[Astarion knows that he got lucky— one look to his left solidifies that fact alone as it speaks to him with roughened tone and fights to exhale warm, warm tension. Perhaps the same tension as before they were distracted by talks of enslavement and fair grace, perhaps not.
But this? This solidifies the fact that he got more lucky than he could ever really know. As if all his belated good fortune was just waiting for this moment alone to stride into play.]
More than equal.
[Offered up before they clear that narrow sidestreet and enter into broader daylight, offering a view of high streets and dusty banners, dyed with vibrant and fittingly earthy colors. It distracts him again, and for a moment he doesn't know whether to gawk at what's fluttering overhead or painted on the walls or milling about on two legs before them.
no subject
But this? This solidifies the fact that he got more lucky than he could ever really know. As if all his belated good fortune was just waiting for this moment alone to stride into play.]
More than equal.
[Offered up before they clear that narrow sidestreet and enter into broader daylight, offering a view of high streets and dusty banners, dyed with vibrant and fittingly earthy colors. It distracts him again, and for a moment he doesn't know whether to gawk at what's fluttering overhead or painted on the walls or milling about on two legs before them.
All, is the end result.
Just all.
Maybe theyre alike in that.]