[Well. No more than what Thranduil knows already, anyway: the pettier details of being a Magistrate, what little Astarion can remember.
So it’s chased by a milder sound. A thin puff of air let out through his nose.]
I’m not—
[Cut off, the start of his intended confession: eclipsed owing to a nearby peal of high-voiced laughter, spilling as surely as the wine that passing attendee is presently splashing all over the lip of their glass.
Right. Public soirée. The mission itself. There’s a better time and place to have this conversation.]
no subject
[Well. No more than what Thranduil knows already, anyway: the pettier details of being a Magistrate, what little Astarion can remember.
So it’s chased by a milder sound. A thin puff of air let out through his nose.]
I’m not—
[Cut off, the start of his intended confession: eclipsed owing to a nearby peal of high-voiced laughter, spilling as surely as the wine that passing attendee is presently splashing all over the lip of their glass.
Right. Public soirée. The mission itself. There’s a better time and place to have this conversation.]
We’ll talk later, darling. Promise.
[And with that, he’s gone.]