#vampyrictus

𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳, ciri crosses her arms before her chest. ❛   really ? because i think we should definitely talk about it, astarion.   ❜ her tone is sharp, but not yet biting, her eyes set on the other's face as though she might by sheer force of will peel back whatever mask @vampyrictus wears. she knows not what to make of him and it leaves her on edge. impatience crinkles her brow, frustration soon joining it in kind.

❛   there is something else you know, isn't there ? something you're not telling me.   ❜

tell us about. . .

“ Do you want my honest opinion ? ” Of course they do, and Florence understands. The strongest fall when it comes to gossip. If they’ve come to hear horrid details or venomous words, then they’ll be disappointed. 

“ I admire Laera. Strong, determined, and with incredible prowess on the battlefield ? It would be harder to hate her. We won’t see eye to eye – trust me when I say we have our differences – but I hold great respect for someone that holds their ground. ”

There’s a short pause as Florence stokes the fire. It gives her a ( brief ) moment to piece a second opinion together. “ I didn’t know what to think of Astarion, ” she says. “ I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I could say that about any of them. I believe he’s beginning to grow on me, though. It’s. . . good to share a hobby with someone, you know ? It makes all of this a little more tolerable. ”

Ah, but the two of them together…

' how does anyone meet and anything happen in baldur's gate? a tavern, several pints, a game of poker. ' she takes a long drink from her glass, reveling in the way the firewine burns pleasantly down her throat and settles in the pit of her stomach, right next to the knot that's taken root since the truth came to light. the mindflayer tadpole and a powerful band of fanatics bent on world domination wasn't enough; the mastermind behind the entire damn thing had to be him. it's a bitter pill she's managed to swallow but that harsh taste still lingers on her tongue, as she takes a stroll down memory lane.

' I was young, savoring my first taste of independence, and he was charming, handsome, and could go toe to toe with me in a battle of wits. ' how different things were now. he seemed to remain the same; ambitions as high as the moon and the drive to reach them. she often wondered, even now, if that's how it had been from the start of their journey, or if it was something that developed along the ride and she hadn't noticed it until it was too late. another swig, another wince, and she reaches for the bottle. ' that's it. that's all. '

send ‘ 🧵 ’ and receive an embroidered surprise from the cleric.

“ Our camp isn’t large, but it took me ages to find you. ” Florence doesn’t wait for an invitation. Sitting cross-legged, she claims the space to Astarion’s left, and an empty bag in her lap. “ This is for you. ”

The filigree is in silver. A touch of flare across the shoulder straps and pouch, but Florence’s delight shines at the words disguised as pleasant designs on the lid’s edge. It’s one of the few poems she’s bothered to remember.

Anonymously send me something your muse is secretly thinking about mine.

"Wow, thanks. You're far too kind.

“ You have impeccable timing. ” Stretching and rolling her shoulders, Florence stands. With her own projects paused and novels lacking an interesting plot, her mind veered dangerously close to boredom.

send ‘ smash or pass ’for my muse to answer ( honestly ) about yours.