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After some wicked scavenging, followed by some tense bartering with Arron, they finally had enough supplies to make camp. Tempers still flared and distrust was rampant, but Róisín had somehow become the de facto leader of their merry band of people who would otherwise never be caught dead working together—it threw her for a loop. In a normal situation, she wouldn't ever be a leader willingly (too much responsibility, she would say), but someone had to calm everyone's nerves. She eyed Lae'zel and, in the distance, Shadowheart, thinking how some needed more mediating than others.
As she thought of their next steps (probably investigating the goblin camp), she noticed Gale fumbling with his makeshift tent. She smiled, thinking this was the perfect chance to start gaining his trust. She approached him all smiles, flashing the same catalogue of expressions she often performed for her faceless patrons. They chatted, asking a few personal questions. She wasn't really interested in getting to know him better, but in the words of her old mentor:
"If you want someone to trust you, pretend you're interested in them first. Everyone likes being liked."
So that was what she did. After all, a powerful and learnèd wizard was exactly the right person to know in this kind of situation. Even if the tadpoles had left everyone practically novices, his experience should at least be useful.
Across camp, Astarion watched Róisín as she chatted with Gale. What could they possibly be talking about, he wondered. He studied her face, tried reading her lips. He needed to figure her out. Fast. The others were sure to expel him from the group if they found out what he was. Alone, he was vulnerable, unprotected. When that time came, who better to have on his side than the bard leading them? They would listen to her. His brow started to furrow as he witnessed her carefree attitude. It made him feel hollow inside.
Her gaze swept the landscape and locked with his own. He snapped his eyes away and pulled himself together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her approach. He pulled his shoulders back and raised his head. He needed to exude confidence. He needed to completely captivate her. After spending two centuries being a rake, there was no way this girl wasn't going to fall head over heels for him.
"Evening, Astarion," Róisín said as she strode up to him. Her eyes drifted over his belongings. "Finished setting up your tent? We're heading for the goblin camp and I want you with me."
"I saw you talking with our wizard friend over there. What was it about?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but he needed to know if the wizard was a threat to his plan. He also wanted to know if she might already be interested in his looks, or if her affection was something he had to foster himself. This was an evaluation.
Róisín almost giggled. She was sure their camp wasn't so large that conversations couldn't be overheard. Was he genuinely curious or was he using the same friendship tactics she employed earlier with Gale? She feigned an innocent look and said, "Oh, nothing. Just helping him with his tent and swapping stories about Waterdeep. Boring stuff, really." She paused to eye Astarion's tent. "I see you've set yours up surprisingly well."
"I'm hurt you think I would otherwise," he replied in mock sadness.
She performed a laugh and gave him a once over. "With how you look, I figured you were a city boy though and though."
"You're not wrong about that," he said smugly. "But it doesn't take a wilderness enthusiast to know how to pitch a simple tent." They both looked over at Gale with matching grins.
"I get it. But hey, I didn't come over here just to talk to you."
"Didn't you?"
Róisín laughed. A real one this time. She thought he was cute. "No, no, I didn't. I came to give you this." She handed him a ball of soap. It was crudely made and wrapped in ugly wax cloth, but it smelled nice. Lavender, among other herbs. It wasn't his usual fragrance but it'll do, he thought.
"You're giving this to me?" he asked warily. Past experiences conditioned him to expect strings with gifts. Always.
"Yep."
"Why would you do that?"
She was hesitant to reply. "I just figured you were the sort of person to value this kind of thing the most out of our group." She kind of gestured to the camp. "Also, I overheard you muttering something earlier about how you haven't had a bath?"
He scowled down at the bar of soap then looked up at her sweet, innocent smile. At face value, he didn't believe her—why should he? But as he focused behind her and saw the lack of a bedroll, it suddenly clicked. "Let me be certain: This is what you went back to the grove for?"
She nodded.
"So instead of buying a bedroll for yourself, you got a ball of soap for me?"
"Mhm."
"What do you want for it? Money?"
"Nothing."
Astarion's throat tightened. When was the last time he received a gift? A real, no strings attached gift? Was it even really no strings attached? Surely she must be expecting something in return. He probed his mind and found he couldn't remember the last time this happened. Surely he must have received normal gifts at some point in his existence, but the time and place eluded him all of a sudden. Was it so long ago? "Well, this is very kind of you. Sacrificing your bedroll to give a stranger some soap." He did his best to hide the excitement of an actual good washing later tonight. He certainly felt icky.
"You're welcome," she said, grinning. "And you're not a stranger, Astarion. Not anymore. Anyway, there's also a chance we'll find something good either on the way to or at the goblin camp, right?"
How curious, he thought. He hadn't said a word of thanks but she responded as if he had. He smiled to himself. Maybe charming this girl was going to be easier than he thought. He looked at her and said, "Let's see what we can find."