And in return there’s no answer. Not for a minute, maybe two. When he appears at her side it’s through the press of the crowd, silver curls and black silk and the faint jingling of delicate gold, materializing almost out of thin air.
In truth, he’s just used to this. Maneuvering these glimmering landscapes the way some know a battlefield.
Gloved hand outstretched in front of her, chin nearly tipped across her shoulder for how close he stands at an angle.]
One hand slips around his waist in welcome. (Or to prevent escape, who knows.) She has a smile for him, bright and easy, as she reaches to set her glass down on the windowsill.
"You look handsome," she tells him first, an easy compliment to give.
Not that she'd had any doubts. Her efforts in the dress shop had never really been something he needed. Loosening her grasp on him, she turns to step in front of him as she reaches for his hand.
"Come with me. I like this song."
And how hard is it to waltz? She isn't going to express any doubts about Astarion's capability on the dance floor, but as far as first attempts go, this is an ideal way to acclimate.
He’s an easy thing to snare. He always has been. Her hold working just as well as pretty words and petty— yet true, by his estimation— flattery: he falls prey to the sort of fanged tactics he leans into, and it’s only buffeted by the fact that beneath the pit of his own endless want lies that jagged, jarring insistence on flight.
On freedom, and fear, however lonely a sentence it is.
“I bet you say that to all the vampire spawn you meet.” He chides playfully, planting a cool kiss across her knuckles before leading them easily to the dance floor. Fluid. Poised. This is, without a doubt, his realm of expertise— and he thrives in it.
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no subject
He shouldn’t, but he does.
And in return there’s no answer. Not for a minute, maybe two. When he appears at her side it’s through the press of the crowd, silver curls and black silk and the faint jingling of delicate gold, materializing almost out of thin air.
In truth, he’s just used to this. Maneuvering these glimmering landscapes the way some know a battlefield.
Gloved hand outstretched in front of her, chin nearly tipped across her shoulder for how close he stands at an angle.]
How could I say no?
backflips to prose pls indulge me
"You look handsome," she tells him first, an easy compliment to give.
Not that she'd had any doubts. Her efforts in the dress shop had never really been something he needed. Loosening her grasp on him, she turns to step in front of him as she reaches for his hand.
"Come with me. I like this song."
And how hard is it to waltz? She isn't going to express any doubts about Astarion's capability on the dance floor, but as far as first attempts go, this is an ideal way to acclimate.
only 4 u
On freedom, and fear, however lonely a sentence it is.
“I bet you say that to all the vampire spawn you meet.” He chides playfully, planting a cool kiss across her knuckles before leading them easily to the dance floor. Fluid. Poised. This is, without a doubt, his realm of expertise— and he thrives in it.