[ The opulence of it all is overwhelming. Wonderful, yes, but overwhelming. He'd become accustomed to the dark, chilly quarters of the last two centuries, and even after his escape, he'd had to sleep outside in the dirt or in a tent he barely knew how to pitch. The Elfsong was more luxury than he'd seen in centuries, but this is far beyond a shared room in a mid-grade tavern. Two voices battle it out inside his head: you don't deserve this, says the cruel one, but another pipes up to say oh, yes, you do. ]
It'll do, [ he says with a shrug, gravitating toward the hanging bathrobes and stroking their soft fabrics. One smooth and silky, another warm and fuzzy.
Once Jessamine has taken her leave, he turns back to Iorveth. ]
You know, I feel as if I've just hired a very expensive courtesan.
[ Well, he feels a little bit like the courtesan, in truth, but old habits die hard.
Teasing, he adds, ] 'The Wicked Wood Elf', perhaps.
no subject
It'll do, [ he says with a shrug, gravitating toward the hanging bathrobes and stroking their soft fabrics. One smooth and silky, another warm and fuzzy.
Once Jessamine has taken her leave, he turns back to Iorveth. ]
You know, I feel as if I've just hired a very expensive courtesan.
[ Well, he feels a little bit like the courtesan, in truth, but old habits die hard.
Teasing, he adds, ] 'The Wicked Wood Elf', perhaps.