It would've choked less. [Gritted at Fenris from his small corner in an equally small room nearly four hours later— light from a faulty little magitech lantern buzzing at just the right temperature to be grating while it does its best to illuminate his narrow face, his broad ears and tufted mane, all sprouted from the very same blanket Talindra had bundled him in earlier. There's no clock in here (the servant's wing is more emergency-bunkrooms for long shifts than actual live-in apartments aside from the higher ranking staff, but their rooms have windows, washrooms, doors— plural)— and he wasn't ever given the chance to go back for his phone; he doesn't know what time it is. He isn't tired enough to sleep.
Least of all when Fenris' suggestion meant the grand Lord Ancunín immediately agreed....and reassigned Fenris to his own watch instead for the time being, whilst relegating his eldest son to a flock of policing guards and this cramped little excuse for a saferoom instead.
'You'll be assigned to me until this resolves,' he'd said to Fenris. 'the media will have no doubt swarmed like flies, and I cannot risk my duties for the sake of intimidation.'
The rest is in the air. The rest is frustratingly, maddeningly in the air; no one's settling anything in the middle of the night when the lord and lady of the house still have their duties come morning, alongside the raucous addition of a media circus clambering just outside their gates. You are free to do as you like when I am home, directed at their prized guard dog, really just means don't stray too far, and what that means is just....
Astarion's had four hours on his own, and all he's done— in spite of the crispness of his glare now—
no subject
It would've choked less. [Gritted at Fenris from his small corner in an equally small room nearly four hours later— light from a faulty little magitech lantern buzzing at just the right temperature to be grating while it does its best to illuminate his narrow face, his broad ears and tufted mane, all sprouted from the very same blanket Talindra had bundled him in earlier. There's no clock in here (the servant's wing is more emergency-bunkrooms for long shifts than actual live-in apartments aside from the higher ranking staff, but their rooms have windows, washrooms, doors— plural)— and he wasn't ever given the chance to go back for his phone; he doesn't know what time it is. He isn't tired enough to sleep.
Least of all when Fenris' suggestion meant the grand Lord Ancunín immediately agreed....and reassigned Fenris to his own watch instead for the time being, whilst relegating his eldest son to a flock of policing guards and this cramped little excuse for a saferoom instead.
'You'll be assigned to me until this resolves,' he'd said to Fenris. 'the media will have no doubt swarmed like flies, and I cannot risk my duties for the sake of intimidation.'
The rest is in the air. The rest is frustratingly, maddeningly in the air; no one's settling anything in the middle of the night when the lord and lady of the house still have their duties come morning, alongside the raucous addition of a media circus clambering just outside their gates. You are free to do as you like when I am home, directed at their prized guard dog, really just means don't stray too far, and what that means is just....
Astarion's had four hours on his own, and all he's done— in spite of the crispness of his glare now—
Is worry.]