[It was you, Leto says, and again, Astarion finds himself so childishly struck by it that he simply stands there, turning the key over in his fingers— reality something he now has to touch to know it’s there (like the flexing of his fingertips; like the way he once counted painted stars, only better), he needs those precious seconds in silence. Needs the feeling of cold metal across his palm, and the sight of Leto standing just across from him, pulling stray strands of overgrown hair from his own eyes.
Two hundred years old and he’s as senseless as a newborn pup. It’d be shameful if he cared about appearances.
But he doesn’t. Not anymore.]
Darling, you’re a mess.
[All right, maybe some appearances— just not his own right now. The words low and absurdly overfond as they roll from his tongue. Key pocketed, abandoning astonishment entirely when he takes his first stride across the threshold in order to slip silently in at Leto’s side, reaching up with two fingers to fix one delicate tangle of white hair now half-tucked behind a downturned ear.]
When was the last time you saw to this growing little mane of yours?
[Which is to say yes, tomorrow is the perfect day to move. Yes, he’d like a tour— a real one, rather than how they limped through it before, bloody from fighting and thoroughly exhausted.
But his benefactor—
No, his friend is looking more wild and unkempt than the wolf left trotting around through open corridors.
no subject
Two hundred years old and he’s as senseless as a newborn pup. It’d be shameful if he cared about appearances.
But he doesn’t. Not anymore.]
Darling, you’re a mess.
[All right, maybe some appearances— just not his own right now. The words low and absurdly overfond as they roll from his tongue. Key pocketed, abandoning astonishment entirely when he takes his first stride across the threshold in order to slip silently in at Leto’s side, reaching up with two fingers to fix one delicate tangle of white hair now half-tucked behind a downturned ear.]
When was the last time you saw to this growing little mane of yours?
[Which is to say yes, tomorrow is the perfect day to move. Yes, he’d like a tour— a real one, rather than how they limped through it before, bloody from fighting and thoroughly exhausted.
But his benefactor—
No, his friend is looking more wild and unkempt than the wolf left trotting around through open corridors.
And that’s something he can fix.]