[How quickly Fenris catches on. Astarion sparing only a moment for watching the slowly burning remains of that joint perched between sharp claws— and then he shifts, dropping his hand of cards (face down) against the edge of the table, fetching a pair of glassy black daggers from his belt: dark as night, with hilts of cut gemstone that glint like starlit skies when held at the right angle.

A Satinalia gift from Riftwatch’s most terrifying asset.

Like the cards for their game, Astarion sets them down in the middle of their table. An offering.]

These are all I have.

[It’s not a shameful confession; Astarion tends to play for keeps.]

But if you’re worried, I can always wrap them in cloth or something. Keep you safe from my fearsome claws.