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[ Bastien—unabashedly soft and comfortable—laughs with his mouth shut, because there’s a miniature sandwich inside of it, and wings his elbow out to vengefully (gently) prod Astarion in the arm.

After he’s swallowed: ] Maybe we don’t want you anymore, after you passed us over. Diplomats hate to be spurned. You would have to join Research.

[illithidnapped]

Oof, that stings.

Luckily for me I happen to have friends in Diplomacy that might at least rescue me from an eternity of clerical work out of the goodness of their hearts.

[Yes?]

After all, I like to think I’ve been quite kind to them.