dives into the closest bush, just as astarion turns around. he knows what he did. and he refuses to take accountability. instead he hides. 👀
a miasma of dust, a windstorm of debris. soot in perfectly quaffed strands of icy white hair. astarion had spent countless moments that daybreak laying the curls into their pristine perfection. now tarnished by century old bone-dust and crypt-rot, emanated by the triggering of a blast mine." you have got to be kidding me ! " once the dust clears and the wooden planks all fall into their disarray, calloused hands attempt to tidy himself up. there's a certain degree of aggravation he hasn't been nudged to in some time. though, he might've expected it, with the travel companions he's opted to indulge himself in. a band of merry misfits, all prone to bouts of chaos and self destruction. as everyone crowds the one and only ( himself ) whom was impacted by the blast, he recounts one face in particular missing.
the bard!
shooing away the rightful concern of said misfits, crimson eyes avert to the shuffling of a bush outside of the decrepit shed they'd explored for the most meager and pathetic treasures, bound by the explosive. " oh no no, you sly little fox. you're not getting out of this one unscathed! " no hesitation does he reach into the bush to pluck out their bardic leader. " has no one told you before that... oh I don't know, suspicious sheds in the middle of shadow cursed lands are likely to be trapped? or are you lacking common sense in that pretty head of yours?! " perhaps some of this anger is misplaced exhaustion from a long day's travel and no blood satiating his lacking energy. " all this trouble for ten gold and a pair of boots the wizard's going to shove down his throat as a midnight snack! "
