[ Troublemaker. Astarion, as always, is a mess of contradictions, an extrovert-introvert, fussy without knowing what he wants, greedy but waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. Iorveth leans in to nuzzle against the side of his head (earning another incredulous-frustrated groan from the other side of the room), then gestures to the cloak room leading out into the entrance-exit of the tavern. ]
Off with us and our ill-gotten gains, then.
[ Iorveth can always check in again with his new contacts later, preferably when Astarion is busy doing something with Gale. Back out into the night they go, the streets still full of revelers and travelers getting ready for Fey Day. Iorveth almost bumps into a group of women decorated from head to toe in flowers (emulating Titania, no doubt), and fields their irritation ("he almost crushed my azaleas!") as he swerves Astarion away from the rabble―
―but not before plucking a white flower from one of the womens' bouquet. He tucks it behind Astarion's ear, nestling it against a well-placed curl. ]
no subject
Off with us and our ill-gotten gains, then.
[ Iorveth can always check in again with his new contacts later, preferably when Astarion is busy doing something with Gale. Back out into the night they go, the streets still full of revelers and travelers getting ready for Fey Day. Iorveth almost bumps into a group of women decorated from head to toe in flowers (emulating Titania, no doubt), and fields their irritation ("he almost crushed my azaleas!") as he swerves Astarion away from the rabble―
―but not before plucking a white flower from one of the womens' bouquet. He tucks it behind Astarion's ear, nestling it against a well-placed curl. ]
Bloodroot, [ he explains. ]