Razza for short. [He amends slyly— without actually amending anything at all, all of his attention (and his clever little smile) aimed directly down at those gargantuan paws— looking surprisingly pleased now that she’s such a docile thing.

Maybe it’s just the acclimation he needs. The little breaks where everything is calmer. After all, Astarion is a spoiled creature at heart. One that feels settled by control.

Hm.

His eyeline lifts.]

Think about it, my darling. Tevinter sorts are so often— no offense intended— surprisingly superstitious. Ritualistic, let's say. [He presses down on her middle paw pad like a button, which has the added effect of splaying all her little toe beans in a fan.]

I imagine the ones serving a god-magister are even more so.

So.

Having a tough fight? Bark out the name of one of their old gods and watch them buckle as something comes bursting out of the Fade.

Also. [He adds, grin widening by degrees.] It’s just funny.

[Is it????]

But if you have a better idea, I’m all pointy ears.