[The last time Tav had asked this, he had sensed an air of dismissal. Irritation. I was a magistrate at Baldur's Gate, he recalls the other saying. Very dull. Or uninteresting. or trite. The exact wording hardly springs to mind- yet the tone he remembers well. It was a different beast entirely to how he speaks now- adrift. Almost forlorn. He has no doubt that he truly can't remember anything about that time.
Despite his mixed blood affording a far longer lifespan than any human, Tav could not imagine the implications of living over two centuries- let alone what that sort of time could do to the memory. Astarion likely would have lived that and had so much more, were it not for the Gur. (or any other inpromptu murder that might have come his way.) So he does wonder, briefly, if the event, rather than time, rendered everything little but fog.
Not that it is horribly important. No doubt, it would have been little more than a story now. Perhaps a few amusing anecdotes would be peppered in. But it is hardly vital information. He uncoils a tress of the other's hair lightly between his fingertips as he remains silent, smiling slightly, despite himself, as it bounces back into perfection. And, gently:]
Well. I can't think of a better reason than that to do this more often. Perhaps we'll separate from the group for a few hours, when we can. Find somewhere bright, sunny- without numerous creatures, cultists, murderous Githyanki, or goblins baying for our blood- and take a few hours.
..If you want, of course.
[He can hardly predict the answer. But he seems to be enjoying this, so.]
no subject
[The last time Tav had asked this, he had sensed an air of dismissal. Irritation. I was a magistrate at Baldur's Gate, he recalls the other saying. Very dull. Or uninteresting. or trite. The exact wording hardly springs to mind- yet the tone he remembers well. It was a different beast entirely to how he speaks now- adrift. Almost forlorn. He has no doubt that he truly can't remember anything about that time.
Despite his mixed blood affording a far longer lifespan than any human, Tav could not imagine the implications of living over two centuries- let alone what that sort of time could do to the memory. Astarion likely would have lived that and had so much more, were it not for the Gur. (or any other inpromptu murder that might have come his way.) So he does wonder, briefly, if the event, rather than time, rendered everything little but fog.
Not that it is horribly important. No doubt, it would have been little more than a story now. Perhaps a few amusing anecdotes would be peppered in. But it is hardly vital information. He uncoils a tress of the other's hair lightly between his fingertips as he remains silent, smiling slightly, despite himself, as it bounces back into perfection. And, gently:]
Well. I can't think of a better reason than that to do this more often. Perhaps we'll separate from the group for a few hours, when we can. Find somewhere bright, sunny- without numerous creatures, cultists, murderous Githyanki, or goblins baying for our blood- and take a few hours.
..If you want, of course.
[He can hardly predict the answer. But he seems to be enjoying this, so.]