kneepressnightmare

[kneepressnightmare]

IMPORTANT HEADCANONS TO CONSIDER .

can they use chopsticks ? While technically capable, unless he's in a situation where they're the only thing on offer (and it's not something like sushi he can eat with his hands), he wouldn't elect to use them. what do they do when they cant sleep ? This happens often. At this point, he covers for it by working himself so hard that all he can do is sleep. If the pain in his right arm is keeping him up, that means it hasn't been effectively quelled yet. what would they impulse buy at the grocery store ? Strange-looking foreign drinks. what order do they wash things in the shower ? Stand under cold water for five minutes, then work from the face downward. what’s their coffee order ? Caffe Americano with chocolate shavings. what sort of apps would they have on their smartphone ? News apps, a day planner more robust than what would come with it regularly, a social media he almost exclusively lurks on, and crosswords. how do they act around children ? He mostly ignores them, but if they're drawn to the odd vibe and strange looks, he'll delight in answering their questions wholly honestly. what would they watch on tv when they’re bored and nothing they really like is on ? The news.

tagged by: @estarion

[kneepressnightmare]

He scoffs. Despite the elf obviously being far beneath him, some unknown feeling stirs at the quick clip of their mutual mockery. Then again, the brief but heartfelt plying of his ego reminds him that, yes. This man is less than likely to be anyone worth knowing, unless he contains some kind of sly strength yet to reveal itself. Difficult to imagine, with his dainty wrists and coiffed hair.

Then, someone else comes along. The Nameless Man crosses his arms in time, standing straight and bringing those milky eyes to fix on her yellow irises - the black pinpricks of pupils having an intimidating quality of their own. She blusters. Lays out how important she is, and how well-suited to being in charge. To hear her speak, there is no option but to fall in line.

Interesting.

The laugh is short and pronounced, a thrumming ha-hah that has him tossing his head back just enough to adjust his eyeline to stare down his nose at her. "You make quite the claim to your strength, First-Among-All. Perhaps I might like to test it."

The briefly raised voice does draw over their leader. Rakatak has been combing the beach for supplies - there are more than enough corpses to pick through for anything they might be able to use. More of those oddly-shaped coins, some food. Others might not think that ferreting away rations is well-served at a time like this, but she has a feeling it might be a while before they're able to properly feed themselves on something other thank the spoils of war.

That said, she's loathe to turn down conscripts on these foreign shores, and when she approaches, it's not hard to see that the young tyrant thinks Astarion has found a winner. She crosses her arms, looking this new specimen up and down - not seemingly put off by the lack of shirt. "...I see." The hobgoblin draws herself up and softly clears her throat.

"You address Rakatak First-Among-All, daughter of Hurkyll First-Among-All, Emperor of the Provinces and Holdings of the Clans of Rhet. I am the leader of the group composed of this crash's survivors. Join us if you wish to survive further than this beach."

Really putting her best foot forward. She wants to impress him.

[kneepressnightmare]

"Komorníkovi ako ty by malo vadiť jeho správanie." Despite this... well. The way in which he imparts the information puts a tremor in the Nameless Man's right hand, that's a certainty. Each lilt and sidelong glance stokes an internal flame that was already looking for an excuse to boil over, but it will obey him. The fop lives. For now.

"You think me in need of charity?" Fingers flex. The skin peeking through the bandages on his right arm looks deeply unhealthy - the one place colour can be found in this behemoth's complexion and it's an angry, irritated red. As if that weren't obvious enough a warning sign, the question he asks of Astarion is accompanied by a faint purple glow. It's brief, but this feels distinctly different from the "wound" afflicting Shadowheart.

It's almost like it wants to get out.

"We shall see if this Grove offers anything that suits me. And whether your group houses anyone who will care to mind my temper." A temper that surely rises with the insults both direct and oblique tossed his way by the fop.

　　　zero  finesse  in  what  just  transpired.  not  that  he sincerely  expected  any from such an oaf !  they're  both  up,  astarion  with  dented  brows  and  a  slightly  disgruntled  tear  to  the  shape  of  his  top lip  as  he  roughly dusts  off  his  ill-used forearm. he retains  the  pouch  that  the  other  seemed  not  to  care  about.  lacking  in  coin,  but  still a  rather  nice  leather container.  ＂ha !  likewise.＂   on  the  inability  to  bear  looking  bit.   ＂are  you  part  orc,  by  any  chance ? cítil som tvoju halitózu na pol míle ～＂  forget the dip ; for all any in this company could tell, astarion was bathing their new addition in the highest of orcish praises. ＂anyway. they  might  have  a  shirt in  your  size  at  the  grove.  we're  headed  there  now  for  supplies.＂  and astarion is using  this conversation  as  an  excuse  to  inspect that  arm  a bit more closely. is it painful ? at the very least, it doesn't appear comfortable.

[kneepressnightmare]

There is a weakness to this fop that's downright sickening. Not in his body, necessarily, but in his voice. His mannerisms. The way he seems to value his insight so highly, that he shares it totally unprompted. As if only having just returned to the world (as far as he can tell, anyway) is no excuse to not immediately scurry off to a bathhouse.

Actually. A bathhouse may do him some good, once he's able to get his bearings. For the stiffness in his joints (especially his arm, where he can already feel the strain of listening to the whelp speak) if nothing else.

That massive left hand lands over Astarion's palm, and rather than take the pouch immediately, the man pushes himself to his feet using the rogue as a brace.

"And you reflect light more aggressively than the surface of the sea. I can hardly bear to look at you."

@kneepressnightmare asked: “Who I am?… heh! I do not remember who I am.”

　　　in a way, that makes two of them. in another — ? it makes astarion seethe with envy. "sounds like a blessing, to me . . ." he's squat down beside the cloaked lump of a man, squinting briefly at the massive, wrapped arm. "ah, here's your pouch back, by the way." it was never loaned to astarion, but dangles from his pale, pinched fingers. totally empty, but that wasn't his fault. he robbed a bum ! a bum who's now joining their little ragtag group. ". . . you somewhat reek, my friend."