❝ excuse me — ? ❞ a hand raises to his chest, fingers splayed and lips curling in an exaggerated look of offense. ❝ i asked you first. why in the hells am i obligated to tell you anything when you won't return the favor? ❞ the logic is unapologetically childish, particularly when paired with the way his voice teeters dangerously close to a whine. the elf hardly seems to care. dropping his arm with a little huff, he steps a bit closer — moving in a slow ( almost predatory ) half-circle around the other, body language tense and guarded. fine. fine, then — if he isn't willing to answer his questions, astarion supposes it just falls to him to figure this out on his own.
❝ red eyes. ❞ he notes coolly. ❝ pointed teeth. you're a vampire, darling — who do you think you're trying to fool? ❞ at least he has the courtesy to do something about his hair. it's honestly not half bad — styled a bit like how he imagines his own must look from an outside perspective. the color is strikingly similar as well.
... oh. ❝ wait. ❞ the spawn's footsteps come to an abrupt stop. he looks at the other, gaze roving across his features with newfound intensity and purpose. ❝ ... wait. ❞
@fcllxn-stcr from HERE.
