Of people (a young swordsman has already crossed the room, speaking in a low tone to the gith (gith?) woman at his side, the two of them pointing at the bloodstains and speaking of foes and tactics). Of voices (Karlach's cry setting Ataashi off, who whines in distress as she shoves the pups out of the way and attempts to crawl atop Leto— only settling for fretfully nosing at his cheek instead once he grunts in protest, white-hot pain flaring through him). Of a swirl of information and overwhelming presence, Astarion's unhappy shrieks not dissuaded at all by Gale's assurances that he can repair it; the pups have woken up and begun leaping around on the bed, torn in a thousand directions and excitedly overwhelmed— it's too much, it's too overstimulating, it's—
Gods, it's like home.
He swears he'll sit up and see Anders just out in the hallway, debating with Varric as Isabela blatantly switches sides again and again. He stares at Wyll and Lae'zel and wonders that Aveline isn't there, serious-faced and assertive, offering up her own opinions on how best to respond. Gale's given up on placating his fretful companion, and instead has focused on Karlach, who still stares down at him with such a strange mixture of adoration and wonder, and surely Merrill belongs just at her side, peering over one broad shoulder in wide-eyed curiosity.
It's so similar he nearly reels from the dissonance. A wave of grief sweeps over him momentarily, a lonely mourning that he won't dwell upon. Instead, he focuses up on the woman. Truth be told, the look she's giving him is a little baffling, but not unpleasantly so.]
Hello.
[It's a deceptively simple reply, especially in wake of Astarion's shrieking. But he likes the look of this woman. She's pleasantly straightforward in a way that he can appreciate, and anyone that shows that much affection (however misplaced) towards his Astarion must be halfway decent. With a little groan (ignoring the nauseating wave of pain that flares through him, white spots dancing in front of his eyes), he struggles to sit up again, feeling foolish for lying down in front of everyone.]
You missed the fun. Though there may yet still be time for more.
['We should be so lucky,' the half-elf drawls. Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are more worried than she wants to let on. A pale white glow fills her palms as she makes her way over to Leto, sitting on the bed with far less care than Astarion had. 'Stay still, now.']
Which are you? Gale has spoken of you, but I have not— ah—
[Heedless of his conversation, the half-elf gets to work. She sets her palms firmly over the gash on his stomach— and then, frowning, leans in a little as the white glow grows brighter. In an instant relief floods through him, cold and crisp, and without thinking his eyes flutter closed, a ragged exhale finally bursting past his lips. The pain isn't all gone, not yet, not when his shoulder is still on fire— but oh, gods, any kind of reprieve is worth relishing. In an instant his head starts to clear, the thundering of his own heart lessening as his brain feels less like it's trying to pound its way out of his skull. He can feel his flesh begin to knit itself slowly and steadily,
He can hear her muttering to herself, though whether it's an assessment of his injuries or some kind of incantation is anyone's guess.]
Fenris is my name.
['Karlach!' the tiefling answers with a grin. 'And that's Shadowheart there fixing you up— that's Wyll with Lae'zel, and you know Gale— oh, and that's his cat!'
'Tressym,' both Gale and the cat correct, which is just insane enough to derail Leto's entire line of thought. He's used to animals talking, sort of, but it's one thing to hear the pups' excited cries when he's cast a spell. Quite another to just hear one talking like it's a godsdamned person. Like, admittedly, it's the least of his worries right now, but also: Leto stares hard at her for a long few seconds. She, for her part, ignores him utterly as she settles herself neatly on the bed.
'Cease your caterwauling,' Lae'zel says crisply, glancing up to stare at Astarion. 'You told us to hurry. What is a door in face of that?']
There were—
['Stop moving,' Shadowheart says firmly, and Leto huffs softly as he sinks down, unable to help it. Karlach's nose crinkles in amusement as she glances over to catch Astarion's eye— and oh, Leto realizes, she thinks he's young. She thinks he's a teenager at best, grown and yet not, crabby because he's being told what to do.
And he doesn't quite know what to do with that.
But Astarion matters more. Leto glances over, trying to read his face. The yowling is a good thing, no matter what Lae'zel says; it's an easy way for him to let off steam, for it's so much easier to shriek about a door and an unwanted bear hug (oh, precious little bat) than it is to linger on what came before.
'You shouldn't linger here,' Lae'zel continues, her tone gruff but not unfriendly. 'They may attack again, and it would be foolish to give them such an advantage.'
