Tap out. [Astarion asserts blithely, beaming from the shadows of the alleyway as he watches Fenris scurry up over that ledge, his own red eyes glinting hollow like shining little mirrors in the dark.
A cat, as Fenris put it.
Still, it makes the unsubtle, unexpected glance he next casts Fenris’ way in response to that outstretched hand all the more difficult to spot. How he holds his breath without meaning to, a little too drunk to keep from blinking— slightly wide-eyed, the whole of his expression suddenly rounded out and uniquely soft— at the sight of simple gallantry as though that hand is the very first offered to him. The only kindness he's ever been met with.
He takes it only a beat later, mostly using his own nimble momentum to do the job, but not above letting Fenris shoulder at least some of the weight regardless.
And upright once again in clearer night air, Astarion flexes the thinnest of smiles. Fingers curling just a little more around the edges of those talons.
But that’s probably just the heady buzz swimming in his ears that’s to blame for it, right?]
Why not let pride goeth before the fall, rather than injury?
[Slow, his blink there. Relaxed. Smug. Stare fixed entirely on Fenris' own.]
After all...
I’m not afraid of a few pesky little nicks in the name of success.
[And, to that extent: Astarion makes his very first decidedly vicious swing while still clutching Fenris’ kindly offered hand tightly within his own from only a single step away— a clawing swipe with the tip of his dagger, aimed level with the dead center of Fenris' chest.
no subject
A cat, as Fenris put it.
Still, it makes the unsubtle, unexpected glance he next casts Fenris’ way in response to that outstretched hand all the more difficult to spot. How he holds his breath without meaning to, a little too drunk to keep from blinking— slightly wide-eyed, the whole of his expression suddenly rounded out and uniquely soft— at the sight of simple gallantry as though that hand is the very first offered to him. The only kindness he's ever been met with.
He takes it only a beat later, mostly using his own nimble momentum to do the job, but not above letting Fenris shoulder at least some of the weight regardless.
And upright once again in clearer night air, Astarion flexes the thinnest of smiles. Fingers curling just a little more around the edges of those talons.
But that’s probably just the heady buzz swimming in his ears that’s to blame for it, right?]
Why not let pride goeth before the fall, rather than injury?
[Slow, his blink there. Relaxed. Smug. Stare fixed entirely on Fenris' own.]
After all...
I’m not afraid of a few pesky little nicks in the name of success.
[And, to that extent: Astarion makes his very first decidedly vicious swing while still clutching Fenris’ kindly offered hand tightly within his own from only a single step away— a clawing swipe with the tip of his dagger, aimed level with the dead center of Fenris' chest.
Never trust a rogue, darling.]