[ He barks out a short, humorless laugh as confirmation to the first part, taking a moment to study Alucard's features when the dhampir's eyes close. As for the rest, as for his grieving -
A sudden, terrible impulse toward violence stirs within him. He has spent a good part of the past few centuries giving in to that impulse without care, and sometimes needing little cause. Better to destroy what could betray you than give it the chance to do harm. Perhaps that's what went wrong with him and his lovely wife. They couldn't kill one another, but they couldn't survive each other either.
He imagines his fist closing around Alucard's throat, sharpened nails digging in the second before he tears into that lovely, pale skin with his teeth. The dhampir had once been able to easily overpower him. Now? Astarion suspects the ascension has put them on a more even playing field.
But those thoughts are followed by a sudden, thick revulsion that rises in his throat like bile. ]
Too pretty a throat to ruin, unfortunately. [ he drawls, though there's a tension across his form now, mostly hidden beneath the blankets.
Sulking again, he throws them over his head and lies down again, curling up on himself. His voice is muffled beneath the thick fabric. ]
You must have better things to do. Go. I'll have your soup later.
feel free to skip ahead when needed!
A sudden, terrible impulse toward violence stirs within him. He has spent a good part of the past few centuries giving in to that impulse without care, and sometimes needing little cause. Better to destroy what could betray you than give it the chance to do harm. Perhaps that's what went wrong with him and his lovely wife. They couldn't kill one another, but they couldn't survive each other either.
He imagines his fist closing around Alucard's throat, sharpened nails digging in the second before he tears into that lovely, pale skin with his teeth. The dhampir had once been able to easily overpower him. Now? Astarion suspects the ascension has put them on a more even playing field.
But those thoughts are followed by a sudden, thick revulsion that rises in his throat like bile. ]
Too pretty a throat to ruin, unfortunately. [ he drawls, though there's a tension across his form now, mostly hidden beneath the blankets.
Sulking again, he throws them over his head and lies down again, curling up on himself. His voice is muffled beneath the thick fabric. ]
You must have better things to do. Go. I'll have your soup later.