It's more out of shock than anything: the abrupt swerve from stunning miracle to utter normalcy, heralded only by Astarion's barked out commands and Ataashi's vaguely embarrassed expression as she lowers her leg. She whines up at him, snorting in displeasure; does he not understand the entire place reeks of those little brats? And it's so ordinary (how long had it taken to train her out of doing that in the mansion, and even then, each time they brought home something new it was always a gamble); it's so stupid, just like the frantic yelps as puppy claws scrabble against his ankle. It's everything he's ever wanted, and oh, he's sure the fear of loss will come in time— but right now, he's basking.
Biting back his next laugh, he reaches down, scooping up Montressor. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering pitifully as he rubs one hand soothingly over her back and approaches.]
It was not me.
[Oh, he can't help but smile. Ataashi huffs up at him, unamused by the mere reminder of these pups, and presses her bulk up against Astarion in blatant favoritism. He doesn't manhandle the pups. He hasn't replaced her with this idiotic brood. He still smells of all the things he ought to— though she sneezes just once against his palm as the subtler variations in his scent register.]
She simply showed up— easy, [he adds, scrubbing Montressor a little more briskly. Settle down.] There was magic in the air . . . I thought it an attack, truthfully. But she simply tore through the veil as though it was nothing. I suppose to her, it wasn't. No more an obstacle than a door.
We're going to need somewhere bigger when we return to Baldur's Gate . . .
[Gods, smuggling in not just two pups, but a wolf . . . though then again, he thinks, a dog is not a wolf; surely a ban on one isn't a ban on the other. At worst, they'll bluff they're trying to bring Ataashi to the circus or something. ]
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It's more out of shock than anything: the abrupt swerve from stunning miracle to utter normalcy, heralded only by Astarion's barked out commands and Ataashi's vaguely embarrassed expression as she lowers her leg. She whines up at him, snorting in displeasure; does he not understand the entire place reeks of those little brats? And it's so ordinary (how long had it taken to train her out of doing that in the mansion, and even then, each time they brought home something new it was always a gamble); it's so stupid, just like the frantic yelps as puppy claws scrabble against his ankle. It's everything he's ever wanted, and oh, he's sure the fear of loss will come in time— but right now, he's basking.
Biting back his next laugh, he reaches down, scooping up Montressor. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering pitifully as he rubs one hand soothingly over her back and approaches.]
It was not me.
[Oh, he can't help but smile. Ataashi huffs up at him, unamused by the mere reminder of these pups, and presses her bulk up against Astarion in blatant favoritism. He doesn't manhandle the pups. He hasn't replaced her with this idiotic brood. He still smells of all the things he ought to— though she sneezes just once against his palm as the subtler variations in his scent register.]
She simply showed up— easy, [he adds, scrubbing Montressor a little more briskly. Settle down.] There was magic in the air . . . I thought it an attack, truthfully. But she simply tore through the veil as though it was nothing. I suppose to her, it wasn't. No more an obstacle than a door.
We're going to need somewhere bigger when we return to Baldur's Gate . . .
[Gods, smuggling in not just two pups, but a wolf . . . though then again, he thinks, a dog is not a wolf; surely a ban on one isn't a ban on the other. At worst, they'll bluff they're trying to bring Ataashi to the circus or something. ]