[ Iorveth, in need of several Faerûnian equivalents of Blues' Clues, loses even more INT points the moment Astarion puts his hand down the wide dip of his collar. He struggles gainfully with himself, of course― he'd die before being on the same level as the two humans still gawking at them from across the room― but instinct tells him to enjoy the touch, which. Well.
He does. He nudges against Astarion's jaw with his nose, breathing a soft exhale. ]
Don't make me want you here.
[ Fighting losing battles, etc. The halfling picks up her drink and goes to sit with a dwarf who's dozing peacefully next to his stack of playing cards. ]
no subject
He does. He nudges against Astarion's jaw with his nose, breathing a soft exhale. ]
Don't make me want you here.
[ Fighting losing battles, etc. The halfling picks up her drink and goes to sit with a dwarf who's dozing peacefully next to his stack of playing cards. ]