You understand the others but not her? [Is a real question, void of any strings or preconceptions given how bewilderment practically boils on his tongue for half a second, narrowing his eyes and cutting lines between dropped brows. Has Fenris met Petras? Has he seen Leon cut off those in need or followed Dalyria's flexible morality? Even Yousen has his moments, and even Aurelia's subdued cruelty is nothing to be scoffed at— ]

—I can only assume you've been sitting with your face turned away from half the group, if that's the way you've sized things up. [And Astarion's uncertain whether it's the droning music or the irritating burn of too much liquor polluted by a sea of piss poor company, but even the blind could see there's something gnawing underneath the surface. Spurring Fenris with its barbs when he ought to be settling down to rest.

It's a raw cut. A prickling miasma from without, not within. Most of all it's not intentional, and for all that Astarion reminds himself he should be patient—

Well.

He's a young thing yet. Full of emotion all his own.]

In what bloody world would I not be here? [He hisses, craning forwards in his seat.] You're my bodyguard, for gods' sakes— and I'm her friend because I'd rather a viper on my side that knows its limits rather than the other hundred here that don't.