And you're both so subtle in your machinations, too . . .
[But there's a smile in his low tone, flattered and pleased. And give Astarion's plan this, he thinks wryly: it's working. Now all he can think about is home and the welcome he'll get: fussy at first, surely, tutting over the cuts and bruises that have accumulated, his hands brisk and fond as they wander over him as they converse— and then, later, the filthier sort of welcome. The kind of fervent hunger that even two years hasn't been able to quell: ardent kisses and lingering touches, his legs slung around Astarion's hips as they make out like teenagers . . .
Which, Leto thinks with a twinge of amusement, one of them is.]
Tell them that I'll return in a few hours. I have, ah . . . that selfsame group I have told you about wishes to indulge again.
[Oh, gods, he sounds a little insane— or worse, like a recluse who hasn't made friends in years. But . . . well, that's exactly what he is. It's been so very long since Hawke enfolded him within her group, and from there, befriending the others was a matter of proxy. And then Astarion had come along, and— well. It's not that he didn't like the company of others in Riftwatch; it's not that he never had friendly words or companionable drinks with those elves he worked with while freeing slaves. It's just . . .
He's never done this before. Had a group of adolescents who were his age spot him (such a new, distinct face in a city that does not often get visitors) and drag him eagerly into their foolishness. At first it was just to drink and talk, boasting about accomplishments (and Leto has more than a few, things that awed and impressed his newfound cohort), but now . . .
The goal is, as nearly all rituals are, to see who's stupid enough to do them and who's smart enough to be a coward. And it's not that Leto cares about what other people think about him— he doesn't, truly. But he's a competitive thing, and so restless nowadays. And when his newfound friends are goading and daring him into leaping off a frankly too-high waterfall . . .
Well. He isn't a coward.]
The goal is to see who among us is bravest— and inevitably, once I prove that it's me, I will return to you.
no subject
[But there's a smile in his low tone, flattered and pleased. And give Astarion's plan this, he thinks wryly: it's working. Now all he can think about is home and the welcome he'll get: fussy at first, surely, tutting over the cuts and bruises that have accumulated, his hands brisk and fond as they wander over him as they converse— and then, later, the filthier sort of welcome. The kind of fervent hunger that even two years hasn't been able to quell: ardent kisses and lingering touches, his legs slung around Astarion's hips as they make out like teenagers . . .
Which, Leto thinks with a twinge of amusement, one of them is.]
Tell them that I'll return in a few hours. I have, ah . . . that selfsame group I have told you about wishes to indulge again.
[Oh, gods, he sounds a little insane— or worse, like a recluse who hasn't made friends in years. But . . . well, that's exactly what he is. It's been so very long since Hawke enfolded him within her group, and from there, befriending the others was a matter of proxy. And then Astarion had come along, and— well. It's not that he didn't like the company of others in Riftwatch; it's not that he never had friendly words or companionable drinks with those elves he worked with while freeing slaves. It's just . . .
He's never done this before. Had a group of adolescents who were his age spot him (such a new, distinct face in a city that does not often get visitors) and drag him eagerly into their foolishness. At first it was just to drink and talk, boasting about accomplishments (and Leto has more than a few, things that awed and impressed his newfound cohort), but now . . .
The goal is, as nearly all rituals are, to see who's stupid enough to do them and who's smart enough to be a coward. And it's not that Leto cares about what other people think about him— he doesn't, truly. But he's a competitive thing, and so restless nowadays. And when his newfound friends are goading and daring him into leaping off a frankly too-high waterfall . . .
Well. He isn't a coward.]
The goal is to see who among us is bravest— and inevitably, once I prove that it's me, I will return to you.