[It's not a week later that they see Astarion's friends.
Not at a party, to Fenris' mild surprise, but an informal social gathering. A picnic that Dalyria is hosting, or so Fenris is told; it's not really a picnic if you have a bunch of servants help you drag everything out onto your massive front lawn, but no one actually asks him what he thinks about it. Besides: it works out in their favor. Once all the servants head back to the manor, there's no prying ears left to overhear, and that's as it should be. Bad enough they risk Violet or Petras wagging their tongues; no need to worry that some servant might find themselves susceptible to a well-placed bribe months down the line.
'Besides,' Violet says airily in response to Aurelia's complaints, 'we have Astarion's bodyguard to fetch us things if need be. Isn't that right?' She looks at him expectantly, a glint in her eye. It's a test, albeit an easy one, and he knows how he ought to respond . . . but ah, not today. Not anymore.]
No.
[He says it neutrally, not that it matters. Petras laughs anyway, amused by Fenris' utter unwillingness to defer to them. Violet rolls her eyes, but it's too nice a day to kick up a fuss. The conversation drifts, touching on petty gossip and minor arguments about fashion, but sooner or later, it ebbs.
'Weren't you going to tell us something?' Dal asks, her voice soft as she glances over at Astarion.
'You hinted at it enough,' Leon adds, scoffing fondly as he reaches for the wine. '"Wait and see"— well, we've waited, see? What is it you wanted to show us?'
no subject
Not at a party, to Fenris' mild surprise, but an informal social gathering. A picnic that Dalyria is hosting, or so Fenris is told; it's not really a picnic if you have a bunch of servants help you drag everything out onto your massive front lawn, but no one actually asks him what he thinks about it. Besides: it works out in their favor. Once all the servants head back to the manor, there's no prying ears left to overhear, and that's as it should be. Bad enough they risk Violet or Petras wagging their tongues; no need to worry that some servant might find themselves susceptible to a well-placed bribe months down the line.
'Besides,' Violet says airily in response to Aurelia's complaints, 'we have Astarion's bodyguard to fetch us things if need be. Isn't that right?' She looks at him expectantly, a glint in her eye. It's a test, albeit an easy one, and he knows how he ought to respond . . . but ah, not today. Not anymore.]
No.
[He says it neutrally, not that it matters. Petras laughs anyway, amused by Fenris' utter unwillingness to defer to them. Violet rolls her eyes, but it's too nice a day to kick up a fuss. The conversation drifts, touching on petty gossip and minor arguments about fashion, but sooner or later, it ebbs.
'Weren't you going to tell us something?' Dal asks, her voice soft as she glances over at Astarion.
'You hinted at it enough,' Leon adds, scoffing fondly as he reaches for the wine. '"Wait and see"— well, we've waited, see? What is it you wanted to show us?'
Ah . . .]