'We have room,' Shadowheart adds. She's still frowning down at his injuries, but her tone seems light enough. 'We rented a room, actually, just outside the edge of the city. You could stay with us, so long as you don't mind the company.']
no subject
Of people (a young swordsman has already crossed the room, speaking in a low tone to the gith (gith?) woman at his side, the two of them pointing at the bloodstains and speaking of foes and tactics). Of voices (Karlach's cry setting Ataashi off, who whines in distress as she shoves the pups out of the way and attempts to crawl atop Leto— only settling for fretfully nosing at his cheek instead once he grunts in protest, white-hot pain flaring through him). Of a swirl of information and overwhelming presence, Astarion's unhappy shrieks not dissuaded at all by Gale's assurances that he can repair it; the pups have woken up and begun leaping around on the bed, torn in a thousand directions and excitedly overwhelmed— it's too much, it's too overstimulating, it's—
Gods, it's like home.
He swears he'll sit up and see Anders just out in the hallway, debating with Varric as Isabela blatantly switches sides again and again. He stares at Wyll and Lae'zel and wonders that Aveline isn't there, serious-faced and assertive, offering up her own opinions on how best to respond. Gale's given up on placating his fretful companion, and instead has focused on Karlach, who still stares down at him with such a strange mixture of adoration and wonder, and surely Merrill belongs just at her side, peering over one broad shoulder in wide-eyed curiosity.
It's so similar he nearly reels from the dissonance. A wave of grief sweeps over him momentarily, a lonely mourning that he won't dwell upon. Instead, he focuses up on the woman. Truth be told, the look she's giving him is a little baffling, but not unpleasantly so.]
Hello.
[It's a deceptively simple reply, especially in wake of Astarion's shrieking. But he likes the look of this woman. She's pleasantly straightforward in a way that he can appreciate, and anyone that shows that much affection (however misplaced) towards his Astarion must be halfway decent. With a little groan (ignoring the nauseating wave of pain that flares through him, white spots dancing in front of his eyes), he struggles to sit up again, feeling foolish for lying down in front of everyone.]
You missed the fun. Though there may yet still be time for more.
['We should be so lucky,' the half-elf drawls. Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are more worried than she wants to let on. A pale white glow fills her palms as she makes her way over to Leto, sitting on the bed with far less care than Astarion had. 'Stay still, now.']
Which are you? Gale has spoken of you, but I have not— ah—
[Heedless of his conversation, the half-elf gets to work. She sets her palms firmly over the gash on his stomach— and then, frowning, leans in a little as the white glow grows brighter. In an instant relief floods through him, cold and crisp, and without thinking his eyes flutter closed, a ragged exhale finally bursting past his lips. The pain isn't all gone, not yet, not when his shoulder is still on fire— but oh, gods, any kind of reprieve is worth relishing. In an instant his head starts to clear, the thundering of his own heart lessening as his brain feels less like it's trying to pound its way out of his skull. He can feel his flesh begin to knit itself slowly and steadily,
He can hear her muttering to herself, though whether it's an assessment of his injuries or some kind of incantation is anyone's guess.]
Fenris is my name.
['Karlach!' the tiefling answers with a grin. 'And that's Shadowheart there fixing you up— that's Wyll with Lae'zel, and you know Gale— oh, and that's his cat!'
'Tressym,' both Gale and the cat correct, which is just insane enough to derail Leto's entire line of thought. He's used to animals talking, sort of, but it's one thing to hear the pups' excited cries when he's cast a spell. Quite another to just hear one talking like it's a godsdamned person. Like, admittedly, it's the least of his worries right now, but also: Leto stares hard at her for a long few seconds. She, for her part, ignores him utterly as she settles herself neatly on the bed.
'Cease your caterwauling,' Lae'zel says crisply, glancing up to stare at Astarion. 'You told us to hurry. What is a door in face of that?']
There were—
['Stop moving,' Shadowheart says firmly, and Leto huffs softly as he sinks down, unable to help it. Karlach's nose crinkles in amusement as she glances over to catch Astarion's eye— and oh, Leto realizes, she thinks he's young. She thinks he's a teenager at best, grown and yet not, crabby because he's being told what to do.
And he doesn't quite know what to do with that.
But Astarion matters more. Leto glances over, trying to read his face. The yowling is a good thing, no matter what Lae'zel says; it's an easy way for him to let off steam, for it's so much easier to shriek about a door and an unwanted bear hug (oh, precious little bat) than it is to linger on what came before.
'You shouldn't linger here,' Lae'zel continues, her tone gruff but not unfriendly. 'They may attack again, and it would be foolish to give them such an advantage.'
'We have room,' Shadowheart adds. She's still frowning down at his injuries, but her tone seems light enough. 'We rented a room, actually, just outside the edge of the city. You could stay with us, so long as you don't mind the company.']