All I need do is ask and I get your qualified opinion just like that?
[Behind the mask, red eyes flit towards their designated mark; gameness glittering in their reflection— though it's the duke that ultimately earns their shine when they slide back. Attention traveling up from that wrist, to its elbow, to broad shoulders....
....To the shaded underchannel of the Duke's lithe throat.]
No desire for anything in return?
[What could an elf give nobility of this caliber? The obvious, of course. And there's an oddness present in the fact that for all Astsrion's thoughts had lingered on Fenris' whispered urging, little one spells the start of realization that....perhaps he wouldn't mind after all. Perhaps there's something to be said for agency. Control. Freedom. (Perhaps there's something to be said for this strange, familiar man whose charms leave him searching for identifiable marks: does he remind him of someone, is that it? Vincent? Sebastian? No, that can't be it. Each search draws closer to reminders of Fenris, but Fenris isn't like anyone he's ever met before.)
It makes no sense. It's not important.
Besides, exhilaration and affability go hand-in-hand, don't they? Maybe he just missed the splendor of soirées without the sour note of looming torture.]
Not even a glass of wine? A fetched hors d'oeuvre? A dance?
no subject
[Is a surprised intake of breath.]
All I need do is ask and I get your qualified opinion just like that?
[Behind the mask, red eyes flit towards their designated mark; gameness glittering in their reflection— though it's the duke that ultimately earns their shine when they slide back. Attention traveling up from that wrist, to its elbow, to broad shoulders....
....To the shaded underchannel of the Duke's lithe throat.]
No desire for anything in return?
[What could an elf give nobility of this caliber? The obvious, of course. And there's an oddness present in the fact that for all Astsrion's thoughts had lingered on Fenris' whispered urging, little one spells the start of realization that....perhaps he wouldn't mind after all. Perhaps there's something to be said for agency. Control. Freedom. (Perhaps there's something to be said for this strange, familiar man whose charms leave him searching for identifiable marks: does he remind him of someone, is that it? Vincent? Sebastian? No, that can't be it. Each search draws closer to reminders of Fenris, but Fenris isn't like anyone he's ever met before.)
It makes no sense. It's not important.
Besides, exhilaration and affability go hand-in-hand, don't they? Maybe he just missed the splendor of soirées without the sour note of looming torture.]
Not even a glass of wine? A fetched hors d'oeuvre? A dance?