[ In the moments after the kiss (the second kiss Astarion has deemed him worthy of, for whatever strange reasons), his expression does something complicated. Surprise fades into appreciation, all his tired lines softening.
The commendation of his skills in this particularly pathetic arena startles a laugh from his throat, airy and bitter. ]
Oh, Iβm an old hand at it, I suppose.
[ The waiting, the wanting. He spent his youth in the throes of devotion to his studies, to Mystra, to the Weave itself. Hadnβt he been elated to prostrate himself β at his goddessesβ beck and call? Even in the stretches where another Chosen held her fancy. ]
But Iβve found that growing accustomed to something β even mastering it β does not make it any more tolerable. [ A truth that surely applies to both their hungers. Turning away, he presses his hands into the dirt. ] Merely familiar.
[ Heβll wait out the hunger pangs alone, as before. Their companions already know his inclination toward melancholy; theyβll leave him be. ]
no subject
The commendation of his skills in this particularly pathetic arena startles a laugh from his throat, airy and bitter. ]
Oh, Iβm an old hand at it, I suppose.
[ The waiting, the wanting. He spent his youth in the throes of devotion to his studies, to Mystra, to the Weave itself. Hadnβt he been elated to prostrate himself β at his goddessesβ beck and call? Even in the stretches where another Chosen held her fancy. ]
But Iβve found that growing accustomed to something β even mastering it β does not make it any more tolerable. [ A truth that surely applies to both their hungers. Turning away, he presses his hands into the dirt. ] Merely familiar.
[ Heβll wait out the hunger pangs alone, as before. Their companions already know his inclination toward melancholy; theyβll leave him be. ]