![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Well! All right then. Now that that matter's settled, I suppose it's only right to address your next complaint. I never meant to imply magic by one unstudied in the arcane arts was less real, only less... erudite.
Well, you must admit that casual magic is hardly comparable to that of a true arcane scholar.
A different kind, surely. And, forgive my presumption, but I had always assumed your gifts the product of natural ability rather than discipline and dedication.
I can't say I'm not rather flabbergasted. You certainly do an excellent job of making everything appear as if it comes easily.
I don't know. I think it rather humanizes you. Or, well - you understand my meaning, surely.
[ The tenderness is still something strange and unusual for Astarion, still something he is painfully adjusting to - but he wants more of this. He finds himself longing for the soft touches, the smiles, the way that he could reach out and stroke his hands over skin without the need for it to lead to something more. Being able to ask for it is a whole different matter entirely, however, and he doesn't feel as though he quite has the confidence for that level of vulnerability.
Things are progressing, however, and he is getting better. More comfortable. Settled. He can believe that there is something more to this, something real, and he doesn't want to let it go.
Smiling, he tilts his head, watching for a long moment. ]
Consider it a date, then, darling.
[ The tension has bled out of him, leaving him comfortable and settled, and he can simply allow himself to feel this. He can let himself take the comfort, the contentment, all of it - because it is permitted, with no hidden agenda. Astarion is starting to realise he doesn't need to read between the lines of this relationship: they care about one another, and there is no motive beyond caring.
When the hands move away, he tilts his head, pausing when he hears his name. ]
Yes, darling?
Things are progressing, however, and he is getting better. More comfortable. Settled. He can believe that there is something more to this, something real, and he doesn't want to let it go.
Smiling, he tilts his head, watching for a long moment. ]
Consider it a date, then, darling.
[ The tension has bled out of him, leaving him comfortable and settled, and he can simply allow himself to feel this. He can let himself take the comfort, the contentment, all of it - because it is permitted, with no hidden agenda. Astarion is starting to realise he doesn't need to read between the lines of this relationship: they care about one another, and there is no motive beyond caring.
When the hands move away, he tilts his head, pausing when he hears his name. ]
Yes, darling?
Anything in particular? Or am I the dusty old artefact arousing your curiosity? Either way I've never really been much secretive about myself or my possessions if someone has a genuine question to ask.
Is it? Well, be extra careful around the palantír. I'm not sure where all of them ended up after the First Age and father didn't exactly put many saftey measures into them. One never quite knows who, or what, might be looking in from the other side of it. I wouldn't want you getting hurt, even if you have a tendency to break into my home.
Maybe not mischievous, but definitely manipulative. Think about it, because you're right: they're not clever enough to eat, they can't even hold up their own heads, everything around them is a blur. The one thing they can do is make godawful noises, but they do that so well they make the people around them come running to fix the problem when they do it.
They do it so well, a fearsome creature like yourself compares them to land mines, no less. They're loud, self-centered little monsters, that's how they survive.
I'm not saying I want one, mind you. But I approve of their technique.
They do it so well, a fearsome creature like yourself compares them to land mines, no less. They're loud, self-centered little monsters, that's how they survive.
I'm not saying I want one, mind you. But I approve of their technique.
As the sole representative for humanity in this conversation, I feel the responsibility to inquire. What, exactly, is so 'utterly awful' about our existence?
Page 6 of 20