In an instant he's leapt back, his expression startled as his mind whirs— he must have been too harsh. Drunk and overeager as he is, it isn't such a shock that he's played too hard, nipped too roughly: not irreversible damage, no, but still, it isn't a good look. And what an awful thing for Astarion, on his very first real night out, to suffer through a broken wrist at the hands of the elf he plans to journey with— Maker's breath, and Fenris curses himself silently as he watches Astarion writhe.
He doesn't dare approach, not when those legs had kicked and struggled so fiercely. Instead, he leans forward in a half-kneel: cautiously present without crowding, his hands held out a little helplessly as he peers at Astarion.]
What is it? Your wrist?
[Let me see, he bites back, for he would not blame Astarion for not wanting to show it to him— and anyway, what the hell does he know about treating a broken wrist?]
no subject
In an instant he's leapt back, his expression startled as his mind whirs— he must have been too harsh. Drunk and overeager as he is, it isn't such a shock that he's played too hard, nipped too roughly: not irreversible damage, no, but still, it isn't a good look. And what an awful thing for Astarion, on his very first real night out, to suffer through a broken wrist at the hands of the elf he plans to journey with— Maker's breath, and Fenris curses himself silently as he watches Astarion writhe.
He doesn't dare approach, not when those legs had kicked and struggled so fiercely. Instead, he leans forward in a half-kneel: cautiously present without crowding, his hands held out a little helplessly as he peers at Astarion.]
What is it? Your wrist?
[Let me see, he bites back, for he would not blame Astarion for not wanting to show it to him— and anyway, what the hell does he know about treating a broken wrist?]
There are a few healers still open, I think—