"Astarion?" The elf hummed, shifting his gaze from the pack he was emptying to the wizard who had chosen the bed directly across from his. "I hope you won't mind my curiosity, but why haven't you replaced that blanket?" Gale pointed towards the blanket that the vampire had tossed onto the bed when he'd begun setting up his space. It was aged, to say the least. Whatever color it had been before had faded to a muddy brown, there was evidence of stitching all over it, and the outsides of it were fraying. To put it simply, the thing had long outlived its intended life cycle and it was a miracle it was even still holding together.
His question seemed to give the rogue pause as he thought it over. Why hadn't he gotten a new one? He'd been free from Cazador's control for many tendays, and while they'd only just gotten back into the city, even Rivington offered better coverings than the one he currently had. They were at least new. And yet, he hadn't even thought about getting a new one.
"Not that there's anything wrong with it," the wizard added after a lack of response from his companion. "It just struck me as odd. You seem like the type to toss something like that away in a heartbeat."
"Well, I can't say you're wrong," Astarion admitted. "Truth be told, I hadn't even thought about replacing it."
Gale hummed his acknowledgment. "Now that it's on your mind, maybe we can keep an eye out - get you something that's not on the verge of falling apart." With a smile, he turned and left their little corner, presumably to go set up his makeshift kitchen.
Now that the wizard was gone, Astarion was left alone with his thoughts. His gaze drifted back to the sorry cloth he'd been dragging around this whole time. Even as he stared at it and fully took in its pitiful state, the idea of replacing it felt wrong somehow. The elf sat down on the soft, satin sheets of the mattress and took the raggedy blanket in hand, still turning over the question in his head.
Maybe it was because that blanket was one of the few things that had provided him some level of solace during his two centuries of torment. It was there, ready to wrap him up in its comforting embrace after another night hunting for Cazador. It was there to keep him warm in the biting cold of the kennel. It was there to soak up his blood and tears after that horrible night of having Infernal carved into his back.
His lips pulled into a sad smile as he gazed upon the piece of cloth fondly. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the distorted texture from its decades of use. He was surprised when his finger suddenly caught on something. Spreading it open a little, he could see the tear, maybe an inch in length. "Hmm. That won't do," he muttered to himself, reaching for the needle and thread. "A quick stitch should fix it up."