The devil that you know, am I right? [Astarion vainly teases, but it's brittle in his mouth. Sharp enough to cut his tongue— sharp enough to warrant dropping it completely, his tailing exhale softened through his nose.
The dryness on his lips almost clicking when he parts them.]
Mm. It was. [Easier, he means. Point clarified voluntarily only one swaying beat later while vertigo sits thick within his mind (funny that he doesn't know which is more discomforting to focus on: the past or nauseating present).] He was fickle though, and I suspect....well. I suspect that's how our masters differed, for the most part.
You were Danarius' crown jewel. [He'll never claim it was a wonder or a triumph. Unlike Hadriana, Astarion sees the ugliness in that raised pedestal. The landmarks of its scars. But the truth is the truth: Leto was his favored pet.] Cazador had an empire all his own.
[Correction: Cazador has an empire all his own. Who needs Tevinter's fawning praise if the whole rotten imperium might as well sit underneath your heel? He has no one to appeal to. No one's admiration to inspire.] Filled to tipping with servants more powerful or more beguiling than you could ever begin to imagine— and there weren't limits to his reach: mortal, immortal, enslaved. [He could have anything he liked however he liked. And the only testament to his glory? Oh. Himself.
Bewitching in its own right, that pantherine power undefined; the way he dwelled within it. Mastery over everything, worn like a birthright and shown off in ways that made others want nothing more than to bend— even against their own will. Their own sanity. If he said he wanted you, gods above, you wanted him back.] I was only foolish enough to think I was his favorite at the very start.
Right after he saved my life.
[By killing him, as it so happened. A barbed little confession that stings— though not half so much as the inevitable third act.]
I learned.
But I never stopped wanting that preference, all the same.
no subject
The dryness on his lips almost clicking when he parts them.]
Mm. It was. [Easier, he means. Point clarified voluntarily only one swaying beat later while vertigo sits thick within his mind (funny that he doesn't know which is more discomforting to focus on: the past or nauseating present).] He was fickle though, and I suspect....well. I suspect that's how our masters differed, for the most part.
You were Danarius' crown jewel. [He'll never claim it was a wonder or a triumph. Unlike Hadriana, Astarion sees the ugliness in that raised pedestal. The landmarks of its scars. But the truth is the truth: Leto was his favored pet.] Cazador had an empire all his own.
[Correction: Cazador has an empire all his own. Who needs Tevinter's fawning praise if the whole rotten imperium might as well sit underneath your heel? He has no one to appeal to. No one's admiration to inspire.] Filled to tipping with servants more powerful or more beguiling than you could ever begin to imagine— and there weren't limits to his reach: mortal, immortal, enslaved. [He could have anything he liked however he liked. And the only testament to his glory? Oh. Himself.
Bewitching in its own right, that pantherine power undefined; the way he dwelled within it. Mastery over everything, worn like a birthright and shown off in ways that made others want nothing more than to bend— even against their own will. Their own sanity. If he said he wanted you, gods above, you wanted him back.] I was only foolish enough to think I was his favorite at the very start.
Right after he saved my life.
[By killing him, as it so happened. A barbed little confession that stings— though not half so much as the inevitable third act.]
I learned.
But I never stopped wanting that preference, all the same.