[ A soft hmph, just for the sake of vocalizing that he's only tolerating this for Astarion's sake, though the terrorist elf doth protest too much: no small part of him enjoys spending time in Astarion's company, even if he has to wear unfamiliar clothes to do so.
Dolores, however, stops them both from leaving with a well-timed "wait!", and flits towards them to pull them into what she presumably wanted to be a three-person embrace: her gnome-sized arms only manage to rest at both of their waists, but Iorveth picks up on the intent.
"My lovely boys," she sniffs. "Such a lovely couple. You make me feel young again." Stepping back, she offers the finishing touches to both of their outfits: a new eyepatch for Iorveth in the same soft leather as his trousers and embroidered with the same gold on Astarion's jacket, a pair of gold earcuffs for Astarion which she hands to him instead of putting on, as he's eminently too tall. The gesture is sweet enough that Iorveth almost feels bad that he's far more awful than Dolores imagines him to be, but shattering her illusions would probably be crueler than letting her have it; he bows his head in thanks for her hospitality, and she beams up at him, completely guileless.
Maybe he should steal something for her at the auction. Not because he's gotten soft, mind, but because she deserves more from life than mid-level white-collar criminals do.
Iorveth clips the accessory on Astarion's ear as they walk out of Dolores' salon, admiring the gold against his silver hair. ] I've seen mothers that dote on their children less, [ he observes about the kind gnome woman, without any bite. ] She'd shower you with endless praise if you stayed long enough.
[ The sky is darkening in the distance, struggling to keep itself above the horizon; a good time to infiltrate a party. Iorveth guides Astarion's arm, and tangles it around his forearm. ]
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Dolores, however, stops them both from leaving with a well-timed "wait!", and flits towards them to pull them into what she presumably wanted to be a three-person embrace: her gnome-sized arms only manage to rest at both of their waists, but Iorveth picks up on the intent.
"My lovely boys," she sniffs. "Such a lovely couple. You make me feel young again." Stepping back, she offers the finishing touches to both of their outfits: a new eyepatch for Iorveth in the same soft leather as his trousers and embroidered with the same gold on Astarion's jacket, a pair of gold earcuffs for Astarion which she hands to him instead of putting on, as he's eminently too tall. The gesture is sweet enough that Iorveth almost feels bad that he's far more awful than Dolores imagines him to be, but shattering her illusions would probably be crueler than letting her have it; he bows his head in thanks for her hospitality, and she beams up at him, completely guileless.
Maybe he should steal something for her at the auction. Not because he's gotten soft, mind, but because she deserves more from life than mid-level white-collar criminals do.
Iorveth clips the accessory on Astarion's ear as they walk out of Dolores' salon, admiring the gold against his silver hair. ] I've seen mothers that dote on their children less, [ he observes about the kind gnome woman, without any bite. ] She'd shower you with endless praise if you stayed long enough.
[ The sky is darkening in the distance, struggling to keep itself above the horizon; a good time to infiltrate a party. Iorveth guides Astarion's arm, and tangles it around his forearm. ]