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[rowancrowned]

( laughter, bright as bells. shocked, briefly, by honesty, the flash of soft and vulnerable underbelly. it leaves his voice warm when he follows up: )

Some hidden nobility to confess, my friend?

[illithidnapped]

Ahah. Not quite....

[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.]