[He sounds offended, if only briefly. As if some great insult's been leveled avidly against him, or his dignity, or his soon-to-be profession— or all of the above. But then again that's hardly shocking: once, a long time ago, after they'd spit into their hands and made quiet promises about their futures, Astarion had made the mistake of calling bouncers pimps— on account of a bit of inflamed gossip eavesdropped in on— and there was, that night, a great deal of fuss about semantics in these halls.
Above him comes the groaning of that ladder while he's still at the bottom; it's old but it bears weight just fine despite its protests, and so the only reason why Astarion pauses after Fenris already scurried up is to kick off both his heels and roll his arches before he follows suit. He'd saved up months for them, after all, and the last thing he wants is to break one of them or one of his own ankles on old rungs.
Their hideaway fits him better than it does Fenris, by the time he's crawled in close and sat down, legs delicately crossed. Dusting off the borders of his silk shirt where it hangs heaviest, two sizes too large.
Like the rest of this, he's aiming to grow into it.]
....[It's a pregnant pause that follows, peripheral and shrewd. Half-held on his tongue before, with all the impetus of youth:]
no subject
[He puffs out.]
A diamond does not.
[He sounds offended, if only briefly. As if some great insult's been leveled avidly against him, or his dignity, or his soon-to-be profession— or all of the above. But then again that's hardly shocking: once, a long time ago, after they'd spit into their hands and made quiet promises about their futures, Astarion had made the mistake of calling bouncers pimps— on account of a bit of inflamed gossip eavesdropped in on— and there was, that night, a great deal of fuss about semantics in these halls.
Above him comes the groaning of that ladder while he's still at the bottom; it's old but it bears weight just fine despite its protests, and so the only reason why Astarion pauses after Fenris already scurried up is to kick off both his heels and roll his arches before he follows suit. He'd saved up months for them, after all, and the last thing he wants is to break one of them or one of his own ankles on old rungs.
Their hideaway fits him better than it does Fenris, by the time he's crawled in close and sat down, legs delicately crossed. Dusting off the borders of his silk shirt where it hangs heaviest, two sizes too large.
Like the rest of this, he's aiming to grow into it.]
....[It's a pregnant pause that follows, peripheral and shrewd. Half-held on his tongue before, with all the impetus of youth:]
Have you managed with anyone yet?