[ It hurts, really hurts, but the last thing he wants is fucking Reginald in here to scold him for doing it to himself. He holds his hand by the wrist because it's too tender to touch the burned skin directly, squeezing tight as if the pressure might distract from the pain. It's not that the pain is intolerable—although Astarion hates any sort of unpleasant sensation, so it sort of is—but that what it represents is. ]
Godsdammit. [ Instantly, he's spiraling. ] I knew it.
[ He hasn't even tried the second cloak, but he's a glass half-empty kind of guy. Grabbing the cloak, he wads it up and tosses it angrily in the corner. ]
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[ It hurts, really hurts, but the last thing he wants is fucking Reginald in here to scold him for doing it to himself. He holds his hand by the wrist because it's too tender to touch the burned skin directly, squeezing tight as if the pressure might distract from the pain. It's not that the pain is intolerable—although Astarion hates any sort of unpleasant sensation, so it sort of is—but that what it represents is. ]
Godsdammit. [ Instantly, he's spiraling. ] I knew it.
[ He hasn't even tried the second cloak, but he's a glass half-empty kind of guy. Grabbing the cloak, he wads it up and tosses it angrily in the corner. ]
Stupid, ugly cloak.