[Thief is a hissed accusation that can only watch on as Fenris downs the drink plucked from Astarion's hands (never mind that he needed that arm free, or that he laughs not even a full second later— ) and the wholly alien sensation of leaving through an establishment's shoddy back door with lightness in his chest and a smile on his lips even has the decency to stay, treading along beside them in the dust. Those winding byways where it's a miracle Astarion miraculously manages to avoid ploughing into anything headfirst when he's splitting doused attention between the two massive moons slung ominously overhead.
The glasses that he carries clinking when they aren't threatening to spill.]
....how in the hells do you suppose they stay up there like that....?
[Is a distracted change in subject no one but his tuned-out fascination asked for. Oh yes, he's so deft. So fearsome and capable. ]
no subject
The glasses that he carries clinking when they aren't threatening to spill.]
....how in the hells do you suppose they stay up there like that....?
[Is a distracted change in subject no one but his tuned-out fascination asked for. Oh yes, he's so deft. So fearsome and capable. ]