[ Thank the gods that Dolores believed their tall tale about being persecuted lovers on the run and kept their appointment. It helps that Astarion lays it on thick with flattery about how her little business is so much better than Figaro's, and that he's going to tell all of his high society friends to come here instead. Dolores beams at the praise, blushing a bright pink as she gathers her supplies for the fitting.
As she returns with an outfit draped over her shoulder—in the earth tones Astarion specified, cream and burnt sienna on top and a dark brown leather on the bottom—she pauses, frowning. "No frills?" She glances at the shirt hanging over her shoulder, which sports an unmistakable ruffle down its lace-up collar. Very much also Astarion's doing. ]
Some frills, [ he corrects, hands clasped innocently behind his back. ]
no subject
As she returns with an outfit draped over her shoulder—in the earth tones Astarion specified, cream and burnt sienna on top and a dark brown leather on the bottom—she pauses, frowning. "No frills?" She glances at the shirt hanging over her shoulder, which sports an unmistakable ruffle down its lace-up collar. Very much also Astarion's doing. ]
Some frills, [ he corrects, hands clasped innocently behind his back. ]