[ No reasonable person would find Iorveth sacrificing his pack for dead clown parts to be romantic, yet Astarion holds the pack to his chest, foolishly happy at having been thought of. He'll never tire of the feeling. A small, meaningless action, but the message is significant all the same: I like you, it says, or maybe you matter to me. ]
Oh, goodness, [ he exclaims, melodramatic, pointing at the shattered pieces of glass on the ground as he gravitates toward the hand. It smells awful, like decay and rot, like the inside of Cazador's mansion. ] He's always doing this! You should give him what for. It's the only way he'll learn.
[ Popper stomps its feet, looking every bit an oversized, reptilian toddler. It might be cute, if the thing weren't so ugly. "You lies! That was on purpose!" It gestures emphatically at the shards of bottle on the ground, distraught though the thing really was, as it had said, junk. No one was ever going to buy an elixir from a kobold that doesn't look like it could rub two brain cells together, much less ensure the contents of the bottle aren't pure poison. "You breaks it, you buys it!"
Astarion opens Iorveth's pack, picking up the clown hand with his thumb and forefinger as if it were a particularly nasty piece of garbage. He gags at the tactile sensation; the hand is warm from sitting out in the sun all day, and what's worse, it's floppy. As he slips it into his pack, he encourages Popper from the peanut gallery, ] That's right. You tell him.
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Oh, goodness, [ he exclaims, melodramatic, pointing at the shattered pieces of glass on the ground as he gravitates toward the hand. It smells awful, like decay and rot, like the inside of Cazador's mansion. ] He's always doing this! You should give him what for. It's the only way he'll learn.
[ Popper stomps its feet, looking every bit an oversized, reptilian toddler. It might be cute, if the thing weren't so ugly. "You lies! That was on purpose!" It gestures emphatically at the shards of bottle on the ground, distraught though the thing really was, as it had said, junk. No one was ever going to buy an elixir from a kobold that doesn't look like it could rub two brain cells together, much less ensure the contents of the bottle aren't pure poison. "You breaks it, you buys it!"
Astarion opens Iorveth's pack, picking up the clown hand with his thumb and forefinger as if it were a particularly nasty piece of garbage. He gags at the tactile sensation; the hand is warm from sitting out in the sun all day, and what's worse, it's floppy. As he slips it into his pack, he encourages Popper from the peanut gallery, ] That's right. You tell him.