[On the one hand, Leto is impatient. He's tipsy bordering on drunk and his libido is roaring, his teenage body sitting up and howling for the sight of his suddenly curvaceous amatus. He wants to kiss her, touch her, spread her thighs open and lap at her little cunt until she wails in eye-rolling pleasure— and for every word that slips past Arylnn's lips, his temper rises, his impatience sharpening like a knife.
On the other hand: it is a treat to see Astarion sharpen her claws.
She so outstrips the little princess that it's more akin to a cat playing with a mouse than a real competition. Her opening remarks are barely swats at all, and yet even as Leto watches, Arylnn's mouth thins. It's a subtle tell, but a tell all the same.
'It's Silverhand, she corrects with a thin smile. 'You obviously don't know much about fashion,'
Her eyes flick lazily from the gauntlets to the varying layers Astarion wears, all of it hidden beneath a cloak. 'But it's not your fault. Believe me: in a year, you'll find plenty of knockoffs and you can enjoy it too. Maybe even wear it to . . . what was it you said? Some kind of entanglement with a merchant prince? Which one?']
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On the other hand: it is a treat to see Astarion sharpen her claws.
She so outstrips the little princess that it's more akin to a cat playing with a mouse than a real competition. Her opening remarks are barely swats at all, and yet even as Leto watches, Arylnn's mouth thins. It's a subtle tell, but a tell all the same.
'It's Silverhand, she corrects with a thin smile. 'You obviously don't know much about fashion,'
Her eyes flick lazily from the gauntlets to the varying layers Astarion wears, all of it hidden beneath a cloak. 'But it's not your fault. Believe me: in a year, you'll find plenty of knockoffs and you can enjoy it too. Maybe even wear it to . . . what was it you said? Some kind of entanglement with a merchant prince? Which one?']