[An exhale comes on so swiftly that it catches Astarion himself off guard; he didn't realize he was actually holding his own breath until it sticks to the roof of his mouth. Like a rubber band snapping all that tension goes away. At least he doesn't feel ridiculous for having asked, at least. Something to do with that swerve—
Of course he doesn't need a reminder to know that Leto isn't anything like Cazador or his coven— not like his spawn or his family, not even his suitors or his endless, wretched lackeys. It's just that he thrives on it, that potent reiteration. Each time the past is proven fallible, one more rung is plucked from the impenetrable weave of his former master's armor. It's not the same, and the world he knew before grows smaller, shrinks back into the cage it really was. It's not the same, and he doesn't know if it's the wonder of this rare, impossible creature rushing to settle down across the line, or if there's the potential out there for more— more discovery, more newness, more—
Ah. No.
No, he knows better than to open that particular door. One and a half years spent in Riftwatch, fluttering between Orlais, Kirkwall, Antiva, Nevarra, Tevinter: he knows what people are like. And there's only one exception to the rule.
Oh, kadan indeed.]
I don't know how to be much more than a liar and a whore— [Bright again. A pleasant lilt along the line. They are what they are; that's fine.] Albeit a fanged and clawed one.
You might've picked the wrong creature to safeguard.
....are you sure you're any good at this?
[Thank you, he means. Thank you, darling. Even if the words don't come, and his head is reeling and his deadened heart shudders in its moorings for the thought he understands what it is to bury what you can't stand, rather than hold it to the light.
For the odd fragility of a protector who still tries to keep him safe.
And has secrets of his own.
(Give him a second to breathe, Leto. Let him pretend to be alive— laugh with him, a liar and a whore— and he'll come around to helping you dig through the dirt.)]
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Of course he doesn't need a reminder to know that Leto isn't anything like Cazador or his coven— not like his spawn or his family, not even his suitors or his endless, wretched lackeys. It's just that he thrives on it, that potent reiteration. Each time the past is proven fallible, one more rung is plucked from the impenetrable weave of his former master's armor. It's not the same, and the world he knew before grows smaller, shrinks back into the cage it really was. It's not the same, and he doesn't know if it's the wonder of this rare, impossible creature rushing to settle down across the line, or if there's the potential out there for more— more discovery, more newness, more—
Ah. No.
No, he knows better than to open that particular door. One and a half years spent in Riftwatch, fluttering between Orlais, Kirkwall, Antiva, Nevarra, Tevinter: he knows what people are like. And there's only one exception to the rule.
Oh, kadan indeed.]
I don't know how to be much more than a liar and a whore— [Bright again. A pleasant lilt along the line. They are what they are; that's fine.] Albeit a fanged and clawed one.
You might've picked the wrong creature to safeguard.
....are you sure you're any good at this?
[Thank you, he means. Thank you, darling. Even if the words don't come, and his head is reeling and his deadened heart shudders in its moorings for the thought he understands what it is to bury what you can't stand, rather than hold it to the light.
For the odd fragility of a protector who still tries to keep him safe.
And has secrets of his own.
(Give him a second to breathe, Leto. Let him pretend to be alive— laugh with him, a liar and a whore— and he'll come around to helping you dig through the dirt.)]