....Young thing. Loved thing. [His muttering hoarse with the hallmarks of defeat; no closer to biting than he is to ripping that book, instead of clutching at it like a lifeline.] Talking about how you don't want to go, but you'll leave me— and add to it the shame of ceremony.
[They'll be a joke, his wedded whores. And that's aside from the fact that once Vakares sleeps, he'll be a joke, anyway— at least to all the vengeful wretches out there with wagging tongues and a tiredness for being kept in line.
And the air is thick.
And they're both so tired.
And this room....this old, forgotten relic looks nothing like it did centuries ago. Barely recognizable, rotting in the dark.]
It was supposed to be me.
[Red-rimmed eyes sliding higher, echoing the shade of his changed pupils. Red, like every vampire. Broken, like every vampire.
(Unlike Vakares, he's always been able to admit that about them.)]
At least then I could console myself with power, once you were off dreaming of the next wounded creature you'll turn after you've forgotten us both. [Unfair, Astarion. It's unfair, and he knows it— he never could stop himself from trying to share his pain.] Now what? Babysit him while the whole world laughs because 'he needs me.' [He needs you. What about me— ]
—I need you.
But you couldn't even give me the decency of my dignity as you walk out the door.
2/2
Anything at all.]
....Young thing. Loved thing. [His muttering hoarse with the hallmarks of defeat; no closer to biting than he is to ripping that book, instead of clutching at it like a lifeline.] Talking about how you don't want to go, but you'll leave me— and add to it the shame of ceremony.
[They'll be a joke, his wedded whores. And that's aside from the fact that once Vakares sleeps, he'll be a joke, anyway— at least to all the vengeful wretches out there with wagging tongues and a tiredness for being kept in line.
And the air is thick.
And they're both so tired.
And this room....this old, forgotten relic looks nothing like it did centuries ago. Barely recognizable, rotting in the dark.]
It was supposed to be me.
[Red-rimmed eyes sliding higher, echoing the shade of his changed pupils. Red, like every vampire. Broken, like every vampire.
(Unlike Vakares, he's always been able to admit that about them.)]
At least then I could console myself with power, once you were off dreaming of the next wounded creature you'll turn after you've forgotten us both. [Unfair, Astarion. It's unfair, and he knows it— he never could stop himself from trying to share his pain.] Now what? Babysit him while the whole world laughs because 'he needs me.' [He needs you. What about me— ]
—I need you.
But you couldn't even give me the decency of my dignity as you walk out the door.