[ Astarion leans back in his chair, drinking the sight of Iorveth in as he returns. In his high-end, well-tailored clothes, with his embossed leather eyepatch and a smooth ring on his finger, he's nigh unrecognizable from the man Astarion first met who wore the dirty, ill-fitting clothes of a vagabond. He looks handsome in a rugged way that makes the cold remnants of Astarion's heart do happy cartwheels. ]

I would, [ he concedes, then smirks, cocky. ] But you won't get to see it.

[ Astarion reaches for the deck, taking the liberty of shuffling. While he stacks the cards favorably for himself, he talks to distract Iorveth, saying, ] You know, you look terribly handsome. I could get used to dressing you up in pretty things.

[ He deals their hands with the quick, nimble movements of someone who's done this plenty of times before. There was little to do in the palace, but the taverns he frequented had card games enough for him to get good. Not good at playing honorably, but he never had any interest in that, anyway. ]

Once I trim that hair, you'll be irresistible.

[ He smiles down at his hand pleasantly. Iorveth's own hand is unfathomably shitty. ]