"Perhaps a kiss?" He offers with a half smile, extending a hand. "Truly? No. The poultice and snow will see to it. I have suffered worse at the hands of my own traps. But you..."
How does he say this?
"It is...difficult on you as well, his troubles, his fits." For that is what it had been, a fit. How many times had he stepped in to do much the same for Taliesin in his youth, when his jealous rages would get the better of him? "Soothing him afterward. Playing the peacemaker. Begging patience and forgiveness for him. Is there anything I might do to ease that particular burden?"
Cyril isn't sure how to respond to that at first. If it had been a human, he would have been irritated by the offer, but Zevran, despite him saying he isn't one of the People, still has pointed ears.
"I'm fine," he says, but it's not as short or tart as it could have been.
In truth, he doesn't feel entirely comfortable sharing any more details than that. At least not yet.
He doesn't take the hand either, but it's less an outright denial as still being a little wary. He isn't sure how Zevran will take to being shot down like that.
"A liar knows a liar when he sees them, tesoro." He murmurs, but says no more, letting his hand fall back to his side. It is not his place to pry- no more than it is his place to ask at all.
But an offer has been made and in that, he can rest easy knowing he made the attempt. Anything more is Cyril's to choose.
He would be lying even more if he said that he didn't have the desire to come close and kiss the uninjured side of Zevran's face as a farewell, but he doesn't. He steps back, about to leave.
"Maybe that's why I still like you," he says instead.
"And why I am so terribly fond of you." He blows Cyril a kiss before he turns to leave, his own attention returning to the intricate trap laid out on the table.
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How does he say this?
"It is...difficult on you as well, his troubles, his fits." For that is what it had been, a fit. How many times had he stepped in to do much the same for Taliesin in his youth, when his jealous rages would get the better of him? "Soothing him afterward. Playing the peacemaker. Begging patience and forgiveness for him. Is there anything I might do to ease that particular burden?"
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"I'm fine," he says, but it's not as short or tart as it could have been.
In truth, he doesn't feel entirely comfortable sharing any more details than that. At least not yet.
He doesn't take the hand either, but it's less an outright denial as still being a little wary. He isn't sure how Zevran will take to being shot down like that.
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But an offer has been made and in that, he can rest easy knowing he made the attempt. Anything more is Cyril's to choose.
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"Maybe that's why I still like you," he says instead.
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