[He could have hesitated a little, but no, that's a very swift answer. Fenris inhales slowly, letting the night air fill his lungs; it doesn't totally clear his head, but at least he isn't outright stumbling as they make their way upwards. The lantern is given a brief glance— useful as an identifier, if and when he wants to find his way back down here— before he heads toward an alley.]
I'm proficient at nearly all weapons. But while I have trained on daggers, it has been a few years since I have handled one. We may be evenly matched.
[Actually, he's fairly sure he will be beaten, if Astarion is as good at blades as he says he is. But so it goes; he won't be so sorry if he loses, but he's certainly going to give it his all. Hup, up a few boxes and lifting himself up over the edge, and just like that, he's on the roof.
A beat, and he turns. Offers his hand out to Astarion, and it's not quite a deliberate mirror of their meeting earlier, but it's not not that, you know? A helping hand, given not because he thinks the other man is helpless, but because he wants to extend it.
Because Astarion, for all Fenris is teasing him right now, has been extraordinarily kind tonight. Distracting him, helping him, weathering the fluctuations of his moods . . . and now this. A perfect distraction, and he will not forget his kindness tonight, no. He may never stop being grateful for it, either.
Either way: it's nice up here, or at least it's as nice as Lowtown ever gets. It's late enough that's it's pleasingly dark; the only people that will see them up here are nonhumans, which is a comfort.]
no subject
[He could have hesitated a little, but no, that's a very swift answer. Fenris inhales slowly, letting the night air fill his lungs; it doesn't totally clear his head, but at least he isn't outright stumbling as they make their way upwards. The lantern is given a brief glance— useful as an identifier, if and when he wants to find his way back down here— before he heads toward an alley.]
I'm proficient at nearly all weapons. But while I have trained on daggers, it has been a few years since I have handled one. We may be evenly matched.
[Actually, he's fairly sure he will be beaten, if Astarion is as good at blades as he says he is. But so it goes; he won't be so sorry if he loses, but he's certainly going to give it his all. Hup, up a few boxes and lifting himself up over the edge, and just like that, he's on the roof.
A beat, and he turns. Offers his hand out to Astarion, and it's not quite a deliberate mirror of their meeting earlier, but it's not not that, you know? A helping hand, given not because he thinks the other man is helpless, but because he wants to extend it.
Because Astarion, for all Fenris is teasing him right now, has been extraordinarily kind tonight. Distracting him, helping him, weathering the fluctuations of his moods . . . and now this. A perfect distraction, and he will not forget his kindness tonight, no. He may never stop being grateful for it, either.
Either way: it's nice up here, or at least it's as nice as Lowtown ever gets. It's late enough that's it's pleasingly dark; the only people that will see them up here are nonhumans, which is a comfort.]
Hm. First to tap out loses? Or first to be cut?