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    Summary

    "So," Aemond whispers, as Luke sips from his glass and tries to casually shuffle out of range, "I'm really fucking high right now."

    "Oh, Jesus. On what?"

    "Acid."

    Luke chokes on his drink, then narrows his eyes for a proper look, and yup, sure enough, Aemond isn't joking. His one remaining pupil is all wide and glossy. His neck and shoulders look like they've gone stiff. Acid. "Dude what the fuck," Luke hisses. And then, "Wait, why are you telling me? Are you– are you like– freaking out, or—?"

    "A little, yeah."

    "Oh my god."

    (In which ballerina-Aemond has become choreographer-Alys's favorite chew toy, and Luke is baffled by the results.)

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    5,564
    Chapters:
    2/2
    Comments:
    15
    Kudos:
    45
    Bookmarks:
    4
    Hits:
    704