It's a familiar score, isn't it? The gouged-in brand of someone else's vision for the full span of your existence— eclipsing it— more than just your body or your looks, it's the measure of everything you know, inescapable without further mutilation: like the attached chain grown into skin for being too damned tight, the mutt will always have its scars even if it tears the leash line loose.
Astarion's mouth goes thin. Even with one eye firmly closed, his expression is both utterly transparent and entirely unreadable. An itch crawling up his spine before he wonders if the tatters of his shirt—
No. No, he knows where the borders are. Nothing's visible.]
....lyrium?
[No lilt to his voice. No songbird cadence. He's angled in and the brightness of the firelight falls on pale features in just the right way to emphasize how blatantly he's let his own doggish defenses slip.]
no subject
It's a familiar score, isn't it? The gouged-in brand of someone else's vision for the full span of your existence— eclipsing it— more than just your body or your looks, it's the measure of everything you know, inescapable without further mutilation: like the attached chain grown into skin for being too damned tight, the mutt will always have its scars even if it tears the leash line loose.
Astarion's mouth goes thin. Even with one eye firmly closed, his expression is both utterly transparent and entirely unreadable. An itch crawling up his spine before he wonders if the tatters of his shirt—
No. No, he knows where the borders are. Nothing's visible.]
....lyrium?
[No lilt to his voice. No songbird cadence. He's angled in and the brightness of the firelight falls on pale features in just the right way to emphasize how blatantly he's let his own doggish defenses slip.]