@clearwinged: “what do you see when you look at me?” ( wyllstarion ♥ )
over the decades, astarion has become quite skilled at anticipating what a person wants to hear. wyll in this moment in particular isn't a mystery to him. a raw part of him prickles at how glum wyll has been lately all because he's sprouting a pair of infernal horns when astarion has been a monster much longer than that. but it's fresh and wyll's having trouble processing it, he does understand. astarion sighs. "a man, wyll. a sweet foolish one, at that, and my answer would be the same regardless of whether or not you were donning those infernal ornaments of yours. a rather dashing look, i'd say. and the people of the swords coast will see that in time," astarion reassures, handing him a bottle of arabellan dry. if he's going to mope about by the lakefront all by his lonesome, he might as well drown his sorrows while he's at it.
"now, are you done being an utter drip, or do you need more consolatory sense knocked into you? i'm not really the hero type, but we did something, well, heroic. so maybe celebrating isn't out of the question," he muses, shrugging his shoulders with a sly grin. as selfish as it was, astarion didn't want wyll to sulk out here all by himself because who knew when they'd have another opportunity to celebrate anything? even if it was just rescuing a bunch of snot-nosed tiefling thieves and refugees from the certain death of another goblin attack. they had a long journey ahead of them, made no less treacherous or easier after bouts of self-pity and brooding. astarion's been doing a bit of that himself.
