down.
to help distract herself from, well, herself, she asks from under the blanket, )
Aren't you hungry, though?
( it seems that what triggered her tears is, in part, the fact that he didn't just take her offer and took what they had agreed upon. obviously it's deeper than that, but—
well. emotions, amirite. )
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Astarion scoffs, a spark of annoyance hitting him with the surprise of her question. Is she being serious? ]
Are you joking? Do you really think I want to eat something that's on the verge of—
[ He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. It's a very uncharitable reaction because...no, she has clearly been in a state long before he arrived. Likely long before he tried to message her. He glances towards her phone several feet away from her bed. She likely hadn't seen any of those.
Astarion may be selfish, but he's not a fool.
He exhales slowly. It's forced, if only because Astarion doesn't need to breathe. And he's stopped faking it in her presence. He retracts his hand and with less edge, he says, ]
I know this isn't about me, Wanda.
[ Maybe it should be. At least then he'd have a better idea of what to do right about now. Folding his arms, he regards the blob of bedding that makes up his partner in crime. He's quiet for a moment, just listening to her poor attempts to stifle her cries. ]
...
[ After a moment, he drags his usual chair over to her beside. ]
But it would be easier on the both of us if we just skipped to the part where you tell me what's going on.
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(it does not escape her notice how he said something when referring to what he'd eat, but this is not the time nor headspace to try and sort out what that means at all.)
silence pervades for a moment longer, between her name and his bringing the chair closer to the bed. it gives wanda enough room to take a few long breaths and calm the urge to cry and cry into her blankets. there's— something different about the way astarion speaks to her now. no, it's not without his usual sass and haughtiness, but there's something else present. worry, angled perhaps with a want to understand. for her sake? his?
when she draws the blankets down, she's facing the wall again, her back to him. the duvet stays up to her shoulders, still guarded. she manages no words yet, building up a scaffold on how to exactly present this information. tediously, she does sit up again, but her back remains to him; the duvet falls to her lap, as her hands busy themselves with trying to dry her face, as if she could mold her expression to stay put as if it were clay. )
I've been — having dreams of my brother. ( of course it's family related. her breathing is shaky, but she tries to keep her voice from quivering past her lips. ) He's been... been dead for a little over a year...
( and now she's all alone: an orphan, a twin without her twin. )
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To make yourself a target, to appear weak amongst the others could be a death sentence. But he had plenty of moments of abject sorrow, finding some abandoned room to fall apart in. It's a release. It doesn't fix the feelings, but they do eventually come out. Even after years of holding on, holding them down.
It's not something he really tends to apply to other people. But when he watches her slowly draw out—a mess of herself—and sit up with a palpable darkness about her, he cannot help but feel a sense of kinship.
For once, he's quiet as he watches her and waits. Astarion is usually the one filling any long silences with chatter as long as she lets him. He crosses his legs and stares at her back. Listens to her heartbeat.
Her brother, she manages. ]
...Ah.
[ Dead over a year.
Shit.
For as much as he tries, his thoughts stop there for a moment. Brother. His "brothers", if they died, would he care? No. They probably deserved it. Astarion might even do it himself if it serves his purposes. Did he have any brothers in his previous life? He doesn't think so, it doesn't sound correct, but how the hell is he supposed to know?
She's in mourning. And Astarion cannot remember the last time he mourned anyone but himself. But what he has lost. His own tragedy.
His mind is a mishmash of shapes. He tries to conceptualize it... He does. Whether it's for Wanda's sake or as a thought experiment, he tries to imagine what it would be like to lose someone important to you.
Gently, his voice not betraying the struggle— ]
I take it you were...close?
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We were twins.
( she glances back at him, just a slight movement over her shoulder, noting the trepidation in his thoughts leaking into his words. 'close' is one way to describe them.
her gaze returns forward, to the wall, thumb curling her hair ends in circles.
something gnaws at her: guilt. )
It's — my fault.
( how easy it is for grief to spin itself into so many other emotions, so many other thoughts one might consider reality if allowed to continue to go into its own tangents without ever coming to an objective stop. )
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This is, apparently, worth his time.
When she turns to look at him, even for a moment, Astarion finds himself straightening a bit, brows forming a softer line. But then she's turned away and he relaxes again, feeling as if he passed some sort of test.
Twins, then. So...particularly close. He can begin to see how that loss may cut a bit deeper. It's what Wanda says next that puts a pause to his train of thought. ]
Your fault?
[ He repeats a little distantly, as if taking the concept and holding it up for inspect at first. But as he brings it closer, possibilities start streaming in. Had she done it on purpose? On accident? He assumes the latter, considering how torn up she is right now, but maybe she had been a different person a year ago. Or is it entirely unrelated and she's just blaming herself?
—Now that is a new concept. One that Astarion holds onto for a moment, examining it. It came...quickly, which feels odd for someone who is so used to blaming others for his circumstances. His sorrows feel direct and pointed. Not gray. Not random. Not accidents.
His gaze turns outward once again as he continues to compare his ever-present turmoil to hers. Her pain. Her guilt. ]
Surely, you—
[ Guilt...he—
...
—the feeling isn't as foreign as he would pretend. ]
What happened?
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with a quick intake of breath, she manages, )
I told him to go and he went and I wasn't there with him.
( she sounds frustrated, as if explaining this at all is an annoyance. shouldn't it be clear? that her brother had been killed, and had she been with him, she would have suffered the same fate which is far preferable to be left here without him.
wanda swallows hard, words unsaid on her tongue, as another pitch of that ugly pain surfaces back to her chest, to her throat. forehead presses to the wall, letting herself slump again. her words once angry, now they're softer, quieter, like she's got not will to continue fighting. )
I wonder... if he knew that the moment he chose to save that boy, that he would be killed. Did he think about me? Did he — regret anything? Did he think I'd be able to live without him...
( so many questions that spin in her head, never to be answered. )
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Still, Astarion listens. He listens as she shares bits and pieces without the context of circumstances for Astarion to place these events in—
Told him to go? Go where? Why?
Save "that boy"? What boy? From what? Why was it her brother's problem in the first place?
Did he want to die? Was the whole point that he was choosing his own fate in the midst of whatever all this is? Was he not angry enough with the world to want to continue to spite it? To prove it wrong? To steal back his future?
"Did he think I'd be able to live without him..."
...Is Wanda lacking that resolve? ]
...
[ Is that why she was so upset he wasn't taking his meal? That he couldn't drain her to the point of death?
Astarion frowns. It's...an uncharitable thought. Normally, he would not mind being the method in which someone chooses to die. Gods know he's taken the lives of thousands who would have wanted to live themselves. But this puts a sour taste in his mouth. If it's true. ]
Most people don't want to die, Wanda. And those that do don't often think of the consequences until it's too late. They beg for death not knowing that death isn't always a soft release. It has many faces. Many...ends.
[ Despite the harsh quality of his truths, Astarion's voice is low. Private.
There's another pause as he considers, then he sighs and shifts on the chair, leaning forward towards her. ]
Look, I—frankly, I couldn't care less if any of my "siblings" died, whether or not they fell to their own idiocy or as a "noble" sacrifice. [ Although if he thinks on it, he might miss Dalyria a bit. He's always been a little fond of her, though he never reflects on why. ] So I really don't know what that feels like. Or what that's supposed to feel like.
[ A another pause. ]
I suppose something like this. [ He motions to her. Her grief is palpable. ] Assuming he was a...higher caliber of person than I'm used to.
[ Certainly more so than the people he's been forced to call "family". Maybe more like his traveling companions, who choose to watch his back even when he would sooner stab theirs. ]
But you are living without him. Aren't you?