[Invisibly, Fenris allows himself the audacious insolence of a small eye-roll. He will not insist upon that compliment a third time, no, he knows better— but that won't stop him from thinking it. Nor, indeed, stubbornly insisting upon it even if it's only to himself, for it's true in his mind. Not that Astarion is some saint, but still. It was kind, and gods know Fenris has felt little enough of that in his life.
But ah: he huffs out a laugh for that prediction of the future. He might not in other circumstances, too embittered by the irony to find amusement in it, but tonight is different. The way Astarion shuffles in closer, til there's not a single gap between them, makes it different.]
I imagine I have seen more fancy parties and soirées than you, young thing that you are. They lose their shine after the third or fourth.
[Gods, they were endless. He never could decide which he hated more: the ones in which Danarius played host or acted as guest. Both had their pitfalls and miseries. There were nights in Castellum Tenebris where Fenris would be tasked with serving wine and acting as entertainment both (Danarius' fingers twitching as Fenris would fall to his knees, and it was a good night if his keening cries were of pain and not pleasure). And then again there were night in other estates, where he would linger along the sidelines and ignore the unsubtle stares and gossiping whispers (from other slaves, from the guests, from everyone) in favor of watching all the revelry with a wary eye. His belly empty as the wealthy drank too much champagne and ate delicate pastries . . .
And danced. Gliding and weaving among another, and fashions might change, but dancing doesn't, not as much as humans think it does. And it was amusing, really, to see how they evolving: minuets becoming waltzes becoming polkas, and oh, of course there's others. He is no fool, and just because Danarius had never ventured into clubs doesn't mean that Fenris is blind to the less, ah, restrained dances that take place in the city. But if they're talking about noble parties, well.]
In fact . . . I wager I am better than you at the dances there, too. Gods know I have seen them often enough.
[Amusement is woven sweetly in his voice, though he keeps facing forward.]
no subject
But ah: he huffs out a laugh for that prediction of the future. He might not in other circumstances, too embittered by the irony to find amusement in it, but tonight is different. The way Astarion shuffles in closer, til there's not a single gap between them, makes it different.]
I imagine I have seen more fancy parties and soirées than you, young thing that you are. They lose their shine after the third or fourth.
[Gods, they were endless. He never could decide which he hated more: the ones in which Danarius played host or acted as guest. Both had their pitfalls and miseries. There were nights in Castellum Tenebris where Fenris would be tasked with serving wine and acting as entertainment both (Danarius' fingers twitching as Fenris would fall to his knees, and it was a good night if his keening cries were of pain and not pleasure). And then again there were night in other estates, where he would linger along the sidelines and ignore the unsubtle stares and gossiping whispers (from other slaves, from the guests, from everyone) in favor of watching all the revelry with a wary eye. His belly empty as the wealthy drank too much champagne and ate delicate pastries . . .
And danced. Gliding and weaving among another, and fashions might change, but dancing doesn't, not as much as humans think it does. And it was amusing, really, to see how they evolving: minuets becoming waltzes becoming polkas, and oh, of course there's others. He is no fool, and just because Danarius had never ventured into clubs doesn't mean that Fenris is blind to the less, ah, restrained dances that take place in the city. But if they're talking about noble parties, well.]
In fact . . . I wager I am better than you at the dances there, too. Gods know I have seen them often enough.
[Amusement is woven sweetly in his voice, though he keeps facing forward.]