Faster than Fenris would have thought Astarion could move. Faster than he ever expected for the likes of him (a slave, a bodyguard, a servant, a dog), and there's a part of him still reeling in bewilderment even as he shoots up. In one fluid motion he's slotted himself between them, Astarion's arm tucking beneath his body as he blocks Violet from reaching his charge. He grabs her wrist roughly, halting her wind-up; for a moment she strains instinctively, but there's no escaping his hold.
Three seconds, if that.
And then the world begins to move again. The bass keeps thumping away, muffled but eternally present; in the background, Petras squawks in dismay over his now-soaked pants. Violet's eyes dart around Fenris' face, seeking out some sign of weakness. For a long moment he wonders if she'll try and fight him— but no. She's many things, but stupid isn't one of them. With a scowl he takes the glass from her, setting it down blindly behind him and then letting her go.]
It's fine.
[It's not, really, but when has that ever mattered?]
It's fine, [he says again, and eases back, guiding Astarion into letting go. Settle, little pup, and Fenris doesn't sit until Astarion does, his eyes locked on him all the while.
'Jealous,' Violet hisses, drawing herself up. As haughty as a cat, she sets about examining her wrist, acting as though that was her plan the entire time. 'This had better not bruise. I have a meeting Monday.']
It won't.
[It might, but he'll deal with that later. And he knows he should be keeping an eye on Violet, but he can't seem to stop staring at Astarion. There's something unreadable in Fenris' gaze, astonishment and awe so foreign as to be unfamiliar to him; he simply stares in wonder, trying to understand something that seems simultaneously so simple and yet so impossible.
'And possessive,' she continues, ignoring Fenris in favor of cocking her head at Astarion. 'You've never minded sharing before. How was I meant to know this one was off-limits?' There's a mocking edge to her tone, for of course she knows damn well that Fenris is different. But it's a way to move forward. It's a way to, if not keep the peace, at least find a way to navigate out of this little snarl.
. . . or it would be, except Violet can't help but run her tongue. 'Are you going to try and tear apart everyone who brushes against him, or just the ones you're terrified might actually seduce him away—']
Enough.
[He snaps it out sharply, glaring up at her.]
Go away, or stay and hold your tongue.
[She rolls her eyes. 'You used to be more fun,' she informs Astarion, and gets to her feet. 'Come along,' she bids to Petras. The elf looks torn, glancing from Astarion's seething face to Violet's cold glare and finding neither particularly hospitable. The impatience seems to annoy Violet further, for she clicks her tongue at him. 'Come on, and maybe I'll find you a pretty toy to play with tonight.'
Which is allure enough for Petras, it seems— though he does grip Astarion's shoulder in affectionate camaraderie as he passes by. The curtain draws back and falls closed behind him, and just like that, they're left alone.]
no subject
Faster than Fenris would have thought Astarion could move. Faster than he ever expected for the likes of him (a slave, a bodyguard, a servant, a dog), and there's a part of him still reeling in bewilderment even as he shoots up. In one fluid motion he's slotted himself between them, Astarion's arm tucking beneath his body as he blocks Violet from reaching his charge. He grabs her wrist roughly, halting her wind-up; for a moment she strains instinctively, but there's no escaping his hold.
Three seconds, if that.
And then the world begins to move again. The bass keeps thumping away, muffled but eternally present; in the background, Petras squawks in dismay over his now-soaked pants. Violet's eyes dart around Fenris' face, seeking out some sign of weakness. For a long moment he wonders if she'll try and fight him— but no. She's many things, but stupid isn't one of them. With a scowl he takes the glass from her, setting it down blindly behind him and then letting her go.]
It's fine.
[It's not, really, but when has that ever mattered?]
It's fine, [he says again, and eases back, guiding Astarion into letting go. Settle, little pup, and Fenris doesn't sit until Astarion does, his eyes locked on him all the while.
'Jealous,' Violet hisses, drawing herself up. As haughty as a cat, she sets about examining her wrist, acting as though that was her plan the entire time. 'This had better not bruise. I have a meeting Monday.']
It won't.
[It might, but he'll deal with that later. And he knows he should be keeping an eye on Violet, but he can't seem to stop staring at Astarion. There's something unreadable in Fenris' gaze, astonishment and awe so foreign as to be unfamiliar to him; he simply stares in wonder, trying to understand something that seems simultaneously so simple and yet so impossible.
'And possessive,' she continues, ignoring Fenris in favor of cocking her head at Astarion. 'You've never minded sharing before. How was I meant to know this one was off-limits?' There's a mocking edge to her tone, for of course she knows damn well that Fenris is different. But it's a way to move forward. It's a way to, if not keep the peace, at least find a way to navigate out of this little snarl.
. . . or it would be, except Violet can't help but run her tongue. 'Are you going to try and tear apart everyone who brushes against him, or just the ones you're terrified might actually seduce him away—']
Enough.
[He snaps it out sharply, glaring up at her.]
Go away, or stay and hold your tongue.
[She rolls her eyes. 'You used to be more fun,' she informs Astarion, and gets to her feet. 'Come along,' she bids to Petras. The elf looks torn, glancing from Astarion's seething face to Violet's cold glare and finding neither particularly hospitable. The impatience seems to annoy Violet further, for she clicks her tongue at him. 'Come on, and maybe I'll find you a pretty toy to play with tonight.'
Which is allure enough for Petras, it seems— though he does grip Astarion's shoulder in affectionate camaraderie as he passes by. The curtain draws back and falls closed behind him, and just like that, they're left alone.]
Gods . . .
[A soft exhale, and then he glances at Astarion.]
Are you all right?