[ He makes a sound that's chuckle-adjacent at "awful scarf", and obliges the request with theatrical over-exaggeration. "I'm only doing this because it's you asking" is telegraphed in the wide sweep of his hands as he tugs the fabric off and tosses it aside, waiting patiently for his turn with their things before fishing out the eyepatch in question to fix it over the worst of his mangled right side. ]
My hair needs trimming, [ he notes, sweeping his bangs aside. Any inclination to keep it long and braided faded when he took up arms (impractical), and died completely when he lost his eye. No point in being vain anymore. ] I'll need a knife and a mirror soon.
[ A foolish thing to say to Astarion, who doesn't have a reflection with which to appraise his immortal beauty. Iorveth still remembers what he'd said about how he hasn't changed from the day he'd died; it makes a little part of his slowly-unwinding heart clench again as he changes into his daytime gear, leather armor and all. ]
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My hair needs trimming, [ he notes, sweeping his bangs aside. Any inclination to keep it long and braided faded when he took up arms (impractical), and died completely when he lost his eye. No point in being vain anymore. ] I'll need a knife and a mirror soon.
[ A foolish thing to say to Astarion, who doesn't have a reflection with which to appraise his immortal beauty. Iorveth still remembers what he'd said about how he hasn't changed from the day he'd died; it makes a little part of his slowly-unwinding heart clench again as he changes into his daytime gear, leather armor and all. ]