[do not love that for him or for me. Camille flinches just looking at it.]
Another one? [She hunches some, speaks softer.] Was it some place you recognized? What were you fighting for?
[If the theming thus far has been anything to go by, its their lives or the lives of those they love. Or it's some need incepted into them by the setting itself.]
It was something like I had a false set of memories. I want in a competition, and I had to win to... get away from something. To live. I was willing to do anything to win.
[The effects of which seemed to linger, in varying degrees. No one came out of these things right.]
So, which part was it that did this? [She'll gesture to the neck, gently. No where near the vicinity of it, even if there's an urge to. Put something soft to it, clean it up. Fix him. Comfort him.] Your needing to win, or the thing you were getting away from?
Camille's emotionshare takes on a fretful bent. Something protective. Angry.
Exhausted.]
...I'm sorry.
[She'll reach up to push a stray hair from his forehead. Heart sinking. As with Cazador before, he's been made to bleed and bow. Made into a sacrifice in the name of something worthless.]
I am aware of that. [ he'll allow the hair touching though. her emotions make it perfectly clear why -- and, well. she isn't wrong. he got himself out of one situation where words alone could talk and tempt him into an action, only to end up in another, brief as it was. ]
In the moment though, remembering it can be difficult.
It is. [She nods. Coming back to stay in her family home had sent her spiralling, and that was without supernatural pressure.] Especially when they're fucking with your head already.
[She doesn't make further moves to coddle him. He's not the sort to appreciate it, and prior incidents stay her hand. The urge remains, though. She hates to see him like this, laid low in every way.]
[ not being coddled IS appreciated -- if only because he's freshly healed and feels wrong in his own skin from the effects of the swamp. he might feel a little hunted to be suddenly hugged at this moment.
he sighs. ]
No, he'll be fussing around when he has a moment. I can wait.
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scrapdraught) wrote2024-06-09 08:28 pm
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Hello, my dear.
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[God, what a mess.
She'll take a seat next to him, probably reversed to his sprawl so she can better catch his eye.]
I'm so sorry to tell you, but we all decided. Laudna's the winner.
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Okay, back to yourself a bit.
[There's apologetic energy coming his way. Sorry buddy...
Her eyes go to his neck. Is it around where the bite scar is?]
What was going on?
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Contest. We had to win to get what we wanted.
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Another one? [She hunches some, speaks softer.] Was it some place you recognized? What were you fighting for?
[If the theming thus far has been anything to go by, its their lives or the lives of those they love. Or it's some need incepted into them by the setting itself.]
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Not... really. Or-- I thought I did.
It was something like I had a false set of memories. I want in a competition, and I had to win to... get away from something. To live. I was willing to do anything to win.
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So another pseudo-life.
[The effects of which seemed to linger, in varying degrees. No one came out of these things right.]
So, which part was it that did this? [She'll gesture to the neck, gently. No where near the vicinity of it, even if there's an urge to. Put something soft to it, clean it up. Fix him. Comfort him.] Your needing to win, or the thing you were getting away from?
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… [ well it’s at least healed from the swamp! there’s that. twin scar matchies. ]
We needed to put on a show. A spectacle. Show the crowd we deserved to win.
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Camille's emotionshare takes on a fretful bent. Something protective. Angry.
Exhausted.]
...I'm sorry.
[She'll reach up to push a stray hair from his forehead. Heart sinking. As with Cazador before, he's been made to bleed and bow. Made into a sacrifice in the name of something worthless.]
You're no one's puppet, Astarion.
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the exhaustion is a mood. ]
...
I am aware of that. [ he'll allow the hair touching though. her emotions make it perfectly clear why -- and, well. she isn't wrong. he got himself out of one situation where words alone could talk and tempt him into an action, only to end up in another, brief as it was. ]
In the moment though, remembering it can be difficult.
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[She doesn't make further moves to coddle him. He's not the sort to appreciate it, and prior incidents stay her hand. The urge remains, though. She hates to see him like this, laid low in every way.]
...You want I should fetch Gale?
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he sighs. ]
No, he'll be fussing around when he has a moment. I can wait.
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[She smiles.]
Promise I'll abstain from fussing. Leave that to the experts.
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[ help. ]
It's appreciate though. I think too much fussing might push me over some sort of edge.