TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

Comments

[handleyourshit]

"Spanish," she supplies.

"My mother's language. But you wouldn't really get that one, probably, even if I explained. Just know I mean it fondly."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"You're calling me a child or a foreigner or a coward or somesuch, aren't you?" Astarion rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "I'll allow it."

[handleyourshit]

"Fair," she answers, reaching to gently tug at the ends of his hair.

"And I think it'd serve you right, since you won't tell me what damia means."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"There's no precise translation," Astarion says, lightly batting at her fingers with his own. "The closest would be - 'sweetheart', perhaps. It's used between partners, or parents and children."

[handleyourshit]

"It means fair," she says again in turn, giggling a bit as she pulls her hand back.

"Pale. White."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Well, I shan't be defending myself against any of those accusations any time soon," Astarion concedes. "I can live with that."

[handleyourshit]

"But don't ever let anyone but me call you that. If they do, you let me know."

Astarion hasn't been privy to a good, solid Spanish cussing out, though she expects there's some Faerun equivalent.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"So you can defend my virtue?" He laughs, but he's honestly charmed. "Very well."

[handleyourshit]

"So I can tell you what they said and what they meant. And tell them what I think of it too, probably."

He doesn't need her to defend him, but it's not nothing to know one isn't alone.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Very decent of you, darling. I - don't think anybody here is even capable of insulting you in Elven except me."