[ What the fuck. For a moment, when he'd looked at his passable pair of 5s and 9s in different suits, he'd thought that Astarion perhaps chose the honorable path this time around― how does that old adage about being fooled go, again? Hells, he's getting too sauced to remember.
He scowls. Obstinacy winds through his expression, a sentiment that's as familiar and well-loved as rage. Iorveth isn't actually mad, but he's stubborn enough that he hisses ] Again, [ and swipes the cards from the table before Astarion and his clever fingers can stack them to his advantage.
His shuffling, compared to Astarion's, is laborious. Not clumsy, but militant. Like trying to thread yellow thread through a pillowcase and drawing a lemon instead of a sun.
He deals their cards, forgetting to think of a wager this time around, and frowns even harder at his absolute shitshow of a hand despite all of his dramatics. What the fuck, part two. ]
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He scowls. Obstinacy winds through his expression, a sentiment that's as familiar and well-loved as rage. Iorveth isn't actually mad, but he's stubborn enough that he hisses ] Again, [ and swipes the cards from the table before Astarion and his clever fingers can stack them to his advantage.
His shuffling, compared to Astarion's, is laborious. Not clumsy, but militant. Like trying to thread yellow thread through a pillowcase and drawing a lemon instead of a sun.
He deals their cards, forgetting to think of a wager this time around, and frowns even harder at his absolute shitshow of a hand despite all of his dramatics. What the fuck, part two. ]