Sherry— [Astarion puffs out, still swiping his hand against fabric. A few balled-up curls of soaked paper fall to the floor like tiny leaves from a tree in the process, gold around their edges— same as the bottle's signature scrawl.
Evidence, later. But not right now.
Right now, he can hear the rhythmic thudding of footwork against hollow wood (a low, shuddering sound not so different from a drum in play, only there's a percussive crispness to it), broken by the occasional correction from Zevlor or from one of the performers calling out. Today, Etudíe is furious at Brienne. That means there's more pauses than usual between sets, and when it happens, it comes coupled with a few arguments. Short ones, sure, but heated.
It works in Astarion and Fenris' favor.
And gives Astarion enough confidence to push his stare up and away from his battle, setting its attention on the other elf instead while he goes on.] —is what all the best people drink.
It's not the same as wine. [Declared with the unflinching confidence of someone who's never known nor asked what sherry actually is.
And this time there's a reason for it.]
Look. [He hefts his arm up behind him— the same one he'd been pawing with— grabbing a slim cocktail menu off the edge of the counter, almost twisting his shoulder around for how high up it is, but if it hurts he doesn't seem to mind; he's more focused on the end goal here:] See?
[He hasn't forgotten Fenris is still learning his letters, so he taps the ink with his index finger. Second row down from the top.]
They wouldn't write it separate if it was just regular wine. And it wouldn't cost twice as much either.
no subject
Evidence, later. But not right now.
Right now, he can hear the rhythmic thudding of footwork against hollow wood (a low, shuddering sound not so different from a drum in play, only there's a percussive crispness to it), broken by the occasional correction from Zevlor or from one of the performers calling out. Today, Etudíe is furious at Brienne. That means there's more pauses than usual between sets, and when it happens, it comes coupled with a few arguments. Short ones, sure, but heated.
It works in Astarion and Fenris' favor.
And gives Astarion enough confidence to push his stare up and away from his battle, setting its attention on the other elf instead while he goes on.] —is what all the best people drink.
It's not the same as wine. [Declared with the unflinching confidence of someone who's never known nor asked what sherry actually is.
And this time there's a reason for it.]
Look. [He hefts his arm up behind him— the same one he'd been pawing with— grabbing a slim cocktail menu off the edge of the counter, almost twisting his shoulder around for how high up it is, but if it hurts he doesn't seem to mind; he's more focused on the end goal here:] See?
[He hasn't forgotten Fenris is still learning his letters, so he taps the ink with his index finger. Second row down from the top.]
They wouldn't write it separate if it was just regular wine. And it wouldn't cost twice as much either.