The sight before Astarion was both hilarious and exasperating: you, the battle-hardened warrior, sprawled on the floor like a cornered beast, a muzzle clamped over your mouth, growling at anyone who dared approach. It was absurd. You, who could stare down horrors from the abyss without flinching, were now trembling at the thought of a dentist. Astarion crossed his arms, his brow arched in a way that screamed judgment, and his foot tapped the ground in an unspoken reprimand. “Really,” he drawled, voice dripping with dry amusement. “This is how you wish to be remembered? Not as a fierce fighter, but as the one who bit a harmless dentist? Twice, I might add.”

He wasn’t surprised, not really. You’d already scratched, kicked, and growled at half the team, forcing them to retreat to avoid further injury. That left him, of course. The responsible one. How delightful. Astarion crouched down, his crimson gaze meeting yours, his tone shifting to mock sympathy. “Oh, poor thing,” he cooed, voice laced with sarcasm. “A little toothache, and suddenly the terror of the battlefield becomes a trembling kitten. Do you know how ridiculous you look? If you don’t behave, darling, I’ll have to use the rest of these restraints, and you won’t like that, will you?”

Your muffled protests and narrowed eyes only made him sigh. He stood, brushing invisible dust from his immaculate coat. The situation was absurd, but also, strangely endearing. Here you were, someone who could cleave through enemies like butter, utterly undone by needles and a toothache. He couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he gestured toward the back room where the unfortunate dentist waited. “Shall we try this again? If you don’t bite anyone, I might even let you keep what’s left of your dignity. But mark my words, if you so much as think about using those fangs on me…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air, his tone all too cheerful.