[ That same light softens her features further, hiding another scatter of pink underneath her blue markings, the stretch of a smile making it easier. You must tell me, and her eyes roll without any malice. To perhaps keep her hands busy, or to buy herself valuable time, Tav touches her own hair. Gently pulls the ties securing the braids together, undoing them one by one.
She hums. Considering, quiet. ]
Are you,
[ —happy? What a silly, trite thing to ask. None of them are very happy, not with the tadpoles that fester in their ocular sockets, how searching for a cure only leads to more and more obstacles. Tav isn't sure she is happy. Content, maybe. But they are so very close to Baldur's Gate, and how very long a pilgrimage it has been to get there, and soon there must be something better, clearer, on the horizon, something that means that life can feel less... less.
She could ask other things. What does he keep reading? Is there a story that is his favorite? Would he mind telling it to her? Was it true, that he can no longer remember what he looks like?
Those seem like real secrets. Indulgent and quiet. Tav looks into the crackling fire and feels the warmth spread through her chest. ]
You didn't like me very much, when we first met.
[ Well. There had been many extenuating circumstances. A knife to her throat, for example, and lies, which she didn't like; kindness, which Astarion liked even less than a refusal of coin. With an apologetic but truthful tone in her voice, she adds, ] I did not like you very much, either. [ But of course, life changes. As secure as the seasons, as beasts live and die, as an arrow slides true.
Maybe it is childish to ask. But like he's reminded her: just because someone asks doesn't mean you have to tell them. It would sound silly to say Do you like me, now? Is it still the same, do you think? and so she settles on, simply, ]
now that i am sufficiently warmed up a month later, thank you queen
She hums. Considering, quiet. ]
Are you,
[ —happy? What a silly, trite thing to ask. None of them are very happy, not with the tadpoles that fester in their ocular sockets, how searching for a cure only leads to more and more obstacles. Tav isn't sure she is happy. Content, maybe. But they are so very close to Baldur's Gate, and how very long a pilgrimage it has been to get there, and soon there must be something better, clearer, on the horizon, something that means that life can feel less... less.
She could ask other things. What does he keep reading? Is there a story that is his favorite? Would he mind telling it to her? Was it true, that he can no longer remember what he looks like?
Those seem like real secrets. Indulgent and quiet. Tav looks into the crackling fire and feels the warmth spread through her chest. ]
You didn't like me very much, when we first met.
[ Well. There had been many extenuating circumstances. A knife to her throat, for example, and lies, which she didn't like; kindness, which Astarion liked even less than a refusal of coin. With an apologetic but truthful tone in her voice, she adds, ] I did not like you very much, either. [ But of course, life changes. As secure as the seasons, as beasts live and die, as an arrow slides true.
Maybe it is childish to ask. But like he's reminded her: just because someone asks doesn't mean you have to tell them. It would sound silly to say Do you like me, now? Is it still the same, do you think? and so she settles on, simply, ]
Has that changed?