['How's that even a question?' Karlach barks back almost immediately, shocked to find her attention snapping away from Leto for even a narrow second— but it makes sense, doesn't it? Like the whirring of turned gears her pause gives her the answer after a half-turn of intense thought, and like its predecessor is put immediately and unwaveringly to speech, 'Look at 'em, Shadowheart. They're like....little baby birds or something— ']
—EXCUSE me???
[' —they need to be WITH us so we can protect them, otherwise this kind of thing's gonna just keep fucking happening.'
The look of immense distress on her face doesn't leave, halfway between silently begging the others in the room to agree with her or elsewise flat-out trying to garner whatever pity that she can. It doesn't sit right with her, the idea that they might be late again at the moment when it matters most.
Unfortunately it's also lost on Astarion, now distracted by the way that Gale— roused to action by his promise that he can, in fact, repair the crux of all immediate furniture related stress with but a wave of his magic, has already placed his hands on the door's center mass— what's left of it anyway— which means that conversely Astarion's already childishly rushed to clap both his own hands over Gale's wrists trying to pull them off, hissing that enough damage has been done already and that if they REALLY want to put things right they'll hire a gods damned carpenter who works nights.
Ergo, craning his neck towards his shoulder to intercede in that secondary (tertiary??) conversation, Astarion adds:]
If what's on offer is this amount of chaos, we very much do mind—
['It is not usually so terrible as this.' Lae'zel presses through the richess of her voice, making her point before poor, mildly exasperated (and yet pup-covered) Wyll can argue otherwise: 'It is often much, much worse.'
Ah.
Wyll nods as Montressor attempts to climb his chest, artfully stopped short. So it is. 'At least there aren't dragons involved this time.'
'Yet,' says Karlach, her tail flicking wildly back and forth in its irate disappointment that not a single soul's agreed with her yet. 'Know what kind of shit-fuckery devils get up to? The kind that makes things way, WAY worse when they're already in the dirt. So you lot better believe me when I say that if that Cazador made a deal with one, he's got a lot more than a bunch of fangs up his sleeve. They need us.']
no subject
—EXCUSE me???
[' —they need to be WITH us so we can protect them, otherwise this kind of thing's gonna just keep fucking happening.'
The look of immense distress on her face doesn't leave, halfway between silently begging the others in the room to agree with her or elsewise flat-out trying to garner whatever pity that she can. It doesn't sit right with her, the idea that they might be late again at the moment when it matters most.
Unfortunately it's also lost on Astarion, now distracted by the way that Gale— roused to action by his promise that he can, in fact, repair the crux of all immediate furniture related stress with but a wave of his magic, has already placed his hands on the door's center mass— what's left of it anyway— which means that conversely Astarion's already childishly rushed to clap both his own hands over Gale's wrists trying to pull them off, hissing that enough damage has been done already and that if they REALLY want to put things right they'll hire a gods damned carpenter who works nights.
Ergo, craning his neck towards his shoulder to intercede in that secondary (tertiary??) conversation, Astarion adds:]
If what's on offer is this amount of chaos, we very much do mind—
['It is not usually so terrible as this.' Lae'zel presses through the richess of her voice, making her point before poor, mildly exasperated (and yet pup-covered) Wyll can argue otherwise: 'It is often much, much worse.'
Ah.
Wyll nods as Montressor attempts to climb his chest, artfully stopped short. So it is. 'At least there aren't dragons involved this time.'
'Yet,' says Karlach, her tail flicking wildly back and forth in its irate disappointment that not a single soul's agreed with her yet. 'Know what kind of shit-fuckery devils get up to? The kind that makes things way, WAY worse when they're already in the dirt. So you lot better believe me when I say that if that Cazador made a deal with one, he's got a lot more than a bunch of fangs up his sleeve. They need us.']