[ The intrusion is a whipcrack oh shit moment; it's a pity that other people existing in his general vicinity clears that cotton-soft fog of comfort that Iorveth rarely has the chance to indulge in, but that's life. He's a wild animal again, irritation like knives in his single eye, poised and primed at the three humans standing only several feet away from where he's leaned against dusty shelves.
Gods, fuck. His mind chugs slowly around the wine and bloodloss. ]
Have you prudes never heard of experimenting, [ he hisses. ] Stop gaping, you'll catch flies with those open mouths.
[ Sluggishly, he tries to loop his arms around Astarion's neck. It's so inconvenient that he can't murder his way out of this particular situation. He's reminded, once again, of being mud-caked and soggy in Umberlee's House, trying to explain their unwarranted presence. Swiveling his still-hazy focus back on Astarion and trying to will his knees to straighten more properly, Iorveth hikes his chin with obstinate pride.
Mamzell, on the other hand, only looks like she's at a complete fucking loss for a fraction of a second. Credit where it's due: she's obviously dealt with worse than two extremely suspicious men doing potentially weird sex acts in one of her empty rooms, though she does, in fact, glance behind her as if to look for anyone she can call upon if things go south.
"In my home," she recovers after a moment, "all are encouraged to explore their most lurid fantasies." Her laugh is low, twinkling. "Though we encourage doing so with one of our courtesans, instead of sneaking about like two naughty little mice with dirty secrets."
The man, still squinting at the pale elf with the blood-red eyes, only manages a skeptical "oh". ]
no subject
Gods, fuck. His mind chugs slowly around the wine and bloodloss. ]
Have you prudes never heard of experimenting, [ he hisses. ] Stop gaping, you'll catch flies with those open mouths.
[ Sluggishly, he tries to loop his arms around Astarion's neck. It's so inconvenient that he can't murder his way out of this particular situation. He's reminded, once again, of being mud-caked and soggy in Umberlee's House, trying to explain their unwarranted presence. Swiveling his still-hazy focus back on Astarion and trying to will his knees to straighten more properly, Iorveth hikes his chin with obstinate pride.
Mamzell, on the other hand, only looks like she's at a complete fucking loss for a fraction of a second. Credit where it's due: she's obviously dealt with worse than two extremely suspicious men doing potentially weird sex acts in one of her empty rooms, though she does, in fact, glance behind her as if to look for anyone she can call upon if things go south.
"In my home," she recovers after a moment, "all are encouraged to explore their most lurid fantasies." Her laugh is low, twinkling. "Though we encourage doing so with one of our courtesans, instead of sneaking about like two naughty little mice with dirty secrets."
The man, still squinting at the pale elf with the blood-red eyes, only manages a skeptical "oh". ]