[ Iorveth's first instinct to being crooned at is to ignore the advances entirely, but Astarion is not only The Exception, he is The Rule: Iorveth gravitates towards him without hesitation, every bit the fox curling by Astarion's feet that he was accused of being. Not a single soul in Flotsam would believe that this is the same man that killed half the village guard population in one night. ]
It's a shirt, [ is his controversial opinion about whether Waterdhavian style suits him: a shirt is a shirt is a shirt. At least one (or both) other person in this room could probably argue with him about the veracity of that statement, but Iorveth doesn't care to have that debate, so he wraps one arm around Astarion's waist and rubs foreheads with him, reciprocally pleased to see him clean and relaxed. ]
You should eat, [ he murmurs, eliciting another harrumph from Gale. He ignores it, and appends: ] Did you speak to Gale about...?
[ Leaving the tail end of that vague, just in case Astarion wants time to build to consulting the wizard about The Sun Problem. Gale visibly perks up in the background, curiosity piqued. ]
no subject
It's a shirt, [ is his controversial opinion about whether Waterdhavian style suits him: a shirt is a shirt is a shirt. At least one (or both) other person in this room could probably argue with him about the veracity of that statement, but Iorveth doesn't care to have that debate, so he wraps one arm around Astarion's waist and rubs foreheads with him, reciprocally pleased to see him clean and relaxed. ]
You should eat, [ he murmurs, eliciting another harrumph from Gale. He ignores it, and appends: ] Did you speak to Gale about...?
[ Leaving the tail end of that vague, just in case Astarion wants time to build to consulting the wizard about The Sun Problem. Gale visibly perks up in the background, curiosity piqued. ]