Chapter Text
“What could you two possibly be doing with those?”
Wyll and Karlach looked up from their seats at the dining table to see a tutting Astarion, a single eyebrow raised in distaste.
“What do you think, smarty pants?” Karlach retorted. “Think about it for a minute.” As Astarion opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted, “Think real hard.”
While Wyll chuckled at her jest, Astarion rolled his eyes. Of course he knew what they were doing. Why?, he supposed, was the bigger question. There were scraps of red and pink paper spread out over the table like confetti, along with shears, envelopes, chocolates wrapped in foil—everything one might use to craft a Valentine’s Day gift; cheap trinkets symbolic of the public’s perception of a couple’s relationship. A truly exhausting excuse for a holiday, if even it could be called such a thing. Astarion scoffed. “Do you really think heart-shaped boxes of rubbish will bring your lovers to their knees?”
“I can’t speak for Karlach, but bringing Luminara to her knees wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Wyll’s mind drifted to his beloved Cleric of Ilmater, who spent plenty of time on her knees of her own accord. “I was more so hoping a nice gift would bring a smile to her face.” He held up his present-in-progress, showing off its romantic charm that mirrored that which he exuded every time he was near her. He grinned like a child sharing an age-appropriately crude drawing.
“If I wanted Penryn on their knees I would just ask.” Karlach wiggled her eyebrows provocatively. “But really, come on, Astarion, have a heart!”
“Or give one,” Wyll added, pointing at his gift as if Astarion couldn’t see it held up in the air in front of him.
The pair nodded at the thoroughly unamused elf.
“I highly doubt Damaris would be impressed by such a tawdry gift,” Astarion muttered.
“I don’t know…” Wyll tapped at his chin. “She seems to be impressed by some pretty unimpressive things.”
“You, for example.” Karlach guffawed at her own joke.
Astarion pursed his lips. “Ha ha.”
“Ah, lighten up!” Karlach gave Astarion a playful nudge. “You’re welcome to join us!”
“We have extra supplies,” Wyll encouraged.
“And chooocolates!”
Astarion sighed. Perhaps they were right—Damaris was pleased by nearly anything but a punch in the face (though, given the right circumstances, that may be welcome, too). Surely it would do no harm—he could always say he was forced by the hopeless romantics of the party. “Fine, but if anyone asks I’m telling them you threatened me with violence.”
“Oh, yeah, buddy,” Karlach mocked, “because they’re going to believe we threatened you.”