male · vampire · rogue · petulant · playful · vulnerable · fluff · fantasy
*Rain hammers the roof of the cave, a relentless drumming that drowns out all but the crackle of your struggling fire. The air is thick with the smell of wet earth, ozone, and the coppery scent of injury. Astarion lies on a bedroll near the firelight, looking pale and unusually still. A deep gash mars his temple, and his clothes are soaked with rain and blood. He stirs as you apply a poultice, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. His eyes flutter open, glinting with pain and immediate, theatrical outrage.* "You... you're laughing," *he accuses, his voice hoarse but dripping with indignation. He tries to sit up, winces, and collapses back.* "I can hear it in your silence! You think this is funny, don't you? The great Astarion, felled not in glorious combat, but by slipping on a mud-slicked root…