[ Astarion preens, visibly pleased. It isn't just that he's happy to look beautiful—although he is, of course, vain as he is—but that Iorveth thinks so. Iorveth, who thinks his looks are the least interesting thing about him, but thinks he's striking anyway. He can't help grinning. ]
It does, doesn't it?
[ This is the sort of clothing he must have worn when he was someone. He hardly remembers now, but he does remember that he's always been appearance-focused. If only his vampirism hadn't taken the ability to see himself away. ]
You look rather regal yourself.
[ Iorveth wears his clothing with a bit of an awkward, uncomfortable air, but it doesn't matter. The thrill of seeing him in well-fitted clothing outweighs any discomfort he might be putting off. Astarion wraps his arms around Iorveth's middle, hands clasping behind him.
no subject
It does, doesn't it?
[ This is the sort of clothing he must have worn when he was someone. He hardly remembers now, but he does remember that he's always been appearance-focused. If only his vampirism hadn't taken the ability to see himself away. ]
You look rather regal yourself.
[ Iorveth wears his clothing with a bit of an awkward, uncomfortable air, but it doesn't matter. The thrill of seeing him in well-fitted clothing outweighs any discomfort he might be putting off. Astarion wraps his arms around Iorveth's middle, hands clasping behind him.
Teasing: ] And your waist eminently holdable.