[ Ugh, the sequel. Iorveth steps back and away from the quickly-dying half-orc, careful not to get blood on any part of his new clothes or boots. ]
I did well enough, [ is his sullen retort, as he swats at his own shoulders and wipes his hands on nearby drapery. Getting rid of the lingering sensation of unwanted touch, shuddering phantom hands off of himself before approaching Astarion (rather rudely stepping over the body on the floor to do so; psycho behavior). ]
We need to go, [ he warns, wiping blood off of the back of Astarion's hand before attempting to wind his fingers around it. ] I'll listen to your criticisms once we leave this place behind.
[ Astarion is entitled to be as irate as he wants, but preferably not in a jail cell. That wouldn't do either of them any good. ]
no subject
I did well enough, [ is his sullen retort, as he swats at his own shoulders and wipes his hands on nearby drapery. Getting rid of the lingering sensation of unwanted touch, shuddering phantom hands off of himself before approaching Astarion (rather rudely stepping over the body on the floor to do so; psycho behavior). ]
We need to go, [ he warns, wiping blood off of the back of Astarion's hand before attempting to wind his fingers around it. ] I'll listen to your criticisms once we leave this place behind.
[ Astarion is entitled to be as irate as he wants, but preferably not in a jail cell. That wouldn't do either of them any good. ]