[Gods, Fenris doesn't expect that response. So much so that he rises up in shocked echo, resting on his elbows as he stares up uncomprehendingly at Astarion. It isn't that he thought he would be cruel about it, no, but—
He'd thought . . . indifferent sympathy, perhaps. A twisting grimace or a performative sigh on such a wretched business, for isn't that how it always goes? Derision or pity, but either way, nobles always remove themselves from such distasteful issues. Slaves and servants are there to serve, not to have personal lives or conflicts, and if their very existence is a miserable one, well. It's not worth thinking about. That's how it had been with Danarius and his ilk— and gods know Lord Ancunín was nothing but serene when he had handed over a check to buy Fenris. The lad will be useful, that was the only real comment he'd had, and Fenris had thought—
It's just . . . he hadn't expected horror.
He hadn't expected shock.
And maybe this is Fenris' own fault. Maybe he expects too much of an elf not yet a century old, who plays so well at being worldly and mature that he can fool almost everyone. But there's such a difference between knowing how to play among your friends (boasting about exploits, fucking and sucking your way through the upper echelons just so they'll admire you) and knowing what really happens in the world . . .]
A wizard near the edge of the Upper City. A minor noble.
[He isn't playing coy with Danarius' name— at least, not intentionally. It's just that he doesn't quite know what to make of all this shock.]
And I mean I was property. His . . . his. He arranged it in courts long ago, though I do not know the specifics.
[It had been so many years ago, after all, and he was such an ignorant thing. The legalese had flown over his head, and Danarius had prompted him to sign things with the jagged X that had served as signature. And his mother had been there, nodding tearfully; Varania had been there, small and wide-eyed. For them, Danarius murmured. Just sign here and they will never worry again . . .]
He controlled everything. He . . . why are you upset?
[And he doesn't hear the echo. He doesn't realize his expression is the same that Astarion wore hours ago (a lifetime ago).]
no subject
He'd thought . . . indifferent sympathy, perhaps. A twisting grimace or a performative sigh on such a wretched business, for isn't that how it always goes? Derision or pity, but either way, nobles always remove themselves from such distasteful issues. Slaves and servants are there to serve, not to have personal lives or conflicts, and if their very existence is a miserable one, well. It's not worth thinking about. That's how it had been with Danarius and his ilk— and gods know Lord Ancunín was nothing but serene when he had handed over a check to buy Fenris. The lad will be useful, that was the only real comment he'd had, and Fenris had thought—
It's just . . . he hadn't expected horror.
He hadn't expected shock.
And maybe this is Fenris' own fault. Maybe he expects too much of an elf not yet a century old, who plays so well at being worldly and mature that he can fool almost everyone. But there's such a difference between knowing how to play among your friends (boasting about exploits, fucking and sucking your way through the upper echelons just so they'll admire you) and knowing what really happens in the world . . .]
A wizard near the edge of the Upper City. A minor noble.
[He isn't playing coy with Danarius' name— at least, not intentionally. It's just that he doesn't quite know what to make of all this shock.]
And I mean I was property. His . . . his. He arranged it in courts long ago, though I do not know the specifics.
[It had been so many years ago, after all, and he was such an ignorant thing. The legalese had flown over his head, and Danarius had prompted him to sign things with the jagged X that had served as signature. And his mother had been there, nodding tearfully; Varania had been there, small and wide-eyed. For them, Danarius murmured. Just sign here and they will never worry again . . .]
He controlled everything. He . . . why are you upset?
[And he doesn't hear the echo. He doesn't realize his expression is the same that Astarion wore hours ago (a lifetime ago).]