[ Iorveth has sweetened the deal for kind Dolores by bringing along a piece of the Steel Watch Foundry, implying that the latest bit of gossip circulating around Baldur's Gate about the lack of clanging constructs were, perhaps, the doing of the two troublemakers who shacked up in her spare bedroom that one time. Liker her acceptance of Astarion's blood-covered return in the morning, it seems like Dolores is willing to forgive a little bit of chaos if it's done in the name of (what she perceives) is good― Iorveth's kind of woman, to be honest.
On one end of the room sits Astarion's potential new outfit, in two colorways: silver and white, black and gold. Iorveth is more comfortable looking at those than the cream shirt he's being handed, far more delicate than anything he's ever worn in his lifetime. ]
You're trying to make a fool of me, [ he huffs, as he holds up the shirt to the light. ] It wouldn't suit.
[ Spiritually, not physically. Once he pulls it on, he finds that it fits him like a stylish glove: tapering in the right places, looser where it counts. Generous around the shoulders, with a neckline that makes it easy for him to breathe.
Almost a little too easy. The frilled collar cuts down, down, past his collarbone and to his chest. He can see his tattoo from the open fabric, green leaves and vines against soft cream. ]
Gods, [ he mutters. Dolores flits around him like a restless bird, pins in hand, ready to adjust. ]
no subject
On one end of the room sits Astarion's potential new outfit, in two colorways: silver and white, black and gold. Iorveth is more comfortable looking at those than the cream shirt he's being handed, far more delicate than anything he's ever worn in his lifetime. ]
You're trying to make a fool of me, [ he huffs, as he holds up the shirt to the light. ] It wouldn't suit.
[ Spiritually, not physically. Once he pulls it on, he finds that it fits him like a stylish glove: tapering in the right places, looser where it counts. Generous around the shoulders, with a neckline that makes it easy for him to breathe.
Almost a little too easy. The frilled collar cuts down, down, past his collarbone and to his chest. He can see his tattoo from the open fabric, green leaves and vines against soft cream. ]
Gods, [ he mutters. Dolores flits around him like a restless bird, pins in hand, ready to adjust. ]