For the first time in two-hundred years, Astarion is free.
... Perhaps not free-free, what with Cazador still being alive and the additional threat of imminent ceramorphosis, but when the majority of one's life has been confined to sucking on rats and following the every order of a mad, evil bastard? He'll take the tadpole in his brain, thank you very much — maybe even throw in one or two more before their ultimate extration if it'll help rid him of Cazador for good.
He's also rather pleased with himself for having the sense to fall in with Daan and his motley crew of fashion disasters. If nothing else Astarion is well aware that he'll need protection if he's to make it out of this alive: he's skilled with daggers, yes, and a menace with a crossbow, but it always helps to have a madwoman in full plate armour on hand to run in and take the hits. Wizards can be useful when buildings need levelling — even if Gale did somehow manage to get stuck in a portal — and while he's obviously suspicious of anyone who calls themself "Shadowheart?" Two clerics are better than one.
And speaking of clerics ...
"Where in the Hells did that come from?"
Daan had seemed the most reasonable of his new companions, and so it had made sense (in Astarion's opinion, anyway) to set up his own tent opposite the doctor's. He'd expected peace, quiet, and perhaps a little further insight into their situation from watching the man conduct his experiments — all that's manifested thus far is a mystery cat with unsettling lamp-like eyes.
Suffice it to say that Astarion doesn't care for it.
"Be a dear and get rid of it, would you? I'd say we have more than enough 'animal companions' tagging along on our little camping trip," he croons, making a flourishing gesture towards his own forehead. The sharpness in those red eyes belies the flirty note of his tone: this is a man who is used to purring his way into the good graces of others, but one who clearly has his own agenda in doing so.
no subject
For the first time in two-hundred years, Astarion is free.
... Perhaps not free-free, what with Cazador still being alive and the additional threat of imminent ceramorphosis, but when the majority of one's life has been confined to sucking on rats and following the every order of a mad, evil bastard? He'll take the tadpole in his brain, thank you very much — maybe even throw in one or two more before their ultimate extration if it'll help rid him of Cazador for good.
He's also rather pleased with himself for having the sense to fall in with Daan and his motley crew of fashion disasters. If nothing else Astarion is well aware that he'll need protection if he's to make it out of this alive: he's skilled with daggers, yes, and a menace with a crossbow, but it always helps to have a madwoman in full plate armour on hand to run in and take the hits. Wizards can be useful when buildings need levelling — even if Gale did somehow manage to get stuck in a portal — and while he's obviously suspicious of anyone who calls themself "Shadowheart?" Two clerics are better than one.
And speaking of clerics ...
"Where in the Hells did that come from?"
Daan had seemed the most reasonable of his new companions, and so it had made sense (in Astarion's opinion, anyway) to set up his own tent opposite the doctor's. He'd expected peace, quiet, and perhaps a little further insight into their situation from watching the man conduct his experiments — all that's manifested thus far is a mystery cat with unsettling lamp-like eyes.
Suffice it to say that Astarion doesn't care for it.
"Be a dear and get rid of it, would you? I'd say we have more than enough 'animal companions' tagging along on our little camping trip," he croons, making a flourishing gesture towards his own forehead. The sharpness in those red eyes belies the flirty note of his tone: this is a man who is used to purring his way into the good graces of others, but one who clearly has his own agenda in doing so.