corporeity: (Default)
๐‘”๐‘Ž๐‘™๐‘’ ๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘˜๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘–๐‘œ๐‘  ([personal profile] corporeity) wrote 2024-01-05 01:58 am (UTC)

[ There are worse ways to spend an evening, he supposes.

By the time Astarion speaks up, Gale has centred himself on the task at hand. Every lingering glance supports an accurate brushstroke, interrupted by the occasional sip of his wine. Potential translations persist. Inferiu, an infernal (ha) sticking point. Dead? Undead? Lost in thought, he manages to smudge ink atop the apple of his cheek without noticing.

When Astarion shifts, light ripples knock at his legs, calling his eyes up. His breath catches. ]


Yes, the view is โ€” [ No, thatโ€™s a terrible way to say it. ] You look very โ€” [ Content. Lovely. ] Thatโ€™s fine.

[ At least with work to be done, itโ€™s easy to recover from a social blunder by wholeheartedly ignoring it happened at all. He doesnโ€™t dare lift his gaze above Astarionโ€™s shoulders after that, focus narrowed to his scars. Once Gale has captured the whole of it, he spends additional time checking his work. A mistake will cost them time, resource, and stress in the long run. ]

Perfect. [ Almost. Gale licks the pad of his thumb and drags his nail alongside a faintly blurred line, refining the image. ] Itโ€™s done.

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