[ Alistair exhales a long breath. He can't really understand; there have been times he's wished he'd died, but never for the sake of dying. Lives he would have traded his own for. Atrocities he would have been willing to die to prevent. His life as a chip in the bargaining stage of grief—which implies a certain value. He wouldn't throw it away. For all his self-esteem issues, he's never felt that expendable or that pained, and Zevran shouldn't—
He would push the subject, but he's teachable. He's learned. Even if it did take being whacked in the metaphorical nose with a metaphorical rolled-up newspaper so hard he non-metaphorically cried. ]
Let me know if I can do anything, [ he says, a little stilted from the effort it takes not to say anything else. ]
no subject
He would push the subject, but he's teachable. He's learned. Even if it did take being whacked in the metaphorical nose with a metaphorical rolled-up newspaper so hard he non-metaphorically cried. ]
Let me know if I can do anything, [ he says, a little stilted from the effort it takes not to say anything else. ]