Chapter Text
It dawns on you one day, as you're sitting in the middle of camp, that everyone has very tastefully designed tent layouts. You're not exactly sure where they picked up all their various decorations and furnishings and even the tents themselves, but they sure know how to set up their spaces in an aesthetically pleasing manner.
Like how the outside of Astarion's tent is littered with plush cushions of various colors, but they coordinate nicely. And Gale's tent, with the telescope and assorted magical instruments, could not seem more appropriate for the wizard. Wyll fills his space well with a brazier, a writing table, and an unusually large abacus. Shadowheart has a variety of pottery and baskets amongst her scrolls and books. Even the ever pragmatic Lae'zel has the heads and pelts of her conquests laid out on display. And Karlach has her stuffed bear, Clive, sitting under her open-air tent, and what more could one need.
You then look to your own setup, which consists of a blue tent tarp that you found somewhere and a bedroll and that's it. It seems you're the only one who didn't get the message about the camp's decorating standards. You're sure you can remedy this, though.
The next day, as you're rummaging through an abandoned house, you keep an eye out for anything that might improve the appearance of your tent. You and Astarion are looting the bedroom while the others work through the rest of the rooms.
There are a few unused candles sitting out on top of a chest of drawers, and you think a little extra lighting around your tent would be a good place to start. You grab all of them and stuff them in your bag. This catches Astarion's attention, as he glances up from lockpicking a small chest that was under the bed, probably because he's never seen you pocket anything worth less than ten gold.
"Find something interesting?" he comments, continuing to fiddle with the lock.
You're going through the drawers now, but they're mostly empty. "Not yet." You maneuver around the bed to the other side of the room and something catches your eye. Placed in the corner, is a decently-sized and intact vase. A potential statement piece, perhaps! You stand in front of it, examining it closely.
"Do you think this vase would look good in front of my tent?"
The lock of the chest clicks open, but Astarion pauses before he lifts the lid. He peers curiously over the bed at you. "What's brought on this sudden interest in decor?"
"Well, it's come to my attention that my tent is rather plain compared to everyone else's," you tell him while still sizing up the vase.
He lets out a laugh. "You've only just now noticed that, darling?" He's cleared out the chest now, so he stands up and walks over to you. "I assumed you just valued simplicity." He's worded it politely, but by his tone, you know he means it as an insult. You shoot him a little glare, feigning offense.
"We can't all have our favorite camping equipment on us when we get abducted by mind flayers." You end up snickering at your own joke, and Astarion gives you an exaggerated eye roll in response. "Anyway, you never answered me. What do you think of this vase?"
Astarion looks it over. It's certainly in better condition than some of the shattered pottery your group has come across, but it's a dull color and the painted accents are chipping off.
He makes a face before walking out of the room, and you wonder if your poor interior design sensibilities have run him off. A few moments later, though, he returns with a different vase in hand.
"This one's much better."
He was right too, and your new vase looks lovely placed right outside your tent. You eventually fill it with dirt and put a nice plant in it, the greenery of the flora really complimenting the color of the vase. Astarion even comments on it the next time he's at your tent to feed. You beam at his flattery, even if he was really more praising his own judgment in choosing the vase.
When the party is next looting a ransacked building, Astarion overhears you talking out loud to yourself in the adjacent room.
"This smells kind of nice." A small pause. "I think."
His curiosity gets the best of him and he walks over. He's only taken a few steps through the door when he's hit with a sickly, flowery scent. His face scrunches up harshly. "Ugh."
"Not to your taste?" you ask jokingly, holding a nearly full jar of incense sticks. You twist the lid of the jar back on as a courtesy to him, though he's already formed his analysis. It's too heavy on the rose, and the other flowers mixed with it are all in conflict. The base note of the fragrance has no depth either.
"Overly floral with no sense of balance. Ameutur work, really," Astarion critiques with a click of his tongue.
"I didn't know you were such an expert." He preens at your statement.
"I think you'll find I'm a man of several talents," he delivers smoothly, not missing out on the chance to turn on the charm. You've been quite receptive to his flirting and a willing blood donor as well, so it only makes sense to him to take advantage of that. "I'd be happy to introduce you to more of them."
"I'm sure you would," you reply coyly. You put the jar on the desk you're standing in front of and begin to poke around the wardrobe next to it. After a moment, Astarion wonders if talking you out of it is a misstep, as you had seemed to have liked the offensive incense. He doesn't really think that disagreeing with you on this would keep him out of your good graces, but it wouldn't hurt to soften his stance a bit.
"Don't let my exceptional tastes stop you, though," he throws out casually. "It's your tent, darling. You can fill it with whatever horrid scents you choose." You make no motion to go back to the jar, though, inspecting the pockets of a jacket you pulled out of the wardrobe instead.
"No, I wouldn't want to ruin your mealtime." He thinks you're joking for a second, but when you look over at him with such a sincere expression, he realizes you truly mean it.
That’s even more comical to Astarion. You're the one getting your blood drained in the dead of night, but it's his comfort you're concerned about. But laughing at your show of kindness won't win him any favors, so he suppresses it with an endearing smile. "How very considerate of you, my dear."
He's endured worse smells while feeding, but he doesn't tell you this.