[ it's an invitation she seizes upon with only a passing heartbeat of a pause, some minor hesitation that speaks to the novelty of it all. of closeness, especially, beyond the encouragement of baser releases amongst shar's followers. this is no prelude to something more, nor would such a tender one be welcomed amid her brethren, besides. she takes her time with it, accordingly. time she's never had to simply be in the comfort of another's presence, outside a distant memory of a small alcove and — someone she can't recall. the blurry silhouette of what may have been a friend, she thinks. her first ever, perhaps, though time has blessedly shown her they were not to be her only.
she can't quite call astarion by the same name, she supposes, as her fingertips tickle along the grains of his palm, but he is — something. something important, something enlightening. a first, in many more ways. it seems in poor manners, then, to agree with him, to say neither did i. no matter how truthful or sardonic, the fact remains: she hadn't thought him capable of thinking beyond himself. hadn't imagined she would stick under his skin like a thorn, beyond tolerating her usefulness. hadn't even presumed, especially, that he might like to be haunted by her.
it casts a pleased little curl upon her mouth. not quite smug at the revelation, but certainly contented. funny, she thinks, that he should find the right magical combination of words to charm her when he isn't actively hunting for them. ]
Oh? Is it so peculiar?
[ her eyebrow arches gracefully, nails gliding over the lifelines etched into his hand lightly, absently drawing her own patterns among their number. a more direct approach seems the type of strategy that would send him scurrying; she opts for something more tongue-in-cheek, instead, to act as its own gentle nudge — if not the smallest breather, in consideration of the effort he must be extending, to lay himself so vulnerable at her request. ]
I do hope, for your sake, that's self-reflective and not commentary on my virtues.
no subject
she can't quite call astarion by the same name, she supposes, as her fingertips tickle along the grains of his palm, but he is — something. something important, something enlightening. a first, in many more ways. it seems in poor manners, then, to agree with him, to say neither did i. no matter how truthful or sardonic, the fact remains: she hadn't thought him capable of thinking beyond himself. hadn't imagined she would stick under his skin like a thorn, beyond tolerating her usefulness. hadn't even presumed, especially, that he might like to be haunted by her.
it casts a pleased little curl upon her mouth. not quite smug at the revelation, but certainly contented. funny, she thinks, that he should find the right magical combination of words to charm her when he isn't actively hunting for them. ]
Oh? Is it so peculiar?
[ her eyebrow arches gracefully, nails gliding over the lifelines etched into his hand lightly, absently drawing her own patterns among their number. a more direct approach seems the type of strategy that would send him scurrying; she opts for something more tongue-in-cheek, instead, to act as its own gentle nudge — if not the smallest breather, in consideration of the effort he must be extending, to lay himself so vulnerable at her request. ]
I do hope, for your sake, that's self-reflective and not commentary on my virtues.