#anquenin

blood, blood, gallons of the stuff! @anquenin.

there's an open wound somewhere by his temple, that which throbs and pounds in unison with the splitting headache that stretches over his crown. by all rights, he should be dead. it's not every day you get cracked over the head by an ogre with a club and live to tell the tale ... here he stands; a little woozy, and there's maybe three astarion's in front of him right now but otherwise, he's still standing without complaints.

three thumbs blend into one as they swipe at his cheekbone, catching a bloody bead racing down the side of his face. xvilnar sways to-and-fro, blinking blearily as if he's just woken from a deep slumber.

he stares at astarion, or rather, astarion's mouth as he samples his blood, gaze lingering on the wash of his tongue over his thumb, the smack of his lips and the sigh that follows. shit. there's shadows crawling around the edges of his vision now, like invasive hands threatening to steal his attention away. he's a mind to offer the rest of his blood to the spawn. it's all going to waste now, anyway, but as he leans in, it feels like the ground is beckoning him— wants to swallow him up.

@weaverot / @softersinned / @anquenin

"then you invite me! obviously, my dear, i want to see just how messy things get." he smiles, a little too excited. before he rolls his eyes "-and to be moral support or whatever the phrase i am meant to be using is."

       “ You seem oddly reclusive tonight. ” He watched Astarion, knowing that something was wrong, but not knowing how to go about offering reassurance or comfort. And Jack wanted to comfort him. He paused, hesitating before speaking again. “ If this is the result of what that drow from earlier had to say, I wouldn't pay it any mind if I were you. ” The longer he'd had to mull on it, the more uncomfortable he'd felt at the insinuations made that he was Astarion's owner. “ Too much time spent in Menzoberranzan, clearly. ”

ellis didn't think they could afford for astarion to be off of his game, not when ellis didn't even know how to play. he'd come to appreciate the vampire's fiendish wit, the elegance in which he usually handled threats. the lines on his face seemed deeper, more tired… it could just be in his head but in hindsight, things seemed a bit off. a bit wrong. maybe ellis could have handled the day with more grace, maybe he hadn't had the foresight to do so. he feels a twinge of guilt, half-wishing he had realized sooner.

he waits until their allies are occupied with sleep or otherwise & catches astarion by the arm. as ellis' temporary defenses fell it became clear. astarion's problem could be solved with one question..

" sorry... for y'know. being an ass, " ellis says quietly, as if someone else might hear. he hates apologizing, but it's only real between them & somehow that makes it okay. blue eyes gleam with something close to concern, clumsy but sincere. he keeps himself from pointing out the tired sheen in the other's eyes or his graceless feet through the day. ellis could gather how to keep astarion at his best, how to help facilitate it, " you hungry? "

        it seems like just another restless night in a series of many. amrita lays on her bedroll by the fire, just trying to get a few winks of rest. the flames crackle pleasantly enough, joined by the crickets singing in the brush. but she is used to sleeping when she can in the bustle of a shadow dragon safe house, where there is always someone awake and working. growing used to the sounds of nighttime on the sword coast is taking some time.

                            { ROLL PERCEPTION: 13 + 3 = 16 }

        she sighs, eyes fluttering briefly open as she rolls onto her back, only to flash wide again as she realizes there is a figure looming over her. “the hells—” amrita plants a hand on his chest to push him away, a small warning shock of lightning magic passing between them at the touch. not enough to do any damage, but it probably smarts. she scrambles quickly, if awkwardly, to her feet and is finally able to register who it is.

       “ You're sulking. ” Her wry observation was accompanied by an amused lilt of her voice. Astarion had been more sullen than usual ever since they'd got back to their Rivington camp, and Val was certain the reason had everything to do with the encounter they'd had with his spawn siblings at the Flophouse. Either that, or it was the somewhat tense conversation the two of them had had afterwards — and while it hadn't been a full blown fight, this did feel like she was suffering the silent treatment as a fallout from one. The surest sign of his displeasure was that he wasn't at his tent when Val went to look for him and, when she did find him, annoyance seemed to cling to his very being.

       Foolish though it might have made her, Val wasn't deterred. She strode right on up to him, attempting to coax his gaze. “ I disagree because I care. You know that, don't you? ” She spoke softly, reaching for one of his hands and giving it a small squeeze. “ I don't want to see you driven by fear into a ritual that might have unintended consequences. ” Val understood what drove him better than most: she could still recall the night before the battle of Denerim, when the prospect of certain death had been placed at her feet and, shortly after, the dark promise of averting it. She cocked her head with a small smile. “ I like you too much as you are. ”